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steal quietly into the heart, fix the attention, and enlist the sympathies. The following, which are the closing lines of a little poem on the death of a young Quakeress, never fail to arrest the reader's attention. He stops to read them again and again, and dwell on their singular sweetness:

"My sprightly neighbour, gone before

To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet, as heretofore,

Some summer morning,

“When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,

A sweet forewarning?"

Sometimes in his sonnets the reader finds a broad, deep thought expressed with great felicity, as the following:

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"Tis man's worst deed

To let the things that have been' run to waste
And in the unmeaning present sink the past.”

Lamb's greatest and best productions are his Essays, written with the celebrated signature of " Elia." Here he has distinguishing excellence. The style is evidently formed on that of the old authors, yet it has all the originality and freshness necessary to the time in which he wrote. The author passes and repasses over all the steps from deep sadness to the utmost gayety. The humorous predominates, yet no buffoon ever makes his appearance on the stage. We see only the good-natured man, with eyes open to behold all things passing about him, with a word of encouragement to the unappreciated good, with a tear of sympathy for the afflicted, a smile of approbation for the well-doing, and a good-humored laugh for whatever fault or folly deserves such salutation. How delicately are pleasantry and pity commingled in the extract we give from "A Complaint of the Decay of Beggars in the Metropolis!"

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Rags, which are the reproach of poverty, are the beggar's robes, and graceful insignia of his profession, his tenure, his full dress, the suit in which he is expected to show himself in public. He is never out of fashion, or limpeth awkwardly behind it. He is not required to put on court mourning. He weareth all colors, fearing none. His costume has undergone less change than the Quaker's. He is the only man in the universe who is not obliged to study appearances. The ups and downs of the world concern him no longer. He alone continueth in one stay. The price of stock or land affecteth him not. The fluctuations of agricultural or commercial prosperity touch him not, or at worst but change his customers. He is not expected to become bail or surety for any one. No man troubleth him with questioning his religion or politics. He is the only free man in the universe."

Lamb is apparent in all he wrote as having no sympathy with hypocrisy and falsehood. When a little boy, as he and his sister

were wandering through the churchyard, reading the eulogistic epitaphs, he stopped suddenly and asked, "Where do the naughty people lie?" This question contained a pointed criticism on the insincerity of indiscriminate praise. The same spirit obtained wider and more emphatic utterance in after years when he wielded the essayist's pen. He did not set himself up as the censor of society; he was by no means a cynic or a grumbler, yet he never feared to speak manfully and freely in favor of the truth.

Lamb did not draw so largely on the field of imagination as on that of experience, over which thoughts were led by a sprightly fancy. There is practical philosophy as well as frankly expressed personal experience in this:

"Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal. He knows it, indeed, and if need were, could preach a homily on the fragility of life; but he brings it not home to himself, any more than in a hot June we can appropriate to our imaginations the freezing days of December. But now, shall I confess a truth? I feel these audits but too powerfully. I begin to count the probabilities of my duration, and to grudge at the expenditure of moments and shortest periods, like miser's farthings. In proportion as the years both lessen and shorten, I set more count upon their periods, and would fain lay my ineffectual finger upon the spoke of the great wheel. I am not content to pass away like a weaver's shuttle.' Those metaphors solace me not, nor sweeten the unpalatable draught of mortality. I care not to be carried with the tide that smoothly bears human life to eternity; and reluct at the inevitable course of destiny. I am in love with this green earth; the face of town and country; the unspeakable rural solitudes, and the sweet security of streets. I would set up my tabernacle here; I am content to stand still at the age to which I am arrived-I and my friends: to be no younger, no richer, no handsomer. Any alteration on this earth of mine, in diet or in lodging, puzzles and discomposes me. My household gods plant a terrible fixed foot, and are not rooted up without blood. They do not willingly leave Lavinian shores."

Lamb had no profound religious experience. In their youth he and Coleridge were zealous Unitarians, and ardent admirers of Dr. Priestley. In later years they grew up to a perception of their error, and embraced the great and fundamental doctrine of the Trinity.

Coleridge having written to his friend, "You are a temporary sharer in human misery that you may be an eternal partaker in the Divine nature," Lamb gently expostulated with him, and wrote thus :

"Man, full of imperfections at best, and subject to wants that momentarily remind him of dependence; man, a weak and ignorant being, 'servile' from his birth to all the 'skiey influences,' with eyes sometimes open to discern the right path, but a head generally too dizzy to pursue it; man, in the pride of speculation, forgetting his nature, and hailing himself the future God, must make the angels laugh. Be not angry with me, Coleridge, I only wish to remind you of that humility which best becometh the Christian character."

Lamb's humility arose from a careful and correct view of himself and his failings. Here he was almost a Christian. A step further would have admitted him to the richest experiences of Christianity. "My former calamities," said he in an early letter, “have produced in me a spirit of humility and a spirit of prayer. I want more religion." He did not, however, make those attainments in Christian life for which such sentiments gave grounds to hope. The reason may be discovered in his lack of religious society. None of those with whom his circumstances brought him in daily contact, were spiritually minded. He wrote thus to Coleridge: "Wesley, (have you read his life?) was he not an elevated character? Wesley has said, 'Religion is not a solitary thing.' Alas! it is necessarily so with me, or next to solitary."

When Christians cause their religion to have so small a place in their daily business and conversation, it cannot be urged seriously against the essayist that he does not directly inculcate religion. It seems obtaining a good result if not a word is written which can be construed against the great cause of Christ.

The secular press, and merely literary men, take no lead in the ways of religion. Their status in this respect is determined by the condition of society. In times of indifference and infidelity the literary essay carefully excludes all words that would betray a Gallilean origin, if it goes not with Peter to the length of denying all knowledge of Christ. When society is careless the political newspaper has no room for religious intelligence; but when the minds of all are aroused on the momentous question, and there is a spirit of revival throughout the land, column after column is devoted to "The Great Awakening."

As society takes step after step in the great work of purification and transformation, polite literature, as well as all arts and sciences, will become more spiritual, and will stand forth as handmaids to Christianity.

ART. VI.-WYOMING.

Wyoming; its History, Stirring Incidents, and Romantic Adventures. By GEORGE PECK, D.D. With Illustrations. 12mo., pp. 430. New-York: Harper & Brothers. 1858.

WYOMING is the Arcadia of America. It sustains almost as classic a relation to these Northern States as that pastoral province did to the ancient Peloponessus. A more profoundly interesting spot is scarcely to be found on the face of the whole land. The name is understood

to be a corruption of the Indian word Maughwauwame which signifies "THE GREAT PLAINS." These plains must, human agency apart, have presented a scene of unparalleled fertility and pleasantness. The valley proper is not far from twenty-one miles in length, with an average width of about three miles. On either side of it there are lofty hills, and the Susquehanna, flowing through the extent of the vale, divides it into two unequal and varying parts.

Judging from existing facts, there is certainly much plausibility in the theory that this valley was once the bed of a lake, the waters of which, by some violent disruption of its lower banks, (at what period no one can conjecture,) were drawn off and allowed to escape to the ocean. At any rate, aquatic deposites are diffused over the surface of the bottom lands, particularly along the banks of the river, thus rendering the soil surpassingly rich and productive. When the eyes of civilized man first looked upon it, the sight was enchanting. Lovelier or more luxuriant vegetation never ornamented the bosom of the earth. The wilderness, almost without a figure, blossomed as the rose. At least, so thought the New-Englanders, when, after a tedious journey through the intervening trackless wilds, they first gazed upon it from the tops of the surrounding hills.

The streams were then filled with fish, and the woods with game; so that here the red man disported himself in a sort of paradise. Here his forefathers, from immemorial generations, had lived in plenty; and here he expected his posterity would live to the end of time. Little, indeed, did he imagine that he and his were destined so soon to be superseded by the "pale faces."

But a single century has produced surprising changes. Not only have the native tribes disappeared, but the valley now teems with a busy population. The plow and the sickle have taken the place of the tomahawk and the scalping-knife. These lands have been found fully equal to the highest hopes of the white men who first visited. them. It has been practically demonstrated that they are well adapted to the growth of almost every species of grass, and grain, and root, and fruit produced in the Northern and Middle States. Besides, in the process of development, it has been found that Wyoming contains one of the richest basins of coal in North America, if not in the wide world. This coal underlies the whole valley, and completely flanks the adjacent hills. And, what should certainly be regarded as a most remarkable, if not really providential coincidence, rich beds of iron ore have been discovered in almost immediate juxtaposition with these anthracite deposites, the latter furnishing the ready means for putting the former into a shape suited to the higher purposes of civilization. The valley is now connected by railroad

and canal with other parts of our country, so that its rich treasures can be readily sent abroad, while those who may wish to look in upon these beautiful plains, or to go out from them, have every facility for easy personal transit. With these extraordinary advantages, Wyoming can hardly fail to become, at no distant day, if indeed it be not now, one of the richest interior portions of our empire. Religion has prospered here. Missionary enterprise opened the way into these secluded regions. Probably the first white man who ever set foot upon the soil was that apostle of the Unitas Fratrum, COUNT ZINZENDORF, who crossed the Atlantic with a sole view to teach the red man the way to heaven, and who, in 1742, with his interpreter, erected his tent near the principal Indian village. From that day to this God has not been without a witness in Wyoming Valley. Churches have been formed, and places of worship erected. The stringent moral views of New England have, ab origine, exerted a controlling influence over the habits of the people. Order and morality have held a decided preponderance, while science and letters have been more or less cultivated. Though the very copious influx of a foreign population, drawn hither by the mineral discoveries of the valley, has doubtless retarded rather than promoted the advancement of intelligence and virtue, still social polish and evangelical religion are prominent characteristics of the Wyoming community.

But this state of things has not been reached without serious conflict. Long before the valley was visited by white men, the native tribes themselves contended with each other for the possession of lands so fertile, streams so full of fish, and forests so abounding in game. Hence, wars were frequent, protracted, and bloody. No occupant tribe, could, indeed, hope long to escape the encroachments of either cupidity or envy. It is not wonderful, then, that the pale faces were anything else than welcome visitors. A few might have been tolerated, but the presence of numbers at once awakened suspicion. What could these interlopers want but to "take away both their place and nation?" This could not, of course, be submitted to; and especially as resistance was deemed to be a dictate, as well of patriotism as of domestic security. The advances of civilization must therefore be repelled at the very outset, and the white man taught to keep at a proper distance. Aggression and retaliation soon became the order of the day. If the pale faces were captured, tortured, driven back, (as, alas, they often were,) it was only to rally again in still greater numbers, and to renew the contest with a more vigorous hand. Thus matters went on, victory alternating from one side to the other, until finally

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