the ear breathless. All these burst at once on Charles, whose heart, and senses, and mind reeled in intoxication, and felt pleasure annihilated by its own excess."

Poor Eva, too, was a musician, but in a different way. One night, after leaving the theatre, De Courcy wandered into the Evangelical meeting-house, where a hymn was in recitation.

"The congregation had dispersed, (all but the private singers, who remained to practice;) the lights too, except a very few near the organ where the singers stood, were all extinguished, so that the building was very dark. Round the organ there was a strong blaze of light, stronger from the contrast. Charles could see all the figures distinctly, though quite invisible to them from the darkness that filled the body of the chapel. They sung some hymns, and their solemn quiet harmony, without applause, the echoes dying through the empty aisles, soothed and solemnized him. It was like a fine twilight after a burning day. The music suddenly changed; they sung the Hallelujah chorus from the Messiah. The solemnity of the well selected words, the sublimity of the harmony, the awful repetition of the sounds for ever and ever-Hallelujah, Hallelujah!' forcing the idea of eternity on the mind by their endless recurrence, thrilled through De Courcy's heart. And when the sweet and powerful voice of Eva sustaining the upper part, dwelt on the ascending notes, repeating King of Kings, and Lord of Lords,' while all the other parts continued the ceaseless solemn iteration, ' for ever and ever,' De Courcy felt as if he listened to the songs of angels. There was nothing around him to disturb or divide the impression on his senses or his mind; no crowds, no bravos, no glare of lights, no stifling, and yet intoxicating heat. He was alone, almost in darkness, and the figures so far above him, the light falling on them alone, and the unearthly music, exalted him for some moments beyond himself. He saw Eva separated from him high in a region of light and harmony, uttering in these awful words a last farewell, and returning to that God from whom her rash and unhappy love had divided her for a sea'Am I then losing her?' he exclaimed with horror. For ever and

son.

ever,' repeated the voices,' for ever and ever."

We are quoting, we are well aware, too much; and we have run off from Zaira without intending it. We have seen her in her glory, take her in her wretchedness.

"She was found stretched on the earth, drenched in her cold tears, colder than the dew that drenched her garments from head to foot. They bore her to her apartment, but for several days she was very ill, and even

deranged. Her intellects (those intellects so powerful, so worshipped) were sunk below infancy, even as wild and weak as dotage. The struggle of religion and love was obviously predominant in the wanderings of her intellect. Strange and rich fragments might be picked up amid the burning ruin, as the conflagration of Corinth produced the extraordinary metallic amalgamation known by the name of Corinthian brass. She called for the cross, and Madam St. Maur, who, since the return of the Bourbons, had become une tres bonne Catholique, inquired for a crucifix among the servants. One was produced. 'Hold it near me,' cried Zaira, 'let the blood drop on me; one drop will purify my heart.' They held it close to her, then she mistook the figure on the cross for that of De Courcy; she kissed it in that agony of devotion which love produces when mingled with the sentiments of religion. It was frightful to see her. At one time she implored it to pray for her as the representative of Christ,— at another time she prayed to it as the image of De Courcy."

We have now done, yet we are satisfied that we have given a very tame and imperfect view of this powerful and instructive novel. Mr. Maturin has at last found his great powers, and their legitimate use. He has still, no doubt, many excrescences and effervescences to remove and to work off, but these he will discover for himself. Let him continue to have in view, as we think he has in this work, the improvement of mankind in their highest capacity, as intellectual, moral, and religious beings,-let him still regulate his genius by the love and the spirit of truth, and he will find and keep his place among the genuine lights of our age!

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

ACCOUNT OF BARTRAM'S GARDEN.

KINGSESS GARDEN was begun about 90 years since, by JOHN BARTRAM the elder, at a time when there were no establishments of this nature in Pennsylvania, if in any of the colonies, unless we may except that of Dr. Clayton, in Virginia, which, though inferior in extent, was furnished with a considerable variety. It is situated on the west bank of the Schuylkill, four miles S. W. from Philadelphia, and contains about eight acres of land. The mansion and green houses stand on an eminence, from which the garden descends by gentle slopes to the edge of the river; and on either side the ground rises into hills of moderate elevation, to the sum

mits of which its borders extend. From this scite are distinctly seen the winding course of the Schuylkill, its broad-spread meadows and cultivated farms, for many miles up and down; and the river Delaware, with the variety of vessels which it is constantly bearing to and from the metropolis of America. Beyond this there is an uninterrupted view of the Jersey shore, from the eastern to the southern horizon. The whole comprehends an extensive prospect, rich in the beauty of its scenery and endless in diversity.

The worthy founder of this garden, discovered in his early youth a love for philosophy, and natural history in general. He was, however, particularly drawn to the study of botany, from considering the importance of vegetables in the practice of medicine, and their indispensible use in the various departments of human economy. But at that time botany was but little attended to in America; and in the old world the works of the great Linnæus had not appeared; he had, therefore, no other aid in studying the great book of nature than his own persevering genius. His view in the establishment was to make it a deposite of the vegetables of these United States (then British colonies,) as well as those of Europe and other parts of the earth, that they might be the more convenient for investigation. He soon furnished his grounds with the curious and beautiful vegetables in the environs, and by degrees with those more distant, which were arranged according to their natural soil and situation, either in the garden, or on his plantation, which consisted of between 200 and 300 acres of land, the whole of which he termed his garden.

The novelty of this horticultural scene, attracted the notice of the ingenious and curious; and coming to the knowledge of Europeans, several scientific men in England, particularly of the Royal Society, united to encourage the founder to undertake journies towards the western frontiers, in order to discover and collect curious and nondescript productions in nature, particularly vegetables, that they might be sent to Europe.

Thus this extensive garden became the Seminary of American vegetables, from which they were distributed to Europe and other regions of the civilized world. It may with propriety and truth be called the Botanical Academy of Pennsylvania, since be

ing near Philadelphia, the former Professor of Botany, attended by his pupils, annually assembled here during the Floral season.

The founder lived to see his garden flourish beyond his most sanguine expectations, and extend its reputation both at home and abroad, as the Botanic Garden of America. In this condition it descended to his son, and finally to his grand-daughter, whose husband, Mr. Robert Carr, now superintends it. By this gentleman any persons may be supplied with boxes of seed, and with living American plants, or prepared specimens of them-with "descriptions and accurate delineations, &c. His address is, Mr. Robert Carr, Kingsess Garden, near Philadelphia.

POR THE PORT FOLIO.-OBITUARY.

MR. LEMUEL WILSON.

Ir is not the practice of this Journal to give an indiscriminate obituary, merely as a memorandum of ordinary occurrences. Nor is it our business, professionally, to remind our readers, that "there is an appointed time to men upon earth"-but rather to admonish them-that," to every thing there is a season; a time for every purpose and for every work." But when those who were preeminently "lovely in their lives" are cut off-when the hope, or the stay of the community falls-when the world is bereaved of the sage who had erected a temple to science; or of the youth who had bowed with ardour at its vestibule-we gratify our personal feelings, while we redeem our pledge to society, to "give unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's."

Since the publication of our last number, we have been called to weep over the grave of a youth, whose personal merit, and uncommonly early attainments, forbid that he should perish unhonoured and forgotten. He was the eldest son of the Rev. James P. Wilson, the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in this city.

He was not blessed with a constitution to authorize any sanguine expectation of long life; yet his health was such, as to admit of a reasonable hope, until some few months ago, when the eruption of a blood vessel excited considerable apprehensions. He recovered, however, and hope revived for a time. But in the beginning of June, as he sat reading, another rupture occurred-the discharge was not great-but a fever and cough immediately ensued, and terminated his life on the first day of July, and the first day of his entrance on the eighteenth year of his age.

Never was the flattering vision of future eminence indulged on more authentic grounds. The manners of young Wilson, resulting from an excellent disposition, matured into permanent principle, were so invariably correct, that since the days of his childhood, his parents had found no occasion to reprove him. Their fond anticipations beheld in him the exemplar, the guide, and the guardian, of his younger brothers. Particularly happy in being the son of a profound scholar, he improved the precious opportunities thus bestowed on him by Providence, for the cultivation of his mind, until his moral and intellectual acquirements had far transcended his years.

At the time when he was seized with his last illness, he was sedulously engaged in preparing for his examination previously to his ensuing commencement in the University of Pennsylvania, where he had been educated. Here too, it is believed, his probation was passed without a single reproof, for he was always docile, and always studious. His capacity was comprehensive, and his application inflexible. He was not merely acquainted with the branches usually comprised in a collegiate course;-he was accurate in them all. He was an accomplished scholar in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages-excelling particularly in the Greek. As a mathematician, he was far beyond the early age of seventeen; and had he been spared, would soon have reached the very highest ground. Yet, with these rich attainments, be was so modest-so unassuming, that few, beside those who had the pleasure to instruct him, were aware of what he knew. How loved, how valued ➡he was, both by them, and his associates-several affecting incidents, which lately occurred, sufficiently declare.