others. To the idler, it is an uncomfortable place; for an idler cannot have character, where every body is industrious.

Though I was delighted with my jaunt up the noble Mississippi, along the fertile shores of Arkansas, to the sloping banks of the Ohio, when I arrived at Pittsburg, and got fairly into the state of Pennsylvania, I made a vow never to leave it.

Flint's Valley of the Mississippi' makes any mention of this region unnecessary. That is a book only equalled, in the truth and vividness of its descriptions, by its style and elegance of diction. And, speaking of this writer, perhaps he ranks among the first of American authors, take him all in all. Who could have written 'Arthur Clenning,' if not Flint a man who has travelled, and thought, and seen, and moralized, from facts? This work is full of imagination, of the daintiest kind; and yet it is so tempered with good, plain, common sense, and the flights of fancy are so well woven in, that they seem necessarily to belong to the story. The moral effect of this book is one of its chief excellencies. In Arthur Clenning is drawn the better sort of yankee, by a series of necessities and rebuffs trained into the highest of human characters, in thought and action. His wife, petted from her birth, and every attempt being made to spoil her, likewise, by a series of misfortunes, as they seemed, becomes a woman in sense and conduct, and discards the fripperies of her early education.

The scenes in the island are worked up with a great deal of beauty; and the marriage, the scruples of her sex, the struggles of her pride of birth, lurking in her heart, against the steward, and gradually overcome by a sense of his worth and manliness, and natural nobility, and by love, that contemner of all rule, and the voyage all show the pen of a master. The book ends, very properly, in the perfect happiness of all parties. Men never fail, when they act upon such principles as Arthur Clenning. No, men seldom fail in any laudable and rational undertaking, unless by their own fault-minor faults, perhaps, which none but themselves know : hence we so often see experiments repeated, which to the world seem to have been sufficiently tested.

Wherever the pen of the author of Arthur Clenning' is exercised, it is for the sake of literature, a national literature. I do not know Mr. Flint; I never saw him; but he strikes me as one of the most powerful writers of our country. I am under the influence of no prejudice, if I am wrong in my opinion. I only wish to let the world know what effect such works have upon me; a better specimen of popular feeling, than though I were a professed writer myself. All the praise in the world from our literati, would not insure success to a writer, if his work did not take with the people at large. Flint's works are read by the people; and Arthur Clenning lays with Robinson Crusoe, on the scanty shelf of the log house.

How fortuitous is even literary reputation! How many men have died without hearing a note from that trumpet which has since sounded their names all over the reading world! Happy is the man who gets into the habit of being read! Irving is still read; it is the fashion to admire him, and a very good fashion; but Dana's Idle Man is little known. How many read the latter, and feel with him; but

they dare not talk of him, and recommend him, for they risk something- and he has not yet become the fashion.

John Q. Adams wrote a clever poem, but it did not take, because he had been president. The world thought that the president's poem must be better than any poem ever written, to be good for any thing at all. Men of opposite politics condemned it, because they disliked the political Mr. Adams, and some, because they disliked his father; and so the world goes. Channing is not extensively read, because he is a Unitarian. Byron was read, because he separated from his wife, and wore his shirt collar open, and had curly hair, and drank gin, and lived with a beautiful countess, and was unhappy. Coleridge was not read much, though a very great poet, until we got to love him through Charles Lamb. If Sam Patch had written a book, it would have sold well. If Gen. Jackson were to write a very sensible book, it would ruin him as a chieftain. How would Rob Roy strike us, represented sitting in an arm-chair, reading a book? Canning, who might have been the first satirist in England, had the sense to know that he could not wear the laurel and the oak at the same time. Bulwer has lost in respect, since he got into parliament; and it would seem that a lawyer never could have written' Ion.' Who likes to contemplate Scott as clerk? The most practical and busy men are undoubtedly the most useful writers; but we have not yet got so far as to be able to view a fine writer as one not inspired by a divine gift—a kind of medicine-man, or sorcerer. But I forget that I am in the land of the Quakers.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE land of William Penn is the only soil not purchased by the blood of the natives. A feeling of peace came over me, as I thought of this, and called to mind the scene where he is represented as treating with the Indians. The design is magnificent.

What a

How firm must have been the principles of that man! religion that must be, which fortifies a man to go without armor or shield into the midst of a savage tribe, relying upon the efficacy of his own purity of purpose, and the dignity of his sentiments, to protect him! How much is such heroism beyond the daring of the warrior! The one is moral, the other is physical courage. Is there in all history a character that approaches nearer to the character of Christ than his? His weapons were meekness and love; he went about doing good; he endured adversity with patience, and would have suffered martyrdom for his faith. His fame is the purest fame; there is not a blot upon his character. His principles the principles of peace, which are getting to be the principles of the whole civilized world. Thus much he was in the advance of his age. As I touched the soil of Penn, I determined to seek out a home in some community of Friends.

The Quakers have been the salvation of this state. Philadelphia owes almost every thing to them. The order of its streets is a Quaker emblem; its fine market is supplied by them, and consumed by them; for though not hard drinkers, they are large eaters.

This sect has flourished, and continues to exist, in spite of party disputes. It must be expected that they will undergo change, like the rest of the world. They are in some measure losing the cantism of their language, and the apparent cantism of their dress; but they lose nothing in their principles. Peace and good will, brotherly love, charity, quietness of life, thoughts by themselves; seasons when God enters and pervades the soul with love - for God is love.'

The attention this people pay to the education of their children, is a noble feature in their system. The kind of discipline they put them under, sends them into the world sound thinking men. They attend but little to the ornamental parts of education; they devote their time chiefly to the mathematics and the natural sciences; and nearly the same is pursued by both boys and girls. They are the best surveyors and astronomers in the land.

The women of Pennsylvania act conspicuous parts in the drama. of life. Quaker women and Dutch women, they labor; they relieve their husbands from much troublesome small matter; such as taking entire care of the house and children; cultivating the sauce-garden; tending the shop, while the man is making the articles to be sold ; going to market, if necessary, and scolding the assistants; for servants are unknown among the Quakers, and the Dutch help themselves.

In the valley of the Susquehannah and Schuylkill, the richest land in the state, the Friends have created almost a paradise. The whole face of the country is a succession of farm after farm, cultivated with the neatest care. Your eye is cheered, as you pass through this delightful region, with villages full of plenty, and all the externals of happiness. You are now stopping, lured by the coolness of the shade and the rurality of the scene, beneath a group of locusts and elms. A low, plain building stands modestly a little farther on, as if it had set itself down there, to escape the noise, and dust, and observation, of the traveller. It is the Friend's place of worshipping God. If you enter it, you will find a neat array of pine seats, washed as white as a plained board; the floor sanded, the windows clear and transparent. You are charmed with the elegance of the strictest simplicity.

'Wouldst thou know,' says the thoughtful 'Elia,' 'what true peace and quiet mean; wouldst thou find a refuge from the noises and clamors of the multitude; wouldst thou enjoy at once solitude and society; wouldst thou possess the depth of thy own spirit in stillness, without being shut out from the consolatory faces of thy species; wouldst thou be alone, and yet accompanied; solitary, yet not desolate; singular, yet not without some to keep thee in countenance; an unit in aggregate; a simple in composite; come with me into a Quaker's Meeting. Nothing-plotting, nought-caballing, unmischievous synod! convocation without intrigue! parliament without debate! what a lesson dost thou read to council and to consistory! My spirit hath gravely felt the wisdom of your custom, when sitting among you in deepest peace, which some out-welling tears would rather confirm than disturb, I have reverted to the times of your beginnings, and the sowings of the seed by Fox and Dewsbury. I have witnessed that, which brought before my eyes your

heroic tranquillity, inflexible to the rude jests and serious violences of the insolent soldiery, republican or royalist, sent to molest you; for ye sat betwixt the fires of two persecutions, the outcast and offscouring of church and presbytery. I have seen the reeling sea-ruffian, who had wandered into your receptacle, with the avowed intention of disturbing your quiet, from the very spirit of the place receive in a moment a new heart, and presently sit among ye as a lamb amidst lambs. I remember Penn before his accusers, and Fox in the bail-dock, when he was lifted up in spirit, as he tells us, and 'the judge and the jury became as dead men under his feet.'

Surely, no place can be so fit in which to approach God, as that where, by the absence of all art and pompous decoration, our minds can rest without effort upon Him alone. The Saviour went into a mountain to pray; but as, for social purposes, and the effect of example, we worship together, we necessarily use some house; but it were better it were never so simple. Kirke White says:

Go thou to the house of prayer,

I to the woodlands will repair.'

Perhaps there could not be a place where the mind would be more forcibly struck with the idea of an overruling Providence, than in a desert, with the stars shining brightly over head, and not a sound or object meeting the senses. A man kneeling upon the sand, with head uncovered, and hands raised to heaven, in suppliance, is to my mind a scene perfectly devout. Man, in such a case, offers the nearest appearance of what he is, in comparison with God. On the one hand, there is a being sitting upon his throne among the stars, governing all things by the arm of his will; on the other, a speck of creation, without power, save what he derives from the goodness of his Maker; the one is all majesty, and glory, and might; the other all weakness and want. Surrounded by luxury, rolling in wealth, and the purchased ensigns of command, man thinks himself a God. What a fool!

Wherever the Quakers are numerous, or sufficiently so to form a distinct class in society, they make every thing plain about them. Their neighbors fall into their ways, attend their meetings, first from curiosity, then from choice, and gradually become converts to their belief and habits, because they find so much happiness creeping over them unawares, from their intercourse with this simple people. I doubt very much if they ever attempt the act of proselytism, any farther than by the effect of their example. I doubt very much, if any American can say, that he ever heard a Quaker commence a religious discussion, or which is the same thing, a barbarous reviling of all who differ from him in opinion. Meet them where you will, in steam-boats, in stages, in hotels, in the streets, on their farms, or in their counting-houses, you will ever find them the same upright, independent, hospitable, charitable, unassuming people. No; their converts are made by labors of love; their whole lives are spent in love to all mankind.

I was a stranger, and they took me in; sick and desponding, and they consoled me. Despair gave place to hope, and peace once more reigned in my heart. Thanks, ten thousand thanks, to thee, inestimable friend! Would to God I could but see your face once more!

It was in a small settlement of this quiet sect, that I fixed my residence. Chance determined my choice. I was travelling on foot, and one evening about sunset, after journeying all day through a rather uninviting district of Dutch settlers, none of whom knew enough English to direct me on my road, I came to a pleasant little village, on the banks of the river Stopping upon the eminence that overlooked the scene, I was enjoying the prospect before me, and indulging in such thoughts as occur to a jaded and unhappy mind, when it contemplates the externals of that peace it vainly seeks in excitement and change; and I suppose I said or sung aloud:

'How calm could I rest in thy bosom of shade !'

when a voice, close by me, said:

Thee is weary, friend; hast travelled far? I will show thee a place to refresh both body and mind, if thee has 'a taste for flowers and shade, as would seem by thy rhyme.'

When I looked at the face of the speaker, I did not much wonder at the familiarity of his introduction, for he seemed to have 'Friend to the whole human race' stamped upon his features. He was a tall, well-made man, of about fifty; dressed with extreme neatness and care. Although strictly Quaker in his garb, the cloth of his coat was of the finest texture, and his hat had that peculiar air of wealth, being of the finest beaver, and a little turned up behind, from his collar, as if he was accustomed to look up rather than down. He wore a cane, and had a basket upon his arm, filled with wild flowers, taken with the root.

After I had thanked him for his offer, and accepted his invitation, as we walked to the village, he continued his remarks:

'We have no inn in the village, as this is not a teaméd road; but thee could have found a welcome, if thee wished it, with any one. We are glad not to be troubled with the noise of a tavern in our place, for they beget sottishness and idleness. A man can always go to an inn with a 'fip' in his pocket, and find a welcome, when he could find one no where else. People will always be industrious, when they cannot find a place to be idle in, and company to be idle with. Idleness is the root of all evil; and so I have taken to gardening, to employ the time my boys and girls spare me. These flowers will soon plume themselves along side the buds and blossoms in my garden. I love my garden. Does thee like plants?'

A little posed with my new acquaintance, (for I had never encountered a Quaker before,) I thought it prudent to take all as a matter of course, and so I talked on with my friend of an hour's standing, as if I had been his son and companion for years. And it did not require much effort to do this; for my heart warmed with reciprocal kindness toward the good man, who had given so pleasant a train to my thoughts, and so kind a welcome to my weariness.

My companion seemed the factotum of the place. Every one we met had something to ask of him, and he appeared the general dispenser of all kinds of advice. In short, I found myself in the company of the most celebrated preacher of the day, in the denomination to which he belonged.

The house, at which we soon arrived, was delightfully situated on