absolute contact. We are aware, that the idea of a chain of beings has been ridiculed as a philosophical reverie; but the more this question is examined, with the light afforded by modern observation, the firmer will this opinion be established. Already we hear the terms natural series,' 6 annectant groups,' 'regular series,' and other expressions, which mark the first glimmerings of light on this hitherto obscure subject. And when we reflect, that these affinities have been, for the most part, drawn from external and obvious characters; that we have yet much to learn from internal anatomy; that new species are continually discovered, which connect hitherto separate genera; that every day brings with it the discovery of some extinct animal, whose structure varies more or less from that of any living being, we are insensibly led to admit, that the idea of a chain of beings is neither visionary nor unphilosophical.

"As naturalists, we have much reason to be satisfied with our peculiar position. Placed on a comparatively virgin soil, with new forms and objects continually presented to our view, suggesting new trains of thought, and giving rise to new associations, we are more highly favored than the naturalists of older countries. As pioneers in the Natural History of the United States, reputation and after-fame, those powerful incentives to active and honorable exertion, are more immediately within our reach, than they will be to the numerous naturalists who shall but tread in our footsteps. With such incentives before us, let us apply ourselves diligently to the work

dum loquimur, fugerit invida ætas.

"In another point of view, our situation offers some striking advantages. Removed, as we are, from the scenes of those rivalries and contentions which, unfortunately, too often intrude even upon the peaceful domains of science; where unworthy national prejudices are sometimes associated with private jealousies, we are enabled to examine controverted points with coolness and impartiality. The remoteness of our situation supplies the place of time, and we may be supposed to decide between the conflicting opinions of European naturalists with the same justice and impartiality, as if we were removed from them by intervening centuries."

ORIGINAL POETRY.

SONNET.

AYE thou art welcome-heaven's delicious breath!

When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny South!-Oh, long delay In the gay woods and in the golden air,Like to a good old age, released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away.

In such a bright late quiet, would that I

Might wear out life, like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks,

And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,

And music of kind voices ever nigh;

And, when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass,

B.

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME' LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA.

1

MARY MAGDALEN.

BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn!

Thou weepest days of innocence departed,

Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move

The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,

Even for the least of all the tears that shine

On that pale cheek of thine.

Thou didst kneel down to him who came from heaven, Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise

Holy and pure and wise.

It is not much, that to the fragrant blossom
The ragged briar should change, the bitter fir
Distil Arabian myrrh;

Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom,

The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain Bear home the abundant grain.

But come and see the bleak and barren mountains
Thick to their tops with roses; come and see
Leaves on the dry dead tree:

The perished plant, set out by living fountains,
Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise,
For ever, towards the skies.

B.

THE JUBILEE.

'T WAS glorious, when the clarion swell
Announced the purple dawn of war,
To see, where late such darkness fell,
The bright ascent of Freedom's star.
Even when some cloud of dubious fight
Veiled for a time its purer blaze,
Still might you see its struggling light,
Half bursting through the reddening haze.

More happy we, who seated now

Within the bowers by Freedom made,
Where, with the laurel's deeper glow,
Entwines the olive's grateful shade,
Behold that star, o'er which were driven
Such early shades of doubt and fear,
High burning in its Western heaven,
Pour its eternal brightness here.
Here mingling see a various group;
Grey veterans lift their kindling eyes,
And sanguine youth, a shouting troop,
Hail the pure light of Freedom's skies.

What peals are heard-what music swells!
The banners wave, the merry bells
Chime, while the cannons roar.

Is there a bosom sighs to day?
Oh is there one feels not the sway
Of this inspiring hour?

Yes, He who, full of strength sublime,
'Bodied the spirit of the time

In that proud act, which erst unfurled
Our flag of freedom to the world;
And He, the Sage, who firmly stood,
Stemming the force of Faction's flood;
To guard each right our blood had won,
Till, with the patriot and the good,
Adams and Liberty were One.

Yes, this fair morn to them is dark;
The day of Jubilee has shed
Its joyous radiance but to mark
More solemnly their dying bed.
They die amid the loud acclaim,
That tells the glory of their name.
When ruin, through the long wild day,
Follows the tempest's furious way,
And fitful sun-breaks only show
Its wild career of waste and woe,
And heavy clouds of darkness frown
More sternly as the sun goes down ;
Then seems the thoughtful mind to see
An emblem meet of Tyranny ;
A bad and powerful being's reign,
Long struggling with its fate in vain;
Till, while life's parting ray is shed,
Deep curses thicken round his head.
These die not thus; but like the day,
Serene and beauteous from its birth,
Which, as it calmly steals away,

Seems like the smile of God on earth :

And o'er whose evening festal skies
Bright banners of a thousand dies
Seem in its gorgeous clouds to glow;
While lays of many a happy bird,
Hymning that setting sun, are heard
From all the woods below;

And a still anthem seems to swell
Up in the pure and fragrant air,
Bidding that glorious light farewell,
So calm, beneficent, and fair.

They died-but when the tale went forth
Amid the bright array of mirth,
Then revelry was turned to woe,

The pageant seemed a funeral show;
Then music hushed her festive sound,
In groups the broken crowd stood round;
Some old men talked of former years,
Their voices broken with their tears;
The young their mingled sorrows shed,
Half envying the immortal dead.

But thou, who standest in thy years
Sublime amidst thy dead compeers,
A lonely pillar laurel-crowned

With kindred columns crumbling round;
To thee a grateful nation turns,

Each eye grows bright, each bosom burns,

Gazing on thy majestic age,

Warm thanks our flowing griefs assuage:

Death need not aim his hallowing dart,
Already canonized thou art;

And patriot pilgrims hail in thee

The living saint of Liberty.

ROWENA