exordiums of his speeches he was rarely happy. It seemed the first exercise of a mind struggling to break its slumbers, or to control the torrent of its thoughts. As he advanced, he became colected, forcible and argumentative; and his perorations were uniformly grand and impressive. They were often felt when they could not be followed.

Such was the general character of his delivery. But it would be a great mistake to suppose, because his principal favourite was ratiocination, that his delivery was cold, tame, or uninteresting. I am persuaded, that nature had given him uncommon strength of passions. The natural characteristics of his mind were fervour and force; and, left to the mere workings of his own genius, he would have been impetuous and vehement. But he seemed early to have assumed the mastery of his mind; to have checked its vivid movements by habitual discipline; and bound his passions in the adamantine chains of logic and reasoning. The dismissal of the graces of fancy and of picturesque description were with him a matter of choice, and not of necessity. He resigned them, as Hercules resigned pleasure, not because he was insensible of its charms, but because he was more enamoured of wisdom. Yet, as if to show his native powers, he has sometimes let loose the enthusiasm of his genius, and touched with a master's hand every chord of the passions, and alternately astonished, delighted, and melted his hearers. Something of the same effect has been produced, by, what may be fitly termed, the moral sublimity of his reasoning. He opened his arguments in a progressive order, erecting each successive position upon some other, whose solid mass he had already established on an immovable foundation, till at last the superstructure seemed, by its height and ponderous proportions, to bid defiance to the assaults of human ingenuity. I am aware, that these expressions may be deemed the exaggerations of fancy, but I only describe, what I have felt on my own mind; and I gather from others, that I have not been singular in my feelings.

It would be invidious to compare Mr. Dexter with other illustrious men of our country, either living or dead. In general acquirements he was unques

tionably inferior to many; and even in professional science he could scarcely be considered, as very profound, or very learned. He had a disinclination to the pages of black-lettered law, which he sometimes censured as the scholastic refinements of monkish ages; and even for the common branches of technical science, the doctrines of special pleading, and the niceties of feudal tenures, he professed to feel little of love or reverence. His delight was to expatiate in the elements of jurisprudence, and to analyze and combine the great principles of equity and reason, which distinguish the branches of maritime law. In commercial causes, therefore, he shone with peculiar advantage. His comprehensive mind was familiar with all the leading distinctions of this portion of law; and he marked out with wonderful sagacity and promptitude, the almost evanescent boundaries, which sometimes separate its principles. Indeed it may be truly said of him, that he could walk a narrow isthmus between opposing doctrines, where no man dared to follow him. The law of prize and of nations were also adapted to his faculties; and no one, who heard him upon these topics, but was compelled to confess, that if he was not always convincing, he was always ingenious; and that when he attempted to shake a settled rule, though he might be wrong upon authority and practice, he was rarely wrong upon the principles of international justice.

In short there have been men more thoroughly imbued with all the fine tinctures of classic taste; men of more playful and cultivated imaginations; of more deep and accurate research, and of more various and finished learning. But if the capacity to examine a question by the most comprehensive analysis; to subject all its relations to the test of the most subtle logic; and tó exhibit them in perfect transparency to the minds of others:-If the capacity to detect, with an unerring judgment, the weak points of an argument, and to strip off every veil from sophistry or error: If the capacity to seize, as it were by intuition, the learning and arguments of others, and instantaneously to fashion them to his own purposes:-IfI say, these constitute some of the highest prerogatives of genius, it will be difficult to find many rivals, or superiors to

Mr. Dexter. In the sifting and comparison of evidence, and in moulding its heterogeneous materials into one consistent mass, the bar and the bench have pronounced him almost inimitable.

His eloquence was altogether of an original cast. It had not the magnificent colouring of Burke, or the impetuous flow of Chatham. It moved along in majestic simplicity, like a mighty stream, quickening and fertilizing every thing in its course. He persuaded without seeming to use the arts of persuasion; and convinced without condescending to solicit conviction. No man was ever more exempt from finesse or cunning in addressing a jury. He disdained the little arts of sophistry or popular appeal. It was in his judgment something more degrading than the sight of Achilles playing with a lady's distaff. It was surrendering the integrity, as well as honour, of the bar. His conduct afforded, in these particulars, an excellent example for young counsellors, which it would be well for them to imitate, even though they should follow in his path with unequal footsteps.

His studies were not altogether of a professional nature. He devoted much time to the evidences and doctrines of christianity; and his faith in its truths was fixed after the most elaborate inquiries. That he was most catholic and liberal in bis views, is known to us all; but, except to his intimate friends, it is little known, how solicitous he was to sustain the credibility of the christian system; and how ingenuous and able were his expositions of its doctrines.

As a statesman, it is impossible to regard his enlightened policy and principles without reverence. He had no foreign partialities, or prejudices to indulge, or gratify. All his affections centered in his country; all his wishes were for its glory, independence, and prosperity. The steady friend of the constitution of the United States, he was, in the purest and most appropriate sense of the terms, a patriot and a republican. He considered the union of the States as the pole-star of our liberties; and whatever might be his opinion of any measures, he never breathed a doubt to shake public or private confidence in the excellence of the constitution itself. When others sunk into despondency at the gloomy aspect of public affairs, and seemed al

most ready to resign their belief in republican institutions, he remained their inflexible advocate. He was neither dismayed by the intemperance of parties, nor by the indiscretion of rulers. He believed in the redeeming power of a free constitution; and that, though the people might sometimes be deceived, to their intelligence and virtue we might safely trust to equalize all the eccentricities and perturbations of the political system. He had the singular fortune, at different times, to be the favourite of different parties, occupying in each the same elevation. It is not my purpose to examine, or vindicate his conduct in either of these situations. I feel indeed, that I am already treading upon ashes thinly strewed over living embers. The present is not the time for an impartial estimate of his political conduct. That duty belongs, and may be safely left, to posterity. Without pretending to anticipate their award, we may with some confidence affirm, that the fame of Mr. Dexter has little to fear from the most rigid scrutiny. While he lived, he might be claimed with pride by any party; but now that he is dead, he belongs to his country.

To conclude,-Mr. Dexter was a man of such rare endowments, that in whatever age or nation he had lived, he would have been in the first rank of professional eminence. It is unfortunate, that he has left no written record of himself. The only monument of his fame rests in the frail recollections of memory, and can reach future ages only through the indistinctness of tradition or history. His glowing thoughts, his brilliant periods, and his profound reasonings, have perished for ever. They have passed away like a dream or a shadow. He is gathered to his fathers; and his lips are closed in the silence of death.

I rejoice to have lived in the same age with him; and to have been permitted to hear his eloquence, and to be instructed by his wisdom. I mourn that my country has lost a patriot without fear or reproach. The glory, that has settled on his tomb will not be easily obscured; and if it shall grow dim in the lapse of time, I trust, that some faithful historian will preserve the character of his mind in pages, that can perish only with the language, in which it is written.

THE BOY AND THE BUTTERFLY.

Translated from the French. By Mrs. Lamont. "Twas in a garden sweet and gay,

A beauteous boy rov'd with delight;
Before him, in a rich display,
Of colours, glittering in the ray,
A butterfly attracts his sight.

From flower to flower the fickle thing
In many a sportive ringlet flies,
And seems so lovely on the wing,
No weariness the chase can bring,
Though vainly the pursuit he tries.

Now on a pink in balmy rest,

He strives to make the prize his own;
Now on a rose's fragrant breast,
He thinks its flight he shall arrest,
But, lo! again the wanton's flown.

And still the chase no toil can bring,
Though vainly the pursuit he tries;
So tempting seems the lovely thing,
Thus seen at distance on the wing,
Still glittering in his ardent eyes.

And now his hopes to tantalize,

Behold it on a myrtle near!
Next on a violet bank it lies-
He steals, and with his hat he tries
To cover the gay flutterer here.

But all in vain each art and wile

To catch the beauteous playful thing;
Yet still he disregards his toil,
Its beauties still his pains beguile,

Thus seen before him on the wing.

Alas! those pleasures all are o'er;
Those beauties I behold no more;

No more my sightless eye
O'er Pindus' flow'ry mount can stray,
The sweets of Nature can survey:-
I turn aside and sigh!

I hear the voice of pleasure sound;
I hear the dance's sportive round;
No sound of joy to me!
While festive forms around me flit,
Alone in pensive mode I sit,
Debarr'd festivity.

In vain the Park, the Ball, the Play,
For me their various charms display:-
Oh! ye to whom the light
Its thousand joys delight supplies,
Ye little know how high to prize
The blessedness of sight!

THE DEVIL'S bridge. By the same.

Ib.

WHEN Satan escap'd from the furnace below, And a bridge had been thrown

To our world from his own,*

On which his infernals might come and might go

How various and vast are the devilish crew; Which deserting in haste

Their fierce fiery waste,

Sat out with intention our globe to review. But distant was Earth from their hellish abode;

So we can't feel amaze

At some trifling delays,

That some of the devils were long on the road.
Fell Envy, and Anger, the first of the train,
Set their foot on the land
Which soon felt their command,
And blood stain'd the hand of the fratricide
Cain.

This couple of Devils long worried our Sires;
But some more of the throng

Paid a visit ere long

And every bosom inflamed with their fires! But when further victims could no where be

found,

When the Earth was o'erflowing,

And dry land was all gone,

They took to their heels, that they might not

be drown'd.

Then Luxury came to the plague of poor man,
And Disease, and Pain,
Which compos'd a long train,
Made use of their bridge, and their torment
began.
Ib.

THE INFIDEL.

By the same.

THERE is no God, the unbeliever cries;
By chance alone my spirit here was sent;
My powers in present joy I'll exercise;

And scorn the thought of after punishment.
In ev'ry heedless pleasure, every crime,
Whate'er he thinks to happiness may tend,
He spends, he dissipates his precious time,
For death he deems his everlasting end.
And is he happy? seeks he not in vain
For bliss? must not his ev'ry appetite
Indulg'd, nor aught enjoyment to obtain
Too vile be deemed, felicity excite?
Behold, beneath that laughing lip so gay,
A lurking something far-ah far-from
joy!

Oh! could'st thou but that bosom open lay, The secret feelings which that heart employ

Then soon would cease the question of surprise!

Why flies the youthful cheek the healthful

bloom?

ODE TO THE POPPY.

By Mrs. Neale.

NoT for the promise of the labour'd field, Not for the gold the yellow harvests yield, I bend at Ceres' shrine!

For dull to humid eyes appear
The golden glories of the year!
Alas! a melancholy worship's mine!

I woo the Goddess for her scarlet flower,
Thou brilliant weed,

That dost so far exceed

The richest gifts gay Flora can bestow, Heedless I pass'd thee in life's morning hour, Thou comforter of wo!

In early age, when Fancy cheats,
A varied wreath I wove

Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets,
To deck ungrateful Love.

The rose or thorn my labours crown'd,
As Venus smil'd, or Venus frown'd;
But Love and Joy, and all their train are
flown;

E'en laughing Hope no more is mine," And I can think of thee alone: Unless, perchance, the attributes of grief,

The cypress bud or willow leaf,

Their pale, funereal foliage blend with thine.

Hail! lovely blossom! thou canst ease The wretched victims of disease, Canst close those weary eyes in gentle sleep Which never open but to weep; For oh! thy potent charm

Can agonizing pain disarm, Expel imperious memory from her seat, And bid the throbbing heart forget to beat.

Soul-soothing plant, that canst such blessings give,

By Thee the mourner bears to live,
By Thee the hopeless die!
Oh! ever friendly to despair!

Might Sorrow's pallid votary dare, Without a crime, that remedy implore, Which bids the spirit from its bondage fly, I'd court thy palliative aid no more

No more I'd sue that thou should'st
spread

Thy spell around my aching head;
But would conjure thee to impart
Thy balsam to a bleeding heart,
And by thy soft Lethean power,
Inestimable flower!

Burst these terrestrial bonds, and unknown regions try!

SONG BY MOORE.

Ib.

Her trembling pennant still look'd back

To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts where'er we rove, To those we've left behind us.

When round the bowl, of vanished years

We talk with joyous seeming, And smiles that might as well be tears, So faint, so sad their beaming; While mem'ry brings us back again Each early tie that twin'd us; Oh sweet's the cup that circles then To those we've left behind us.

And when in other climes we meet

Some isle, or vale enchanting, Where all looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet, And nought but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss, If Heav'n had but assigned us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we've left behind us!

As trav'llers oft look back at eve
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing,-
So, when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray,
Of joy that's left behind us.

SONG--By the same.
WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes,
All fill'd with hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,

To dim a heav'n so purely brightI sigh to think how soon that brow

In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,
Almost forget it once was gay.

For Time will come with all its blights,
The ruin'd hope-the friend unkind—
And Love, who leaves, where'er he lights,
A chill'd or burning heart behind!
And youth, that like pure snow appears,
Ere sullied by the dark'ning rain,
When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears,
Will never shine so bright again, Ib.

SONG-By Mr. R. Wilde, of Georgia. My life is like the summer rose,

That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scatter'd on the ground to die: But on that rose's humble bed

The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept such waste to seeBut none shall weep a tear for me.

My life is like the autumn leaf,

That trembles in the moon's pale ray,