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estrictions enough, to be sure; but they are getting heartily sick of them, and in England, particularly, would willingly get rid of them if they could. We have been assured, by the declaration of a minister of the crown, from his place in parliament," that there is a growing conviction, among all men of sense and reflection in that country, that the true policy of all nations is to be found in unrestricted industry." Sir, in England they are now retracing their steps, and endeavouring to relieve themselves of the system as fast as they can. Within a few years past, upwards of three hundred statutes, imposing restrictions in that country, have been repealed; and a case has recently occurred there, which seems to leave no doubt that, if Great Britain has grown great, it is, as Mr. Huskisson has declared, "not in consequence of, but in spite of their restrictions." The silk manufacture, protected by enormous bounties, was found to be in such a declining condition, that the government was obliged to do something to save it from total ruin. And what did they do? They considerably reduced the duty on foreign silks, both on the raw material and the manufactured article. The consequence was the immediate revival of the silk manufacture, which has since been nearly doubled.

Sir, the experience of France is equally decisive. Bonaparte's effort to introduce cotton and sugar has cost that country millions; and, but the other day, a foolish attempt to protect the iron mines spread devastation through half of France, and nearly ruined the wine trade, on which onefifth of her citizens depend for subsistence. As to Spain, unhappy Spain, "fenced round with restrictions," her experience, one would suppose, would convince us, if any thing could, that the protecting system in politics, like bigotry in religion, was utterly at war with sound principles and a liberal and enlightened policy. Sir, I say, in the words of the philosophical statesman of England, "leave a generous nation free to seek their own road to perfection." Thank God, the night is passing away, and we have lived to see the dawn of a glorious day. The cause of free trade must and will prosper, and finally triumph. The political economist is abroad; light has come into the world; and, in this instance at least, men will not "prefer darkness rather than light." Sir, let it not be said, in after times,

that the statesmen of America were behind the age in which they lived that they initiated this young and vigorous country into the enervating and corrupting practices of European nations-and that, at the moment when the whole world were looking to us for an example, we arrayed ourselves in the cast-off follies aud exploded errors of the old world, and, by the introduction of a vile system of artificial stimulants and political gambling, impaired the healthful vigour of the body politic, and brought on a decrepitude and premature dissolution. HAYNE.

116. THE MOUNTAIN CHURCH.

As one without a friend, one summer eve
I walk'd among the solemn woods alone.
The boughs hung lovely, and the gentle winds,
Whisper'd a song monotonous and low,

That soothed my mind even while it made me sad.
The path I follow'd, by a turn abrupt,

Brought me to stand beside that humble roof,
Where the few scatter'd families that dwell
Among these mountains and deep forest shades
Meet weekly, to uplift the soul in prayer.
A few rude logs up-piled were all the walls,-
Four windows and a door, not e'en adorn'd
With rudest art, were there; and in the midst
A pulpit,-cushion'd not, nor overhung
With crimson folds of fringed drapery,
Nor graced with gilded volumes richly bound.
Amid the mountain pines the low roof stood,
And mountain hands had reared it; but it wore
An air of reverence.

Few paces onward,

O'ershadow'd more by the green underwood,

Some slight raised mounds show'd where the dead were laid.

No gravestone told who slept beneath the turf.

(Perchance the heart that deeply mourns needs not
Such poor remembrancer.) The forest flowers
Themselves had fondly cluster'd there,—and white
Azarias with sweet breath stood round about

Like fair young maidens mourning o'er their dead.
In some sweet solitude like this I would
That I might sleep my last long dreamless sleep!
O quiet resting place! Divine repose!
Let not my voice, I whisper'd, O let not
My heedless step profane thy sanctity!
Still shall sweet summer smiling, linger here,
And wasteful winter lightly o'er thee pass;
Bright dews of morning jewel thee! and all
The silent stars watch over thee at night;
The mountains clasp thee lovingly within
Their giant arms, and ever round thee bow
The everlasting forest; for thou art
In thy simplicity a holy spot,

And not unmeet for heavenly worshipper.

SOUTHERN ROSE.

117. THE MOTHER AND HER INFANTS.

A MOTHER was kneeling in the deep hush of evening, at the couch of two infants, whose rosy arms were twined in a mutual embrace. A slumber, soft as the moonlight that fell through the lattice over them like a silvery veil, lay on their delicate lips-the soft bright curls that clustered on their pillow, were slightly stirred by their gentle and healthful breathings; and that smile, which beams from the pure depths of the fresh, glad spirit, yet rested on their coral lips. The mother looked upon their exceeding beauty with a momentary pride-and then, as she continued to gaze upon the lovely slumberers, her dark eye deepened with an intense and unutterable fondness; when a cold, shuddering fear came over her, lest those buds of life, so fair, might be touched with sudden decay and go back, in their brightness, to the dust. She lifted her voice in prayer solemnly, passionately, earnestly, that the giver of life would still spare to her those blossoms of love, over whom her soul thus yearned. As the low breathed accents rose on the still air, a deepened thought came over her; her pure spirit went out with her loved and pure ones into the strange, wild paths of life; a strong horror chilled her frame as she beheld mildew and blight settling on the fair

and lovely of the earth, and high and rich hearts scathed with desolating and guilty passion. The prayer she was breathing grew yet more fervent, even to agony, that He, who is the fountain of all purity, would preserve those whom he had given her in their innocence, permitting neither shame, nor crime, nor folly to cast a stain on the brightness with which she had received them invested, from His hands, as with a mantle.

As the prayer died away in the weakness of the spent spirit, a pale shadowy form stood behind the infant sleepers. "I am death," said the spectre," and I come for these thy babes-I am commissioned to bear them where the perils you deprecate are unknown; where neither stain, nor dust, nor shadow can reach the rejoicing spirit. It is only by yielding them to me, you can preserve them from contamination and decay." A wild conflict-a struggle as of the soul parting in strong agony, shook the mother's frame; but faith, and the love which hath a purer fount than that of earth-ward passions, triumphed; and she yielded up her babes to the spectre. ANONYMOUS.

118.-SCENE IN THE BURNING OF ROME BY NERO.

STILL we spurred on, but our jaded horses at length sank under us; and leaving them to find their way into the fields, we struggled forward on foot. The air had hitherto been calm, but now, gusts began to rise, thunder growled, and the signs of tempest thickened on. We gained an untouched quarter of the city, and had explored our weary passage up to the gates of a large patrician palace, when we were startled by a broad sheet of flame rushing through the sky. The storm was come in its rage. The range of public magazines of wood, cordage, tar, and oil, in the valley between the Cœlian and Palatine hills, had at length been involved in the conflagration. All that we had seen before was darkness to the fierce splendour of this burning. The tempest tore off the roofs, and swept them like floating islands of fire through the sky. The most distant quarters on which they fell were instantly wrapped in flame. One broad mass, whirling from an immense height, broke upon the palace before us. A cry of terror was

heard within; the gates were flung open, and a crowd of domestics and persons of both sexes, attired for a banquet, poured out into the streets. The palace was wrapped in flames. My guide then for the first time lost his self-possession. He staggered toward me with the appearance of a man who had received a spear-head in his bosom. 1 caught him before he fell; but his head sank, his knees bent under him, and his white lips quivered with unintelligible sounds. I could distinguish only the words—"gone, gone for ever!"

But

The flame had already seized upon the principal floors of the palace; and the volumes of smoke that poured through every window and entrance, rendered the attempt to save those still within, a work of extreme hazard. ladders were rapidly placed, ropes were flung, and the activity of the attendants and retainers was boldly exerted, till all were presumed to have been saved, and the building was left to burn.

My overwhelmed guide was lying on the ground, when a sudden scream was heard, and a figure, in the robes and with the rosy crown of the banquet-strange contrast to her fearful situation--was seen flying from window to window in the upper part of the mansion. It was supposed that she had fainted in the first terror, and been forgotten. The height, the fierceness of the flame which now completely mastered resistance, the volumes of smoke that suffocated every man who approached, made the chance of saving this unfortunate being utterly desperate in the opinion of the multitude.

My spirits shuddered at the horrors of this desertion. I looked round at my companion: he was kneeling, in helpless agony, with his hands lifted up to heaven. Another scream, wilder than ever, pierced my senses. I seized an axe from one of the domestics, caught a ladder from another, and in a paroxysm of hope, fear, and pity, scaled the burning wall. A shout from below followed me. I entered the first window that I could reach. All before me was cloud. I rushed on, struggled, stumbled over furni ture and fragments of all kinds, fell, rose again, found my self trampling upon precious things, plate and crystal, and still, axe in hand, forced my way. I at length reached the banqueting-room. The figure had vanished. A strange

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