ing rival fleets, but in the peaceful pursuits of commerce, and in diffusing its products throughout every part of the globe; and we behold armies around us, less engaged in the shedding of blood, the digging of trenches, and the mining of fortifications, than in blasting down rocks for the passage of railway cars, or in excavating the channels of canals. The people of our own day appear to be devoted less to the abstract and the speculative than to the practical and useful; and our own country is among the foremost of the nations who are employed in this career of beneficent industry. The Merchants' Exchange, indeed, is the point of departure, from which emanate many of the leading public enterprises of the day.

We commend the subject of the improvement of the Merchant in his profession, to the attentive and liberal consideration of themselves and of all who are

waiting for the advancement of mankind. If, by the constant perusal of such bodies of commercial knowledge as we have adverted to, together with the concurrent study of the elements of political economy, our chief men of mercantile pursuits would give to their minds something of the scope and comprehension of the statesman;-if, in addition, they would cultivate a taste for the amenities of life, and for "the beautiful" in literature and art, and would, as a body, take that uniform, earnest part which some among them have done, in promoting the great moral and social interests of humanity;what might we not hope for from a department of human employment whose operations extend to all parts of the world, and whose resources of wealth are sufficient for whatever demands may be made by cultivated tastes or the broadest philanthropy.

FAR and fading lay a city
In the arms of silence old-
Rising upward, while the moonlight
Wrapped around its waning fold:
Spire and dome and tower all mingled,
Pierced the hollow of the sky;
And one blazing star was singled
To illume the mystery.

At a palace-oriel, growing

Crimson with the rise of day,* Still I mused, as night was trailing Her gray shadows far away. Wearily my dim eyes wandered

To the far flush of the skies, And my heart run over in them, At its tender memories.

Oft it is that the unreal
A reality assumes,
Till the light of the ideal

All the heaven of truth illumes. From the mind's high palace gazing, We can make the distant nearMake the world within more truthful Than the outward can appear.

Nature's infant anthem, calling
Into music all the trees,

Throbbed like yearnings of a wind-harp,
Swept by fingers of the breeze :-
Gray and distant rolled an ocean,
Wrestling with the maddened winds,
Till one universe of motion

Wide creation's forehead binds.

In the chancel aisle of morning,
Light and gloom together lay;
Till at last the Orient kindled
On the hearth-stone of the day.
Suddenly, through all the city,

Rose a throng of Phantoms slow ;Murmuring moved they, like that ocean In its deep and slumberous flow.

Wailings high they strove to waken,
Solemn canticles to sing,
And in every mighty tower,

Toiling bells began to swing;

But their chaunts so hoar and ancient,
Frostily they seemed to rise-
Till they vanished in the dawning,
Like the dew's first sacrifice.

Winding through the silent city,
Still the shadowy train moves round,
Gliding slowly like a shadow

O'er the dark and beaten ground;
But no mourner leaves a foot-print-
No way-farer stops to say,
'Tis the Elders of the City,

In their march of death-Give way!

Not a violet opes its eyelid

To the thick and stagnant air-
No bird-minstrel, early wakened,
Offers up its soul in prayer.
Drearily a Raven standeth
On a solitary tower;
Like an evil spirit, waiting

To proclaim the judgment hour.

Still that train in dead convention,
Multiplies like,nations all
Gathered as the waves of ocean,
When the solemn night-winds call.
From the grave of ages buried,
Sculptured memories arise,
And again renew in Phantoms
Life's forgotten pageantries.

Christ of Calvary-adorers

Seer and saint are mingled there,
Till it seems the very chambers
Of Eternity are bare-
Sages who in the Earth's morning

Sat with thought as with a friend,
And the great of later ages

Made the past and present blend. All the host of blood-stained heroes, War's red revelers, who furled The torn flag of conquest never

O'er a battle-withered world. Men whose hearts beat high for slaugh

ter,

When the purple field with gore Ebbed and flowed, as the fierce pulses Of the ocean beat the shore.

Those who from their toils long resting

Who the cross to battle boreCame with their barbaric splendor, Back to being as of yoreCame all back in solemn silence To this city of my thoughtWhich rose more complete in structure Than man's art hath ever wrought.

One bright being, like an angel,
Moved among the spirit throng-
Beautiful, as the last echoes
Of a Poet's sweetest song.
She had been in years of sadness,
A lone tenant, dwelling there,
Till her presence made a madness
Of love's wilderness of air.

They go onward-never resting-
Phantoms to life's final goal-
Pale and pensive pilgrims gathering
In the pathway of the soul.
Some were clad with virtue's lightning,
Some all robed in radiant thought;
Some star-crowned, went onward bright-
ening

All the realms my fancy wrought.

High o'er all there loomed a shadow,
Towering vast in lofty gloom;
Like a pall of folded darkness,

Thrown above the gulf of doom:
And where'er it moved, the horror

Deepened till it grew sublime; For within this shroud lay curtained The calm corse of withered Time.

Passed they from this city's portal,

From its far and searching sight; Fading as the morning's spirit

Took to Heaven its golden flight. As they came they went, in shadow: Viewless as the zephyrs dieEach, with unseen hands, climbs upward The lost ladder of the sky.

Thus will pass from off our vision,

All that is of being bornFading, like this thought-built city, In the early mists of morn. This majestic world of nature

All beneath God's open skyWill drift downward to the shoreless Sea of Vast Eternity.

IT was broad morning when Cymon parted from his friends at the door of Diotima's house. He went hastily through byways to the workshop of the young statuary, whose marriage with a shrew had given Lysis an illustration of Pythagoras' doctrine of love. He found him at his work, and after the usual salutations sat down, and was silent. At length the other, laying down his hammer and chisel, took a mantle from a shelf, and throwing it over his naked shoulders seated himself opposite. "My friend," said he, breaking silence, "has something to tell me: what is this melancholy matter?”

"You easily guess my thoughts," replied the youth; "perhaps know them by divination."

No," replied the statuary, "but here are certain signs: You enter my shop before sunrise; an early hour: you sit down without a word, and suffer your eyes to wander over the floor, as if to know how many chips of marble I have made since you were here, and the floor clean swept and your wife in a cleanly fury;'- Yes, and you fold your mantle close about you, though the air is hot; and presently, fixing your gaze on my face, you lean backward against the model of a boy Bacchus which I shaped but yesterday, and the soft clay is crushed out of shape."

"I am a fool," exclaimed the youth, starting up, and looking distressedly at the model, and then at his friend. "But you shall not be the loser by my folly. I have a pleasant piece of news for you. Be inquisitive for once, my wise man!" "Well, then, for once, I will askWhat is it?"

"This then it is, that in this city there is a certain Lesbian woman, who is wiser than yourself; for why? she is older, and has a gift of divination. She will penetrate your thoughts; flesh and blood are no hindrance to her."

"Some Egyptian pretender," said the other.

“She has been in Egypt," answered

Pray," said the statuary, rising, and walking uneasily to and fro, "can you tell me where this wonder lives? I desire to see her, and if possible to converse with her."

Nothing easier," said the young man, with a smile of satisfaction; "she allows me her presence when I desire it, and converses freely with all. I am come but now from her banquet-room, where she entertained Lysis, the ex-archon, Meton, the parasite, and myself, with a wonderful discourse of her adventures and opinions. The third night from this, we are to meet again, when she means to continue the story of her adventures. You shall go with me and hear it out."

With these words the young man turned to depart, but first embraced his friend; and, if I dream aright, the other returned his embrace with such tenderness as a father might use toward his son.

The third night after found them in the banquet-room of Diotima; but the parasite was not there, Lysis having brought another friend with him, a certain wise man of Ionian birth and education.

And now let me describe in brief the persons of those who were present at this banquet, that whoever wishes may make a picture of them in the glass of his memory-I mean, in his fancy.

First, then, let us observe the venerable Diotima, the image of courtesy and piety grown antiquated-her fair skin marked with as many delicate lines as she had lived years; her white locks escaping over her neck under a chaplet of blue flowers. She sat upright, and elevated, at the head of the table, looking down the hall.

On each side was a couch covered

with yellow cushions, and resting on bronze legs, carved to resemble griffons. Three persons might recline on each, sitting upon the feet in the Asiatic fashion; or so reclining as to rest on the left elbow, while the right hand brought food, or a cup, from the table to the lips.

On the right of Diotima reclined Cymon with his friend, whom custom allowed him to introduce. Cymon's head might lean upon the bosom of his friend, for he reclined midway on the couch, the place of honor.

The other couch was taken by the sophist and the ex-archon, who lay not very near each other, and were mutually respectful and distant. This sophist (as the learned of that day were wont to be called, though the appellation soon became a word of reproach) seemed a man of middle age, of a lean but healthy look, with an olive complexion, black quick eyes and black hair, flowing in long ringlets in effeminate trim. He wore a close shirt of purple stuff, embroidered with gold; and over this a short blue cloak, gathered in the throat with a diamond broach. His fingers were loaded with heavy rings of various fashions, and on his feet were very elegant slippers of Egyptian make. His person reclined in a graceful manner on his left arm, extending the hand that had most diamonds on it with an air of observation, as of one who knew the world, and set down the admiration of fools at its true value. He reclined upon the middle of the couch, the place of honor assigned him by Lysis, who placed himself above the stranger, nearer to Diotima.

And now, in the due order, I must speak of Lysis, the ex-archon, a man of sense, but bitter in opinion. His figure bore marks of service in the city and the camp, and seemed repulsively hard and bony. His brows and eyes partook of the hue of his complexion, which was dusk and sallow. He wore the large robe of the citizens, with a close black skull-cap on his shaven crown, as the fashion was with most at that day.

I need not dwell upon the person of young Cymon, for it is only ugliness which can be described; and noticing only that his figure, but for too great slenderness, might have served for a Ganymede, I turn the eyes of fancy upon that of his companion; who, though not the very king of ugly fellows, might be set down for no beauty.

Image to yourself a robust figure, with an equal breadth of hips and shoulders, large hands and feet, a broad brown face, prominent rolling eyeballs, a large loose, satyrical mouth, and a taurine bead, bald upon the summit, with outstanding hair about the ears, and you have fancied Socrates the statuary, a man already famous in Athens for the wit and wisdom of his conversation, though not yet passed his thirtieth year.

Such were the guests of Diotima assembled to hear the second part of the story of her life.

You are very welcome, Socrates,” said she, addressing herself to the statuary, "and I am greatly indebted to my friend Cymon for the favor of your presence. I have heard much of your wisdom-or rather of your love of wisdom; for it is said you renounce all pretensions to knowledge, and only profess a vehement desire to attain it."

"And by that very desire, excellent Diotima, am I brought hither, under the shadow of Cymon, to catch a little of that which is said to flow so copiously from your own lips."

Cymon has misrepresented me," answered Diotima, "my profession is not wisdom, but the desire of glory; I profess only this, to detect in others the same passion that is in myself, the passion of true honor ;---but as for the really attaining true honor, that is the affair of a power superior to myself, who may give it or withhold it, as he pleases."

She would then have addressed herself to Lysis, but seeing an uneasy motion in the lips of the lonian, she indicated by a courteous smile, that she waited to hear what he would say.

66

"I perceive," said he, addressing no person in particular, that I have fallen into a very desirable company; and I augur well from it of what I am to look for in Athens. Not to mention my honorable friend the ex-archon, (waving his right hand,) or the beauty and modesty of the young man, (glancing a kind look upon Cymon,) or the skill of conversation which I must acknowledge in my rustic friend opposite, (bowing to Socrates, who bowed deeply in return,) am I not the most fortunate of men to meet with the far-famed Diotima, the most acute and sophistical of women? and that too in her very house, and at the fortunate moment when she means to give us a history of her life and adven

tures ?"

The Ionian spoke in a soft voice, with an accent egregiously polished, and a manner the most collected possible; moving his glittering right hand as he spoke with delicate gestures, just indicating surprise and pleasure; looking now upon one, and now upon the other; so that all were embarrassed and silenced by his confidence and condescension. While he sipped his wine at the conclusion, as wits do when conscious of a good thing, Socrates, beginning in a broken voice, as if humiliated, addressed him: “Your speech affects me in so wonderful a manner, excellent stranger, what with its entireness and elegance, I could listen long, though it contained nothing of importance, (which is, I think, the highest praise of an admirable speech);-much more, then, must I listen with a kind of passion and delight when I imagine that a treat of human nature and of wisdom is to be expected, delivered in this style."

You forget, sir," said the other, "that the occasion is not mine, but Diotima's." "No," he answered, "I did not forget that; I rather thought the more of it from your happy allusion, and the bliss you seemed suddenly to feel on the assemblage of so many agreeable circumstances at your first taste of Athens. I could not but think on our good fortune in being the poor instruments of so great happiness to a stranger on his sudden appearance; and it persuaded me the more that the gods overlook all things to our good."

"The mode of speech you use," said the other, with the same gracious voice, "is not unknown to me, though as yet rhetoricians have no sufficient name for it."

Socrates and Lysis seemed struck with astonishment at this answer, and would have forgotten the purpose of their meeting, had not Cymon reminded Diotima of her promise. She then began, as follows: Manes, who had shown more favor to the Greeks than was agreeable to the court, began to make himself odious and suspected, by trying to introduce certain Greek hymns, which I translated for him, to be sung at a religious festival, and still more, by his intimacy with Pythagoras, of whom the college at Heliopolis conceived a violent jealousy, because of his theological differences; for he pretended to originate certain new ideas of the deities and their natures, and spoke irreverently of the books of Hermes, as though they might be less respected at some future day than they were then. The Heliopolitans remembered Moyses,

and his disrespect for the books of Hermes; nay, this Moyses had the audacity to write other books, which he claimed had as much divinity in them, if not more, than any of the old time. For, whereas Thoth, the god of human wis dom, was the dictator of the Hermetic volumes, this Syrian ascribed his to the super-essential gods, whom he named Elohim.

"Well might the worthy conservatives of Heliopolis be jealous with such a fear before them. Nothing so shakes and enfeebles the old system of things as a new opinion touching deity. Of this be assured, my friends, (and I say it not of myself, but from the ancient wisdom,) the people are what the priests make them, and the priests are what the national belief makes them. Let the instruction be pure, the priests and the people will be pure; but when the gods are not known, and the mysteries neglected, then comes idol worship and gross pride. It was taught by them of old time that there are but three supreme gods, and these are, Justice paternal, Love the inspirer and Truth the obeyer; whom Moyses named Elohim, the Beings-and this not of himself, but out of the ancient wisdom given to the first fathers of men. But this knowledge was now suffered to lie out of sight, and the people stuffed with gross inventions of sacrifices, enthusiasms, the worship of Isis, and a thousand new-fangled sacred names, expressing not gods, but mere passions, desires and things-a rich contrivance of priestly avarice to rob the poor of their faith and their money."

"Allow me," said the Ionian, "to express my perfect agreement with you in regard to these priestly inventions which we name gods. To me they are dreams only, fabrications of human wit. As for your trine of supreme gods, I am willing to admit them, if it seems necessary as standing at the height of the popular contemplation. The state must have gods to swear by, else we could not sufficiently terrify our witnesses; and for tragedies and pastoral days, to say nothing of hymns and fables, your gods, like Esop's beasts, are very serviceable."

Pray, sir," said Lysis, "do you know the dangerous effect of such opinions in the minds of young persons? Could I persuade our friend Cymon here, that there are no gods, would it not be doing him an injury?"

"I have too great an opinion of his