bers should assist at the funeral ceremonies of "Admiral Paul Jones," and a eulogium was pronounced over his tomb. Thus died Paul Jones, at the age of forty-five-leaving a name that shall live as long as the American navy rides the sea. In person Jones was slight, being only five feet and a half high. A stoop in the shoulders diminished still more his stature. But he was firmly knit, and capable of enduring great fatigue. He had dark eyes, and a thoughtful, pensive look when not engaged in conversation, but his countenance lighted up in moments of excitement, and in battle became terribly determined. His lips closed like a vice, while his brow contracted with the rigidity of iron. The tones of his voice were then haughty in the extreme, and his words had an emphasis in them which those who heard never forgot. That he was brave as courage itself no one will doubt. He seemed unconscious of fear, and moved amid the storm of battle and trod the deck of his shattered and wrecked vessel like one above the power of fate. I do not believe he ever entertained the thought of surrendering his vessel to any force. It was a contingency he was unprepared for, and he acted as if convinced that his own iron will and resolute courage could overcome every obstacle. Thus, in his fight with the Serapis, he was fairly beaten several times, but did not seem to know it, and no doubt had resolved to sink with his flag flying. His boldness and success, appear the more strange when one remembers what kind of vessels he commanded, of what materials his crews were composed, and the well-manned and ably-commanded vessels of his adversary. He would cruise without fear in a single sloop right before the harbors of England, and sail amid ships double the size of his

own.

But with all his fierceness in the hour of battle, he had as kind a heart as ever beat. His sympathy seemed almost like sentimentality. To see him in a hot engagement, covered with the smoke of cannon, himself working the guns, while the timbers around him were constantly ripping with the enemy's shot, or watch him on the deck of his dismasted vessel over which the hurricane swept and the sea rolled, one would have thought him destitute of emotion. But his reports of these scenes afterwards resembled the descriptions of an excited spectator

unaccustomed to scenes of carnage and terror. He was an old Roman soldier in danger, but a poet in his after accounts of it.

There

Jones had great defects of character, but most of them sprung from his want of early education. He was haughty to his under officers, and frequently overbearing to his superiors. But his chief fault was his unbounded vanity. He would admit no superior, and hence never acknowledged that he received his deserts. He was constantly pushing his claims till he wearied out his friends and sometimes disgusted his admirers. He was as bombastic as he was brave--a contradiction of character seldom exhibited. was something of the charlatan about him, which reminds one frequently of Bernadotte, and be never hesitated to puff himself, and dilate eloquently on his own achievements. Out of this same vanity grew his inordinate love of pomp and display. In this respect he aped the nobles with whom he associated. But money was frequently wanted to carry out his extravagant notions, and hence he became unscrupulous in the means he used to obtain it. He was chivalric in his admiration of women-writing poetry and making love to some one in every port where he stopped-and frequently. became involved in intrigues that lessen our respect for his character. He was a restless being, and his brain constantly teemed with schemes, all of which he deemed practicable, and hence became querulous and fault-finding when others disagreed with him. Many of his plans for the improvement of our Marine were excellent, and it only wanted funds to render them worthy of immediate attention by our government. This restlessness grew out of his amazing energy

he was constantly seeking something on which to expend himself, and this was the reason he joined the Russian service after peace was proclaimed in the United States. It was this alone that carried him from his low condition through so many trials, and over so many obstacles to the height of fame he at last reached.

He was not a mere adventurer-owing his elevation to headlong daring-he was a hard student as well as hard fighter, and had a strong intellect as well as strong arm. He wrote with astonishing fluency considering the neglect of his early education. He even wrote eloquently at times, and always with force.

versation, to borrow a figure from Locke, is caused by their supposing that the mind is like Fortunatus' purse, and will always furnish them without their ever putting anything into it.

"The strong hours conquer us," says Bulwer.

I know of nothing more saddening to the spirits than to meet, after the lapse of years, with one-now sobered by time and family cares into a grave and steady matron-whom we had parted with in the flush, and bloom and hey day of beautiful girlhood. The heart is pained to observe the change wrought in that face, once so radiant with hope and joy. We read in the subdued expression of the eye, in the still white but more marked expanse of brow, the history of many varied hours.

And then, too, as we take upon our laps the timid, smiling, bashful evidences of her nuptial joys-the beautiful reflections of her own early self-as we kiss their pretty lips, and listen to their artless prattle, we are reminded, oh, how painfully, that they also are subjects of change!

CIRCUMSTANCE.

We often hear the remark made, that men are the creatures of circumstance. It is equally true that they are the masters of circumstance, if so they will only cope with it. For one to be wholly the creature of circumstance is assurance enough that he is either worthless or imbecile. Circumstance is the material out of which we may mould our destinies it is not altogether an agency by which our course of life is formed. To admit this would be to make us the slaves of a dumb, inanimate power, and but little superior to the brutes, who obey only their instincts, and are the only true creatures of circumstance. The noblest of all warfares is of the mind with circumstance: it is a war waged everywhere, and he is the greatest hero who accomplishes the most in it.

POETS.

LOVE RHYMES.

such verses."

Our pride rests, not so much upon what we are, have been, or have accomplished, as upon what we fondly imagine we will be, or will, at some future time, accomplish.

There are a few who practice charity, but the many confine themselves to recommending it.

WOMEN.

What

Women are better than men. sacrifices are they not capable of making; how unselfish are they in their affections; how abiding is their love! They enchant us by their beauty, and charm us by their conversation. They add grace and a softer coloring to life, and assist us to bear with its asperities. In our youth they are our instructors; in sor

row, our comforters; in sickness, the sweet beguilers of our misery. Whatever is rough in us they refine. Whatever of ruggedness there is in our natures they polish or remove. They are the only divinities on earth. Alas, that so many of them are fallen divinities. But who is it that makes them so? Who is it that takes advantage of their weakness, when that weakness should be their best claim to protection? Let him answer who abuses them.

Among the various beautiful traits of their beautiful natures, that of maternal

love should be noticed with peculiar admiration. I have heard of women-haters, and am told that such a class of beings do exist. But surely they who hold the sex lightly, and who are accustomed to speak of them in terms of reproach, can never have been spectators of the watch ful tenderness, the anxious solicitude, displayed in a thousand touching incidents, of a mother for a child. They can never have witnessed her self-sacrificing devotion to her offspring, her patient and even cheerful performance of the many laborious offices of educational training, or their tongues would falter in the utterance of one word of detraction.

LIFE OF THE MIND.

The spiritual existences of poets must be more stormy than that of all other men, as they must feel and be moved by all the passions they describe.

LOVE'S LANGUAGE.

None but those who have loved can be supposed to understand the oratory of the eye, the mute eloquence of a look, or the conversational powers of the face. Love's sweetest meanings are unspoken: the full heart knows no rhetoric of words, and resorts to the pantomime of sighs and glances.

BOOK MAKING.

Where is book making to end? The

present itch for scribbling seems to point to a period when every man will have enough to do to read his own productions. Verily, the era of warfare has passed away, the era of speech has commenced, but the era of thought and few words is yet distant and to come.

ECCENTRIC MEN OF TALENT.

There is a class of observers who

never profit by their observations; whose wisdom is of the abstract kind which is never exhibited in action. Always in error, yet shrewd in detecting it; keenly alive to the ridiculous, yet always themselves ridiculous; they live but to mourn their follies, which they unerringly discover only when it is too late to remove them. For their eccentricities they are esteemed fools by some and enigmas by others; while their virtues are acknowledged, and their irregularities accounted for, only by the more discerning few.

The three events which cause us to think most seriously and to feel most profoundly, and which make the most decided impression upon the character, are unsuccessful love, thwarted ambition, and the approach of death.

Vanity will sometimes make a very indifferent man a very good friendmoving him to kindness to another from a desire of obtaining his esteem.