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La Bella Margherita.
Leigh, Benjamin Watkins, Eulogy on. By Wm.
H. Macfarland, Esq.
Lines by Aglaus.
Lines by Ossia.
Lines in Memory of the late Mrs. H. H. L****.
Lines to the Constellation Lyra. By Caroline
Poetry and Religion, No. VII.
Malta, Island of, a Historical Sketch. By William
Manager, the. Translated from the French, by Bar-
Revelation of the Spirits, a.
472 Scenes Beyond the Western Border. By a Cap-
723 Southern Rights' Associations.
Spirit of Dreams, the.
Spotswood, Lieut Governor and the Virginia Bur-
Spirits of the Past. By Fannie Fielding.
To a Portrait.
To Bulwer. By John R. Thompson.
7 Webster Case in Europe, a.
752 Winderhans, or the Gentleman in Black. A Tale
Visit to the Residence of Keble, author of "The
8. A Hunting Article. Field-Sports in Virginia-
1. Old Wine to Drink,
IV. Old Friends to Love.....
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Sonnets to Winter.
It was a remark of one of the Spanish Kings that the four greatest blessings in life were Old Wine to Drink, Old Wood to Burn, Old Books to Read, and Old Friends to Love.
RICHMOND, JANUARY, 1851.
Chanting of Paradise" and all our wo."
OLD FRIENDS TO LOVE.
Old friends to love!-true soul bound to true soul
Of the dead past, claiming the happy tear
THE NIGHT-SIDE OF NATURE.*
"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be ; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
"Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already of old time, which was before us."
The experience of the world adds daily confirmation to the truth announced by The Preacher in the passage we have quoted. Amid the apparent vicissitudes of human affairs and human knowledge, there is really nothing but the repetition of old things. As in physical nature, summer follows spring, and winter succeeds to autumn, but the succession is invariable, and the new year is but the copy of its predecessorso in the moral and social world of man, opinions, habits and tastes-sciences and arts-knowledge and power-nay, even the creative force of
*THE NIGHT-SIDE OF NATURE; Or, Ghosts and GhostSeers. By Catherine Crowe. Authoress of "Susan Hopley," "Lilly Dawson," "Aristodemus," Etc. New York: J. S. Redfield. Clinton Hall. Boston: B. B. Mussey & Co. 1850.
the imagination and the dreams of poesy-seem earliest and the most obstinate of our inclinations. to move, in greater or lesser orbits, through the Nothing so fascinates the child at the nurse's same unvarying cycles. In dress, the fashion of knee as a terrible ghost story; and the taste, thus to-day is but a reproduction of some long forgotten cultivated almost in the cradle, is seldom rooted costume. The fairy tales, which beguiled us in out, even when the belief has been wholly disthe nursery, are traced back by learned scholarspelled by the light of reason and experience. to the birth place of the human family in the re- Those, who have fully emancipated themselves mote East; and we find that Jack the Giant from the control of superstition, still enjoy as a sort Killer, with his seven mile boots, has really per- of stimulant the pleasing terror that is excited by formed some astounding journeys, though with such tales. So the old play-goer, to whom the less speed than his biographers have represented. stage is no longer a reality more vivid than the A more intimate acquaintance with China has life by daylight out of doors, loves to be cheated shown that nation of conservatives to have pos- for a little while into sympathy with the humor sessed, for thousands of years, the knowledge of of Falstaff, or the pathos of King Lear. We many processes, upon which civilized Europe have often felt, and as often laughed at, the whimprided herself as the crowning triumphs of cen- sical dilemma of good Dr. Adam Ferguson, the turies spent in study and invention; while the historian of the Roman Republic. He was found monuments of Egypt and Nineveh indicate the by a friend one night, when Mrs. Siddons was former existence of mechanical contrivances, and playing Lady Randolph in the tragedy of Dougof secrets in the manufacture of unfading colors, las, standing in the back part of a box, blubberwhich baffle all the inquiries of modern genius ing like a school boy, and soliloquizing to this and research. Even in this, which we call the effect- I know that I'm auld Adam Fergusonnew world, the authentic narratives of those ad- and I know this is the Edinbro' theatre-and I venturers, who first saw the glories of Mexico and know, yon's just that d-d jade Mrs. SiddonsPeru, are sufficient to excite our wonder and but-but-" and off went the philosopher again, amazement. And yet these nations were but in another ungovernable tribute to the matchless mushrooms-the growth of yesterday-upon a acting of the heroine. In like manner, when one soil where lie buried countless millions, whose has spent a lonely hour at midnight, in devouring very name has perished, of whom no tradition some well wrought narrative of supernatural and floats along the tide of time, and whose only tragic mystery, his nerves are strung up to a pitch memorials are the vast mounds and enclosures, of morbid acuteness, his imagination rules with that have bid defiance for unknown ages to the irresistible, if not undisputed, sway. Logic and assaults of the elements. common sense are summoned to no purpose. Like hasty levies of militia, they make a show of firmuess till the enemy approaches: but flee, panicstricken, at the first symptom of his appearance. The flap of a shutter, the rustle of a curtain, makes him start as if he already saw a spectre; and if the cat upset a tray of crockery, or throw down the fire-irous, in another room, he hears the fall of the castle of Otranto, or the clang of the gigantic helmet upon the marble floor.
If this were the whole extent of our superstitious fancies, merely nervous vagaries, which passed off with a night's sleep, and left us in full possession of our senses the next day, we should have no quarrel with the makers and retailers of such fictions. But, unfortunately, there are too many who do not stop at this point. Wise as this generation is, and much as it has outgone (according to its own reckoning) all the advances of its predecessors, a large proportion of the people alive this day, in the most cultivated countries of the globe, are just as credulous as those of any age, dark or light, since the world begun. The Salem witches are defunct indeed, and their death
We might pursue this course of illustration without end. We might prove not only from the dim glimpses of the past which pierce through the mists of early history-but from the annals which the hand of Almighty power has traced in the strata of the earth itself-that the period, of which we know something, is but a fraction inconceivably small, compared with that chain of centuries from which it has been severed. And if even this limited history presents such evidence to our eyes of renewal and repetition, how much more must lie hidden beneath the waves of oblivion?
"So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed,
"For we are the same that our fathers have been;
No department, in which the human mind has exercised itself, betrays this tendency more sig-bas left a sad record behind them; but the nally than that which relates to the spiritual Rochester knocking girls have arisen in their world. The love of the marvellous is one of the stead, and make a comfortable living by the