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forced to contribute their portion to the constantly increasing ocean of human science. The inmost bowels of the

earth are open to the light of day. Every animal, plant and mineral in the universe, is hurrying with its offering to the altar of genius and bowing with respectful submission at the shrine of enterprising mind. The external material universe is not all it is but one state in the vast empire of mind. That monarch claims no less a realm than the infinite: even the gates of light are opened to this terrestrial visitant: she treads the portals of the skies in triumph, and feels at home where angels blush abashed: she approaches almost to the throne of the Invisible; the lightnings play around her steps, as she trips it o'er the thunder-cloud, but she fears them not; she revels in their angry glare, extracts and locks for servile labor in her little jar their magic essence, and then derides the Sampson shorn. With iron wand she beckons aside the impending desolation of the thunder-bolt, or makes it bow its haughty crest, submissive and obedient to her mandate, murmuring harmlessly expire beneath her feet. With a velocity to which compared, "the tempest itself lags behind, and the swift-winged arrows of light," she springs from one boundary of nature to another, ever unwearied by her exertions, unsatiated with her discoveries, still fresh for bolder efforts, still eager for now and more arduous labor. Such is the manifestation of man's progressive nature; history is but its exemplification; to that fascinating page we must for a moment turn. We will list to the past, whispering to us from eternity, its tomb.

We glance at man's early history and his subsequent progress, and we note his advance from barbarism to civilization; we see him a savage and in chains, and then claiming the heavenly boon of freedom, purchasing it with

the blood of Marathon, Salamis, Platea, and a thousand other places on the verdant field and azure wave, consecrated and immortalized by the disinterested patriotism and noble deaths of the bravest heroes and most faithful sons of

a generous nation. We can still hear "the blind king of epic grandeur," sing with his deathless harp the praise of those indomitable spirits whose sons were too proud of their paternal blood to be enslaved, and the prince of, orators thunders forth defiance to oppression. By sympathy we catch something of the Athenian's spirit, when he shouted, "Lead us to Philippi's lord, let us conquer him or die," and glow with the heroism of Leonidas, when, raising an altar of his Persian foes, he offered himself upon it to his country-a sacrifice admirable to men, approved by heaven. We in fancy

"Go where the Nile, to slake the torrid sand,
Leaps from his bed and overflows the land;"

and we find upon the time-wrinkled front of that "fatherland," deep traces of thought, worn while the world was young and green in hope of its golden age. There too the mind of man worked up and wrote records on tall pyramids, which will remain unerased when twice forty cen. turies look down on some greater Napoleon. Egypt sleeps deeply while the waning crescent sinks toward the western horizon; but a voice steals from her slumbers, and its low sigh is "Onward," to the mail-shod cycles.

Then next

"We visit the neglected site

Where Carthage rose in majesty and might;"

and the lone desert tells a tale not all of wo, as the bright Mediterranean wave breaks on its shore, chanting

the old joyous song of freedom in the same mocking tone that vexed proud Xerxes' ear, when he hurled in those famous, foolish fetters. Hannibal is no longer the glory of his belligerent nation, whose laurel crown is buried deep in the lonely sand; but he left not the earth till he had fulfilled his mission, and his country did not perish till its history was written in deeds that can never die. We bestow a passing thought upon the history and fate of all "those solemn cities of the dead," which though

"Bereft

Of brightness and of being, yet have something left-
A power to wake the pulses of the soul
And back the darkling tide of ages roll:
A magic lamp, that sheds redeeming day
On desolation, darkness and decay."

Had we time carefully to trace the record of antiquity, we should observe a regular "forward march" of man, from his wild state of nature to the highest civilization. Nor was his onward progress stopped or even checked by the overthrow of those states which fell and were dragged off from the stage, having acted their part in the great drama of time. The so-called Dark Ages ought not to be regarded as a blank, but by far the most interesting page in the history of mankind; because, through them were at work continually two several chains of events, having a mutual relation to and influence upon each other; the one consisting in the gradual combination of those latent causes which conspired to produce the modern social sys tem, which lies concealed except from the eye of keen investigation; the other, of those external facts detailed en the scroll of every unthinking annalist. We e may regard the Reformation as the junction of these two streams

when they intersected each other's course, producing an ⚫ffervescence which enlivened the spirit and restored the tone of moral health, or at least, communicated increased intellectual activity to Christian Europe. This excitement immediately spread, like the circles of agitated water, awakening to fresh vigor the mental powers of man after so protracted a night of slumber. The birth of modern enterprise may perhaps not incorrectly be dated from the discovery of the New World by Columbus; and in the emigration to it of such spirits as our pilgrim fathers, we can but recognize the progressive nature of humanity seek ing a wider sphere for its development than was offered by the artificial and constrained social system of feudal Europe. Civilization demanded a new center from which to send out its regenerating rays over the earth. In its all wandering way it came across the ocean's wave, and found a New England welcome to cheer the feelings and arouse the hopes of the almost despairing philanthropist. The old world's soil was barren with the salt of hlood and trodden hard by the hoof of oppression; no new growth of any generous vegetation could flourish till the field had lain fallow and been watered by the dews of heaven. From fresh land must the good seed spring, which in due season, scattered over the prepared world, shall yield its harvest of an hundred fold. The winds blew a little grain across the water, and it fell not by the way-side nor on stony ground.

When we cast a retrospective glance over the scenes of our country's history, our imagination, be it ever so dull, can but body forth a vivid picture: far in the back-ground is exhibited the landing of the pilgrims-the first act in our grand drama. Yonder we spy the May Flower, cradle ci ur infant empire, rocked by the wild Atlantic surge.

Behold on the troubled waters a speck floating toward the distant shore it is the pilgrims' bark; and as it approaches, the December air is warmed with orisous of unrestricted piety, ascending from true hearts to that Being who is as present in the immensity of desert loneliness as in the proudest temple built by insect man. See! they near the strand: the little boat strikes the beach and one of the number springs upon the soil which is to be their future home. Hark! dost thou not hear the minstrel choir of stars once more entuned over a new world-birth? Then hast thou not a heart vibrating in unison with nature's music.

"Not as the conqueror comes,

They the true-hearted came !
Not with the beat of rolling drums,
Nor the trumpet that sings of fame.

"Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear :

They shook the depths of their forest home
With songs of lofty cheer!

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine,

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

They sought a faith's pure shrine."

Thank God that our fathers did seek, on this desart shore, freedom to worship Him! Thank God that Felicia Hemans, inspired by admiration of their noble bravery, penned that spirit-stirring lyric, whose every line calls like a trumpet's blast, to us their sons now in a great moral battle-field. But the scene changes: the forest has' vanished as if by enchantment; and indeed, active indus try is the true and only enchantment employed by great'

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