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forth a hundred liars, with a fair outside, to proclaim as many falsehoods to the world? These practices, alas! have fallen into the regular course of the business of many.
All men expect them; and, therefore, you may say that nobody is deceived. But deception is intended; else, why are these things done? What if nobody is deceived ? The seller himself is corrupted. He may stand acquitted of dishonesty, in the moral code of worldly traffic; no man may charge him with dishonesty; and yet, to himself, he is a dishonest man. Did I say
I that nobody is deceived ? Nay; but somebody is deceived. The man, the seller, is grossly, wofully deceived. He thinks to make a little profit by his contrivances; and he is selling, by pennyworths, the very integrity of his soul. Yes, the pettiest shop where these things are done may be, to the spiritual vision, a place of more than tragic interest. It is the stage on which the great action of life is performed. There stands a man, who, in the sharp collisions of daily traffic, might have polished his mind to the bright and beautiful image of truth, - who might have put on the noble brow of candor, and cherished the very soul of uprightness. I have known such a man. I have looked into his humble shop. I have seen the mean and soiled articles with which he is dealing. And yet, the process of things going on there was as beautiful as if it had been done in heaven! But now, what is this man -- the man who always turns up to you the better side of everything he sells — the man of unceasing contrivances and expedients, his life long, to make things appear better than they are ? Be he the greatest merchant, or the poorest huckster, he is a mean, a knavish, and, were I not awed by the thoughts of his immortality, I should say, a contemptible creature; whom nobody that knows him can love, whom nobody can trust, whom nobody can reverence.
Not one thing, in the dusty repository of things, great or small, which he deals with, is so vile as he. What is this thing, then, which is done, or may be done, in the house of traffic? I tell you,
though you may have thought not so of it, - I tell you that there, even there, a soul may be lost!— that very structure, built for the gain of earth, may be the gate of hell! Say not that this fearful appellation should be applied to worse
places than that. A man may as certainly corrupt all the - integrity and virtue of his soul in a warehouse or shop, as in a 1 garnbling-house or a brothel.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 1794-.
the distinguished Dr. Bryant, of that place. The father, early perceiv. - ing in his son indications of superior talents, carefully instrueted him,
and gare direction to his literary taste. At the age of thirteen, Bryaut gave evidence of great precocity, in the production of the Embargo, and the Spanish Rerolution. His Thanatopsis was written in bis eighteenth year. He was educated at Williams College, and followed the profession of law, in Massachusetis, until 1825, when he came to New York, where he has since resided, most of the time officiating as editor of the New York Erening Post. Mr. Bryant's rank as a poet is among the very first in our country.
TO THE EVENING WIND.
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day!
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray,
Nor I alone; - a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee, in the fulness of delight;
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight.
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
Summoning, from the innumerable boughs,
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast;
Pleasant shall be thy way, where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep
Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway
The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone; That they who near the church-yard willows stray,
And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, May think of gentle souls that passed away,
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, Sent forth from heaven among the of
men, And gone into the boundless heaven again.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shall kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
Go - but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of Nature, shall restore,
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.,
The saddest of the year,
And meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove,
The withered leaves lie dead;
And to the rabbit's tread.
And from the shrubs the jay,
Through all the gloomy day.
That lately sprang and stood,
A beauteous sisterhood ?
The gentle race of flowers
With the fair and good of ours.
But the cold November rain
The lovely ones again.
They perished long ago,
• Amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod,
And the aster in the wood,
In autumn beauty stood,
As falls the plague on men,
From upland, glade and glen.
As still such days will come,
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard,
Though all the trees are still,
The waters of the rill,
Whose fragrance late he bore,
And by the stream no more.
And then I think of one who in
Her youthful beauty died,
And faded by my side ;
When the forest cast the leaf,
Should have a life so brief;
friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful,
Should perish with the flowers.
EDWARD EVERETT. 1794–. Mr. Everett was born at Dorchester, Massachusetts. At the age of seventeen, he graduated at Harvard, with great reputation for talent and scholarship. He succeeded Mr. Buckminster, in the Brattle-street Church, Boston, when only nineteen years of age ; but his success in this difficult situation answered the highest expectations of his friends. In about two years, he was appointed Professor of Greek, at Harvard, with permission to travel. After an absence of about four years and a half, in which he visited all the most important places in Europe, and became acquainted with many persons of distinction, in literature and the arts, he returned, and entered upon the duties of his office. He was, after this, successively editor and contributor of the North American Review, Representative to Congress ten years, Governor of Massachusetts four years, Minister to the Court of London five years, and finally President of Harvard University, the last of which offices he has recently resigned. His published writings consist chiefly of Essays, Orations and Speeches, upon literary and political subjects,