inevitable for not being yet apparent to ordinary perception. We insist, therefore, upon ample salaries to the judges as a principal means of securing this independence. Look at the salaries of the British Judges:-the Chief Justice of the Queen's Bench about $30,000; a Puisne Judge, $20,000; the Lord Chancellor from $80,000 to $100,000! Or if you will not, (for the profound reason that these are the magistrates of a "monarchy,") look, at least, at the salaries of the sister States of the Union. We find the aggregate amount of the salaries paid the Judiciary of the State of New York to be, according to population, two and a half times less than the average rate of six of the larger States, and three and a half times less than that of six of the smallest States, of the Union. This, our people may be assured, is expensive economy. At all events, there can be here no objection, even on this fallacious ground, to the enhancement we propose; the reduction of the judicial establishment leaving a fund which will be amply sufficient for the purpose. And that nothing may be left undone to enforce its importance, we again recur to the authority of the first of statesmen and the most minutely comprehensive, perhaps, of human intellects not excepting Aristotle.* "In the first class," (says Burke in his Speech on Econominal Reform,) "I place the Judges. It is the public justice that holds the community together; the ease, therefore, and the independence of the judges ought to supersede all other considerations, and they ought to be the very last to feel the necessities of the State, or to be obliged either to court or bully a minister, (à fortiori, a multitude,) for their right: they ought to be as weak solicitors in their own demands, as stren uous asserters of the rights and liberties of others. The Judges are, or ought to be, of a reserved and retired character, and wholly unconnected with the political world.” We beg to say, in conclusion, that there is not a particular of our plan, for which, as well as for the preceding, we could not produce the highest sanctions, both practical and scientific. We, therefore, confidently invite criticism, if only accompanied with candor, and especially intelligence. It will not do to say, for example, "The circuit system works well," or The justices' courts were popular," &c. This would be puerile and purblind. It may be all true, and yet other arrangements "work" better. Or suppose them perfect, a slight change of some other parts of the fabric to which they belong, may disorder, so as to render them wholly or partially useless, if not pernicious. In short, that in this as in all other systems, the " good" or "bad" of the parts, is a relative consideration-that is to say, depends on the relation of the particular part to every other and to the wholethis, we say, is but the A B C of critical competency in the matter in question. Farther, we may protest that we have written without bias, from profession, party, or theory. We address ourselves, without distinction of party, to that portion of the people, politicians or not, who can regard the reform in contemplation, from higher and holier, than partisan, grounds. To such alone we offer the foregoing views, such as they are; and we trust it will not derogate from the gravity of the subject or the occasion, if we do so, deferentially, in the words, as the spirit, of the poet: "Si quid novisti rectius istis, Candidus imperti; si non his utere," &c. *We really cannot agree with a person who writes letters about "American literature" in the National Intelligencer, in rating Edmund Burke, in oratory as well as statesmanship, below Mr. Webster. Mr. W. is too worthy of just, and too sensible of judicious, eulogy, not to be the first himself to repudiate such beplastering as this. But it was probably unnecessary to notice the opinion of a man who sets himself to prove to us that we are quite rich in a national literature, by raking up a catalogue of publications which are admitted by the purpose of his own argument, to have never been heard of in their native country, and, of course, not in any other. An ignorance, this, on the part of our good people, certainly equal to Monsieur Jourdan's, that he had been speaking prose all his life. THE TRUE DEATH. BY WILLIAM WALLACE. GLOOMILY Strikes the coward Blast, The Year will soon be a dying year, I. All day, the melancholy day, All day, the dark November day, His feet went rustling over the leaves, II. I watched him through the weary day 1 could not, dared not let him stray 1 watched until the gloaming time; His forehead wore a stedfast calm, His eyes were without motion; Sometimes he seemed to murmur a psalm Like a hermit at devotion. III. The sere grass sighed along the ground, A dim sea tossed and wailed afar : He only heard the wind's low sound Like the mournful voice of a mateless bird IV. Suddenly over all the scene Fell down a spectral glare, And swarthy forms of giant mien Peopled the wood and air An instant, looked at him, and cried "Lost! Lost!" then, silent, sank from sight, Like clouds a moment swelling, And then as quickly taking flight Back to their unknown dwelling. V. At eve the wind went down.-The Stars He passed across the forest-bars A noble pile five centuries old: It stood as ancient great Thoughts stand, Though somewhat dim and hoary, Forever flooding all the land With sanctifying glory. VI. I'followed him: he sate him down And brooded in the breathless hall Never a death-sound hearing, And the shadows clung along the wall As if the Silence fearing. VII. So passed an hour, a weary hour- Ah, vainly breaks a bond of clay! VIII. The eyes moved not. "I die! I die! The glorious sea of yonder sky Lined by a starry coast: Ah! once my sail was sheeting home, Wind and Tide together flowing, And I saw the broad, eternal Dome In the shadowy distance glowing. IX. I saw the Mighty of the earth, The Stars of Dust, the Souls of Worth In dread assembly there; It seemed the Bard of Paradise Was harping to a stately throng, And from the throned places, Enraptured by the wond'rous song, Leaned listening angel-faces- X. And ever at the pauses rolled, From all the silver thrones Down through the Deeps of cloud and gold, These solemn undertones 'At last did HE unveil His form Over the long expectant Space; XI. Far in a rosy bower's shade, In light amid the conscious flowers: And cried, I still shall watch for thee In Heaven's golden eves.' XII. All these I heard and those beheld, She only of the eye serene, Who glorifies the Lower ; She of the bright melodious mein,— World-Maker and World-Shewer! XIII. But Evil fell on me and Pride. Poor worm! I dreamed myself a God, When Gods lose half of Paradise; For Love and Power divide the Zone, And each a pillar of the ThroneMajestically side by side. Even at their base I wedded Pride: For Life is only of the Soul; The Body has a being This gives the crimson tide its roll; To Soul belongs the Seeing. XIV. I loved no more the song of Birds; No more the chant of Seas; And swept the sound of Childrens' words Like curses on the breeze; But sweetly shrilled the savage trump: 1 loathed the Nations and the Days Through Time's Abysses going; For they seemed to me majestic Lays To God forever flowing. XV. I stood and saw the sea of Crime Plunge over all the land: • Plunge on !' I cried, take every clime! He did not stir :-To him I spoke; But when the pilgrim Sun walked o'er A form lay pallid on the floor, A something rested by its side A featured something cold and bare Feet to feet and head to head: It moved not when I moved the frame, But lay all rigidly the same : BODY AND SOUL WERE DEAD." * This poem is an attempt to work out the mere ideal conception of the utter loss of the life of a SOUL which from intense and chronic (if I may be permitted to use the phrase,) wickedness, had forfeited its right to a future existence-or, in other words, which had absolutely destroyed, by its own action, its power of being. Readers will "a theological aspect." permit the author to enter his protest against |