peculiar circumstances should not modify, or re-model it in this. The authority of precedent in change was established.

Here, if we mistake not, is developed a practical secret of stupendous influence over the religious destinies of our country. That there were good reasons for rebellion against the prelacy of England, and adequate causes for the production of a distaste for Episcopal usages on an extended scale, can hardly be denied.

Here was the beginning of an order of things, that has come down to us, and had more influence in this than in the parent country. Here it has taken the lead, for the reason that this land was made the refuge and asylum of those who felt themselves injured, and who were injured, by the operation of a system of oppression. It is an instructive lesson, and ought to stand up as a beacon, in all coming time, among other historical advices of the same class, to warn those who, clothed with legitimate authority, are tempted to abuse it, by lording it over God's heritage. To provoke and enforce schism in the Church of Christ, involves a most grave responsibility, and may lead to infinite mischief.

We have sufficiently recognised the fact of the ascendancy of puritanism in American society, and that its peculiar temperament was the soul of a system of dissent from an Episcopal organization. Again we say, we mean not to speak disrespectfully. Our aim is an exposé of facts, and, if possible, to present a philosophical view of their historical train. We respect the piety of the puritans, and desire to do justice to all their virtues; and if we have not already shown a satisfactory candor, we hope before we shall have done, abundantly to appease the most sensitive partiality for our puritan ancestry. We are not unwilling to believe, that the original elements of American society, in so far as this particular class predominated, were on the whole most happy, and will yet, in the long run, be overruled for the greatest good. Their virtues were stern and lofty, and their faults are subject to the corrective influence of time and events. It was as impossible that the latter should not have their race, as that the former should not come in with their balance of influence, and finally obtain a conservative shape and commanding position. And this end, as we opine, will the sooner be accomplished, as the public can be made to discriminate, by the instructive career of events between the good and the bad. Whenever society, or any portion of it, runs off in a wrong direction, it must ultimately find itself in a false position; and the discovery being made, there is the same certainty, if virtue enough remains, that it will aim at a recovery.

If we do not err in our discernment of the signs of the times, there is even now a conviction rapidly obtaining in the public mind of this country, that we have nearly if not quite arrived at a ne plus ultra of religious radicalism; and that a conservative and redeeming influence is being formed and growing into importance. The race of change, which has been a long time, even ages, in the course, has recently been so accelerated, as to set the axles of the machinery on fire, and run off the wheels. The chariot of reli gious radicalism, we think, is tumbling and falling.

In our opinion, this catastrophe is not the product of an hour, nor of an age. We go farther back for the primal cause. As a matter of history, we find that the leading and most influential religious machinery of this country was composed of the dislocated fragments of long-established European institutions, broken off by convulsions, not wanting virtue so much as order, symmetry, and consistency. The virtue was strong, and while its character of firmness was maintained, it could better dispense with a fixed and well-ordered machinery, sanctioned by time, and having a reasonable claim to apostolic origin. But the rapid growth and the fervid condition of our social organization, have put the new theory to a test too stern for a felicitous development.

DEATH OF ROB ROY.

WHEN this chieftain was on his death-bed, a gentlenian whom he had reason to consider as an enemy, came to see him. On being requested to admit him to his bed-side, he said: Raise me up, buckle on my arms, then admit him" The guest was received with cold civility, and in a short time departed. Now,' said Rob Roy, call in the piper. The piper came, and he expired with the voice of war pealing around him.'

WITH heather pillowing his head,
The dying outlaw lay,

And plaided clansmen round his bed
Stood watching in dismay.
Wild throes of dissolution shook

His worn and wasted frame,
But native lordliness of look
Distemper could not tame.

The walls of his rude dwelling-place
Were hung with weapons bright-
With branching antlers of the chase,
And trophies won in fight.

His tall, gaunt hound, of proven worth,
Acute of eye and ear,

Slept idly on the lighted hearth,

Forgetful of the deer.

Cold dew that herald which precedes
The winding-sheet, and wail

Of mourning ones - in clammy beads,

Stood on his forehead pale.

Faint grew the swell of his proud breast,

And dim his falcon-eye,

But manfully his lip suppressed

The groan of agony.

While ran his blood with feebler flow,

Strode in a clansman stout,

And told the chief, in accents low,
'A stranger waits without!

Then syllabled the name-a word
Unwelcome to his ears,

Which darkly in his bosom stirred
The hoarded hate of years.

'No member of a hostile clan,
While heart or pulse can beat,
Shall see me,' said the dying man,
'In posture of defeat.
Array me in the spoils I took
From enemies laid low;

Clad thus, Macgregor cannot brook
The presence of a foe.'

'Bring forth the bonnet that I wore
When blood was on the heather,
Though in the mountain wind no more
Will nod its eagle feather:
Gird on my sword, of temper tried,
Old beam of hope in danger,
To deeds of hardihood allied,
And then admit the stranger!'

Attendants clad the dying man
In garb that well became
The leader of a martial clan,
A warrior of fame;

Admitted then his guest, who met
Reception stern and cold;

The Highland Chief could not forget
The bloody feuds of old.

The stranger soon withdrew. 'Now call
The harper in, to cheer

My passing spirit with the strain

Most welcome to my ear!'

The hoary minstrel brought his lyre,

To notes of battle strung,

And fingering its chords of fire,
In stormy concert, sung:

I.

'The plaid round his shoulders our leader hath thrown,
And a gathering blast on his bugle hath blown;
He calls on the dauntless and ready of hand
To gather around him with bonnet and brand;
Like hounds scenting out the retreat of the stag,
We quit, for the Lowlands, our home on the crag.

II.

'The dirk of our fathers in gore we must dye!
Will the falcon forbear, when the quarry is nigh?
The Saxon dreams not, in his flowery vale,

That our pennon is flung to the welcoming gale ;
That we come from the mountains to scourge and destroy,
And the chieftain we follow is dreaded Rob Roy.

A

TALE O F TIGHT

BOOTS.

AN AUTHENTIC FRAGMENT

FROM AN UNWRITTEN HISTORY.

'WHAT! HOW 's this! I told you to make one of my boots larger than t' other; 'stead o' that, I'm blow'd if you have n't made one SMALLER than t' other! What a hass you must be, to be sure! THE INCENSED COCKNEY.

THE great Homer did not think it unworthy his muse to sing of boots; why then should not I write of them?-especially as I have a tale to tell, which, if carefully perused, will, (though I say it, who ought not to say it, still I do say it,') tend to the edification of the reader. I have called my story A Tale of Tight Boots,' hoping that when he should see that it concerned his understanding, he would understand the necessity of regarding it attentively.

The scene of my story is the goodly city of Boston; the time, May, 1836, being bisextile, or leap-year.' Business and pleasure had led me to town alas! I made it a bad business,' and my pleasure ended in pain. I established myself at the Tremont, and began to look around for adventures.

Rap
'Come in!'

tap — tap!

'A note, Sir.'

'Mr. H - requests the pleasure of Mr. o'clock, precisely.'

's company at dinner to-day, at two

Mr. H was an old and much-loved friend; of course I accepted. I learned that there was to be a large company, and what was of more consequence to me, that Miss L, whom I had addressed for the last six months, was to be there. No one will think it strange, then, if I devoted more than usual attention to my toilet. Finding that the style of my boots was a little passêe, I resolved to treat myself to new ones. The shop of the artizan who kept the crack article' was not far off, and thither I betook myself. Having selected a pair which came near the beau ideal of a boot, in my mind's eye, I proceeded to try them on.

A little too tight on the instep,' said I, after I had fairly succeded in drawing them on.

"'Bout right, Sir,' said the man of boots, rubbing his hand over the place indicated; they'll give a little; fashionable cut, Sir; make 'em all so, now; fine foot, Sir, yours, to fit a boot to; high in the instep hollow here. They look well, Sir.'

The last part of the man's argument, or rather gab, had the desired effect. He had assailed me in a tender point-almost the only one, I believe, in which it was possible for him or any other person to flatter me. My better judgment and understanding were overcome. I kept the boots.

HAVING made my toilet, and put on my future tormentors, I set out for the residence of my friend. The arrival, salutations,

announcement of dinner, etc., are matters of course

so I let them pass. In due time, I found myself walking into the salon de manger, with Miss L on my arm. A moment more, and I was seated at the table beside her. I did the duties that fell to me; said to my companion every pretty thing I could think of; sent her plate for some turkey; carved a chicken that stood before me, and offered the wing to the lady opposite; drank wine with my hostess, and procured some tongue for a lady on my left, who had no gentleman to take care of her. By the way, I wish she had eaten her own, considering the use she afterward made of it. In fine, my mind was so completely occupied by the pleasures of my situation, the few good things I said to my companion, and the many she said to me, that I was unconscious of the curse that from the first had been developing itself.

Soon, however, I became aware that something prevented my being perfectly happy. I felt as one who, in the midst of a delightful dream, is assailed by a bed-bug-made conscious, merely, that there is some draw-back to his pleasure something that prevents his giving himself entirely up to that perfect bliss which seems to beckon him to its embrace. A few moments more, and I was fully aroused. I found the instep of my right foot in a state of open rebellion against the strictures that had been laid upon it, and particularly against the act of close confinement. In truth, there was good reason; for the instep was the seat of intense pain. I drew it under my chair; but no rest for it was there. I thrust it back to its first place; still its anguish was unabated. In spite of myself, I became silent, and a shade passed over my face. The quick eye of my companion detected it, and fearing she had said something that had wounded me, began, with a kindness peculiar to herself, to apply a healing balsam. She had been speaking of an article in a late number of the Knickerbocker, and, in fact, commenting upon it with much severity. The thought seemed to flash on her mind that I was in some way interested- the author, perhaps, or a friend to the author. She passed to commendation. There were, notwithstanding, fine traits in the piece; redeeming qualities in spite of its imperfections. There was evidence of much talent - talent not all put forth,' etc. Dear girl! she mistook my disease. It was not my vanity that was wounded. My vanity was wounding me. To gratify it, I had put on the tight boots; and now, like an undisciplined urchin, it had become the tormentor of its too indulgent parent.

At this moment, my Newfoundland dog, which, it seems, had followed my steps, and waited patiently at the door, amusing himself by calculating, from the doctrine of chances, the probability of his being admitted, took advantage of an opening made by the egress of one of the servants, and walked into the room. Remembering that he had not been regularly invited, and a little doubtful as to his reception, he came slowly forward, with his tail rather under the

*'APOPLEXY-TIGHT BOOTS. A physician of New-York says, that he has recently attended four cases of apoplexy, caused by wearing tight boots. Many a grown-up man is now grieving over the effects of this folly of his dandyism, in earlier years. Corns, tocs cramped in a heap, and tenderness of the whole foot, are the penalty which manhood has to pay for this sin of youth.'