ceeded in her to Labrador. He returned to the South in the following winter, and to England in 1834, "with an accession of sixty-two subscribers, and the collections made during nearly three years of travel and research." His second volume was published in 1834, and the third in 1835. The fourth and last was completed June 20, 1838. The whole work contains four hundred and thirtyfive plates, containing one thousand and sixty-five distinct specimens, all, from the eagle to the humming-bird, of the size of life. The engravings were executed and colored by Robert Havell, jr., of London. The original subscription price was one thousand dollars, and the number of subscribers one hundred and seventy-five, about half of whom came from England and France. In 1839 Audubon returned to the United States, and purchased a beautiful country-seat on the Hudson, near the upper end of New York Island. He commenced a smaller edition of his "Birds," in seven octavo volumes, with the plates reduced to a similar size, which was completed in 1844. Meanwhile the author, with his sons Victor G. and John W. Audubon, was busy in the forests and prairies of the West in collecting the material for another great work. In the preface to the second volume of his Birds, dated Dec. 1, 1834, he says of his sons:-" Of their natural or acquired talents it does not become me to speak, but should you some day see the 'Quadrupeds of America' published by their united efforts, do not forget that a pupil of David first gave them lessons in drawing, and that a member of the Bakewell family formed their youthful minds." The first volume of the Quadrupeds of America appeared in 1848. It is similar in size to the "Birds." The illustrations were lithographed, and colored under the author's supervision, by Bowen of Philadelphia. The Audubons were assisted in the work by the Rev. John Bachman. Audubon's time, when not absent on his journeys, which he continued in his old age with the determination and eagerness of youth, was passed at his rural home, one of the most beautiful country-seats on New York Island. The interior was fitted up in accordance with his tastes and pursuits, with antlers of noble size, specimens and drawings of birds and animals. It was in this pleasant abode, surrounded by his wife and family, that the great naturalist, after a brief period of gradual decay, himself paid the debt of nature on the 27th of January, 1851. "We have heard," says a writer in the "Homes of American Authors," "that the last gleam of light stole across his features a few days before his death, when one of his sons held before him, as he sat in his chair, some of his most cherished drawings." He was buried in the Trinity cemetery, a short distance from his abode. In person Audubon was tall and commanding, and his countenance, from the sharp glance of his eye and the outline of his features, suggested a resemblance to the eagle. COMMON MOCKING-BIRD, It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful flowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and fields are adorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornaments the gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlace their climbing stems around the white-flowered stuartia, and mounting still higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees around, accompanied with innumerable vines, that here and there festoon the dense foliage of the magnificent woods, lending to the vernal breeze a slight portion of the perfume of their clustered flowers; where a genial warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of all descriptions are met with at every step;-in a word, kind reader, it is where Nature seems to have paused, as she passed over the earth, and opening her stores, to have strewed with unsparing hand the diversified seeds from which have sprung all the beautiful and splendid forms which I should in vain attempt to describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixed its abode, there only that its wondrous song should be heard. But where is that favored land?-It is in this great continent. It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the love-song of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies round his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly! His tail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance, describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be his and his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his love, and again bouncing upwards, opens his bill, and pours forth his melody, full of exultation at the conquest which he has made. They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I hear, but the sweeter notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of the song, the varied modulations and gradatious, the extent of its compass, the great brilliancy of execution, are uarivalled. There is probably no bird in the world that possesses all the musical qualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature's self. Yes, reader, all! No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has been sealed, than, as if his breast was about to be reat with delight, he again pours forth his notes with more softness and richness than before. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye, to assure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these love-scenes, visible only to the ardent lover of nature, are over, he dances through the air, full of animation and delight, and, as if to convince his lovely mate that to enrich her hopes he has much more love in store, he that moment begins anew, and imitates all the notes which nature has imparted to the other songsters of the grove. For awhile, each long day and pleasant night are thus spent; but at a peculiar note of the female he ceases his song, and attends to her wishes. A nest is to be prepared, and the choice of a place in which to lay it is to become a matter of mutual consideration. The orange, the fig, the pear-tree of the gardens are inspected; the thick briar patches are also visited. They appear all so well suited for the purpose in view, and so well does the bird know that man is not his most dangerous enemy, that instead of retiring from him, they at length fix their abode in his vicinity, perhaps in the nearest tree to his window. Dried twigs, leaves, grasses, cotton, flax, and other substances are picked up, carried to a forked branch, and there arranged. Five eggs are deposited in due time, when the male having little more to do than to sing his mate to repose, attunes his pipe anew. Every now and then he spies an insect on the ground, the taste of which he is sure will please his beloved one. He drops upon it, takes it in his bill, beats it against the earth, and flies to the nest to feed and receive the warm thanks of his devoted female. When a fortnight has elapsed, the young brood demand all their care and attention. No cat, no vile snake, no dreaded Hawk, is likely to visit their habitation. Indeed the inmates of the next house have by this time become quite attached to the lovely pair of mocking-birds, and take pleasure in contributing to their safety. The dew-berries from the fields, and many kinds of fruit from the gardens, mixed with insects, supply the young as well as the parents with food. The brood is soon seen emerging from the nest, and in another fortnight, being now able to fly with vigor, and to provide for themselves, they leave the parent birds, as many other species do. JOHN BLAIR LINN. JOHN BLAIR LINN was born at Shippensburg, Pennsylvania, March 14, 1777. While he was yet a child his father removed to New York, and after passing two or three years at a boardingschool at Flushing, he entered Columbia College at the early age of thirteen. After taking his degree he became a law student in the office of his father's friend, Alexander Hamilton. During the year that he passed in reading law, he brought out a dramatic piece at the John Street Theatre, entitled Bourville Castle; or, the Gallic Orphan. It is described in the advertisements of the day as a "serious drama, interspersed with songs," and a critique from "an unknown correspondent," in the Minerra newspaper of Jan. 18, 1797, probably his friend Brown the novelist, who, Dunlap tells us, revised the manuscript, gives the only notice it appears to have received: It is the tale of injured innocence and murdered greatness, and is told with great beauty, affecting simplicity, nay, often with uncommon pathos. Upon the whole, though it would be "outstepping the modesty of nature" to call Bourville Castle a production equal to Shakespeare's, yet it is but the just tribute of merit to say that, considering the author's years, it is a masterly dramatic composition; and contains every requisite, both as to sentiment as well as to music and scenery, to excite the feeling approbation of an audience. It was produced on Monday, Jan. 16, and was played three times. The public did not second the anonymous critic. A law student, who brought out a play in the first year after opening his books, was not likely to turn out a lawyer even with so distinguished a master as Hamilton. He took no interest in the profession, and would probably have abandoned it, even if the change which now took place in his views had not occurred. He had always led a correct life, but his mind at this time suddenly being more deeply impressed by religious views, he resolved to become a clergyman. In pursuance of this determination, he removed from New York to the quiet study of the Rev. Dr. Romeyn of Schenectady, and was in due course ordained a Presbyterian clergyman in the year 1798. He accepted a call to become the assistant of the Rev. Dr. Ewing, minister of the First Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia, and resided in that city during the remainder of his life. At the time of his removal to Philadelphia he married Miss Hester Bailey, daughter of Colonel John Bailey, of Poughkeepsie, New York. This lady and two sons survived him. In the year 1800 he published an Ossianic poem on the topic that then occupied every tongue and every pen, The Death of Washington. The year after his principal poetical production, a poem, entitled The Powers of Genius, appeared. It is in three parts, of some two hundred lines each. The writer points out the distinctions between taste, fancy, and genius, and dwells upon the topic in which his theme delights, upon its powers, and the poets who have given indications of its possession, without himself essaying any definite description of its qualities. The poem is smoothly written, but unfortunately exhibits slight indications of the "powers" it celebrates. It is well garnished with scholar-like and sensible notes, which show a good critical appreciation of the English poets, and of poetical themes. It was well received, soon reached a second edition, and was reprinted in England. His next publication was occasioned by the appearance of Dr. Priestley's comparison of Socrates and our Saviour. His religious feeling was shocked by the irreverence of the juxtaposition, and fortified by a sense of duty, he, a young man almost unknown, boldly ventured to challenge one who had long before established a reputation of no ordinary character and extent. The controversy was of brief duration, closing with a second reply by Dr. Priestley to a second publication by his young opponent. The two pamphlets of the latter extend to sixty-six and a hundred and forty-four pages. They are written with great ability, and contain a close analysis of the character of Socrates. We select a few passages: I have often been surprised at the praises given to the Socratic mode of conversation. It is somewhat deserving of praise, when employed by a professed tutor to his pupil, for in that case the parties meet, one with a full conviction of his ignorance, and the other with the express purpose of supplying him with knowledge. But in the intercourse of equals, no method can be imagined more unsuitable. There is no mode more likely to excite resentment; to awaken passions that are sure to bar up the avenues of conviction. To have our error detected and proved, to extort from us the confession of our mistake, is always grating to our pride, and the arts of a master in discourse are chiefly shown in preventing and soothing this passion. In the dialogues of Socrates, as reported by his followers, we can expect to find nothing that will mar the even course of their master's logic. The person that is talked to is a mere machine, appointed to consent to every demand that is made, and to abjure, with the most edifying docility, every doubt which the reporter of the dialogue can invent for him. The men on whom Socrates employed his logie were either stupid or ingenious. The former are commonly vain and conceited, and would not fail to be exasperated by the treatment of Socrates, a treatment which had no purpose in view but to mortify their vanity. The latter would ill deserve the title of ingenious, if they could not escape from the conclusions to which they were pressed, by new distinctions, qualifications, or evasions. The tenets of Socrates were not such as soared above all cavil, or that could not be seemingly disproved by an artful and eloquent man, adopting the same mode of argument. The man of true wisdom will seldom excite enmity either by his words or actions. He proposes no other end by his instructions than to benefit mankind, and the wicked themselves will come in for a large share of his compassion and beneficence. In his endeavors to reclaim them, he will pave a way to their heads through their hearts. He will win their love before he gains their conviction; and even when he fails to make them converts to his cause, he will secure their affection and esteem. The ability displayed in these publications, combined with the author's previous claims to regard, obtained for him from the university of his native state the degree of D.D. at an age earlier than it had ever there previously been conferred. In the same year, 1802, he was called upon to preach the funeral sermon of his venerable associate, Dr. Ewing. The discourse was printed. Its concluding sentences will show the character of his compositions for the pulpit. How swift is the flight of years! How rapid the race of men through the world! The torch of earthly glory blazes and scorches for a moment, and then is extinguished for ever. The iron scythe of time is ever in motion, and men are the grass which falls beneath its sweep. The sun pours his temporary effulgence around us, but the period will arrive when his beams shall be quenched, when destruction shall descend upon the earth, and night-starless night-shall encircle destruction. Who, then, will live for time, who will live for eternity? Great God! With heavenly solemnity impress our hearts, enable us to rise above the world in our affections, and to look beyond its grave; enable us to live as becomes sojourners on this earth, as becomes thy faithful servants and the heirs of immortality! An inconsiderate exposure to a hot summer's sun in an open waggon, had, previously to these events, caused a fainting fit, followed by a fever. From this attack he never entirely recovered. A tendency to mental depression, to which he had always been subject, aided the advance of consumption, and he died of that disease on the thirtieth of August, 1804. Soon after this event his poem of Valerian was published, accompanied by an admirable biographical memoir by his brother-in-law and warm friend, Charles Brockden Brown. It is a narrative poem, and, though only a part of a contemplated design, extends to some fifteen hundred lines in blank verse. The scene is laid in Montalvia, a fanciful kingdom placed by the writer on the shores of the Caspian. Alcestes, an old man "revered within Montalvia," chancing to pass by the sea-shore during a tempest, finds a youth cast ashore by the waves. He has him conveyed to his cottage, and there, by his own and his fair daughter Azora's care, the stranger is restored to consciousness, and naturally inquires where he is, which enables Alcestes to satisfy the reader's as well as the guest's curiosity touching Montalvia. The reply gives a fanciful description of a pastoral community, with an Olympus of contending deities, good and bad, to each class of which sacrifices are offered. The people are ruled by a king, Oriander, and live peacefully in cities and fair meadows. A chain of mountains, "skirting the north," is the stronghold of Astaban and his band, who waylay and plunder unwary travellers and hunters. In the same region a ruined temple is situated, in which dwells a hoary wight, deep versed in arts Of direful magic. This description, a curious compound of the classic poets and of Spenser, closes the first book. In the second, the young stranger, a Christian, gives his host an outline of the history of our Saviour and his Apostles, and of the persecution of the Christians under Nero; during which the narrator, refusing to abjure his religion, was exposed to the attacks of a lion on the Roman stage, but, "clad in light armor," was enabled to slay the wild beast, and shortly after, by his father's aid, to bribe his jailors and escape. In the third and last book, Valerian domesticates himself in Montalvia, converts the king and people to Christianity, defeats a conspiracy formed against him, exposes the "ventriloquial powers" (a hint from Brown's Wieland) of the magician in his ruined temple, and overhearing, on a clear night, the fair Azora singing a song in his praise, responds in a strain, different in metre, but of a similarly complimentary character. This, of course, settles the love affair, and a wedding ends the poem. The story is narrated in a smooth and flowing style, and many passages descriptive of the sufferings of the early Christians are animated and pathetic. FROM THE POWERS OF GENIUS. What vast delights flow on that glowing breast, If she be subject to severer woe, HENRY CLAY. HENRY CLAY, the seventh child of the Rev. John Clay, was born at the Slashes (a local term for a low, swampy country), Hanover County, Virginia, April 12, 1777. His father died in 1781, and his mother afterwards married Captain Henry Watkins. He proved a kind stepfather, as it was owing to his exertions that Henry, after acquiring the rudiments of English education at the log school-house of Peter Deacon, earning the memorable title of "Mill Boy of the Slashes" by his errands to the mill for his mother, was promoted from the position of a country shopboy to that of a copyist in the office of the Clerk of the Virginia Court of Chancery. He studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 1797. He removed to Lexington, Ky., where he practised his profession with great success. In 1803 he was elected to the Legislature of his State, and in 1806 appointed to fill the short remainder of the term of General Adair, who had resigned, in the national Senate. In 1809 he was again appointed in a similar manner to the same office. In 1811 he was chosen a member of the House of Representatives, and was elected Speaker the same day that he took his seat as a member of that body. He retained this office until his appointment in January, 1814, as one of the commissioners to negotiate the Treaty of Ghent. On his return, he was re-elected to Congress. In 1820 he retired to resume professional practice, in order to repair the losses which his private fortune had sustained by his long and exclusive devotion to the public service. In 1823 he returned to the House, and was again elected Speaker. H. Clay He was a candidate for the Presidency in the contest which resulted in the election by the House of Representatives of Mr. Adams, by whom he was appointed Secretary of State, an office he retained until the inauguration of General Jackson in 1829. He then retired from public life for two years, and in 1831 was elected to the Senate. In the election of 1832 he was a candidate for the Presidency, but defeated by President Jack-on. He was also a candidate for the Whig nomination obtained by General Harrison in 1839. In 1842 he resigned his seat in the Senate, taking his farewell of that body in a speech which ranks among his finest oratorical efforts. In 1844 Henry Clay was again nominated to the presidency, and after a most warmly contested election defeated by James K. Polk. In 1849 he returned to the Senate, where he took an active part in favor of the "compromise measures" of 1850. This was his last public effort. A visit to New Orleans and Havana in the following winter, for the benefit of his failing health, was unproductive of good results, and finding himself after the opening of the session in 1851 unable to fulfil his duties, he announced his resignation, to take effect September 20, 1852. He gradually sank under the influence of wasting disease, and died at Washington, June 29, 1852. Clay was in favor of the war in 1812, advocated the construction of the National Road and other "Internal Improvements," and was in favor of the recognition of the South American Republics, and of the independence of Greece. Some of his noblest oratorical efforts were delivered in support of these measures. He was an advocate throughout his political career of "protection to American industry" by means of a high tariff. For the sake of the peace of the Union, he was content in the nullification troubles to waive this policy, and a similar sacrifice of private preference to public good characterized his career. His speeches are sincere and impassioned, qualities which distinguished the man, and which were among the chief causes of the great personal popularity which he enjoyed.* Full, flowing, sensuous, his style of oratory was modulated by a voice of sustained power and sweetness, and a heart of chivalrous courtesy. Of the great triumvirate of the Senate, Calhoun, Webster, and Clay, respectively representing the South, the East, and the West, the last was the great master of feeling. His frank bearing, his self-developed vigor, his spontaneous eloquence and command of language, were western characteristics, and reached the heart of the whole country. While Calhoun engaged the attention of philosophers in his study, and Web-ter had the ear of lawyers and the mercantile classes, Clay was out in the open air with the people, exciting at will their sympathies, while the warmest acts of friendship poured in upon him unsought. In the language of Wirt, it was a popularity which followed, not which was run after. There was at once something feminine and manly in his composition. He united the gentlest affections of woman with the pride of the haughtiest manhood. When his last moments came, he died as he had lived, with simplicity and dignity. Mr. Clay's speeches were collected, and with his life" compiled and edited by Daniel Mallory," published in 1843, in two volumes 8vo. His "Life and Times" by Calvin Colton, also in two volumes 8vo., appeared in 1845. Mr. Clay left a widow and three sons. FROM THE SPEECH ON THE GREEK REVOLUTION, JAN. 20, 1824. But, sir, it is not for Greece alone that I desire to see this measure adopted. It will give to her but *The unaffected kindness and simplicity of Clay's manner are happily indicated in the following note, which we find credited to a Richmond newspaper. It was addressed to the children of a gentleman of that city: WASHINGTON, February 18, 1888. My dear Children: Having made the acquaintance of your father, and received from him many acts of kindness, I take great pleasure, in compliance with his wishes, in addressing these lines to you. During a long life, I have observed that those are most happy who love, honor, and obey their parents; who avold idleness and dissipation, and employ their time in constant labor, both of body and mind; and who perform with regular and scrupulous attention, all their duties to our Maker, and his only Son, our blessed Saviour. May you live long, and prove a blessing to your father and mother, ornaments to society, and acceptable to God. Such is the hope of your father's friend, and although unknown to you, your friend, H. CLAY. little support, and that purely of a moral kind. It is principally for America, for the credit and character of our common country, for our own unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. Mr. Chairman, what appearance on the page of history would a record like this exhibit? "In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour, 1824, while all European Christendom beheld, with cold and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, almost the sole, the last, the greatest depository of human hope and human freedom, the representatives of a gallant nation, containing a million of freemen ready to fly to arms, while the people of that nation were spontaneously expressing its deep-toned feeling, and the whole continent, by one simultaneous emotion, was rising, and solemnly and anxiously supplicating and invoking high heaven to spare and succor Greece, and to invigorate her arms in her glorious cause, whilst temples and senate houses were alike resounding with one burst of generous and holy sympathy; in the year of our Lord and Saviour, that Saviour of Greece and of us; a proposition was offered in the American Congress to send a messenger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympathies-and it was rejected!" Go home, if you can-go home, if you dare, to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down; meet if you can, the appalling countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments; that you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable apprehension, some indefinable danger, drove you from your purpose; that the spectres of cimiters, and crowns, and crescents, gleaned before you and alarmed you; and that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national independence, and by humanity. I cannot bring myself to believe, that such will be the feeling of a majority of the committee. But for myself, though every friend of the cause should desert it, and I be left to stand alone with the gentleman from Massachusetts, I will give to his resolution the poor sanction of my unqualified approbation. ADDRESS TO LAFAYETTE ON HIS RECEPTION BY THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, DECEMBER 10, 1824. GENERAL, The House of Representatives of the United States, impelled alike by its own feelings, and by those of the whole American people, could not have assigned to me a more gratifying duty than that of presenting to you cordial congratulations upon the occasion of your recent arrival in the United States, in compliance with the wishes of Congress, and to assure you of the very high satisfaction which your presence affords on this early theatre of your glory and renown. Although but few of the members who compose this body shared with you in the war of our revolution, all have, from impartial history, or from faithful tradition, a knowledge of the perils, the sufferings, and the sacrifices, which you voluntarily encountered, and the signal services, in America and in Europe, which you performed for an infant, a distant, and an alien people; and all feel and own the very great extent of the obligations under which you have placed our country. But the relations in which you have ever stood to the United States, interesting and important as they have been, do not constitute the only motive of the respect and admiration which the House of Representatives entertain for you. Your consistency of character, your uniform devotion to regulated liberty, in all the vicissitudes of a long and arduous life, also com mands its admiration. During all the recent convulsions of Europe, amidst, as after the dispersion of, every political storm, the people of the United States have beheld you, true to your old principles, firm and erect, cheering and animating with your well known voice, the votaries of liberty, its faithful and fearless champion, ready to shed the last drop of that blood which here you so freely and nobly spilt, in the same holy cause. The vain wish has been sometimes indulged, that Providence would allow the patriot, after death, to return to his country, and to contemplate the intermediate changes which had taken place; to view the forests felled, the cities built, the mountaius levelled, the canals cut, the highways constructed, the progress of the arts, the advancement of learning, and the increase of population. General, your present visit to the United States is a realization of the consoling object of that wish. You are in the midst of posterity. Every where, you must have been struck with the great changes, physical and moral, which have occurred since you left us. Even this very city, bearing a venerated name, alike endeared to you and to us, has since emerged from the forest which then covered its site. In one respect you behold us unaltered, and this is in the sentiment of continued devotion to liberty, and of ardent affection and profound gratitude to your departed friend, the father of his country, and to you, and to your illustrious associates in the field and in the cabinet, for the multiplied blessings which surround us, and for the very privilege of addressing you which I now exercise. This sentiment, now fondly cherished by more than ten millions of people, will be transmitted, with unabated vigor, down the tide of time, through the countless millions who are destined to inhabit this continent, to the latest posterity. FROM THE VALEDICTORY ADDRESS TO THE SENATE, 1842. From 1806, the period of my entrance upon this noble theatre, with short intervals, to the present time, I have been engaged in the public councils, at home or abroad. Of the services rendered during that long and arduous period of my life it does not become me to speak; history, if she deign to notice me, and posterity, if the recollection of my humble actions shall be transmitted to posterity, are the best, the truest, and the most impartial judges. When death has closed the scene, their sentence will be pronounced, and to that I commit myself. My public conduct is a fair subject for the criticism and judgment of my fellow-men; but the motives by which I have been prompted are known only to the great searcher of the human heart and to myself; and I trust I may be pardoned for repeating a declaration made some thirteen years ago, that, whatever errors, and doubtless there have been many, may be discovered in a review of my public service, I can with unshaken confidence appeal to that divine arb ter for the truth of the declaration, that I have been influenced by no impure purpose, no personal motive; have sought no personal aggrandizement; but that, in all my public acts, I have had a single eye directed, and a warm and devoted heart dedicated, to what, in my best judgment, I believed the true interests, the honor, the union, and the happiness of my country required. During that long period, however, I have not escaped the fate of other public men, nor failed to incur censure and detraction of the bitterest, most unrelenting, and most malignant character: and though not always insensible to the pain it was meant to inflict, I have borne it in general with composure, and without disturbance here, [pointing to his breast,] waiting as I have done, in perfect and |
