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something of a wilderness, and hardly afforded me employment, so that I had sufficient leisure to visit my native town and get married. I forgot that neither my wife nor myself were worth ten dollars. However, we don't forget such things long, that's one comfort. We returned to Genessee, with one dollar in my pocket, and none in that of my wife. For some time I did not make much money ; but then we had plenty of children, which, in a new country, are better than money. However, I managed to save a little every year, with the intention of buying a few hundred acres of land. But the land rose in price faster than I made money. So that by the time I had got together five hundred dollars, land was a dollar and a half an acre. This won't do for me, thought I;—but just then the people began to talk of Ohio, where land was selling at that time for two and six-pence an acre. Betsey,' said I, shall we go to Ohio ? To the end of the world, John,' replied she; and away we scampered the next day. Here I bought a good stout farm, cut down some trees for a place for my house, girdled others for a place for my wheat, and built a log house, twenty feet long at least. People soon flocked round, so that in a little time there was some occasion for law: so they made me a justice of the peace. Not long after, it was thought but proper to introduce a little religion : so I took to reading a sermon every Sunday, at the request of my neighbors

. By-and-by, it was thought prudent to embody a company of militia for protection against the Indians: so they made me a captain of militia. In a year or two, there was a town laid out and a court-house built. This introduced two new wants—that of a judge and a town treasurer-so they made me judge, and town treasurer. The establishment of a town, brought with it the want of a newspaper : so a newspaper was set up, and I volunteered as editor.

“ These honors were very gratifying to be sure, but all this time my family were increasing in size and number. I had six girls and five boys, some of them six feet high. I began to be uneasy about providing for all these. I had only sixteen hundred acres of land, and that was not enough for them all. The thought struck me I could sell it for enough to buy six or eight thousand in Missouri territory. •Betsey,' said I, • will you go to Missouri?' To the end of the world, John,' said the brave girl. So the next day but one we bied away to Missouri, where I bought a few thousand acres. We were almost alone at first; but in a year or two people came faster and faster, so that from a territory we became a state, and wanted members of congress. So they made me a member of congress. But the country is getting too thickly settled for me--and I think next year of moving up the river five or six hundred miles, to get out of the crowd. I am now on my way to the Federal City, where I mean to make speeches like a brave fellow. But see, we are just arrived, and I must look to my baggage.” He then shook me by the hand, and gave me a hearty invitation to come and see him next summer, when I should probably find him somewhere about the mouth of the Yellow Stone."--pp. 186–188.

Enough of this. Our heart sickens at the horrid detail, and we can go no further.

The rest of this instructive volume contains further circumstantial accounts of the unprincipled immorality, indecency, vulgarity, and irreligion of these immaculate republicans. But our readers are doubtless already satiated with the little we have given them, and, God knows, we are sincerely glad to bring this article to a close. Enough has been said, we think, to convince the most incredulous, that there is not on the face of the earth, or rather, to use the strong and apposite language of Mr. Faux, there is not, " within the precincts of the heathen pandemonium," a people so utterly and irremediably destitute of morals or religion or political security—so absolutely swallowed up in the gulf of irreparable misery-as the lost inhabitants of this terrestrial hell. We feel no pity for their sufferings. We look upon the hopeless horrors of their situation with the same holy complacency, with which (to use the language of one of their divines) the spirits of the blessed gaze upon the tortures of the damned—knowing that this they have deserved. They have voluntarily rejected the only means of political salvation, and they have none but themselves to blame for all the tremendous consequences of their guilt. They might have peaceably enjoyed the inestimable blessings of a heaven-anointed monarch, a wealthy order of nobility, a valiant standing army, a splendid church establishment, and a magnificent national debt; all supported and protected by those lasting monuments of British wisdom, elderships, tithes, and excises, poors' rates and corn-laws, bounties and prohibitory duties. These glorious institutions, the fruits of the accumulated wisdom of ages, they have sacrilegiously rejected; and impiously relying on the mean and treacherous faculty of reason, these daring blasphemers have had the matchless audacity to substitute in their stead the new-fangled theories of elective law-givers and annual assemblies--the visionary notions of unrestricted trade and proportionate taxation-and, what is worse than all, the atheistical absurdities of universal toleration, and self-supported churches.

It is utterly impossible that such a state of things can long continue without bringing down upon the heads of the offenders, the special vengeance of an exasperated Providence. Festinetur dies illa, shall be our constant prayer; for a proud and happy day to Europe will be the day when these insolent braggarts shall feel at last the intolerable burden of their pernicious liberties, and when, amid the shouts and the jubilees of the servants of the throne and the altar, the whole fraternity of patriots shall be crushed into annihilation, beneath the fragments of their prostrate idol, the execrable Dagon of Democraсу. .

THE

ATHENEUM MAGAZINE.

JUNE, 1825.

MARCO BOZZARIS,

[The Epaminondas of modern Greece. He fell in a night attack upon the Turkish Camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platæa. August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words

“To die for liberty is a pleasure and not a pain.”]

were

At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,

Should tremble at his power;
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror ;

In dreams his song of triumph heard ;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, -
Then pressed that monarch's throne,--a king ;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.

At midnight, in the forest shades,

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,

Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood

On old Platæa's day ;
And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,

As quick, as far as they.

An hour passed on-the Turk awoke ;

That bright dream was his last ;
He woke--to hear his sentries shriek,
“ To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek !"
He woke-to die midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,
And death shots falling thick and fast,

As lightnings from the mountain cloud ;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,

Bozzaris cheer his band ;
" Strike-till the last armed foe expires,
Strike-for your altars and your fires,
Strike-for the green graves of your sires,

God-and your native land !”

They fought-like brave men, long and well,

They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,

And the red field was won ;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother's, when she feels
For the first time her first born's breatha ;--

Come when the blessed seals
Which close the pestilence are broke
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;--
Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine.
And thou art terrible: the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear

Of agony, are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its bollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come, when his task of Fame is wrought
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought

Come in her crowning hour ; and then
Thy sunken eyes' unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight

Of sky and stars to prisoned men;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land;
Thy summons welcome as the cry
Which told the Indian isles were nigh

To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land wind, from woods of palm,
And orange groves, and fields of balm,

Blew o'er the Haytian seas.
VOL.I.

10

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Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave,

Even in her own proud clime.
She wore no funeral weeds for thee,

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume,
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree,
In sorrow's pomp, and pageantry,

The heartless luxury of the tomb;
But she remembers thee as one
Long loved, and for a season gone.
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed ;
For thee she rings the birth-day bells ;
Of thee her first babe's lisping tells ;
For thine her evening prayer is said
At palace couch, and cottage bed.
Her soldier, closing with the foe,
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ;
His plighted maiden, when she fears
For him, the joy of her young years,
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ;

And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak,

The memory of her buried joys,
And even she who gave thee birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,

Talk of thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's-
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.

H.
[It would be an act of gross injustice to the author of the above mag-
nificent Lyric, were we to withhold the expression of our admiration of
its extraordinary beauty. We are sure, too, that in this instance, at
least, we have done what is rare indeed in the annals of criticism,-we
have given an opinion from which not one of our readers will feel any in-
clination to dissent.]

MRS. BARBAULD. The admirers of Mrs. Barbauld will be glad to learn, that a collection is about to be made of her unpublished writings in England, and that arrangements will probably be made for reprinting them in this country. There can be no doubt, that their publication will be a highly acceptable present to the public. It is very certain, that when Mrs. Barbauld began to write verses, no other English poetess had written half so well; and

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