about it, or twisted poles. Farther down, as it leaps among the stones, or loiters under the root of an old tree, he will gently obstruct its flow, that the pool may serve in the shadow as a cool retreat for his cattle in summer time. Hence he may lead it by little divergent channels, perhaps the mere furrow of a plough, along the upper edge of a green meadow, so that its leakage through the sod shall keep the verdure fresh and strong in the heats of July. If, further on, by some strange good fortune, the separated waters should unite in some dingle, he may check their flow again, and stock his pond with fish, and set his water-wheel below.* Beautiful and simple are all these forms of water, and beautiful and charming is water in all its forms. pebble-bottomed valleys of New England -as leap across your path in the fields— as make marsh sedges bloom, and make the long, bending rushes whisper. From our soul we pity the man who does not know them, and who does not love them, and who does not remember the dear ones of childhood; so that, as Bulwer says, "he sometimes forgets himself to tears! They are blessed things, those remote and unchanging streams! they fill us with the same love as if they were living creatures." Rural architecture forms the subject of one entire volume before us, and no inconsiderable portion of the other. We have however lingered so long upon kindred topics, that it will be now impossible, with our limited space, to treat that subject with the fullness which its importance deserves. Some other month, possibly in the coming summer time, we will conduct our reader a little further into the arcana of country life; and we will discuss roofs, and wainscotings, and walls, and diamond windows, in the same spirit of true love in which we have talked thus far of woods and waters. THOUGHTS ON THE RUN. BY JOHN RAMBLE, ESQ. FOR a few days past, we have been considering the theory and phenomena of Progress. So entirely has this subject absorbed our attention, and infused into us its own projectile energy, that on divers occasions, we have progressed into the eyes and ribs of sundry pedestrians whom we have met in our rambles. One of them, a short but very fat gentleman, was thereby overthrown, and for several minutes lay upon his back, incontinently trying to catch a little breath wherewith to bless us. As no serious harm was wrought upon him, we were disposed to regard the circumstance as a providential illustration of the subject which en grossed us. Truth compels us to say, however, that the fat gentleman himself, seemed to think Providence might have given our studies a different direction. Our attention was first called to the subject in this especial manner, by the rapid propulsion of our hat, a superb white beaver, which, as we were rusticating the other day, was suddenly lifted from its dignified position, whirled several hundred yards over a public road, and only saved from direst desecration in a duck-pond by our superhuman efforts. Seizing it just at the critical moment, and affectionately brushing its disordered fur, we dropped nearly out of breath at *The writer of this paper had occasion some years since to discuss the same subject, and notwithstanding studious care to the contrary, he finds himself at times inadvertently, as at present, falling into the old train of remark. the foot of a tree, and straightway fell into musing. It is quite evident, said we to ourself, that this universe was never intended for a motionless affair. Everything, from beavers up to planets, is in motion-progressing in some direction. This seemingly grave and respectable world of ours, which no one would suspect of such lightness, is actually skating off through space with incredible velocity; and all the other members of the family-Jupiter, Saturn, &c.—with all the family connections, near and remote, are engaged in an eternal frolic. It has also been supposed by very wise men, that the inhabitants of this world exhibit a corresponding intellectual and social progress. It must be confessed that our information respecting most of them is somewhat scanty; and that had it not been for the lucky discoveries of Emanuel Swedenborg, we should be destitute of any positive proof concerning the matter. That worthy gentleman, however, has furnished us with many items of information of great interest and importance. The means by which he obtained this information was by personal intercourse with the inhabitants. He says: "It has been granted me of the Lord, to discourse and converse with spirits and angels, who are from other earths, with some for a day, with some for a week, and with some for months; and to be instructed by them concerning the earths from which, and near which they were; and concerning the lives, customs, and worship of the inhabitants thereof, with various other things worthy to be noted." These interviews always took place on this Globe, and occurred between him and such spirits as happened to pass that way, while making the tour of the Universe; for which reasons, some may be disposed to consider their relations as mere traveler's stories, and unworthy of credence. Candor compels us to admit, that some of them have a squinting that way, but in the main, we are inclined to take them as true, both from regard to the discernment of Swedenborg, and the credit of the spirits, whose celestial reputation we should be sorry to question upon light evidence. Swedenborg declares the spirits of Mercury to be brisk, active fellows, with a huge thirst for knowledge, and who, a great part of the time, are out upon their travels through other worlds in search of it. He declares, also, that for all gross and material matters they entertain a supreme contempt, while they are greatly addicted to law, politics, and theology— deeming them of the highest importance. Moreover, he informs us that "the spirits of that earth go in companies, and phalanxes, and are thus joined together by the Lord, that they may act in unity, and that the knowledges of each may be communicated with all, and all with each❞— a kind of spiritual Fourierism, which we think must strike the reader favorably. From these facts, we might infer what our author distinctly affirms, to wit, that "with the spirits of Mercury there is a constant growth in the science of things,” which certainly corroborates our theory of progress in a most remarkable manner. The information which he gleaned, concerning the inhabitants of the other earths-Mars, Jupiter, Saturu, &c. much of which is exceedingly curious, but which we cannot now allude to more specifically, goes mainly to the same result, and furnishes such an additional corroboration, that, in the absence of all opposing proofs, we shall consider the theory established. With regard to this "round rolling orb" of our own, we are much better informed. From primeval ages has the human mind been engaged in clearing up its wild domains, cutting away forests and briar-bushes, draining bogs, and planting, at intervals, the immutable landmarks of truth. With grievous toil and labor has this been accomplished, but the progress has been vastly encouraging. Science has grown to a beautiful maturity; Literature, her gentler sister, has refined men; and Art, from the rude incipiency of vegetable apron-making, has come to rival in its results, the chef d'œuvre of creation, and actually get up machines after the similitude of men, which not only leap and grin with remarkable fidelity to nature, but even articulate; and mainly differ from their fleshand-blood originals, in being somewhat less given to speculation and intrigue. In short, the race has a steady progress from rudeness to refinement, from savageness to civilization. It cannot be concealed, however, that there are certain facts which seem to shake this pleasant theory grievously; but we confidently believe them to be like unto an army without ammunition, which, though it may make an imposing appearance, and threaten desperate deeds, is yet easily routed and put to flight. For instance, one would suppose, if this theory be true, that the great body of the race by this time must be well refined; whereas, in point of fact, at least fivesixths of the swarming hordes are yet fierce, throat-cutting barbarians, quite as rude and untameable as they could have been in the infancy of days. The wild Tartar on the Asiatic plains, pitches his tent just as his fathers did centuries ago. Science and art were strangers to them, and they are equally so to him. His mode of life is the same as was theirs in remotest times. He has learned nothing from them, and he invents nothing for himself. He is a wanderer as they were, and as uncultivated as the rude plains around him, that have never felt the plough nor listened to the songs of husbandry. The naked African, with his bow and lance, looks forth upon the desart, a grim and gloomy savage. Knowledge has never kindled his intellect nor improved his heart. Philosophy has taught him no lessons of life-has added nothing to his manhood. His religion is one of lust and blood. The excitement of battle is his stimulus, and the cry of conflict his music. His soul is as fierce and barren as Sahara, and when some shaft strikes home to his heart, he breathes out his life upon the sands like a beast of prey, glaring with strong hate upon his foe. The darkness of death which settles down upon his vision, is scarcely deeper than that which shrouded his life; and the jackall's cry, ringing out on the night of the desart, is his fitting requiem. The blanketed Indian of to-day is true to the immemorial creed of his fathers. His wigwam is the same rude thing that sheltered them, when the New World broke upon the vision of Columbus. The grim ceremonies of the war-dance remain unchanged, and his hour of surpassing joy is that in which he returns from battle with reeking scalps at his belt. He has heard of civilization, but it has been in the fiery revelation of its musketry. Its kinder and truer voice, which would win him from his savageness, he will not hear; but clings yet to his old heritage of gloom and superstition. His form is of the wilderness, and their change is to vanish together. In addition to all this, many nations that were once well advanced in civilization seem to have sunk back again into the arms of barbarism. Science has fled from her retreats along the Nile. Old Egypt shines not now as in the days of her Ptolemies. Her colleges of priests have passed away. The lyre of Memnon no longer greets the sunrise, and the diviner voice of genius is hushed. The Phoenician has forgotten his enterprise ; and his sails stretched for distant lands, no longer whiten the sea. The descendant of the thoughtful Chaldean looks with stupid wonder at the heaven above him. Its planets, and "blue glancing stars," are a mystery to him. His brain, pondering upon them in some idle hour, may reel under that mystery; but, degenerate and indifferent, he waits not through the night, with patient watching, to solve it. The lore of his old progenitor has perished, but he heaves no regretful sigh. The calm night looks forth as of old upon the Shepherd plains, but it kindles within him no yearnings for knowledge, no memories of the past. He turns from its gaze with passionless heart, and, beneath some sheltering palm, lies down to his dreams of savage ignorance. Poet and orator, and philosopher, have vanished from Greece. August Athena smiles no more from the Cecropian Hill, the queen of beauty and mother of arts. No Plato of modern growth instructs her youth in philosophy; no Socrates teaches them to revere the gods. Her Demosthenes finds no counterpart in these times. The Solons and Homers, that made her immortal, live not in the race that has followed them, and her heroes; they too are extinct. Once in every age does the genius of her ancient glory revisit her, and, standing one sorrowful hour in the twilight gloom of the Acropolis, watch for some token of rekindling life; but heroes and sages sleep on their dust heaves not-there is no resurrection! The grim features of desolation alone meet her gaze, and she glides mournfully away! Now, grave and worthy reader, these are ugly facts; but in despite of them, we still maintain the theory to be intact. That a majority of the race should, up to this time, have remained barbarians, when well considered, will be found neither strange nor inconsistent with the hypothesis stated. Nothing can be done without a suitable preparation. Every one who has a tolerable acquaintance with human affairs, knows this to be true. A man cannot even whistle till he has brought his lips into a position adapted to the exercise. So profoundly penetrated with this fact was a certain Yankee professor of that art, that the first direction which he gave 66 his class, was, * As regards those nations who have "advanced backwards," the argument is no stronger. While they have retrograded, others have advanced, and even eclipsed their meridian splendor. Look at us in America! Look at England and France, and Germany-to say nothing of the Auroral light, beautiful and blushing, that streaks the skies of Liberia! Look at the steamboats, railroads, magnetic telegraphs, printingpresses, sub-marine batteries, revolving pistols, pin, button and stocking factories; mowing and reaping machines; gristmills, saw-mills, oil-mills, spinning-jennies, cotton-gins, and gin distilleries, together with divers other cunning inventions that do adorn our times; inventions which Egypt, and Chaldea, and Greece never dreamed of. Here is progress for you, O ye incredulous and argumentative! Greece may have lost her Plato, but we have our Emersons and our Brownsons, philosophers whom even Plato could not comprehend, and who have advanced where mortals less divine would be "blasted with excess of light." She may have no Solon in this age of her degeneracy; but there is not a village in this great country which has not several of them. There may be no Demosthenes now in her desolate capital, to kindle the Athenian heart with his eloquence; but we have dozens of them at Washington, who, whenever Texas or Oregon is threatened, exclaim with more than Demosthenean emphasis, "Let us march against Philip; let us drub him essentially!" Her bard, "the blind old man of Scio's rocky isle," may have gone down to dusty death," but we have a Homer, and he is yet in the freshness of youth. Noble Ahasuerus! stand forth, for thou art he! The Temple of Belus, too, may have crumbled, with its priestly sages, the learned and patient old Chaldeans; and the monument of Osymandyas, with its golden circle, and earnest star-watchers, may exist no more; yet have we the prospect of a famous Observatory at Washington, some time during the present century; and astronomers do swarm in the land, of exceeding erudition, as their almanacs testify. Witness also our English and French neighbors, of whom it may be safely affirmed, that they know more before breakfast than did those ancient worthies after supper. But there is another consideration which ought for ever to confound all sceptics, and convince them that this theory of progress has not been lightly taken up; and that is, that the retrocession of civilization in those older nations is by no means final. Like unto youths engaged in the gymnastic exercise of leaping a fence, they have only gone back pour mieux sauter; and if their energies are not exhausted by too long a run, they will yet clear hedge and ditch, and land gracefully in the green fields of intelligence and refinement. Theory aside, however, it must be evident to all who are noting the affairs of this glorious little world, that the present age is one of most rapid progression. The past has furnished none like it. It is an age of ceaseless activity-an age of steam. The engine of thought drives fiercely on, tireless, heeding no obstruction; and ever the mental steam-whistle rings its shrill warning along the track, bidding loiterers beware. That engine drags a long train, too, freighted with sense, and folly, and the novelties of fecund brains. Books are written, read, superseded, and forgotten in a week. Everybody by that time is agape for something newer, something not quite so antique and musty, something that is neck and neck with the age. Theories in science, philosophy and government, are hatched like chickens in a modern eccaleobion. Many of them die unfledged, but some, with diligent feeding, grow up into goodly fowls, worthy of smoking on the best tables. Boys, long before their chins have bowed to the majesty of razors, become wiser than those who begot them. Right valiantly do they step into the shoes of their fathers, seize whip and rein, and, like that celestial rowdy, Phaton, drive the old family vehicle till the axle takes fire. No sooner are they fairly launched into being, than they rush from the cradle, like ducklings from the nest, and plunge into the deep waters of philosophy, where they swim about perfectly at home, much to the amazement of their reverend grandfathers, who stand at the margin "shaking their white aged heads over them," and wondering at their miraculous exploits. One can hardly help fancying this to be the period predicted by ancient seers, in which "the child should die a hundred years old." If this era is not exactly the millennium, it is yet such an approximation to it, that we can see its glories glimmering in the distance, and playing on the hill-tops; art, science, letters, ethics, theology, and politics, are all taking huge strides toward perfectibility. The human mind, which has been sleeping so long in the lap of Delilah, buried in voluptuous dreams, is at length awake; and any one, possessed of a tolerably nice ear, can hear the withs crack as it leaps up in the lustiness of manhood. Perhaps some who are analytically disposed, may demur to this generalization, and demand that we show definitely wherein this progress consists. Nothing can be easier, but the phenomena are so apparent that we doubt whether the greater part of them will not take the attempt as an affront to their understandings. We profess, therefore, that if we proceed to specifications, it is only for the benefit of the incredulous few, who make it a principle of their creed to believe nothing if they can help it. The world has always had some such fellows in it, and a troublesome set they are. Nothing delights them so much as to attack a theory, and put its inventor to infinite trouble in defending it. Many a fine edifice have they battered down with doubts and hard questions, which would have stood for ever had they let it alone! There are three items of knowledge which all will admit are of primary importance, to wit: a knowledge of our selves, of each other, and of the world we live in. If those readers, then, who are so fond of demonstration, will give us their attention, we will show them that this age has developed, and is developing, this knowledge, in a manner, and to an extent entirely unprecedented in the history of the race; and has furnished the means whereby this knowledge may be brought to entire perfection. If we suc ceed in showing this, we suppose they will be bound, as candid men, to admit our proposition. “Γνώθι σεαυτον,” said the wisest of Greeks; and the advice was excellent, but nearly useless, since no one in his day knew how to improve it; nor, indeed, until this present age, has any infallible means been discovered by which it could be put in practice. It was like advising a man, ignorant of astronomy, to calculate an eclipse. In endeavoring to achieve this knowledge, men have been obliged to rely mainly upon their own consciousness, which is exceedingly deceptive and uncertain. No one, in this way, can arrive at safe conclusions. He may set himself to note with great diligence his own feelings, proclivities and capacities, and yet fail to understand himself when he gets through. For instance, he may conclude that he is a very honest and clever fellow, when, in fact, there is within him a vast amount of undeveloped rascality, which lies coiled away in his heart like a viper in a flowergarden, ready, when provocation shall be offered, to start up and show its fangs. Or, he may judge himself a man of en- . larged capacity, upon whom the people would do well to repose the trusts of government; when, really, the management of a plantation would fill the measure of his ability. With regard to others, the difficulty is still greater. We can judge of them only by external manifestations, which are often mere masks. The real individual is not seen in the smooth public face he wears. Yet are we bound to judge of men as they seem, unless we have some means of detecting what they really are. If they carry at their masthead the flag of virtue's republic, we must conclude their papers are correct, and that they carry that flag by good right, even though we know it sometimes covers the death's head and cross-bones. These facts account' satisfactorily for the great amount of friction in the machinery of society. Nine-tenths of it is occasioned by men not knowing themselves, and those with whom they are in relation. They thrust themselves into places for which the gods never intended them, and place others in positions for which they have no fitness. The consequence is, that wheels, shafts and bands, in rapid but disordered motion, "grate harsh thunder," and if they do not fly in fragments, at least make a most villainous |