At dead of night the child awakes and hears
Thy soft, familiar dashings, and is soothed,
And sleeps again. An airy multitude.
Of little echoes, all unheard by day,
Faintly repeat, till morning, after thee,
The story of thine endless going forth.

Yet there are those who lie beside thy bed,

For whom thou once didst rear the bowers that screen
Thy margin, and didst water the green fields,
And now there is no night so still that they
Can hear thy lapse; their slumbers, were thy voice
Louder than the ocean's, it would never break.

For them the early violet no more
Opens upon thy bank, nor, for their eyes,
Glitter the crimson pictures of the clouds
Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down.
Their memories are abroad, the memories
Of those who last were gathered to the earth,
Lingering within the homes in which they sat,
Hovering about the paths in which they trod,
Haunting them like a presence.

Even now,

They visit many a dreamer in the forms

They walked in, ere, at last, they wore the shroud;
And eyes there are that will not close to dream,
For weeping and for thinking of the grave,
The new-made grave, and the pale one within.
These memories and these sorrows all shall fade
And pass away, and fresher memories

And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile

Beside thy border, and, in turn, depart.

FROM BRYANT.

CCXXI. THE RIVER.-A NIGHT SCENE.-No. III.

Он River, gentle River, flowing on,
In silence, underneath this starless sky!
On glide thy waters, till at last they flow

Beneath the windows of the populous town,

And all night long give back the gleam of lamps, And glimmer with the trains of light that stream From halls where dancers whirl.

A dimmer ray

Touches thy surface from the silent room
In which they tend the sick, or gather round
The dying; and a slender, steady beam
Comes from the little chamber in the roof.
Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek,
The solitary damsel, dying too,

Plies the quick needle till the stars grow pale.

There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand The blank, unlighted windows, where the poor, In darkness and in hunger, wake till morn. There, drowsily, on the half-conscious ear Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf, Falls the soft ripple of thy waves that strike On the moored bark; but guiltier listeners Are near, the prowlers of the night, who steal From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and start, If other sounds than thine are in the air.

Oh glide away from those abodes, that bring
Pollution to thy channel and make foul
Thy once clear current. Summon thy quick waves
And dimpling eddies, linger not, but haste,
With all thy waters, haste thee to the deep,

There to be tossed by shifting winds, and rocked
By that mysterious force which lives within
The sea's immensity, and wields the weight
Of its abysses, swaying, to and fro,

The billowy mass, until the stain, at length,
Shall wholly pass away, and thou regain
The crystal brightness of thy mountain springs.
FROM BRYANT,

CCXXII.-TRUE POPULARITY.

I COME now to speak upon what, indeed, I would have gladly avoided, had I not been particularly pointed at for the part I have taken in this bill. It has been said by a noble lord on my left hand, that I likewise am running the race of popularity.

If the noble lord means by popularity that applause bestowed by after ages on good and virtuous actions, I have long been struggling in that race; to what purpose, alltrying time can alone determine. But if the noble lord means that mushroom popularity that is raised without merit and lost without crime, he is much mistaken in his opinion. I defy the noble lord to point out a single action of my life, where the popularity of the times ever had the smallest influence on my determinations.

I thank God I have a more permanent and steady rule for my conduct; the dictates of my own breast. Those that have foregone that pleasing adviser, and given up their mind to be the slave of every popular impulse, I sincerely pity. I pity them still more, if their vanity leads them to mistake the shouts of a mob for the trumpet of fame. Experience might inform them, that many who have been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day, have received their execrations the next; and many, who, by the popularity of their times, have been held up as spotless patriots, have, nevertheless, appeared upon the historian's page, when truth has triumphed over delusion, the assassins of liberty.

Besides, I do not know that the bill now before your lordships will be popular. It depends much upon the caprice of the day. It may not be popular to compel people to pay their debts. In that case, the present must be a very unpopular bill. It may not be popular either to take away any of the privileges of parliament. I very well remember, and many of your lordships may remember, that not long ago the popular cry was for the extension of privilege. So far did they carry it at that time, that it was

said that the privilege protected members even in criminal actions. Nay, such was the power of popular prejudices over weak minds, that the very decisions of some of the courts were tinctured with that doctrine.

It was undoubtedly an abominable doctrine. I thought so then, and think so still. But, nevertheless, it was a popular doctrine, and came immediately from those who are called the friends of liberty; how deservedly, time will show. True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist when justice is equally administered to all; to the king, and to the beggar.

Where is the justice, then, or where is the law, that protects a member of parliament, more than any other man, from the punishment due to his crimes? The laws of this country allow of no place, nor any employment, to be a sanctuary for crimes. And where I have the honor to sit as judge, neither royal favor nor popular applause shall ever protect the guilty. FROM LORD MANSFIELD.

CCXXIII.-NATIONAL GLORY.

THIS refers to the war of 1812, between England and America. Hull and Perry were naval officers, and Jackson and Brown, generals.

WE are asked, what have we gained by the war? I have shown that we have lost nothing in rights, territory, or honor nothing for which we ought to have contended. according to the principles of the gentlemen on the other side, or according to our own. Have we gained nothing by the war? Let any man look at the degraded condition of this country before the war, the scorn of the universe, the contempt of ourselves, and tell me if we have gained nothing by the war. What is our present situation? Respectability and character abroad, security and confidence at home. If we have not obtained, in the opinion of some, the full measure of retribution, our character and constitution are placed on a solid basis, never to be shaken.

The glory acquired by our gallant tars, by our Jacksons and our Browns on the land; is that nothing? True, we had our vicissitudes. There were humiliating events which the patriot can not review without deep regret. But the great account, when it comes to be balanced, will be found vastly in our favor. Is there a man who would obliterate from the proud pages of our history the brilliant achievements of a host of heroes on land and sea, whom I can not enumerate? Is there a man who could not desire a participation in the national glory acquired by the war? Yes, national glory, which, however the expression may be condemned by some, must be cherished by every genuine patriot.

What do I mean by national glory? Glory such as Hull, Jackson, and Perry have acquired. And are gentlemen insensible to their deeds? to their value in animating the country in the hour of peril hereafter? Did the battle of Thermopyla preserve Greece but once? While the Mississippi continues to bear the tributes of the Iron Mountains and the Alleghanies to her Delta and to the Gulf of Mexico, the eighth of January will be remembered, and the glory of that day will stimulate future patriots, and nerve the arms of unborn freemen in driving the presumptuous invader from our country's soil.

Gentlemen may boast of their insensibility to feelings, inspired by the contemplation of such events. But I would ask, does the recollection of Bunker's Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown, afford them no pleasure? Every act of noble sacrifice to the country, every instance of patriotic devotion to her cause, has its beneficial influence. A nation's character is the sum of its splendid deeds. They constitute one common patrimony, the nation's inheritance. They awe foreign powers: they arouse and animate our own people. I love true glory. It is this sentiment which ought to be cherished. In spite of cavils, and sneers, and attempts to put it down, it will finally conduct this nation to that hight to which God and nature have destined it. FROM HENRY CLAY.