absolute contact. We are aware, that the idea of a chain of beings has been ridiculed as a philosophical reverie; but the more this question is examined, with the light afforded by modern observation, the firmer will this opinion be established. Already we hear the terms natural series,' 6 annectant groups,' 'regular series,' and other expressions, which mark the first glimmerings of light on this hitherto obscure subject. And when we reflect, that these affinities have been, for the most part, drawn from external and obvious characters; that we have yet much to learn from internal anatomy; that new species are continually discovered, which connect hitherto separate genera; that every day brings with it the discovery of some extinct animal, whose structure varies more or less from that of any living being, we are insensibly led to admit, that the idea of a chain of beings is neither visionary nor unphilosophical. "As naturalists, we have much reason to be satisfied with our peculiar position. Placed on a comparatively virgin soil, with new forms and objects continually presented to our view, suggesting new trains of thought, and giving rise to new associations, we are more highly favored than the naturalists of older countries. As pioneers in the Natural History of the United States, reputation and after-fame, those powerful incentives to active and honorable exertion, are more immediately within our reach, than they will be to the numerous naturalists who shall but tread in our footsteps. With such incentives before us, let us apply ourselves diligently to the work dum loquimur, fugerit invida ætas. "In another point of view, our situation offers some striking advantages. Removed, as we are, from the scenes of those rivalries and contentions which, unfortunately, too often intrude even upon the peaceful domains of science; where unworthy national prejudices are sometimes associated with private jealousies, we are enabled to examine controverted points with coolness and impartiality. The remoteness of our situation supplies the place of time, and we may be supposed to decide between the conflicting opinions of European naturalists with the same justice and impartiality, as if we were removed from them by intervening centuries." ORIGINAL POETRY. SONNET. AYE thou art welcome-heaven's delicious breath! When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny South!-Oh, long delay In the gay woods and in the golden air,Like to a good old age, released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away. In such a bright late quiet, would that I Might wear out life, like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks, And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, And music of kind voices ever nigh; And, when my last sand twinkled in the glass, B. FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME' LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA. 1 MARY MAGDALEN. BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted! Thou weepest days of innocence departed, Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move The Lord to pity and love. The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, Even for the least of all the tears that shine On that pale cheek of thine. Thou didst kneel down to him who came from heaven, Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise Holy and pure and wise. It is not much, that to the fragrant blossom Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom, The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain Bear home the abundant grain. But come and see the bleak and barren mountains The perished plant, set out by living fountains, B. THE JUBILEE. 'T WAS glorious, when the clarion swell More happy we, who seated now Within the bowers by Freedom made, What peals are heard-what music swells! Is there a bosom sighs to day? Yes, He who, full of strength sublime, In that proud act, which erst unfurled Yes, this fair morn to them is dark; Seems like the smile of God on earth : And o'er whose evening festal skies And a still anthem seems to swell They died-but when the tale went forth The pageant seemed a funeral show; But thou, who standest in thy years With kindred columns crumbling round; Each eye grows bright, each bosom burns, Gazing on thy majestic age, Warm thanks our flowing griefs assuage: Death need not aim his hallowing dart, And patriot pilgrims hail in thee The living saint of Liberty. ROWENA |