We have not the least intention of proceeding further with an analysis of this essay; as we have already intimated, the value of Mr. Emerson's But this dream of love is but one scene in the writings appears to us to consist in the beauty and play; and our author concludes his essay by truthfulness of individual passages, not at all in his pointing out what is, or should be, the denoue-system, or any prolonged train of reasoning he may ment of the drama.

"A nobler want of man is served by natureIf there is something of the ideal in this account namely, the love of beauty. Such is the constitution

of all things, or such the plastic power of the human "Our moods," he says, "do not believe in eye, that the primary form, as the sky, the moun- each other. To-day I am full of thoughts; but tain, the tree, the animal, give us a delight in and yesterday I saw a dreary vacuity in this direction for themselves: a pleasure arising from outline, in which now I see so much; and a month hence, color, motion, and grouping. And as the eye is the I doubt not, I shall wonder who he was that wrote best composer, so light is the first of painters. Alas for this infirm There is no object so foul, that intense light will not so many continuous pages. make beautiful. And the stimulus it affords to the faith, this will not strenuous, this vast ebb of a sense, and a sort of infinitude which it hath, like vast flow! I am God in nature-I am a weed by space and time, will make all matter gay. But be- the wall!" sides this general grace diffused over nature, almost all the individual forms are agreeable to the eye, as is proved by our endless imitations of some of them; as the acorn, the grape, the pine-cone, the wheatear, the egg, the wings and forms of most birds, the lion's claw, the serpent, the butterfly, sea-shells, flames, clouds, buds, leaves, and the forms of many trees, as the palm.

"The influence of the forms and actions in na

ture is so needful to man that, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of Commodity and Beauty. To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney, comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm he finds himself. The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired so long as we can see far enough.

"A lady," he writes on another occasion," with whom I was riding in the forest, said to me that the woods always seemed to her to wait, as if the genii who inhabit them suspended their deeds until the wayfarer has passed onward. This is precisely the thought which poetry has celebrated in the dance of the fairies which breaks off on the approach of human feet." The lady had a true poetic feeling. And the following thought is illustrated by a very happy image.

"In man, we still trace the rudiments or hints of all that we esteem badges of servitude in the lower races, yet in him they enhance his nobleness and grace; as Io in Eschylus, transformed to a offends the imagination, but how changed when as Isis in Egypt she meets Jove, a beautiful woman, with nothing of the metamorphosis left but the lunar horns, as the splendid ornament of her brows!"

cow,

"But in other hours nature satisfies the soul purely by its loveliness, and without any mixture of corporeal benefit. I have seen the spectacle of In his philosophy, we have seen that Mr. Emmorning from the hill-top over against my house, erson is an idealist, something, too, of a pantheist. from day-break to sunrise, with emotions which an In theology, we have heard him described as a angel might share. The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. From Unitarian; but although the Unitarians of America the earth, as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. differ more widely from each other, and from the I seem to partake its rapid transformations; the ac- standard of orthodoxy, than the same denomination tive enchantment reaches my dust, and I dilate and of men in this country, we presume there is no conspire with the morning wind. How does nature body of Unitarians with whom our philosopher deify us with a few and cheap elements! Give me would fraternize, or who would receive him health and a day, and I will make the pomp of empe- amongst their ranks. His Christianity appears rors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria, the sun-rather to be of that description which certain of set and moonrise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms of faerie."

Mr. Emerson has published a volume of poems, and it has been generally admitted that he has not succeeded in verse. But there are touches of .charming poetry in his prose. This discrepancy, which is not unfrequently met with, must result, we presume, from an inaptitude to employ the forms of verse, so that the style, instead of being invigorated, and polished, and concentrated by the necessary attention to line and metre, becomes denaturalized, constrained, crude, and unequal. We have looked through this volume of poems, but we should certainly not be adding to the reputation of the author by drawing attention to it. If we wished to find instances of the poetry of Emerson, we should still seek for them in his prose essays. Thus he says:—

"In this pleasing contrite wood-life which God allows me, let me record, day by day, my honest thought, without prospect or retrospect, and I cannot doubt it will be found symmetrical, though I mean it not and see it not. The swallow over my window should interweave that thread or straw he carries in his bill into my web also."

the Germans, one section of the Hegelians for instance, have found reconcilable with their pantheistic philosophy. It is well for him that he writes in a tolerant age, that he did not make his appearance a generation too soon; the pilgrim fathers would certainly have burnt him at the stake; he would have died the death of Giordano Bruno. And we believe-if the spirit of his writings be any test of the spirit of the man-that he would have suffered as a martyr, rather than have foregone the freedom and the truthfulness of his thought.

His essays are replete with passages such as this:-"God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take which you please-you can never have both. Between these, as a pendulum, man oscillates ever. He in whom the love of repose predominates, will accept the first creed, the first philosophy, the first political party he meets-most likely his father's. He gets rest, commodity, and reputation; but he shuts the door of truth. He in whom the love of truth predominates, will keep himself aloof from all moorings and afloat. He will abstain from dogmatism, and recognize all the opposite nega tions, between which, as walls, his being is swung.

He submits to the inconvenience of suspense and imperfect opinion, but he is a candidate for truth, as the other is not, and he respects the highest law of his being."

MR. Elijah Galloway has patented what has hitherto been esteemed much more as a philosopher's stone of steam power than a practicable invention. It is said to be so wondrously portable as not te We gather from what little has reached us of weigh more than two or three hundred weight and not to occupy more than half the space of an ordihis biography, that he has in fact sacrificed some-nary hat-box. A steam-pipe from the boiler brings what of the commodity of this life, to this "higher the steam into this little receptacle; an eccentric law of his being." In a work which has just crank is turned by the rotary motion within it; and fallen into our hands, entitled " The Prose Writers here is all the machinery said to be necessary to of America, with a Survey of the Intellectual His- propel the largest engines, whether mining, marine, tory, Condition, and Prospects of the Country, by ordered an estimate for supplying the Minx with or locomotive. The admiralty are said to have Rufus Wilmot Griswold," we find the following a fifty-horse power one. They could not do better, scanty account of Emerson. "He is the son of a we think, than name such a little whirling machine Unitarian clergyman of Boston, and in 1821, when the Minx itself, and provide it with the all-sufficient about seventeen years of age, was graduated at accommodation of a band-box.-The Builder. Harvard University. Having turned his attention to theology, he was ordained minister of one of the congregations of his native city, but, embracing soon after some peculiar views in regard to the forms of worship, he abandoned his profession, and retiring to the quiet village of Concord, after the manner of an Arabian prophet, gave himself up to 'thinking,' preparatory to his appearance as a revelator." Which meagre narrative, not very happily told, leads us to infer that the recluse of Concord has lived up to the high spirit of his own teaching.

It is remarkable that Mr. Griswold, in the prefatory essay which he entitles The Intellectual History, Condition, and Prospects of the Country, although he has introduced a host of writers of all grades, some of whom will be heard of in England for the first time, never once mentions the name of Emerson! Yet, up to this moment, America has not given to the world anything which, in point of original genius, is comparable to his writings. That she has a thousand minds better built whose more equal culture, and whose more sober opinions, one might prefer to have-this is not the question-but in that highest department of reflective genius, where the power is given to impart new insights into truth, or make old truths look new, he stands hitherto unrivalled in his country; he has no equal and no second.

up,

Very popular he perhaps never may become; but we figure to ourselves that, a century hence, he will be recognized as one of those old, favorite writers whom the more thoughtful spirits read, not so much as teachers, but as noble-minded companions and friends, whose aberrations have been long ago conceded and forgiven. Men will read him then, not for his philosophy-they will not care two straws for his idealism or his pantheism: they

will know that they are there, and there they will leave them but they will read him for those genuine confessions of one spirit to another, that are often breathed in his writings; for those lofty sentiments to which all hearts respond; for those truths which make their way through all systems, and in

all ages.

A NEW mode of propelling steam-boats, invented by Mr. Simpson, was tried in the Thames on Monday afternoon. The new propeller consists of a wheel acting horizontally or vertically within a case entirely submerged. The case is a circle, rendered eccentric by its position with relation to the wheel. It is so much larger than the wheel as to give effect to the centrifugal action of the water. The principle of the invention consists in the ejectment of a column of water in a parallel line with that of the vessel's motion, which column acts against the water outside the vessel. The experiment was tried with a small steamer called the Albion, of 20-horse power. The speed attained ranged between ten to twelve knots, with an entire absence of all surface swell or wave. The diameter of the submerged propeller is very small; for a vessel of 400 tons it would not be greater than 30 inches.

THE fishermen of the coast to which the southwith London now send vast quantities of fish to the eastern railway affords means of communicating metropolis by rail.

HAMBURG witnessed a curious legal proceeding on the 8th instant. The scaffold was erected as for an execution, before the principal front of the Exchange; and at noon a large furnace filled with resinous wood was placed on it. The wood having been set on fire, the bell of the town-hall was rung violently, as is usual during the execution of decrees inflicting infamous penalties. At one o'clock, the hour at which merchants are assembled on the ex-

change, the public executioner ascended the scaffold, followed by two of his assistants; and, after having caused a drum to be beat, he proclaimed in a loud voice the name of a merchant who had been declared guilty of fraudulent bankruptcy, and who had taken to flight. He then displayed to the spectators an enormous placard bearing the name of the culprit in gigantic letters. He next caused the drum to be beat a second time; after which he tossed the placard in the flames. For twenty-three years no similar execution had taken place at Hamburg.

MEANS OF PREVENTING ACIDITY IN BREAD.Bread made in warm weather is frequently sour, and is thus not only disagreeable, but unwholesome. We are assured by a correspondent that a little carbonate of magnesia, in the proportion of three grains to a pound of flour, entirely obviates the risk of this accident.-Chambers' Journal.

THE WATCHER.

From the Dublin University Magazine. out forming any intimacies, or choosing any companions, and appearing to mix in gay society rather for the sake of its bustle and distraction, than for any opportunities which it offered of interchanging either thoughts or feelings with its votaries. Barton was therefore pronounced a saving, prudent, unsocial sort of a fellow, who bid fair to maintain his celibacy alike against stratagem and assault, and was likely to live to a good old age, die rich, and leave his money to an hospital.

It is now more than fifty years since the occurrences which I am about to relate caused a strange sensation in the gay society of Dublin. The fashionable world, however, is no recorder of traditionsthe memory of selfishness seldom reaches far-and the events which occasionally disturb the polite monotony of its pleasant and heartless progress, however stamped with the characters of misery and horror, scarcely ever outlive the gossip of a season; and, except perhaps in the remembrance of a few more directly interested in the consequences of the catastrophe, are in a little time lost to the recollection of all. The appetite for scandal, or for horror, has been sated-the incident can yield no more of interest or of novelty-curiosity, frustrated by impenetrable mystery, gives over the pursuit in despair-the tale has ceased to be new, grows stale and flat-and so, in a few years, inquiry subsides into indifference, and all is forgotten.

I was a young man at the time, and intimately acquainted with some of the actors in this strange tale; the impression which its incidents made upon me, therefore, were deep and lasting. I shall now endeavor, with fulness and precision, to relate them all, combining, of course, in the narrative, whatever I have learned from various sources, tending, however imperfectly, to illuminate the darkness which involves its progress and termi

nation.

It was soon apparent, however, that the nature of Mr. Barton's plans had been totally misconceived. A young lady, whom we shall call Miss Montague, was at this time introduced into the gay world of Dublin, by her aunt, the Dowager Lady L Miss Montague was decidedly pretty and accomplished, and having some natural cleverness, and a great deal of gayety, became for a while a reigning toast. Her popularity, however, gained her, for a time, nothing more than that unsubstantial admiration which, however pleasant as an incense to vanity, is by no means necessarily antecedent to matrimony—for, unhappily for the young lady in question, it was an understood thing, that, beyond her personal attractions, she had no kind of earthly provision. Such being the state of affairs, it will readily be believed that no little surprise was consequent upon the appearance of Captain Barton as the avowed lover of the penniless Miss Montague.

His suit prospered, as might have been expected, and in a short time it was confidentially communicated by old Lady L to each of her hundred-and-fifty particular friends in succession, Somewhere about the year 1794, the younger that Captain Barton had actually tendered proposals brother of a certain baronet, whom I shall call Sir of marriage, with her approbation, to her niece, James Barton, returned to Dublin. He had served Miss Montague, who had, moreover, accepted the in the navy with some distinction, having com- offer of his hand, conditionally upon the consent of manded one of his majesty's frigates during the her father, who was then upon his homeward voygreater part of the American war. Captain Barage from India, and expected in two or three ton was now apparently some two or three-and- months at furthest. About this consent there could forty years of age. He was an intelligent and be no doubt-the delay, therefore, was one merely agreeable companion, when he pleased it, though of form-they were looked upon as absolutely engenerally reserved, and occasionally even moody.gaged, and Lady L, with a rigor of oldIn society, however, he deported himself as a man fashioned decorum with which her niece would, of the world, and a gentleman. He had not con- no doubt, gladly have dispensed, withdrew her tracted any of the noisy brusqueness sometimes acquired at sea; on the contrary, his manners were remarkably easy, quiet, and even polished. He was in person about the middle size, and somewhat strongly formed-his countenance was marked with the lines of thought, and on the whole wore an expression of gravity and even of melancholy; being, however, as we have said, a man of perfect breeding, as well as of affluent circumstances and themselves. good family, he had, of course, ready access to the best society of the metropolis, without the ne- the north side of Dublin, and Captain Barton's cessity of any other credentials. In his personal lodgings, as we have already said, were situated habits Mr. Barton was unexpensive. He occupied at the south. The distance intervening was conlodgings in one of the then fashionable streets in the south side of the town-kept but one horse and one servant-and, though a reputed freehinker, yet lived an orderly and moral life-indulging neither in gaming, drinking, nor any other vicious pursuit-living very much to himself, with

thenceforward from all further participation in the gayeties of the town. Captain Barton was a constant visitor, as well as a frequent guest, at the house, and was permitted all the privileges of intimacy which a betrothed suitor is usually accorded. Such was the relation of parties, when the mysterious circumstances which darken this narrative with inexplicable melancholy first begun to unfold

Lady L

resided in a handsome mansion at

siderable, and it was Captain Barton's habit generally to walk home without an attendant, as often as he passed the evening with the old lady and her fair charge. His shortest way in such nocturnal walks, lay, for a considerable space, through a line of street which had as yet been merely laid out,

and little more than the foundations of the houses to a walk. Captain Barton, as before, turned constructed. One night, shortly after his engage-suddenly round, and with the same result-no obment with Miss Montague had commenced, he ject was visible above the deserted level of the happened to remain unusually late, in company road. He walked back over the same ground, only with her and Lady L. The conversa- determined that, whatever might have been the tion had turned upon the evidences of revelation, cause of the sounds which had so disconcerted him, which he had disputed with the callous scepticism it should not escape his search-the endeavor, of a confirmed infidel. What were called "French however, was unrewarded. In spite of all his principles," had in those days found their way a scepticism, he felt something like a superstitious good deal into fashionable society, especially that fear stealing fast upon him, and with these unportion of it which professed allegiance to whig- wonted and uncomfortable sensations, he once gism, and neither the old lady nor her charge were more turned and pursued his way. There was so perfectly free from the taint, as to look upon no repetition of these haunting sounds, until he Mr. Barton's views as any serious objection to the had reached the point where he had last stopped proposed union. The discussion had degenerated to retrace his steps-here they were resumed— into one upon the supernatural and the marvellous, and with sudden starts of running, which threatin which he had pursued precisely the same line ened to bring the unseen pursuer close up to the of argument and ridicule. In all this, it is but alarmed pedestrian. Captain Barton arrested his truth to state, Captain Barton was guilty of no course as formerly-the unaccountable nature of affectation—the doctrines upon which he insisted, the occurrence filled him with vague and horrible were, in reality, but too truly the basis of his own sensations-and yielding to the excitement be felt fixed belief, if so it might be called; and, perhaps, gaining upon him, he shouted sternly, "Who goes not the least strange of the many strange circum-there?" stances connected with this narrative, was the fact, that the subject of the fearful influences we are about to describe, was himself, from the deliberate conviction of years, an utter disbeliever in what are usually termed preternatural agencies.

The sound of one's own voice, thus exerted, in utter solitude, and followed by total silence, has in it something unpleasantly exciting, and he felt a degree of nervousness which, perhaps, from no cause had he ever known before. To the very end of this solitary street the steps pursued It was considerably past midnight when Mr. him-and it required a strong effort of stubborn Barton took his leave, and set out upon his solitary pride on his part, to resist the impulse that prompted walk homeward. He had now reached the lonely him every moment to run for safety at the top of road, with its unfinished dwarf walls tracing the his speed. It was not until he had reached his foundations of the projected rows of houses on either lodging, and sat by his own fire-side, that he felt side the moon was shining mistily, and its imper-sufficiently reassured to reärrange and reconsider fect light made the road he trod but additionally in his own mind the occurrences which had so dreary-that utter silence which has in it some-discomposed him. So little a matter, after all, is thing indefinably exciting, reigned there, and made sufficient to upset the pride of scepticism and vinthe sound of his steps, which alone broke it, un-dicate the old simple laws of nature within us. naturally loud and distinct. He had proceeded Mr. Barton was next morning sitting at a late thus some way, when he on a sudden heard other breakfast, reflecting upon the incidents of the prefootfalls, pattering at a measured pace, and, as it vious night, with more of inquisitiveness than awe, seemed, about two score steps behind him. The so speedily do gloomy impressions upon the fancy suspicion of being dogged is at all times unpleas- disappear under the cheerful influences of day, ant; it is, however, especially so in a spot so des- when a letter just delivered by the postman was olate and lonely; and this suspicion became so placed upon the table before him. There was strong in the mind of Captain Barton, that he nothing remarkable in the address of this missive, abruptly turned about to confront his pursuers, but, except that it was written in a hand which he did though there was quite sufficient moonlight to dis-not know-perhaps it was disguised-for the tall, close any object upon the road he had traversed, narrow characters were sloped backward; and no form of any kind was visible there. The steps with the self-inflicted suspense which we so often he had heard could not have been the reverberation see practised in such cases, he puzzled over the of his own, for he stamped his foot upon the ground, inscription for a full minute before he broke the and walked briskly up and down, in the vain at-seal. When he did so, he read the following tempt to awake an echo; though by no means a words, written in the same hand :—fanciful person, therefore he was at last fain to charge the sounds upon his imagination, and treat them as an illusion. Thus satisfying himself, he resumed his walk, and before he had proceeded a dozen paces, the mysterious footfalls were again audible from behind, and this time, as if with the special design of showing that the sounds were not the responses of an echo-the steps sometimes Captain Barton read and reread this strange slackened nearly to a halt, and sometimes hurried effusion; in every light and in every direction he for six or eight strides to a run, and again abated turned it over and over; he examined the paper

"Mr. Barton, late captain of the Dolphin,' is warned of DANGER. He will do wisely to avoid

street-[here the locality of his last night's adventure was named]-if he walks there as usual he will meet with something bad-let him take warning, once for all, for he has good reason to dread "THE WATCHER."