flowers, the natural productions of our own soil. One of them, an elderly person of most mild and benevolent aspect, with a few hairs thinly sprinkled over his fine forehead, was speaking enravishingly on the Pleasures of Memory. The other, a more youthful person, looked forward and around, singing the delights which Hope can give; and never, I believe, was beheld such a striking and illusory personification of Memory and Hope, as then presented themselves before me. I had no occasion to put my question. One would have replied, that poetry was the recollection of the past, stripped of all its unpoetical realities, and glazed or scumbled, as the painters would say, with the warm hues of a fervid imagination. The other, that Hope was the true source of all poetical feeling; deprive it of her alluring smiles, and you deprive it of that by which its very being subsists, and its operations are carried on to succeeding generations.

My attention was now directed to a figure at some distance, most monstrously attired; he was viewing himself, nevertheless, with vast satisfaction, in the still waters of an extensive lake; and occasionally reading aloud portions of poetry out of several neatly bound manuscript books, glit tering in all the pride of morocco "leather and prunella." There was a heaviness about his manner, which was a per fect contrast to the looks and habits of the preceding individuals; and the outre and unnatural dress with which he had garnished his person, did not in any degree tend to remove the unfavourable impression his appearance was calculated to produce. How it was I know not, but the first look was prodigiously against him; yet he might have been perhaps taken for a god in some countries, for verily his aspect was not very far unlike those precious specimens of Asiatic and South-Sea-Island worship, which we gaze at, wondering if it were possible for beings endowed with human faculties, to behold such mis-shapen and “horrible imaginings," with any other feelings than those of disgust and abhorrence. I turned me away, not caring to pay any regard to the opinions of so unpoetically equipped an article as now stood before me. I was, however, afterwards informed, that I had conceived an erroneous opinion of his character as a poet, arising from prejudice; and that if I had but taken the trouble to ask him the question, I should not have repented making the attempt.

Proceeding onwards, I met with one to whom, at the first glnace, my heart seemed as if attracted by some invisible

agent. Retired and unassuming in his demeanour, his society I solicited, and soon found that I was not mistaken in my first impressions. I found him, like his poetry, tender and unaffected; breathing an air of something more than mere humanity, humble, devout, kind, and feeling a warm sympathy for the fate, and an interest for the ultimate success of those who, like himself, once solicited diffidently the attention of a cautious public; and, like him, were driven back from her door by some pampered and over-fed menial and minister to her depraved appetites, with obloquy and with scorn. Kind and disinterested was the advice he gave, and so meek and forgiving his disposition, that he murmured not at the ungenerous reception he met with; but solely attributed it to the curs and lacqueys, who infest the first approaches to her presence. It was quite refreshing to listen to the divine and holy breathings which seemed to arise from his very soul, after gazing on the revolting scenes, and hearkening to the tales of unblushing abominations, which from every side were unsparingly revealed. I wished to feel what he had felt, to strike like him the lyre with a sanctified ardour, and with a hand freed from the pollutions which taint the whole mass of our polite literature; exhibiting a loathsome spectacle of the corruption and moral decay which takes place, when the body is uninvigorated, and unrefreshed by the life-giving spirit

from above.

Near to the poet walked a young man of a warm and ardent imagination, who occasionally chanted forth a sacred song, quite con amore; the muse being evidently wooed for love, and her affections solely the object of his pursuit. He often appeared to meet the cold scorn of the passing eye, but it chilled not the ardour of his pursuit; it repressed not the uprising of the spirit, striving to soar to that empyreal space, where the poet's soul can sit unmoved and undisturbed by the petty commotions of a busy and unthinking world. I heard him repeat a few stanzas, and my recollection still enables me to preserve the following, which, if not the best, are the only lines I can snatch from their oblivion:

"I seek, but cannot find;

I cry, thou hearest not;

My moans are given to the wind,
Unanswer'd and forgot.

Oh, that yon cloud might bring
My soul unto its rest!
Oh, that the zephyr's gentle wing
Would bear me to thy breast!

Sovereign of all, supreme

Dost thou for ever dwell, Encompassed by th' eternal beam, Light inaccessible.

Yet from those dazzling rays
No mortal may come nigh,

The sun hath kindled first his blaze,
To bless this lower sky.

And though in glory now

I may not meet thy face;

That sunny beam may round me glowThe sun of righteousness.

Or dost thou, wrapp'd in night,

Now veil thine awful face;

Thick clouds thy throne of hidden might,
Darkness thy dwelling-place.

Yet should that darkness shroud
Thy presence from my sight,
There is a star can pierce the cloud
Which dims the brow of night.

That faint and twinkling gem,

Its lustre wan doth borrow

From yon bright orb, whose coming beam
Shall bring an endless morrow.

And though that sun hath set
In proud magnificence;

I see the stars' pale glimmer yet,
Whose beams are borrow'd thence.

Soon shall the night be o'er,

And day's own monarch rise,

In clouds and gloom to set no more,
Nor speed to other skies.

Then shall I seek and find

A joy which fadeth not;
No sighs shall float upon the wind
Unanswer'd and forgot.

Gladness and delight were in his heart, emanating from every limb and feature. His eye shed raptures, and an atmosphere of joy seemed to surround him. I was going to solicit his definition of poetry, when the whole scene suddenly disappeared. I beheld the polished doors of my old book-case, shining fitfully in the trembling and uncertain glimmerings of a decaying fire, the candle had disappeared from the socket, and I started up just as the old wooden clock was hastily proclaiming the hour of midnight, wondering at my vision, but wondering more that the old house-keeper had not awakened me, ere the charm was wound up; though not regretting my time as unprofitably passed, however the gentle reader may consider his own, after he has perused this article.

An Essay on the Religion of the Indian Tribes of North America; Read before the New York Historical Society. By SAMUEL FARMAR JARVIS, D. D., A. A. S.

PART II.

The

ON the belief of a God who regulates the affairs of men, and of a future state of rewards and punishments, all religion is founded; and from these principles all religious rites are ultimately derived. But there is an obvious distinction to be made between the tradition of doctrines, and the tradition of those outward observances, with which the doctrines were originally connected. The tradition of doctrines is orál; the tradition of ceremonies is ocular. relation of the most simple fact, as it passes from mouth to mouth, is discoloured and distorted. After a few removals from its source, it becomes so altered as hardly to have any resemblance to its first form. But it is not so with regard to actions. These are retained by the sight, the most faithful and accurate of our senses; they are imitated; the imitation becomes habitual; and habits, when once formed, are with difficulty eradicated. No fact is more certain, or falls more within the experience of every attentive observer of our nature, than that of customs prevailing among nations, for which they are totally unable to account. Even among individuals, habits exist long after the causes have ceased, to which they owed their origin. The child imitates the actions of the parent, without

inquiring, in all cases, into the motives which lead to the observance; and even if informed of the motives, he may either misconceive or forget them. Here, then, is the difference between oral and ocular tradition. The doctrine may be lost in the current of ages, while the ceremony is transmitted unimpaired:

Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus.

That which strikes the eye

HOR. A. P. 180.

Lives long upon the mind: the faithful sight
Engraves the image with a beam of light.

In endeavouring, therefore, to trace the affinities which a corrupt religion may bear to the pure, if we wish to be successful, we must confine ourselves to its outward observances. This remark applies with peculiar force to the religion of the Indian tribes. They have never possessed the knowledge of letters, and all their religious doctrines have been trusted to the uncertain conveyance of oral tradition. The wild and roving life of the Indian is at variance with the reception of regular instruction; and though the parents may be very careful in relating their traditions to their children, they must of necessity be confused and imperfect. But supposing them to be ever so exact, we have no certainty that the accounts given of them by travellers are correct. The Indians, it has before been observed, are not communicative on religious subjects; and they may take pleasure in baffling, or misleading, the curiosity of white men, whom they, in general, look upon with no friendly eye. And with regard to oral traditions, there is greater room also for the imagination of the traveller to draw wrong conclusions, and to be influenced in his report by the power of a preconceived system. On the other hand, with regard to religious ceremonies, he has only to give a faithful relation of what he sees; and even if the force of some favourite theory leads him to mingle his comments with his description, a judicious reader is able to separate the one from the other. The application of these principles will save much labour, and give certainty to a subject, which has hitherto been considered as affording nothing but conjecture. We will proceed, then, to consider the external part of the religion of the Indians; and we shall soon see, not only that there is a great