part of the present generation are entirely ignorant. These things, trifling as they may appear, at first view, are worth preserving; and all who remember the olden time will do well to contribute their mite.

THE MERMAID'S SONG

TO THE "HORNET."

BY H. S. GIBSON.

I CAME from ocean's deepest cave,
And near the ruins of a wreck,
Snatched this sea garland from a grave,
Whose weeds had overgrown the deck.
List-listen to the mermaid's song,

Though shrill her voice, and wild the note;

The music of the seas belong

To those that o'er our caverns float.

The spirit of the storm below,
Awakened from his ocean bed,

And sent his messenger of woe

To bid the living join the dead. The mirror surface of the sea,

Whose heavy swelling bosom's still As death, when mountain waves shall be The subject of our Neptune's will.

List, mariners! the sea-bird screams,
The tempest and the whirlwind's nigh!
Now starts, affrighted in his dreams,
The sailor boy, whose visions fly,
Like phantoms from the home of bliss
That sailed on fancy's pinions there,
To know that in a world like this,

Hope's spirit leaves it in despair.

Look, mariners! yon sable cloud

Is clothed with thunder! as it forms,
Thick darkness gathers like a shroud,
Suspended o'er a sea of storms.
List, panic stricken crew! and hear
The peal that ocean's echo brings,
That bursts upon the startled ear,
Whilst desolation spreads her wings.

The whirlwind's sporting with my locks-
I feel the stormy spirit's breath,
That kisses on our coral rocks,

Their mermaid messengers of death.
More wildly now my ringlets wave—
Destruction's hidden shoals are near;
Avoid them as thou would'st the grave,
As hope would shrink from panic fear.

I'll leave your crowded ship-farewell;
I seek my coral groves once more,
The next high mountain waves that swell,
Shall dash ye on a flinty shore.
The Hornet hath my warning heard-
If fate should plunge her in the deep,
The screaming of the wild sea bird,
Shall ne'er disturb the dreamer's sleep.

The mermaid sunk-the waves arose,

On naked rocks they dashed their foam;

That fatal spot's the grave of those

Who made the Hornet's deck their home.

Her gallant crew will rise no more,

Till wakened from their ocean bed;

She, anchored 'neath life's bleaky shore,
Hath joined the navy of the dead.

THE WAYWARDNESS OF GENIUS.

BY STEPHEN SIMPSON.

THE waywardness of genius has been a perpetual theme for the moralist, the poet, and the philosopher. One of the most striking traits of wayward genius is an incapacity of satisfying its own expectations, as well as those of the world, in relation to its moral and physical character; not only as it concerns its intellectual achievements, but even in relation to its personal deportment; for it is a fact attested by all history and experience, that men of genius are seldom more agreeable in conversation, than they are faultless in their productions or happy in their lives. Seldom, or never, handsome, they are still less apt to be amiable, or pleasant as companions, or agreeable as friends. Being of quick sagacity, and nice observation, they readily detect blemishes in others: and naturally irritable and sarcastic, they are prone to indulge in satire and turn the defects of others into ridicule. Vain and presuming, they are at the same time diffident and jealous of praise; and while they are morbidly sensitive to censure, they are equally dissatisfied with applause. When you praise them, they doubt your sincerity; and when you reprove them, they question your judgment or suspect your friendship. They are neither satisfied with themselves nor reconciled to the world. Although they are sometimes vain, yet they are too conscious of their own defects to be arrogant; but they are so superior to the world, that they feel proud when put in comparison

with the general order of men, though humble when considered in the scale of positive perfection.

Genius is, indeed, an enigma; a something always to be studied, yet never to be understood. The strong and masculine features of lofty minds seem to conform every thing about them to this all controlling spirit of the soul. Made up of a concentration of violent passions, they form vigorous conceptions and decided judgments; and thus become as inflexible in opinion, as they are rigid and unconciliating in manners. It is generally the quality of feeble minds and instinctive life, gifted with very moderate powers of perspicacity, or of imagination, to be amiable, soft and conciliating; and it is less from acerbity of temper, than energy of intellect, that we find men of genius rough and ungentle in the announcement, and not less positive in the retention of their opinions. In general, women and men, not distinguished for strong attributes of mind, are the subjects of the soft, mild, and agreeable traits of character; which depend less on the goodness of the heart, than the serene composure of the intellect. Nervous irritability is more the cause than the effect of genius; and as this impels the mind to the perception of relations never discerned by others, so it awakens feelings and thoughts, which cannot brook the ignorance of less profound and comprehensive intellect, and fails to excite the sympathies of the less feeling heart.

It is for this reason that genius becomes too colossal to retain the proportions of grace, or the features of feminine delicacy in its character, however it may be distinguished for those qualities in its productions. Hence it is that men of genius are seldom, or never esteemed; and very rarely loved. They offend too many prejudices to be agreeable they assail too many errors not to be feared;