fast hurrying this devoted race into the grave, it became us, as an intellectual nation, at least to gather the scattered and mutilated fragments of their history, so as to inscribe upon their tomb an intelligent epitaph. Without disparagement to the learned labors of a Bartram, the writers of the Mithridates, a Heckwelder, a Pickering, a Cass, a Schoolcraft, and a Gallatin, it may be said that it was reserved for a venerable citizen of Philadelphia to penetrate the labyrinths of this intricate subject; and by it, to add one of the brightest leaves to the American bays.

In the department of polite and elegant literature, native genius has imparted celebrity to spots, even in the new world of America. The original genius of Cooper, the inimitable pen of Irving, the beautiful page of Bryant, have made the scenes of their descriptions classic ground. Bancroft and Sparks are doing for our history and historical names, what those are achieving in the walks of external society and external nature. We are not old enough to point the literary pilgrim to the mouldering tombs of a Westminster Abbey. The axe with which our forests have been felled, is still in the hands of the wood-chopper. His sturdy strokes may almost be heard amid the noise of our cities, which they have so lately contributed to build. They are only silenced by the greater din of busy life, which exigency or enterprise has called into being, in spots where nature reigned in majestic wildness and primeval solitude. But young as is the country, in its physical state, the materials are at hand to form a system of literature, which shall at once be new and improved.

A national literature does not imply an abandonment of those masters of the human heart, who have traced, with pencils of genius and truth, the great features of human nature. The literature of Rome, embellished and refined, while it imitated, that of Greece. The polite learning of modern Europe is largely indebted to both, for its elegance and nature. Pope and Thomson are suns formed by the converging rays of less distinguished luminaries. Genius. cannot be impaired of its gifts, by pondering the fair forms which genius itself has created. The fire which was lighted by Prometheus, may be kept alive by the torches of Homer and Virgil, of Milton and Shakspeare. America owes it to herself and to mankind, that her system of letters should be her own. As a mirror, it should reflect American manners; it should embody American ideas; it should inculcate those great principles of social morality, upon which man must depend for his advancement and perfection.

But however learning and genius have added to the national fame, partiality itself must admit, that little active aid has been contributed from the public bounty. Astronomical science yet asks for an observatory, and the national library languishes for want of encouragement. When we compare the pigmy collections of Philadelphia and Cambridge, the largest libraries in this country, with the magnificent cabinets of Paris, Vienna, London, and many others, it need not be concealed, that the national pride receives a wound. In the various departments of history, except domestic, modern literature and science, our collections do not embrace all which the wants of the learned student demand. The life of Columbus, by Irving, a work destined to imperishable fame, could not, from the absence of

materials, have been written in America. Mr. Wheaton could not have brought to completion his learned and elegant history of the Northmen, except in Europe. The admirable work on Ferdinand and Isabella, by Mr. Prescott, though written on this side of the Atlantic, was chiefly dependant for its materials on the other.

The library of Philadelphia is upward of a century old. Its late highly intelligent librarian computes the present number of volumes at 46,000; a number exceeding, it is true, any other library on this side of the Atlantic, but not commensurate with the growing wants of the literature and science of the city. The Royal Library of Paris, less than half a century ago, numbered only 80,000 printed volumes and мss. It now presents, in its totality, upward of 700,000 volumes. The British Museum, founded long since the establishment of the Philadelphia Library, now amounts to 240,000 volumes. The value of a library, it is true, does not depend upon its numerical superiority alone; but there is no doubt, from the bibliographical knowledge which guards the Royal Library of Paris, and the British Museum, that the excellence of their contents is in proportion to their number.

It becomes a wise and enlightened people, intent upon a high destiny, to adopt the means necessary to subserve it. It was one evidence of decay, that in a luxurious age of the Roman empire, the reading of Roman senators was confined to Marius Maximus and Juvenal. In a country in which native energy has not been debilitated by luxury; where mind, untrammelled, roves with perpetual activity, explores new regions of thought, and penetrates new sources of truth and intelligence; where every man is a reader, and all have a keen appetite for knowledge; the means should be multiplied commensurately with its importance and necessity. Without dwelling longer upon a theme which might be amplified by so many reflections, it is enough to say, that no act would confer higher literary glory upon the United States, than adding to the treasures of its public library. The government of France requires a copy to be deposited in the Royal Library of every work which is issued from the press, throughout the kingdom. A similar regulation obtains in Austria and Russia, for the benefit of the royal libraries of Vienna and St. Petersburgh. From the operation of so wise and salutary a provision, these libraries are monuments of honor and renown to those despotic nations. The British Museum, which has proved, in England, the great nursery of merit, the light of genius, the ladder to eminence, has been fostered by the same liberality, aided by the direct munificence of the sovereign. Congress has already purchased the papers of Washington and Madison. It could present adequate inducements to private persons for the opening of their private cabinets, in which are deposited those documents which are so material to illustrate our national history, and transmit our national fame. It could enact a law similar to those which aug

* GEORGE CAMPBELL, Esq., whose integrity of character and scrupulous accuracy in regard to facts, have gained for him as deserved a name, as his high repute in bibliography. This gentleman was librarian of the Philadelphia Library for twenty-three years, during the whole of which time he attended the library regularly six days in the week, and was never once absent from his post.

ment the libraries of France and England, Austria and Russia. It could enrich the present collection by a purchase now offered to its acceptance, of the greatest treasure of one of the greatest bibliopolists of this bibliothecal age.

But the principle adopted at the revolution has not merely produced a superficial change in the manners of the people. It has not only imparted a new complexion to literature, and given a new impulse to science. Its effects are deeper and more pervading. An idea so highly deemed, one which has been preserved from age to age, though occasionally obscured by unpropitious accidents, should be distinguished by benefits corresponding to its high estimation. In another and concluding number, we shall take a rapid glance at the blessings it has conferred, and trace its extended and manifold agency in our own and in distant lands.

A SCENE IN RUSSIA.

BY THE AUTHOR OF INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN ARABIA PETREA AND THE HOLY LAND.'

GREAT FETE AT PETERHOFF.

THE whole population of Petersburgh was in motion, on the day appointed for the great fête at Peterhoff. It was expected that the entertainment would be more than usually splendid, on account of the presence of the Queen of Holland, then on a visit to her sister the empress; and at an early hour the splendid equipages of the nobility, carriages, droskeys, telegas, and carts, were hurrying along the banks of the Neva, while steam-boats, sail-boats, row-boats, and craft of every description, were gliding on the bosom of the river.

As the least trouble, we chose a steam-boat, and at twelve o'clock embarked at the English Quay. The boat was crowded with passengers, and among them was an old English gentleman, a merchant of thirty years' standing in St. Petersburgh. I soon became acquainted with him, how I do not know, and his lady told me, that the first time I passed them, she remarked to her husband that I was an American. A lady made the same remark to me at Smyrna. Without knowing exactly how to understand it, I mention it as a fact, showing the nice discrimination acquired by persons in the habit of seeing travellers from different countries. Before landing, the old gentleman told me that his boys had gone down in a pleasure-boat, abundantly provided with materials, and asked me to go on board and lunch with them, which, upon the invitation being extended to my friend, I accepted.

Peterhoff is about twenty-five versts from St. Petersburgh, and the whole bank of the Neva on that side is adorned with palaces and beautiful summer residences of the Russian seigneurs. It stands at the mouth of the Neva, on the borders of the Gulf of Finland. Opposite is the city of Cronstadt, the seaport of St. Petersburgh, and the anchorage of the Russian fleet. It was then crowded with merchant ships of every nation, with flags of every color streaming from their spars, in honor of the day. On landing, we accompanied our new friends, and found 'the boys,' three fine young fellows just growing up to manhood, in a handsome little pleasure-boat, with a sail arranged as an awning, waiting for their parents. We were introduced and received with open arms, and sat down to a cold collation, in good old English style, at which, for the first time since I left home, I fastened upon an old-fashioned sirloin of roast beef. It was a delightful meeting for me. The old people talked to me about my travels, and the old lady particularly, with almost a motherly interest in a straggling young man, inquired about my parents, brothers and sisters, etc.; and I made my way with the frank-hearted 'boys,' by talking boat.' Altogether, it was a regular home family scene; and, after the lunch, we left the old people under the awning, promising to return at nine o'clock for tea, and with 'the boys' set off to view the fête.

From the time when we entered the grounds, until we left, at one

o'clock the next morning, the whole was a fairy scene. The grounds extended some distance along the shore, and the palace stands on an embankment, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet high, commanding a full view of the Neva, Cronstadt, with its shipping, and the Gulf of Finland. We followed along the banks of a canal, five hundred yards long, bordered by noble trees. On each side of the canal were large wooden frames, about sixty feet high, filled with glass lamps for the illumination; and at the foot of each was another high frame-work, with lamps, forming, among other things, the arms of Russia, the double-headed eagle, and under it a gigantic star, thirty or forty feet in diameter. At the head of the canal was a large basin of water, and in the centre of the basin stood a colossal group in brass, of a man tearing open the jaws of a rampant lion; and out of the mouth of the lion rushed a jet d'eau, perhaps one hundred and fifty feet high. On each side of this basin, at a distance of about three hundred feet, was a smaller basin, with a jet d'eau in each, about half its height, and all around were jets d'eaux, of various kinds, throwing water vertically and horizontally; among them I remember a figure larger than life, leaning forward in the attitude of a man throwing the discus, with a powerful stream of water rushing from his clinched fist. These basins were at the foot of the embankment on which stands the palace. In the centre was a broad flight of steps leading to the palace, and on each side was a continuous range of marble slabs, to the top of the hill, over which poured down a sheet of water, the slabs being placed so high and far apart as to allow lamps to be arranged behind the water. All over, along the public walks, and in retired alcoves, were frames hung with lamps; and every where, under the trees and on the open lawn, were tents of every size and fashion, beautifully decorated; many of them, oriental in style and elegance, were fitted up as places of refreshment. Thousands of people, dressed in their best attire, were promenading the grounds, but there were no vehicles, until, in turning a point, we espied, at some distance up an avenue, and coming quietly toward us, a plain open carriage, with two horses and two English jockey outriders, in which were a gentleman and lady, whom, without the universal taking off of hats around us, I recognised at once as the emperor and empress. I am not apt to be carried away by any profound admiration for royalty, but, without consideration of their rank, I never saw a finer specimen of true gentility; in fact, he looked every inch a king, and she was my beau ideal of a queen, in appearance and manners. They bowed as they passed, and, as I thought, being outside of the line of Russians, and easily recognised as a stranger, their courtesy was directed particularly to me; but I found that my companion took it very much to himself, and no doubt every long-bearded Russian near us did the same. In justice to myself, however, I may almost say that I had a conversation with the emperor; for although his imperial highness did not speak to me, he spoke in a language which none but I (and the queen and his jockey outriders) understood; for, waving his hand to them, I heard him say in English, To the right.' After this interview with his majesty, we walked up to the palace. The splendid regiments of cavalier guards were drawn up around it, every private carrying