and industry, has developed her genius, and advanced from insignificance amongst the nations of the earth, to a station not merely respectable, but greatly to be envied.

Since we commenced these remarks, we have been kindly favoured with the sight of a curious manuscript on the same subject. The writer is a very enthusiast in antiquities, and seems to have laid under contribution all the well-stricken in years within his reach. From the most respectable authorities, he has collected a mass of curious facts and anecdotes, respecting Philadelphia and the neighbouring villages-particularly of Germantown. Springs, creeks, groves and copses, which once broke and diversified the ground, now levelled and drawn out into streets, are located and recorded. They are all gone, long since, and forgotten; but this indefatigable inquirer has performed a grateful service to society by rescuing them from oblivion.

The rapid increase of our city being frequently the subject of conversation, gentlemen, not much beyond the middle age, are heard to say, that they have skated on ponds as far east as Seventh, and even Fifth, streets; and many remember lots, inclosed by post and rail fences, in the now most populous and busy streets. But we had not heard of a duck and geese pond near to Christ church, until we found it mentioned in the manuscript just alluded to. The writer of this interesting collection has discovered also the location of a mineral spring, spoken of in Penn's letters; and at least of six others within the city; and particularly a remarkable basin surrounded by shrubs, called "Bathsheba's spring and bower." Many circumstances respecting Philadelphia, not of sufficient importance to be admitted into a regular history, will be found in this book. They will be amusing to our children; and indeed there is much, of which the younger

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
I feel the stormy spirit's breath,
That kisses on our coral rocks,

locks

Their mermaid messengers of death. More wildly now my ringlets waveDestruction'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