exhaustible fountain of knowledge respecting the globe which you inhabit, and respecting the race of men (its inhabitants) to which you yourselves belong. You may pursue these inquiries just so far as your time and inclination will permit. Give one hour of mental application, (for you must not read without thinking, or you will read to little purpose,) give an hour of joint reading and thought to the chronology and one to the geography of the Bible, and if it introduces you to too hard a study, stop there. Even for those two hours you will ever after read the Bible, and any other history, with more fruit, more intelligence, more satisfaction. It is a book which neither the most ignorant and weakest, nor the most learned and intelligent mind, can read without improvement. Mr. Adams devoted his leisure moments to literature, and occasionally courted the Muses. Dermot M'Morrogh and Poems of Religion and Society were some of the fruits of his versatile mind. From the latter I select THE HOUR-GLASS. Alas! how swift the moments fly! The burden of a song. See childhood, youth, and manhood pass, Time was,-Time shall be,-drain the glass,— JOSEPH DENNIE, 1768-1812. A WORK upon American Literature professing any degree of completeness should contain a notice of the author of the "Lay Preacher," not so much from any extraordinary merits in his writings, as from his position and influence in his day as a man of letters. He was born in Boston, on the 30th of August, 1768, and in 1775 his father, who had been a merchant, removed to Lexington. In 1787 he entered the Sophomore class in Harvard University, and soon after leaving college became a student of law in the office of Benjamin West, at Charlestown, N. H. After completing his studies, he opened an office at Walpole. But he soon became disgusted with the profession, and, resolving to devote his time to letters, went to Boston in the spring of 1795, and established a weekly paper called "The Tablet." But it lived scarcely three months, and Dennie then, upon invitation, returned to Walpole, and became the editor of the "Farmer's Museum." Here he commenced the essays entitled "The Lay Preacher," which laid the foundation of his literary reputation. In the year 1799, he removed to Philadelphia, having been appointed private secretary of Mr. Pickering, at that time Secretary of State. In the latter part of the year 1800, he published a prospectus of a weekly paper, entitled The Portfolio. Drawn up in the best style of the author, indicating a familiar acquaintance with the best writers in the various departments of polite literature, and inviting the co-operation of men of letters generally, it was hailed with enthusiasm by every class of readers; and the periodical was commenced on the 3d of January, 1801, with an extensive patronage.1 To Dennie the path to honorable independence was now fairly open; but, unfortunately, he had not resolution to sacrifice, to the laudable ambition to gain it, those habits which embittered the latter part of his life. This has been called "the gay period of his career." His charms of conversation were such that he 1 It was published weekly in quarto form, eight pages constituting a number. It was thus continued for 5 years, forming five volumes, to the close of the year 1805,-a volume each year. It was then changed to the octavo form, of 16 pages, and also published weekly, and thus continued for three years, to the close of 1808, forming 6 volumes, numbered 1 to 6. At the beginning of the year 1809, it was changed to a monthly magazine of about 116 pages, and thus continued through 1812, when Dennie died, forming for the four years 8 volumes, numbered 1 to 8. It was published, in the same form, under the editorship of Nicholas Biddle and Paul Allen, for 1813 and 1814, and of Dr. Charles Caldwell for 1815, -three years,-forming 6 volumes, numbered 1 to 6. In 1816 it was published by Mr. Harrison Hall, being edited by his brother, John E. Hall, Esq., and was thus continued till 1827,-twelve years. This series formed 22 volumes, numbered 1 to 22. The last volume, the 47th of the whole, was published in six numbers; and then this periodical, so celebrated in its day, and which exerted no small influence on our country's character, closed its varied career. The delinquency of subscribers interfered materially with the success of the work; and I have it from Mr. Harrison Hall himself that, at the time of its stoppage, TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS at least were due to it! It is much to be regretted that there should have been so much irregularity in numbering the volumes of this work. There are four "new series," and five different first, second, third, fourth, and fifth volumes; so that if one is directed to volume second for any article, he may have to examine five different volumes before he can find it. The 20th vol. (1825) of Hall's series contains a copious index to all the volumes of that series. was the delight of every circle where wit and urbanity were the passports of ad mission. He counted among his warm friends a number of young aspirants fo literary fame, and his table abounded with contributions for the Portfolio. It may be easily imagined, therefore, that one of his habits would not require much persuasion to exchange the labor of composition for the easier employment of selection. Hence we find that, in the whole course of his editorship of the Portfolio, ineluding a period of twelve years, there are scarcely as many original essays from his pen. In his gayety he lost the author. His cultivated taste and various reading in polite literature enabled him to produce a miscellany which obtained a wide circulation; and he might have lived in the placid enjoyment of fame and fortune, if the finest gifts of nature could supply the want of prudence. As it was, after editing the Portfolio for eleven years, he died in absolute poverty on the 7th of January, 1812, though enough to give him a moderate competency was owing to him from subscribers who, year after year, had perused with delight the unpaidfor volumes. He was buried in the ground of St. Peter's Church, Philadelphia, where, a few years after, a monument was placed over his grave. It has been customary of late years to depreciate the Portfolio. This we deem unjust; and think it must be done by those who have not read its pages; for we have no hesitation in saying that it will bear a favorable comparison with any similar contemporaneous periodical, English or American. It had not, indeed, the learning nor the variety of the Gentleman's Magazine, but that had been published nearly half a century when the Portfolio was commenced. But, by its talent, vivacity, taste, and variety, it did more, perhaps, than any other publication of that time, on this side the Atlantic, to refine the taste of the people, and to give a relish for choice reading and for literary pursuits. NIGHT. "Watchman, what of the night?"-ISAIAH xxi. 11. To this query of Isaiah, the watchman replies, "that the morning cometh, and also the night." The brevity of this answer has left it involved in something of the obscurity of the season when it was given. I think that night, however sooty and ill-favored it may be pronounced by those who were born under a day-star, merits a more particular description. I feel peculiarly disposed to arrange some ideas in favor of this season. I know that the majority are literally blind to its merits; they must be prominent, indeed, to be discerned by the closed eyes of the snorer, who thinks that night was made for nothing but sleep. But the student and the sage are willing to believe that it was formed for higher purposes; and that it not only recruits exhausted spirits, but sometimes informs inquisitive, and amends wicked ones. Duty, as well as inclination, urges the Lay Preacher to ser monize while others slumber. To read numerous volumes in the morning, and to observe various characters at noon, will leave but 1 Life by John E. Hall, in the "Philadelphia Souvenir." little time, except the night, to digest the one or speculate upon the other. The night, therefore, is often dedicated to composition; and while the light of the paly planets discovers at his desk the Preacher, more wan than they, he may be heard repeating, emphatically, with Dr. Young, "Darkness has much divinity for me.' He is then alone, he is then at peace. No companions near but the silent volumes on his shelf; no noise abroad but the click of the village clock, or the bark of the village dog. The deacon has then smoked his sixth and last pipe, and asks not a question more concerning Josephus or the Church. Stillness aids study, and the sermon proceeds. Such being the obligations to night, it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge them. As my watchful eyes can discern its dim beauties, my warm heart shall feel, and my prompt pen shall describe, the uses and the pleasures of the nocturnal hour. Watchman, what of the night? I can with propriety imagine this question addressed to myself. I am a professed lucubrator, and who so well qualified to delineate the sable hours as "A meagre, muse-rid mope, adusi and thin"? However injuriously night is treated by the sleepy moderns, the vigilance of the ancients could not overlook its benefits and joys. In as early a record as the book of Genesis, I find that Isaac, though he devoted his assiduous days to action, reserved speculation till night. "He went out to meditate in the field at the eventide." He chose that sad, that solemn hour, to reflect upon the virtues of a beloved and departed mother. The tumult and the glare of day suited not with the sorrow of his soul. He had lost his most amiable, most genuine friend, and his unostentatious grief was eager for privacy and shade. Sincere sorrow rarely suffers its tears to be seen. It was natural for Isaac to select a season to weep in, which should resemble "the color of his fate." The darkness, the solemnity, the stillness of the eve were favorable to his melancholy purpose. He forsook, therefore, the bustling tents of his father, the pleasant "south country," and "well of Lahairoi;" he went out and pensively meditated at the eventide. The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly believed that "the dead of midnight is the noon of thought." One of them is beautifully described by the poet as soliciting knowledge from the skies, in private and nightly audience, and that neither his theme nor his nightly walks were forsaken till the sun appeared and dimmed his "nobler intellectual beam." We undoubtedly owe to the studious nights of the ancients most of their claborate and immortal productions. Among them it was necessary that every man of letters should trim the midnight lamp. The day might be given to the forum or the circus, but the night was the season for the statesman to project his schemes and for the poet to pour his verse. Night has likewise, with great reason, been considered in every age as the astronomer's day. Young observes, with energy, that an undevout astronomer is mad." The privilege of contemplating those brilliant and numerous myriads of planets which bedeck our skies is peculiar to night; and it is our duty, both as lovers of moral and natural beauty, to bless that season when we are indulged with such a gorgeous display of glittering and useful light. It must be confessed that the seclusion, calmness, and tranquillity of midnight is most friendly to serious and even airy contemplations. I think it treason to this sable power, who holds divided empire with day, constantly to shut our eyes at her approach. To long sleep I am decidedly a foe. As it is expressed by a quaint writer, we shall all have enough of that in the grave. Those who cannot break the silence of night by vocal throat or eloquent tongue, may be permitted to disturb it by a snore. But he, among my readers, who possesses the power of fancy and strong thought, should be vigilant as a watchman. Let him sleep abundantly for health, but sparingly for sloth. It is better, sometimes, to consult a page of philosophy than the pillow.-Lay Preacher. JACK AND GILL: A CRITICISM. Among critical writers, it is a common remark that the fashion of the times has often given a temporary reputation to performances of very little merit, and neglected those much more deserving of applause. I therefore rejoice that it has fallen to my lot to rescue from neglect this inimitable poem; for, whatever may be my diffidence, as I shall pursue the manner of the most eminent critics, it is scarcely possible to err. The fastidious reader will doubtless smile when he is informed that the work, thus highly praised, is a poem consisting only of four lines; but as there is no reason why a poet should be restricted in his number of verses, as it would be a very sad misfortune if every rhymer were obliged to write a long as well as a bad poem, and more particularly as these verses contain more beauties than we often find in a poem of four thousand, all objections to its brevity should cease. I must at the same time acknowledge that at first I doubted in what class of poetry it should be arranged. Its extreme shortness and its uncommon metre seemed to degrade it into a ballad; but its interesting subject, its unity of plan, and, |