Forsake the path thy haughty foot in former time hath trod, For they are numbered-prophecy in fearful accents spoke, Helpless and hopeless-bitterly hath terror stirred his soul; The days roll swiftly on their course, the hour foretold is nigh; VACATION STROLLINGS OF GEOFFREY LA-TOUCHE. No. II. West Point. READER, I last parted from you at West Point, well pleased with the idea of having completed my day's sail, and being safely replaced on dry land. My first course was to proceed immediately to the hotel, and see if any of my friends were near me. What was my surprise at seeing the name of Francis Airy written out in his neatest characters! I was perfectly delighted. It was right pleasant to meet any fellow-collegian, and particularly the merry-musing-inspired Airy. On inquiry, I found he was within; and, preceded by a gentleman-usher, started off instantly in the search for him. As I climbed up the third pair of stairs, the belief that he must be in a poetical vein came over me; and remembering that it was impossible to calculate on a very warm reception, if he were in this unnatural state of mind, I dismissed my attendant, and giving two or three gentle taps, which were unanswered, opened the door noiselessly and advanced unnoticed to the centre of the apartment. Slowly he turned round in the direction in which I was approaching, and when my eye caught his, he looked vacant awhile, and then as wild as a coot. I burst into a long, loud, glorious laugh, at seeing him in such a plight, which recalled him in a degree to his senses; for he shook me by the hand, and requested me to take a seat. Accordingly I did so, and amused myself with running him on his ridiculous grimaces, and absurd personal appearance, as the best means of bringing him to a conviction of his relation to me as a descendant of Adam. A few starts-a few attitudes-a few diabolical grins-and Airy was himself again. Thus, being at length on a level with myself, we passed our time in amusing chit-chat, recounting recent incidents, and calling to mind old adventures, until the bell summoned us to the dinner-table. The weather in the afternoon was fine. The sultry heat of the morning was changed for the refreshing coolness of a north-west breeze, just strong enough to put the tree-tops into their graceful motions. We were not long in determining upon ramble; and leaving the direction of it to my friend, l'anticipated with pleasure a gratification of taste rather than my curiosity. Our first visit was to the monument erected to the memory of Kosciusko. Its situation is strikingly beautiful, and reminds us strongly of Byron's description in the opening of "The Giaour." As you sail up the river, it is distinctly seen on the very edge of the bank, which descends abruptly to the waterside, covered with underwood and moss-grown rocks. I do not remember the exact height of it; I should say, however, that it was between twenty and thirty feet. The proportions struck me as perfect, and the whole as classical and appropriate. It is of marble, carved with great simplicity, and calculated from its form to outlast many that are gaudier and less deserved From this we turned our steps toward the burial-ground. The greater part of the walk was through a thick wood that precluded the possibility of seeing it until our arrival. I had heard much about it from travellers, and formed in my imagination an idea, that I was afraid might possibly be unequalled by the reality. But it proved not so I had done it no justice. It is the loveliest spot I ever visited; and rendered particularly so, by the associatlons that are ever connected in my mind with places dedicated to such holy purposes. There are not, indeed, many there who have laid them down to the last dreamless sleep; but they are mostly those who have been cut off in the age of ardent hopes, impassioned feelings, and aspiring ambition. The plain slabs, which bear the names and merits of the deceased, are tributes of affection from their bereaved class-mates. I had rather rest under one of them, than have my bones pressed by the proudest mausoleum that heartless formality ever reared over the relics of the great ones of this world. The view from this point is not so comprehensive as many others, but in my opinion it is the most captivating. You appear to be enclosed within a range of mountains that entirely shut you out from the rest of the world. As you look round, the whole scenery is of a cast to give a most sublime and yet luxurious tone to the feelings. I have sat there for hours together, watching the scarce perceptible ripple of the wave, gazing on the mountain-side, or following with my eye the light clouds, as they chase each other over the heavens. There is a want of distinctness in wide-spread prospects, which to me is rather unpleasant than otherwise, except for a few moments. And if I were to be confined to one exclusively, I should not hesitate a moment which to choose. Our stroll was protracted to a late hour, and though it was attended with much fatigue, I suspect neither of us regarded it when attended with so much enjoyment. I had intended to go to Albany, but so much preferred spending my time and money where I was, that the fifth day still found me there. In the afternoon, however, I bade farewell to Airyand took passage for New-York. I never visited a place with more pleasure, or left one with more regret, than I did West Point. Those who are fond of bustle and excitement, might complain of monotony while resident there; but I come not under that class, and consequently felt nothing of it. The chief attraction is natural beauty, and all who are lovers of it will find ample exercise for their taste. For myself, if it should be my ill fortune never to see it again, I could at any time recall its slightest peculiarities, so indelibly are they impressed on my memory. It is now many months since I was there, and yet I have at this moment before my eye, the minutest features of that varied landscape, as plainly as when studying them from my favorite retreat. CATILINE.* My bitterest curse upon thee, Rome! A curse upon the craven race That deign to make thy towers their home, A curse on every living thing That crawls within thy gate: To me it would a solace bring In youth I fondly burned to write Would still my hours delude,— The vision that in youth was seen, As bright as aye each flower must shine, My bitterǝst curse upon thee, Rome! Ruin destroy thy stateliest dome- Among thy fallen temples soon, Among thy childrens' tombs, May wild beasts stalk, unharmed, at noon- Guarding deserted homes ! * This piece appeared some time since in one of the Boston papers. Straight to the battle-field I go My faithful steel drinks deep to-day- Who bars the lion from his prey. NOTES AND NOTICES. No. II. A month has elapsed since our first number was presented to the public. Again have piles of dark manuscript been transformed to fair-typed sheets, and again are Notes and Notices demanded to close the pages of No. II. The courteous reception of our past exertions by those whose good opinion we only desire, has dissipated most of the anxiety which attended our first appearance; and, encouraged by their approbation, we can regard superficial censure and flippant raillery with stoical indifference. Perhaps the greatest amusement we enjoy in our editorial retirement is, to hear the wise remarks of our friends on our lastto listen to the criticisms they bestow according to the dictates of their taste, and observe the timid mildness with which they condemn, for fear they should unfortunately censure a piece to itsauthor. Some employ themselves in unravelling the mysteries of the Editorial Fraternity, and personifying its members; while others unceremoniously pronounce the Club-a phantasy, and have the boldness to assert, that the article from Westphalia can be but-a ham. We lament sincerely the poverty of their imaginations. For the benefit of these curious but incredulous individuals, we will again withdraw the veil of mystery, which covers the arcana of the Club, and grant them a view of the fraternity in full meeting. If they discover, in the sober and stern features of FATHER LUKE, and the compact and substantial frame of GEOFFREY, any thing which declares them mere creations of the brain; if in TEMPLETON's exterior they observe aught which has not the semblance of reality; if in AIRY, SHERRY, or myself they mark that which does not befit beings of this sublunary earth, then they may persist in absurdity unreproved, and call us what they will. At the appointed time, all save SHERRY had taken their accustomed seats round the green table. FATHER LUKE, from deference to his age, was established at the head of the table, in one of |