strengthen her government and protect her citizens, and she gradually extended her sway till she made her power felt to the ends of the earth. She made the privilege of Roman citizenship to be one of the greatest honors of the world, and the very name of Roman an almost sure guaranty against outrage and oppression in every clime, and among all nations. Rome was the land of LAW.

England, too, the home of the brave, the land of great men and of noble deeds-ancestral England, whose merchant or whose warriorkeels part the waters of every sea, whose "Jack" receives the homage or respect of every flag, whose walls are wood and whose defenders iron, the strong arm of whose protection reaches to the remotest corners of the globe-England, which, uniting the recollection of its ancient glory with the strong power of the popular element, formed a constitution that gave her predominance over all nations-England exhibits the power of LAW and CONSTITUTION.

But what shall we say of our own beloved country? If other nations have taught lessons to the world, what can be learned from this land ? If others have developed important truths and illustrated great principles, or furnished instructive morals, what truth, or principle, or moral, is not found in our history? Indeed, it seems that, as it had remained for the immortal Washington to blend in himself all that had ever been considered generous, good, and brave, to be the perfect model of a perfect man, so Providence has made this nation to show forth the most perfect model of government ever seen, and to be the almoners of the purest laws, and the depositary of the richest and choicest blessings for the entire race.

At whatever period we pause to meditate upon our history, we cannot fail to be impressed with the existence and prominence of these truths. Linger, for a moment, upon the early settlement of this land, and there you will trace, in living lines, the grand triumph of noble and elevated principle over every opposing obstacle.

Our fathers! who were they? The thought, the bare mention of their name, sends a thrill of honest pride through every true American heart, more pleasing, more inspiriting, than blood ever felt, traced back in line of famed ancestral kings.

Puritan! it is a name that is associated with the civil and the religious rights of man-the rights of self-government, of conscience, and independent thought-the very embodiment of the great principles of Liberty. It is another name for high-souled feeling, noble daring, unbending rectitude, inflexible resolution, deep devotion, and ardent piety.

Yes, they were Puritans! and I would I had the power so to portray their exalted character, that it might be written deep, and yet deeper, as with a "pen of iron and the point of diamond," upon the tablet of every man's heart. But I have not the power. I cannot describe it. It is above description. It is enstamped upon every thing they have handed down to their posterity. They were men whom Providence seems to have raised up for the express purpose of showing to the world that genuine liberty was not merely a thing to be

talked of, to be the theme of the poet's song, to be eulogized by the orator, to be prayed for by the good; but something to be felt, to be adopted, to be inwoven into the very fibres of the heart, and acted out in every-day life-something that belongs to man, as man—a thing not to be yielded to power, nor sold for gold, but a birthright—an unalienable gift from the hand of a righteous and independent God. For this they were willing to sacrifice every thing. Home, lands, kindred, the graves of their fathers, possessed no charms for them, while this was not theirs freely to enjoy and fully to exercise. They were the means of, and the chief pioneers in, the political renovation of Europe.

The love of Liberty burned in their bosoms like a pent up fire. England, with all its boasted freedom, was not a land of freedom for them. While the Stuarts sat upon the throne, they were true hearted Englishmen, and their hearts beat high with the pride of a people distinguished, for half a score of centuries, among the nations of the earth.

But when they sought to make England the home of a free people, and establish there the laws and institutions of a free people, they assailed ancient and deep-rooted prejudices and customs; and, in the struggle that followed, some of England's best blood was poured out as a sacrifice upon this sacred altar. The strong and relentless arm of persecution drove them forth from their native land, yet they surrendered not a particle of Heaven's precious, invaluable boon; and when they commenced their journey, it was the departure of the noblest spirits of the British Isle.

They found a temporary home in Holland. But how could Holland, king-ridden, circumscribed Holland, hold the expansive spirit of Liberty? They needed a world for their dwelling-place. Their spirits thirsted for an atmosphere tainted by no tyrant's breath, and a land trammeled by no despot's sway. They were no enthusiasts-no political dreamers-no commercial speculators, like the Greeks-no avaricious adventurers, like the Spanish. They were not men tired of civilized life, seeking the hermit's home, or a grave in solitude. No! They were noble, calm, reflecting, sober-minded men.

What an eventful day was that for the world, when they crossed the narrow plank connecting them to all they held most dear, and with a cheerful farewell embarked the hopes of a freedom which the old world knew not, the image of which they had conceived, and to the possession of which, Hope, like a star in the dark portals of the West, pointed her "radiant finger," as in reserve for them there.

They came at last, wafted by no mild breeze to fertile fields and dewy meads, but to a hard and wintry coast, swept by December's piercing blast, barren and bleak, yet free and unbounded. They saw, perchance, no forms of living men, but as they looked upon each other, pale, and emaciated, and shivering with the cold. They heard no sound but the ocean's roar, and the deep-toned voice of one of their number, struggling in prayer to express emotions too deep for utterance. This, then, was the answer to their fervent prayers, the bliss

ful consummation of the cherished desire of their souls, and this was a satisfying portion for their souls. And there, upon that cold and rugged cliff, when prayer had ceased, strange as it may seem,"they sang!

And the stars heard, and the sea,

And the sounding isles of the dim woods rang

To the anthems of the free."

Yes, from their knees they rose, and with a cheerful smile they looked around them on the dreary waste, and from their swelling hearts burst forth their

"hymns of lofty cheer,

That shook the depths of the desert's gloom,"

for they saw and felt that then they were free indeed.

This was a living example of energy growing out of true principles. From this time forward to the period of the Revolution, their history affords an impressive illustration of the practical results when the energies of man are directed in the right channel. The nations of olden time had energy enough, but it was energy misdirected-energy worthy of a better cause and a higher aim.

Such was Rome. War was the object of her ambition and her efforts, her glory and her boast. To lead a triumphal procession along the Sacred Way, and up the Sacred Mount-to wear the wreath of victory-was an honor infinitely greater, in the estimation of her citizens, than to sit upon a throne of ivory, or wear the diadem of the Cæsars, without the glory of heroic deeds.

Not so with our fathers. Theirs was a moral and intellectual struggle, and theirs a moral and intellectual triumph. They came to a land unmarked by the foot-prints of civilized life-a wilderness, whose silence had hitherto remained unbroken, save by the song-birds' carol, the wild beasts' howl, the fearful death-whoop of the savage, the tempest's roar, and the cataract's thunder.

Without resources, wasted and enfeebled by disease, exiles from their native land, but with firm and unwavering confidence in the God above, here they rested their weary feet, and here, as the first act of obedience and love, they erected the standard, and flung to the breeze the banner of the Cross. Before them the forest melted fast away. Comfort and plenty chased away poverty and want. The merry hum of labor, the clack of the busy mill, were heard on every side, and, in the language of inspiration, "the wilderness and solitary place were glad for them, and the desert rejoiced and blossomed as the rose."

They erected States, in whose constitution rational liberty, in its highest sense, is made consistent with the restraints of just and wholesome laws. They opened the highways of knowledge, giving liberal instruction to all classes of society, and founded colleges for the promotion of literature and science. They enjoyed and maintained the institutions of the Gospel for the religious welfare of the

people; yet, in their active zeal, with unyielding tenacity, did they adhere to the purity and simplicity of primitive days, discarding, at once and forever, the tinseled drapery and gaudy show of superstitious forms.

In their wanderings, like Æneas of old, who snatched his household gods from the crackling flames and bore them safe to the Ausonian shores as the dearest objects of his earthly love, so they brought with them what most on earth they valued-Liberty, Letters, and Religion in its purity. It is true they did, for a time, submit to the form of English government and laws, so far, at least, as their rights were unmolested by the mother land; but when the hand of the ruthless tyrant touched upon these, they spurned the name and form of English domination.

Here originated the Revolution. It was but the natural working of those principles that had been handed down from one generation to another, from the time that the pure incense of humble prayer first ascended from the first family altar on Plymouth rock. It was from the Bible that they derived their ideas of liberty; and religion and liberty were to them, as they are to us, one and inseparable. With such a basis the people of no country can be enslaved. They must be free; they cannot avoid it.

But this Revolution was the means of the development of new political truths; that is, the inalienable rights of man, as set forth in the Declaration of Independence, were then for the first time established upon a tangible, sure foundation. Then was framed that constitution which is the chief corner-stone of our Republic, the glory of our land, and the admiration of the world. This, together with the Declaration, were but the expression of principles deep-rooted in every American heart, principles that were taught daily at every hearth in the land.

Our subsequent history has been but a fuller illustration of the great principles of freedom. They permeate the mass as perfectly, and move, in each of us, as naturally and unconsciously as the vital air we breathe.

The permanence of our infant institutions is, indeed, regarded by some as problematical; yet, in looking over the history of the world for the last two centuries, where, in the old world, has any thing, either in modes of government or religious faith, displayed less mutability than the institutions which the Puritans brought into being?

It has been ever a favorite saying among crowned heads, that "the people could not govern themselves;" and on this ground they predicted the early downfall of this Republic. Still, after the lapse of more than half a century, here it stands, secure, a living epistle, in which all men may read and know that self-government is not only possible, but that it is the only form under which the mind is purely free to expand and vigorously exercise its highest powers.

Z.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE MAMMOTH CAVE.

I HAVE often thought it strange, that while a tour to Europe is daily becoming more indispensable to what is called a finished education,' and while a desire to see the Old World is constantly gaining ground among all who have it in their power, there is, comparatively, so little curiosity to become familiar with our own land.

The youth sighs to behold the countries, of which, from his earliest years, he has heard, and read, and thought so much. He longs to mingle in the busy whirl of London; to revel amid the gayeties of Paris; or to wander in lands hallowed by the memories of the past. From the halls of his Alma Mater he steps on board the steamer, looking forward with eager impatience to his first view of a foreign shore. Months, perhaps years, are spent abroad; his wanderings guided by a wayward curiosity, or, it may be, the worthier desire of knowledge. At length, his desires have been gratified; he has seen Europe, and all that is there to interest the stranger. He returns to his native land; and if he has traveled with right motives, he can hardly fail to have gained much. Once home, his profession wholly occupies his time; and now, having made "the grand tour," he thinks it of little importance to seek interest or improvement elsewhere. That his own country may possibly be worth seeing, somehow never occurs to him. A late tourist amuses himself, at the expense of an English nobleman he met in Germany, who "believed the United States formed the southern portion of Canada." He might have felt unpleasantly to meet any of his own countrymen, who knew but little more of some parts of the United States; to whom the name of a planter," suggested a ferocious individual in a Panama hat, with a branding-iron in one hand and a cow-hide in the other, leading a gang of negroes to the cotton-field; and in whose mind the most striking parts of the Western costume were a bowie-knife or two, and an unlimited number of pistols.

But it is not the desire of visiting foreign lands, so much as the want of interest in our own, to which I refer. Surely there is enough within our borders to give pleasure to the citizen as well as the stranger. Its vast extent, the variety of its soil and climate, the different and almost opposite characters of those who inhabit its various sections, are matters of curious observation. It has sacred spots, too; scenes hallowed by associations of the past, and possessing a peculiar charm to the American heart. Nature has done her part to render it attractive. The rugged cliffs of the White Mountains, vieing in grandeur with the boasted glories of the Alps; the plains of the sunny South, rich with the verdure of the tropics; the broad prairies of the West; have these no charms for the lover of Nature? Is there no sublimity in the thunder of Niagara, "the roar of many waters;" in the dark labyrinths of the Monarch of Caverns; or that tremendous Bridge, whose single arch laughs to scorn the proudest work of human contrivance?