broke forth, rushed to the stake, untied the female, and carried her off in triumph to the place where the horses were tied, put her on one of them, and rode thirty or forty miles with her, then directed her the way to her own tribe, and gave her the horse on which she rode. The assembly were astonished at his boldness, and so struck with it, that they were unable to gather courage to interfere when he rescued the victim. They looked on in astonishment, and thought that he might be some one sent by the Great Spirit, and not a mere mortal. He therefore was not overtaken in his journey, and now lives to enjoy the gratitude and admiration of the whole tribe.

1831.

ADVICE TO A YOUNG LAWYER.

BE brief, be pointed; let your matter stand

Lucid in order, solid, and at hand;

Spend not your words on trifles, but condense;
Strike with the mass of thought, not drops of sense;

Press to the close with vigor, once begun,

And leave, (how hard the task !) leave off, when done.
Who draws a labored length of reasoning out,

Puts straws in line, for winds to whirl about;

Who drawls a tedious tale of learning o'er,

Counts but the sands on ocean's boundless shore.
Victory in law is gained, as battles fought,
Not by the numbers, but the forces brought.

What boots success in skirmish or in fray,

If rout and ruin following close the day?

What worth a hundred posts maintained with skill,

If these all held, the foe is victor still?

He, who would win his cause, with power must frame
Points of support, and look with steady aim;

Attack the weak, defend the strong with art,
Strike but few blows, but strike them to the heart;

All scattered fires but end in smoke and noise,

The scorn of men, the idle play of boys.
Keep, then, this first great precept ever near,

Short be your speech, your matter strong and clear,
Earnest your manner, warm and rich your style,
Severe in taste, yet full of grace the while;
So may you reach the loftiest heights of fame,
And leave, when life is past, a deathless name.

Washington Allston.

BORN in Georgetown, S. C., 1779. DIED at Cambridge, Mass., 1843.

THE PICTURE OF SATAN AND HIS THRALL.

[Monaldi : A Tale. Written about 1822. Published in 1841.]

AFTER waiting some time for my conductor's return, and finding

little worth looking at besides the Lanfranc, I turned to leave the chapel by the way I had entered; but, taking a wrong door, I came into a dark passage, leading, as I supposed, to an inner court. This being my first visit to a convent, a natural curiosity tempted me to proceed, when, instead of a court, I found myself in a large apartment. The light (which descended from above) was so powerful, that for nearly a minute I could distinguish nothing, and I rested on a form attached to the wainscoting. I then put up my hand to shade my eyes, when—the fearful vision is even now before me--I seemed to be standing before an abyss in space, boundless and black. In the midst of this permeable pitch stood a colossal mass of gold, in shape like an altar, and girdled about by a huge serpent, gorgeous and terrible; his body flecked with diamonds, and his head, an enormous carbuncle, floated like a meteor on the air above. Such was the Throne. But no words can describe the gigantic Being that sat thereon-the grace, the majesty, its transcendent form; and yet I shuddered as I looked, for its superhuman countenance seemed, as it were, to radiate falsehood; every feature was in contradiction-the eye, the mouth, even to the nostril-whilst the expression of the whole was of that unnatural softness which can only be conceived of malignant blandishment. It was the appalling beauty of the King of Hell. The frightful discord vibrated through my whole frame, and I turned for relief to the figure below; for at his feet. knelt one who appeared to belong to our race of earth. But I had turned from the first, only to witness in this second object its withering fascination. It was a man apparently in the prime of life, but pale and emaciated, as if prematurely wasted by his unholy devotion, yet still devoted-with outstretched hands, and eyes upraised to their idol, fixed with a vehemence that seemed almost to start them from their sockets. The agony of his eye, contrasting with the prostrate, reckless worship of his attitude, but too well told his tale: I beheld the mortal conflict between the conscience and the will-the visible struggle of a soul in the toils of sin. I could look no longer.

As I turned, the prior was standing before me. "Yes," said he, as if replying to my thoughts, "it is indeed terrific. Had you beheld it unmoved, you had been the first that ever did so.

"There is a tremendous reality in the picture that comes home to every man's imagination: even the dullest feel it, as if it had the power of calling up that faculty in minds never before conscious of it."

ON THE STUDY OF FORM IN THE WORKS OF RAPHAEL AND MICHAEL ANGELO.

[Lectures on Art, and Poems, by Washington Allston. Edited by R. H. Dana, Jr. 1850.]

TH

HERE is no school from which something may not be learned. But chiefly to the Italian should the student be directed, who would enlarge his views on the present subject, and especially to the works of Raphael and Michael Angelo; in whose highest efforts we have, so to speak, certain revelations of Nature which could only have been made by her privileged seers. And we refer to them more particularly, as to the two great sovereigns of the two distinct empires of Truth,—the Actual and the Imaginative; in which their claims are acknowledged by that within us, of which we know nothing but that it must respond to all things true. We refer to them, also, as important examples in their mode of study; in which it is evident that, whatever the source of instruction, it was never considered as a law of servitude, but rather as the means of giving visible shape to their own conceptions.

From the celebrated antique fragment, called the Torso, Michael Angelo is said to have constructed his forms. If this be true,—and we have no reason to doubt it,-it could nevertheless have been to him little more than a hint. But that is enough to a man of genius, who stands in need, no less than others, of a point to start from. There was something in this fragment which he seems to have felt, as if of a kindred nature to the unembodied creatures in his own mind; and he pondered over it until he mastered the spell of its author. He then turned to his own, to the germs of life that still awaited birth, to knit their joints, to attach the tendons, to mould the muscles,-finally, to sway the limbs by a mighty will. Then emerged into being that gigantic race of the Sistina, giants in mind no less than in body, that appear to have descended as from another planet. His Prophets and Sybils seem to carry in their persons the commanding evidence of their mission. They neither look nor move like beings to be affected by the ordinary concerns of life; but as if they could only be moved by the vast of human events, the fall of empires, the extinction of nations; as if the awful secrets of the future had overwhelmed in them all present sympathies. As we have stood before these lofty apparitions of the painter's mind, it has