venge, and the murder of thy friend! With what ecstacy will thy soul cling to this world, and with what horror will it quake at the approach of eternity! alone, naked, drenched in guilt, thou wilt ascend, to God. From him what reception wilt thou meet ?— From his voice what language wilt thou hear?—“ Dehart thou cursed into everlasting fire." And lo! the melancholy world of sin and suffering unfolds to receive thee. Mark, in the entrance, the man whom thou hast plundered of life and happiness, and heaven already waiting to pour on thy devoted head, for the infinite wrongs which thou hast done to him, the wrath and vengeance of eternity.

At the close of this awful survey, cast thine eyes once more around thee, and see thyself, and thy brother duellists, the examples, the patrons, and the sole causes of all succeeding duelling. Were the existing advocates of this practice to cease from upholding it; were these to join their efforts to the common efforts of man, and hunt it out of the world; it would never return. On thee, therefore, and thy 'companions, the innumerable and immense evils of future duelling are justly charged. To you, a band of enemies to the peace and safety of man, a host of Jeroboams, who not only sin, but make Israel to sin through a thousand generations, will succeeding ages impute their guilt, and their sufferings. Your efficacious and baleful examples, will make thousands of childless parents, distracted widows, and desolate orphans, after you are laid in the grave. You invite posterity to wrest the right of deciding private controversies out of the hands of public justice; and to make force and skill the only umpires between man and man :you entail perpetual contempt on the laws of man, and on the laws of God; kindle the flames of civil discord; and summon from his native abyss anarchy, the worst of fiends, to lay waste all the happiness, and all the hopes of mankind.

At the great and final day, your country will rise up in judgment against you to accuse you as the destroyers of her peace, and the murderers of her children.

Against you will rise up in judgment all the victims of your revenge, and all the wretched families, whom you have plunged in hopeless misery. The prowling Arab and the remorseless savage, will there draw nigh, and whiten their crimes by a comparison with yours. They indeed were murderers, but they were never dignified with the name, nor blessed with the privileges of Christians. They were born in blood, and educated to slaughter. They were taught from their infancy, that to fight, and to kill, was lawful, honorable, and virtuous. You were born in the mansion of knowledge, humanity, and religion. At the moment of your birth, you were offered up to God, and baptized in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. You were dandled on the knee, and educated in the school of piety. From the house of God, you have gone to the field of blood ; and from the foot of the cross, to the murder of your friends. You have cut off life in the blossom, and shortened, to the wretched objects of your wrath, the day of repentance and salvation. The beams of the Sun of righteousness, shining with life-giving influence on them, you have intercepted; the smile of mercy, the gleam of hope, the dawn of immortality, you have overcast forever. You have glutted the grave with untimely slaughter, and helped to people the world of perdition. Crimsoned with guilt, and drunk with blood, Nineveh will ascend from the tomb, triumph over your ruin, and smile to see her own eternal destiny more tolerable than yours.

SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

THE POLAR REGIONS.

the Muse

Thence sweeps the howling margin of the main,
Where undissolving, from the first of time,
Snows swell on snews amazing to the sky;
And icy mountains high on mountains pil'd,
Seem to the shivering sailor from afar,
Shapeless and white, an atmosphere of clouds.
'rojected huge, and horrid, o'er the surge,
Alps frown on Alps; or rushing hideous down,
As if old Chaos was again return'd,

Wide rend the deep, and shake the solid pole.
Ocean itself no longer can resist

The binding fury; but, in all its rage
Of tempest taken by the boundless frost,
3 many a fathom to the bottom chain'd
nd bid to roar no more: a bleak expanse,
hagg'd o'er with wavy rocks, cheerless, and void
f every life, that from the dreary months
lies conscious. southward.

Miserable they!

Vho, here entangled in the gathering ice,
Take their last look of the descending sun,

Vhile, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost, The long, long night, incumbent o'er their heads, "alls horrible.

PERISHING TRAVELLER,

is thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce,
All Winter drives along the darkened air;
n his own loose revolving fields, the swain
Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend,
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,

Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain :
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid

Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
From hill to dale, still more and more astray;
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of
home

Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth
In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul!
What black despair, what horror fills his heart !
When for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd
His tufted cottage rising thro' the snow,
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the track, and blest abode of man ;
While round him night resistless closes fast,
And every tempest howling o'er his head,
Renders the savage wilderness more wild.
Then throng the busy shapes into his mind
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep,

A dire descent! beyond the power of frost,
Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge,

Smooth'd' up with snow; and, what is land, unknown,
What water, of the still unfrozen spring,

In the loose marsh or solitary lake,

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils,
These check his fearful steps: and down he sinks
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguish Nature shoots
Thro' the wrung bosom of the dying man,
His wife, his children, and his friends unseen.
In vain for him the officious wife prepares
The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm;
In vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire,
With tears of artless innocence. Alas!
Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold.
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
The deadly winter seizes; shuts up sense;
And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse,
Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blåst.

Ah! happy they! the happiest of their kind!
Whom gende stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attuning all their passions into love;
Where friendship full exerts her softest power,
Perfect esteem enlivened by desire

Ineffable, and sympathy of soul;

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will
With boundless confidence: (for nought but love
Can answer love, and render bliss secure.)
Let him ungenerous, who, alone intent
To bless himself, from sordid parents buys
The loathing maiden, in eternal care,
Well-merited, consume his nights and days;
Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love
Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel;
Let eastern tyrants, from the light of Heaven
Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd
Of a mere, lifeless, violated form:

Its pomp,

While those whom love cements in holy faith,
And equal transport, free as nature live,
Disdaining fear. What is the world to them,
its pleasure, and its nonsense all !
Who in each other clasp whatever fair
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish ;
Something than beauty dearer, should they look
Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;
Truth, goodness, honor, harmony, and love,
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven.
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees,
The human blossom blows; and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, shews some new charm,
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom.
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an assiduous care.
Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,