and two clergymen of that city, Drs. Rodgers and Mason, received him on his arrival. In New England, it was the general rule. The clergyman was the sun of the intellectual system, in village, township, and city. John Adams in his early life-we may take him as a fair type of self-culture, seizing upon all neighboring advantages -was almost as much a clerical growth as a pupil of St. Omer's or the Propaganda. Throughout the South the clergyman was the pioneer of civilization. This is a missionary influence, which does not suggest itself so prominently as it should to the American of the present day. We are apt to think of the clergyman only in his relation to the pulpit; and confirm our notions of his influence to the family and the parish, in those concerns of eternal welfare, which are locked up in the privacies of the home and the heart. These spiritual relations, indeed, have the grandest and widest scope; but there are others which should not be separated from them. The clergyman not only sanctified and cemented the parish, but he founded the state. It was his instruction which moulded the soldier and the statesman. Living among agriculturists remote from towns, where language and literature would naturally be neglected and corrupted, in advance of the schoolmaster and the school, he was the future college in embryo. When we see men like Marshall graduating at his right hand, with no other courses than the simple man of God, who had left the refinements of civilization for the wilderness, taught, and with no other diploma than his benediction, we may, indeed, stop to honor their labors. Let the name of the American missionary of the colonial and revolutionary age suggest something more to the student of our history than the limited notion of a combatant with heathenism and vice. He was also the companion and guide to genius and virtue. When the memorials of those days are written, let his name be recorded, in no insignificant or feeble letters, on the page with the great men of the state, whom his talents and presence inspired."

A considerable portion of this work is devoted to the literature of the South, which is here more fully displayed than it has ever been before. The record

presents an imposing array of names, especially among the more recent writers of the southern states. Kennedy, Legaré, Cooper, Pinkney, Calvert, Gayarré, Simms, Charlton, Meyer, the Cookes, Thompson, Hayne, and several others are made the subjects of honorable notice; and full justice is done to their various accomplishments in the different departments of literature.

The period, extending from the commencement of this century to the present time, includes the great writers in prose and poetry, who are everywhere recognized as the chief illustrations of American letters, and whose names are too well known to require even a passing allusion. Of the latest contemporary authors, whose brilliant reputation affords the promise of permanent fame, we have many interesting details that have not before appeared in print. Among these, the editors have given sketches that furnish a gratifying proof of the freshness and vitality of our literature, of Thomas W. Parsons, whose recent volume of sinewy poetry at once raised him to an eminence which was no surprise to the connoisseur who was acquainted with his previous translations from Dante; of John Milton Mackie, whose Cosas de España and other contributions to periodical literature exhibit the sparkling effervescence of an intellect ripened in the gravest studies; of Donald Mitchell, who has opened a new vein of sentiment and pathos in the effusions of Ik. Marvel; and of Curtis, the versatile Howadji, whose pen luxuriates alike in pictures of sunny lands abroad, and in polished satire of social follies at home. In the critical judgments, which the editors or these volumes express, we find no trace of bitterness or of favoritism, but the manly utterance of opinions, which are usually in accordance with the verdict of public taste. The work is finished with an elaborate nicety that betrays the spirit of true scholarship-the love of excellence and completeness, without regard to toil. Minute inaccuracies are, of course, discoverable amid such a multiplicity of details; but, we think, none can be found which will impeach the general fidelity. A large collection of portraits, autographs, and cuts of authors' residences, forms an appropriate embellishment to the work, and adds much to its interest and value.

AS the Rajah Nala was walking in his

garden at Nishadha, thinking of the beautiful Damayanti, his eye was arrested by a flock of swans. They came from a cloud above the garden, dropping from its white bosom like a garland of pearls. Some alighted in the tanks, where they swam merrily; others in flower-beds and on the boughs of trees, and one at the Rajah's feet. "This is strange," said the Rajah to himself; "I must see what it means." He stretched forth his hand to clutch the bird, but it fled before him, leading him down the path into a thick grove. At the end of the grove he caught it.

"Slay me not, king of men," said the swan imploringly. Know that I am no bird, but the soul of a loving poet in its second transmigration. Pronounce over me the sacred words of the Veda, and I shall see the soul of my beloved in the flock of swans. In return for this divine kindness I will fly to Vidarbha, and praise you to Damayanti. She shall think of no one save you."

"I pity all lovers," said the Rajah with a sigh; "and, whether you serve me or not, I will help you to obtain your mistress." He pronounced the mystic spell, and the swan saw the soul of its beloved. "We will both praise you, king of Nishadha," sang the thankful bird, and calling his mistress with a human voice, the pair flew away in the direction of Vidarbha.

By noon they reached the stately city, and, seeking the garden of Damayanti, they dropped in a bower of roses. Now Damayanti, being fond of roses, had ■ bent her steps to the bower to pluck one. She saw the swans as she entered; they stood side by side like lilies-like two white lilies whose heads lean together.

"Nala dwells in Nishadha," began the swans. "Wert thou wedded to him, Damayanti, his noble strength and thy perfect beauty would bear divine fruit. We have seen the gods, and the Gand harvas, tehir singers; the graceful-gliding people of Patala, and the demons who change themselves at will; but never the peer of Nala. He is the sun VOL. VII.-12

among men, as thou art the moon among women. If the peerless wed the peerless, blessed shall the union be."

"I love Nala," said the wondering Princess; "return and tell him so."

"We go," sang the swans; and while Damayanti plucked the rose they flew back to Nala, and told him all.

The swans took the heart of Damayanti with them. She dwelt no more with herself, but with Nala. The roses faded from her cheeks the more they bloomed in her bower. She grew pale and melancholy, and gave herself up to thought. Her handmaids pitied her secret grief; and one of them, who had heard the song of the swans, told the royal Bhima that his daughter pined for the Rajah Nala. "When maids are sick with love," said the wise old King, “it is time they were wedded." So he summoned the neighboring Rajahs to the betrothal of Damayanti. They crowned themselves with garlands, called their armies together, and, mounting their elephants, marched to Vidarbha. Bhima received them with honor, and they sat on thrones of state in his palace, while the streets swarmed with their soldiers.

The news of the approaching betrothal reached the gods, and Narada and Parvatas ascended to the world of Indra. The Cloudy saluted them. "How fares it with you and your world?"

"It is well with us," replied Narada, the friend of the beautiful Krishna.

"But why come ye alone? Where are mine ancient guests, the kings and guardians of the earth? They are always welcome."

"The renowned Damayanti, the daughter of Bhima, is about to choose a husband; therefore remain the kings. They are hastening to Vidarbha with all their pomp-suitors for the Pearl of the World."

"Let us go also," said the gods; and on the instant they were in their chariots hastening to the earth. As they sank through the air, they saw Nala on his way to the court of Bhima. He drove his chariot as skillfully as the fire-god drives the sun. His hair streamed behind him from his garland of flowers;