three hundred and seventy-five in 1790, and twenty thousand eight hundred and seventeen in 1800-and exceeding over twenty-seven million miles on mail roads now travelled yearly, and over thirty-four thousand miles daily; which is more than twenty times in a day all the post roads exitsing in 1790, or exceeds each day the distance of once round the earth.

We would fain, also, trace the progress of the country in the number and character of its schools, colleges, lyceums and institutes-its canals, and railroads, and steamboats. The last have all sprung into existence since 1810, and are now exceeding probably six hundred in number, of quite one hundred and fifty thousand tons in burthen. Its canals commenced about 1808, and now in the aggregate exceed two thousand five hundred miles in length: while its railroads, beginning only ten or twelve years ago, are already completed above one thousand miles. We might illustrate usefully its increase-in extirpating or reforming crime and pauperism, and in the improvements connected with penitentiaries, alms-houses and prisons. We might detail its progress on the subject of the currency, and show the causes and useful consequences of its increase in the precious metals from about nine millions in 1790 to over eighty millions in 1839, thus enlarging nearly nine-fold the vast labor-saving machine of money, instead of rude and primitive barter. We could inquire into the more doubtful utility of the changes, during the same period, in banking capital from two and a half to two hundred and sixty millions-in bank issues from three to one hundred and forty-and in bank discounts from about three to four hundred and fifty-seven millions-with our views upon their character and tendencies, in respect to durable prosperity. But our wishes are checked, and we are admonished by the length to which this article has already extended, to defer these, with several other analogous topics, to some other appropriate opportunity.

It may merely be added, that, if such have been our real advances in so short a period in all that is useful, practical and glorious, it must be obvious that neither the substance of our free laws and constitutions, nor the republican administration of them, can possibly be so defective or injurious as many, under the jaundiced views of party prejudice, have unfortunately been led to suppose.

Certain we are, that, if all would dispassionately look to facts, rather than loose speculations, in respect to our national prosperity or happiness, as compared with those of any people under institutions less democratic and differently administered, they would find less ground for assailing and hanging up, as is too often done, with much indiscretion and great injustice, their own government and rulers as subjects for scorn, calumny and severe censure-nor would they continue, what seems to have been almost a confirmed habit, under the blind impulse of political intolerance, to attempt, most irrationally, to disgrace them in the eyes of the intelligent, whether at home or abroad, for every leading measure of

domestic or foreign policy. The only plausible apology for this disreputable course, by many, who are otherwise intelligent and liberal, is the force of custom and the tyranny of party, which often make them, insensibly and as a matter of course, attack every thing done by their opponents, however beneficial or glorious may have been its consequences to the country at large, and however rapid or elevated, under the democratic administration of the Government, may have been our progress in arts, literature, wealth, and every species of national power, either useful or commendable.

A LEGEND OF THE WHIRLPOOL.

BY S. DE V.

"This grand and beautiful scene is three miles from the Falls of Niagara, and four miles from the Village of Lewistown."

In truth thou art a fearful place, who shall thy depths explore?
Who'll enter on thy fluctuant waves, for mines of golden ore?
From yonder point impetuously, the raging waters sweep,
They come in all their mighty power, descending leap o'er leap.

In wrath, and foam, they rush along, through cavern'd rocks they flow,
And high towards the mirror'd skies, the feathery mist they throw;
Their noise is like the tempest's voice, when whirlwinds sweep the shore,
And far abroad the sound is heard, like ocean's hollow roar.

In former days, that long have fled, when the wild forest glen
Was yet in nature's mystery hid, and sheltered savage men;
There the bold Indian, arm'd for war, with battle axe and bow,
Ranged fearless o'er his hunting grounds, or watched the wily foe.

When o'er the earth gay flowers bloomed, and all the trees were green,
And brightly shone the summer's sun, and lit the smiling scene;
An Iroquois, a daring brave, strayed with his forest love,
Through many a vale, and sombre shade, and many a hidden grove.

Their way was by Niagara's flood, where the circling eddies run;
And many a tale he told of war, and of battles he had won;
What sleeping foes he had surprised, how swift had flown his dart;
And love, and vengeance, mingled were, to win the maiden's heart.
VOL. VI. NO. XXII. OCT.-1839.

V

Right seemly were the savage pair, as they admiring bent

Their charmed eyes upon the scene, as on their course they went;
But all unseen, behind a rock, sat on the other side

An Huron, who with demon scorn, these happy ones had ey’d.

When Huron meets with Iroquois, in field, or flood or fire,
His hated foe he must destroy, or feed the funeral pyre!
The Chieftain saw, he bounded in, and thro' the tossing stream,
Like a fierce serpent, in his rage, his fiery eye-balls gleam.

The gushing torrent springs abroad, and leaps with deaf'ning sound,
And ridged waves high vaulting rise, and o'er the rocks rebound,
The whirlpool's ceaseless roar ascends, the waters rush away,
And fleecy clouds are wafted round, formed from the rising spray.

The Iroquois upon the maid, cast a sad farewell smile,

Then hurried turned, and in he plunged, where the wrathful waters boil;
And she upon that rocky shore, alone and shuddering stood,
Spectatress of the battle scene, upon that boistrous flood.

The warriors through the bounding deep, their onward progress urge,
And nobly dash through whitened waves, or ride the rolling surge;
Now a strong current sweeps them down; then on the rising swell
They buoyant mount, and wave their hands, and scream the Indian yell!

Again into some vortex hurled, powerless they move around,
Till gath'ring all their strength, they spring, and clear the deep profound;
Their course is to the centre bent, where the circling waters run,
And face to face, and eyes to eyes, their way is onward, on!

Now to the vortex' outward disk, the combatants arrive,
And whooping loud, with furious rage, at one another drive;
They miss their aim, and round are turn'd; round, round the whirl pool

goes;

Yet near, and nearer they approach, as fast the circles close.

They spread their arms, they reach their hands, revolving still they go,
Till grasping in the vortex' mouth, they're drawn to depths below;
Down far beneath the gurgling waves, in fierce and bloody strife,
Foe presses foe, and hard they tug, for vengeance more than life.

Through caverns wide away they're driven, and down, still down they go
Till up, the rushing currents meet, that to the surface flow;
And then in mazy depths they whirl, till 'gainst a jutting crag,
Their bodies strike! their holds relax-apart-they onward drag.

Sundered, enfeebled, both are thrown, forth from the gulfs beneath,
And to the upper surface rise once more the air they breathe.
Awhile they panting, rest their forms, awhile look wildly round;
Then on each other rush again, and grasp, and tear, and wound.

The nymph to the great spirit raised, her fervent prayer to give
Nerve to the arm of her beloved, to conquer and to live.

On the vexed waters still they strive, and still around are driven, Sometimes engulfed below the waves, and sometimes raised towards Heaven.

And as the whirling eddies sweep, and as the torrent flows,
Amid the din and tempest roar, their savage yells uprose;

At length with more than human strength, the Huron's deadly foe,
Seiz'd on his throat, and held him down, to suffcate below.

Hard was the struggle, and the waves, contending claim their prey,
And o'er the dying Huron dance; then sweep his corpse away.
The Iroquois exhausted floats, and oft around is rolled,
Till on a frail and broken wreck, he feebly makes his hold.

No power had he to tempt the deep, his wonted strength was gone,
And every passing wave that rose, yawn'd on him as its own;
The Heavens above in anger frowned, the clouds passed heavy o'er,
And thickening mists obscured his eyes, and hid the distant shore.

Again the waters suck below, while some up-heaving rose,
And hideous noises whistle round, as when the storm wind blows.
The forest maid beheld the scene, and up the bank she hied;
Then quick returns-a light canoe, was to her shoulders tied.

Soon it is launch'd upon the stream, that deep and treach'rous flowed,
And swiftly o'er the curving waves, light as a swan it rode.
Ye spirits of the watery caves, from her your dangers stay,
Grant her the object of her hopes, and safely speed her way!

She nears the dark and fainting brave, and in the whirl pool's roar,
She lifts him in her fragile boat, and turns her course to shore.
The waters swell, and hollow moans rise from the opening deep,
A larger circle drives the waves, in one stupendous sweep.

Now if that little bark shall pass, yon disk of lucent green,
The course is safe unto the land, no dangers intervene;
But once more down, it sweeps away, still further on it wheels,
The raging torrent draws it in, away! away! it reels.

A cry from off the water comes! no more the oar is plied,
But all erect the maiden sits, her warrior by her side;
They cast their eyes upon the shore, then on the rushing surge,
Fondly embrace, then all resigned, they sing the funeral dirge.

The bark is on the mountain wave, a moment there it rides,
Then downward shoots! the scene is closed! the wreck the water hides!
The cauldron deep roars from beneath, the foaming surface shakes,
A mighty billow rolls along, in misty clouds it breaks.

Again recoils the flowing mass, and turns its whelming force,
Still back, and forward, round, and on, such is its destin'd course;
And ever shall the waves revolve, and still the billows swell,
And fancy oft amid the roar, yet hears the Indian yell.

SKETCHES OVER THE SEA.

ELSINEUR AND TROLHATTA.

"Helsingoer," cried the postilion as we reached the brow of a hill, on the road from Copenhagen.

The little town of Elsineur lay at the foot of this hill, whose green slopes fell gently to the shore; and before us appeared the sound, covered with the vessels of all nations, some riding at anchor, and others floating leisurely along in the still noon, the broad hills of Sweden, stretching away on the opposite coast, and on the right the dark waters of the Baltic, swelling beyond the horizon.

It was a beautiful sight, the most beautiful, which after many journeyings, I had yet seen in Europe.

What square old castle is that, with the gothic towers? Cronborg. And that island-is Huen-where Tycho Brache built his Wraniburg.

I saw the star-spangled banner floating among the shipping. My blood rushed to my heart, at that sight, in this northern sea.

So we rested at Elsineur. The first sight of a celebrated spot is an event in one's life. The eye at last sees, what the mind has long imagined, and if the heart has felt an interest in the place, it is filled with emotions.. I stood now at one of the marked points of the earth's surface; for these straits, if they do not rival the Dardanelles and Gibraltar, are, next to them, the most renowned of the world. The old histories of the north, Shakspeare, and Hamlet, Campbell and Nelson, have done more even than nature, to fix our thoughts on Elsineur. Yet what has not nature done also. How magnificent she had made this narrow passage

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