. as to let in the runners lengthwise, and we blessed God silently, though heartily, for every successful leap. New spirits seemed to be given to our faithful beasts the further they went-no whip was necessary. The driver clung to his seat, and seemed to enjoy their increased speed. A house was in sight, and directly he pulled up to the smooth, pebbly shore. "This is the place I promised to bring you to; it is Pennsylvania line. You are now on the lake shore of that state." "I will go no further on the ice," said the writer. "I am glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Hibbard, "for my heart has been in my mouth all the way." "Why did not you speak, if you objected to this mode of travelling?" said the writer. Because," said he, "I was ashamed not to possess as much courage as a minister." How little did he know of the writer, who had no courage aside from his trust in God. The driver received his pay, called for his dog, and was off. Once more we were on the lonely beach. He read prayers and preached for the first time in Ohio, on the 16th of March, 1817, made a tour through the State, was joined by his wife and family, and settled down.on a tract of land of one hundred and fifty acres at Worthington, taking charge at the same time of churches in that place, Columbus, and Delaware. In January, 1818, a Convention was held at Columbus, at which the Diocese of Ohio was organized, and at a subsequent Convention in June, Mr. Chase was elected bishop. He had, on the fifth of May previous, had the misfortune to lose his wife. On the eleventh of February, 1819, he was consecrated by Bishop White. He was married on Sunday, July 4 of the same year, to Miss Sophia M. Ingraham. In 1823 the bishop formed the resolution of visiting England, to solicit funds for the establishment of a school of theology in the West. The scheme was regarded as chimerical by his brother bishops, and met with opposition from the friends of the General Theological Seminary in New York. The bishop persevered, and with the small provision of $100 to meet his expenses, sailed for Liverpool. His first experiences were disheartening, but he persevered, and found in Lord Gambier, to whom he carried a letter from Henry Clay, and Lord Kenyon, liberal and influential friends. The bishop made a donation of his farm to the proposed seminary, and agreed that no funds contributed should be drawn, until English donors were satisfied by the voucher of Henry Clay, or in case of his death the Governor of the State, that the conditions of the gift had been complied with. He returned after a few months' absence with about $20,000. The seminary was commenced by the reception of students in the bishop's own house at Worthington. appointed his teachers and paid them from his own funds, and such as he collected from the students themselves. His wife was his secretary, his housekeeper, his adviser, and treasurer in all this. Such a commencement of a great institution of religion and learning, on so economical a plan, was never elsewhere witnessed. The next step was the purchase of eight thousand acres as a domain. The bishop rightly estimating the importance of his own personal supervision, built a cabin on the hill on which the college was to stand. He The whole surface of the hill was then a windfall, being a greater part of it covered with fallen and up-turned trees, between and over which had come up a second growth of thick trees and bushes. It was on such a place as this (proverbially impervious even to the hunters after wolves, which made it their covert), that the writer pitched his tent, if such it may be called. On the south end or promontory of this hill (near to which, below, ran the road used by the first settlers), grew some tall oak trees, which evidently had escaped the hurricanes in days of yore. Under the shelter of these, some boards in a light wagon were taken nearly to the top of the hill; there they were dropped, and it was with these the writer's house was built, after the brush was with great difficulty cleared away. Two crotched sticks were driven into the ground, and on them a transverse pole was placed, and on this pole were placed the boards, inclining to the ground each way. The ends, or gables, to this room or roofshelter, were but slightly closed by some clap boards rived on the spot from a fallen oak tree. The be is to sleep on were thrown on bundles of straw, kept up from the damp ground by a kind of temporary platform, resting on stakes driven deeply into the earth. This was the first habitation on Gambier Hill, and it stood very nearly on the site where now rises the noble edifice of Kenyon College. On his visit to the east, to attend the meeting of the General Convention, the bishop made a tour, during which he collected a large sum in aid of his project. A portion of the buildings was commenced on his return, and in good season completed. Scarcely, however, had the institution gone into operation, when a difficulty arose between the bishop and the professors, as to the limits of the power of the former as ex-officio president. The matter was brought into the Convention of the diocese in 1831, and a report made, virtually endorsing the professors. The bishop said nothing, and the report was unanimously adopted. He retired from the Convention, and tendered his resignation, which was accepted. He soon after removed to Michigan with his family, where he occupied himself with his wonted energy in missionary duty as a presbyter, until he received in 1835 an invitation from the small handful of clergy and laity which composed the diocese, to become the first Bishop of Illinois. He accepted the appointment, and soon after, undaunted by the hard requital his former labors had received, began his exertions for the foundation of a Theological Seminary and College. He sailed for England in October, to appeal again to his old friends for aid, and the appeal was liberally responded to. Further donations in the Eastern States enabled him to buy land, and commence building. The corner-stone of the new institution, Jubilee College, was laid on the fourth of April, 1839, on a large and beautiful tract of land, secured by the bishop's wise forethought, as a domain and future source of revenue. next passed a year in travelling through the States, north and south, soliciting funds to establish scholarships, and was tolerably successful in his efforts. His Reminiscences were written and published with a view to advance the same cause. Jubilee College was built and opened, and the good and venerable prelate, by virtue of seniority the presiding bishop of his church, was enabled to enjoy for some years the spectacle of He its harmony and usefulness. His cottage home, Robin's Nest, was not far off, and it was here that on the twentieth day of September, 1852, he closed his long life of labor and usefulness, a career unequalled in its results by that of any clergyman in the United States. Bishop Chase's Reminiscences fill two large octavo volumes, a large portion of which, however, is occupied by letters addressed to him, and documents connected with the Ohio controversy, and other events of his life. The work abounds in passages of great beauty, the character of which may be judged from the extracts interspersed in our narrative. They remind us of the heartfelt simplicity of Izaak Walton. The same noble trait was a characteristic of the discourses and conversation of the man. But while harmless as the dove, he was also wise as the serpent. His conduct in relation to the endowment of his colleges shows that he was a shrewd and able man, "not slothful in business." With his personal humility, he properly combined a high sense of the dignity of his office. Bishop Chase's countenance expressed singular determination, combined with benevolence. He was tall and well proportioned; and arrayed in the flowing vestments of his office, with the dark velvet cap, which he wore continually after a severe illness brought on by exposure, and which he describes with his wonted quaintness, as "a thick covering to his head, in the shape of a night-cap," his form seemed to fill up as amply to the eye, as his career and words to the mind, the full ideal of a bishop. JOHN J. AUDUBON. JOHN JAMES AUDUBON was born in Louisiana in 1776. His acquaintance with Nature seems to have been early formed under the guidance of his father, who accompanied him in his boyish rambles. He was sent to complete his education in France, where he remained until his seventeenth year. He received in Paris the instructions in drawing of the celebrated painter David. On his return his father presented him with a farm in Pennsylvania, "refreshed during the summer heats by the waters of the Schuylkill river, and traversed by a creek named Perkioming." Here he married. "For a period of nearly twenty years," he says in the biographical preface to his great work, "my life was a series of vicissitudes. I tried various branches of commerce, but they all proved unprofitable, doubtless because my whole mind was ever filled with my passion for rambling and admiring those objects of nature from which alone I received the purest gratification." One of these commercial speculations led him to try his fortune at the West. He removed with his wife and child, descending the Ohio in a small boat with two rowers to the town of Henderson, near Louisville, Ky., and opened a store at the latter place. Here he was visited by Wilson, and was about subscribing for the naturalist's work when he was dissuaded by his partner, who remarked to him that as he could make much better drawings of his own he would not want the plates. This seems to have given him the first hint of his future publications. He does not appear, however, to have formed any settled plan on the sub ject until, on a visit to Philadelphia, he met with Charles Lucien Bonaparte, who introduced him to the Natural History Society and the leading men of the place. "But the patronage which I so much needed, I soon found myself compelled to seek elsewhere. I left Philadelphia, and visited New York, where I was received with a kindness well suited to elevate my depressed spirits." Ascending the Hudson he "glided over our broad lakes to seek the wildest solitudes of the pathless and gloomy forests." Eighteen months elapsed, and he returned to his family then residing in Louisiana, and sailed from thence for England, his endeavors to have his plates engraved in Philadelphia or New York having proved unavailing. He was well received in the cities of England and Scotland, exhibited his drawings, and obtained subscriptions. The drawings for his first number were, however, delivered to the engraver and the work commenced before he had a single subscriber. His work, The Birds of America, was published in numbers, each containing five colored plates of large folio size. The first of these appeared in 1825, and the first volume in 1829. Joh. J. Audubon In April, 1829, he returned to America, "leaped on shore, scoured the woods of the Middle States, and reached Louisiana in the end of November." He returned with his wife to London in the following spring. In 1831 he presented himself at Washington to obtain letters of introduction to the commanders of the frontier posts he purposed visiting. "All," he says, "received me in the kindest manner." He proceeded southwards, exploring the woods of the Carolinas, and cruising among the keys of Florida in the revenue cutter "Marion." He then, following the birds in their migrations, proceeded northwards to the Atlantic cities and the coast of Maine, where he chartered a "beautiful and fast-sailing schooner," and pre The Birds of America, from Drawings made in the United States and their Territories. ceeded in her to Labrador. He returned to the South in the following winter, and to England in 1834, "with an accession of sixty-two subscribers, and the collections made during nearly three years of travel and research." His second volume was published in 1834, and the third in 1835. The fourth and last was completed June 20, 1838. The whole work contains four hundred and thirtyfive plates, containing one thousand and sixty-five distinct specimens, all, from the eagle to the humming-bird, of the size of life. The engravings were executed and colored by Robert Havell, jr., of London. The original subscription price was one thousand dollars, and the number of subscribers one hundred and seventy-five, about half of whom came from England and France. In 1839 Audubon returned to the United States, and purchased a beautiful country-seat on the Hudson, near the upper end of New York Island. He commenced a smaller edition of his "Birds," in seven octavo volumes, with the plates reduced to a similar size, which was completed in 1844. Meanwhile the author, with his sons Victor G. and John W. Audubon, was busy in the forests and prairies of the West in collecting the material for another great work. In the preface to the second volume of his Birds, dated Dec. 1, 1834, he says of his sons:-" Of their natural or acquired talents it does not become me to speak, but should you some day see the ‘Quadrupeds of America' published by their united efforts, do not forget that a pupil of David first gave them lessons in drawing, and that a member of the Bakewell family formed their youthful minds.” The first volume of the Quadrupeds of America appeared in 1848. It is similar in size to the "Birds." The illustrations were lithographed, and colored under the author's supervision, by Bowen of Philadelphia. The Audubons were assisted in the work by the Rev. John Bachman. Audubon's time, when not absent on his journeys, which he continued in his old age with the determination and eagerness of youth, was passed at his rural home, one of the most beautiful country-seats on New York Island. The interior was fitted up in accordance with his tastes and pursuits, with antlers of noble size, specimens and drawings of birds and animals. It was in this pleasant abode, surrounded by his wife and family, that the great naturalist, after a brief period of gradual decay, himself paid the debt of nature on the 27th of January, 1851. "We have heard," says a writer in the "Homes of American Authors," "that the last gleam of light stole across his features a few days before his death, when one of his sons held before him, as he sat in his chair, some of his most cherished drawings." He was buried in the Trinity cemetery, a short distance from his abode. In person Audubon was tall and commanding, and his countenance, from the sharp glance of his eye and the outline of his features, suggested a resemblance to the eagle, COMMON MOCKINGBIRD, It is where the great magnolia shoots up its ma jestic trunk, crowned with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful flowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and fields are adorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornaments the gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlace their climbing stems around the white-flowered stuartia, and mounting still higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees around, accompanied with innumerable vines, that here and there festoon the dense foliage of the magnificent woods, lending to the vernal breeze a slight portion of the perfume of their clustered flowers; where a genial warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of all descriptions are met with at every step;-in a word, kind reader, it is where Nature seems to have paused, as she passed over the earth, and opening her stores, to have strewed with unsparing hand the diversified seeds from which have sprung all the beautiful and splendid forms which I should in vain attempt to describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixed its abode, there only that its wondrous song should be heard. But where is that favored land?—It is in this great continent. It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the love-song of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies round his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly! His tail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance, describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be his and his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his love, and again bouncing upwards, opens his bill, and pours forth his melody, full of exultation at the conquest which he has made. They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I hear, but the sweeter notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of the song, the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its compass, the great brilliancy of execution, are unrivalled. There is probably no bird in the world that possesses all the musical qualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature's self. Yes, reader, all! No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has been sealed, than, as if his breast was about to be rent with delight, he again pours forth his notes with more softness and richness than before. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye, to assure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these love-scenes, visible only to the ardent lover of nature, are over, he dances through the air, full of animation and delight, and, as if to convince his lovely mate that to enrich her hopes he has much more love in store, he that moment begins anew, and imitates all the notes which nature has imparted to the other songsters of the grove. For awhile, each long day and pleasant night are thus spent; but at a peculiar note of the female he ceases his song, and attends to her wishes. A nest is to be prepared, and the choice of a place in which to lay it is to become a matter of mutual consideration. The orange, the fig, the pear-tree of the gardens are inspected; the thick briar patches are also visited. They appear all so well suited for the purpose in view, and so well does the bird know that man is not his most dangerous enemy, that instead of retiring from him, they at length fix their abode in his vicinity, perhaps in the nearest tree to his window, Dried twigs, leaves, grasses, cotton, flax, and other substances are picked up, carried to a forked branch, and there arranged, Five eggs are deposited in due time, when the male having little more to do than to sing his mate to repose, attunes his pipe anew. Every now and then he spies an insect on the ground, the taste of which he is sure will please his beloved one. He drops upon it, takes it in his bill, beats it against the earth, and flies to the nest to feed and receive the warm thanks of his devoted female. When a fortnight has elapsed, the young brood demand all their care and attention. No cat, no vile snake, no dreaded Hawk, is likely to visit their habitation. Indeed the inmates of the next house have by this time become quite attached to the lovely pair of mocking-birds, and take pleasure in contributing to their safety. The dew-berries from the fields, and many kinds of fruit from the gardens, mixed with insects, supply the young as well as the parents with food. The brood is soon seen emerging from the nest, and in another fortnight, being now able to fly with vigor, and to provide for themselves, they leave the parent birds, as many other species do. JOHN BLAIR LINN. JOHN BLAIR LINN was born at Shippensburg, Pennsylvania, March 14, 1777. While he was yet a child his father removed to New York, and after passing two or three years at a boardingschool at Flushing, he entered Columbia College at the early age of thirteen. After taking his degree he became a law student in the office of his father's friend, Alexander Hamilton. During the year that he passed in reading law, he brought out a dramatic piece at the John Street Theatre, entitled Bourville Castle; or, the Gallic Orphan. It is described in the advertisements of the day as a "serious drama, interspersed with songs," and a critique from "an unknown correspondent," in the Minerva newspaper of Jan. 18, 1797, probably his friend Brown the novelist, who, Dunlap tells us, revised the manuscript, gives the only notice it appears to have received: It is the tale of injured innocence and murdered greatness, and is told with great beauty, affecting simplicity, nay, often with uncommon pathos. Upon the whole, though it would be "outstepping the modesty of nature" to call Bourville Castle a production equal to Shakespeare's, yet it is but the just tribute of merit to say that, considering the author's years, it is a masterly dramatic composition; and contains every requisite, both as to sentiment as well as to music and scenery, to excite the feeling approbation of an audience." It was produced on Monday, Jan. 16, and was played three times. The public did not second the anonymous critic. A law student, who brought out a play in the first year after opening his books, was not likely to turn out a lawyer even with so distinguished a master as Hamilton. He took no interest in the profession, and would probably have abandoned it, even if the change which now took place in his views had not occurred. He had always led a correct life, but his mind at this time suddenly being more deeply impressed by religious views, he resolved to become a clergyman. In pursuance of this determination, he removed from New York to the quiet study of the Rev. Dr. Romeyn of Schenectady, and was in due course ordained a Presby terian clergyman in the year 1798. He accepted a call to become the assistant of the Rev. Dr. Ewing, minister of the First Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia, and resided in that city during the remainder of his life. At the time of his removal to Philadelphia he married Miss Hester Bailey, daughter of Colonel John Bailey, of Poughkeep sie, New York. This lady and two sons survived him. In the year 1800 he published an Ossianic poem on the topic that then occupied every tongue and every pen, The Death of Washington. The year after his principal poetical production, a poem, entitled The Powers of Genius, appeared. It is in three parts, of some two hundred lines each. The writer points out the distinctions between taste, fancy, and genius, and dwells upon the topic in which his theme delights, upon its powers, and the poets who have given indications of its possession, without himself essaying any definite description of its qualities. The poem is smoothly written, but unfortunately exhibits slight indications of the "powers" it celebrates. It is well garnished with scholar-like and sensible notes, which show a good critical appreciation of the English poets, and of poetical themes. It was well received, soon reached a second edition, and was reprinted in England. His next publication was occasioned by the appearance of Dr. Priestley's comparison of Socrates and our Saviour. His religious feeling was shocked by the irreverence of the juxtaposition, and fortified by a sense of duty, he, a young man almost unknown, boldly ventured to challenge one who had long before established a reputation of no ordinary character and extent. The controversy was of brief duration, closing with a second reply by Dr. Priestley to a second publication by his young opponent. The two pamphlets of the latter extend to sixty-six and a hundred and forty-four pages. They are written with great ability, and contain a close analysis of the character of Socrates. We select a few passages: I have often been surprised at the praises given to the Socratic mode of conversation. It is somewhat deserving of praise, when employed by a professed tutor to his pupil, for in that case the parties meet, one with a full conviction of his ignorance, and the other with the express purpose of supplying him with knowledge. But in the intercourse of equals, no method can be imagined more unsuitable. There is no mode more likely to excite resentment; to awaken passions that are sure to bar up the avenues of conviction. To have our error detected and proved, to extort from us the confession of our mistake, is always grating to our pride, and the arts of a master in discourse are chiefly shown in preventing and soothing this passion. * In the dialogues of Socrates, as reported by his followers, we can expect to find nothing that will mar the even course of their master's logic. The person that is talked to is a mere machine, appointed to consent to every demand that is made, and to abjure, with the most edifying docility, every doubt which the reporter of the dialogue can invent for him. The men on whom Socrates employed his logic were either stupid or ingenious. The former are commonly vain and conceited, and would not fail to be exasperated by the treatment of Socrates, a treatment which had no purpose in view but to mortify their vanity. The latter would ill deserve the title of ingenious, if they could not escape from the conclusions to which they were pressed, by new distinctions, qualifications, or evasions. The tenets of Socrates were not such as soared above all cavil, or that could not be seemingly disproved by an artful and eloquent man, adopting the same mode of argument. The man of true wisdom will seldom excite emity either by his words or actions. He proposes no other end by his instructions than to benefit mankind, and the wicked themselves will come in for a large share of his compassion and beneficence. In his endeavors to reclaim them, he will pave a way to their heads through their hearts. He will win their love before he gains their conviction; and even when he fails to make them converts to his cause, he will secure their affection and esteem. The ability displayed in these publications, combine with the author's previous claims to regard, obtained for him from the university of his native state the degree of D.D. at an age earlier than it had ever there previously been conferred. In the same year, 1802, he was called upon to preach the funeral sermon of his venerable associate, Dr. Ewing. The discourse was printed. Its concluding sentences will show the character of his compositions for the pulpit. How swift is the flight of years! How rapid the race of men through the world! The torch of earthly glory blazes and scorches for a mome it, and then is extinguished for ever. The iron scythe of time is ever in motion, and men are the grass which falls beneath its sweep. The sun pours his temporary effulge ice around us, but the period will arrive when his beams shall be quenched, when destruction shall descend upon the earth, and night-starless night shall encircle destruction. Who, thea, will live for time, who will live for eternity? Great God! With heavenly solemnity impress our hearts, enable us to rise above the world in our affections, and to look beyond its grave; enable us to live as becomes sojourners on this earth, as becomes thy faithful servants and the heirs of immortality! An inconsiderate exposure to a hot summer's sun in an open waggon, hal, previously to these events, caused a fainting fit, followed by a fever. From this attack he never entirely recovered. A tendency to mental depression, to which he had always been subject, aided the advance of consumption, and he died of that disease on the thirtieth of August, 1804. Soon after this event his poem of Valerian was published, accompanied by an admirable biographical memoir by his brother-in-law and warm friend, Charles Brockden Brown. It is a narrative poem, and, though only a part of a contemplated design, extends to some fifteen hundred lines in blank verse. The scene is laid in Montalvia, a fanciful kingdom placed by the writer on the shores of the Caspian. Alcestes, an old man "revered within Montalvia," chancing to pass by the sea-shore during a tempest, finds a youth cast ashore by the waves. He has him conveyed to his cottage, and there, by his own and his fair daughter Azora's care, the stranger is restored to consciousness, and naturally inquires where he is, which enables Alcestes to satisfy the reader's as well as the guest's curiosity touching Montalvia. The reply gives a fanciful description of a pastoral community, with an Olympus of contending deities, good and bad, to each class of which sacrifices are offered. The people are ruled by a king, Oriander, and live peacefully in cities and fair meadows. A chain of mountains, "skirting the north," is the stronghold of Astaban and his band, who waylay and plunder unwary travellers and hunters. In the same region a ruined temple is situated, in which dwells a hoary wight, deep versed in arts Of direful magic. This description, a curious compound of the classic poets and of Spenser, closes the first book. In the second, the young stranger, a Christian, gives his host an outline of the history of our Saviour and his Apostles, and of the persecution of the Christians under Nero; during which the narrator, refusing to abjure his religion, was exposed to the attacks of a lion on the Roman stage, but, "clad in light armor," was enabled to slay the wild beast, and shortly after, by his father's aid, to bribe his jailors and escape. In the third and last book, Valerian domesticates himself in Montalvia, converts the king and people to Christianity, defeats a conspiracy formed against him, exposes the "ventriloquial powers" (hint from Brown's Wieland) of the magician in his ruined temple, and overhearing, on a clear night, the fair Azora singing a song in his praise, responds in a strain, different in metre, but of a similarly complimentary character. This, of course, settles the love affair, and a wedding ends the poem. The story is narrated in a smooth and flowing style, and many passages descriptive of the sufferings of the early Christians are animated and pathetic. FROM THE POWERS OF GENIUS. What vast delights flow on that glowing breast, In air, or ocean, or the teeming land, |