ence.

mined on bringing me up a music-master: In my earli- to express even when distant the sympathy of our est years I have ever displayed a taste for that art, souls, we agreed daily, at a certain hour, to play a and on the very instrument you saw this day I first particular air-a touching ballad I had taught her on learned to play. The acquirement was then intended the piano; for this purpose I left her the one which I as an accomplishment, when subsequently my parents now repossess, and whose chords have so often vibrafell into poverty, it became my only means of subsist-ted to the tender sorrows of my adored Agatha. This There is no passion which more ardently in-state of things had endured nearly two years. Alcreases than does the love of music. Each day my ready I knew the period had arrived which would study became more pleasing, and as I overcame each bring freedom to her and happiness to myself, and I difficulty, a desire to encounter more obstacles hourly only awaited her summons to throw myself at her sprang up in my breast. In a word, I applied my-feet, when one morning, to my great surprise, a serself so diligently and with such success that I vant of Mr. Roy's entered my breakfast-room. He was fortunate enough to carry off the first prize of the requested me to follow him to his master. I did so. Conservatoire for my execution of Thalberg's On our way he informed me that Agatha, my Agatha, Moise." My delight at this fortunate circumstance was dying!" only served to make the art I professed more dear to me. My parents soon afterwards died, and I was left alone in the world to shift for myself.

Thanks to good fortune rather than to my particular merit, I found plenty of scholars, and I already

For a few moments the young artist paused, overcome by grief; becoming at length more calm, with an effort he continued,

In her last moments she had desired to see me, and I was not sent for to take leave of her. How can began to dream of realizing a future competence, I ever paint the scene which met my view as I entered when I was recommended as musical instructor to the chamber where all I loved was about to be snatchMademoiselle d'Olbreuse, an orphan heiress, who re-ed from me, or the feelings which then shook my sided with an uncle, to whose guardianship she had breast? I will hurry over it. been committed, in the Faubourg Saint-Germain.

"On her bed, evidently in the very last stage of rapid decline, lay my once lovely and blooming Agatha, pale, more pale than Parian marble.

"As I entered, she attempted to raise her head, but, alas! she was already too powerless to do so. Her

"Agatha d'Olbreuse, sir, was a divine creature, I can scarcely believe that she was ever designed for this world. So perfect in every way, in mind, in talent-in person equally gifted. She was one of the few beings whom we see and cannot designate other-relations and friends or rather fiends, for they had wise than as an angel. You will pardon my raptures you will, perhaps, blame them-but they are only just tributes to the worth of one now in heaven," and the youth paused for a moment, a tear glistened in his eye, but checking his emotion, he hurriedly continued" It may readily be imagined that such a being soon became my best pupil; indeed, I have no hesitation in saying she soon excelled her master.

brought her to this by their cruelty-made way for me to approach her. I did so; and kneeling down, I kissed her cold hand, as I fervently offered up a prayer to Heaven to receive her soul.

"In an instant a languid smile played upon her angelic features, and, pointing to my piano, which stood open in the room, expressed by signs (for her voice was completely gone) a desire that I should touch

"I flew to it, and with feelings of grief beyond de

agreed upon as the record of our feelings. My heart seemed to respond to every note, and I could almost fancy I heard her voice in every tone. Suddenly a chord rudely and loudly gave way-at that instant Agatha's poor soul took its eternal flight.

"I am now about to confess my folly, my presump-it. tion-were there a stronger expression I would make use of it-to express my hardihood. I fell desper-scription, I played over the melancholy air we had ately in love with Agatha, and she from pity, for I can scarcely believe it could be otherwise, condescended to reciprocate the feeling. Oh, how we loved! Our looks must have betrayed us, for there was a deep devotion seated in our souls, which must have been expressed in our eyes. When interrupted in our moments of mutual confession of affection by visiters or members of the family, then would we together hang over the piano, the same piano you have this day purchased for me (for she had expressed a desire to learn on the very instrument by which I had acquired my musical fame,) and in melting melody express those outpourings of love which we did not dare to utter.

Agatha had promised to become my wife, but, alas! she was only nineteen, and the two years which must intervene before she could be a free agent, seemed to us an age. A few weeks only of this period had elapsed when Monsieur Roy, her uncle, discovered our attachment, and considering, with great justice, that his niece was entitled to a better match, banished me the house, threatening to remove Agatha from France, if she did not instantly consent to give her promise never to see me without his leave. I induced her to give this pledge, and we separated, hoping soon to meet again under happier circumstances. To keep up, however, a sort of correspondence,

"Can you now wonder that I desired to possess an instrument whose every note seems to breathe her voice-our mutual friend-our only confidant? I heard that the property of Agatha was to be sold, in order to be divided between her relations. This it was which prevented my hitherto leaving Paris. I have waited now six months for the moment when I could purchase the only object on earth dear to me. Imagine, then, sir, how grateful I must feel to you who have enabled me to obtain the only treasure I desired to possess in this world."

After a few common attempts on my part to console him, the artist arose, and assuring me I should see him again before he left Paris, took up his hat and quitted me.

The next morning I was sitting before my fire in the act of reading several letters I had received from England, when my new friend and protégé rushed in. I expressed my surprise at seeing him return so so01.

Ah, sir, 'tis to you I owe all. I knew that my Agatha wished me to possess that piano. See, see

this," and he handed me a paper. It ran as follows:
"Surrounded in my last moments by persons who
have hitherto never shown me any esteem or affec-
tion, well aware of their sordid views, I only dare
confide my last will and testament to this my long-last will.
cherished piano.

"I hereby give and bequeath to Henri Aubriot, professor of music, in return for the sincere love he has ever evinced for me, every thing which I now, or which I may ever have been entitled to possess.

"I pardon my guardian for having attempted to force me into a marriage repugnant with my feelings,

TO MY SISTER.

PULPIT PORTRAITS;

OR, SKETCHES OF EMINENT LIVING AMERICAN DIVINES.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by CHARLES W. HOLDEN in the Clerks Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York.

No. 6.

REV. JOHN G. MORRIS.
[ORIGINAL.]

usual

cup; indulges in every profligate pleasure-the usua resources of ruined characters; but still the dark and dismal shadows haunt him with unrelenting fury. No matter what he does, no matter where he goes, no matter how many fawning sycophants he has around him, he is still pursued by the avenging furies of shame and remorse.

COMMON sense is the sense most lacking in these | days of traffic and money making. Why it is so is a matter that we can not fathom or comprehend, especially as the possession of that inestimable quality seldom fails of procuring for its possessor all the true happiness that the human mind is desirous of obtaining. It is by earnestness and well directed thought that the secret spring of the understanding is reached, rather than by oratorical display or flowery declamation. It is not those who make the most noise, and shout the loudest in the world, that, in the end, succeed; it is not those who make pretensions which they have not the stamina or qualifications to back; it is not those who create, in the minds of the populace, an ideal of their greatness, that carry conviction to the hearts of men, and bind them, as it were, in a band of harmony and love. It is a different race of men that accomplish this noble and lofty achieve-ever, and that his reward will be everlasting and dument, a race of men who have the genuine spirit of enthusiasm to prompt them, without the worthless pretensions, and narrow contracted ideas of humanity, belonging to the other race. They are, in other words, men of sound practical common sense, whose judgments are not warped by prejudice, or blinded by misdirected or guilty ambition.

How different is the man who truly loves and worships God, and who has no higher aim and no other wish than the regeneration of his species, and the accomplishment of good, from the one whose whole life is spent in scheming and devising plans by which he may be elevated to some splendid station, which he dreams, whenever reached, will add lustre to his name while living, and immortality when all that is earthly shall have passed away.

Unhappily, the road which leads to the paths of virtue and fortune, lie sometimes in very opposite directions, and to reach the latter, the former is very frequently overlooked. The ambitious man oftentimes endeavors, not only by fraud and falsehood, to accomplish his purpose, but descends, likewise, to the vulgar arts of intrigue and cabal, to supplant or destroy those who stand in the way of his greatness. If he succeeds he rests secure, for a time, in his position; but the sunshine does not always last, and before long, before he is hardly aware of the transformation himself, the footstool on which he rests begins to totter; and he feels, in the innermost depths of his soul, the terrible truth that he must fall. He has obtained his wished-for greatness, but is most miserably disappointed in the happiness which he expects to enjoy from it. The station which he occupies and which has been the dream of his life, appears, in his own eyes, and in those who have elevated him to it, polluted and defiled, and he stands forth before the world with the garb of hypocrisy torn from his limbs a living picture of disgrace and humiliation. He invokes in vain the powers of forgetfulness and oblivion; he endeavors to find solace in the wine

The man who prefers doing good for his fellow creatures, rather than lifting himself above them, is the man of all who is the most happy, and finds true enjoyment, an enjoyment which satisfies the heart in the realization of his own good deeds. His work is every where, and he goes about with a mind at ease, conscious that he is not working for to-day, but for eternity. He feels in his soul that the good which he accomplishes will not vanish, as a bright dream or a picture of surpassing loveliness, but that it will last forrable. His character and that of the ambitious man is illustrated in the following fable, the moral of which will be easily discovered. One rivulet meeting another, with whom he had been long united in strictest amity, with noisy haughtiness and disdain thus bespoke him: "What, brother! still in the same state! Still low and creeping! Are you not ashamed when you behold me, who, though lately in a like condition with you, am now become a great river, and shall shortly be able to rival the Danube or the Rhine, provided those friendly rains continue which have favored my banks, but neglected yours?" Very true," replies the humble rivulet," you are now swollen to a great size; but methinks you have become withal somewhat turbulent and muddy. I am contented with my low condition and my purity."

Few men think of the sacrifice they make to obtain a fancied position of greatness. To be sure, self elevation is one of the noblest qualities of our nature, but the riding rough-shod over manly principle and the most sacred virtues of humanity, to obtain an object which oftentimes, in the end, is found to be a cheat; often produces consequences far from being either pleasant or agreeable.

The man who has clustering around his heart the richest sympathies for his fellow creatures, is without the infirmities of avarice or ambition, and that callousness to the beauties of nature for which some men are remarkable. His love of nature is unbounded, and his soul is susceptible of the most beautiful and charming impressions. With the poet he can with equal rapture and sincerity exclaim

"I care not, Fortune, what you may deny;
You cannot rob me of free nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,

Through which Aurora shows her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns by living streams at eve."

To a mind like his no part of creation is without its charms. The lustre of the rising and setting sun, the

sparkling concave of the midnight sky, the crowded city and the solitary Isle, the howling wilderness tossing or soaring to the storm, the flowery lawn, the murmuring rivulet or the uproar of the ocean, the grove, the lawn, the whisper of the breeze, in the radiance of summer or the gloom of winter, he finds something to rouse reflection, to beautify his fancy or ennoble his intellectual faculties. Is not such a man blessed above all others? He is the good man without pretension, and performs his deeds of charity and kindness aloof from the corrupting influence of ambitious motives. Possessed of an acute sensibility, all his actions and all his movements are guided by those heavenly hand-maids, virtue and truth, who direct his steps to the true paths of glory and immortality. Such a man is the Rev. John G. Morris, the subject of our sketch.

and with the spirit of meekness and truth, becoming his station, directs them in the flowery path which leads to happiness. He is, withal, a man of fine scholastic attainments, though, as we said before, he does not depend on erudition to produce conviction in the minds of his hearers. To animate the drooping spirits, and to place revelation upon the imperishable foundations of true philosophy, is his highest aim.

Dr. Morris is a native of the village of York, Pennsylvania. He commenced his collegiate studies at Princeton, but graduated at Dickenson College, with high honor to himself, and in the enjoyment of the esteem of all who knew him. In the Divinity School at Princeton he laid the foundation of those acquirements as a theological and Hebrew scholar, which have since attracted the notice and admiration of so many of the institutions of the country. He declined the appointment of President of Pennsylvania College, and also that of Professor of Hebrew and Sacred Literature in the Theological Seminary of the Lutheran churches at Gettysburg, Pa., preferring to continue in his pastoral relations with the people of his congregation.

He has been for a number of years the pastor of the English Lutheran congregation, worshipping in the edifice in Lexington street, between Park and Howard, Baltimore. When he first commenced his labors there his congregation was very small, but in a short time it nearly doubled, and it is now one of the largest and most respectable in the "City of Mon- Dr. Morris is a fine German scholar. He has uments." His hearers cling to him almost as close as translated one volume of Sconhard's treatise on Popthe ivy to the oak, and but few listen to his admira- ular Theology, besides several other valuable and useble discourses without becoming impressed with his ful works in the German language. He was for two peculiar powers of suasion. His manner is earnest, years editor of the "Lutheran Observer," and has making no efforts of unnecessary display, and de- written several works of merit, among them the pending rather more on truth and elevated sentiment" Catechumen's and Communicant's Guide," which, to produce conviction, than flowery sentences and oratorical display. He wishes to be understood, and therefore says what he has to say intelligibly and to the point, so that the commonest understanding may fathom his language. He is plain, free spoken, and oftentimes blunt. Common sense pervades all his discourses, and he exhibits no ambition to have his sermons act as a soporific on the minds of his hearers. But under the garb of simplicity there is beating a strong heart, whose pulsations throb in unison with those of his fellow creatures. He knows their wants,

we learn, passed through several editions, although confined, in a measure, to the Lutheran Church. The study of Natural History has ever been a great favorite with him, and one of his discourses on this subject was delivered before the Philomatheon Society Pennsylvania College, and has since been published in pamphlet form.

Unassuming in his manners, instructive and genial in his conversation, Dr. Morris has won around him a host of friends who know rightly how to appreciate his worth. He is now in his forty-fourth year.

REV. HENRY ANTHON, D. D.

No. 7.

prosperously and happily, and when success seems almost to anticipate our wishes, we sometimes do not feel the want of the consolations of religion. But let the scene be changed-let friends and fortune for sake us, let poverty with his iron gripe place his hand upon us, and sickness and sorrow cross the threshold of our home, how quick do we feel the necessity of that which we before rejected. In early life Dr. Anthon was impressed with the sacred truths of religion, and had learned to know the precarious tenure of all sublunary possessions.

IN the front rank of our most eminent divines stands Rev. Henry Anthon. He has won his way to distinction slowly but surely, preferring a reputation lasting and durable to any ephemeral advancement. During his life he has studied much, and he is a man whose mental history alone might be very interesting to reflective readers. The spirit of ambition which actuated him in his younger days was encouraged, he measured himself with his equals, and learned from frequent competition the place which nature had allotted to him. How many men whose names are now forgotten and unknown, might have been bright He is of Prussian descent, and was born in the ornaments to society and the country, if they had western part of this State. His father was for somepursued the same course, and instead of growing time attached to the medical service of the British weary and drooping by the wayside, at the com- army, and served under Sir Jeffrey Amherst, during, mencement of the journey, strengthened their souls what is called the "old French War." Dr. Anthon's to the search of truth, and continued on faithfully un-brother, John Anthon, is a lawyer of considerable cetil the goal at last appeared in sight.

When the pulse beats high, and we are flushed with youth, and health, and vigor, when all goes on

lebrity in this State, and a man of deep learning and eminently proficient in his profession. Charles Anthon, another brother, has been for a long while one

of the professors in Columbia College, and well known for his high attainments in classical literature.

Dr. Anthon passed through his classical and theological studies with high honor, and he entered the ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church well prepared to carry out its objects. He has been for some years rector of St. Mark's, or, as it is frequently called, Stuyvesant Church, erected on what constituted a portion of Governor Stuyvesant's farm. He is a very able preacher, his style chaste and correct. His solid learning and unfeigned piety give a weight and impressiveness to all he utters, while his classic taste enables him to clothe his thoughts in language the most appropriate, beautiful and commanding.

Dr. Anthon, it will be recollected, was the first minister who visited the cell of John C. Colt, after his sentence for the murder of Samuel Adams, the printer. His visits were frequent, and he continued them up to the hour of Colt's tragical death. From a little sketch, written of him shortly after that event, we extract the following:-" The reverend gentleman has been, by many, very severely blamed, in allowing himself to be deceived by that unfortunate man and suicide, in regard to his contrite penitence

and submission to the will of the law. Can a minister of the gospel read the inner heart of him whom he prays with better than another? Are we not, all of us, daily deceived in the worth and estimation in which we have held particular men? Again, Mr. Anthon was ruthlessly taken to task for his voluntary proffer to assume the care and guardianship of the illegitimate child of Colt, and educate him in a proper manner. In this was seen the true philanthropy of the Christian. The sins of the father, on such an awful occasion, should not be inflicted upon the child; and Mr. Anthon acted morally noble, in his offer made at such time and under such circumstances, The act should endear him in the hearts of all men." At one time, it will be remembered, that Dr. Anthon was prominently before the Christian community in regard to the doctrine of Puseyism. He, with the Rev. Mr. Smith, of St. Peter's Church, at the time when Puseyism was raging so violently in this country and England, protested against the ordination of Mr. Cary, on the ground of his religious creed approximating towards the Roman Catholic Religion. Dr. Anthon is now in the prime of life, and holds a high place in the esteem of all who know him.

REV. SPENCER H. CONE.

No. 8.

'Twas a sad night in Richmond, and terrible indeed was the scene that was presented next day. There were but very few who had not lost a friend or relative in the conflagration; in fact; for a long while after nearly every person residing there was in mourning.

DOUBTLESS there are but few of our readers who torment, threw themselves from the windows and have not heard of the melancholy night when the roof of the building to the pavement, bruising and Richmond Theatre was destroyed by fire, and when mangling themselves in a manner truly frightful. At over one hundred respectable inhabitants, men, wo-last the burning timbers gave way, the building totmen and children, perished in the flames, while many tered, and with a terrible shout from the mob withothers were severely injured and crippled for life. out, the crash was heard, and all below was a heap of The scene, as described, must have been one of the ruins. most appalling and heart-rending on record. While the play was going on, when the audience thought of little else but the enchanting picture on the stage, a cry was heard, and as it echoed through the house a thrill of terror shook the hearts of all-"Fire!" God of mercy, how terrible was that shout as it reached the ear of the young bride as she sat beside her chosen one, dreaming of naught but happiness and the pleasant scene before her-death, death in its most awful shape, stared her in the face, and for a moment a thousand thoughts rose in her mind, thoughts of home and friends, and all that she held most dear on earth. Roused from her bright dream of happiness by a shout like that, how fearful indeed must have been her feelings-husbands were calling for their wives, parents for their children, brothers and sisters for each other, all shouting and yelling as one withering feeling of death-death in its most horrible shape, ran through their frames. The strange light of a thousand eyes flashed in the burning building. Now huge columns of smoke would burst from the stage, now smoke and flame went curling up to the ceiling, while flashes of purple and gold darted out and lit up with a fearful glimmer the faces of those below. At last the flames grew redder and redder, the heat became intense, and the crackling timbers were heard giving way—gled on in the theatrical profession, had he not witthe last hope of escape had vanished, the dread reality stared them in the face, and as the withering heat touched their limbs, some clasped each other fondly and died, while many unable to bear the excruciating

66

The subject of our sketch, in the year 1811, became attached to the Theatre, Richmond, Va., and was engaged there on the night of the destruction of the building. In his early youth he had imbibed a taste for the theatre and theatrical entertainments, and being often thrown in the society of actors and young men about town," his taste soon grew into a passion, and he resolved to adopt the stage as a profession. Few are aware of the misery, privation and hardships, that a young man, blinded by a false ambition, has to encounter when commencing his career as a hero of the sock and buskin. When once the threshold is passed there is no turn back, unless he, with a bold effort, throws down the painted sceptre forever. To drown his cares and sorrows the bottle stares him in the face, and, alas! before he scarcely reaches the dawn of life, with unstrung nerves and shattered frame, he sinks into a drunkard's grave. Poor and friendless, young Cone would have strug

nessed the fearful scenes on the night of the conflagration. They had such an effect upon his mind that he immediately resolved to quit the stage forever. He did so, he kept his word, and in a short