STATE OF ILLINOIS. .... Tues Stanford, ............ Wed 13 Stranger's Rest, Henderson, ...........Sat. ... 14 Madison, Richmond,. Petersburg, 1 Mount Horeb, Louisville, ...... Sat Tues ....... Mon Tues ......... Sat .... 1 & 3 Mon 1 & 4 Mon Lexington, 1 & 3 Thur STATE OF MARYLAND. SUBORDINATE LODGES .....1 3 Sat 13 Sat) 1 Washington ........Baltimore..... Mon .Thurs Meets at Sprinfield quarterly. 1 Western Star Alton..... ........Mon 2 Alton Alton.............. Tues 3 Clarke........... Greenville .......... Sat 9 Jefferson.... ...................................... ...........Thurs 4 Illini................................... Jacksonville........Sat 16 Union..................................................................................... Thurs 5 Wildey .......... Galena........................... ...Sat 6 Sangamon................. Springfield .......... Mon 7 Jefferson,.....Bellville 8 Washington...... Springfield, · ........ Subordinate Encampments. 1 Wildey.... ..... Alton 2 Chosen Friends. Galena .......... 18 Miller.. .......Easton..... Sat 20 Morning Star......Havre-de-Grace....Sat Fri 24 Mount Pisgah ...... Port Deposit. .....Tues Tues 26 Mt. Vernon .Abingdon ..........Sat 29 Philip Read........Chestertown...... Mon 31 Potomac ..Hagerstown...... Tues 32 Mt Moriah ........Clear Spring.... Thurs • Williemsport ...... Fri 34 Chosen Friends.... Cumberland ....... Fri 35 Adam...... Frederick ........Tues 36 La Grange......... Sharpburgh........Sat 37 Covenant.......... Hancock 38 Benevolent....... Middletown........Sat 39 Neilson..................... Hillsborough.......Sat 96 Centre. . . . . . . . . . . . . Ellicott's Mills.....Sat 3 Lebanon................. Springfield.......... 5 Washington ...... Dresden. ..........Sat 1 Jerusalem..... Thurs Baltimore..... ...Fri 5 Bethlehem..........Chestertown......Tues 6 Galena................................... Hagerstown ...... Tues 7 Mt. Carmel Cumberland...... Tues 8 Evening Star................. Hav-de-Grace Tues STATE OF ALABAMA. GRAND LODGE. Meets at Mobile quarterly. SUBORDINATE LODGES. .... 1 Alabama. Mobile........ Tues Detroit2 & 4 Thurs 2 Mobile................................... ...............Wed SUBORDINATE LODGES. 1 Maine. Portland..................... 2 aco ............................. ............ 3 Georgian .........Thomaston........ Mon SUBORDINATE LODGES. Mineral Point ....... 3 Milwaukie........ Milwaukie. EAST FLORIDA. 1 Florida............. Jacksonville. REPUBLIC OF TEXAS. 4 Ancient Brother..... Portland.......Thurs 1 Lone Star..........Houston ..........) Mon 5 Ligonia, 6 abbatis. 7 Penobscot. ....... 8 Relief.... Mon Meets at Austin. SUBORDINATE LODGES. Sat 2 Harmony ............ •Augusta .Bangor 3 Galveston. Galveston ......... Wed Wed 9 Natahoris Gardiner 10 Lincoln.............Bath.......................... Mon 1 Prince of Wales....Montreal 18 Japscot . . . . . . . . . Brunswick.....Thurs 2 Queens.. 14 Cushnoe.. ......... Augusta 15 Passagassawakeag Belfast ...Mon ......Sat PRINCIPALITY OF WALES. GRAND LODGE, Meets at Tredegar, 1 Ivorin,. SUBORDINATE LODGES. .... ..Tredegar, •Tredegar, IOWA TERRITORY. SUBORDINATE LODGES. 1 Washington, ... ... Burlington AGENTS. TROY-A. Smith, 197 River-st. HUDSON-Nathaniel J. Cady. SCHENECTADY-N. Drullard. SYRACUSE-James Kinny. FLUSHING, L. I.-J. B. Ďevoe. PHIL'A, PA.-Colou & Adriance. Wed CINCINNATTI-Robinson & Jones. .Thurs Vicksburgh ······ Thurs LANCASTER, O-J. Cranmer, P.M. Grenada Vicksburgh.................... 8 Macon... ...... 9 William Dale... Liberty 10 Wilkinson........ Woodville ... ......... 11 Capitol... Jackson..... Thurs NEW-BRUNSWICK, N J-J L Page. It is a fond and sympathetic heart that flutters in the poet's bosom. Strangely alive to every impulse from without; trembling forever like a leaf in the slightest breeze-the sport and play thing of the very elements. This gift has ever been marked by a too delicate sensibility, thoroughly unfitting its possessor to battle with the storms of life, while there are none alas, more frequently forced to the encounter. Every fibre seemeth to be surcharged with fire, waiting for the blast to fan it to a flame. An anecdote may be told of the incomparable Shelley, who is perhaps, the finest illustration of poetic character that the history of modern literature contains. He seemed to be a machine of imagination and sensibility, moved perpetually by the slightest touch. It was at Pisa, I think, when Shelley was spending an evening with Leigh Hunt, and other poetic spirits, that a terrible story was related of some supernatural and horrible spectacle of suffering. Shelley sat several moments after the narration was ended, transfixed, breathless, deadly pale, his bosom heaving like one in dread, until at length he rushed out of the room as if speeding from the awful presence of forbidden spirits. They followed immediately, and found him lying in a state between life and death; the forehead and face were covered with large drops of cold sweat, the muscles riged, and the whole system paralyzed and motionless. "He lived not in himself, but did become A portion of that around him." Shelley spent all the days of his brief and bright career, in pleasant dreams about the perfectability of man-of a period when all the different creeds and systems of the world should be amalgamated into one; when crime should disappear, and man, free from all shackles, bow before the throne of his own aweless soul. Wild and visionary, destitute of truth and hopeless as his speculations were, they sprang from a mind enthusiastic in its wishes for the good of man. His "Prometheus Unbound," "The Cenci," and " Hellas," though abounding with gloomy errors, are still among the poudest monuments of genius in the literature of the world. But the most perfect of his all his compositions, is his "Adonias;" where he draws among other mourners at the funeral of his poet-friend, this portrait of himself "Midst others of less note, came one frail form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm, Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on nature's naked loveliness, Acteon like A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift A love in desolation mask'd; a power Girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour. His head was bound with pansies over blown, Shook the weak hand that grasp'd it; of that crew A herd-abandoned deer, struck by the hunter's dart." Of all the poets, it seems to me there was in Shelley's bosom the fondest sympathy, the chastest thought, and the sweetest beauty, pale and tremulous as moon-beams on the bosom of the lake, ruffled by the breath of the winds. Like an Eolian harp, tremblingly alive through all its chords, his soul sent out divinest music, soft and merry as a sun-beam, or ravishingly mournful, like the broken murmurs of an angel's dream. Whatever breath might sweep its strings, in joy or sorrow, tones of melting beauty answered to its touch. His own heart was like his "Sensitive Plant," "A sensitive plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, Such was Shelley. Such, to an extent are all poets; but Shelley more than they all. Byron was somewhat different. There was in his soul a terrible strength, a gloomy grandeur, black as the wings of the storm darkly hovering over abysses, gray with accumulating ruin. But for all that terrible strength of Byron, there was still the sweet sympathy and the pure love in him; else he were no poet. While Byron was at Harrow he saw some tyrant, whose name I forget, abusing young Peel in a most inhuman manner, by inflicting a kind of bastinado on the inner fleshy side of the arm, which, says Mr. Moore, 66 was twisted round with some degree of technical skill to render the operation more painful." While poor Peel was writhing under the stripes, Byron looked on with eyes flashing with fire, and a heart bursting with sympathy, and at length asked the schoolmaster how many more stripes he intended to inflict! Why, what is that to you, replied the savage. "Because if you please, said young Byron, holding out his arm, I would take half." It is not possible to conceive of a more beautiful heroism, or of a purer mixture of simplicity and magnanimity than is here displayed. And yet how soon you shall see the same sympathising heart, filled with defiance and misery, shaking contempt and fire-coals upon his whole race; when afterwards he bestrode the world like a colossus, and laughed to see Hear me, my mother earth! behold it, Heaven! Have I not suffered things to be forgiven? Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, Because not altogether of such clay As rots into the souls of those whom I survey." Yet not long shall this sullen mood remain on a poet's heart. One kiss of love shall wipe it off forever. A smile on beauty's brow will clear the storms out of these heavens, and leave a revelry of sun-beams over-head and all around. And the pure heart disencumbered from earth's grossness, shall sing in softest numbers, "Oh! that the desert were my dwelling-place, Ye elements in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted-can ye not Accord me such a being! Do I err In deeming such may inhabit many a spot? Though to converse with them can rarely be our lot." Thus does the heart shift from storm to calm; and hang vibrating forever betwixt a smile and tear. Such was Byron. With him the storm was dreadful; the heavens and the earth were full of it; and the tear was hot and heavy, nor could it flow and find relief; it sunk like molten lead upon his soul, and burned into the core, till quenched in waters of resentment there. But the smile was deep, and the sorrowing earth was glad for it. It came up out of the heart, it went down into the heart again. We have all been merrier that he was merry, as we have all been sadder that he was sad. For say what we will to the contrary, we have bowed at the shrine of his genius. By a law of our being we are prostrated there. Genius will be worshiped, whether we will or no. For its faults it will be pitied too, which we grieve to say are many. Its dangers, interwoven with its very temperament, are too apparent to be unseen, and too melancholy to be unpited. When we remember the fate of Shakspeare, of Drayton, Pope, Addison, Dryden, Cowley, of rare old Ben Jonson, of the gifted Parnell, or the loveable Charles Lamb, we go and hide our face in blushes, and wash them off with the tears of our eyes. It is well known, however, to literary men, that when the accusing spirit flew up to heaven's chancery with uncle Toby's sin, the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropt a tear upon it and blotted it out |