signal of a repeated gobbling, they silently proceed towards their nocturnal abodes, and perch near each other; from the numbers sometimes congregated in one place, it would seem to be the common rendezvous of the whole neighborhood. But no position, however secluded or difficult of access, can secure them from the attacks of the artful and vigilant hunter, who, when they are all quietly perched for the night, takes a stand previously chosen by daylight; and, when the rising moon enables him to take sure aim, shoots them down at leisure, and, by carefully singling out those on the lower branches first, he may secure nearly the whole flock, neither the presence of the hunter, nor the report of his gun intimidating the Turkeys, although the appearance of a single Owl would be sufficient to alarm the whole troop; the dropping of their companions from their sides excites nothing but a buzzing noise, which seems more expressive of surprise than fright. This fancied security, or heedlessness of danger, while at roost, is characteristic of all the gallinaceous birds of North America.' pp. 82-91.

In connexion with these characteristics of the Turkey, and the description of the Bald Eagle above quoted, it may be no improper place here to introduce Dr Franklin's humorous remarks, as contained in one of his letters, concerning the bird, which was chosen for the emblem of our nation.

"Others object to the Bald Eagle," says he, "as looking too much like a Dindon, or Turkey. For my own part, I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country; he is a bird of a bad moral character; he does not get his living honestly; you may have seen him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to its nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him, and takes it from him. With all this injustice he is never in good case; but like those among men, who live by sharping and robbing, he is generally poor, and often very lousy. Besides, he is a rank coward; the little Kingbird, not bigger than a sparrow, attacks him boldly, and drives him out of the district. He is therefore, by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest Cincinnati of America, who have driven all the Kingbirds from our country; though exactly fit for that order of Knights, which the French call Chevaliers d'Industrie. I am on this account not displeased that the figure is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For in truth the Turkey is, in comparison, a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America.

Eagles have been found in all countries, but the Turkey was peculiar to ours. He is besides, (though a little vain and silly, 'tis true, but not the worse emblem for that,) a bird of courage, and would not hesitate to attack a grenadier of the British guards, who should presume to invade his farm yard with a red coat on."' p. 95.

In closing this article we owe it to ourselves to state, that we cannot pretend to have rendered justice to the peculiar merits of the authors, whose works we have, perhaps too unadvisedly, taken in hand. If any shall be incited, by what has been said, to consult the volumes themselves, and bestow their praise and patronage on so noble an enterprise, our end will be answered.

ART. VIII.-1. A Discourse pronounced before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, at the Anniversary Celebration, on the Thirtyfirst day of August, 1826. By JOSEPH STORY. Boston. Hilliard, Gray, Little, & Wilkins. 1826.

2. An Oration pronounced at New Haven, before the Society of Phi Beta Kappa, September 12, 1826. On some of the Considerations, which should influence an Epic or a Tragic Writer, in the Choice of an Era. By JAMES A. HILLHOUSE. New Haven. A. H. Maltby & Co. 1826.

SIR WILLIAM JONES has remarked, while referring to the beauty of some of the oriental manuscripts, that he could almost find it in his heart, to regret the invention of the art of printing. We do not carry the passion for calligraphy to this extent; nor would we carry any passion to the extent of leading us to regret the art of printing. As there is, however, a bright and a dark side to all things, it is not unprofitable occasionally to consider the evils, which are incident to the growth and diffusion of great improvements. Simply to suppose that we are positive gainers, by all the difference between the refined arts of modern life and the ruder processes of antiquity, is to fall into great error. Every discovery and every invention, which effects a great change in human pursuits, although in the long run it may be most highly beneficial, not only must be qualified by some evil consequences directly incident to it, but by the loss of some advantages of the previously existing arrangement, which are displaced and destroyed by the innovation. VOL. XXIV.No. 54.

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This reflection is more important to be made, by way of explaining the otherwise seemingly inexplicable fact, that after all the brilliant improvements, inventions, and discoveries of the modern world, the general impression left on the mind, after forming an acquaintance with the moral and social character and condition of men, in the civilized states of antiquity and of the modern world, certainly is, that there is no such vast difference between them; that between ancient literature and modern literature there is by no means that contrast, which prevails between manuscript circulation and the circulation by the press; and, in a word, that in the possession of means and instruments, seemingly so much more powerful, various, and numerous, the grand and final effect on human character is by no means so much greater, than that of the ancient means and instruments of improvement, as might have been expected. In saying this, we design by no means to disturb the old controversy, on the comparative merit of the ancients and moderns; nor to wake from their long rest the shades of Tassoni, Perrault, or Wotton. We are willing to grant that, in the result of a general induction, improvements of most brilliant character, and in vast numbers, have been made by the moderns over the ancients; but in the last and great effect of all improvements, the formation of character, we confess our doubts whether modern history presents a larger average of mature, elevated, and finished character than ancient history.

The only application, which we wish at present to make of this remark, is to say, that among those favorable circumstances, which, to a certain degree, compensated for the deficiencies of the ancient arts and improvements, was the superior activity of the social principle. The modern arts, resulting in a division of labor, have broken up the combinations of men, which were formerly necessary, and sent each to his cell, to work out by himself, and with the co-operation of his new found enginery, those effects, which, in an earlier stage of society, were produced by processes more dependent on social union. This applies, if to nothing else, most certainly to the effect of the art of printing on literature. Where no mode of publication existed, but the tedious one of manuscript transcription, the reading of prose works, and the recitation or chanting of poetical works, to assembled multitudes, on triumphant occasions, on festal days, in the temples, and at the games, was, in the first instance, the necessary mode of communication. The historian and the poet, who would make their productions known, were obliged to go

with them to the resorts of their countrymen. As secondary, but at the same time highly stimulating and efficient consequences, were the animation resulting from the numbers of a living audience; the added graces of elocution in the reading and declamation; the instrumental accompaniment of the lyrical chant; perhaps the rival exhibition of contemporary authors, drawn together for the same object; and at all events, the cheering and kindling sympathy of the allied arts, of the liberal sports, and of the gorgeous pageantry of the festivals or the games.

Herodotus read a portion of his History in the assembly at Athens, and at the Olympic games. It would not be difficult, we suppose, to make this sound very ridiculous, by an ill applied reference to modern analogy. We will even own, that if Hume had undertaken to go through his History at a Westminster meeting, in New Palace Yard; or Chief Justice Marshal should insist upon running over his five volumes, upon the turf at the Long Island races, it might in either case, without any disparagement to these honored names, be rather a tedious affair to the assembled multitudes. But we apprehend, that when the father of history rehearsed his Muses to the Athenian people; and when Pindar sung his Olympian lyrics, in the temple of Jupiter at Elis, it was an exhibition as auspicious to the general power and effect of literature on the improvement of a people, as that of a pile of nicely bound volumes in the window of a bookseller's shop, to be taken home and carefully conned in private.

If we go farther back into antiquity, to the period of the epic muse, and allow ourselves to consider the Iliad and Odyssey as the growth of an age, which knew no tablets but the hearts and memories of a delighted audience, catching and treasuring the strains of the wandering minstrel; and then compare these poems, even as productions of art, with the best, which art aiding genius has since produced, we shall feel more strongly the truth of the proposition with which we started. For be it also remembered, that under a dispensation of printed literature, we can with less confidence argue from a distinguished writer to an enlightened community. We frequently behold the phenomenon of what is called a man in advance of his age; as well we may. For where a man is enabled, as all are to a certain degree enabled, to form and to improve himself, without that action and reaction of society anciently so essential, he may, in the exercise of strong powers in a happy direction, leave his

contemporaries in the rear. But in antiquity, the author was formed much more by the audience. That, which is written to be recited, declaimed, and chanted, implies a community prepared to relish and appreciate it. A minstrel poetry, especially, cannot rise far above the level of the taste and intelligence of the age; and we think it quite fair to argue, for instance, that the period of the world, when the sixth canto of the Iliad formed the entertainment of some hero's festal board, or the interlude of the games at some public celebration, though it were a period more remote than the return of the Heraclidæ, the siege of Troy, ay, or the expedition of the Argonauts, was no savage period. The conception of the scene of Hector and Andromache is one of civilized life; it is the conception of an age of sentiment, exclusively as that is claimed for the modern world. and the romantic nations.

Every institution, in modern times, which has the effect of adding to the advantages peculiar to the art of printing, those which belonged to the ancient forms of literature, promises the beneficial result of a double agency in promoting the improvement of society. It may even be necessary to aim at such a combination, by way of corrective of those evils, which our new and all powerful arts have introduced. It is precisely these objects, which we think may be attained by our literary societies. An assembly composed chiefly of well educated and intelligent persons, collected under the sanction and within the precincts of respectable establishments for education, addressed on literary topics by men of science and letters, under circumstances likely to produce a great effort to excel, is no faint image of the assemblies of the ancient world, before which the great productions of cultivated minds were exhibited. It is true, these assemblies are with us occasional; anciently, they were essential; here they are a relaxation; to the elder world they were an important part of the organization of social life. Everything, however, which is done to give dignity and interest to these assemblies, has a favorable operation and tendency of the kind alluded to. Science is wooed from her cell. She casts off her monkish stole, and relaxes from her stern and melancholy aspect. The cheerful countenances of an intelligent assembly, the welcome note of applause, the animation of the living voice, the communication of thought, feeling, and sentiment from breast to breast, on topics of polite literature, of taste, or of philosophy, make these occasions a source of high gratifica