The character of Sir Thomas More is one of the noblest that the whole circle of history can present, and his whole career was as glorious, in the highest sense of that term, as the loftiest aspirations could desire. His fame rests not on the adventitious distinctions of rank or political authority, or on the short lived eminence, conferred by popular idolatry; for, though he was placed high in office, though he was courted by his sovereign, beloved by his equals, and worshiped by his inferiors--the native power of his intellect, and loftiness of his spirit, shed the proudest luster upon his name. We have already had occasion to notice some points of his greatness, in the review of his works. In his Utopia we found him a subtle reasoner, and bold asserter of the rights of man; and in his history, we met with an honest annalist, and skillful pioneer in the untraced paths of English literature. In many other respects he was no less gifted by nature, and favored by fortune. He was the first _lay_ chancellor of England, that high station, before his accession, having been entirely monopolized by churchmen. He is the _first_ person in English history distinguished for senatorial eloquence, and the earliest champion of parliamentary liberty. He was the first, as speaker of the House of Commons, to teach that body the use of that power, which, as keeper of the purse of the nation, it possessed, and which, in later times, it has exerted with so overwhelming an influence on the destinies of the nation. In a word, he was the _first_ of British ministers, who deserved, in all its breadth, the title of a _statesman_. His personal character was no less lovely, than his public career was commanding. The sweetness of his disposition, the mirthfulness of his temper, his reluctance to engage in the stormy contentions of political ambition, the depth of his learning, and the order of his piety, are alike conspicuous--and the manner of his death has associated his fame with that of the martyrs to tyranny ‘for conscience sake.’ W. [2] Utopia was written in Latin. The current translation was made by Bishop Burnet. I LOVE THEE. ’Tis sweet, when first the infant’s voice Lisps to the parent of his joys, Words like no other; And says,--as a bright, radiant smile Lights up his countenance the while-- “I love thee, mother.” ’Tis sweet, to watch that mother’s eye Beam, like a star in yonder sky, Radiant, though mild; To hear her speak the glad reply,-- Her joyous bosom heaving high-- “I love thee, child.” ’Tis pleasant, when at midnight hour Beneath some fragrant myrtle bower With flow’rs inwove, The happy swain, with trembling tone Reveals his heart to _her_ alone-- “’Tis _thee_ I love:”