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CYCLOPAEDIA
AMERICAN LITERATURE;
KMBRAOINQ
PERSONAL AND CRITICAL NOTICES OF AUTHORS,
AND SELECTIONS FROM THEIR WRITINGS.
FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT DAY
PORTRAITS, AUTOGRAPHS, AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.
EVERT A. DITYCKINCK AND GEORGE L. DUYCKLNCK,
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. -II.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER
1S56.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855,
ET CHAELES SCEIBNEE,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Hew York.
E. CEAIGHEAD,
ELE^TEOTYPEE AND 6TEEEOTTPER,
53 Vesey Street, N. Y
r, A ALVORD Printer. 29 Gold flwaet
m*
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II,
PAGE
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING ... - 1
A Ratal Lover, from the "Lay of the Sc ;tti*h
Fiddle." An Evening Walk in Virginia, from the "Letters
from the South." A Trio of Frenchmen. Character of Washington. The Man that wanted but One Thing, the Man that
wanted Everything, and the Man that wanted
Nothing.
JOSEPH STORY 10
Fragments.
WASHINGTON ALLSTON ..'-•.". 12
Irving' s Reminiscences of Allston.
America to Great Britain'.
Winter, from the "Sylphs of the Seasons."
Rosalie.
Invention in Art in Ostade and Raphael, from the '■Lectures on Art."
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM 19
MOSES STUART .... 2J
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANN1NG .... 21
Military Genius, from the "Essay on Napoleon."
Religion in Literature, from the " Essay on Fenelon " HENRY T. FARMER 24
The Woes of Modern Greece : a Prize Poem. TIMOTHY FLINT 24
The Shores of the Ohio.
HENRY PICKERING 25
The House in which I was born: once the Head- quarters of Washington. The Dismantled Cabinet. The Buckwheat Cake.
HENRY J. FINN 28
Passage from the Comic Annual.
DANIEL WEBSTER .... .29
Moral Force of Public Opinion, from the Speech on
the Revolution in Greece. The Union — Peroration of second Speech on Foot's
Resolution in Reply to Hayne. The Becret of Murder— the Trial of Knapp for the
Murder of White. From the Address before the New York Historical
Societv, 1S52. Letter on the Morning, to Mrs. J. W. Paige.
JOnN C. CALHOUN 34
State Sovereignty, from the Speech on the Force Bill In the Senate, February, 1833.
ROBERT WALSH . . 37
Sentences, from '' Didactics."
HENRY WHEATON 39
CHARLES J. INGERSOLL 40
Book-making Travellers in America, from "Inchi- quin's Letters."
LEWIS CASS 42
Passage from Address before the New England So- ciety of Michigan.
THOMAS HART BENTON 43
Character of Nathaniel Macon, from the " Thirty Years' View."
HENRY A. S. DEARBORN 45
PAGi:
JOHN SANDERSON 45
The Parisian "Pension."
SELLECK OSBORN 40
New England.
WASHINGTON IRVING ^<" 47
The Dull Lecture.
The Stout Gentleman, from " Bracebridge Hall." The Broken Heart, from the " Sketch Book." Description of the powerful Army assembled at the
City of New Amsterdam, from "Knickerbocker's
New York "
WILLIAM IRVING
Vision of Two Sisters in a Ball Room.
DICKINSON COLLEGE 59
JAMES T.AUSTIN • . . .61
Passages from the Life of Elbridge Gerry
SAMUEL L. KNAPP . . ... . .01
LEVI FRISBIE 62
A Castle in the Air.
JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER. ..... 63
DAVID HOFFMAN 65
Fame and Authorship, from the Introduction to " Viator."
GULIAN C. VERPLANCK 68
The Mother and the Schoolmaster.
SAMUEL WOODWORTn 70
Autumnal Reflections. The Pride of the Valley. . The Old Oaken Bucket.
JOHN PIERPONT 72
Invitations of the Muse, from "Airs of Palestine." An Italian Scene. Dedication Hymn. Centennial Ode.
M. M. NOAH 73
Lettor to William Dunlap, Esq.
FRANKLIN COLLEGE, GA 70
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, MD 77
C. 8. EAFINESQUE . 76
DANIEL DRAKE— BENJAMIN DRAKE ... 75
NICHOLAS BIDDLE 79
GARDNER SPRING 80
A Popular Preacher.
ANDREWS NORTON SI
Scene after a Summer Shower. On Listening to a Cricket. Hymn. Funeral Dirge.
JOHN ENGLAND S3
THOMAS SMITH GRIMKE 84
Passage from a Fourth of July Oration. Passage from Preface to Oration on American Educa- tion.
SAMUEL FARMAR JARVIS 85
WILLIAM CRAFTS 86
Munudy on the Death of Decatur.
v\$
VI
CONTENTS.
ELIZA LESLIE
The Montagues in America, from " Mrs. "Washington Potts."
RICIIAED HENRY DANA
The Little Beach Bird.
Immortality, from "the Husband and Wife's Grave."
The Buccaneer.
Edmund Kean's Lear, from the Paper on Kean's
Acting. Influence of Home, from the Paper on Domestic Lite.
RICHARD PABNEY
Translation from tappho.
Youth and Age.
The Tribute. '
An Epigram, imitated from Archias.
NATHANIEL n. CARTER
ISAAC HAEBT
WILLIAM ELLIOTT
Passages from Fiesco. Passages from Sporting Papers.
SAMUEL JACKSON GARDNER .
WILLIAM J. GRATSON .... A Suuday Scene at the South.
PACE
87
UNIVERSITY OF WILLIAM JAY
NORTH CAROLINA
93
100 100
100
1C3 103
1C4 106 106
RICHARD HENRY WILDE .... Sonnets, translated from Tasso. To the Mocking Biid. Stanzas.
JAMES FENIMOEE COOPER . .... 108 Capture ofa Whale, from "the Pilot." The Panther, from "the Pioneers." Deerslayer at the Death of his Savage Foe.
JAMES A. HILLHOUSE 117
Passage from Hadad.
Last Evening of the World, from "the Judgment." Interview of Hadad and Tamar. The Temptation.
The Education of Men of Leisure, from "the Rela- tions of Literature to a Republican Government.1'
JOHN W. FEANCIS 121
Christopher Colles.
ELIZA TOWNSEND . 125
The Incomprehensibility of God. The Rainbow.
SARAH J. HALE 126
It Snows. JOB DUEFEE 127
Eoger Williams in the Forest. ■
LEVI WOODBURY . . 128
Means and Motives in American Education.
SAMUEL n. TUENEE . . .... 129
THE UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT . . . .129
CHARLES SPEAGFE • . .132
Prize Prologue, recited at the Opening of the Park
Theatre, 1S21. Art.
The Traveller, from " Curiosity." The Brothers. The Winged Worshippers.
CHARLES JAMES SPEAGUE The Empty House.
LYDIA II. SIGOUENEY 135
Indian Names. Poetry
Jamestown Church. Life's Evening. The Early Eluc-Urd. Talk with the Sea.
JONATHAN MAYIIEW WALNWEIGHT . . . 1H9
EDWIN C. HOLLAND . . 189
The Pillar of Glory.
WILLIAM II. TIMROD 140
To Harry. HENRY TIMEOD
The Past — a Fragrnont.
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE 140
Fragment.
Home, Sweet Homo.
Ode.
The Tomb of Genius.
PARE
JAMES HALL 115
Solitude.
Pierre, the French Barber's Indian Adventure, from " the Dark Maid of Illinois,"
WILLIAM L. STONE .150
HENRY ROWE SCHOOLCRAFT . . . .151 The White Stone Canoe — from the " Tales of a Wig- wam."
WILLIAMS COLLEGE 154
EDWAED HITCHCOCK 150
HENRY C. CAREY 157
HENRY COGSWELL KNIGHT 153
The Country Oveu.
FREDERICK KNIGHT
Faith. HEW AINSLIE 160
The Absent Father. The Ingle Side.
JOHN NEAL 101
A War Song of the Revolution. The Birth of a Poet.
OEVILLE DEWEY 104
Study, from his Phi Beta Kappa Address in 1880.
JAEED SPARKS 105
EDWARD ROBINSON . 167
THEEESE ROBINSON
EDWAED EVERETT 169
Passages from his Phi Beta Kappa Poem. Benefits to America of One National Literature. The Men and Deeds of the Revolution.
HENRY WA RE— HENRY WARE, Jit.— JOHN WARE
—WILLIAM WARE 178
Sonnet on the Completion of Noyes's Translation of
the Prophets. November, 1887. Death of Probtis, from "Aurelian." Zenobia, Fausta, and Piso, from "Zenobia." Repose, from the "Lectures on Allston."
CAROLINE OILMAN . .... 179
The Plantation. To the Ursuliues.
CAROLINE H. GLOVER Spring Time.
CARLOS WILCOX 1S1
Spring in New England, from the "Age of Benevo- lence." WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 188
Drought.
Thanatopsis.
To a Waterfowl.
June.
The Death of the Flowers. 1
Oh, Fairest of the Rural Maids.
To the Evening Wind.
Song of Marion's Men.
The Battle Field. -
The Land of Dreams.
Robert of Lincoln.
Corn-Shucking in South Carolina, from the "Letters ofa Traveller."
JOHN HOWARD BRYANT
Lines on finding a Fountain in a secluded part of a Forest.
JOHN D. GODMAN 191
The Pine Forest.
BOWDOIN COLLEGE 192
UNION COLLEGE 194
JOHN E. HOLBEOOK 197
MARIA BROOKS 198
Passages from "Zophit-1."
Egla Sleeping in the Grove of Acacias, from "Zo-
phicl." Morning Sunlight, from "Zophiel." > Song, from "Zophicl."
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 201
Passage from "Lines to John Lang." .
Passages from " the Culprit F'ay."
Impromptu.
The Mocking Bird.
Sonnet.
To the Defenders of New Orleans.
Bronx.
To Ennui, from "the Croakers."
Ode to Fortune, "
To CroaRer, Junior, "
The American Flag "
CONTENTS.
vu
FITZ GREENE HALLECK . Tho Iron Greys.
IJ»Q * + # *
Domestic Happiness, from "the Croakers."
Song, from "Fanny,1'
On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.
Marco Bozzaris.
A Poet's Daughter.
Connecticut.
JAMES G. PERCIVAL . . . . .
The Spirit of Poetry, from " Clio."'
A Platonic Bacchanal Song.
The Serenade.
To Seneca Lake.
The Graves of the Patriots.
DANIEL PIERCE THOMPSON .
A School -Committee-Man and a Lawsuit.
WILLIAM B SPEAGUE .
I*AOE
'1 J
JOHN P. KENNEDY
Description of Swallow Barn. Pursuits of a Philosopher.
JOHN GORHAM PALFREY .... Religious Opportunities of Age.
SARAH PALFREY
Passage from " Manhood."
HORACE MANN
Health aud Temperance, from " Thoughts for Young Man."
GEORGE BUSH
JOHN G. C. BRAINARD .... To the Daughter of a Friend. On Connecticut River. Salmon River.
The Black Fox of Salmon River. The Sea Bird's Song. Stanzas.
GEORGE TICKNOR. .
The Author's Key-note to Spanish Literature. Spanish Love Ballad, from the Eomancero of Pedro
Flores, 1594. Hymn on the Ascension, from the Spanish of Luis do
Leon. Don Quixote. La Dama Duende of Calderon.
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT
The Return of Columbus after his First Voyage,
from the History of Ferdinand and Isabella. Queen Isabella, from the same. Death of Montezuma, from the Conquest of Mexico. Montezuma's Way of Life, from "
CHARLES FOLLEN
Schiller's Love of Liberty, from the Lectures on Schiller
MRS. FOLLEN.
On the Death of a Beautiful Girl.
CALVIN COLTON— WALTER COLTON .
HUGH SWINTON LEGARE. Characteristics of Lord Byron.
DAVID J. M'COED— LOUISA 8. M'COED The Voice of Years. Cornelia and Gracchus. Act III., Scene t.
HENRY JUNIUS NOTT ....
Passage from "Thomas Singularity." STEPHEN OLIN
KATHARINE AUGUSTA WARE. Voice of the Seasons.
NATHANIEL GREENE .
ROBERT S. COFFIN
Passages from the " Boston Bard.' Song.*
N. L. FROTHINGIIAM
Hynm.
The McLean Asylum, Somerville, Mass.
ROBERT WALN
Passage from "American Bards." Hunting Song.
WILLIAM A. MUHLENBERG
The ISTlh Hymn.
SAMUEL H. DICKSON
Lines.
Old Age and Death, from the Essays on Life, Sleep, Pain, &c.
215
219 219
226 225
215 247
255 255
256
257
259 259
pact
M'DONALD CLARKE 2€1
Stanzas on the Death of Brainard.
On seeing a Young Girl look very wishfully into the
Street from a Window of Miss 's Boarding
School, in Broadway. Sunday in Summer. Astor House.
ISAAC STARR CLASON. 263
Napoleon, from the Don Juan. Thomas Addis Emmet.
JOHN HUGHES 264
FRANCIS L. HAWKS 265
Appeal for Union of the Revolutionary Fathers and
Statesmen. To an Aged and very Cheerful Christian Lady.
ALBERT BARNES 26-3
WILLIAM TUDOR . 288
The Elysian Fields, from "Gebel Teir."
ROBERT C. SANDS 271
Hoboken.
Proem to Yamoyden.
A Monody made on the late Mr. Samuel Patch, by an
Admirer of the Bathos. The Dead of 1832.
GRENVILLE MELLEN 277
The Bridal. The Bugle.
PROSPER M. WETMORE 279
Painting.
JAMES LAWSON . .280
The Approach of Age. Sonnet, " Andrew Jackson." Song.
WILLIAM BOURNE OLIVER PEABODY— OLIVER WILLIAM BOURNE PEABODY . . . .232
Monadiuick.
"Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is ne?"
LUCIUS M. SARGENT 2S8
WILLIAM B. WALTER 283
Mourner of the Last Hope.
F. W. P. GREENWOOD 284
Opportunities of Winter for Instruction.
RUFUS CHOATE 2S6
Passage from Speech on the Oregon Question. Description of the New England Climate. The Statesmanship of Daniel Webster. The Consolations of Literature.
CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCI- ENCES 289
GEORGE W. DOANE 289
On a very old Wedding Ring. Evening.
CALEB CUSHING 291
THEODORE SEDGWICK— CATHARINE M. SEDG- WICK—THEODORE SEDGWICK . .291 The Rescue of Everell by Magawisca, from "Hope
Leslie." The Shakers at Hancock, from "Redwood.*"
nANNAH F. LEE 295
GEORGE WOOD 295
The Circle of Financiers, from "Peter Sclllemilil."
HENRY CARY 297
Do not Strain your Punch. On Perception.
FRANCIS LIEBER 299
The Gentlemanly Character in Polities and Institu- tions, from the Address on the Character of the Gentleman. The Ship Canal, from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
GEORGE BANCROFT 804
Comparison of John Locke and William Penn. Braddock's Defeat. 1755. Rural Life in England. The Boston Massacre, 1770.
Study of the Infinite, from the New York Historical Society Address, 1854.
ROBERT GREENHOW 3:1
S. G. GOODRICH 311
Good Night.
The Teacher's Lesson.
GEORGE HILL 313
Meditation at Athens, from "the Ruins of Athens." Liberty.
/
CONTENTS.
WILLIAM LEGGETT
Song.
In Memory of William Leggett, The Main-Truck ; or, a Leap for Life.
GEORGE P. MORRIS
The Whip-poor-will. "Woodman spare that Tree. I'm with You once again. A Legend of the Mohawk. Poetry.
Near the Lake.
The Croton Ode, written at the request of the Corpo- ration of the city of New York. My Mothers Bible.
GEORGE W. BURNAP .
Isolation of the American Colonies, a Promotion of Democracy.
NICHOLAS MHRRAY
CYNTHIA TAGGART
On the Return of Spring. On a Storm.
EUFU8 DAWES
Sunrise, from Mount Washington. The Poet.
JACOB ABBOTT— JOIIN S. C. ABBOTT .
WILLIAM POST HAWES
Some Ohservations concerning Quail. Hymn Tunes and Graveyards. AShark Story, from Fire Island Ana.
PAOE
A. B. LONGSTEEET 814
Georgia Theatrics, from " the Georgia Scenes.'"
BENJAMIN F. FRENCH 815
FRANCIS PATRICK KENRICK . . . . .315
CHARLES PETTIT M'lLVAlNE 810
STEPHEN H. TYNG 310
ALEXANDER YOUNG 310
SAMUEL SEABURY SIT
JOHN O. CHOCLES . 817
GEORGE P. MARSH 81T :
Anglo-Saxon Influences of Home.
THOMAS COLE 818 |
Sonnet.
A Sunset.
Twilight.
The tread of Time.
Song of a Spirit. ALEXANDER H. EVERETT 820
The Young American.
The Art of Being Happy.
JAMES G. AND MARY E. BROOKS . . .323 Jeremiah x. 17. Freedom. Stanzas.
JACOB B. MOORE 325
WILLIAM H. SEWARD 820
The American People — their Moral and Intellectual Development.
WILLIAM H. FURNESS 32S
Hymns. COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON, S. C— SOUTH CA- ROLINA COLLEGE, COLUMBIA ....
THOMAS COOPER
Memoranda of Table-Talk.
ORESTES A. BEOWNSON
NATHANAEL DEERING
The Wreck of the Two Pollies.
ALBERT G. GREENE
To the Weathercock on Our Steeple. The Baron's Last Banquet. Old Grimes.
EDWARD COATE PINKNEY
Passages from " Rodolph."
Italy.
The' Indian's Bride.
A Picture-Song.
Song.
A Health.
BELA BATES EDWARDS
329 831
335
341 8-13
847
358
854 855
PAGE
ALEXANDER SLIDELL MACKENZIE . . .360 Zaragoza, from " Spain Revisited." Lodgings in Madrid, and a Landlady, from the same. A London Cotfee-Room at Dinner Time, from "The American in England."
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 865
The Problem.
Tact.
Good Bye.
The Humble Bee.
The Apology.
Beauty, from "Nature."
Love, fropi the Essays.
Montaigne, from "Representative Men."
GEORGE HENRY CALVERT 372
Washington, from "Arnold and Andre."
Alfieri and. Dante.
The Nun. \
Bonaparte.
Moliure and Rachel.
SAMUEL LINCOLN FAIRFIELD . . . .370 Pere la Chaise.
ROBERT M. BIRD 378
The Beech Tree.
A Rescue, from " Nick of the Woods."
.WILLIAM BINGHAM TAPPAN SS0
Stanzas from "A Sapphic for Thanksgiving." The Sunday School.
JOHN K. MITCHELL 8S1
The Brilliant Nor' West. The New and the Old Song.
EICHAED PENN SMITH 882
LOUISA J. HALL 8S2
Scene from " Miriam." MAEIA J. MclNTOSH SS4
The Brothers; or, In the Fashion and Above the Fashion.
LYDIA MAEIA CHILD 868
Ole Bull, from " Letters from New York." Old Age, from the same. The Brothers.
EDMUND D. GEIFFIN 3!>1
Lilies on leaving Italy.
JOHN HENRY HOPKINS 802
WILLIAM CROSWELL 893
The Ordinal.
New Year's Verses, from the Desk of Poor Richard,
Jr. Passage from a Commencement Poem. To My Father. Nature and Eevelation. This also shall pass away. Psalm exxxvii. A Sunday School Flymn, Hymn for Advent. De Profundus. Traveller's Hymn.
nOEACE BUSHNELL 397
Play, a Life of Freedom.
GEOEGE DENISON PRENTICE 400
The Flight of Years.
CHARLES E. ARTHUR GAYARRE . . . .401 Father Dagobert.
GEORGE W. BETHUNE 403
Song.
The Fourth of July.
National Characteristics.
EDWARD SANFOED 406
Passage from " the Loves of the Shell Fishes."
A Hard-Cider Melody.
Address to Black Hawk.
To a Mosquito.
Song, imitated from the French.
Charcoal Sketch of Pot Pic Palmer.
THEODORE S. FAY .412
The Rhine, from " Ulric." An Outline Sketch.
WILLIAM COX 415
Biography of Jacob Hays.
JOHN INMAN 410
Thoughts at the Grave of a Departed Friend.
HORATIO GREENOUGH 417
The Desecration of the Flag.
JOHN E. BARTLETT 413
CONTENTS.
IX
PAGE
JOHN LLOYD STEPIIENS 419
The Bastinado at Cairo, from " Incidents of Travel in Egypt.'1
FEEDEEIC HENEY HEDGE 421
The Angel's Song, from Goethe's "Faust." Conservatism and Eefurni.
MATTHEW F. MATJET 423
Law of Compensation in the Atmosphere.
HERMAN HOOKER . . 424
Gratitude to God.
WILLIAM E. WILLIAMS
An Age of Passion.
WILLIAM GILMOEE SIMMS ... The Bard.
Blessings on Children. The Eattlesnake, from ''the Yemassee."
JAMES H. HAMMOND
Intellectual Power.
EOBEET M. CHARLTON
To the Eiver Ogeech-e. They are passing away. The Death of Jasper, an Historical Ballad.
WILLIAM A. CAEEUTHEES
A Kitchen Fireside in the Old Dominion.
JAMES OTIS EOCKWELL
Spring.
GEORGE LTTNT
Memory and Hope.
NATHANIEL PAEKEE WILLIS . The Belfry Pigeon. The Annoyer. Love in a Cottage. Unseen Spirits. Little Florence Gray.
Letter to the Unknown Purchaser and Next Occu- pant of Glenmary.
HENET WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW . --". A Psalm of Life. Footsteps of Angels. God's-acre. Excelsior. Eain in Summer. Besignation.
The Old Clock on the Stairs. The Jewish Cemetery at Newport. Scenery of the Mississippi, from " Evangeline.1' Pic-nic at Roaring Brook, from "Kavanagh."
SAMUEL LONGFELLOW Evening Walk by the Bay.
HENET WILLIAM HEEEEET .
The Last Bear on the Hills of Warwick.
GEORGE B. CHEEVEB .... Pedestrianism in Switzerland. Elements of the Swiss Landscape.
THOMAS WARD
To Passaic.
JOSEPH C. NEAL
Undeveloped Genius, a Passage in the Life garlick Pigwiggin, Esq.
EICHAED HILDEETH . Washington and Hamilton. The Duel of Hamilton and Burr.
W. S. W. EUSCHENBERGEE .
425 427
43T
443
JONATHAN LA WHENCE, Jn. To .
COENELIUS CONWAY FELTON Borne and Greece in America.
ELIZABETH MAEGAEET CHANDLER John Woolman.
LAUGHTON OSBOENB .... Sonnet — the Eeproach of Yenus. To Juvenal. The Death of General Pike.
EDWARD S. GOULD ....
Chapter from the Sleep Eider. JOHN W. GOULD
Man Overboard. ASA GREENE .
Peter Funk.
WILLIAM D. GALLAGHEE
August. The Laborer.
of P. Pil-
450 453
455 456
459 4
462 462
463
465
466
467
470 471
JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIEE The New Wife and the Old. A Dream of Summer. Palestine. Gone.
CHAELES FENNO HOFFMAN
Sparkling and Brisht.
The Mint Julep.
Room, Boys, Eoora.
Eio Bravo — a Mexican Lament.
The Man in the Eeservoir, a Fantasie Piece.
LUCEETIA MARIA AND MAEGAEET MILLER DAVIDSON
On the Death of my Eobin.
Lines.
A Fragment.
The Wide World is Drear.
Kindar Burial Service, Versified.
To my Mother at Christmas. EMMA C. EMBURY
Ballad.
Lines suggested by the Moravian Burial Ground at Bethlehem.
Absence.
Oh ! Tell me not of Lofty Fate.
CAROLINE LEE HENTZ The Snow Flakes. 4-8ARAH HELEN WHITMAN
Quest of the Soul, from "the Hours of Life. The Trailing Arbutus. A Still Day in Autumn. She blooms no more.
HENEY EEED
Passage from the Introduction to the' " Lectures on English Literature."
Poetical and Prose Eeading.
Companionship of the Sexes in the Study of Litera- ture.
GEOEGE STILLMAN HILLAED .
Euins in Borne, from " Six Months in Italy." The Picturesque in Rome, from the same.
HUGH MOORE
Old Winter is Coming. Spring is Coming.
B. B. THATCHER .... The Last Request.
HANNAH F. GOULD The Frost. Mary Dow. It Snows.
The Veteran and the Child. Hymn of the Reapers.
r-AOK . 472
476
4S0
485
4S6 4S7
490
49S
496,
«96 497
PARK BENJAMIN . The Departed. Indolence. Sport.
STEPHEN GREENLEAF BULFINCH
Lines on visiting Tallulah Falls, Georgia. ROBERT CHARLES WINTHEOP
Peace between England aDd America.
Objects and Limits of Science.
Visit of Cicero to the Grave of Archimedes.
NATHANIEL HAWTHOENE £#>r The Grey Champion. Sights from a Steeple.
OLIVEE WENDELL HOLMES . Our Yankee Girls. Old Ironsides.
The Churchyard at Cambridge. LTnconnne. The Last Leaf. My Aunt.
Evening, by a Tailor. On Lending a Punch Bowl. The Pilgrim's Vision.
499
500 500
DPS 511
EEANTZ MAYEE .
Literary Influences in America.
SAMUEL TYLER
GEOEGE BUEGESS . Psalm xlvii.
AXBEET PIKE .... Hymn to Ceres. Farewell to New England.
ADEIAN ROUQUETTE . Souvenir de Kentucky.
519 520
521
The Nook.
To Nature, my Mother.
CONTENTS.
PAfiE
JONES TERT 523
To the Painted Columbine.
The Wind Flower.
The New Birth.
Day.
:h ight.
The Latter Eain.
Nature.
The Prayer. MAEGAEET FULLER OSSOLI 524
Passage from her Diary.
A Dialogue. JAMES H. PERKINS 528
Poverty and Knowledge.
On the Death of a Young Child.
BENSON J. LOSS1NG 529
ANN S. STEPHENS 530
The Strawberry Girl.
EALPH HOYT 531
Snow: a Winter Sketch. The World Sale. Strike.
WILLIS GAYLOED CLAEK— LEWIS GAYLOED CLABK 584
A Song of May.
To my Boy.
Lines written at Laurel Hill Cemetery, near Phila- delphia.
Old Songs. EDGAR A. POE 586
The Haunted Palace.
Lenore.
The Raven.
A Descent into the Maelstrom. CHARLES 8CMNEE 545
War.
ROBERT T. CONEAD 54T
Freedom.
FEEDEEICK WILLIAM THOMAS .... 548 'Tis said that Absence conquers Love.
HOEACE GEEELEY 549
ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY'. . . . .549 First Vivid Impressions in the Ancient Classics.
WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP 651
ELIHU BUEEITT 552
Why I left the Anvil
ALFRED B. STREET 554
The Settler.
An Autumn Landscape.
THEODORE PARKEE 556
Old Age.
WILLIAM HAYNE SIMMONS—TAMES WEIGHT
SIMMONS 557
The Bell Bird.
To him who can alone sit for the Picture.
Twilight Thoughts.
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD 559
Stanzas.
To the Spirit of Poetry.
Labor.
Song — She Loves him yet.
To a dear little Truant.
SEBA SMITH— ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH . . 561 Midsummer. Strength from the Hills. The Poet.
CAROLINE M. KIEKLAND 662
Meeting of the "Female Beneficent Society/' Hospitality.
P. HAMILTON MYERS 566
THOMAS MACKELLAR 566
A Poet and his Song. Singing on the Way.
WILLIAM STAEBnCK MAYO 567
A Lion in the Path.
WILLIAM HENEY CHANNING— WILLIAM EL-
LERY CHANNING 569
The Poet.
WILLIAM HAGUE 570
The Cultivation of Taste.
SAMUEL OSGOOD .571
Reminiscences of Boyhood, from " Mile-Stones in onr
Life Journey." The Age of St. Augustine, from "Studies in Christian
Biography."
\
PAGE
THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES OF PHILADELPHIA 575
JOHN C. FEEMONT 577
JAMES NACK 57S '
The Old Clock.
FEANCIS BOWEN 579
JOHN MILTON MACKIE 580
Holidays at Barcelona, from " Cosas de Espana."
CHARLES F. BRIGGS 581
An Interrupted Banquet, from '"Life in a Liner." Without and Within.
CHRISTOPHER PEASE CEANCH . . . .582 The Bouquet.
HENEY THEODOEE TUCKEEMAN . . . .582 Mary. Rome. True Enthusiasm, from a Colloquial Lecture on New
England Philosophy. The Home of the Poet Eogers, from " A Month in England."
CHAELES T. BEOOK3 5S5
Newport, from Aquidneck
Lines on hearing Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's
Dream. The Sabbath, from the German of Krummacher.
SYLVESTER JUDD 583
A New England Snow Storm, and a Home Scene, from "Margaret."
HENEY B. H1EST 591
The Eobin.
J. L. H. M'CRACKEN 592
The Art of Making Poetry.
JOHN EOMEYN BEODHEAD 594
LOUIS LE GRAND NOBLE 595
To a Swan, flying by night on the banks of the Hu- ron.
HENRY NORMAN HUDSON 597
The Weird Sisters, from the Lectures on Shakspeare.
E. H. CnAPIN 599
Voices of the Dead, from " the Crown of Thorns."
T. S. ARTHUR . . .601
Gentle Hand. WILLIAM H. C. HOSMEE 602
October.
JOEL TYLER HEADLEY 6:3
Washington and Napoleon. Lafayette.
IAERIET BEECHEE STOWE 605
Uncle Tom in his Cabin.
HAEEIET FAELEY 0C9
ELIZABETH F. ELLET 659
Lines to .
JEDIDIAH V. HUNTINGTON G10
The Song of the Old Year.
EUFUS WILMOT GEISWOLD .... 611
BENJAMIN DAVIS WINSLOW 612
Thoughts for the City.
T. B. THORPE 612
Tom Owen, the Bee Hunter.
GEOEGE EDWAED ELLIS 615
Organ Melodies.
CYRUS A. BAETOL 616
Allston's Belshazzar's Feast.
GEOEGE WASHINGTON GEEENE .... 616 Botta, the Historian.
ANDEEW JACKSON DOWNING . . . .618
EDMUND FLAGG 613
RICHARD n. DANA, Jr 6!9
Homeward Bound, from "Two Years Before the
Mast." The English Bible.
ANNA COEA MOWATT 623
Time.
MAEY E. HEWITT 624
God Bless the Mariner.
To Mary. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWOETH .... 024
SUSAN WARNER— ANNA B. WARNEE ... 625 Chestnut Gathering, from " Queechy."
CONTENTS.
PAGE
EMILY C. JUDSON ....... 626
Watching. ANNE CHARLOTTE BOTTA 627
Thoughts in a Library.
To — with flowers.
PARKE GODWIN 623
JOHN G. SAXE 629
Rhyme of the Bail. Sonnet to a Clam. My Boyhood.
JESSE AMES SPENCER 630
FREDERICK WILLIAM SHELTON . . . .680 A Burial among the Mountains, from "Peeps from a Belfry."
JOHN O. SARGENT— EPES SARGENT . . .632 A Life on the Ocean Wave. The Death of Warren, O Ye Keen Breezes.
pniLIP PENDLETON COOKE^JOHN ESTEN
COOKE 605
Florence Vane Young Rosalie Lee.
Prologue to "the Virginia Comedians." Epilogue.
The Death of a Mountain Hunter, from "Leather Stocking and Silk."
HORACE BINNEY WALLACE 638
The Interior of St. Peter's.
ELIHU G. HOLLAND
The Susquehannah.
WILLIAM A. JONES
Hazlitt.
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS . Verses from the Epistle to Landor. On a Bust of Dante. Steuart's Burial.
JOnN W. BROWN .... The Christmas Bells.
JOHN LATHROP MOTLEY .
Gottingen, from "Morton's Hope.1'
SAMUEL A. HAMMETT
How I caught a Cat, and what I did with it, from "A Stray Yankee in Texas."
CORNELIUS MATHEWS
The Journalist. The Poor Man. Dietetic Charlatanry. Little Trappan.
GEORGE W. PECK
The Governor of the Chinchas.
J. ROSS BROWN
John Tabor's Ride — a Yarn from the "Etchings of a Whaling Cruise."
HENRY DAVID TIIOREAU
A Character, from •' Walden." A Battle of Ants.
ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE . Old Trinity.
He standeth at the door and knocketh. The Volunteer's March.
JOHN STEINFORTH KIDNEY . Come in the Moonlight.
GEORGE H. COLTON PHILIP SCHAFF .
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. . ^ . Margaret, from the Legend of Brittany. An Instant in a Railroad Car. The First Snow-fall. The Courtin'.
MARIA LOWELL The Alpine Sheep.
WILLIAM W. STORY .... Childhood. Midnight.
EDWIN PERCY WHIPPLE . The Genius of Washington.
CHARLES WILKINS WEBBER . A Night HuDt in Kentucky.
HENRY AUGUSTUS WISE ■.
An Attack, from "Tales for the Marines.' Sagacity of Lobsters, from the same.
\
640 640 041
642 i
649 651
656
658 658 659
663
664 665
HERMAN MELVILLE
Redburn contemplates making a social call on tho Captain in his cabin.
CAROLINE M. SAWYER
The Blind Girl.
LOUISA C. TUTHILL
PLINT MILES
RICHARD B. KIMBALL
AMELIA B. WELBY
The Old Maid.
JANE T. WORTHINGTON
Moonlight on the Grave.
LUCY HOOPER
The Daughter of Herodias.
CATHERINE LUDEES
The Building and Birds. Planting in Rain. The Little Frock.
ESTELLE ANNA LEWIS
My Study.
Greece, from "the Child of the Sea."
The Forsaken.
XI
PAGE 672 '
676
076 076 677 677
678
078
679
JULIA WARD HOWE
The City of my Love.
ALICE B. HAVEN
Trees in the City. The Church.
CATHERINE WAEFIELD— ELEANOR LEE I Walk in Dreams of Poetry. She Comes to Me.
SARAH S. JACOBS
Benedetta.
ELIZABETH C. KINNEY .... The Spirit of Song.
SARAH J. LIPPINCOTT .... Ariadne.
ALICE CAREY
Pictures of Memory. Mulberry Hill. Nobility.
PHEBE CAREY. Coming Home.
ELISE JUSTINE BAYARD .... Funeral Chant for the Old Year.
CAROLINE MAY
The Sabbath of the Year.
HARRIET WINSLOW LIST . . : To the Unsatisfied.
ELIZABETH LLOYD
Milton on his Blindness.
CAROLINE CHESEBRO' .... The Black Frost.
EDWARD MATURIN
The Seasons, from a Poem,
WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE Of Thine Own Country Sing.
CHARLES ASTOE BEISTED
HENRY R. JACKSON . The Live Oak.
HENRY W. PARKER . The City of the Dead.
CHARLES G. EASTMAN A Picture.
JOnN ORVILLE TERRY . Aunt Dinah.
CHARLES OSCAR DUGUE .
XAVIEIt DONALD MACLEOD
E. G. BQUIEE
ELISHA KENT KANE .
681 6S2
684 685 0S5 687
Tho Woods."
Arctic Incidents.
SAMUEL ELIOT
Close of Antiquity.
JAMES T. FIELDS ^'. .... Wordsworth. Eventide.
DONALD G. MITCHELL .... Letters, from "The Reveries of a Bachelor."
669 689 690 691
692
694
695 697
700 701
XII
CONTENTS.
+
PAGE
THOMAS BUCHANAN READ 702
The Closing Scene.
Pennsylvania, from "The New Pastoral."
The Village Church, from the same.
FREDERIC S. COZZEN8 73?
Bunker Hill— an Old Time Ballad.
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS . ... TOO
Under the Palms, from the " Nile Notes."
FRANCIS PARKMAN T09
The Illinois.
ERA8TUS W. ELLSWORTH T10
What is the Use? __
WILLIAM W. CALDWELL 712
Robin's Come. .
What Saith the Fountain ?
JOHN R. THOMPSON 713
The Window-panes at Brlmdon.
A Picture.
Benedicite.
GEORGE H. BOKER 714
The Death of Dona Alda, from " Calaynos."
BATARD TAYLOR .710
Bedouin Song. Kilimandjaro.
PAGE
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD 717
Autumn.
The Two Brides.
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER 718
Uhlaud. JOHN L. McCONNEL . 719
A Western Politician of the First Growth.
Ichabod Crane beyond the Alleghanies.
J. M. LEGAEE .720
Amy.
AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER ... .720
Ode to Shakspeare.
PAUL H. HAYNE .722
Sonnet A Portrait.
HAMILTON COLLEGE, NEW YORK . . . 722
THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA . . . .725
TRINITY COLLEGE, CONN. ....'. 732
THE UNIVERSITY OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK 7-33
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN . . . .755
THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE 787
THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION . . . .707
THE ASTOR LIBRARY 740
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Autograph or J. K. Paulding Residence of J. K. Paulding Portrait and Autograph of .Joseph
Story Portrait and Autograph of Wash- ington Allston Portrait aud Autograph of Henry
Pickering .... Portrait and Autograph of Daniel
Webster . . . Portrait and Autograph of John
C. Calhoun Autograph of Henry Wheaton Portrait and Autograph of Charles
J. Ingersoll Autograph of Lewis Cass Portrait and Autograph of Thomas
H. Benton ... Portrait and Autograph of Wash
ington Irving . Sunnyside '
Portrait of Charles Nisbet . Dickinson College. Autograph of Samuel L. Knapp Autograph of Levi Frisbie . Portrait and Autograph of J. S,
Buckminsler . Autograph of D. Hoffman
S. Woodworth John Pierpont Portrait and Autograph of M. M
Noah .... St. John's College, Md. Autograph of Nicholas Biddle Andrews Norton Thomas S. Grinike William Crafts Portrait and Autograph of Richard
H. Dana .... Residence of Richard 11. Dana University of Nortli Carolina Portrait and Autograph of Richard
Henry Wilde . Portrait and Autograph of James
Fenimore Cooper . Otsego Hall .... Portrait and Autograph of John
W. Francis Autograph of Job Durfee
James Marsh . Portrait and Autograph of Charles
Sprague
Residence of Mrs. L. H. Sigourney Portrait and Autograph of Mrs. L.
H. Sigourney .... Portrait and Autograph of John
Howard Payne Park Theatre Portrait and Autograph of James
Hall
Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham L. Stone . Portrait and Autograph of Henry
R. Schoolcraft Elmwood .... Williams College . Autograph of Edward Hitchcock Henry C. Carey John Neal Portrait and Autograph of Jared
Sparks
Portrait and Autograph of Edward
Robinson.
page ]
1 I
84 86
89 90
105
103 112
123 127 130
132 136
136
1-11 142
152 152 156 156 157 162
166
Portraitand Autograph of Edward
Everett .... Portrait and Autograph of Wi
Ham Ware Portrait and Autograph of Caro- line Gilman ... Autograph of Carlos Wilcox. Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham C. Bryant Residence of William C. Bryant Autograph of John D. Godman Bowuoin College . Portrait and Autograph of Elipha-
IetNott .... Portrait and Autograph of Taylo:
Lewis .... Union College Portrait and Autograph of Maria
Brooks
Portrait and Autograph of Josepl-
Rodman Drake Portrait and Autograph of Fitz-
Greene Halleck Portrait and Autograph of Jam*
G. Percival Portrait and Autograph of D. P.
Thompson Autograph of William B. Sprague Portrait and Autograph of John
P. Kennedy Residence of John P. Kennedy Autograph of Horace Mann . Portrait and Autograph of George
Bush
Portrait and Autograph of John
G. C. Brainard Portrait and Autograph of Georg
Ticknor .... Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham H. Prescott Portrait and Autograph of Charles
Follen .... Autograph of Calvin Colton . Walter Colton Portrait and Autograph of n. S
Legare ..... Portrait and Autograph of Louisa
S. M'Cord Autograph of Stephen Olin .
Samuel H. Dickson Portrait of McDonald Clarke St. Thomas Hall, Flushing, N. Y, Portraitand Autograph of Francis
L. Hawks Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham Tudor Boston Atherjamm Portrait and Autograph of Robert
C. Sands .... Wood at Hoboken. Autograph of Qrenville Mellen Prosper M. "Wet
more James Lawson W. B. 0. Peabody Rufus Choate Caleb Cushing Portrait and Autograph of Cathe
line M. Sedgwick . Autograph of Hannah F. Lee George Wood. Portrait and Autograph of Francis
Lieber
PAGE
171
175
180 181
185 186 191 193
195
196 li>7
198
202
208
212
216 219
220
220 224
226
227
230
236
242 246 246
251
254 259 201 265
266
269
209
272 273
27S
279 280 282
236 291
292 295 295
300
PAGE
Residence of George Bancroft, at
Newport 305.
Portrait and Autograph of Gcorgo
Bancroft 306
Portrait of S. G. Goodrich . . 312
Autograph of John O. Choules . 317
Portrait of Thomas Cole . . 319
Autograph of Alex. H. Everett . 320 James G. Brooks . 324
South Carolina College ... 330
Portrait and Autograph of Tho- mas Cooper .... 332
Portrait and Autograph of Wil- liam Leggett .... 343
Portrait, Autograph, and Residence
of George 1*. Morris . . 348
Autograph of Cynthia Taggart . 352 Rufus Dawes . . 354 Jacob Abbott . 854
Portrait and Autograph of Alex.
Slidell Mackenzie ... 361
Portrait and Autograph of Ralph
Waldo Emerson ... 366
Portrait and Autograph of George
H. Calvert .... 373
Autograph of Sumner L. Fairfield 376
Portrait aud Autograph of Robert
M. Bird 878
Portrait and Autograph of Maria
J. Mcintosh .... 384
Autograph of L. Maria Child. . 383
Portrait and Autograph of Wil- liam Cruswell .... 393
Autograph of Horace Bushnell . 897
Portraitand Autograph of Charles
Gayarre 402
Autograph of George W. Bethunc 404
Portrait and Autograph of Theo- dore S. Fay . .412
Autograph of Horatio Greenough 417
Portrait and Autograph of John
L. Stephens .... 420
Portrait and Autograph of Mat- thew F. Maury ... 423
Woodlands 427
Portrait and Autograph of Wil- liam Gilmore Siintns . . 429
Autograph of Robert M. Charl- ton 435
Portrait and Autograph of N. P.
Willis 433
Idlewild 410
Residence of Henry W. Longfel- low 444
Portrait and Autograph of Henrv
W. Longfellow . *. 444
Portrait and Autograph of Henrv
Wm. Herbert 450
Portrait and Autograph of Joseph
C. Neal 456
Portraitand Autograph of Richard
Hildreth 459
Autograph of Laugh ton Osborne . 406
Portrait and Autograph of John
G. Whittier .... 473
Portrait and Autograph of Charles
Fenno Hoffman . . . 470
Portrait and Autograph of Luere-
tia M. Davidson ... 482
Portrait and Autograph of Marga- ret M. Davidson ... 484
Autograph of Emma C. Embury . 485 Sarah U.Whitman. 487
XIV
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Portrait and Autograph of Henry Eeed ....
Autograph of George S. Hillard Hannah F. Gould Park Benjamin
Portrait and Autograph of Sober C. Wintbrop .
The Old Manse
Portrait and Autograph of Na- thaniel Hawthorne .
Portrait and Autograph of Oliver W. Holmes .
Autograph of Brantz Mayer . Albert Pike .
Portrait and Autograph of A. Eou quette ....
Autograph of Jones Very
Portrait and Autograph of S. Mar garet Fuller Ossoli
Autograph of Benson J. Lossing Ann S. Stephens
Portrait and Autograph of Ralph Hoyt
Portrait and Autograph of Edgar
A. Poe . Autograph of Charles Sumner Portrait and Autograph of E. T
Conrad .... Autograph of Horace Greeley Portrait and Autograph of W. In-
graham Kip .... Portrait and Autograph of Elihu
Burritt . Portrait and Autograph of Alfred
B. Street .... Portrait of Theodore Parker Portrait and Autograph of Fran
ctis S. Osgood
Portrait and Autograph of Eliza- heth Oakes Smith .
Portrait and Autograph of Caro- line M. Kirkland
Autograph of P. Hamilton Myers
Portrait and Autograph of Wil- liam S. Mayo .
Portrait and Autograph of Samuel Osgood ....
Autograph of John M. Mackie
Portrait and Autograph of Henry 491 T. Tuckerman
494 Portrait and Autograph of Charles 497 T. Brooks
499 Portrait and Autograph of Sylves
ter Judd .... 501 Autograph of John E. Brodhead 504 Portrait and Autograph of Louis
L. Noble
506 Portrait and Autograph of Henry
N. Hudson 512 Portrait and Autograph of E. H. 517 Chapin
520 Portrait and Autograph of T. S.
Arthur ....
521 Autograph of W. H. C. Hosmer 523 Portrait, Autograph, and Eesi
dence of J. T. Headley . 526 Portrait ind Autograph of Harriet
529 Beecher Stowe
530 Portrait and Autoirraph of Eliza-
beth F. Ellett "...
532 ' Portrait and Autograph of Eufus
W. Griswold ....
537 Portrait and Autograph of T. B,
545 Thorpe ....
Autograph of A. J. Downing 547 Portrait and Autograph of Eichard 549 II. Dana, Jun
Portrait and Autograph of Anna 552 Cora Mowatt ....
Portrait and Autograph of Emily 552 C. Judson ....
Portrait and Autograph of Anne 554 C. Lynch ....
556 Portrait and Autograph of Joh G. Saxe ....
559 Portrait and Autograph of Epes
Sargent .... 561 Portrait and Autograph of P. P.
Cooke .... 563 Portrait and Autograph of John
566 Esten Cooke ... Portrait and Autograph of Come
567 lius Mathews . Autograph of George W. Peck
5T2 J. Eoss Browne
560 Henry D. Thoreau,
594
596
597
599
601 6b2
604
6.5
610
611
613 618
619
623.
626
623
629
633
635
636
646 649 651 653
PAGE
Henry D. Thoreaifs House . . 654 Portrait and Autograph of J. E.
Lowell 659
Portrait and Autograph of C. W.
Webber 666
Autograph of Henry A. Wise . 670 Herman Melville . 672 Eesidence of Herman Melville . 674 Autograph of Pliny Miles . . 677 Portrait and Autograph of Amelia
B. Welby .... 677 Portrait and Autograph of Estelle
Anna Lewis .... 680 Portrait and Autograph of Julia
Ward Howe .... 681 Portrait and Autograph of Alice
B. Haven .... 682 Portrait and Autograph of Sara J.
Lippincott .... 685 Portrait and Autograph of E. G.
Squier 696
Portrait and Autograph of E. K.
Kane 698
Autograph of Samuel Eliot . 699
Portrait and Autograph of Donald
G. Mitchell .... 701 Portrait and Autograph of T. B.
Eead 762
Autograph of Frederick S. Coz-
zens 704
Portrait and Autograph of George
W. Curtis .... 707 Portrait and Autograph of Fran- cis Parkman .... 709 Autograph of E. W. Ellsworth . 711 John E. Thompson 718 Portrait and Autograph of George
H. Boker .... 714 Portrait and Autograph of Bayard
Taylor 716
Portrait and Autograph of E. H.
Stoddard 717
Autograph of A. J. Eeqnier . . 720 Hamilton College .... 722 University of Virginia . . . 726 the City of New
York 733
Smithsonian Institution, . . 739 The Astor Library, New York . 741
CYCLOPAEDIA
OF
AMERICAN LITERATURE
JAMES KIEKE PAULDING,
Is descended from one of the early pioneers of the State of New York, who appears in the an- cient records of Ulster County, of which he was sheriff in the time of Governor Dongan, some- times as Hendrick Pauldinck, sometimes as Heiti- rick Pauldon, and at others Henry Pawling, which was probably his English name, being so written in a grant of four thousand acres of land in Dutch- ess County to his widow Eltje Pawling, by King William the Third. This confusion of names is to he partly traced to the struggle for ascendency between the Dutch and English languages, and partly to the carelessness of the writers, who were not much practised in orthography ; so that from these causes it remains doubtful whether Henry Pawling wa; of English or Dutch extraction.
Subsequently to this grant of King William the family removed to Dutchess County, a township of which is still called after their name. The grandfather of the subject of this sketch, many years previous to the Revolution, settled in the county of Westchester, on a farm still in posses- sion of his descendants. He always wrote his name Paulding, which has been ever sine.' adopted by that branch of the family, though that of Paw- ling has been retained by the others. The resi- dence of Paulding's father being " within the lilies," that is in the district intervening between the British army at New York and the American forces in the Highlands, and he being a somewhat distinguished Whig of the good old revolutionary stamp, his family was exposed to the insults and depredations of the Jagars, the Tories, and the Cow Boys. He removed his family in conse- quence to Dutchess County, where he possessed
vol. n. — 1
some property. Here Paulding was born, August 22, 1779, at a place called Pleasant Valley. His father who, previous to the commencement of the Revolution, had acquired a competency, took a de- cided and active part in the preliminary struggles; was a leader of the Whig party in the county of Westchester ; a member of the first Committee of Safety, and subsequently Commissary General of the New York Continental quota of troops. When, in consequence of the total extinction of the public credit, and the almost hopeless state of the good cause, it was sometimes impossible to procure the necessary supplies for the American army then occupying the highlands of the Hud -ion, he made use of his own credit with his neighbors, the far- mers, and became responsible for large sums of money. At the conclusion of the war, on pre- senting his accounts to the Auditor-General, this portion of them was rejected on the ground that he was not authorized to make these pledges in behalf of government. He retired a ruined man, was thrown into a prison, which accidentally taking fire, he walked home and remained unmolested by his creditors. He could never be persuaded to renew his application to government; would never accept any office ; and though he lived to a great age made no exertions whatever to retrieve his fortunes. His wife, who was the main stay of the family, and a woman of great energy, industry, and economy, survived him several years and died still more aged.
After the peace the family returned to their former abode in Westchester, where Paulding was educated at the village school, a log-house nearly two miles distant from his residence, in which he received all the learning he ever acquired from the tuition of Others, so that he maybe fairly con- sidered a self-made man. Here he remained at home until he arrived at manhood, when he came to the city of New York. His first sojourn in the city was with the late Mr. William Irving, who had married his sister, a man of wit and genius,
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
■whose home was the familiar resort of a knot of young men of a similar stamp, who were members of the Calliopean Society, one of the first purely literary institutions established in the city.* He also became intimate at this time with Washing- ton Irving, whose elder brother William married Paulding's sister, and in connexion with whom he made his first literary venture in the publication of the series of periodical essays entitled Salma- gundi ; or the Whim-Whams and Opinions of Launcelot Langstaff and others, which were is- sued by David Longworth, a respectable but whimsical bookseller of the times, who, in virtue of having a copy of Boydell's Shakespeare, the plates of which he exhibited in his second story, christened his shop the Shakespeare Gallery ; some- times, too, calling it on the title-pages of his pub- lications the Sentimental Epicure's Ordinary. He was an extensive publisher of plays foreign and native, and became famous for his enterprise of the New York Directory .t
The first number of Salmagundi appeared Sa- turday, January 24, 1807, in an eighteenmo. of twenty pages. It closed with the issue of number twenty, January 25, 1808. It was the joint work of Paulding and Irving, with the exception of the poetical epistles and three or four of the prose articles, which were from the pen of William Ir- ving. The work was a brilliant success from the start. The humors of the town were hit off with a freshness which is still unexhausted to the read- ers of an entirely ditferent generation. It dis- closed, too, the literary faculties of the writers, both very young men, with a rich promise for the future, in delicate shades of observation, the more pungent traits of satire, and a happy vein of de- scription which grew out of an unaffected love of nature, and was enlivened by studies in the best school of English poetry. When the work was concluded its two chief authors pursued their lite- rary career apart ; but it is noticeable as an exhi- bition of their kindly character, that the early
* One of the members of this society was Eichard Bingham Davis, who was much admired for his poetical talents, in his appearance and manners he is said to have reminded his asso- ciates of Oliver Goldsmith. His person was clumsy, his man- ner awkward, his speech embarrassed, and his simplicity most remarkable in one who had been born and brought up in the midst of a crowd offcis fellow creatures. He was born in New Tork, August 21. 1771, was educated at Columbia College, mo- destly pursued the business of his father, in carving or sculp- ture in wood, but was induced in 1796 to undertake the edi- torial department of the Diary, a daily gazette published in New Tork, for which he wrote during a year. He was too sen- sitive, and his literary tastes, which iay "in the direction of the belles lettres. were too delicate for this pursuit. He next en- raged in mercantile affairs. In 1799 he fell a victim to the yel- low fever then prevailing in New York, carrying the seed's of the disease with him to New Brunswick, New Jersey, where he died in his twenty-eighth year. His poems were expressions of personal feeling and sentiment, and have a tinge of melan- choly. They were collected by his friends of the Calliopean Society after his death and published by Swords in lSt-7, with a well written prefatory memoir from the pen of John T. Irving. An ''Ode to Imagination" shows his earnestness, as a clever "Elegy on an Old Wigfound in the street," does his hu- mor. He was also a contributor to the Drone papers in the New Tork Magazine, where he drew a Will written character of himself under the name of Martlet.
t '' David Longworth, an eccenti ic bookseller, who had filled a large apartment with the valuable engravings of Boydell's Shakespeare Gallery, magnificently framed, and had nearly obscured the front of his house with a huge sign. — a colossal painting, in chiaro sniro, of the crowning of Shakespeare. Loiigwortb had an extraordinary propensity to publish elegant works, to the great gratification of persons of taste, and the no small diminution of his own slender fortune." — Preface to Sal- magundi. Paris edition. 1S34.
partnership in Salmagundi has never been dis- solved by a division of the joint stock between the owners of the separate articles. The whole is included in the incomplete stereotype edition of Paulding's works. In 1819 a second series of the work was published, which was entirely from his hand. Though not unsuccessful, it was not re- ceived by the public as its predecessor. The " town" interest had diminished. More than ten years had elapsed ; the writer was then engaged in official duties at Washington ; his mind had as- sumed a graver cast, and the second series of Sal- magundi is deficient in that buoyant spirit of viva- city which is one of the distinguishing features of the first.
About the period of the commencement of the second war with England, his feelings being strongly excited by the position of affairs of the times, he published The Diverting Eistovy of John Bull and Brother Jonathan, in the style of Arbuthnot, in which the United States and Eng- land are represented as private individuals, father and son engaged in a domestic feud. In this work the policy and conduct of England towards the United States is keenly but good-humoredly sa- tirized, so much so that the whole was republished in numbers in one of the British journals. It passed through several editions, one of which is embellished with several capital illustrations by Jarvis, and was among the most successful of the author's productions. In the volume of Harpers' edition of this tale it is followed by another in the same vein called the History of Uncle Sam and his Boys.
The Diverting History was followed by a poem entitled The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle* a free parody of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, which ap- peared anonymously, like most of Paulding's ear- lier writings. This production is principally de-~- voted to satirizing the predatory warfare of the British on Chesapeake Bay, and, what is some- what remarkable, was published in a very hand- some style in London with a preface highly com- plimentary to the author. The hero is Admiral Cockburn, and the principal incident the burning and sacking the little town of Havre de Grace on the coast of Maryland. It had at that time what might be called the distinction of provoking a fierce review from the London Quarterly. It is clever as a parody, and contains many passages entirely original and of no inconsiderable beauty. .
Paulding soon after published a pamphlet in prose, The United States and England, taking up the defence of the country against the attack of the London Quarterly in its famous review of In- gersoll's Inchiquin Letters. The sale of the work was interrupted by the failure of the publisher about the time of its publication. It however attracted the notice of President Madison, and paved the way for the subsequent political career of the author. The design of the work was to expose the unwarrantable course of the Quarterly in drawing general conclusions from solitary ex- amples, and for this purpose the author cites in- stances from the newspapers of England and other
* The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle : a Tale of Havre de Grace. Supposed to be written by Walter Scott, Esq. First American, from the fourth Edinburgh edition. New Tork: Inskeep and Bradford. 1S13. 82mo. pp. 262.
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING.
sources to show that if these are to be assumed as the standard of national morality or manners the English are far in advance of the Americans in vulgarity, vice, and depravitv.
This was followed up, in 1822, by A Sketch of Old England by a Neio England Man, purporting to be a narrative of a tour in that country. It commences with an account of various travelling incidents humorously narrated ; but the writer soon passes to a discussion of the social, religious, and political points of difference between the two nations, which occupies the chief portion of the volumes. In 1824 he returned to this subject in a new satire on the English traveller-, John Bull in America; or the New Munchausen, purporting to be a tour of a cockney English traveller in the United States. It exhibits a broad caricature of the ignorant blunders and homebred prejudices of this class of national libellers, equally provocative of laughter and contempt. The hero, through various chances, frequently encounters a shrewd little Frenchman wearing a white hat, draped in white dimity, with gold ear-rings, who, from meeting so continually, he is at length convinced is seeking an opportunity to rob, if not to murder him.
Iu 1815, after a tour through Virginia, he wrote Letters from the South, by a Northern Man, prin- cipally occupied with sketching the beauties of the scenery and the manners of the people of the " Ancient Dominion." The author digresses to various subjects, on which he delivers his opinions with his usual straightforward frankness.
In 1818 appeared his principal poetical produc- tion, The Backwoodsman, an American poem in sentiment, scenery, and incidents.- It is in six books of some five hundred lines each, written in the heroic measure. Basil, the hero, appears at the opening as a rural laborer on the banks of the -Hudson, reduced to poverty by being confined a whole winter by sickness. On the approach of spring he is attracted by reports of the fertility of the West, the cheapness of the land, and the pros- pect of improving his condition, and resolves to seek his fortune in that far distant paradise, lie abandons his home, and proceeds on his adven- ture accompanied by his wife and family. The wanderer's farewell, as he turns a last look on the course of the Hudson through the Highlands, is a pleasant passage of description; and the journey through Jersey and Pennsylvania to the Ohio, presents various little incidents, as well as sketches of scenery evidently drawn from the life by a true lover of nature. Arrived at Pitts- burg, he proceeds with a company of emi- grants he finds collected there to his destination in one of those primitive vessels called Broad- horns, which have become almost, obsolete since the introduction of steamers. Here the progress of an infant settlement is sketched, and the author, after seeing Basil comfortably housed, leaves him somewhat abruptly to plunge into the desert wild, and introduce his readers to the Indian prophet, who, in conjunction with some renegade whites, was at that time employed in stirring up the savages to take part in the approaching hostilities between the United States and England, and by whom the little settlement of Basil and his com- panions is subsequently ravaged and destroyed. War ensues; the backwoodsmen with Basil at
their head pursue the savages, and finally over- take them; a bloody fight follows; the prophet falls by the hand of Basil, and the savages are completely routed. Basil returns home; peace is restored, and he passes the remainder of his life in prosperity and honor. The poem closes with a glowing apostrophe to the native land of the author.
The descriptive parts of this poem are perhaps the best portions of the work. The versification is in general vigorous and glowing, though there are not a few occasional exceptions, together with some inaccuracies of expression, which the author would probably now correct were a new edition called for. The Backwoodsman belongs to the old school of poetry, and met with but ordinary success at home, though translations of a portion were published and praised in a literary periodical of the time at Paris.
The scene of Paulding's first novel is laid among the early Swedish settlers on the Dela- ware. It was originally called Konigsmarh, or the Long Finne, a name that occurs in our early records, but the title was changed in a subsequent edition to Old Times in the New World, for rea- sons set forth in the publisher's notice. It was divided into separate books, each preceded by an introductory chapter after the manner of Field- ing's Tom Jones, and having little connexion with the story. They are for the most part satirical, and in the progress of the narrative the author parodies Noma of the Fitful Head in the person of Bombie of the Frizzled Head, an ancient colored virago.
In 1826 he wrote Merry Tales of the Three Wise Men of Gotham, prefaced by a grave disser- tation on the existence and locality of that re- nowned city. This was a satire on Mr. Owen's system of Socialism, which then first began to at- tract attention in the United States, on Phreno- logy, and the legal maxim of Caveat Emptor, each exemplified in a separate story. The Three Wise Men are introduced at sea in the famous Bowl, relating in turn their experience with a view of dissipating the ennui of the voyage.
This was followed by The Traveller's Guide, which was mistaken for an actual itinerary, in consequence of which it was christened somewhat irreverently The New Pilgrim's Progress. It is a burlesque on the grandiloquence of the current Guide Books, and the works of English travellers in America. It exhibits many satirical sketches of fashionable life and manners, and will be a treasure to future antiquaries for its allusions to scenes and persons who flourished at the time when, as the writer avers, the dandy must never, under any temptation, extend his morning prome- nade westwardly, and step beyond the northwest corner of Chambers street, all beyond being vul- gar terra incognita to the fashionable world. Union Square was then a diminutive Dismal Swamp, and Thirteenth street a lamentable resort of cockney sportsmen. This was in 1828, when to be mistress of a three-story brick house, with mahogany folding doors, and marble mantels, was the highest ambition of a fashionable belle. After exhausting New York, the tourist recommends one of those "sumptuous aquatic palaces," the safety barges, which it grieves him to see aro almost deserted for the swifter steamers, most
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
especially by those whose time being worth nothing, they are anxious to save as much of it as possible. In one of these he proceeds leisurely up the river to Albany, loitering by the way, no- ticing the various towns and other objects of interest, indulging in a variety of philosophical abstractions and opinions, now altogether con- signed to the dark ages. Finally he arrives at Balston and Saratoga by stage-coach, where he makes himself merry with foibles of the elite, the manoeuvres of discreet mothers, the innocent arts of their unsophisticated daughters, and the deplo- rable fate of all grey-whiskered bachelors, who seek their helpmates at fashionable watering- places. The remainder of the volume is occupied with rules for the behavior of young ladies, mar- ried people, and bachelors young and old, at the time-renowned springs. A number of short stories and sketches are interspersed through the volume, which is higldy characteristic of the author's peculiar humors.
Tales of the Good Woman, by a Doubtful Gen- tleman, followed in sequence, and soon after ap- peared The Booh of St. Nicholas, purporting to be a translation from some curious old Dutch le- gends of New Amsterdam, but emanating ex- clusively from the fertile imagination of the author. He commemorates most especially the few quaint old Dutch buildings, with the gable- ends to the streets, and steep roofs edged like the teeth of a saw, the last of which maintained its station in New street until within a few years past as a bakery famous for New Year Cakes, but at length fell a victim to the spirit of " progress. "
The Dutchman's Fireside, a story founded on the manners of the old Dutch settlers, so charm- ingly sketched by Mrs. Grar.t* in the Memoirs of an American Lady, next made its appearance. It is written in the author's happiest vein, and was the most popular ofsall his productions. It went through six editions within the year; was re- published in London, and translated into the French and Dutch languages. This work was succeeded by Westward Ho ! the scene of which is principally laid in Kentucky, though the story is commenced in Virginia. The Dutchman's Fireside was published in Paris under the title of is Coin du Feu d'un Hollandais. For each of these novels the author, as we are assured, received the then and still important sum of fifteen hundred dol- lars from the publishers on delivery of the manu- script.
A Life of Washington, principally prepared for
* Mrs. Grant was born in Glasgow in 1755, the daughter of Duncan M'Vickar, -who came in her childhood to America as au officer in the British army. He resided at different parts of New York; for a lime at Albany and at Oswego, visiting the frontier settlements. This residence afforded Mrs. Grant the material for the admirable descriptions which she afterwards wrote of manners in this state as they existed before the Revo- lution. In 1768 she returned to Scotland. In 1779 she was married to the Bev. James Grant, the minister of Lairiran in the Highlands, becoming his widow in 1^01. After this, she turned her thoughts to literature, first publishing a volume of Poems in IS' 3; then her Letters from the Mountains, being a selection from her correspondence from 1778 to 1SC4, in 1806. Her Memoirs of an American Lady was published in 1S08; her Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlands in 1811 ; and a Poem, Eighteen Hundred and Thirteen, in 1814. During her latter years she was quite a celebrity in Edin- burgh, figuring pleasantly in the Diary of Walter Scott, who drew up the memorial which secured her a pension of one hundred pounds from George IV. She died Kov. 7, 1S3S, at
the use of the more youthful class of readers, suc- ceeded these works of imagination. It was origi- nally published in two small volumes, and after- wards incorporated with Harpers' Family Libra- ry. Five thousand copies were contracted for with the publishers for distribution in the public schools. It is an admirable production, and shows conclusively that the author is equally qualified for a different sphere of literature from that to which he has principally devoted himself. Though written with a steady glow of patriotism, and a full perception of the exalted character and services of the Father of his country, it is pure from all approaches to inflation, exaggeration, and bombast. The style is characterized by sim- plicity combined with vigor; the narrative is clear and sufficiently copious without redun- dancy, comprising all the important events of the life of the hero, interspersed with various cha- racteristic anecdotes which give additional inter- est to the work, without degrading it to mere gossip, and is strongly imbued with the nation- ality of the author. Being addressed to the youthful reader, he frequently pauses in his nar- rative to inculcate the example of Washington's private and public virtues on his readers. The character of Washington, as summed up at the conclusion, is one of the most complete we have ever met with.
In 1836, about the period that what is known as the Missouri Question was greatly- agitating the country, both North and South, he published a review of the institution, under the title of Slavery in the United States, in which he regards the subject with strong southern sympathies. He considers slavery as the offspring of war ; as an expedient of humanity to prevent the massacre of prisoners by savage and barbarous tribes and nations, who having no system for the exchange of prisoners, and no means of securing them, have in all time past been accustomed to put to death those whose services they did not require as slaves. He treats the subject with reference both to divine and human laws, and passing from theory to the practical question as applicable to the United States, places before his readers the consequences, first of universal emancipation, next of political and social equality, and lastly of amalgamation.
The last of Paulding's avowed publications are TJie Old Continental, or the Price of Liberty^ a Revolutionary stor\', The Puritan and his Daughter, the scene of which is partly in Eng- land, partly in the United States, and a volume of American Plays,* in conjunction with his youngest son William Irving Paulding, then a youth under age. The plots of these pieces are defective, and the incidents not sufficiently dra- matic, but the dialogue exhibits no inconsiderable degree of the vis coin iea.
This closes our catalogue of the chief produc- tions of the author, which appeared at different intervals during a period of nearly half a century.
the age of eighty-three.
* American Comedies by J. K. Paulding 3nd William Irving Paulding. Contents — The Bucktails. or Americans in Eng- land; The Noble Exile: Madmen All. or the Cure of Love; Antipathies, or the Enthusiasts by the Ears. The first of these was the only one by the father. It was written shortly after the conclnsion of the War of 1812. The volume was published by Carey & Hart in Philadelphia, in 1S47.
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING.
Most of them were republished in a uniform stereo- typed edition by Harper" and Brothers in 1835. The}' constitute, however, only a portion of his writings, which many of them appeared anony- mously, and are dispersed through various period- icals ami newspapers, among which are the New York Mirror, the Analectic, the Knicker- bocker, and Graham's Magazine, Godey's Lady's Bjook, the Democratic Review, the United States Review, the Literary World, Wheaton's Nation- al Advocate, the National Intelligencer, the Southern Press, the Washington Union, &'c, &o. He also contributed two articles to a volume by different bands edited by the late Robert C. Sands, whimsically entitled Tales of the Glauber Spa. These contributions were, Chihle Roeliff's Pil- grimage, and Selim the Friend of Mankind. The former is a burlesque on fashionable tours, the latter exposes the indiscreet attempts of over- zealous philanthropists to benefit mankind. Most of these contributions were anonymous, and many of them gratuitous ; to others lie affixed his name, on the requisition of the publishers. The collec- tion woidd form many volumes, comprising a great variety of subjects, and exhibiting almost every diversity of style " from grave to gay, from lively to severe."
A favorite mode of our author is that of em- bodying and exemplifying some sagacious moral in a brief story or allegory, either verse or prose, specimens of which may be seen in the Literary World under the caption of Odds and Ends, by an Obsolete Author, in the New York Mirror, Graham's Magazine, and other periodicals.
He has also occasionally amused himself with the composition of Fairy Tales, and is the author of an anonymous volume published in 1838 by Appleton, called A Gift from Fairy Land, beauti- fully illustrated by designs from Chapman. We are informed that only one thousand copies of this work were contracted for by its publisher, five hundred of which were taken by a London bookseller. It appeared subsequently to the stereotyped edition of Harper and Brothers, and is not included in the series, which has never been completed, owing, we are informed, to some diffi- culties between the author and his publishers, in consequence of which it is now extremely difficult to procure a complete set of his works.
In almo-t all the writings of Paulding there is occasionally infused a dash of his peculiar vein of humorous satire and keen sarcastic irony. To those not familiarized with his manner, such is the imposing gravity, that it is sometimes some- what difficult to decide when ho is jesting and when he is in earnest. This is on the whole a great disadvantage in an age when irony is seldom resorted to, and has occasionally subjected the author to censure for opinions which he does not sanction. His most prominent characteristic is, however, that of nationality. He found his inspi- ration at home at a time when American woods and fields, and American traits of society, were gene- rally supposed to farriish little if a"ny materials for originality. He not merely drew his nourish- ment from his native soil, but whenever "that mother of a mighty race " was assailed from abroad by accumulated injuries and insults, stood up manfully in defence of her rights and her honor. He has never on any occasion" bowed to the su-
premacy of European example or European criticism; he is a stern republican in all his writings.
Fortunately he lias lived to see a new era dawn- ing on his country. He has seen his country be- come intellectually, as well as politically, indepen- dent, and strong in the result he labored and helped to achieve, he may now look back with calm equanimity on objects which once called for serious opposition, and laugh where the satirist once raged.
Though a literary man by profession, he has, ever since the commencement of the second war with England, turned his mind occasionally to- wards politics, though never as an active politi- cian. His writings on this subject have been devoted to the support of those great principles which lie at the root of the republican system, and to the maintenance of the rights of his country whenever assailed from any quarter. His progress in life has been upwards. In 1814 or '15 he was appointed Secretary to the Board of Navy Commissioners, then first established. After holding this position for a few years, he resigned to take' the office of Navy Agent for the port of New York, which he held twelve years under different administrations, and finally re- signed on being placed at the head of the Navy- Department by President Van Buren. We have heard him state with some little pride, that all these offices were bestowed without any solicita- tion on his part, or that of his friends, so far as he knew.
After presiding over the Navy Department nearly the entire term of Mr. Van Buren's ad- ministration, he, according to custom, resigned his office on the inauguration of President Har- rison, and soon afterwards retired to a pleasant country residence on the east bank of the Hud- son, in the county of Dutchess, where he now resides.
Paulding's Residence.
Here, in the midst of his grand-children, en- joying as much health as generally falls to the lot of threescore and fifteen, and still preserving in all their freshness those rural tastes acquired in his youth, nature has rewarded her early votary
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
in the calm pursuits of agriculture, lettered ease, and retirement. In a late visit we paid him at Hyde Park, he informs us, lie had visited the city but twice in the last ten years, and gave his daily routine in the following cheerful summary. " I smoke a little, read a little, write a little, rumi- nate a little, grumble a little, and sleep a great deal. I was once great at pulling up weeds, to which I have a mortal antipathy, especially bulls- eyes, wild carrots, and toad-Hax — alias butter and eggs. But my working days are almost over. I find that carrying seventy-five years on my shoulders is pretty nearly equal to the same num- ber of pounds, and instead of laboring myself, sit in the shade watching the labors of others, which I find quite sufficient exercise."
A BUKAL LOVER — FROM AN EPISODE IN THE LAY OF THE SCOT- TISH FIDDLE.
Close in a. darksome corner sat
A scowling wight with old wool hat,
That dangled o'er his sun-burnt brow,
And many a gaping rent did show.
His beard in grim luxuriance grew;
His great-toe peep'd from either shoe ;
His brawny elbow shone all bare ;
All matted was his carrot hair ;
And in his sad face you might see,
The withering look of poverty.
He seem'd all desolate of heart,
And in the revels took no part ;
Yet those who watch'd his blood-shot eye,
As the light dancers flitted b}',
Might jealousy and dark despair,
And love detect, all mingled there.
He never turn'd his eye away
From one fair damsel passing gay;
But ever in her airy round,
"Watch'd her quick step and lightsome bound.
Wherever in the dance she turn'd,
He turn'd his eye, and that eye'burn'd
With such fierce spleen, that, sooth to say,
It made the gazer turn away.
Who was the damsel passing fair,
That caus'd his eyeballs thus to glare ?
It was the blooming Jersey maid,
That our poor wight's tough heart betray'd.
By Pompton's stream, that silent flows,
Where many a wild-flower heedless blows.
UnmarkM by any human eye,
Unpluck'd by any passer-by,
There stands a church, whose whiten'd side
Is by the traveller often spied,
Glittering among the branches fair
Of locust trees that flourish there.
Along the margin of the tide,
That to the eye just seems to glide,
And to the list'ning ear ne'er throws
A murmur to disturb repose,
The stately elm majestic towers,
The lord of Pompton's fairy bowers.
The willow, that its branches waves,
O'er neighborhood of rustic graves,
Oft when the summer south-wind blows,
Its thirsty tendrils, playful throws
Into the river rambling there,
The cooling influence to share
Of the pure stream, that bears imprest
Sweet nature's image in its breast.
Sometimes on sunny Sabbath day,
Our ragged wight would wend his way
To this fair church, and lounge about,
With many an idle sunburnt lout. And stumble o'er the silent graves ; Or where the weeping-willow waves. His listless length would lay him down. And spell the legend on the stone. 'Twos here, as ancient matrons say, His eye first caught the damsel gay, Who, in the interval between The services, oft tript the green, And threw her witching eyes about, To great dismay of bumpkin stout, "Wlm felt his heart rebellious beat, Whene'er those eyes he chanced to meet.
As our poor wight all listless lay, Dozing the vacant hours away, Or watching with his half-shut eye The buzzing flight of bee or fly, The beauteous damsel pass'd along, Humming a stave of sacred song. She threw her soft blue eyes askance, And gave the boob}7 such a glance, That quick his eyes wide open flew, And his wide mouth flew open too. He gaz'd with wonder and surprise, At the mild lustre of her eyes, Her cherry lips, her dimpled cheek, Where Cupids play'd at hide and seek, Whence many an arrow well, I wot, Against the wight's tough heart was shot.
He follow'd her where'er she stray'd, While every look his love betray'd ; And when her milking she would ply, Sooth'd her pleas'd ear with Rhino-Die, Or made the mountain echoes ring, With the great feats of John Paulding ; — How he, stout moss-trooper bold, Refus'd the proffer'd glittering gold, And to the gallant youth did eiy, "One of us two must quickly die ! "
On the rough meadow of his cheek,
The scythe he laid full twice a week,
Foster'd the honors of his head,
That wide as scruboak branches spread,
With grape-vine juice, and bear's-grease too,
And dangled it in eelskin queue.
In short, he tried each gentle art
To anchor fast her floating heart ;
But still she scorn'd his tender tale,
And saw unmov'd his cheek grow pale,
Flouted his suit with scorn so cold,
And gave him oft the bag to hold.
AN EVENING WALK IN VIRGINIA — FROM THE LETTERS FROM THE SOUTH.
In truth, the little solitary nook into which I am just now thrown, bears an aspect so interesting, that it is calculated to call up the most touchingly pleasing exertions, in the minds of those who love to indulge in the contemplation of beautiful Bcenes. We are the sous of earth, and the indissoluble kindred between nature and man is demonstrated by our sense of her beauties. I shall not soon for- get last evening, which Oliver and myself spent at this place. It was such as can never be described — I will therefore not attempt it; but it was still as the sleep of innocence — pure .as ether, and bright as immortality. Having travelled only fourteen miles that day, I did not feel tired as usual ; and after supper strolled out alone along the windings of a little stream about twenty yards wide, that skirts a narrow strip of green meadow, between the brook and the high mountain at a little distance.
You will confess my landscapes are well watered, for every one has a river. But such is the case in
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING.
this region, where all the passes of the mountains are made by little rivers, that in proeess of time have laboured through, and left a space for a road on their banks. If nature will do these things, I can't help it — not I. In the course of the ramble the moon rose over the mountain to the eastward, which being just by, seemed to bring the planet equally near; and the bright eyes of the stars began to glisten, as if weeping the dews of evening. I knew not the name of one single star. But what of that? It is not necessary to be an astronomer, to contemplate with sublime emotions the glories of the sky at night, and the countless wonders of the universe.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,
That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their living nights,
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
Men maybe too wise to wonder at anything; as they may be too ignorant to see anything without wondering. There is reason also to believe, that astronomers may be sometimes so taken up with measuring the distances and magnitude of the stars, as to lose, in the intense minuteness of calculation, that noble expansion of feeling and intellect com- bined, which lifts from nature up to its great first cause. As respects myself, I know no more of the planets, than the man in the moon. I only contem- plate them as unapproachable, unextiugnishable fires, glittering afar off, in those azure fields whose beauty and splendour have pointed them out as the abode of the Divinity; as such, they form bright links in the chain of thought that leads directly to a contemplation of the Maker of heaven and earth. Nature is, indeed, the only temple worthy of the Deity. There is a mute eloquence in her smile ; a majestic severity in her frown ; a divine charm in her harmony ; a speechless energy in her silence ; a voice in Iter thunders, that no reflecting being can resist. It is in such scenes and seasons, that the heart is deepest smitten with the power and good- ness of Providence, and that the soul demonstrates its capacity for maintaining an existence independ- ent of matter, by abstracting itself from the body, and expatiating alone in the boundless regions of the past and the future.
As I continued strolling forward, there gradually came a perfect calm — and even the aspen-tree whis- pered no more. But it was not the deathlike calm of a winter's night, when the northwest wind grows quiet, and the frosts begin in silence to forge fetters for the running brooks, and the gentle current of life, that flows through the veins of the forest. The voice of man and beast was indeed unheard ; but the river murmured, and the insects chirped iu the mild summer evening. There is something se- pulchral in the repose of a winter night ; but in the genial seasons of the year, though the night is the emblem of repose, it is the repose of the couch — not of the tomb — nature still breathes in the buzz of in- sects, the whisperings of the forests, and the mur- murs of the running brooks. We know she will awake in the morning, with her smiles, her bloom, her zephyrs, and warbling birds. " In such a night as this," if a man loves any human being in this wide world, he will find it out, for there will his thoughts first centre. If he has in store any sweet, or bitter, or bitter-sweet recollections, which are lost in the bustle of the world, they will come without being called. If, in his boyish days, he wrestled, and wrangled, and rambled with, yet loved, some chubby boy, he will remember the days of his child- hood, its companions, cares, and pleasures. If, in his days of romance, he used to walk of evenings, with some blue-eyed, musing, melancholy maid,
whom the ever-rolling wave of life dashed away from him for ever — he will recall her voice, her eye, and her form. If any heavy and severe disaster has fallen on his riper manhood, and turned the future into a gloomy and unpromising wilderness ; he will feel it bitterly at such a time. Or if it chance that he is grown an old man, and lived to see all that owned his blood, or shared his affections, struck down to the earth like dead leaves in autumn ; in such a night, he will call their dear shades around, and wish himself a shadow.
A TEIO OF FEENCnMEN — FROST THE SAME.
My good opinion of French people has not been weakened by experience. The bloody scenes of St. Domingo and of France, have, within the last few years, brought crowds of Frenchmen to this land of the exile, and they are to be met with in every part of the United States. Wherever they are, I have found them accommodating themselves with a happy versatility, to the new and painful vicissi- tudes they had to encounter ; remembering and loving the land of their birth, but at the same time doing justice to the land which gave them refuge. They are never heard uttering degrading compari- sons between their country and ours; nor signalizing their patriotism, either by sneering at the land they have honoured with their residence, or outdoing a native-born demagogue in clamorous declamation, at the poll of an election. Poor as many of them are, iu consequence of the revolutions of property in their native country, they never become beggars. Those who have no money turn the accomplish- ments of gentlemen into the means of obtaining bread, and become the instruments of lasting benefit to our people. Others who have saved something from the wreck, either establish useful manufactures, or retire into the villages, where they embellish society, and pass quietly on to the grave.
In their amusements, or in their hours of relaxa- tion, we never find them outraging the decencies of society by exhibitions of beastly drunkenness, or breaking its peace by ferocious and bloody brawls at taverns or in the streets. Their leisure hours are passed in a public garden or walk, where you will see them discussing matters with a vehemence which, in some people, would be the forerunner of blows, but which is only an ebullition of a national vivacity, which misfortune cannot repress, nor exile destroy. Or, if you find them not here, they are at 6ome little evening assembly, to which they know how to communicate a gaiety and interest peculiar to French people. Whatever may be their poverty at home, they never exhibit it abroad in rags and dirtiness, but keep their wants to themselves, and give their spirits to others; thus making others happy, when they have ceased to be so themselves.
This subject recalls to my mind the poor Chevalier, as we used to call him, who, of all the men I ever saw, bore adversity the best. It is now fifteen years since I missed him at his accustomed walks — ■ where, followed by his little dog, and dressed in his long blue surtout, old-fashioned cocked hat, long queue, and gold-headed cane, with the ribbon of some order at his button-hole, he carried his basket of cakes about every day, except Sunday, rain or shine. He never asked anybody to buy his cakes, nor did he look as if he wished to ask. I never, though I used often to watch him, either saw him smile, or heard him speak to a living soul ; but year after year did he walk or sit in the same place, with the same coat, hat, cane, queue, and ribbon, and little dog. One day he disappeared ; but whether he died, or got permission to go home to France, nobody knew, and nobody inquired; for, except the
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
little dog, he seemed to have no friend in the wide world.
There was another I will recall to your mind, in this review of our old acquaintance. The queer little man we used to call the little duke, who first attracted our notice, I remember, by making his appearance in our great public walk, dressed in a full suit of white dimity, with a white hat, a little white dog, and a little switch in his hand. Here, of a sunny day, the little duke would ramble about with the lofty air of a man of clear estate, or lean against a tree, and scrutinize the ladies as they passed, with the recognizance of a thorough-bred connoisseur. Sometimes he would go to the circus — that is to say, you would see him lying most luxuriously over a fence just opposite, where, as the windows were open in the summer, he could hear the music, and see the shadow of the horses on the opposite wall, without its costing him a farthing.
In this way he lived, until the Corporation pulled down a small wooden building in the yard of what was then the government-house, when the duke and his dog scampered out of it like two rats. He had lived here upon a little bed of radishes ; but now he and his dog were obliged to dissolve partnership, for his master could no longer support him. The dog I never saw again ; but the poor duke gradually descended into the vale of poverty. His white dimity could not last for ever, and he gradually went to seed, and withered like a 6tately onion. In fine, he was obliged to work, and that ruined him — ■ for nature had made him a gentleman. — And a gen- tleman is the caput mortuum of human nature, out of which you can make nothing, under heaven — but a gentleman. He first carried wild game about to sell ; but this business not answering, he bought him- self a buck and saw, and became a redoubtable sawyer. But he could not get over his old propen- sity— and whenever a lady passed where he was at work, the little man was always observed to stop his saw, lean his knee on the stick of wood, and gaze at her till she was quite out of sight. Thus, like Antony, he sacrificed the world for a woman — for he soon lost all employment — he was always so long about his work. The last time I saw him he was equipped in the genuine livery of poverty, leaning against a tree on the Battery, and admiring the ladies.
The last of the trio of Frenchmen, which erst attracted our boyish notice, was art old man, who had once been a naval officer, and had a claim of some kind or other, with which he went to Wash- ington every session, and took the field against Amy Hardin's horse. Congress had granted him some- where about rive thousand, which he used to affirm was recognising the justice of the whole claim. The money produced him an interest of three hundred and fifty dollars a year, which he divided into three parts. One-third for his board, clothing, &c. ; one for his pleasures, and one for the expenses of his journey to the seat of government. He travelled in the most economical style — eating bread and cheese by the way ; and once was near running a fel- low-passenger through the body, for asking him to eat dinner with him, and it should cost him no- thing. He alwnys dressed neatly — and sometimes of a remarkably fine day would equip himself in uniform, gird on his trusty and rusty sword, and wait upon his excellency the governor. There was an eccentric sort of chivalry about him, for he used to insult every member of Congress who voted against his claim ; never put up with a slight of any kind from anybody, and never was known to do a mean action, or to run in debt. There was a deal of dignity, too, in his appearance and deport-
ment, though of the same eccentric east, so that whenever he walked the streets he attracted a kind of notice not quite amounting to admiration, and not altogether free from merriment. Peace to his claim and his ashes; for he and Amy Dardin'a horse alike have run their race, and their claims have survived them.
CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.
In analysing the character of "Washington, there is nothing that strikes me as more admirable than its beautiful symmetry. In this respect it is con- summate. His different qualities were so nicely balanced, so rarely associated, of such harmonious affinities, that no one seemed to interfere with ano- ther, or predominate over the whole. The natural ardour of his disposition was steadily restrained by a power of self-command which it dared not disobey. His caution never degenerated into timidity, nor his courage into imprudence or temerity. His me- mory was accompanied by a sound, unerring judg- ment, which turned its acquisitions to the best advantage; his industry and economy of time neither rendered him dull or uusocial ; his dignity never was vitiated by pride or harshness, and his uncon- querable firmness was free from obstinacy, or self- willed arrogance. He was gigantic, but at the same time he was well-proportioned and beautiful. It was this symmetry of parts that diminished the apparent magnitude of the whole ; as in those fine specimens of Grecian architecture, where the size of the temple seems lessened by its perfection. There are plenty of men who become distinguished by the predominance of one single faculty, or the exercise of a solitary virtue ; but few, very few, present to our contemplation such a combination of virtues unalloyed by a single vice; such a succession of actions, botli public and private, in which even his enemies can find nothing to blame.
Assuredly he Btands almost alone in the world. He occupies a region where there are, unhappily for mankind, but few inhabitants. The Grecian biographer could easily find parallels for Alexander and Cfesar, but were he living now, he would meet with great difficulty in selecting one for Washington. There seems to be an elevation of moral excellence, which, though possible to attain to, few ever ap- proach. As in ascending the lofty peaks of the Andes, we at lergth arrive at a line where vegeta- tion ceases, and the piinciple of life seems extinct; so in the gradations of human character, there is an elevation which is never attained by mortal man. A few have approached it, and none nearer than Washington.
He is eminently conspicuous as one of the great benefactors of the human race, for he not only gave liberty to millions, but his name now stands, and will for ever stand, a noble ex.-imple to high and low. He is a great work of the almighty Artist, which none can study without receiving purer ideas and more lofty conceptions of the grace and beauty of the human character. He is one that all may copy at different distances, and whom none can con- template without receiving lasting and salutary impressions of the sterling value, the inexpressible beauty of piety integrity, courage, and patriotism, associated with a clear, vigorous, and well-poised intellect.
Pure, and widely disseminated as is the fame of this great and good man, it is yet in its infancy. It is every day taking deeper root in the hearts of his countrymen, and the estimation of strangers, and spreading its branches wider and wider, to the air and the skies. He is already become the saint of liberty, which has gathered new honours by being
JAMES ICIRKE PAULDING.
associated with his name ; and when men aspire to free nations, they must take him for their model. It is, then, not without ample re ison that the suf- frages of mankind have combined to place Wash- ington at the head of his race. If we estimate him by the examples recorded in history, he stands with- out a parallel in the virtues he exhibited, and the vast, unprecedented consequences resulting from their exercise. The whole world was the theatre of his actions, and all mankind are destined to par- take sooner or later in their results. He is a hero of a new species : he had no model ; will he have any imitators? Time, which bears the thousands and thousands of common cut-throats to the ocean of oblivion, only adds new lustre to his fame, new force to his example, and new strength to the re- verential affection of all good men. What a glorious fame is his, to be acquired without guilt, and en- joyed without envy ; to be cherished by millions living, hundreds of millions yet uilborn ! Let the children of my country prove themselves worthy of his virtues, his labours, and his sacrifices, by reverencing his name and imitating his piety, in- tegrity, industry, fortitude, patience, forbearance, and patriotism. So shall they become fitted to enjoy the blessings of freedom and the bounties of heaven.
TnF. MAN THAT WANTED BUT ONE THING : THE MAN TnAT WANTED EVERYTHING ; A>'D THE MAN THAT WANTED NO- TUING.
Everybody, young and old, children and grey- "beards, has heard of the renowned Haroun Al Ras- chid, the hqro of Eastern history and Eastern romance, and the most illustrious of the caliphs of Bagdad, that famous city on which the light of learning and science shone, long ere it dawned on the benighted regions of Europe, which has since succeeded to the diadem that once glittered on the brow of Asia. Though as the successor of the Prophet he exercised a despotic sway over the lives and fortunes of his subjects, yet did he not. like the eastern despots of more modern times, shut himself up within the walls of his palace, hearing nothing but the adula- tion of his dependents; seeing nothing but the sha- dows which surrounded him; and knowing nothing but what he receive! through the medium of inte- rested deception or malignant falsehood. That he might see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears, he was accustomed to go about through tlie streets of Bagdad by night, in disguise, accompanied by Giafer the Barmecide, his grand vizier, and Mesrour, his executioner; one to give him his coun- sel, the other to fulfil his commands promptly, on all occasions. If he saw any commotion among the people he mixed with them and learned its cause ; and if in passing a house he heard the moanings of distress or the complaints of suffering, he entered, for the purpose of administering relief. Thus he made himself acquainted with the condition of his subjects, and often heard those salutary truths which never reached his ears through the walls of his pa- lace, or from the lips of the slaves that surrounded him.
On one of these occasions, as Al Rasehid was thus perambulating the streets at night, in disguise, ac- companied by his vizier and his executioner, in pass- ing a splendid mansion, he overheard through the lattice of a window, the complaints of some one who seemed in the deepest distress, and silently ap- proaching, looked into an apartment exhibiting all the signs of wealth and luxury. On a sofa of satin embroidered with gold, and sparkling with brilliant gems, he beheld a man richly dressed, in whom he recognised his favorite boon companion
Bedreddin, on whom he had showered wealth and honors with more than eastern prodigality. He was stretched out on the sofa, slappiug his forehead, tearing his beard, and moaning piteously, as if in the extremity of suffering. At length starting up on his feet, he exclaimed in tones of despair, "Oh, Allah! I beseech thee to relieve me from my misery, and take away my life."
The Commander of the Faithful, who loved Bed- reddin, pitied his sorrows, and being desirous to know their cause, that he might relieve them, knocked at the door, which was opened by a black slave, who, on being informed that they were strangers in want of food and rest, at once admitted them, and informed his master, who called them into his presence, and bade them welcome. A plentiful feast was spread before them, at which the master of the house sat down with his guests, but of which he did not partake, but looked on, sighing bitterly all the while.
The Commander of the Faithful at length ventured to ask him what caused his distress, and why he re- frained from partaking in the feast with his guests, in proof that they were welcome. " Has Allah afflicted thee with disease, that thou canst not enjoy the blessings he has bestowed? Thou art surround- ed by all the splendor that wealth can procure ; thy dwelling is a palace, and its apartments are adorned with all the luxuries which captivate the eye, or administer to the gratification of the senses. Why is it then, oh ! my brother, that thou art mise- rable ?"
" True, 0 stranger," replied Bedreddin. " I have all these. I have health of body ; I am rich enough to purchase all that wealth can bestow, and if I re- quired more wealth and honors, I am the favorite companion of the Commander of the Faithful, on whose head lie the blessing of Allah, and of whom I have only to ask, to obtain all I desire, save one thing only."
" And what is that ?" asked the caliph.
" Alas! I adore the beautiful Zulcima, whose face is like the full moon, whose e}'es are brighter and softer than those of the gazelle, and whose mouth is like the seal of Solomon. But she loves another, and all my wealth and honors are as nothing. The want of one thing renders the possession of every other of no value. I am the most wretched of men ; my life is a burden, and my death would be a bless- ing."
" By the beard of the Prophet," cried the Caliph, " I swear thy case is a hard one. But Allah is great and powerful, and will, I trust, either deliver thee from thy burden or give thee strength to bear it." Then thanking Bedreddin for his hospitality, the Commander of the Faithful departed, with his com- panions.
Taking their way towards that part of the city inhabited by the poorer classes of people, the Caliph stumbled over something, in the obscurity of night, and was nigh falling to the ground ; at the same moment a voice cried out, " Allah, preserve me ! Am I not wretched enough already, that I must be trodden under foot bv a wandering beggar like myself, in the darkness of night !"
Mezrour the executioner, indignant at this insult to the Commander of the Faithful, was preparing to cut off his head, when Al Rasehid interposed, anil inquired of the beggar his name, and why he was there sleeping in the streets, at that hour of the night.
" Mashallah," replied he, " I sleep in the street because I have nowhere else to sleep, and if I lie on a satin sofa my pains and infirmities would rob me of rest. Whether on divans of silk or in the dirt,
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
all one to me, for neither by day nor by night do I know any rest. If I close my eyes for a moment, my dreams are of nothing but feasting, and I awalce only to feel more bitterly the pangs of hunger and disease."
" Hast thou no home to shelter thee, no friends or kindred to relieve thy necessities, or administer to thy infirmities ?"
" No," replied the beggar ; " my house was con- sumed by fire ; my kindred are all dead, and my friends have deserted me. Alas! stranger, I am in want of everything: health, food, clothing, home, kindred, and friends. I am the most wretched of mankind, and death alone can relieve me."
" Of one thing, at least, I can relieve thee," said the Caliph, giving him his purse. " Go and provide thyself food and shelter, and may Allah restore thy health."
The beggar took the purse, but instead of calling down blessings on the head of his benefactor ex- claimed, " Of what use is money ; it cannot cure dis- ease ?" and the Caliph again went on his way with Giafer his vizier, and Mezrour his executioner.
Passing from the abodes of want nnd misery, they at length reached a splendid palace, and seeing lights glimmering from the windows, the caliph ap- proached, and looking through the silken curtains, beheld a man walking backwards and forwards, with languid step, as if oppressed with a load of cares. At length casting himself down on a sofa, he stretched out his limbs, and j'awning desperately, exclaimed, " Oh ! Allah, what shall I do ; what will become of me ! I am weary of life ; it is nothing but a cheat, promising what it never purposes, and affording only hopes that end in disappointment, or, if realized, only in disgust."
The curiosity of the Caliph being awakened to know the cause of his despair, he ordered Mezrour to knock at the door, which being opened, they pleaded the privilege of strangers to enter, for rest and refreshments. Again, in accordance with the precepts of the Koran, and the customs of the East, the strangers were admitted to the presence of the lord of the palace, who received them with welcome, and directed refreshments to be brought. But though he treated his guests with kindness, he nei- ther sat down with them nor asked any questions, nor joined in their discourse, walking back and forth languidly, and seeming oppressed with a heavy bur- den of sorrows.
At length the Caliph approached him reverently, and said : " Thou seemest sorrowful, 0 my brother ! If thy suffering is of the body I am a physician, and perad venture can afford thee relief ; for I have tra- velled into distant lands, and collected very choice remedies for human infirmity."
" My sufferings are not of the body, but of the mind," answered the other.
" Hast thou lost the beloved of thy heart, the friend of thy bosom, or been disappointed in the at- tainment of that on which thou hast rested all thy hopes of happiness?"
" Alas ! no. I have been disappointed not in the means, but in the attainment of happiness. I want nothing but a want. I am cursed with the grati- fication of all my wishes, and the fruition of all my hopes. I have wasted my life in the acquisition of riches, that only awakened new desires, and honors that no longer gratify my pride or repay me for the labor of sustaining them. I have been cheated in the pursuit of pleasures that weary me in the enjoy- ment, and am perishing for lack of the excitement of some new want. I have everything I wish, yet enjoy nothing."
" Thy case is beyond my 6kill," replied the Caliph ;
and the man cursed with the fruition of all his de- sires turned his back on him in despair. The Caliph, after thanking him for his hospitality, departed with his companions, and when they had reached the street exclaimed —
" Allah preserve me ! I will no longer fatigue myself in a vain pursuit, for it is impossible to confer happiness on such a perverse generation. I see it is all the same, whether a man wants one thing, every- thing, or nothing. Let us go home and sleep."
1853.
JOSEPH STOET. Joseph Story was born at Marblehead, Mass., September 18, 1779. He was the eldest of eleven sons of Dr. Elisha Story, an active Whig of the Revolution, who was of the " Boston Tea Party," and served in the army during a portion of the war as a surgeon. He was a boy of an active mind, and when only a few years old delighted in visiting the barber's shop of the town to listen to the gossip about public affairs. He was a great favorite with his handsome florid face and long auburn ringlets, and would frequently sit upon the table to recite pieces from memory and make prayers for the amusement of the company. During his childhood he was saved from being burnt to death by his mother, who snatched him from his blazing bed at the cost of severe per- sonal injury to herself. He was prepared for col- lege in his native village, and entered Harvard in 1795. Dr. Channing was one of his classmates. He was a hard student during his collegiate course, and on its termination entered the office of Samuel Sewall, in Marblehead. He completed his studies at Salem, where he commenced prac- tice. In 1 804 he published The Power of Solitude, a poem in two. parts, with a few fugitive verses appended. The author was at a subsequent period a merciless critic on his own performance, burning all the copies he could lay his hands upon. It is written in the ornate style of the time,
with some incongruities which do not lead the reader to regret that the writer " took a lawyer's farewell of the muse." He published the same year a Selection of Pleadings in Civil Actions,
JOSEPH STORY.
11
and near its close married Miss Mary Lynde Oliver, who died on the 22d of June following. In 1808, lie was married to Miss Sarah Waldo Wetmore.
Story's rise in his profession was rapid, and in 1810 he was appointed by Madison, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court. He accepted the office at a pecuniary sacrifice of his professional income exceeding the official salary of $3500 a year, some two thousand dollars. In 1827, he prepared an edition in three volumes of the Laws of the United States. In 1829, the Hon. Nathan Dane offered the sum of $10,000 to Harvard College, as the foundation of a law professorship, on the condition that his friend Story should con- sent to become its first professor. Story having as a friend of the college and of legal science accepted the appointment, delivered an inaugura- tion Address on the Value and Importance of the Study of Law, which is regarded as one of his finest productions.
His instructions were of course delivered during the vacations of the Supreme Court. His bio- grapher gives' a pleasant picture of the interest taken by teacher and pupil in the subject matter before them.
For the benefit of the students he sold to the college his library at one half its value.
During the preparation of the Encyelopaadia Americana by his friend Dr. Lieber, Justice Story contributed a number of articles on legal subjects, forming some hundred and twenty pages of the work. He was also a large contributor to the American Jurist.
In 1832, he published his Commentaries on the Constitution in three volumes, and in the follow- ing spring the Abridgment of the work, which is in general use throughout the country as a college text-book. The Commentaries were received "with universal favor at home and abroad, where they were translated into French and German.
In 1834-, he published his Commentaries on the Conflict of Laws. In 1835, a selection from his Miscellaneous Writings. In 1836, the first volume of 1 lis Commentaries upon Equity Jurisprudence, and in 1846, a work on Promissory Notes.
To these we must add the comprehensive reference to his miscellaneous writings made by his son.
When Ave review liis public life, the amount of labor accomplished by him seems enormous. Its mere recapitulation is sufficient to appal an ordi- nary mind. The judgments delivered by him on his Circuits, comprehend thirteen volumes. The Re- ports of the Supreme Court during his judicial life occupy thirty-five volumes, of which he wrote a full share. His various treatises on legal subjects cover thirteen volumes, besides a volume of Pleadings. He edited and annotated three different treatises, with copious notes, and published a volume of Poems. He delivered and published eight discourses on lite- rary ami scientific subjects, before different societies. He wrote biographical sketches of ten of his con- temporaries ; six elaborate reviews for the North American ; three long and learned memorials to Congress. He delivered many elaborate speeches in the Legislature of Massachusetts and the Congress ol the United States. He also drew up many other papers of importance, among which are the argu- ment before Harvard College, on the subject of the Fellows of the University ; the Reports on Codifica-
tion, and on the salaries of the Judiciary ; several very important Acts of Congress, such as the Crimes Act, the Judiciary Act, the Bankrupt Act, besides many other smaller matters.
In quantity, all other authors in the English Law, and Judges, must yield to him the palm. The labors of Coke, Eldon, and Mansfield, among Judges, are not to be compared to his in amount. And no jurist, in the Common Law, can be measured with him, in extent and variety of labor.
'In 1845, he determined to resign his judicial office and devote his entire attention to his favorite law school, which had prospered greatly under his care. It was his wish, however, before doing so to dispose of all the cases argued before him, and it was in consequence of the severe labor he imposed upon himself in the heat of sum- mer to accomplish this object, that he became so utterly exhausted that his physical frame could offer slight resistance to the attacks of disease. In September, 1845, he was engaged in writing out the last of these opinions when he was taken with a cold followed by stricture, and the stop- page of the intestinal canal. He was relieved from this attack after great suffering for many hours, but his powers were too enfeebled to rally, and he sank into a torpor, "breathed the name of God, the la»t word that ever was heard from his lips," and a few hours after, on the evening of the tenth of September, died.
Every honor was paid his memory. Shops were closed and business suspended in Cambridge on the day of his funeral, which in accordance with his wishes was conducted in a simple manner, and a sum of money was soon after raised at the sug- gestion of the Trustees of Mount Auburn where he was buried, for the purpose of placing his statue in the chapel of that cemetery. The commission for the work was intrusted to the son of the deceased, Mr. William W. Story, who has since published in two large octavo volumes the "Life and Letters" of his distinguished father, and has thus contributed by the exercise of two of the most permanent in effect of human instruments, the pen and the chisel, to the perpetuation and extension of his fame.
Judge Story was an active student throughout life. It was his practice to keep interleaved copies of his works near at hand, and to add on the blank pages any decisions or information bearing upon their subject. The personal habits of one who accomplished so much were neces- sarily simple and temperate, but the detail may be read with interest as recorded by his son.
He arose at seven in summer, and at half past seven in winter, — never earlier. If breakfast was not ready, he went at once to his library and occupied the interval, whether it was five minutes or fifty, in writing. When the family assembled he was called, and breakfasted with them. After breakfast he sat in. the drawing-room, and spent from a half to three quarters of an hour in reading the newspapers of the day. He then returned to his study and wrote until the bell sounded for his lecture at the Law School. After lecturing for two and sometimes three hours, he returned to his study and worked until two o'clock, when he was called to dinner. To his dinner (which, on his part, was always simple), he gave an hour, and then again betook himself to his study, where in the win- ter time he worked as long as the daylight lasted.
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unless called away by a visitor or obliged to attend a moot-court. Then lie came down and joined the family, and work for the day was over. Tea came in about seven o'clock ; and how lively and gay was lie then, chatting over the most familiar topics of the day, or entering into deeper currents of conversa- tion with equal ease. All of his law he left up stairs in the library ; he was here the domestic man in his home. During the evening he received his friends, and he was rarely without company ; but if alone, he read some new publication of the day, — the reviews, a novel, an English newspaper; some- times corrected a proof-sheet, listened to music, or talked with the family, or, what was very common, played a game of backgammon with my mother. This was the only game of the kind that he liked. Cards and chess he never played.
In the summer afternoons he left his library towards twilight, and might always be seen by the passer-by sitting with his family under the portico, talking or reading some light pamphlet or news- paper, often surrounded by friends, and making the air ring with his gay laugh. This, with the interval occupied by tea, would last until nine o'clock. Generally, also, the summer afternoon was varied three or four times a week, in fair weather, by a drive with my mother of about an hour through the surrounding country in an open chaise. At about ten or half past ten he retired for the night, never varying a half hour from this time.
Story retained his early fondness for poetry throughout life, and sometimes amused his leisure moments even when on the bench by versifying " any casual thought suggested to him by the arguments of counsel." A lew specimens of these rhymed reflections are given by his soli.
It was my father's habit, while sitting on the Bench, to versify any casual thought suggested to him by the arguments of counsel, and in his note books of points and citations, several pages are generally devoted to memoranda in prose and verse, of facts, and thoughts, which interested him. In his memorandum-book of arguments before the Supreme Court in 1831 and 1832, I select the fol- lowing fragments written on the fly-leaf: —
You wish the Court to hear, and listen too ? Then speak with point, be brief, be close, be true. Cite. well your cases ; let them be in point ; Not learned rubbish, dark, and out of joint; — And be your reasoning clear, and closely made, Free from false taste, and verbiage, and parade.
Stuff not your speech with every sort of law, Give us the grain, and throw away the straw.
Books should be read ; but if you can't digest, The same's the surfeit, take the worst or best.
Clear heads,' sound hearts, full minds, with point
may speak, All else how poor in fact, in law how weak.
AVho 's a great lawyer ? He, who aims to 6ay The least his cause requires, not all he may.
Greatness ne'er grew from soils of spongy mould, All on" the surface dry ; beneath all cold ; The generous plant from rich and deep must rise, And gather vigor, as it seeks the skies.
"Whoe'er in law desires to win his cause,
Must speak with point, not measure out " wise saws,"
Must make his learning apt, his reasoning clear. Pregnant in matter, but in style severe; But never drawl, nor spin the thread so fine, That all becomes an evanescent line.
The following sketch was drawn at this time on the Bench, and apparently from life : —
With just enough of learning to confuse, —
With just enough of temper to abuse, —
With just enough of genius, when contest,
To urge the worst of passions for the best, —
With just enough of all that wins in life,
To make us hate a nature formed for strife, —
With just enough of vanity and spite,
To turn to all that's wrong from all that's right, —
Who would not curse the hour when first he saw
Just such a man, called learned in the law.
The legal writings of Judge Story from his own pen extend to thirteen volumes ; the Reports of his decisions on Circuits to thirteen; and those of the Supreme Court while he occupied a seat on the Bench and contributed his full share to their contents, to thirty-five.
The style of Story, both in his Commentaries and in his Miscellanies, is that of the scholar and man of general reading, as well as the thoroughly practised lawyer. It is full, inclined to the rhe- torical, but displays everywhere the results of laborious investigation and calm reflection. His law books have fairly brought what in the old volumes was considered a crabbed science to the appreciation and sympathy of the unprofessional reader. Chancellor Kent, on the receipt of his Miscellaneous Works in 1836, complimented the author on "the variety, exuberance, comprehen- siveness, and depth of his moral, legal, and political wisdom. Every page and ordinary topic is replete with a copious and accurate display of prin- ciples, clothed in a powerful and eloquent style, and illustrated and recommended by striking analogies, and profuse and brilliant illustrations. You handle the topic of the mechanical arts, and . the science on which they are founded, enlarged, adorned, and applied, with a mastery, skill, and eloquence, that is unequalled. As for jurispru- dence, you have again and again, and on all occa- sions, laid bare its foundations, traced its histories, eulogized its noblest masters, and pressed its inestimable importance with a gravity, zeal, pathos, and beauty, that is altogether irresisti- • ble."* This was generously said, and though the language of eulogy, it points out with great dis- tinctness the peculiar merits which gave the writings of Story their high reputation at home and abroad.
'WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
It is a pleasing moral coincidence which has been remarked that two of the foremost names in our national literature and art should be associated with that of the great leader, in war and peace, of their country.
Washington Allston, the descendant of a family of much distinction in South Carolina, was born at Charleston, November 5, 1779. He was pre- pared for college at the school of Mr. Robert Rogers, of Newport, R. I. ; entered Harvard in
* Story's Life, ii. 21"
WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
13
1796, and on the completion of his course deli- vered a poem.
He returned to South Carolina ; sold his pro- pert}' ; sailed for England, and on his arrival in London became a student of the Royal Academy, then under the presidency of Benjamin West. Here he remained for three years, and then, after a sojourn at Paris, went to Rome, where he re- sided for four years, and became the intimate associate of Coleridge.
In 1809 he returned to America for a period of two years, which he passed in Boston, and at this time married the sister of the Rev. Dr. Ch'an- ning. He also delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society. In 1811 he commenced a second residence in London, where, in 1813, ho published a small volume, The Sylphs of the Sea- sons, and other Poems, which was reprinted in Boston the same year. The date is also marked in his career by the death of his wife, an event which affected him deeply.
During this sojourn in Europe, which extended to 1818, several of his finest paintings were pro- duced. On his return home he resumed his resi- dence at Boston. In 1830 he married a sister of Richard II. Dana, and removed to Oambridgeport. His lectures oil Art were commenced about the same period. It was his intention to prepare a course of sis, to be delivered before a select au- dience in Boston, hut four only were completed, and these did not appear until after his decease.
In 1841 he published Monaldi, an Italian ro- mance of moderate length, which had been writ- ten as early as 1821 when Dana published his Idle Man, and, but for the discontinuance of that work, would probably have appeared there. In the latter part of his life he was chiefly engaged on his great painting of Belshazzar's Feast. After a week's steady labor on this work, he retired late on Saturday night, July 8, 18+3, from his studio to his family circle, and after a conversation of peculiar solemnity, sat down to his books and papers, which furnished the usual occupation of a great portion of his
nights. It was thus, sitting alone about midnight, near the dawning of Sunday, with scarce a strug- gle, he was called from the temporary repose of the holy day to the perpetual Sabbath of eternity. His remains were interred at the setting of the sun on the day of the funeral, in the tomb of the Dana family in the old Cambridge graveyard.
Had Mr. Allston been a less severe critic of his own productions he would have both painted more and written more. Nothing left his easel or his desk which was not the ripe product of his mind, which had cost not only labor but per- plexity, from the frequent change to which his fastidiousness submitted all his productions. His Belshazzar's Feast, as it hangs in its incomplete state in the Boston Athenrcum, shows a strange and grotesque combination of figures, of gigantic mingled with those of ordinary stature. It is owing to the artist's determination, when his work was nearly completed, to reconstruct the whole, and by the radical change we have men- tioned, as well as others of composition, render his months of former labor null and void. Had his life been extended the work no doubt would have been completed, and have created the same feelings of awe and admiration which some of its single figures, that of the Queen for example, now excite ; but as it stands, it is perhaps a more characteristic as well as impressive monu- ment of the man.
. With the exception of this work, Mr. Allston's productions are all complete.
In the Spring of 1839, Allston exhibited, with remarkable success, a gallery of his paintings at Boston. They were forty-five; brought together from various private and other sources. A letter was published at the time in the New York Evening Post, noticing the collection, which was understood to be written from Dana to his friend Bryant. It speaks of " the variety and contrast, not only in the subjects and thoughts, and emo- tions made visible, but in the style also," and finds in the apparent diversity " the related va- riety of one mind." Several of the more promi- nent subjects, and the influence breathing from them, are thus alluded to : — " Here, under the pain and confused sense of returning life lay the man who, when the bones of the prophet touched him, lived again. Directly opposite sat, witli the beautiful and patiently expecting Baruch at his feet, the majestic announcer of the coming woes of Jerusalem, seeing through earthly things, as seeing them not, and looking off into the world of spirits and the vision of God. What sees he there? Wait! For the vision is closing, and he is about to speak! And there is Beatrice, ab- sorbed in meditation, touched gently with sadness, and stealing so upon your heart, that curiosity is lost in sympathy — you forget to ask yourself what her thought? and look in silence till you become the very soul of meditation too. And Rosalie, born of music, her face yet tremulous with the last vibrations of those sweet sounds to which her inmost nature had been responding. What shall I say of the spiritual depth of those eyes? You look into them till you find yourself com- muning with her inmost life, with emotions beau- tiful, exquisite, almost to pain. Indeed, when you recollect yourself, you experience this effect to be true of nearly all these pictures, whether of
14
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
living beings or of nature. After a little while I you do not so much look upon them as commune witK them, until you recover yourself, and are made aware that you had been lost in them. Herein is the spirit of art, the creative power — poetry. And the landscapes — spots in nature, fit dwelling-places for beings such as these !"
His poems, though few in number, are exqui- site in finish, and in the fancies and thoughts which they embody. They are delicate, subtle, : and philosophical. Thought and feeling are united in them, and the meditative eye
which hath kept watch o'er man's mortality
broods over all. In The Sylphs of the Seasons he has pictured the successive delights of each quarter of the year with the joint sensibility of the poet and the artist, bringing before us a series of images of the imagination blended with the purest sentiment.
If the other poems may be described as occa- sional, it should be remarked they are the occa- sions not of a trirler or a man of the world, but of a philosopher and a Christian, whose powers were devoted to the sacred duties of life, to his art, to his friends, to the inner world of faith. In this view rather than as exercises of poetic rhe- toric, they are to be studied. One of the briefer poems has a peculiar interest, that entitled Ro- salie. It is the very reflection in verse of the ideal portrait which he painted, bearing that name.
His lectures on Art, published after his de- cease, in the volume edited by R. II. Dana, Jr., show the vigorous grasp, the intense love, the keen perception which we should naturally look for froi n such a master.
Monaldi is an Italian story of jealousy, murder, and madness. Monaldi issuspiciousof his wife, kills her in revenge, and becomes a maniac. The work is entirely of a subjective character, dealing with thought, emotion, and passion, with a concentra- tion and energy for which we are accustomed to look only to the greatest dramatists. The chief scene of the volume is the self-torturing jealousy of Monaldi, contrasted with the innocent calm- ness of his wife. We read it with shortened breath and a sense of wonder. Not less powerfully does the author carve out, as it were, in statuary, the preliminary events by which this noble heart falls from its steadfast truth-worshipping loyalty. We see the gradual process of disaffection, from the first rude physical health of the soul, when it is incapable of fear or suspicion, rejecting the poison of envy; then gradually admitting the idea as if some unconscious act of memory, a haunting reminiscence, then recurring wilfully to the thought, till poison becomes the food of the mind, and it lives on baleful jealousies, wrongs, and revenges: the high intellectual nature, so difficult to reach, but the height once scaled, how flauntingly they bear the banner of disloyalty ; Monaldi, like Othello, then spurns all bounds; like Othello, wronged and innocent.
Those who had the privilege of a friendship or even an acquaintance with Allston, speak with enthusiasm of his conversational powers. He ex- celled not only in the matter but the manner of his speech. His fine eye, noble countenance, and graceful gesture were all unconsciously brought
into play as he warmed with his subject, and he would hold his hearer by the hour as 6x- edly with a disquisition on morals as by a series of wild tales of Italian banditti. Allston gave his best to his friends as well as to the public, and some of his choicest literary composition is doubt- less contained in the correspondence he main- tained for many years with Coleridge, Words- worth, Southey, Lamb, and others among the best men of his, and of all time.
In an enumeration of the published works of Mr. Allston, the volume of outline engravings from the sketches found in his studio after his de- cease should be especially commemorated, for it contains some of his most beautiful as well as most sublime conceptions ; and as nearly all his paintings, with the exception of the Belshazzar, are the property of private individuals, forms almost the only opportunity accessible to the general public for the enjoyment of his artistic produc- tions. His manner may there be learnt in its precision, strength, grandeur, and beauty.
Of the moral harmony of Allston's daily life, we have been kindly favored with a picture, filled with incident, warm, genial, and thoroughly ap- preciative, from the pen, we had almost said the pencil, of the artist's early friend in Italy, Wash- ington Irving. It is taken from a happy period of his life, and our readers will thank the author for the reminiscence : — .
" I first became acquainted," writes Washing- ton Irving to us, "with Washington Allston, early in the spring of 1805. He had just arrived from Prance, I from Sicily and Naples. I was then not quite twenty-two years of age — he a little older. There was something, to me, inexpressi- bly engaging in the appearance and manners of Allston. I do not think I have ever been more completely captivated on a first acquaintance. He was of a light and graceful form, with large blue eyes and black silken hair, waving and curling round a pale expressive countenance. Everything about him bespoke the man of intel- lect and refinement. His conversation was copious, animated, and highly graphic ; warmed by a ge- nial sensibility and benevolence, and enlivened at times by a chaste and gentle humor. A young man's intimacy took place immediately between us, and we were much together during my brief sojourn at Rome. He was taking a general view of the place before settling himself down to his professional studies. We visited together some of the finest collections of paintings, and he taught me how to visit them to the most advan- tage, guiding me always to the masterpieces, and passing by the others without notice. ' Never attempt to enjoy every picture in a great collec- tion,' he would say, ' unless you have a year to bestow upon it. You may as well attempt to en- joy every dish in a Lord Mayor's feast. Both mind and palate get confounded by a great va- riety and rapid succession, even of delicacies. The mind can only take in a certain number of images* and impressions distinctly ; by multiply- ing the number you weaken each, and render the whole confused and vague. Study the choice pieces in each collection ; look upon none else, and you will afterwards find them hanging up in your memory.'
" He was exquisitely sensible to the graceful
WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
15
ail the beautiful, and took great delight in paint- ings which excelled in color; yet he was strongly moved and roused by objects of grandeur. I well recollect the admiration with which he contem- plated the sublime statue of Moses by Michael Angelo, and his mute awe and reverence on en- tering the stupendous pile of St. Peter's. Indeed the sentiment of veneration so characteristic of the elevated and poetic mind was continually ma- nifested by him. His eyes would dilate; his pale countenance would Hush ; he would breathe quick, and almost gasp in expressing his feelings when excited by any object of grandeur and sub- limity.
" We had delightful rambles together about Rome and its environs, one of which came near changing my whole course of life. We had been visiting a stately villa, with its gallery of paint- ings, its marble halls, its terraced gardens set out with statues and fountains, and were returning to Rome about sunset. The blandness of the air, the serenity of the sky, the transparent purity of the atmosphere, and that nameless charm which hangs about an Italian landscape, had derived ad- ditional effect from being enjoyed in company with Allston, and pointed out by him with the enthusiasm of an artist. As I listened to him, and gazed upon the landscape, I drew in my mind a contrast between our different pursuits and prospects. He was to reside among these delightful scenes, surrounded by masterpieces of art, by classic and historic monuments, by men of congenial minds and tastes, engaged like him in the constant study of the sublime and beautiful. I was to return home to the dry study of the law, for which I had no relish, and, as I feared, but little talent.
, " Suddenly the thought presented itself, ' Why might I not remain here, and turn painter?' I had taken lessons in drawing before leaving Ame-
' rica, and had been thought to have some aptness, as I certainly had a strong inclination for it. I mentioned the idea to Allston, and he caught at it with eagerness. Nothing could be more feasible. We would take an apartment together. He would give me all the instruction and assistance in his power, and was sure I would succeed.
" For two or three days the idea took full pos- session of my mind; but I believe it owed its main force to the lovely evening ramble in which I first conceived it, and to the romantic friendship I had formed with Allston. Whenever it recurred to mind, it was always connected with beautiful Italian scenery, palaces, and statues, and fonn-
■ tains, and terraced gardens, and Allston as the companion of my studio. I promised myself a world of enjoyment in his society, and in the so- ciety of several artists with whom he had made me acquainted, and pictured forth a scheme of life, all tinted with the rainbow hues of youth- ful promise.
" My lot in life, however, was differently cast. Doubts and fears gradually clouded over my pros- pect; the rainbow tints faded away ; I began to apprehend a sterile reality, so I gave up the tran- sient but delightful prospect of remaining in Rome with Allston, and turning painter.
"My next meeting with Allston was in Ame- rica, after he had finished his studies in Italy ; but as we resided in different cities we saw each
other only occasionally. Our intimacy was closer some years afterwards, when we were both in England. I then saw a great deal of him (luring my visits to London, where he and Leslie resided together. Allston was dejected in spirits from the loss of his wife, but I thought a dash of me- lancholy had increased the amiable and winning graces of his character. I used to pass long evenings with him and Leslie ; indeed Allston, if any one would keep him company, would sit up until cock-crowing, and it was hard to break away from the charms of his conversation. He was an admirable story teller, for a ghost story none could surpass him. He acted the story as well as told it.
"I have seen some anecdotes of him in the public papers, which represent him in a state of indigence and almost despair, until rescued by the sale of one of his paintings.* This is an ex- aggeration. I subjoin an extract or two from his letters to me, relating to his most important pic- tures. The first, dated May 9, 1817, was ad- dressed to me at Liverpool, where he supposed I was about to embark for the United States : —
"Your sudden resolution of embarking for Ame- rica has quite thrown me, to use a sea phrase, all aback. I have so many things to tell you of, to con- sult, you about, (fee., and am such a sad correspon- dent, that before 1 can bring my pen to do its office, 'tis a hundred to one but the vexations for which your advice would be wished, will have passed ami gone. One of these subjects (and the most impor- tant) is the large picture I talked of soon beginning: the Prophet Daniel interpreting the hand-writing on the wall before Belshazzar. I have made a highly finished sketch of it, and I wished much to have your remarks on it. But as your sudden departure will deprive me of this advantage, I must beg, should any hints on the subject occur to you during your voyage, that you will favor me with them, at the same time you let me know that you are again safe in our good country.
"I think the composition the best I ever made. It contains a multitude of figures and (if I may be allowed to say it) they are without confusion. Don't you think it a fine subject? I know not any that so happily unites the magnificent and the aw- ful. A mighty sovereign surrounded by his whole court, intoxicated witli his own state, in the midst of his revellings, palsied in a moment under the spell of a preternatural hand suddenly tracing his doom on the wall before him ; his powerless limbs, like a wounded spider's, shrunk up to his body, while liis heart, compressed to a point, is only kept from vanishing by the terrific suspense that animates it during the interpretation of his mysterious sen- tence. His less guilty but scarcely less agitated queen, the panic-struck courtiers and concubines, the splendid and deserted banquet table, the half arrogant, half astounded magicians, the holy vessels of the temple (shining as it were in triumph through the gloom), nnd the calm solemn contrast of the pro- phet, standing like an animated pillar in the midst, breathing forth the oracular destruction of the em- pire! The picture will be twelve feet high by seventeen feet long. Should I succeed in it to my wishes, I know not what may be its fate ; but I leave the future to Providence. Perhaps I may send it to America.
" The next letter from Allston which remains in # Anecdotes of Artists.
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
my possession, is dated London, 13th March, 1818. In the interim lie had visited Paris, in company with Leslie and Newton ; the following extract gives the result of the excitement caused by a study of the masterpieces in the Louvre.
" Since my return from Paris I have painted two pictures, in order to have something in the present exhibition at the British gallery; the subjects, the Angel Uriel in the Sun, and Elijah in the Wilder- ness., Uriel was immediately purchased (at the price I asked, 150 guineas) by the Marquis of Staf- ford, and the Directors of the British Institution moreover presented me a donation of a hundred and fifty pounds ' as a mark of their approbation of the talent evinced,' <fcc. The manner in which this was done was highly complimentary; and I can only say that it was full as gratifying as it was unex- pected. As both these pictures together cost me but ten weeks, I do not regret having deducted that time from the Belshazzar, to whom I have since re- turned with redoubled vigour. I am sorry I did not exhibit Jacob's Dream. If I had dreamt of this suc- cess I certainly would have sent it there.
" Leslie, in a letter to me, speaks of the picture of Uriel seated in the Sun. ' The figure is colos- sal, the attitude and air very noble, and the form heroic, without being overcharged. In the color he has been equally successful, and with a very rich and glowing tone he has avoided positive colours, which would have made him too mate- rial. There is neither red, blue, nor yellow on the picture, and yet it possesses a harmony equal to the best pictures of Paul Veronese.'
"The picture made what is called 'a decided hit,' and produced a great sensation, being pro- nounced worthy of the old masters. Attention was immediately called to the artist. The Earl of Egremont, a great connoisseur and patron of the arts, sought him in his studio, eager for any production from his pencil. He found an admi- rable picture there, of which he became the glad possessor. The following is an extract from Al- ston's letter to me on the subject: —
" Leslie tells me he has informed you of the sale of Jacob's Dream. I do not remember if you have seen it. The manner in which Lord Egremont bought it was particularly gratifying — to say nothing of the price, which is no trifle to me at present, But Leslie having told you all about it I will not repeat it. Indeed, by the account he gives me of his letter to you, he seems to have puffed me off in grand style. Well — you know I don't bribe him to do it. and ' if they will buckle praise upon my back,' why, I can't help it ! Leslie has just finished a very beautiful little picture of Anne Page1 inviting Master Slender into the house. Anne is exquisite, soft and feminine, yet arch and playful. She is all she should be. Slender also is very happy ; he is a good pa- rody on Milton's ' linked sweetness long drawn out.' Falstaff and Shallow are seen through a window in the background. The whole scene is very pictu- resque, and beautifully painted. 'Tis his best pic- ture. You must not think this praise the 'return in kind.' I give it, because I really admire the pic- ture, and I have not the smallest doubt that he will do great things when he is once freed from the ne- cessity of painting portraits.*
" Lord Egremont was equally well pleased with
* This picture was lately exhibited in the " Washington Gallery " in New York.
the artist as with his works, and invited him to his noble seat at Petworth, where it was his de- light to dispense his hospitalities to men of genius.
"The road to fame and fortune was now open to Allston ; he had but to remain in England, and follow up the signal impression he had made.
" Unfortunately, previous to this recent success lie had been disheartened by domestic affliction, and by the uncertainty of his pecuniary pros- pects, and had made arrangements to return to to America. I arrived in London a few days be- fore his departure, full of literary scheme*, and delighted with the idea of our pursuing our seve- ral arts in fellowship. It was a sad blow to me to have this day-dream again dispelled. I urged him to remain and complete his grand painting of Belshazzar's Feast, the study of which gave pro- mise of the highest kind of excellence. Some of the best patrons of the art were equally urgent. He was not to be persuaded, and I saw him depart with still deeper and more painful regret than I had parted with him in our youthful days at Rome. I think our separation was a loss to both of us — to me a grievous one. The companion- ship of such a man was invaluable. For his own part, had he remained in England for a few years longer, surrounded by everything to encourage and stimulate him, I have no doubt he would have been at the head of his art. He appeared to me to possess more than any contemporary the spirit of the old masters ; and his merits were becoming widely appreciated. After his de- parture he was unanimously elected a member of the Royal Academy.
" The next time I saw him was twelve years afterwards, on my return to America, when I visited him at his studio at Cambridge, in Massa- chusetts, and found him, in the grey evening of life, apparently much retired from the world ; and his grand picture of Belshazzar's Feast yet unfinished.
" To the last he appeared to retain all those ele- vated, refined, and gentle qualities which first en- deared him to me.
" Such are a few particulars of my intimacy with Allston ; a man whose memory I hold in re- verence and affection, as one of the purest, no- blest, and most intellectual beings that ever honored me with his friendship."
AMERICA TO GREAT BKITATN.
All hail! thou noble land,
Our Fathers' native soil ! 0, stretch thy mighty hand.
Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore ! For thou with magic might
Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright
The world o'er !
The Genius of our clime,
From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the guest sublime ; While the Tritons of the deep With their concha the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine, — O'er the main our naval line Like the milky-way shall shine Bright in fame !
WASHINGTON- ALLSTOX.
IT
Though ages long hare past
Since our Fathers left their home. Their pilot in the blast.
O'er untravelled seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veinsl And shall we not proclaim That blood of honest fame Which no tyranny can tame By its chains ?
While the language free and bold Which the Bard of Avon sung, In which our Milton told
How the vault of heaven rung When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ; — While this, with reverence meet, Ten thousand echoes greet, From rock to rock repeat Round our coast ; —
While the manners, while the arts.
That mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts, — Between let Ocean roll. Our joint communion breaking with the Sun : Yet still from either beach The voice of blood shall reach. More audible than speech, " We are One." *
WINTER — FEO.U THE 6TLPHS OP THE SEASONS.
And last the Sylph of Winter spake, The while her piercing voice did shake
The castle vaults below : — "0 youth, if thou, with soul refined, Hast felt the triumph pure of mind, And learnt a secret joy to find
In deepest scenes of woe ;
" If e'er with fearful ear at eve Hast heard the wailing tempests grieve
Through chink of shattered wall, The while it conjured o'er thy brain Of wandering ghosts a mournful train, That low in fitful sobs complain
Of death's untimely call ;
" Or feeling, as the storm increased, The love of terror nerve thy breast,
Didst venture to the coast, To see the mighty war-ship leap From wave to wave upon the deep, Like chamois goat from steep to steep.
Till low in valley lost ;
" When, glancing to the angry sky, Behold the clouds with fury fly
The lurid moon athwart — Like armies huge in battle, throng, And pour in volleying ranks along. While piping winds in martial song
To rushing war exhort :
" 0, then to me thy heart be given. To me, ordained by Him in heaven
Thy nobler powers to wake. And, 0 ! if thou with poet's soul, High brooding o'er the frozen pole. Hast felt beneath my stern control The desert region quake ;
* Note by the Author.— This alludes merely to the moral union of the two countries. The author would not have it sup- posed that the tribute of respect, offered in these stanzas to the land of his ancestors, would be paid by him, if at the expense of the independence of that which gave him birth. VOL. II. — 2
" Or from old Heela's cloudy height, When o'er the dismal, half-year's night
He pours his sulphurous breath, Hast known my petrifying wind Wild ocean's curling billows bind, Like bending sheaves by harvest hind, Erect in icy death ;
" Or heard adown the mountain's steep The northern blast with furious sweep
Some cliff dissevered dash, And seen it spring with dreadful bound, From rock to rock, to gulf profound, While echoes fierce from caves resound
The never-ending crash :
" If thus with terror's mighty spell Thy soul inspired was wont to swell,
Thy heaving frame expand, 0, then to me thy heart incline ; For know, the wondrous charm was mine, That fear and joy did thus combine
In magic union bland.
" Nor think confined my native sphere To horrors gaunt, or ghastly fear,
Or desolation wild ; For I of pleasures fair could sing, That steal from life its sharpest sting, And man have made around it cling, Like mother to her child.
" When thou, beneath the clear blue sky, So calm no cloud was seen to fly,
Hast gazed on snowy plain, Where Nature slept so pure and sweet, She seemed a corse in winding-sheet, Whose happy soul had gone to meet
The blest Angelic train ;
"Or marked the sun's declining ray In thousand varying colors play
O'er ice-incrusted heath, In gleams of orange now, and green, And now in red and azure sheen, Like hues on dying dolphin seen, Most lovely when in death ;
" Or seen at dawn of eastern light The frosty toil of Fays by night
On pane of casement clear, Where bright the mimic glaciers shine, And Alps, with many a mountain pine, And armed knights from Palestine
In winding march appear:
" 'T was I on each enchanting scene The charm bestowed, that banished spleen
Thy bosom pure and light. But still a nobler power I claim, — That power allied to poet's fame, Which language vain has dared to name, — The soul's creative might.
" Though Autumn grave, and Summer fair, And joyous Spring, demand a share
Of Fancy's hallowed power. Yet these I hold of humbler kind, To grosser means of earth confined, Through mortal sense to reach the mind,
By mountain, stream, or flower.
" But mine, of purer nature still, Is that which to thy secret will
Did minister unseen, Unfelt, unheard, when every sense Did sleep in drowsy indolence. And silence deep and night intense Enshrouded every scene;
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" That o'er (hy teeming brain did raise The spirits of departed days
Through all the varying year, And images of things remote, And sounds that long had ceased to float, With every hue, and every note,
As living now they were ;
" And taught thee from the motley mass Each harmonizing past to class
(Like Nature's self employed) ; And then, as worked thy wayward will, From these, with rare combining skill, With new-created worlds to fill
Of space the 'mighty void.
•' 0, then to me thy heart incline; To me, whose plastic powers combine
The harvest of the mind ; To me whose magic coffers bear The spoils of all the toiling year, That still in mental vision wear
A lustre more refined."
" O pour upon my soul again
That sad, unearthly strain, That seems from other worlds to plain ; Thus falling, falling from afar, As if some melancholy star Had mingled with her light her sighs,
And dropped them from the skies!
" No, — never came from aught below This melody of woe, That makes my heart to overflow, As from a thousand gushing springs, Unknown before ; that with it brings This nameless light, — if light it be, — That veils the world I see.
" For all I see around me wears The hue of other spheres ; Ami something blent of smiles and tears Comes from the very air I breathe. 0, nothing, sure, the stars beneath Can mould a-sadness like to this,— So like angelic bliss."
So, at that dreamy hour of day
When the last lingering ray Stops on the highest cloud to play, — So thought the gentle Rosalie, As on her maiden reverie First fell the strain of him who stole
In music to her soul.
INVENTION IN ART IN 0STADE AND RAPnAEL — FROM THE LEC- TURES ON ART.
The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of Ostade's work, presenting something between a kitchen and a stable. Its principal object is the car- cass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry ; subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; the accessories, various garments, pots, kettles, and other culinary utensils.
The bare enumeration of these coarse materials would naturally predispose the mind of one, unac- quainted with the Dutch school, to expect any thing but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would seem to be the only possible impression from a pic- ture composed of such ingredients. Ami such, in- deed, would be their effect under the hand of any but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and follow Ostade's mind, as it leaves its impress on the several objects. Observe how he spreads his princi- pal light, from the suspended carcass to the surround-
ing objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there to an earthen pot ; then connecting it, by the flash from a brass kettle, with his second light, the woman and child ; and again turning the eye into the dark recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old baskets, roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a glimpse of sunshine, from a half-open window, gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and sending it back to the principal object, which now seems to act on the mind as the luminous source of all these diverging lights. But the magical whole is not yet completed; the mystery of color has been called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that we can hardly separate them ; at least, until their united effect has first been felt, and after we have begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even then we cannot long proceed before we find the charm re- turning; as we pass from the blaze of light on the carcass, where all the tints of the prism seem to be faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose awhile on the white cap and kerchief of the nursing mother; then we are roused again by the flickering strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and red petticoat ; then the strife is softened by the low yellow of a straw-bottomed chair; and thus with alternating excitement and repose do we travel through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic dream. Now all this will no doubt appear to many if not absurd, at least exaggerated : but not so to those who have ever felt the sorcery of color. They, we are sure, will be the last to question the charac- ter of the feeling because of the ingredients which worked the spell, and, if true to themselves, they must call it poetr}7. Nor will they consider it any disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to say of (Jstade that he also was an Artist.
We turn now to a work of the great Italian,— the Death of Ananias. The scene is laid in a plain apart- ment, which is wholly devoid of ornament, as became the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. The Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to transact the temporal business of the Church, and are standing together on a slightly elevated plat- form, about which, in various attitudes, some stand- ing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous as- semblage of their new converts, male and female. This quiet assembly (for we still feel its .quietness in the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly roused by the sudden fall of one of their brethren ; some of them turn and see him struggling in the agonies of death. A moment before he was in the vigor of life, — as his muscular limbs still bear evidence ; but he had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his frame is convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we doubt for a moment as to the awful cause : it is al- most expressed in voice by those nearest to him, and, though varied by their different temperaments, by terror, astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice has yet but one meanii g. — " Ananias has lied to the Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as if audible to the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his doom, and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle marks him the judge; yet not of himself, — for nei- ther his attitude, air, nor expression has any thing in unison with the impetuous Peter, — he is now the simple, passive, yet awful instrument of the Al- mighty: while another on the right, with equal calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate of the entering Sapphira. Yet all is not done ; lest a question remain, the Apostle on the left confirms the judgment. No one can mistake what passes
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.
19
within him ; like one transfixed in adoration, his up- lifted eyes seem to ray out his soul, as if in recogni- tion of the divine tribunal. But the overpowering thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the hu- man sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, connecting the past with the present, seem almost to articulate, "Alas, my brother! " By this exquisite turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle al- moner of the Church, who is dealing out their por- tions to the needy brethren. And here, as most remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering seems not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of repose, — not to pass by, but to linger upon, till we feel its quiet influence diffusing itself over the whole mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved Dis- ciple, we And it leading us back through the excit- ing scene, modifying even our deepest emotions with a kindred tranquillity.
Tliis is Invention; we have not moved a step through the picture but at the will of the Artist. He invented the chain which we have followed, link by link, through every emotion, assimilating many into one ; and this is the secret by which he prepar- ed us, without exciting horror, to contemplate the struggle of mortal agony.
This too is Art; and the highest art," when thus the awful power, without losing its character, is tem- pered, as it were, to our mysterious desires. In the work of Ostade, we see the same inventive power, no less effective, though acting through the medium of the humblest materials.
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM. Joseph T. Bockinoha.m, one of the most pro- minent journalists of New England, is a descend- ant of Thomas Tinker, who came to Plymouth in the May Flower. His father, Nehemiah Tinker, resided at Windham, and ruined himself during the Revolutionary War by expending his whole property in the purchase of supplies for the army, for which he received pay in Continental cur- rency, which rapidly depreciated, so that at his death, on the 17th of March, 1783, the several thousand dollars of paper money which he pos- sessed, " would hardly pay for his winding sheet and coffin." He left a widow and ten children, the youngest of whom, Joseph, was born on the twenty-first of December, 1779. The widow en- deavored to support the eight children dependent upon her by continuing her husband's business of tavern-keeping, but was obliged to abandon the establishment within a year, on account of ill health. She grew poorer and poorer, and her son records her thankfulness at receiving, on one occasion, the crusts cut from the bread prepared for the Holy Communion of the coming Sunday. She was at last compelled to solicit the aid of the selectmen of the town, and was supported in that maimer for a winter. In the following year she received and accepted the offer of a home in the family of her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lathrop, at Worlhington, Mass. Her son, the subject of this sketch, was indentured at the same time by the selectmen to a farmer of the name of Welsh, until he attained the age of sixteen. lie was kindly cared for in the family, and picked up a tolerable knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic. He devoured the few books he came across, and records his obligations to a set of Ames's Alma- nacs. Jit the expiration of his time he obtained a situation in the printing-office of David Carlisle, the publisher of the Farmer's Museum, at Wal-
pole, N.H. The joviality of the wits who filled the columns of that famous sheet seems to have been shared in by the compositors who set up their articles, for they exhausted the poor boy's slender stock of cash by a demand for a treat, and then nearly choked him by forcing his own brandy down his throat. He remained only a few months with Carlisle, and then apprenticed himself in the office of the Greenfield (Mass.) Ga- zette. Here he exercised himself in grammar, by comparing the "copy" he had to set up with the rules he had learnt, and correcting it if wrong. In 17U8 he lost his excellent mother. In 1803 he deserted the composing-stick for a few months, to fill the office of prompter to a company of comedians who played during the summer months at Salem and Providence. In 1806, having pre- viously taken by act of legislature his mother's family name of Buckingham, he male his first
; cs-ay as editor, by commencing a Monthly Maga- zine, The Polyanthus. The numbers contained
j seventy-two pages 18mo., with a portrait, each.
| It was suspended in September, 1807, and re- sumed in 1812, when two volumes of the original size and four in octavo appeared. In January, 1809, he commenced The Ordeal, a weekly, of sixteen octavo pages, which lasted six months. In 1817, he commenced, with Samuel L. Knapp, The New England Galaxy and Masonic Maga- zine. It was started without capital by its pro- jector, who now had a wife and six children dependent on him, and frankly proposed to return a dollar and a half out of the three tendered by his first subscriber, on the plea that he did not believe he should be able to keep up the paper more than six months. By the aid of the Masonic Lodges it, however, became tolerably successful. Like his previous publications, it sided in politics with the Federal party.
In 1S28, Mr. Buckingham sold the Galaxy, in order to devote his entire attention to the Boston Courier, a daily journal, which he had commenced on the second of March, 1824. The prominent idea of its founders was the advocacy of the " protective system." Mr. Buckingham continued to edit the Courier until June, 1848, when he sold out his interest. In July, 1831, he com- menced with his son Edwin The New England Magazine, a monthly of ninety-six pages, and one of the best periodicals of its class which ever appeared in the United States. The number of July, 1833, contains a mention of the death of Edwin at sea, on a voyage to Smyrna, undertaken for the benefit of health. He was but twenty- three years of age. In November, 1834, the publication was transferred to Dr. Samuel G. Howe and John O. Sargent.
During the years 1828, 1831-3, 1830, 1838-9, Mr. Buckingham was a member of the Legisla- ture, and in 1847-8, 1850-1, of the Senate of Mas- sachusetts. He introduced a report in favor of the suppression of lotteries, and performed other valuable services during these periods.
Since his retirement from the press, Mr. Buck- ingham has published, Specimens of Newspaper Literature, with Personal Memoirs, Anecdotes, and Reminiscences, in two volumes duodecimo, which has passed through two editions; and Personal Memoirs and Recollections of Editorial Life, in two similar volumes. They contain a
20
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
pleasant resume of his career, with notices of the many persons with whom, at different periods, he has heen connected.
MOSES STUART.
This eminent critic and philologist, the head of a school of Biblical learning in America, was horn of honest hut humble parentage in Wilton, Con- ■ necticut, March 26, 1780. He entered Yale at j sixteen during the Presidency of Dwight, took j his degree with the highest honors in 1709, then turned his attention to the law, to which he gave himself with earnestness, though he never prac- tised the profession. From 1802 to 180-1 he was tutor at Yale. In 1806, having in the meantime pursued the necessary preparation, he was ordained Pastor of the Centre Church in New Haven. His services at this time are thus spoken of by his thoughtful and eloquent friend and eulogist, Dr. Adams. " The fervor, fidelity, and success of his career as a pastor are still matters of grateful re- membrance and distinct tradition. Distinguished as is the reputation which he subsequently ac- quired as a scholar, there are many who think that his best efforts were in the pulpit. The con- gregation over which he was ordained, accus- tomed for a third of a century to a style of dis- course clear, cold, and philosophic, which deserves to be designated as ' diplomatic vagueness,1 were startled from indifference by the short, simple, perspicuous sentences of their new pastor, and more than all by the unaffected earnestness and sincerity with which they were delivered."*
In 1810 Mr. Stuart attained the marked position of his life with which he was to be identified du- ring the remainder of his career, extending over a period of well nigh half a century, in his ap- pointment to the Professorship of Sacred Lite- rature at the Theological Seminary at Andover, which had then recently heen engrafted upon the academy founded by the Hon. John Phillips at that place. Mr. Stuart succeeded to the brief term of instruction of the Eev. Eliphalet Pearson, who had been Professor of the Hebrew and Ori- ental languages at Harvard from 17S6 to 1806. It is noticeable that Stuart was chosen, " not be- cause of extraordinary proficiency in Oriental lan- guages, for his knowledge of Hebrew was at this time very limited. Two years' ] ireparatiqn for the ministry, and five years in the diligent prosecution of his profession, had not furnished large opportu- nities for exact and extensive study. Choice was fixed upon him because of the general qualities which designated him as one able and willing to furnish himself for any station ; and upon that tho- rough qualification he entered, with characteristic enthusiasm, immediately upon his transfer to this new office."
The learned labors of Stuart began at once in his devotion to Hebrew studies, of which he knew nothing until after his arrival at Andover. His colleague, Dr. Woods, used to relate that he taught
* A Discnnrse nn the Life and Services of Professor Moses Stuart; delivered in the city of New York. Sabbath evening, January 25, 1852, by William Adams, Pastor of the Central Presbyterian Church; an able and judicious production, which we have closely followed as the best authority on the subject. It io understood that a Life of Professor Stuart is in preparation by his son-in-law, Professor Austin Phelps, of the Andover Theological Seminary.
Stuart the Hebrew alphabet. He prepared at first a manuscript grammar of that language, which his pupils copied. When the requisite Oriental type for its publication was procured Stuart found no compositors ready for its use, and had to commence the work with his own hands. His first Hebrew Grammar, without points, was published in 1821. He soon became acquainted with the earlier labors of Gesenius, learning the German language for that purpose. His later Hebrew Grammar, with points, was first published in 1831, and rapidly became the text-book in gene- ral use for this study.* He also aided the study by his Hebrew Chrestomathy.
Having laid this foundation in the study of the rudiments of the language, Stuart next addressed himself to the philosophical interpretation of the text. In this he brought new life to the old dog- matic theology which prevailed at the beginning of his career. " Whatever could cast light upon the Holy Scriptures, or the languages in which they were contained, was to Professor Stuart a matter of exuberant delight. Whether it was a discussion by Middleton on the Greek article, or an essay by Wyttenbach on the mode of studying language, or the archfeological researches of Jahn, or the journal of an intelligent traveller in the Egean, or Lane's book on Egypt, or the explora- tions of the French in the valley of the Nile,f or a Greek chorus, or a discovery of an inscription in Arabia Petrea, or exhumations in Nineveh — anything, from whatever source, which explained a difficult verse in the Bible, or illustrated an an- cient custom of God's peculiar people, or led to a better comprehension of the three languages in which the name of our Lord was written upon his cross — all was hailed by this Christian student with unbounded satisfaction.''! The application of his principles is thus characterized by the same pen. " After all the discriminations of Morus and Ernesti, republished by Professor Stuart, if I should undertake to condense his principles and practice concerning Biblical exegesis, aside from all technical phraseology, I should characterize it by common sense. Admit the distinctions as to literal and tropical language which are recognised in the ordinary conversation of ordinary men, and those modifications of language which are derived from local customs and use, and then let Scripture interpret Scripture. Compare spiritual things with spiritual, and let the obvions meaning of the Sacred AYritings thus compared, be received as the true."§
With this exercise of the understanding, Stuart united the judgment of the heart, the verdict of a simple, earnest, spiritual faith, which reposed on the authority of the Bible. To this his learning
* Br. Adams records with just pride "the fourth edition of that Grammar was republished in England by Dr. Pusey, Re- gius Professor of Hebrew in the University of Oxford; and no small praise is it that a self-taught Professor in a Theological Seminary in a rural district of New England, should furnish text-books in oriental philology to the English universities, with their hereditary wealth of learned treasure and lordly pro- visions for literary leisure. The Hebrew Chrestomathy of Professor Stuart was reprinted in like manner at Oxford soon after its appearance. The Hebrew Grammar by Dr. Lee, of Cambridge University, England, did not appear till six years after the publication of Mr. Stuart's first edition."
t Greppo's E-ssay on Champollion was translated in his fa- mily.
± Dr. Adams's Discourse, pp. 29, SO.
§ Ibid. pp. SI, 32.
WILLIAM ELLEEY CHAINING.
21
and argument were subsidiary. He showed how German learning might be employed and scrip- tural authority maintained. This was his service to the theology of his day and denomination. " The great merit,'" says an accomplished Oriental scholar, Mr. W. W. Turner, " of Professor Stuart, and one for which the gratitude and respect of American scholars must ever be his due, lie- in the zeal and ability he has exhibited for a long series of years in bringing to the notice of the English- reading public the works of many of the soundest phi li >logi sts and most enlightened ai id unprej udi ced theologians of Germany ; for to his exertions it is in a good degree owing that the names of Rosen- miiller, Gesenius, Ewald, De Wette, Hnpfield, Rodiger, Knobel, Hitzig, and other-:, are now fa- miliar as household words to the present race of biblical students in this country, and to some ex- tent in England."*
In 1827 appeared his Commentary on the Epis- tle to the Hebrews, vindicating the authenticity of the work, giving a new translation with full notes on the text, and an elucidation of the argument. This was followed in 1832 by a Commentary on the Epiitle to the Romans, in which the same philological course is pursued. Other commen- taries followed in due course, provoking more or less of criticism, on the Apocalypse, the Book of Daniel, of Ecolesiastes, of Proverbs, the last of which he had just completed at the time of his death.
Another series of works of Professor Stuart were his numerous articles in the periodicals, chiefly the Biblical Repository and Bibliotheca Sacra, as also his controversial writings, his Let- ters to Charming and others, of which he pub- lished a collection in a volume of Miscellanies in 1846.
One of his last productions, which excited much interest and some opposition at the time in New England, was his defence of the policy of Daniel Webster in his Essay on Conscience and the Con- stitution, an assertion of the principle of obedi- ence to the Compromise act.
Stuart diedat Andover, January 4, 1852. That he was industrious and energetic the bare enu- mera'ion of his works declares; but he also car- ried his enthusiasm of labor into the exercises with his classes, upon whom he impressed a hearty sympathy for his studies and his manner of pur- suing them. Death found him at the age of se- venty-two still active, still meditating new critical and learned labors in the inexhaustible field of biblical investigation.
A daughter of Dr. Stuart, Mrs. Elizabeth Phelps, the wife of Professor Austin Phelps of Andover, attained distinction in a popular field of literature by her felicitous sketches of New Eng- land society, in a series of tales by H. Tf usta, an anagram of her maiden name. They are entitled The Angel occr the Right Shoulder ; Sunny Side; Peep at Number Fire (a picture of clerical life) ; Kitty Brown; Little Mary, or Talks and Tales for Children, and The Tell Tale; or Home Se- crets told by Old Travellers. The last was pub- lished in 1853, shortly after the death of the . author. These tales have a well deserved popu-
* Literary World, No. 228.
larity from their spirited style, and the life and character which they humorously portray.
WILLIAM ELLEEY CHANNLTO
Was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 7, 1780. He was in the fourth generation from John Charming, who came to America from Dorset- shire, in England. His father was William Chan- ning, a man of education, and distinguished as a lawyer in Newport ; his grandfather on the mo- ther's side was William Ellery, the signer of the Declaration. He has in one of his writings, the Discourse on Christian Worship, at the Dedica- tion of the Unitarian Congregational Church at Newport in 1836, paid a tribute to the genial influences of his birth-place upon his youth. " I must bless God," said he, " for the place of my nativity ; for as my mind unfolded, I became more and more alive to the beautiful scenery which now attracts strangers to our island. My first liberty was used in roaming over the neigh- bouring fields and shores; and amid this glorious nature, that love of liberty sprang up, which has gained strength within me to this hour. I early received impressions of the great and the beauti- ful, which I believe have had no small influence in determining my model of thought and habits of life. In this town I pursued for a time my studies of theology. I had no professor or teacher to guide me ; but I had two noble places of study. One was yonder beautiful edifice,* now so fre- quented and so useful as a public library, then so deserted that I spent day after day, and sometimes week after week, amidst its dusty volumes, with- out interruption from a single visitor. The other place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so often mingled with the worship of this place, my daily resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more attractive in the storm. Seldom do I visit it now without thinking of the work, which there, in the sight of that beauty, in the sound of these waves, was carried on in my soul. No spot on earth has helped to form me so much as that beach. There I lifted up my voice in praise amidst the tempest; there, softened by beauty, I poured out my thanksgiving and contrite confessions. There, in reverential sympathy with the mighty power around me, I became conscious of power within. There, struggling thoughts and emotions broke forth, as if moved to utterance by nature's elo- quence of the winds and waves. There began a happiness surpassing all worldly pleasures, all gifts of fortune, the happiness of communing with the works of God. Pardon me this refer- ence to myself. I believe that the worship, of which I have this day spoken, was aided in my own soul by the scenes in which my early life was passed. Amidst these scenes, and in speak- ing of this worship, allow me to thank God that this beautiful island was the place of my birth." He completed his education at Harvard with the highest honors in 1798. He then engaged for a while as tutor to a family in Virginia, where his health became permanently enfeebled. He was ordained pastor of the Federal Street Church, Boston, June 1, 1803 ; visited Europe subse-
* The Eedwood Library.
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
quently, and on his return continued alone in his charge till 1824.
From that time for the remainder of his life lie was connected with the same church, discharg- ing its duties as his strength permitted ; with- drawing, towards the close of his career, to strict retirement, husbanding his delicate health for his numerous literary efforts. In these he always exercised an important influence, and through them was as well known in England as in Ame- rica. The collection of his works embraces six volumes, the larger portion of which is devoted to his theology, as a leader of the Unitarians. His Moral Argument against Calvinism ap- peared in the Christian Disciple for 1820. The first of his writings which brought him into the general field of literature, his Remarks on the Character and Writings of John Milton, was published in the Christian Examiner for 1826, followed by his articles on Bonaparte, during the next two years, in the same journal, and the winning article on Fenelon in 1829. The force, directness, and literary elegance of these papers attracted great attention, and the more from the bold challenge to popular discussion which was thrown out in his uncompromising estimate of Napoleon. Apart from his influence as a religious leader, he had now gained the ear of the public at large — an authority which he availed himself of to act upon the moral sentiment of the nation, which he addressed in his publications on Slavery, War, Temperance, and Education. His address on Self Culture, delivered at Boston in 1S38, has been one of the most successful tracts of its kind ever published. Its direct appeal to whatever of character or manliness there may be in the young is almost irresistible. This is the prevailing trait of Channing's style, its single, moral energy. The titles of his publications indicate the man and his method. A general subject, as War, Tem- perance, Slavery, is proposed simply by itself, disconnected with any temporary associations or accidents of place that might limit it by condi-
tions, and argued simply, clearly, forcibly on its own merits, according to the universal standard of truth and justice. Channing pushes at once to the centre of his subject, like a man who has business at the court of truth, and is not to be set aside by guards or courtiers. He has the ear of this royal mistress, and speaks from ner side as with the voice of an oracle. Nothing can turn him "aside from the direct forthright." How- ever deficient this course might be for the practical statesmanlike conduct of the world, and its cir- cuitous progress to great ends, it< influence on the mind of his own day, particularly on the young, is not to be questioned. Channing's moral vigor seemed to put new life into his readers. Notwithstanding the delicacy of his constitution, he appeared in public from time to time to within a short period of his death. His aspect was of great feebleness ; small in person and fragile to excess, apparently contrasting with the vigor of his doctrines, but the well developed forehead, the full eye, the purity of expression, and the calm musical tone showed the concentra- tion within. His oratory always charmed his audience, as in his winning tones he gained to his side the pride and powers of his hearers.
The last public effort of Channing was his ad- dress at Lenox, in Berkshire County, Mass., on the 1st of August, 1842, the anniversary of Eman- cipation in the West Indies. ' It shows no diminu- tion of the acuteness of his mind or of his rare powers of expression.
Shortly after this time, while pursuing a moun- tain excursion, he was taken with tj'phus fever, and died at Bennington, Vermont, October 2, 1842.
MILITAET GENIUS — FROM THE ESSAY ON NAPOLEON.
Military talent, even of the highest order, is far from holding the first place amo.g intellectual en- dowments. It is one of the lower forms of genius; for it is not conversant with the highest and richest objects of thought. We grant that a mind, which takes in a wide country at a glance, and understands, almost by intuition, the positions it affords for a successful campaign, is a comprehensive and vigorous one. The general, who disposes his forces so as to counteract a greater force ; who supplies by skill, science, and invention, the want of numbers; who dives into the counsels of his enemy, and who gives unity, energy, and success to a vast variety of opera- tions, in the midst of casualties and obstructions which no wisdom could foresee, manifests great power. But still the chief work of a geneial is to apply physical force ; to remove physical obstruc- tions; to avail himself of physical aids and advan- tages ; to act on matter ; to overcome rivers, ram- parts, mountains, and human muscles; and these are not the highest objects of mind, nor do they demand intelligence of the highest oider; and accordingly nothing is more common than to fii d men. eminent in this department, who aie wanting in the noblest energies of the soul; in habit; ot profound and liberal thinking, in imagination and ta-te, in the ca- pacity of enjoying works of genius, and in large and original views of human nature and society. The office of a great general docs not differ widely from that of a great mechanician, whose business it is to frame new combinations of physical forces, to adapt them to new circumstances, and to remove new ob- structions. Accordingly great generals, away from the camp, are often no greater men than the meeha-
WILLIAM ELLERT CHANNING.
23
nieian taken from his workshop. In conversation they are often dull. Deep and refined reasonings they cannot comprehend. We know that there are splendid exceptions. Such was Cesar, lit once the greatest soldier and the most sagacious statesman of his age, whilst in eloquence and literature, he left behind liini almost all, who had devoted themselves exclusively to these pursuits. But such eases are rare. The conqueror of Napoleon, the hero of Wa- terloo, possesses undoubtedly great military talents; but we do not understand, that his most partial ad- mirers claim for him a place in the highest class of minds. We will not godown for illustration to such men as Nelson, a man great on the deck, but debased by gross vices, and who never pretended to enlarge- ment of intellect. To institute a comparison in point of talent and genius between such men and Milton, Bacon, and Shakespeare, is almost an insult on these illustrious names. Who can think of these truly great intelligences ; of the range of their minds through heaven and earth ; of their deep intuition into the soul; of their new and glowing combina- tions of thought ; of the energy with which they grasped, and subjected to their main purpose, the infinite materials of illustration which nature and life afford, — who can think of the forms of transcen- dent beauty and grandeur which they created, or which were rather emanations of their own minds ; of the calm wisdom and fervid imagination which they conjoined ; of the voice of power, in which " though dead, they still speak," and awaken intel- lect, sensibility, and genius in both hemispheres, — who can think of such men, and not feel the immense inferiority of the most gifted warrior, whose ele- ments of thought are physical forces and physical obstructions, and whose employment is the combi- nation of the lowest class of objects on which a powerful mind can be employed.
EELIGION AND LITERATURE — FROM TIIE ESSAY OX FENELON.
The truth is, that religion, justly viewed, surpasses all otiier principles, in giving a free and mauiVold action to the mind. It recognises in every faculty and sentiment the workmanship of God, and assigns a sphere of agency to eaeh. It takes our whole nature under its guardianship, and with a parental love ministers to its inferior as well as higher grati- fications. False religion mutilates the soul, sees evil in our innocent sensibilities, and rules with a tyrant's frown and rod. True religion is a mild and lawful sovereign, governing to protect, to give strength, to unfold all our inward resources. We believe, that, under its influence, literature is to pa-ss its present limits, and to put itself forth in original forms of composition. Religion is of all principles most fruitful, multiform, and unconfined. It is sympathy with that Being, who seems to delight in diversify- ing the modes of his agency, and the products of his wisdom and power. It does not chain us to a few essential duties, or express itself in a few unchang- ing modes of writing. It lias the liberality and mu- nificence of nature, which not only produces the necessary root and grain, but pours forth fruits and flowers. It has the variety and bold contrasts of nature, which, at the foot of the awful mountain, scoops out the freshest, sweetest valleys, and embo- soms, in the wild, troubled ocean, islands, whose vernal airs, and loveliness, and teeming fruitful- ness, almost breathe the joys of Paradise. Reli- gion will accomplish for literature what it most needs ; that is, will give it depth, at the same time that it heightens its grace and beauty. The union of these attributes is most to be desired. Our lite- rature is lamentably superficial, and to some the beautiful and the superficial even seem to be natu-
rally conjoined. Let not beauty be so wronged. It resides chiefly in profound thoughts and feelings. It overflows chiefly in the writings of poets, gifted with a sublime and piercing vision. A beautiful literature springs from the depth and fulness of in- tellectual and moral life, from an energy of thought and feeling, to which nothing, as we believe, minis- ters so largely as enlightened religion.
So far from a monotonous solemnity overspreading literature in consequence of the all-pervading influ- ence of religion, we believe that the sportive and comic forms of composition, instead of being aban- doned, will only be refined and improved. We know that these are suppose'! to be frowned upon by piety; but they have their root in the constitu- tion which God has given us, and ought not there- fore to be indiscriminately condemned. The pro- pensity to wit and laughter does indeed, through excessive indulgence, often issue in a character of heartless levity, low mimicry, or unfeeling ridicule. It often seeks gratification in regions of impurity, throws a gaiety round vice, and sometimes even pours contempt on virtue. But, though often and mournfully perverted, it is still a gift of God, and may and ought to minister, not only to innocent pleasure, but to the intellect and the heart. Man was made for relaxation as truly as for labor; and by a law of his nature, which has not received the attention it deserves, lie finds perhaps no relaxation so restorative, as that in which he reverts to his childhood, seems -to forget his wisdom, leaves the imagination to exhilarate itself by sportive inven- tions, talks of amusing incongruities in conduct and events, smiles at the innocent eccentricities and odd mistakes of those whom he most esteems, allows himself in arch allusions or kind-hearted satire, and transports himself into a world of ludicrous combi- nations. We have said, that, on these occasions, the mind seems to put off its wisdom; but the truth is, that, in a pure mind, wisdom retreats, if we may so say, to its centre, and there, unseen, keeps guard over this transient folly, draws delicate lines which are never to be passed in the freest moments, and, like a judicious parent, watching the sports of child- hood, preserves a stainless innocence of soul in the very exuberance of gaiety. This combination of moral power with wit and humor, witli comic con- ceptions and irrepressible laughter, this union of mirth and virtue, belongs to an advanced stage of the character ; and we believe, that, in proportion to the diffusion of an enlightened religion, this action of the mind will increase, and will overflow in com- positions, which, joining innocence to sportiveness, will communicate unmixed delight. Religion is not at variance with occasional mirth. In the same character, the solemn thought and the sublime emo- tions of the improved Christian, may be joined with the unanxious freedom, buoyancy, and "gaiety of early years.
We will add but one more illustration of our views. We believe, that the union of religion with genius will favor that species of composition to which it may seem at first to be least propitious. We refer to that department of literature, which has for its object the delineation of the stronger and more terrible and guilty passions. Strange as it may appear, these gloomy and appalling features of our nature may be best comprehended and portrayed by the purest and noblest minds. The common idea is, that overwhelming emotions, the more they are experienced, can the more effectually be described. We have one strong presumption against this doc- trine. Tradition leads us to believe, that Shake speare, though h'e painted so faithfully and fearfully the storms of passion, was a calm and cheerful man.
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The passions are too engrossed by their objects to meditate on themselves ; and none are more igno- rant of their growth and subtile workings, than their own victims. Nothing reveals to us the secrets of our own souls like religion ; and in disclosing to us, in ourselves, the tendency of passion to absorb every energy, and to spread its hues over every thought, it gives us a key to all souls ; for, in all, human nature is essentially one, having the same spiritual elements, and the same grand features. So man, it is believed, understands the wild and irregu- lar motions of the mind, like him in whom a princi- ple of divine order has begun to establish peace. No man knows the horror of thick darkness which gathers over the slaves of vehement passion, like him who is rising into the light and liberty of virtue. There is indeed a selfish shrewdness, which is thought to give a peculiar and deep insight into human na- ture. But the knowledge, of which it boasts, is I partial, distorted, and vulgar, and wholly unfit for j the purposes of literature. We value it little. "We | believe, that no qualification avails so much to a knowledge of human nature in all its forms, in its good and evil manifestations, as that enlightened, celestial charity, which religion alone inspires ; for this establishes sympathies between us and all men, and thus makes them intelligible to us. A man, i imbued with this spirit, alone contemplates vice as it really exists, and as it ought always to be described. In the most depraved fellow-beings lie sees partakers of his own nature. Amidst the terrible ravnges of the passions, he sees conscience, though prostrate, not destroyed, nor wholly powerless. He sees the proofs of an unextinguished moral life, in inward struggles, in occasional relentings, insighings for lost innocence, in reviving throbs of early affections, in the sophistry by which the guilty mind would be- come reconciled to itself, in remorse, in anxious fore- bodings, in despair, perhaps in studied recklessness and cherished self-forgetfulness. These conflicts, between the passions and the moral nature, are the most interesting subjects in the branch of literature to which we refer, and we believe, that to portray them with truth and power, the man of genius can find in nothing such effectual aid, as in the develop- ment of the moral and religious principles in his own breast.
HENET T. FAEMEE.
Heney T. Faemek was a native of England, who emigrated to Charleston, S. 0., where he was for some time engaged in commercial pursuits. He afterwards retired from business, and removed to New York for the purpose of studying medicine. He received the instructions of Drs. Francis and Hosack, was graduated at the College of Physi- cians and Surgeons, and licensed as a physician in 1821. During the progress of his studies he published Imagination; the Maniacs Dream, and other Poems, in a small volume. The collec- tion is dedicated to Mrs. Charles Baring, the wife of the author's uncle. This lady was, dur- ing a portion of her career, an actress, and the author of Virginia, Tlie Royal Recluse, Zulaine, and other dramas, which were performed with success. Several of the poems of the collection, as the Essay on Taste, which has an appeal to " Croaker," are addressed to Dr. Francis and others of the writer's friends.
Farmer returned to Charleston, where he prac- tised medicine until his death, at the age of forty- six.
His verses show a ready pen; a taste for the
poetry of his day, a kindly susceptibility, and .occasionally sound with'effect the louder notes of the lyre.
THE WOES OF MODERN GEEECE. A PEIZE POEM.
There was a harp, that might thy woes rehearse, In all the wild omnipotence of verse, Imperial Greece! when wizard Homer's skill Charm'd the coy muses from the woodland hill ; When nature, lavish of her boundless store, Poured all her gifts, while art still showered more ; Thy classic chisel through each mountain rung, Quick from its touch immortal labors sprung ; Truth vied with fancy in the grateful strife, And rocks assumed the noblest forms of life.
Alas ! thy land is now aland of wo ; Thy muse is crowned with Druid misletoe. See the lorn virgin with dishevelled hair, To distant climes in 'wildered haste repair ; Chill desolation seeks her favored bowers, Neglect, that mildew, blasts her cherished flowers; The spring may bid their foliage bloom anew, The night may dress them in her fairy dew; But what shall chase the winter-cloud of pain, And bid her early numbers breathe again? What spring shall bid her mental gloom depart? Tie always winter in a bioken heart.
The aged Patriarch seeks the sea-beat strand, To leave — for ever leave his native land ; No sun shall cheer him with so kind a beam, No fountain bless him with so pure a stream ; Nay, should the exile through Elysium roam, He leaves his heaven, when he leaves his home. But, we may deeper, darker truth unfold. Of matrons slaughtered, and of virgins sold, Of shrines polluted by barbarian rage, Of grey locks rifled from the head of age, Of pilgrims murdered, and of chiefs defied, Where Christians knelt, and Sparta's heroes died. Once more thy chiefs their glittering arms resume, For heaven, for vengeance, conquest or a tomb ; With fixed resolve to be for ever free, Or leave all Greece one vast Thermopylae.
Columbia, rise! A voice comes o'er the main, To ask thy blessing, nor to ask in vain ; Stand forth in bold magnificence, and be For classic Greece, what France was once for thee. So shall the gods each patriot bosom sway, And make each Greek the hero of his day. But, should thy wisdom and thy valor stand On neutral ground — oh ! may thy generous hand Assist her hapless warriors, and repair Her altars, scath'd by sacrilege and care ; Hail all her triumphs, all her ills deplore, Nor let old Homer's manes beg once more.
TIMOTHY FLINT. Timothy Flint was born in Reading, Massachu- setts, in the year 1780, and was graduated at Harvard in 1800. After two years of theological study, he was ordained pa^or of the Congrega- tional Church of Lunenburg, Worcester county, where he remained for twelve years. In October, 1815, in consequence of ill health, he left with his family for the west, in pursuit of a milder climate, and change of scene. Crossing the Alleganies, and descending the Ohio, he arrived at Cincinnati, ■ where he passed the winter months. Thefollowing spring and summer were spent in travelling in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, and after a halt at St. Louis, where he was, so far as he could learn, the first
HENRY PICKERING.
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Protestant minister who ever administered the communion in the place, arrived at St. Charles on the Missouri. He here established himself as a missionary, and remained for three years thus employed in the town and surrounding country. He then removed to Arkansas, but returned after a few months to St. Charles. In 1822 he visited New Orleans, where he remained during the win- ter, and passed the next summer in Covington, Florida. Returning to Mew Orleans in the au- tumn, he removed to Alexandria on the Red River, in order to take charge of a school, but was forced by ill health, after a year's residence, to return to the North.
In 1826 he published an account of these wanderings, and the scenes through which they had led him, in his Recollections of the last Ten Years passed in occasional residencies and journey- ings in the Valley of the Mississippi, in a series of letters to the Rev. James Flint, of Salem-, Mass. It was successful, and was followed the same year by Francis Berrian, or the Mexican Patriot, a story of romantic adventure with the Coman- ches, and of military prowess in the Mexican struggle, resulting in the fall of Iturbide. The book has now become scarce. In its day it was better thought of by critics for its passages of description, than for its story, which involved many improbable and incongruous incidents. His third Work, The Geography and History of the Mississippi Valley, appeared at Cincinnati in 1827, in two octavo volumes. It is arranged ac- cording to states, and gives ample information, in a plain style, on the subject comprised in its title.
In 1828 he published Arthur Clenning, a ro- mantic novel, in which the hero and heroine are shipwrecked in the Southern Ocean, reach New Holland, and after various adventures settle down to rural felicity in Illinois. This was followed by George Mason the Young Backwoodsman, and in 1830 by the ShoshoneeValley, the scene of which is among the Indians of Oregon.
His next work, Lectures upon Natural History, Geology, Chemistry, the Application of Steam, and Interesting Discoveries in the Arts, was pub- lished in Boston in 1832.
On the retirement of Mr. C. F. Hoffman from the editorship of the Knickerbocker Magazine, Mr. Flint succeeded to his post for a few months in the year 1833. He translated about the same time Hart d'etre hsureuse by Droz, with ad- ditions of his own, and a novel entitled, Celibacy Vanquished, or the Old, Bachelor Reclaimed. In 1834 he removed to Cincinnati, where he edited the Western Monthly Magazine for three years, contributing to it and to other periodicals as well, a number of tales and essays. In 1835 he fur- nished a series of Sketches of the Literature of the United States to the London Athenffium. He afterwards removed to Louisiana, and in May, 1840, returned to New England on a. visit for tlie benefit of his health. Halting at Natchez on his way, he was for some hours buried in the rufns of a house thrown down, with many others, by the violence of a tornado. On his arrival at Reading
his illness increased, and he wrote to his wife that his end would precede her reception of his letter, an announcement which hastened her own death and anticipated his own, by but a short time however, as he breathed Ms last on the eighteenth of August.
THE 6IIORES OF THE OHIO.
It was now the middle of November. The weather up to this time had been, with the excep- tion of a couple of days of fog and rain, delightful. The sky has a milder and lighter azure than that of the northern states. The wide, clean sand-bars stretching for miles together, and now and then a flock of wild geese, swans, or sand-hill cranes, and pelicans, stalking along on them; the infinite varie- ties of form of the towering bluffs; the new tribes of shrubs and plants on the shores; the exuberant fertility of the soil, evidencing itself in the natural as well as cultivated vegetation, in the height and size of the corn, of itself alone a matter of astonish- ment to au inhabitant of the northern states, in the thrifty aspect of the young orchards, literally bending under their fruit, the surprising size and raukness of the weeds, and, in the enclosures where cultivation had been for a while suspended, the matted abundance of every kind of vegetation that ensued, — all these circumstances united to give a novelty and freshness to tlie scenery. The bottom forests everywhere display the huge sycamore, the king of the western forest, in all places an in- teresting tree, but particularly so here, and in au- tumn, when you see its white and long branches among its red and yellow fading leaves. You may add, that in all the trees that have been stripped of their leaves, you see them