UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO THE NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOK. SPECIMENS OF THE LITERATURE GRANITE STATE FOR the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our GoD> our fathers' GOD ! Thou hast made thy children mighty. By the touch of the mountain sod. Thou hast fixed oar ark of refuge Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod : For the strength of the hills we bless thee. Our Goc, our fathers' GOD ! NASHUA: PUBLISHED BY DAVID MARSHALL, (AGENT.) BOSTON : JAMES MUXROE AND COMPANY. 1842. Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-one, by CHARLES J. FOX AND SAMUEL OSGOOD, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of New Hampshire. BOSTON. PRINTED BY 3. JT. DICKIHSOK, WASHINGTON STREET. TO THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS THESE SPECIMENS OF NATIVE LITERATURE ARK RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY THE EDITORS. PREFACE. IT is needless to make an apology for gathering into a volume these specimens of literature, that have no common tie except an origin in our own State. There is doubtless sufficient value in this selection to make it worthy the attention of the public, and sufficient State feel- ing among us to render it peculiarly interesting to the sons and daughters of New Hampshire. It is of course impossible in one small volume like this, to do jus- tice to the literature and talent of our State. New Hampshire has been called the Scotland of America, and her sons, like the Scotch, have visited every region, and left monuments of their enterprise and ability wherever they have gone. The literature of almost all the States in our Union must be thoroughly scrutinized, before we can do justice to our own State. Referring our readers to the list of authors contained in the present work, and to the various posts and professions which they adorn, we would present these merely as spec- imens of our literary wealth, without in the least pretending to give an idea of its whole extent. Many writers have been omitted, whose works we would gladly have noticed. It has not been always possi- ble to find the older and rarer works of our citizens ; and moreover it has been very difficult to represent some whole departments of litera- ture, for instance, the theological and legal. Many of our prominent clergymen have put forth no productions that might not be considered as too much of a denominational character ; and most of the learned arguments of our lawyers are far better adapted to persuade a jury or convince a judge than to give charm to a pleasant volume like this. Many able and distinguished men among us have published nothing, that has come to our knowledge ; and we have doubtless overlooked the claims of many young men of high talent, who have gone from us and settled in distant places, and the place of whose birth it is not easy to ascertain. In the different colleges in the South and West, about forty natives of our State are employed as professors or presiding officers. We have tried to represent all classes, professions and interests fairly in our selections, and if we have erred in any respect, it has 1* been rather from ignorance or inadvertence than from any conscious partialities. It has been our aim to give specimens of the writings only of natives of the State. In a very few cases we have departed from this rule in regard to individuals, who have lived so long among us, as to have become identified with the State. It will be observed, that a considerable proportion of the authors in our collection have not spent their lives in the State, but have sought their fortunes in other regions. But their writings may be considered as none the less native and characteristic ; for it is the land of one's birth and early breeding, that forms the character and de- velopes the powers. A sufficient reason for the departure of so many citizens from our State, maybe found in the want of those large cities, which alone are able to reward brilliant talents. This collection is by no means meagre in poetry. We are able to give a satisfactory answer to the query of a writer in the North Amer- ican Review some ten years ago, who marvelled that a State, so rich in beautiful and sublime scenery as our own, had given no con- siderable indication of poetic talent. We refer to our pages for satis- factory proof, that the Muses have dwelt among our mountains, lakes and rivers, and that not only in sturdy enterprise, but in other respects, New Hampshire is not unworthy of her name, the Scotland of America. With these few suggestions, we present our work to the reader, asking for ourselves but the humble credit of compilation, and of course with no claim to the reputation of authorship. Nashua, Dec. 11, 1841. CONTENTS. EARLY SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. N, A. HAVEN, 13 SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. THOMAS C. UPHAM, 21 JOHN LANGDON. JACOB B. MOORE, 22 LA FAYETTE'S RETURN. PHILIP CARRIGAIN, 26 VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. DANIEL WEBSTER, 28 OLD WINTER IS COMING. HUGH MOORE, .... 33 THE SPARROW'S NEST. ROBERT DINSMOOR, 34 THE BIBLE AS A HUMAN COMPOSITION. EDWARD PAYSON, 36 THE LIGHT OF HOME. MRS. SARAH J. HALE, 44 THE ROYAL PKNITENT. MISS SARAH PORTER, 45 AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE. JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER, 47 TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE STREAM. NATHANIEL H. CARTER, 52 MONADNOCK. WILLIAM B. O. PEABOD Y, 54 SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. NOAH WORCESTER, 56 THE LYRE. MILTON WARD, , 60 SONG OF THE HUSBANDMAN. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 62 AUTUMN. NATHANIEL A. HAVEN, 64 SKETCH OF CHIEF JUSTICE RICHARDSON. JOEL PARKER, 65 HYMN OF PRAISE. CARLOS WILCOX, 69 MAUVAISE HONTE. OLIVER W. B. PEABOD Y, 71 THE MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. ISAAC HILL, 72 FLATTERY. THOMAS G. FESSENDEN, 78 WEST'S PICTURE OF THE INFANT SAMUEL. EPHRAIM PEABODY, .. 79 THE FATHER'S CHOICE. MRS. SARAH j. HALE 80 HOW THEY USED TO SPELL. WARREN BURTON, 82 HYMN FOR CHRIST.MAS. NATHANIEL H. CARTER, 86 THE TRUE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. SAMUEL WORCESTER, 88 THE GRAVE OF PAYSON. WILLIAM B. T APPAN, 91 DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. LEVI WOODBURY, 93 SONG OF THE ANGELS IN ' FAUST.' GEORGE W. HAVEN, , 99 THE RIVER MERRIMAC. WILLIAM M. RICHARDSON, 100 DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. WILLIAM S. BALCH, 102 THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY, 107 RECOLLECTIONS OF PETERBOROUGH. JAMES WILSON 109 Vlll CONTENTS. SONNETS. THOMAS C. CPHAM, 114 THE STUDIES OF AN ORATOR. SAMUEL G. BROWN, 115 ROUSSEAU AND COWPER. CARLOS WJLCOX, 120 THE CENTENNIAL OF PETERBOROUGH. JOHN H. MORISON, 122 THE COURSE OF CULTURE. THOMAS G. FESSENDEN, 127 KNOWLEDGE OF EACH OTHER IN A FUTURE STATE. J. E. ABBOT,. 129 PRAYER. NATHANIEL A. HAVEN, e 132 THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. HENRY HUBBARD, 133 BOCHIM. MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON, 140 MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL CULTURE. JESSE APPLETON, 141 THE WHITE CLOVER. MISS SARAH SMITH, 146 A MELTING STORY. FROM THE 'PICAYUNE.' G. W. KENDALL,. .. 147 THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, 151 CHARACTER OF REV. DR. PARKER. SAMUEL E. COUES, 152 THE VICTOR'S CROWN. MRS. SARAH J. HALE, 155 NIGHT. FROM THE ' LAY PREACHER.' JOSEPH DENNIE, 156 THE SUMACH TREE. MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON, 159 THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. LEWIS CASS, 160 THE AUTUMN EVENING. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY, 166 WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER, 167 THE EAGLE'S SPEECH. HORATIO HALE, 172 EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. EBENEZER E. CUMMINGS,. 174 CASUAL COUNSEL. HORACE GREELEY, 178 THE MAIDEN AT CHURCH. BENJAMIN B. FRENCH, 180 THE HOMES OF NEW ENGLAND. ABIEL A. HVERMORE, 181 WATCH AND PRAY. JOHN G. ADAMS, 184 MY GRANDMOTHER'S ELM. MRS. MARY ANN SULLIVAN, 185 MORALS OF THE CURRENCY. NATHAN APPLETON, 186 DEATH OF MURRAY. MRS. L. J. B. CASE, 189 DEATH OF HAMILTON. PHILANDER CHASE, 190 FRANCONIA MOUNTAIN NOTCH. HARRY HIBBARD, 195 WASHINGTON. BENJAMIN ORR, 199 NAPOLEON AT MELUN. MRS. SUSAN R. A. BARNES, 201 FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. CHARLES G. ATHERTON, 203 CHOCORUA'S CURSE. CHARLES j. FOX, 208 THE DEATH OF HARRISON. CHARLES B. HADDUCK, 210 ORDINATION HYMN. GEORGE KENT, 214 RATHER HYPERBOLICAL. HORATIO HALE, 215 THE STUDY OF THE CLASSICS. EDWIN D. SANBORN, 216 THE OLD MAN'S LAST DREAM. BENJAMIN B. FRENCH, 220 THE FRIEND OF AN HOUR. HARRIETTE V. M. FRENCH, 222 THE M' LEAN ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE. LUTHER V. BELL, 2^3 SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND. CARLOS WILCOX, 226 MYSTERY, REASON, FAITH. EPHRAIM PEABODY, 229 THE ARMY OF THE CROSS. MRS. SUSAN R. A. BARNES, 232 CONTENTS. IX THE TREASURED HARP. JAMES T. FIELDS, 234 LOVEWELL'S FIGHT. JOHN FARMER, 235 THE OPIUM SHIPS. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, 239 THE BURDOCK. MISS S. W. LIVERMORE, 240 THE PULPIT STAIRS OF RUHUTU. WILLIAM LADD, 241 LINES. O. W. B. PEABODr, 245 PASSAGES IN THE HISTORY OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. SALMA HALE,.. 246 THE AMERICAN EAGLE. MRS. ELIZA B, THORNTON, 250 GOD IS LOVE. HOSEA BALLOU, 351 EDUCATION IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. NATHANIEL BOUTON, 252 THE MIRACLE. CHARLES J. FOX, 258 THE COMPASSION OF CHRIST. HOSEA BALLOU, 260 COMMERCE. JAMES T. FIELDS,. 263 DUTIES OF AMERICAN MOTHERS. DANIEL WEBSTER, 265 THE FAREWELL. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 268 SECTARIANISM AND INFIDELITY. RALPH EMERSON, 270 THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. GEORGE W. HAVEN, 274 RHYMES BY A NORTHMAN. B. B. FRENCH, 275 THE IDEAL OF A TRUE LIFE. HORACE GREELEY, 276 LINES FOR MY COUSIN'S ALBUM. HORATIO HALE, 280 APHORISMS. JOSEPH BARTLETT, 281 THE FIRST SPRING FLOWER. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 284 THOMAS ADDIS EMMET. CHARLES G. HAINES, 285 THE NOVICE. SAMUEL T. HILDRETH, 289 THE NATIONAL DEFENCES. FRANKLIN PIERCE, 291 THE TREASURES OF THE SEA. MRS. CAROLINE ORNE 394 THE GOOD WIFE. GEORGE W. BURNAP, 296 TO MY BIBLE. JOHN G. ADAMS, 300 THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. GEORGE SULLIVAN, 301 THE INDEPENDENT FARMER. THOMAS G. FESSENDEN, 304 SPRING IS COMING. HUGH MOORE, 305 INSANITY AND CRIME. ICHABOD BARTLETT, 306 THE BACKWOODSMAN. EPHRAIM PEABODY, 309 AGRICULTURE: ITS DIGNITY AND IMPORTANCE. JOHN A. DIX, . . . . 311 FAME AND LOVE. SAMUEL T. HILDRETH, 315 I WOULD NOT LIVE AL WAY. OTIS A. SKINNER, 316 THE AUTUMN ROSE. MISS MARY S. PATTERSON, 319 THE TRUE PATRIOT. JEREMIAH SMITH, 320 SLEIGHING SONG. JAMES T. FIELDS, 324 THE AMERICAN EDUCATION SOCIETY. WILLIAM COGSWELL, 325 THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. A SCHOOL GIRL, 328 THE WATER OF LIFE. W. B. O. PEABODY, 329 LEONORE D'ESTE. MRS. L. j. B. CASE, 334 CHARACTER OF REV. JOSEPH EMERSON. CALEB J. TENNEY, 336 HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, 338 X CONTENTS. THE FOUNDEUS OF OUR GOVERNMENT. WILLIAM M. RICHARDSON, 339 " WE J LL MEET AGAIN." SAMUEL T. HILDRETH, 343 ENERGY OF THE WILL THOMAS C. UPH AM, 344 BATTLE OF LUNDY's LANE. CALEB STARK, 347 CUSTOMS OF OUR FATHERS. ABIEL ABBOT,.. 349 ANDRE. CHARLES W r . UPHAM, 352 TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. REUBEN D. MUSSEY, 354 THE SKATER'S SONG. EPHRAIM PEABODY, 358 THE ABORIGINES OF NEW ENGLAND. JEREMY BELKNAP, 361 JACOB'S FUNERAL. CHARLES W. UPHAM, 365 IMPORTANCE OF MORAL SCIENCE. WILLIAM D. WILSON, 366 " DO THEY LOVE THERE STILL ? " MRS. MARY R. PRATT, 369 BURNS AND COWPER. O. W. B. PEABODY, 370 HARVEST HYMN. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, .... 377 THE DUTY OF THE JUDICIARY. JEREMIAH MASON, 378 OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES. MRS. S. R. A. BARNES, , 381 VINDICATION OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. GEORGE BARSTOW, 383 NOTES, 388 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. THE FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. FROM AN ORATION DELIVERED AT PORTSMOUTH, MAY 21, 1823, ON THE SECOND CENTENNIAL, ANNIVERSARY OF ITS SETTLEMENT. BY NATHANIEL APPLETON HAVEN. [Born at Portsmouth, Jan. 14, 1790. Died at Portsmouth, June 3, 1826.] Two hundred years ago, the place on which we stand was an uncultivated forest. The rough and vigorous soil was still covered with the stately trees, which had been, for ages, intermingling their branches and deepening the shade. The river, which now bears on its bright and pure waters the treasures of distant climates, and whose rapid current is stemmed and vexed by the arts and enterprise of man, then only rippled against the rocks, and reflected back the wild and grotesque thickets which overhung its banks. The mountain which now swells on our left, and raises its verdant side " shade above shade," was then almost con- cealed by the lofty growth which covered the intervening plains. Behind us, a deep morass, extending across to the northern creek, almost enclosed the little " Bank," which is now the seat of so much life and industry. It was then a wild and tangled thicket, interspersed with venerable trees and moss-grown rocks, and presenting, here and there, a sunny space covered with the blossoms and early fruit of the little plant that gave it its name. This " Bank," so 2 14 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. wild and rude, two hundred years ago was first impressed with the step of civilized man. The influence of local association is strong and universal. There is no one who has not felt it ; and if it were possible, it would be useless to withdraw the mind from its effects. We owe many of our deepest emotions, our highest and most ennobling feelings, to the suggestions of external na- ture. The place which has been distinguished by the residence of one whom we love and admire, kindles in our minds a thousand conceptions, which we can scarcely ana- lyze or describe. The moral beauty of character and sen- timent is insensibly blended with the beauty of natural scenery ; memory and fancy, alike excited, pass from one object to another, and form combinations of beauty and grandeur, softened and shaded by time and distance, but having enough of life and freshness to awaken our feelings and hold undisputed dominion of our hearts. Here, then, let us indulge our emotions. On this spot our forefathers trod. Here their energy and perseverance, their calm self- possession and practical vigor, were first called into action. Here they met and overcame difficulties, which would have overpowered the imagination or subdued the fortitude of ordinary men. All that we see around us are memorials of their worth. It was their enterprise that opened a path for us over the waters. It was their energy that subdued the forest. They founded our institutions. They commu- nicated to us our love of freedom. They gave us the im- pulse that made us what we are. It cannot then be useless to live along the generations that have passed, and endeavor to identify ourselves with those who have gone before us. W7io and what were they, who thus fill our imaginations, and as they rise before us, bring to our minds so many recollections of high sentiment, and steady fortitude, and sober enthusiasm ? In what school were they formed ? and what favorable circumstances impressed upon them that character of enduring energy, which even their present de- scendants may claim as their best inheritance ? The an- FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 15 swer to these questions is the subject to which your atten- tion will be directed. The character of individuals is always influenced, in a greater or less degree, by that of the nation in which they live. Sometimes indeed a great genius appears, who seems not to belong either to his age or country ; as a sunny day in winter will sometimes swell the buds and call forth the early flowers, as if it belonged to a milder season or happier climate. But in general, to form an accurate opinion of the character of an individual, it becomes necessary to es- timate that of his nation at the time in which he lived. Our ancestors were Englishmen ; were Merchant-adven- turers ; were Puritans. The elements of their character are therefore to be found in the national character of Eng- land, modified in the individuals by the pursuits of com- merce, and the profession of an austere but ennobling form of religion. Such were the men from whom we derive our origin ; and such were the circumstances which impressed upon them that peculiar character, which it is hoped the lapse of two centuries has not yet obliterated. We may justly be proud of such a descent ; for no ancestry in the world is half so illustrious, as the Puritan founders of New England. It is not merely that they were good men, and religious men, exhibiting in their lives an example of purity and temperance and active virtue, such as no other community in the world could present ; but they possessed the dazzling qualities of human greatness. Do we love to dwell upon scenes of romantic adventure ? Does our imagination kin- dle at the thought of distant enterprise, among a strange people, exposed to constant and unusual peril ? Do we turn with delight to those bold and heroic achievements which call forth the energy of our nature, and by that deep excitement which belongs to the hopes and hazards of war, awaken us to a new consciousness of existence ? All this is found in the history of our ancestors. They were heroes as well as pilgrims, and nothing is wanting but the pen of 16 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. genius to make their prowess and adventures the theme of a world's admiration. But here was the scene of their earthly toils. This spot was consecrated by their labors and sufferings. Perhaps their spirits still linger among us. Perhaps they are here, conscious beings ministering to our progress, and rejoicing in our gladness. Could they now be made visible to mor- tal eye, and stand among us ; engaged with us in reviewing the past, and tracing along the progress of time and events to the present hour, how would they describe our present condition and character ? With what wonder would they speak of the progress of improvement ! Even those mer- chant-adventurers, who two hundred years ago came from London, just then beginning to assume its rank as the com- mercial capital of the world, would speak with surprise and delight of those glorious monuments of human art those lofty ships, which almost every breeze wafts to our river ; but to what admiration would their feelings be exalted in viewing those stupendous vessels, which are designed to carry our nation's strength to the remotest seas, and which impress England herself, in the pride of her naval glory, with respect for our power and skill ! If they passed up the river to the fertile spot which Hilton and Waldron se- lected for their settlement, and inquired if the descendants of those West-Country adventurers retained the knowledge of arts and manufactures which their ancestors must have learned in England, could their astonishment be expressed in witnessing the triumph of human ingenuity and the won- ders of mechanical skill, which would there be shown them ? When they cast their eyes over the country which, even at their deaths, they left rough and unsubdued, scarcely yield- ing to them a scanty subsistence, and beheld the picture of human comfort and human happiness which it every where presents, would they confess that their brightest anticipa- tions of the fortune of their descendants exceeded the reali- ty ? But they would inquire of our character, of our moral and intellectual improvement. They would ask if our prog- FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 17 ress had been equal to our advantages ? And here, though we might dwell with just pride upon many circumstances in our character as a people, there are others which we should wish, if possible, to conceal from their view. We could speak with confidence of the liberality of our institutions, of our freedom from the superstitions and prejudices of former ages. We could in enterprise, and hardihood, and manli- ness of spirit, claim to be the equals of our fathers. We could point to our public schools, as a noble monument of~ public spirit and liberality. We could present our college and our numerous academies to their scrutiny, and fearless- ly challenge their approbation. We could produce exam- ples of literary and professional exertion, which would prove that we had not faltered in intellectual improvement, behind the progress of the age. But if they questioned us of our puritan habits, of our temperance, of our zeal to avail our- selves of the advantages of education, we should be obliged reluctantly to confess that our virtues had not equalled the virtues of our fathers. Yet with all her faults and I would neither extenuate nor deny them we may rejoice that we are natives of New Hampshire. I would not yield precedence for my native State, in all that constitutes the worth of political as- sociations, to the proudest realm that ever advanced its pre- tensions in the great community of nations. Nay more : I would not yield precedence for New Hampshire, in en- terprise and manly virtue, in love of liberty, in talents, in the wisdom and liberality of her institutions, in every thing that constitutes the peculiar excellence of the American character, to the most exalted of her sister states. Let me not be thought arrogant in assuming firmly this ground. While we yield precedence to none, we claim it from none. The very character of our soil and climate must make our people hardy, athletic, and brave. It is a country of labor; of constant, unceasing exertion. The bounties of nature are indeed scattered around us with a liberal hand ; but they are offered only to labor Hence the very necessities 2* 18 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. of our situation impress us with a character of mental en- ergy. From the first occupation of the country to the pres- ent time, we have had an unbroken succession of resolute and undaunted men, devoted to their country, proud of their privileges, and zealous in their defence. The zeal which animated Pickering, Waldron, and Vaughan, in their con- tests with Mason, continued long after to glow in the hearts of Weare, Bartlett, Langdon, and Oilman, when exerted in a nobler cause. The chivalrous spirit and martial gallantry which made Lovewell and Bickford so formidable to the Indians, burned with new vigor in Cilley, M'Clary, and Scammel ; in Reid and Poor ; in Sullivan and Stark. The devotion to the interests of the Province, which distinguish- ed Wentworth and Sherburne, Penhallow and Rindge, has been found in thousands of others, who, like them, were ready to devote their time and labor to the service of the State. In the pursuits of science and professional skill, New Hampshire has at least kept on the level of the age. We still hear of the classical erudition of Parker, the judi- cial knowledge of Pickering, the finished eloquence of West. Jackson, and Bracket, and Cutter were familiar with the whole of medical science, as it existed in their times ; and in the pulpit a long line of pious and learned and eloquent men, from Moody to Buckminster, have at once enforced the doctrines and illustrated the spirit of Christianity. The venerated name which I have last pronounced can scarcely be uttered from this place without exciting deep emotion ; and it is connected with another, that at once calls to our remembrance all that is delicate and refined in taste, that is graceful and engaging in manners, that is generous and ele- vated in sentiment. When we have named him, we have no apprehensions for our literary fame. If it were still necessary to assert our just claims to dis- tinction, we could point to living examples of merit, which would at once produce conviction. The sons of New Hamp- shire are scattered through every state of the Union. They are found in the judicial tribunals, the literary institutions, FIRST SETTLERS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 19 the halls of legislation, the military and naval establishments of our country ; and in all these various situations, we can safely hold them up to public view, and with honest pride claim them for our own. I have already alluded to the force of local association ; and I would again advert to it in considering the ties which ought to bind us to our native land. Other countries may possess a richer soil and a gentler sky ; but where shall we find the rude magnificence of nature so blended with scenes of enchanting beauty, as among our mountains and lakes? Believe me, it is because our country is yet unexplored, that her scenes of beauty and grandeur, her bright waters and swelling hills, her rich pasturage of living green, mingled with fresh flowers, and skirted with deep and shady forests ; her fields teeming with life and vegetation ; her mountains rising into the dark blue sky, and blending their summits with the purple clouds ; her streams rushing from the hill side, and hastening to mingle with the sea, or lingering in the solitude of her valleys, and sparkling in the glorious sunshine ; it is because these are unexplored, that they are unsung. The time is not far distant, when the poet will kindle into rapture, and the painter glow with emotion, in delineating our romantic scenery. But it is our moral associations that must bind us forever to the land of our fathers. It is a land of equal rights ; its soil is not polluted by a slave. It is a land of religious free- dom ; no hierarchy can here exalt its head, no pontiff can hurl his thunders over a trembling and prostrate multitude. It is a land of industry and toil ; affording in this a constant pledge of the manly virtues. It is a land of knowledge and progressive improvement. In no part of the world is so liberal a provision made by law for public instruction. It is a land whose inhabitants have already fulfilled the high duties to which they have been called. Other nations have gathered more laurels in the field of blood ; other nations have twined more garlands and sung louder praise for their poets and orators and philosophers ; but where has romantic 20 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. courage and adventurous skill been more strikingly exhibit- ed ? Where has practical wisdom been better displayed ? In the hour of danger, her sons have been foremost in the battle. In every contest for the rights of mankind, her voice has always been raised on the side of freedom. And now that she stands possessed of every thing which civil and political liberty can bestow, she is vigilant and jealous for the preservation of her rights, and is among the first to resist encroachment. But we are connected with the future, as well as with the past. We are but a link in the vast chain of being, which is to bind our remotest descendants with our earliest ances- tors ; and it is one of the advantages of a celebration like this, that it reminds us of our duties, as well as our privi- leges. A new century is opening upon us, which none of us will live to complete. Our children are about to take our places. When another century has passed away, the events of this day will be the subject of historical research. Our character and conduct will then be examined. It will be asked, what we did to perpetuate the blessings we receiv- ed ; what exertions ice made to enlighten and purify and bless mankind ; what measures we devised to secure at once the rights of the people, and the stability and dignity of the government ; what zeal we displayed for our religious insti- tutions ; what sacrifices we made in the cause of human virtue and human happiness. We are living, even the hum- blest of us, not for ourselves only ; but for society, for pos- terity, for the human race. Whatever we can do for our- selves, or for them, becomes at once our imperious duty to do. There is no escape from the obligation. There should be no delay in the performance no hesitation. These questions will be asked. The answer is yet in our own power. SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. WRITTEN FOR THE SECOND CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION AT DOVER, 1823. BY THOMAS C . U P H A M . THE breeze has swelled the whitening sail, The blue waves curl beneath the gale, And, bounding with the wave and wind, We leave Old England's shores behind : Leave behind our native shore, Homes, and all we loved before. The deep may dash, the winds may blow, The storm spread out its wings of wo, Till sailors' eyes can see a shroud Hung in the folds of every cloud ; Still, as long as life shall last, From that shore we '11 speed us fast. For we would rather never be, Than dwell where mind cannot be free, But bows beneath a despot's rod, Even where it seeks to worship God. Blasts of heaven, onward sweep ! Bear us o'er the troubled deep ! O see what wonders meet our eyes ! Another land, and other skies ! Columbian hills have met our view ! Adieu ! Old England's shores, adieu ! Here at length our feet shall rest, Hearts be free, and homes be blest. As long as yonder firs shall spread Their green arms o'er the mountain's head ; As long as yonder cliffs shall stand, Where join the ocean and the land, Shall those cliffs and mountains be Proud retreats for liberty. Now to the King of kings we '11 raise The pcean loud of sacred praise ; More loud than sounds the swelling breeze, More loud than speak the rolling seas ! Happier lands have met our view ! England's shores, adieu ! adieu ! SKETCH OF JOHN LANGDON. BY JACOB B. MOORE. THE circumstances attending the early settlement of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, though generally sup- posed to be similar, were in some respects widely different. The planters of the old Bay State left their native country, for the sake of enjoying here a degree of freedom in religion, of which they were deprived in the land of their fathers. The settlers of Piscataqua were actuated by a very differ- ent purpose. The pursuit of gain was uppermost in their thoughts, and they embarked at once in the fisheries and trade, which they followed with success, until many of the first settlers became men of opulence in the new country. The great importance of the fisheries seems not to have escaped the attention of Captain Smith, the discoverer of New Hampshire ; for in his account of New England he thus addresses his countrymen : " Therefore, honorable and worthy countrymen, let not the meanness of the word fish distaste you, for it will afford you as good gold as the mines of Potosi and Guiana, with less hazard and change, and more certainty and facility." A reverend divine, in 1690, was preaching in Portsmouth, on the depravity of the times, and said : " You have for- saken the pious habits of your forefathers, who left the ease and comfort which they possessed in their native land, and came to this howling wilderness, to enjoy, without molesta- tion, the exercise of their pure principles of religion." One of the congregation immediately rose, and interrupted him thus : " Sir, you entirely mistake the matter ; our ancestors SKETCH OF JOHN LANGDON. 23 did not come here on account of their religion, but to jish and trade." A better illustration of the pursuits of the early settlers of New Hampshire, perhaps, it would be diffi- cult to give. The people of Portsmouth, wealthy and en- terprising as they are, have followed the advice of Captain Smith, and have never suffered " the word Jisli to distaste them," but have made it indeed " a mine of gold" to that ancient and flourishing town. Among the citizens of New Hampshire, educated as mer- chants, who have risen to public distinction, no one, per- haps, occupied a wider space than JOHN LANGDON of Ports- mouth. He was born in 1740, and received his early edu- cation in the celebrated grammar school of Major Samuel Hale. The father of young Langdon, who was a thrifty farmer, intended his son should engage in the same occupa- tion ; but the latter, looking upon commerce as the grand highway to wealth, set his heart upon becoming a merchant, and accordingly made the necessary preparations to enter a counting-house. One of the most extensive and successful mercantile houses at that time in Portsmouth, was that of Daniel Rindge, a counsellor under the provincial government, and to him young Langdon made application, and was admitted to his counting-house, and soon became thoroughly versed in commercial transactions. After completing his appren- ticeship with Rindge, he made several successful and very profitable trading voyages, with the view of ultimately estab- lishing a commercial house of his own, in his native town. But the dark clouds that preceded the Revolution began to skirt the horizon, and his mind was suddenly turned in a new direction. Naturally of a bold and fearless disposition, he entered at once into the feeling of the colonists ; and, possessing in a remarkable degree the power to win over multitudes, he became the acknowledged leader of the " sons of liberty " in that little Province, as much so as Samuel Adams and John Hancock in Massachusetts. Langdon was a leader exactly suited to the crisis. He took a conspicuous and active part in the struggle, and soon 24 THE N E W - H A M P S H I R E BOOK. became obnoxious to the government and many of the loyal citizens, who feared the total annihilation of their trade, and looked upon disloyalty as a crime of the deepest dye. In the fall of 1774, after it had become apparent that the crisis must come, Langdon gathered around him a band of choice spirits, and together they proceeded in silence to the king's fort at New Castle, seized upon all the powder and military stores, and removed their booty to a place of concealment, whence it could be called into use in case of emergency. This bold act produced at once an intense excitement. Gov. Wentworth stormed, and issued proclamations, but not a voice uttered or a thought whispered the secret. This was in December, four months before the battle of Lexington. In the spring of the year 1775, John Langdon was cho- sen a delegate to Congress, and attended the session which commenced in May, at Philadelphia. In January, 1776, he was re-appointed a delegate, but was not present on the adoption of the Declaration of Independence. He com- manded a company of cadets soon after the commencement of the war ; and at the time of the surrender of the British army under Burgoyne, he was a volunteer at Bennington. He was also at Rhode Island with a detachment of his company, at the time the British troops had possession of the island, and when General Sullivan brought off the American troops. No man had a higher popularity with the people, at this time, than John Langdon. He was elected repeatedly to the legislature, and was for several years Speaker of the Assembly. When the news of the fall of Ticonderoga reached New Hampshire, the provincial legislature was in session at Exeter. It was at a period when the resources of the patriots were almost exhausted, the public credit was gone, and the members of the Assembly were disheartened. The men of New Hampshire had already exerted themselves to the utmost for the good of the cause. John Langdon was Speaker of the Assembly at the time. He rose in his place, on the morning after the intelligence was received, SKETCH OF JOHN LANGDON. 25 and addressed the house to the following effect : " My friends and fellow-citizens : I have three thousand dollars in hard money ; I will pledge my plate for three thousand more. I have seventy hogsheads of Tobago rum, which shall be sold for the most it will bring. These are at the service of the State. If we succeed in defending our fire- sides and homes, I may be remunerated ; if we do not, the property will be of no value to me." This noble proposal infused new life into the Assembly ; and in the course of a few days, by means of the funds advanced by John Langdon, a brigade was assembled, and on its march to the frontiers, and to victory, under the gal- lant Stark. During the whole of the revolutionary strug- gle, Langdon was ever active and constant in his labors for the good cause. A man of the people, in the emphatic sense of the term, he was always popular with the great mass, whose interests he made it a point to sustain on all occasions. Possessing a handsome address, and being open, obliging, and generous in his general conduct, he was cal- culated to gain the public esteem, and was among the few who were fortunate enough to retain it through life. He was honored with the highest offices the people could bestow. He was twice President of the State, under its first constitution ; was a member of the convention which formed the federal constitution ; was twelve years Senator in Congress, and subsequently, for six years Governor of the State. In 1811, he retired from public life, although urgently pressed to accept the Vice-Presidency, an office to which he might have been elected, had he not preferred the quiet and repose of private life. In the enjoyment of domestic relations, in his family, and a wide circle of friends, he chose to pass the evening of his days remote from the cares and bustle of public life. He was religious, without being obnoxious to the charge of bigotry; and was liberal of his ample means, for charitable and benev- olent purposes. He died at Portsmouth, in September, 1819, universally lamented by a people, in whose service he had spent the greater portion of his active life. 3 LA FAYETTE'S RETURN. BY PHILIP CARRIGAIN. NORTH and South, and East and West, A cordial welcome have addressed, Loud and warm, the Nation's Guest, Dear son of Liberty ; Whom tyrants cursed, when Heaven approved, And millions long have mourned and loved, He comes, by fond entreaties moved, The GRANITE STATE to see. Our mountains tower with matchless pride, And mighty torrents from them glide, And wintry tempests, far and wide, Ridge deep our drifts of snow ; Yet does our hardening climate form Patriots with hearts as bold and warm, At social feast, or battle storm, As e'er met friend or foe. Bliss domestic, rank, wealth, ease, Our guest resigned for stormy seas, And for war's more stormy breeze, To make our country free ; And potent Britain saw, dismayed, The lightning of his virgin blade To Freedom flash triumphant aid, But death to Tyranny. Now, in his life's less perilous wane, He has re-crossed the Atlantic main, Preserved by Heaven, to greet again The land he bled to save, And those who with him, hand in hand, Fought 'neath his mighty sire's command, Alas ! how thinned that gallant band, Band of the free and brave ! LAFAYETTE'S RET URN. 27 For party feuds far off are driven. Foes reconciled, and wrongs forgiven, And this green spot of earth made Heaven, For these old heroes' feast. They 've met in war, to toil and bleed, They 've met in peace, their country freed; And unborn millions will succeed To their dower, the Rights of Man; The Patiiot of both hemispheres, Though first on earth, deems all his peers, Who joined his war-cry with their cheers, Where raged the battle's van. Such were the men o\ir land did save, Nor e'er can reach oblivion's wave, (Though booming o'er the statesman's grave,) Our deep, redeemless debt. No ! Merrimack may cease to flow, And our White Mountains sink below ; But nought can cancel what we owe To them and La Fayette, VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. FROM A SPEECH IN REPLY TO MR. HAYNE OF SOUTH CAROLINA. BY DANIEL WEBSTER. THE eulogium pronounced on the character of the State of South Carolina, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that any man goes before me in regard for whatever of dis- tinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Lawrences, the Rutledges, the Pinck- neys, the Sumpters, the Marions Americans all whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and genera- tion, they served and honored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him, whose honored name the gentleman him- self bears does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Does he suppose it in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright, as to produce envy in my bosom? No, increased gratification and de- light rather. I thank God, that if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, VINDICATION OF NEW ENGLAND. 29 because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own State or neighborhood; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; or if I see an uncommon endowment of Heaven if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South and if, moved by local prejudice or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Let me recur to pleasing recollections let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past let me remind you that in early times no States cherished greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God, that harmony might again return! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution hand in hand they stood round the Administration of Wash- ington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. I shall enter on no encomiums upon Massachusetts she needs none. There she is behold her and judge for yourselves. There is her history the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill and there they will remain for ever. The bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia ; and there they will lie for ever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its infant voice ; and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it ; if party strife and blind am- bition shall hawk at and tear it ; if folly and madness, if 3* 30 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure ; it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who may gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monu- ments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin. But, although there are fears, there are hopes also. The people have preserved this, their own chosen Constitution, for forty years, and have seen their happiness, prosperity and renown grow with its growth, and strengthen with its strength. They are now, generally, strongly attached to it. Overthrown by direct assault, it cannot be ; evaded, under- mined, NULLIFIED, it will not be, if we, and those who shall succeed us here, as agents and representatives of the peo- ple, shall conscientiously and vigilantly discharge the two great branches of our public trust faithfully to preserve, and wisely to administer it. I have thus stated the reasons of my dissent to the doc- trines which have been advanced and maintained. I am conscious of having detained you much too long. I was drawn into the debate, with no previous deliberation, such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more my deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than the union of the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to the public happiness. I profess, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes VINDICATION OP NEW ENGLAND. 31 us most proud of our country. That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proof of its utility and its blessings ; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of na- tional, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see wheth- er, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this Government, whose thoughts should be main- ly bent on considering, not how the Union should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious union ; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored through- out the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies 32 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or pol- luted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this worth ? Nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty Jirst and Union afterwards ; but every where, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart Liberty and Union, now and for ever, one and inseparable ! OLD WINTER IS COMING. BY HUGH MOORE. [Bora at Amherst, November 19, 1808. Died at Aniheret, February 13, 1837.] OLD Winter is coming again alack ! How icy and cold is he ! He cares not a pin for a shivering back He 's a saucy old chap to white and black He whistles his chills with a wonderful knack, For he comes from a cold countree ! A witty old fellow this Winter is A mighty old fellow for glee ! He cracks his jokes on the pretty, sweet miss, The wrinkled old maiden, unfit to kiss, And freezes the dew of their lips : for this Is the way with old fellows like he ! Old Winter 's a frolicsome blade I wot He is wild in his humor, and free ! He '11 whistle along, for "the want of thought," And set all the warmth of our furs at nought, And ruffle the laces by pretty girls bought A frolicsome fellow is he ! Old Winter is blowing his gusts along, And merrily shaking the tree ! From morning 'till night he will sing his song Now moaning, and short now howling, and long, His voice is loud for his lungs are strong A merry old fellow is he ! Old Winter 's a tough old fellow for blows, As tough as ever you see ! He will trip up our trotters, and rend our clothes, And stiffen our limbs from our fingers to toes He minds not the cries of his friends or his foes A tough old fellow is he ! A cunning old fellow is Winter, they say, A cunning old fellow is he ! He peeps in the crevices day by day, To see how we 're passing our time away And marks all our doings from grave to gay I 'm afraid he is peeping at me ! THE SPARROW'S NEST. OCCASIONED BY CRUSHING A NEST WITH THE PLOUGH. BY ROBERT DINS MOOR. [The Rustic Bard, born at Windham, October 7, 1757. Died at Windhara, 1830.] POOR innocent and hapless Sparrow ! Why should my moul-board gie thee sorrow ? This day thou '11 chirp, an' mourn the morrow, Wi' anxious breast The plough has turn'd the mould'ring furrow Deep o'er thy nest. Just in the middle o' the hill, Thy nest was plac'd wi' curious skill; There I espy'd thy little bill Beneath the shade In that sweet bower secure frae ill, Thine eggs thou laid. Five corns o' maize had there been drappit, An' through the stalks thine head thou pappit; The drawing nowt could na' be stappit, I quickly foun' Syne frae thy cozie nest thou happit, An' flutt'ring ran. The sklentin stane beguil'd the sheer, In vain I tried the plough to steer ; A wee bit stumpie i' the rear, Cam' 'tween my legs An' to the jee side gart me veer, An' crush thine eggs. Alas ! alas ! my bonnie birdie ! Thy faithfu' mate flits roun' to guard ye, Connubial love ! a pattern wordy The pious priest ! What savage heart could be sae hardy, As wound thy breast ? Thy ruin was nae fau't o' mine, (It gars me greet to see thee pine ;) THE SPARROW'S NEST. 35 It may be serves His great design, Who governs all ; Omniscience tents wi' eyes divine, The sparrow's fall. A pair more friendly ne'er were married, Their joys an' pains were equal carried ; But now, ah me ! to grief they 're hurried, Without remead ; When all their hope an' treasure's buried, 'T is sad indeed. How much like theirs are human dools ! Their sweet wee bairns laid i' the mools, That sovereign Pow'r who nature rules, Has said, so be it ; But poor blin' mortals are sic' fools, They canna' see it. Nae doubt, that He wha' first did mate us, Has fixt our lot as sure as fate is, And when he wounds, he dis na' hate us, But only this He ; 11 gar the ills that here await us, Yield lasting bliss. THE BIBLE, AS A HUMAN COMPOSITION. BY REV. EDWARD PAYSON. [Born at Riodge, July 25, 1783. Died at Portland, Me., October 22, 1827.] IT is notorious that even among such as profess to vene- rate the Scriptures, there are not a few, who seem to regard them as deficient in those qualities which excite interest and attention. It may not be improper, therefore, to make a few remarks with a design to show, that, while the Scrip- tures are incalculably valuable and important, viewed as a revelation from Heaven, they are also in a very high degree interesting and deserving of attention, considered merely as a human composition. Were we permitted to adduce the testimony of the Scrip- tures in their own favor, as a proof that their contents are highly interesting, our task would be short, and easily ac- complished. But it is possible, that to this testimony some might think it a sufficient reply, to apostrophize the sacred volume in the language of the captious Jews to our Saviour : " Thou bearest record of thyself; thy record is not true." No similar objection can be urged, however, against avail- ing ourselves of the testimony which eminent uninspired men have borne in favor of the Scriptures. From the al- most innumerable testimonies of this nature, which might easily be adduced, we shall select only that of Sir William Jones, a judge of the supreme court of judicature in Ben- gal : a man, says his learned biographer, who by the exer- tion of rare intellectual talents, acquired a knowledge of arts, sciences, and languages, which has seldom been THE BIBLE. 37 equalled, and scarcely, if ever, surpassed. " / have care- fully and regularly perused the Scriptures,'" says this truly great man, " and am of opinion that this volume, indepen- dent of its divine origin, contains more sublimity, purer mo- rality, more important history, and finer strains of eloquence, than can be collected from all other books, in whatever lan- guage they may have been written." How well he was qualified to make this remark, and how much it implied in his lips, may be inferred from the fact, that he was acquaint- ed with twenty-eight different languages, and with the best works which had been published in most of them. That a volume, which, in the opinion of such a man, is thus supe- rior to all other books united, cannot be so uninteresting and insipid a composition as many seem to imagine, it must be needless to remark ; that his commendation of it, though great and unqualified, is in no respect unmerited, it would be easy, were it necessary, to prove, by appropriate quota- tions from the book which he so highly extols. But its mo- rality will be more properly considered in a subsequent part of this treatise ; and its unrivalled eloquence and sublimity are too obvious, and too generally acknowledged, to require illustration. If any imagine that he has estimated too high- ly the historical information which this volume contains, we would only request them to peruse it with attention ; and particularly to consider the assistance which it affords, in accounting for many otherwise inexplicable phenomena in the natural, political, and moral world. A person who has never attended to the subject, will, on recollection, be sur- prised to find for how large a portion of his knowledge he is indebted to this neglected book. It is the only book which satisfactorily accounts, or even professes to account, for the introduction of natural and moral evil into the world, and for the consequent present situation of mankind. To this book also we are indebted for all our knowledge of the pro- genitors of our race, and of the early ages of the world ; for our acquaintance with the manners and customs of those ages ; for the origin and explanation of many remarkable 4 38 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. traditions, which have extensively prevailed ; and for almost every thing which is known of many once flourishing na- tions, especially of the Jews, the most singular and interest- ing people, perhaps, that ever existed. It is the Bible alone, which, by informing us of the Deluge, enables us to account satisfactorily for many surprising appearances in the inter- nal structure of the earth, as well as for the existence of marine exuviae on the summits of mountains, and in other places, far distant from the sea. By the same volume we are assisted in accounting for the multiplicity of languages which exist in the world ; for the degrading condition of the Africans ; for the origin and universal prevalence of sacri- fices ; and for many other facts of an equally interesting nature. We shall only add, that, while the Scriptures throw light on the facts here alluded to, the existence of the facts powerfully tends, on the other hand, to establish the truth and authenticity of the Scriptures. In addition to these intrinsic excellences of the Bible, which give it, considered merely as a human production, powerful claims to the attention of persons of taste and learning, there are various circumstances of an adventitious nature, which render it peculiarly interesting to a reflecting mind. Among these circumstances we may, perhaps not improperly, mention its great antiquity. Whatever may be said of its inspiration, some of the books which compose it are unquestionably the most ancient literary compositions extant, and perhaps the most ancient that ever were written ; nor is it very improbable, that letters were first employed in recording some parts of them, and that they were written in the language first spoken by man. It is also not only the most ancient book, but the most ancient monument of hu- man exertion, the oldest offspring of human intellect, now in existence. Unlike the other works of man, it inherits not his frailty. All the contemporaries of its infancy have long since perished, and are forgotten : yet this wonderful volume still survives. Like the fabled pillars of Seth, which are said to have bid defiance to the Deluge, it has stood for THEBIBLE. 39 ages, unmoved, in the midst of that flood which sweeps away men with their labors into oblivion. That these circum- stances render it an interesting object of contemplation, it is needless to remark. Were there now in existence a tree which was planted, an edifice which was erected, or any monument of human ingenuity which was formed, at that early period in which some parts of the Bible were written, would it not be contemplated with the keenest interest ; carefully preserved, as a precious relic ; and considered as something little less than sacred 1 With what emotions, then, will a thoughtful mind open the Bible ; and what a train of interesting reflections is it in this view calculated to excite ! While we contemplate its antiquity, exceeding that of every object around us, except the works of God ; and view it in anticipation, as continuing to exist unaltered until the end of time ; must we not feel almost irresistibly impelled to venerate it, as proceeding originally from Him, who is yesterday, to-day, and forever the same whose works, like his years, fail not ? The interest which this volume excites by its antiquity, will be greatly increased, if we consider the violent and persevering opposition it has encountered, and the almost innumerable enemies it has resisted and overcome. We contemplate with no ordinary degree of interest, a rock, which has braved for centuries the ocean's rage, practically saying, " Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther ; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." With still greater inter- est, though of a somewhat different kind, should we con- template a fortress, which, during thousands of years, had been constantly assaulted by successive generations of enemies : around whose walls millions had perished ; and to overthrow which, the utmost efforts of human force and ingenuity had been exerted in vain. Such a rock, such a fortress, we contemplate in the Bible. For thousands of years this volume has withstood, not only the iron tooth of time, which devours men and their works together, but all the physical and intellectual strength of man. Pretended 40 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. friends have endeavored to corrupt and betray it ; kings and princes have perseveringly sought to banish it from the world ; the civil and military powers of the greatest em- pires have been leagued for its destruction ; the fires of persecution have been often lighted, to consume it and its friends together ; and, at many seasons, death in some horrid form has been the almost certain consequence of affording it an asylum from the fury of its enemies. It has also been almost incessantly assailed by weapons of a different kind, which, to any other book, would be far more dangerous than fire or sword. In these assaults, wit and ridicule have wasted all their shafts ; misguided Reason has been compelled, though reluctantly, to lend her aid, and, after repeated defeats, has again been dragged to the field ; the arsenals of learning have been emptied, to arm her for the contest ; and in search of means to prosecute it with success, recourse has been had, not only to remote ages and distant lands, but even to the bowels of the earth, and the region of the stars. Yet still the object of all these attacks remains uninjured, while one army of its assailants after another has melted away. Though it has been ridiculed more bitterly, misrepresented more grossly, opposed more rancorously, and burned more frequently, than any other book, and perhaps than all other books united ; it is so far from sinking under the efforts of its enemies, that the prob- ability of its surviving until the final consummation of all things is now evidently much greater than ever. The rain has descended ; the floods have come ; the storm has arisen and beaten upon it ; but it falls not, for it is founded upon a rock. Like the burning bush, it has ever been in the flames, yet it is still unconsumed ; a sufficient proof, was there no other, that He, who dwelt in the bush, pre- serves the Bible. If the opposition which this volume has successfully en- countered, renders it an interesting object of contemplation, the veneration which has been paid to it, the use which has been made of it, and the benefits which have been de- THE BIBLE. 41 rived from it by the wise and good in all ages, make it still more so. Who would not esteem it a most delightful priv- ilege, to see and converse with a man who had lived through as many centuries as the Bible has existed ; who had con- versed with all the successive generations of men, and been intimately acquainted with their motives, characters, and conduct ; who had been the chosen friend and companion of the wise and good in every age the venerated monitor, to whose example and instructions the wise had ascribed their wisdom, and the virtuous their virtue? What could be more interesting than the sight ; what more pleasing and instructive, than the society of such a man ? Yet such society we may in effect enjoy, whenever we choose to open the Bible. In this volume we see the chosen com- panion, the most intimate friend of the prophets, the apos- tles, the martyrs, and their pious contemporaries; the guide, whose directions they implicitly followed ; the monitor, to whose faithful warnings and instructions they ascribed their wisdom, their virtues, and their happiness. In this volume we see the Book, in which the deliverer, the king, the sweet Psalmist of Israel delighted to meditate day and night : whose counsels made him wiser than all his teachers ; and which he describes, as sweeter than honey, and more pre- cious than gold. This too is the book, for the sake of which many a persecuted believer has forsaken his native land and taken up his dwelling in the wilderness ; bringing it with him as his most valuable treasure, and at death bequeathing it to his posterity as the richest bequest in his power to make. From this source, millions now in heaven have derived the strongest and purest consolation ; and scarcely can we fix our attention on a single passage in this wonderful book, which has not afforded comfort or instruction to thousands, and been wet with tears of peni- tential sorrow or grateful joy, drawn from eyes that will weep no more. There is probably not an individual in this Christian land, some of whose ancestors did not, while on earth, prize this volume more than life ; and breathe many 4* 42 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. fervent prayers to Heaven, that all their descendants, to the latest generation, might be induced to prize it in a similar manner. Thousands too have sealed their belief of its truth with their blood ; rejoicing to shed it in defence of a book which, while it led them to the stake, enabled them to triumph over its tortures. Nor have its effects been con- fined to individuals. Nations have participated largely in its benefits. Armed with this volume, which is at once sword and shield, the first heralds of Christianity went forth conquering and to conquer. No less powerful than the wonder-working rod of Moses, its touch crumbled into dust the temples of paganism, and overthrew, as in a moment, the immense fabric of superstition and idolatry which had been for ages erecting. To this volume alone it is owing, that we do not assemble on our appointed days to offer our worship in the temple of an idol ; that stocks and stones are not our deities ; that cruelty, intemperance, and impurity do not constitute our religion ; and that our children are not burnt as sacrifices at the shrine of Moloch. To this volume we are also indebted for the reformation in the days of Lu- ther : for the consequent revival and progress of learning; and for our present freedom from papal tyranny. Nor are these benefits, great as they are, all which it has been the means of conferring on man. Wherever it comes, blessings follow in its train. Like the stream which diffuses itself, and is apparently lost among the herbage, it betrays its course by its effects. Wherever its influence is felt, temperance, in- dustry, and contentment prevail ; natural and moral evils are banished, or mitigated ; and churches, hospitals, and asylums for almost every species of wretchedness arise, to adorn the landscape, and cheer the eye of benevolence. Such are the temporal benefits which even infidelity itself, if it would for once be candid, must acknowledge that the Bible has bestowed on man. Almost coeval with the sun, its fittest emblem, it has, like that luminary, from the com- mencement of its existence, shed an unceasing flood of light on a benighted and wretched world. Who then can T H E B I B I. E . 43 doubt that He, who formed the sun, gave the Bible to be "a light unto our feet, and a lamp to our path?" Who, that contemplates this fountain, still full and overflowing, notwithstanding the millions that have drunk of its waters, can doubt that it has a real though invisible connexion with that river of life, which flows for ever at the right hand of God? THE LIGHT OP HOME. BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. MY boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, And thy spirit will sigh to roam, And thou must go ; but never when there Forget the light of home. Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, It dazzles to lead astray ; Like the meteor's flash it will deepen the night, When thou treadest the lonely way. But the hearth of home has a constant flame, And pure as the vestal fire ; 'T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same, For nature feeds the pyre. The sea of ambition is tempest-tost, And thy hopes may vanish like foam , But when sails are shivered and rudder lost, Then look to the light of home. And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, Thou shalt see the beacon bright, For never, till shining on thy shroud, Can be quench'd its holy light. The sun of fame, 't will gild the name, But the heart ne'er feels its ray ; And fashion's smiles that rich ones claim, Are like beams of a wintry day. And how cold and dim those beams would be, Should life's wretched wanderer come : But my boy, when the world is dark to thee, Then turn to the light of home. THE ROYAL PENITENT. 2 SAMUEL, CHAPTER XII. BY SARAH PORTER. [1791.] DEATH'S angel now, commission'd by the Lord, O'er the fond infant holds the fatal sword ; From the dread sight the frantic father turns, And, clad in sackcloth, in his chamber mourns ; The monitor, within the royal breast, That long had slept, now roused at length from rest, Holds forth a mirror to the aching sight, Seizes the mind that fain would take its flight, Bids it look in : and first, Uriah stood, Arm'd for the fight, as yet unstain'd with blood ; Courage and care were on his brow combined, To show the hero and the patriot join'd : Next, pale and lifeless, on his warlike shield, The soldiers bore him from the bloody field. " And is it thus ? " the Royal mourner said, "And has my hand perform'd the dreadful deed ? Was 1 the wretch that gave thee to the foe, And bade thee sink beneath the impending blow ? Bade every friend and hero leave thy side ? Open, O eartli ! and in thy bosom hide A guilty wretch who wishes not to live ; Who cannot, dares not, ask for a reprieve ; So black a crime just Heaven will not forgive ! Justice arrests thy coining mercy, Lord ; Strike then, O strike, unsheath thy dreadful sword : Accursed forever be the hated day, That led my soul from innocence astray ; O may the stars, on that detested hour, Shed all their influence with malignant power, Darkness and sorrows jointly hold their reign, When time, revolving, brings it round again. Unhappy man ! ah ! whither shall I turn ? Like Cain, accurst, must I forever mourn ? On beds of silk in vain I seek repose, Uriah's shade forbids my eyes to close ; No bars exclude him to no place confined, Eager he still pursues my flying mind: 46 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. Not all the crowd that bow at my approach, Nor guards that thicken round the gilded couch, Can with their arms, or martial air, affright, Or drive the phantom from my wearied sight. happy day ! when, blest with Eglah's charms, 1 woo'd no other beauty to my arms ; No court's licentious joys did then molest My peaceful mind, nor haunt my tranquil breast. A glitt'ring crown ! thou poor, fantastic thing ! What solid satisfaction canst thou bring ? Once, far removed from all the toils of state, In groves I slept no guards around me wait: Oh ! how delicious was the calm retreat ! Sweet groves ! with birds and various flowers stored, Where nature furnished out my frugal board ; The pure, unstained spring, my thirst allayed ; No poisoned draught, in golden cups conveyed, Was there to dread Return, ye happy hours, Ye verdant shades, kind nature's pleasing bowers, Inglorious solitude, again return, And heal the breast with pain and anguish torn. God ! let thy mercy, like the solar ray, Break forth and drive these dismal clouds away ; Oh ! send its kind enlivening warmth on one Who sinks, who dies, beneath thy dreadful frown : Thus fares the wretch at sea, by tempests tost, Sands, hurricanes, and rocks, proclaim him lost ; With eager eyes he views the peaceful shore, And longs to rest where billows cease to roar : Of wanton winds and waves I've been the sport, Oh ! when shall I attain the wished-for port ? Or might I bear the punishment alone, Nor hear the lovely infant's piteous moan; My sins upon the dying child impressed, The dreadful thought forbids my soul to rest. In mercy, Lord, thy humble suppliant hear, Oh ! give the darling to my ardent prayer ! Cleanse me from sin oh ! graciously forgive ; Blest with thy love, oh ! let thy servant live : Thy smiles withdrawn, what is the world to me ? My hopes, my joys, are placed alone on thee : Oh ! let thy love, to this desponding heart, One ray, at least, of heavenly love impart." AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE. BY REV. JOSEPH S. BUCK MINSTER. [Bora at Portranouth, May 26, 1781. Died at Boiton, June 9, 1812. No situation in life is so favorable to established habits of virtue, and to powerful sentiments of devotion, as a resi- dence in the country, and rural occupations. I am not speaking of a condition of peasantry of which in this country we know little, who are mere vassals of an absent lord, or the hired laborers of an intendant, and who are, therefore, interested in nothing but the regular receipt of their daily wages ; but I refer to the honorable character of an owner of the soil, whose comforts, whose weight in the community, and whose very existence depend upon his personal labors, and the regular returns of abundance from the soil which he cultivates. No man, one would think, would feel so sensibly his immediate dependence upon God, as the husbandman. For all his peculiar blessings, he is invited to look immediately to the bounty of Heaven. No secondary cause stands between him and his Maker. To him are essential the regular succession of the seasons, and the timely fall of the rain, the genial warmth of the sun, the sure productiveness of the soil, and the certain operations of those laws of nature, which must appear to him nothing less than the varied exertions of omnipresent energy. In the country, we seem to stand in the midst of the great theatre of God's power, and we feel an unusual proximity to our Creator. His blue and tranquil sky spreads itself over our heads, and we acknowledge the intrusion of 48 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. no secondary agent in unfolding this vast expanse. Nothing but omnipotence can work up the dark horrors of the tem- pest, dart the flashes of the lightning, and roll the long-re- sounding rumor of the thunder. The breeze wafts to his senses the odors of God's beneficence; the voice of God's power is heard in the rustling of the forest ; and the varied forms of life, activity, and pleasure, which he observes at every step in the fields, lead him irresistibly ,one would think, to the source of being and beauty and joy. How auspicious such a life to the noble sentiments of devotion ! Besides, the situation of the husbandman is peculiarly fa- vorable, it should seem, to purity and simplicity of moral sentiment. He is brought acquainted, chiefly, with the real and native wants of mankind. Employed solely in bringing food out of the earth, he is not liable to be fasci- nated with the fictitious pleasures, the unnatural wants, the fashionable follies and tyrannical vices of more busy and splendid life. Still more favorable to the religious character of the husbandman is the circumstance, that, from the nature of agricultural pursuits, they do not so completely engross the attention as other occupations. They leave much time for contemplation, for reading, and intellectual pleasures ; and these are peculiarly grateful to the resident in the country. Especially does the institution of the Sabbath discover all its value to the tiller of the earth, whose fatigue it solaces, whose hard labors it interrupts, and who feels on that day the worth of his moral nature, which cannot be under- stood by the busy man, who considers the repose of this day as interfering with his hopes of gain, or professional employments. If, then, this institution is of any moral and religious value, it is to the country we must look for the continuance of that respect and observance which it merits. My friends, those of you especially who retire annually into the country, let these periodical retreats from business or dissipation bring you nearer to your God ; let them re- store the clearness of your judgment on the objects of hu- AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE, 49 man pursuits, invigorate your moral perceptions, exalt your sentiments, and regulate your habits of devotion ; and if there be any virtue or simplicity remaining in rural life, let them never be impaired by the influence of your presence and example. After what we have now said upon the virtuous and de- votional tendency of a country life, it may, perhaps, be con- sidered as inconsistent, or even paradoxical, to place our commercial character among our moral, much less our re- ligious advantages. But let it be considered, whatever be the influence of traffic upon the personal worth of some of those who are engaged in it, its intrinsic value to the com- munity, and its kind influence upon certain parts of the moral character are not to be disputed. Hence I do not scruple to state it as one of our great national distinctions, which call for our grateful acknowledgments. Tell me not of Tyre, and Sidon, and Corinth, and Carthage. I know they were commercial, and corrupt. But let it be remem- bered, that they flourished long before the true principles of honorable trade were understood ; before the introduction of Christianity had given any stability to those virtues of conscientious integrity, and strict fidelity in trusts, which are now indispensable to commercial prosperity. They have passed away, it is true ; and so has Sparta, where no commerce was allowed ; and Judea, though mostly agricul- tural, is known no more, except for its national ingratitude and corruption. Besides, when the choice of a nation lies, as, from the present state of the world, it appears long des- tined to lie, between a commercial and a military character, surely there can be little hesitation about the comparative influence of the peaceful activity of trade, though it may tend to enervate some of the energies of the human charac- ter, and that deplorable activity of a mere warlike nation, where plunder is the ruling passion of the great, and de- struction, the trade of the small ; where every new conquest tends only to concentrate, in still fewer hands, the wealth of kingdoms, and to inspire the common people with an un- 50 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. distinguishing ferocity. Surely, we cannot hesitate, whether to prefer that warlike state of a nation, which poisons at once the sources and security of domestic happiness a state, in which the lives, as well as the virtues of mankind, sink into objects of insignificant importance or that com- mercial situation of a people, which rouses and developes all the powers of all classes of the population, which gives a perpetual spring to industry, and which, by showing every man, how completely he is dependent upon every other man, makes it his interest to promote the prosperity, to con- sult the happiness, and to maintain the peace, the health, and the security of the millions, with whom he is connected. Surely, that state of a people cannot be unfavorable to virtue, which provides such facilities of intellectual commu- nication between the remotest regions, so that not a bright idea can spring up in the brain of a foreign philosopher, but it darts, like lightning, across the Atlantic ; not an im- provement obtains in the condition of one society, but it is instantly propagated to every other. By this perpetual in- terchange of thought, and this active diffusion of under- standing, the most favorable opportunities are afforded for the dissemination of useful knowledge, especially for the extension of that most precious of gifts, the gospel of Jesus. I need not add, that the wide intercourse, we are keeping up with foreign nations, ought to enlarge the sphere of our intelligence, liberalize our sentiments of mankind, polish the manners of the community, and introduce courteousness and urbanity of deportment. Merchants! if I may be per- mitted to suggest to you any considerations on the value of your order to the community, I would say, that upon your personal character depends much of these favorable influen- ces of commerce. I would beg you to beware of an engros- sing love of profit, which invariably narrows the capacity, and debases the noblest tendencies of the human character. I would persuade you to cultivate habits of mental activity, to indulge enlarged views of your connexion with mankind, to consider yourselves as forming part of the vast chain of AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE. 51 mutual supports and dependencies, by which the activity, the improvement and the pleasure of the inhabitants of every part of the world are secured and promoted. Above all, forget not, that you are instruments in the hands of Provi- dence, by which he diffuses his blessings, and promotes his grand purposes in the cultivation, the civilization, and thus the moral and religious advancement, of this wide creation. God grant, that you may never feel the remorse of having deliberately contributed to the introduction of a new vice into the community, or to the corruption of an old or established principle; of having aided the tyranny of a worthless fashion, or assisted the gradual encroachments of selfishness, vanity, pomp, and slavish imitation, on the free- dom and dignity of social life ! BY NATHANIEL H. CARTER. [Born at Concord, 1788. Died at Marseilles, France, January 2, 1830.] HAIL ! hail again my native stream, Scene of rny boyhood's earliest dream ! With solitary step once more I tread thy wild and silvan shore, And pause at every turn and gaze Upon thy dark meandering maze. What though obscure thy woody source, What though unsung thy humble course, What if no lofty classic name Give to thy peaceful waters fame ; Still can thy rural haunts impart A solace to this saddened heart. Since last with thee I parted, Time Has borne me on through many a clime, Far from my native roof that stood Secluded by thy murmuring flood ; And 1 in distant lands have roamed, Where rolled new streams, new oceans foamed. Along the Shannon, Doon, and Tay, I 've sauntered many a happy day, And sought beside the Cam and Thames, Memorials of immortal names ; Or mingled in the polished train Of fashion, on the banks of Seine. And I have seen the azure Rhone Rush headlong from his Alpine throne; Green Mincius and the silver Po Through vine-clad vales meandering flow ; Sweet Arno wreath'd in summer flowers, Linger amidst Etrurian bowers ; And the swoln Tiber's yellow tide Roll to the sea in sullen pride. In climes beneath the burning zone, Mid tangled forests, deep and lone, Where fervid skies forever glow, And the soft trade-winds whispering blow. TRIBUTE TO MY NATIVE STREAM. 53 My roving footsteps too have press'd The loveliest island of the West. There Yumuri winds deep and calm, Through groves of citron and of palm ; And on the sluggish wave of Juan,* My little boat hath borne me on, Or up Canimar's silent floods, Strown with the blossoms of its woods. t Yet not the less, my native stream, Art thou to me a grateful theme, Than when in heedless boyhood's prime I wove for thee the rustic rhyme, Ere other realms, beyond the sea, Had spread their fairest charms for me. E'en now, alone I sit me down Amidst thy woods, with autumn brown, And on the rustling leaves recline, Beneath a copse of whispering pine, To watch thy amber current run, Bright with November's parting sun. Around, with eager eye I trace The charms of each remembered place ; Some fountain gushing from the bank, At which, in youth, I knelt and drank; Yon oak its hoary arms that rears, Scene of my sports in boyish years. Farewell ! farewell ! though I no more May ramble on thy rural shore, Still shall thy quiet wave glide on When he who watched its flow is gone, And his sole epitaph shall be Inscribed upon some aged tree. This word is pronounced in Spanish as if written WJion. tThe author in rowing up the river Canimar, near Matanzas, in January, 1828, found it current corer- ed with the blossoms of forest trees growing upon its banks. 5* HONAMOCK. BY WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. UPON the far-off mountain's brow The angry storm has censed to beat, And broken clouds are gathering now, In lowly reverence round his feet. I saw their dark and crowded banks On his firm head in wrath descending, But there once more redeemed he stands, And heaven's clear arch is o'er him bending. I 've seen him when the rising sun Shone like a watch-fire on the height, I 've seen him when the day was done, Bathed in the evening's crimson light ; I 've seen him in the midnight hour, When all around were calmly sleeping, Like some lone sentry in his tower, His patient watch in silence keeping. And there, as ever, steep and clear, That pyramid of Nature springs ! He owns no riv;il turret near, No sovereign, but the King of kings. While many a nation hath passed by, And many an age, unknown in story, His walls and battlements on high He rears, in melancholy glory. And let a world of human pride, With all its grandeur, melt away, And spread around his rocky side The broken fragments of decay. Serene his hoary head will tower, Untroubled by one thought of sorrow ; He numbers not the weary hour, He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow. Farewell ! I go my distant way ; Perhaps not far in future years, The eyes that glow with smiles to-day, May gaze upon thee, dim with tears. MONADNOCK. 55 Then let me learn from thee to rise, All time and chance and change defying; Still pointing upward to the skies, And on the inward strength relying. If life before my weary eye Grows fearful as the angry sea, Thy memory shall suppress the sigh For that which never more can be. Inspiring all within the heart With firm resolve and strong endeavor, To act a brave and faithful part, Till life's short warfare ends for ever. SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. BY REV. NOAH WORCESTER, D. D. [Bom at Hollis, 1759. Died at Brighton, Masu., 1837.] WE regard with horror the custom of the ancient hea- thens, in offering their children in sacrifice to idols. We are shocked with the customs of the Hindoos, in prostrating themselves before the car of an idol to be crushed to death ; in burning women alive on the funeral piles of their hus- bands ; in offering a monthly sacrifice, by casting living children into the Ganges to be drowned. We read with astonishment of the sacrifices made in the Papal crusades, and in the Mahometan and Hindoo pilgrimages. We won- der at the blindness of Christian nations, who have esteem- ed it right and honorable to buy and sell Africans as proper- ty, and reduce them to bondage for life. But that which is fashionable and popular in any country is esteemed right and honorable, whatever may be its nature in the views of men better informed. But while we look back with a mixture of wonder, indig- nation, and pity on many of the customs of former ages, are we careful to inquire whether some customs which we deem honorable, are not the effect of popular delusion ? and wheth- er they will not be so regarded by future generations ? Is it not a fact, that one of the most horrid customs of savage men, is now popular in every nation in Christendom ? What Custom of the most barbarous nations is more repugnant to the feelings of piety, humanity and justice, than that of de- ciding controversies between nations by the edge of the sword, by powder and ball, or the point of the bayonet ? What other savage custom has occasioned half the desola- SOLEMN REVIEW OF WAR. 57 tion and misery to the human race ? And what, but the grossest infatuation, could render such a custom popular among rational beings ? When we consider how great a part of mankind have perished by the hands of each other, and how large a por- tion of human calamity has resulted from war, it surely can- not appear indifferent whether this custom is or is not the effect of delusion. Certainly there is no custom which de- serves a more thorough examination, than that which has occasioned more slaughter and misery than all the other abominable customs of the heathen world. War has been so long fashionable amongst all nations, that its enormity is but little regarded ; or when thought of at all, it is usually considered as an evil necessary and un- avoidable. But the question to be considered is this : can- not the state of society and the views of civilized men be so changed as to abolish so barbarous a custom, and render wars unnecessary and avoidable ? If this question may be answered in the affirmative, then we may hope that "the sword will not devour for ever." Some may be ready to exclaim, " None but God can pro- duce such an effect as the abolition of war, and we must wait for the millennial day." We admit that God only can produce the necessary change in the state of society, and the views of men ; but God works by human agency and human means. None but God could have produced such a change in the views of the British nation, as to abolish the slave trade ; yet the event was brought about by a long course of persevering and honorable exertions of benevolent men. When the thing was first proposed, it probably appeared to the majority of the people, as an unavailing and chimeri- cal project. But God raised up powerful advocates, gave them the spirit of perseverance, and finally crowned their efforts with glorious success. Now, it is probable, thou- sands of people are wondering how such an abominable traffic ever had existence in a nation which had the least 58 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. pretensions to Christianity or civilization. In a similar manner God can put an end to war, and fill the world with astonishment, that rational beings ever thought of such a mode of settling controversies. As to waiting for the millennium to put an end to war, without any exertions on our own part, it is like the sinner's waiting God's time for conversion, while he pursues his course of vice and impiety. If ever there shall be a millen- nium, in which the sword will cease to devour, it will prob- ably be effected by the blessing of God on the benevolent exertions of enlightened men. Perhaps no one thing is now a greater obstacle in the way of the wished-for state of the church, than the spirit and custom of war which is maintained by Christians themselves. Is it not then time that efforts should be made to enlighten the minds of chris- tians on a subject of such infinite importance to the happi- ness of the human race ? That such a state of things is desirable, no enlightened Christian can deny. That it can be produced without ex- pensive and persevering efforts is not imagined. But are not such efforts to exclude the miseries of war from the world as laudable as those which have for their object the support of such a malignant and desolating custom ? The whole amount of property in the United States is probably of far less value than what has been expended and destroyed within two centuries by wars in Christendom. Suppose then, that one fifth of this amount had been judi- ciously laid out by peace associations in the different states and nations, in cultivating the spirit and art of peace, and in exciting a just abhorrence of war ; would not the other four fifths have been in a great measure saved, besides many millions of lives, and an immense portion of misery? Had the whole value of what has been expended in wars, been appropriated to the purpose of peace, how laudable would have been the appropriation and how blessed the conse- quences L It will perhaps be pleaded, that mankind are not yet suf- SOLEMN REVIEW OP WAR. 59 ficiently enlightened to apply the principles of the gospel for the abolition of war ; and that we must wait for a more im- proved state of society. Improved in what 1 in the science of blood ? Are such improvements to prepare the way for peace ? Why not wait a few centuries, until the natives of India become more improved in their idolatrous customs, before we attempt to convert them to Christianity ? Do we expect that by continuing in the practice of idolatry, their minds will be prepared to receive the gospel 1 If not, let us be consistent, and while we use means for the conversion of heathens, let means also be used for the conversion of Christians. For war is in fact a heathenish and savage cus- tom of the most malignant, most desolating, and most hor- rible character. It is the greatest curse, and results from the grossest delusions, that ever afflicted a guilty world. THE LYRE. BY MILTON WARD. THERE was a Lyre, 't is said, that hung High waving in the summer air; An angel hand its chords had strung, And left to breathe its music there. Each wandering breeze, that o'er it flew, Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain, Than ever shell of mermaid blew In coral grottoes of the main. When, springing from the rose's bell, Where all night he had sweetly slept, The zephyr left the flowery dell Bright with the tears that morning wept, He rose, and o'er the trembling lyre, Waved lightly his soft azure wing; What touch such music could inspire ! What harp such lays of joy could sing ! The murmurs of the shaded rills, The birds, that sweetly warbled by, And the soft echo from the hills, Were heard not where that harp was nigh. When the last light of fading day Along the bosom of the west, In colors softly mingled lay While night had darken 'd all the rest, Then, softer than that fading light, And sweeter than the lay, that rung Wild through the silence of the night, As solemn Philomela sung, That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed Along the dewy breeze of even ; So clear and soft they swelled and died, They seemed the echoed songs of heaven. Sometimes, when all the air was still, And not the poplar's foliage trembled, That harp was nightly heard to thrill With tones, no earthly tones resembled. And then, upon the moon's pale beams, Unearthly forms were seen to stray, Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams Would oft around the wild harp play. THELYRE. 61 But soon the bloom of summer fled, In earth and air it shone no more ; Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead, While skies their wintry sternness wore. One day, loud blew the northern blast, The tempest's fury raged along; Oh ! for some angel, as they passed, To shield the harp of heavenly song ! It shrieked how could it bear the touch, The cold rude touch of such a storm, When e'en the zephyr seemed too much Sometimes, though always light and warm ! It loudly shrieked but ah ! in vain ; The savage wind more fiercely blew ; Once more it never shrieked again, For every chord was torn in two. It never thrilled with anguish more, Though beaten by the wildest blast; The pang, that thus its bosom tore, Was dreadful but it was the last. And though the smiles of summer played Gently upon its shattered form, And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed, That Lyre they could not wake or warm. SONG OF THE HUSBANDMAN, BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS, [Born at Plainfield, 1807. Died at Plainfield, June 16, 1841.] NEW-ENGLAND'S soil, our happy home, The land of hardy worth, Where plenty crowns the social board, And love lights up the hearth ; The land of rock, and mount, and glen, Of noble streams that sweep, Through valleys rich with verdure, In gladness to the deep ; Blue are the arching skies above, And green the fields below, And autumn fruits and summer flowers In wild profusion grow. The towering oak and ancient pine Our noble forests bear ; The maple bough its blossoms Flings on the scented air ; And flock and herd and waving grain Each slope and upland crown ; And autumn winds from laden bough The mellow fruits shake down ; The fragrant clover tempts the bee, Its blushing sweets to pry, And in tall ranks the glossy maize Points upward to the sky. No tyrant landlord wrings our soil, Or rends its fruit away ; The flocks upon our own green hills, Secure from plunder stray ; No bigot's scourge or martyr's fires A barbarous creed fulfil, For the spirit of our stern old sires Is with their children still. And pure to heaven our altars rise, Upon a bloodless sod, Where man with free unfettered faith Bows down and worships God. SONG OF THE HUSBANDMAN. 63 No midnight revel wastes our strength, Or prints our brows with care; We shun the noisy wassail, The serpents coiling there ; But childhood's ringing tones of mirth, And love's refined caress, With the pure page of knowledge, Our peaceful evenings bless. And underneath our pillow There 's a spell for slumber's hour, And for the sons of toil alone That magic spell hath power. Our homes ! our dear New-England homes ! Where sweet affections meet ; Where the cool poplar spreads its shade, And flowers our senses greet; The lily rears her polished cup, The rose as freshly springs, And to the sky looks gaily up, As in the courts of kings ; And the vine that climbs the window, Hangs drooping from above, And sends its grateful odors in With messages of love. Then hail to thee ! New England ! Thou cherished land of ours ; Our sons are like the granite rocks, Our daughters like the flowers. We quail to none, of none we crave, Nor bend the servile knee ; The life-blood that our fathers gave, Still warms the firm and free. Free as our eagle spreads his wings, We own no tyrant's rod, No master but the King of kings, No monarch but our God ! AUTUMN. BY NATHANIEL A . HAVEN. I LOVE the dews of night, 1 love the howling wind ; J love to hear the tempests sweep 'er the billows of the deep ! For nature's saddest scenes delight The melancholy mind. Autumn ! I love thy bower, With faded garlands drest ; How sweet, alone to linger there When tempests ride the midnight air ! To snatch from mirth a fleeting hour, The sabbath of the breast ! Autumn ! I love thee well ; Though bleak thy breezes blow ; 1 love to see the vapors rise, And clouds roll wildly round the skies, Where from the plain the mountains swell, And foaming torrents flow. Autumn ! thy fading flowers Droop but to bloom again ; So man, though doomed to grief awhile, To hang on Fortune's fickle smile, Shall glow in heaven with nobler powers, Nor sigh for peace in vain. SKETCH OF CHIEF JUSTICE RICHARDSON. BY JOEL PARKER, L L. D. How often, apparently, is the world indebted to accident for the benefits received from some of the most distinguish- ed men ! The casting of a book in the way of slumbering intellect incites it to overcome all obstacles in the pursuit of knowledge. A beautiful harangue or a successful argu- ment is sometimes the spark that lights the flame of ambi- tion in the breast of one before destined to other pursuits, and he burns with the desire of emulation, and strikes out for himself a more brilliant, if not a more happy career. Accidental injuries in the workshop and in the field, inca- pacitating the party, for a greater or less period, from man- ual labor, have given to science some of her most persever- ing and successful votaries. " We call it chance but there is a Divinity That shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will." An instance is before us. WILLIAM MERCHANT RICH- ARDSON was born at Pelham, in this State, January 4, 1774, and labored upon his father's farm until he was about fifteen years of age, when an injury to his hand for a time inca- pacitated him for active exertions. During the period of leisure thus forced upon him, he indulged a taste for study, and determined to procure for himself a collegiate educa- tion. This he accomplished, and graduated at Cambridge University in 1797. In the course of his collegiate studies, and during the time he officiated as an instructer, he became thoroughly imbued with a taste for poetry, and classical and general 6* 06 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. literature, as is in some degree indicated by his appointment to deliver a poem upon the occasion of his graduation ; and his love for such studies and pursuits continued unabated to the close of his life. The law is generally accounted a stern mistress, requir- ing of her followers an untiring devotion at her shrine, and it is rare that her servants find leisure for eminence in any other pursuit ; but with him literary acquisition was pas- time was recreation; and long after he had taken his seat upon the bench he studied the French, Italian and Spanish languages without assistance, and could read the two former with considerable facility. The work of some Italian poet was often his companion upon the circuit, and was perused with the eagerness of youthful ardor. With the Latin classics he was familiar, and read them often ; and he urged upon others the importance of recurring to their classical studies, as the best means of acquiring and preserving a pure taste and a good style. But it was not to foreign authors alone that he was at- tached. The study of the English classics was a favorite pursuit. The grave disquisitions of Milton, the sound phi- losophy of Bacon, and the varied richness of Shakspeare, furnished materials upon which he delighted to dwell. Nor was the lighter literature of the day proscribed. Works abounding with anecdote and humor afforded favorite sour- ces of relaxation amid the fatigues of abstruse investigation. Studies and amusements of this character, however, were not permitted to interfere with professional labors and offi- cial duties. The study and practice and administration of the law was the great business of his life ; and to this he brought all the energies of a vigorous mind. He loved it as a sci- ence, and pursued it with delight as well as with diligence. A life of professional labor furnishes but few occurrences which to the great mass of the people would seem worthy of record. There are no startling events to excite wonder. There is nothing of " pomp and circumstance" to attract SKETCH OF JVDGE RICHARDSON. 67 admiration. But if, on the one hand, there are no " passa- ges of arms" to be celebrated and no victories to be sung, on the other the trophies are not stained with blood, and the notes of wailing and wo mingle not in the chorus. The qualities required for successful exertion in the learned professions may perhaps not be inferior to those which enable their possessor to set a squadron in the field, or to direct the array of a battle ; and Chief Justice Rich- ardson exhibited them in a high degree of perfection. To an unspotted integrity and conscientious faithfulness was added great patience a most important qualification for such a station ; and a long administration attested that he possessed it in a remarkable degree. Urbane towards the gentlemen of the bar, courteous to witnesses, and extending to litigants an impartiality which often left in doubt his opinion upon contested questions of fact ; a suspicion of attempted fraud, or probability of injustice, roused him to take a decided stand in favor of that side which appeared in danger of suffering wrong ; and while cautious to im- press upon a jury the principle that fraud and bad faith were not to be presumed, the tones of indignation with which he denounced them were the consequence of a deep love of justice, and desire that the right should prevail. But while he was thus firm in resisting whatever seemed to savor of injustice, the individual arraigned as a criminal was usually a subject of compassion, and his administration of that branch of judicature was based upon the humane principle, that it is better that many guilty should escape than that one innocent person should suffer. Notwithstanding all the divisions of parties and sects, he commanded general confidence, and his judicial character was summed up in a single short sentence, by a highly re- spectable citizen, when he exclaimed, after musing upon the intelligence of his death " Well, the good old Judge has gone ! " How full of eulogy are these few words ! His had been a long judicial life. He had held the office of chief justice DO THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. nearly twenty-two years. He had lived to witness nearly two entire changes of all his associates, and he was also ap- proaching that period "three score years and ten" which almost marks the limit of human activity, and with us absolutely terminates judicial labor. He might well be spoken of in connexion with the lapse of time. He was aged in the public service. And after such a period of de- votion to the labors of a judicial station after exerting the best energies of the meridian of existence in the service of his fellow men when he is at last called upon to surrender up the trust committed to him on earth, what could any in- cumbent of the bench desire from those he leaves behind, more than the character of " the good judge ? " How much is included in it ! Learning, integrity, impartiality, firm- ness, industry, faithfulness, patience these are all neces- sary to the character of the good judge. Nay, what is not necessary what is not included in it ? " Well done, good and faithful servant." There needs nothing more of com- mendation. HYMN OF PRAISE. BY CARLOS WILCOX. [Bora 11 Xewport, October 22, 17W. Died at Hartford, Connecticut, May 29, 1827.] GREAT is thy goodness, Father of all life, Fount of all joy. Thou high and holy One, Whom not thy glorious sanctuary, heaven, Can e'er contain ; Spirit invisible, Whose omnipresence makes creation smile, Great is thy goodness, worthy of all praise From all thy works. Then let earth, air, and sea ; Nature, with every season in its turn ; The firmament, with its revolving fires ; And all things living ; join to give thee praise. Thou glorious Sun, like thy Original, A vital influence to surrounding worlds, Forever sending forth, yet always full ; And thou, fair Queen of Night, o'er the pure sky, Amid thy glittering company of stars, Walking in brightness, praise the God above. Ocean, tbrever rolling to and fro In thy vast bed, o'er half the hollowed earth ; Grand theatre of wonders to all lands, And reservoir of blessiners, sound his praise. Break forth into a shout of grateful joy, Ye mountains, covered with perennial green, And pouring crystal torrents down your sides ; Ye lofty forests, and ye humble groves ; Ye hills, and plains, and valleys, overspread With flocks and harvests. All ye feathered tribes, That, taught by your Creator, a safe retreat Find in the dead of winter, or enjoy Sweet summer all your days by changing clime, Warble to him all your melodious notes ; To him, who clothes you with your gay attire, And kindles in your fluttering breasts the glow Of love parental. Beasts that graze the fields, Or roam the woods, give honor to the Power That makes you swift to flee, or strong to meet The coming foe ; and rouses you to flight In harmless mirth, or soothes to pleasant rest. Shout to Jehovah with the voice of praise, Ye nations, all ye continents and isles, 70 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. People of every tongue ; ye that within The verdant shade of palm and plantain sit, Feasting on their cool fruit, on torrid plains ; And ye that, in the midst of pine-clad hills, In snowy regions, grateful vigor inhale From every breeze. Ye that inhabit lands Where science, liberty, and plenty dwell, Worship Jehovah in exalted strains. But ye to whom redeeming Mercy comes, With present peace, and promises sublime Of future crowns, and mansions in the skies, Imperishable, raise the loudest song. O sing for ever, with seraphic voice, To Him whose immortality is yours, In the blest union of eternal love ! And join them, all ye winged hosts of heaven, That in your Maker's glory take delight ; And ye too, all ye bright inhabitants Of starry worlds ; and let the universe Above, below, around, be filled with praise ! MATJVAISE HONTE. BY OLIVER W. B. PEABODY. Ix your manhood's gravest hour, As in childhood's season gay, Shall the spell of fatal power Close around you, night and day. Wealth may throw its garlands o'er you, Beauty's charms be bright before you; Yet unenvied shall you dwell, Fettered by a magic spell. In the ball-room you shall sigh, Losing all your power to frisk, As the victim of his eye Stands before the basilisk. When the jewelled circle glances, Mingling in the mazy dances, Pompey's pillar might as soon Right-and-left or rigadoon. Every moment to your cheek Shall the blood in torrents rush ; Oft as you essay to speak, You shall stammer, stare and blush ; What you would have said, delaying, What you should not, ever saying; While each friend in wonder sits, Mourning your departed wits. When in love, you shall seem cold As the rocks on Zembla's coast : When you labor to be bold, Sparrows might more courage boast. When most gay, most solemn seeming ; When attentive, as if dreaming : Niobe could teach you how You might make a better bow. Ask me not to break the chain, Never ! slave of destiny : Evermore you must remain Fixed beyond the power to fly. Darker hours may yet attend you ; Fate a heavier lot may send you ; If my spells should fail to kill, Go and marry if you will. MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. BY ISAAC HILL. THE highest mountains within the known limits of the old thirteen United States are the cluster in New Hampshire called the White Mountains. These mountains are sup- posed to be older than any of the ranges of high mountains in Europe. Mont Blanc and Mont St. Bernard may peer above them, and reach their tops beyond the line of perpetual congelation ; but Mount Washington had been thousands of years in existence before the internal fires upheaved the European Alps. Of the useless things in creation, I had taught myself in early youth to consider ragged mountains and hills as least of all valuable. Fastnesses for the retreat of wild beasts, my first recollections almost identify them with the frightful catamount that tore in pieces the man whom he was able to carry into the limbs of some tree incumbent upon another half way in its fall ; with the bear, who was said to carry off children with which to feed her young; or with the vora- cious wolf, who would slay an entire flock of sheep some- times in a single night. If these mountains were no longer a nuisance as harbors for wild beasts, the obstacles which they presented to the making of good and easy travelled roads connecting one part of the country with another ; the space which they occupied precluding that easy cultivation which we were wont to see in more level regions, gave them no better aspect than that of incumbrances which must forever be inconvenient to the population which surrounded them. I have changed my mind entirely on this matter ; and if we may be said to grow wiser as we grow older, I have just that kind of conceit of myself which might call for your re- MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 73 buke if I am now under a mistake. Perhaps you think of these mountains as I once thought of them. With me when a child stubbing my toes against the rocks or carrying some burden up the steep cliffs, having dreamed of the beauty of a level country where there was not a rock or a hill in the way, you may have been instructed into a poor opinion of our mountains. The mountain region of New England is almost entirely free from those contagious diseases which sweep over the country at each annual return of decayed vegetation. The pure water and the clear mountain air give to her inhabi- tants as good if not better health than is enjoyed by any other people on earth. This is the land of iron constitutions, of noble and beautiful forms, of hearts of steel, of boundless resolution that heeds no obstacle, of enterprise and perse- verance which know no discouragement. What part of the United States, what city upon the Atlantic seaboard, what district of country growing into wealth and respectability in the interior, that is not indebted to New England, to the beautiful hill country of New England, for much of that noble spirit which has hastened them on in the grand march of improvement ? I have entirely changed my mind within the last few years in relation to the most rough country of New England. So far from looking upon the rocks, the pebbles, the gravel or the sand composing them as so much matter in the way adapted to no possible useful service, I see them as the sources of that fertility which is sooner or later destined to make the territory now composing the six New-England States capable of sustaining ten times its present population. On the higher White Mountains no traces of the valuable and useful metals, as yet, have been discovered upon the surface or in the beds excavated by the avalanches. The Indians had a tradition that there were carbuncles and pre- cious gems upon the open grounds of the mountains above the region of vegetation, which were kept from the posses- sion of mortals by the enchantment which surrounded them. 7 74 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. The notion probably originated in the fact that travelling in the sunshine the reflection of isolated rock crystal strikes upon the eye at a distance with dazzling brightness, which entirely disappears on change of position or on approaching to the spot where it was first observed. These appearances are frequent upon the open upper grounds of these moun- tains, and have probably given them the name of the Crys- tal Hills. The mountain streams, particularly those in the northern region of New Hampshire, are rife with salmon trout, a fish of more delicious flavor than any other that sports in Amer- ican waters ; as much superior to the perch and suckers and chubs that are to be found in sluggish pools and streams, as the running water of the cold mountain brook is more grateful to the parched throat than the standing liquid of a summer frog-pond. The sport of trout-fishing among the mountains has an air of romance, tempting the inhabitant of the city to journey many miles for ks enjoyment. Those who by instinct or education know how to handle the fly or the minnow ; who can await with patience the reached out arm long in the same position for a " glorious nibble ;" who can leap over log and stump, through bush and brake, an- gling at the turn of an eddy, the tail of a weed-bed, or at the foot of a noisy waterfall, and enjoy the sport with the gusto of Izaak Walton one hundred and fifty years ago; such as these know how to appreciate the pleasures of trout-fishing. The beauty and grandeur of scenery in Scotland or Swit- zerland, or any other country of Europe, cannot exceed that of the mountain region which I have been describing. What magnificent landscape will compare with the different views at the Notch ; with the Silver Cascade, half a mile from its entrance, issuing from the mountain eight hundred feet above the subjacent valley, passing over almost perpendicularly a series of rocks so little broken as to preserve the appearance of a uniform current, and yet so far disturbed as to be per- fectly white; with the Flume, at no great distance, falling over three precipices from the height of two hundred and MOUNTAINS OF NEW HA M PS HIRE. ~ "> fifty feet, down the two first in a single current, and over the last in three, uniting again at the bottom in a basin formed by the hand of Nature, perhaps by the wearing of the waters, in the rocks ; with the impending rocks directly overhead on either side to a vast height rent asunder by that Power which first upheaved the mountains, leaving barely space for the head stream of the Saco and the road to pass ; with the track of the awful avalanches at no great distance on either side, coming down from the height, throwing rocks, trees and earth across the defile, damming up the stream and forcing it to seek new channels, and covering up or carrying away clean to the surface of the hard rock the long travelled road ! If the eye is not here sated with the grandeur and beauty of the stupendous works of the Almighty, and the changes he has wrought, let the traveller pass into the Franconia Notch, near the source of the Merrimack river, twenty miles southerly of the White Mountain Notch. The Man of the Mountain has long been personated and apostrophized : his covered head is the sure forerunner of the thunder shower or storm ; and in the world of fiction he is made the main agent of the mountain genii, who bewilder and mislead the benighted traveller, and whose lodgement is in the rocky caverns hitherto unfrequented by the human tread. The Profile is perched at the height of more than a thousand feet : the solid rock presents a side view or profile of the human face, every feature of which in the due pro- portion is conspicuous. It is no inanimate profile ; it looks the living man, as if his voice could reach to the proportion- ate distance of its greater size. The Spirit of Liberty dwells upon the mountains and among the hills. Look to the Highlands; to the " Scots who hae with Wallace bled Scots whom Bruce had often led." Look to Switzerland, to William Tell, to the Tyrolese, " Where the song of freedom soundeth ; " 76 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. to the Circassians upon the Caucasus now contending for liberty against the whole power of Russian despotism. Can we find in the plain country of any nation on earth samples of a valorous, a chivalrous, an indomitable spirit such as these ? Where is the district of country that can present a race of men more devoted to liberty and independence, more courageous and daring, than those who came from the hill and mountain towns of New England to fight the enemies of the country at Lexington and Bunker Hill 1 Such men as Rogers and Stark, in their snow-shoeSj in the war of 1756, could do more with a single company of rangers, natives of New-England mountain towns, to keep at bay and annoy the French and savage foe, than Lord Howe's entire com- mand of several thousand British troops. The mountain region of New Hampshire has been denom- inated the Switzerland of America. Our scenery is sur- passed in beauty by no scenery on earth. Coming down from our mountains, I would direct your attention to our beautiful lakes. The eye never traced a more splendid prospect than the view from Red Hill. The view from Mount Washington shows the high mountains around as successive dark waves of the sea at your feet, and all other objects, the villages and sea, as more indistinct from their distance. The view from Red Hill, an elevation of some twenty-five hundred feet, which is gained on horseback, brings all objects distinctly to the naked eye. On the one hand the Winnipiseogee lake, twenty-two miles in length, with its bays and islands and surrounding villages and farms of parti-colored fields, spreads out like a field of glass at the southeast. Loch Lomond with all its splendor and beauty presents no scenery that is not equalled in the envi- rons of the Winnipiseogee. Its suite of hills and mountains serves as a contrast to increase its splendor. We stand upon the higher of the three points of Red Hill, limited every where by regular circular lines and elegant in its figure be- yond most other mountains. The autumnal foliage, over- spreading the ranges of mountains, in the season after vege- MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 77 tation has been arrested by the frosts, is a beauty in our scenery that has never been described by any inhabitant of Great Britain, because no such scenery ever there existed. If Mr. Jefferson thought a single point upon the Potomac where that river breaks through the Blue Ridge to be worth to the European observer a voyage across the Atlantic, will it be deemed extravagant if I should say to the inhabitants of a town or city of the United States any where along the At- lantic ocean, that the Notch of the White Hills, the Notch of the Franconia mountains, the Cascade or the Flume, or the Face of the Old Man, or the view from Red Hill, one alone or all together, are worth ten times the expense and labor of a journey of one hundred, five hundred or one thousand miles 1 7* FLATTERY FOR AN ALBUM. BY THOMAS G. FESSENDEN. [Born at Walpole. Died at Boston.] Miss ANN, you are, it seems to me, An essence all ethereal; The brightest being that can be, Entirely immaterial. A pencil tipped with solar rays Your charms could scarcely blazon ; Contrasted with your beauty's blaze Bright Sol's a pewter basin. Transcendent little sprig of light ! If rhymes are always true, An angel is an ugly sprite Compared to sylph like you. You frowning tell me : " This indeed Is flattery past all bearing ; [ ne'er before did hear nor read Of any quite so glaring." Yes, this is flattery, sure enough, And its exaggeration May teach you how to hold such stuff In utter detestation. Should beaux your ladyship accost With something like this flummery, Tell them their labor will be lost, For this transcends their mummery. The man whose favor 's worth a thought, To flattery can't descend ; The servile sycophant is not Your lover nor your friend. WEST'S PICTURE OF THE INFANT SAMUEL. BY REV. EPHRAIM PEABODY. IN childhood's spring ah ! blessed spring ! (As flowers closed up at even, Unfold in morning's earliest beam,) The heart unfolds to heaven. Ah ! blessed child ! that trustingly Adores, and loves, and fears, And to a Father's voice replies, Speak, Lord ! thy servant hears. When youth shall come ah ! blessed youth ! If still the pure heart glows, And in the world and word of God, Its Maker's language knows j If in the night and in the day, Midst youthful joys or fears, The trusting heart can answer still, Speak, Lord ! thy servant hears. When age shall come ah ! blessed age ! If in its lengthening shade, When life grows faint, and earthly lights Recede, and sink and fade ; Ah ! blessed age ! if then heaven's light Dawns on the closing eye ; And faith unto the call of God, Can answer, Here am I ! THE FATHER'S CHOICE.* BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. Now fly as flies the rushing wind, Urge, urge thy lagging steed ! The savage yell is fierce behind, And life is on thy speed ; And from those dear ones make thy choice The group he wildly eyed, When " father !" burst from every voice, And "child !" his heart replied. There 's one that now can share his toil, And one he meant for fame, And one that wears her mother's smile, And one that bears her name. And one will prattle on his knee, Or slumber on his breast ; And one whose joys of infancy Are still by smiles expressed. They feel no fear while he is near ; He '11 shield them from the foe : But oh ! his ear must thrill to hear Their shriekings, should he go. In vain his quivering lips would speak, No words his thoughts allow : There 's burning tears upon his cheek, Death's marble on his brow. In the year 1697, a body of Indians attacked the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, killed and carried Into captivity forty inhabitants. A party of the Indians approached the house of an individual, who was abroad at his labor, but who, on their approach, hastened to the house, sent his children out, and ordered them to fly in a course opposite to that m which danger was approaching. He then mounted his horse, and determined to snatch up Die child with which he wai unwilling- to part, when he should overtake the little flock. When he came up to them, about two hundred yards from his house, he was unable to make a choice, or to leave any one of the number. He therefore determined to take his lot with them, and de- fend them from their murderers, or die by their side. A body of the Indians pursued, and came up with him ; and when at a short distance, fired on him and his little company. He returned the fire, and re- treated alternately; still, however, keeping a resolute face to the enemy, aud so effectually sheltered his charge, that he finally lodged them all safe in a distant house. THE FATHER'S CHOICE. 81 And twice he smote his clenched hand, Then bade his children fly ! And turned, and even that savage band Cowered at his wrathful eye. Swift as the lightning winged with death, Flashed forth the quivering flame ! Their fiercest warrior bows beneath The father's deadly aim. Not the wild cries that rend the skies, His heart or purpose move ; He saves his children, or he dies The sacrifice of love. Ambition goads the conqueror on, Hate points the murderer's brand, But love and duty, these alone Can nerve the good man's hand. The hero may resign the field, The coward murderer flee ; He cannot fear, he will not yield, That strikes, sweet love, for thee. They come, they come ! he heeds no cry, Save the soft childlike wail, " O father, save !" " My children, fly !" Were mingled on the gale. And firmer still he drew his breath, And sterner flashed his eye, As fast he hurls his leaden death, Still shouting, " Children, fly !" No shadow on his brow appeared, Nor tremor shook his frame, Save when at intervals he heard Some trembler lisp his name. In vain the foe, those fiends unchained, Like famished tigers chafe ! The sheltering roof is neared, is gained, All. all the dear ones safe ! HOW THEY USED TO SPELL FROM 'THE DISTRICT SCHOOL AS IT WAS.' BY REV. WARREN BURTON. THE most extraordinary spelling and indeed reading machine in our school was a boy whom I shall call Memorus Wordwell. He was mighty and wonderful in the acquisi- tion and remembrance of words ; of signs without the ideas signified. The alphabet he acquired at home before he was two years old. What exultation of parents, what exclama- tion from admiring visiters. " There was never any thing like it !" He had almost accomplished his Abs before he was thought old enough for school. At an earlier age than usual however he was sent, and then he went from Ache to Abomination in half the summers and winters it took the rest of us to go over the same space. Astonishing how quickly he mastered column after column, section after sec- tion of obstinate orthographies ! Those martial terms I have just used, together with our hero's celerity, put me in mind of Caesar. So I will quote him. Memorus might have said in respect to the hosts of the spelling-book, " I came, I saw, I conquered." He generally stood at the head of a class, each one of whom was two years his elder. Poor creatures ! they studied hard some of them, but it did no good ; Mem- orus Wordwell was born to be above them, as some men are said to have been " born to command." At the public examination of his first winter, the people of the district and even the minister thought it marvellous that such monstrous great words should be mastered by " such a leetle mite of a boy ! " Memorus was mighty also in saying those after- HOW THEY USED TO SPELL. 83 spelling matters, the Key, the Abbreviations, the Punctua- tion, &c. These things were deemed of great account to be laid up in remembrance, although they were all very imperfectly understood, and some of them not understood at all. Punctuation ! how many hours, days, and even weeks have I tugged away to lift, as it were, to roll up into the store-house of my memory, the many long, heavy sentences comprehended under this title ! Only survey, (we use this word when speaking of considerable space and bulk,) only survey the first sentence, a transcript of which I will en- deavor to locate in these narrow bounds. I would have my readers of the rising generation know what mighty labors we little creatures of five, six and seven years old were set to perform. " Punctuation is the art of pointing, or of dividing a dis- course into periods by points, expressing the pauses to be made in the reading thereof, and regulating the cadence or elevation of the voice." There, I have labored weeks on that ; for I always had that lamentable defect of mind not to be able to commit to memory what I did not understand. My teachers never aided me with the least explanation of the above-copied sen- tence, nor of other reading of a similar character, which was likewise to be committed to memory. But this and all was nothing, as it were, to Memorus Wordwell. He was a very Hercules in this wilderness of words. Master Wordwell was a remarkable reader too. He could rattle off a word as extensive as the name of a Russian noble, when he was but five years old, as easily as the schoolmaster himself. " He can read in the hardest chapters of the Tes- tament as fast ag'in as I can," said his mother. " I never did see nothin' beat it," exclaimed his father ; " he speaks up as loud as a minister." But I have said enough about this prodigy. I have said thus much because that although he was thought so surpassingly bright, he was the most de- cided ninny in the school. The fact is, he did not know 84 THE NEW -HAM PS II IRE BOOK. what the sounds he uttered meant. It never entered his head nor the heads of his parents and most of his teachers, that words and sentences were written and should be read only to be understood. He lost some of his reputation how- ever when he grew up toward twenty-one, and it was found that numbers, in more senses than one, were far above him in arithmetic. One little anecdote about Memorus Wordwell before we let him go, and this long chapter shall be no longer. It happened one day that the " cut and split" for the fire fell short, and Jonas Patch was out wielding the axe in school time. He had been at work about half an hour, when Memorus, who was perceived to have less to do than the rest, was sent out to take his place. He was about ten years old, and four years younger than Jonas. " Memorus, you may go out and spell Jonas." Our hero did not think of the Yankee sense in which the master used the word spell ; indeed he had never attached but one meaning to it when- ever it was used with reference to himself. He supposed the master was granting him a ride extraordinary on his favorite hobby. So he put his spelling-book under his arm and was out at the wood-pile with the speed of a boy rushing to play. " Ye got yer spellin' lesson, Jonas?" was his first saluta- tion. " Have n't looked at it yet," was the reply. " I mean to cut up this plaguy great log, spellin' or no spellin', before I go in. I had as lieve keep warm here choppin' wood, as freeze up there in that tarnal cold back seat." " Well, the master sent me out to hear you spell." " Did he ? well put out the words and I '11 spell." Memorus being so distinguished a speller, Jonas did not doubt but that he was really sent out on this errand. So our deputy spelling-master mounted the top of the wood-pile, just in front of Jonas, to put out words to his temporary pupil who still kept on putting out chips. " Do you know where the lesson begins, Jonas? " " No, I don't, but I spose I shall find out now." " Well, here 't is." (They both belonged to the same class.) " Spell HOW THEY USED TO SPELL. 80 A-bom-i-na-tion." Jonas spells : " A-b-o-m bom a-bom (in the mean time up goes the axe high in air,) i a-bomi (down it goes again chuck into the wood) n-a na a-bom-i-na (up it goes again) t-i-o-n tion, a-bom-i-na-tion, chuck goes the axe again, and at the same time out flies a furious chip and hits Memorus on the nose. At this moment the master appeared just at the corner of the school-house, with one foot still on the threshold. " Jonas, why don't you come in? did n't I send Memorus out to spell you?" " Yes sir, and he has been spelling me. How could I come in if he spelt me here ? " At this the master's eye caught Mem- orus perched upon the top stick, with his book open upon his lap, rubbing his nose, and just in the act of putting out the next word of the column. Ac-com-mo-da-tion, pro-* nounced Memorus in a broken but louder voice than before, for he caught a glimpse of the master, and he wished to let him know that he was doing his duty. This was too much for the master's gravity. He perceived the mistake, and without saying more, wheeled back into the school-room, almost bursting with the most tumultuous laugh he ever tried to suppress. The scholars wondered at his looks and grinned in sympathy. But in a few minutes Jonas came in, followed by Memorus with his spelling-book, who exclaimed, " I have heard him spell clean through the whole lesson, and he did n't spell hardly none of 'em right." The master could hold in no longer, and the scholars perceived the blunder, and there was one simultaneous roar from pedagogue and pupils ; the scholars laughing twice as loud and uproariously in consequence of being permitted to laugh in school-time, and to do it with the accompaniment of the master. HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. BY NATHANIEL II. CARTER. IN hymns of praise, eternal God ! When thy creating hand Stretched the blue arcii of heaven abroad, And meted sea and land, The morning stars together sung, And shouts of joy from angels rung. Than Earth's prime hour, more joyous far Was the eventful morn, When the bright beam of Bethlehem's star Announced a Saviour born ! Then sweeter strains from heaven began, " Glory to God good will to man." Babe of the manger ! can it be? Art tlinu. the Son of God? Shall subject nations bow the knee, And kings obey thy nod? Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall Before the tenant of a stall ? 'T is He ! the hymning seraphs cry, While hovering, drawn to earth ; 'T is he ! the shepherds' songs reply, Hail ! hail Immanuel's birth ! The rod of peace those hands shall bear, That brow a crown of glory wear. 'T is He ! the Eastern sages sing, And spread their golden hoard; 'T is He ! the hills of Sion ring Hosanna to the Lord ! The Prince of long prophetic years To-day in Bethlehem appears ! HYMN FOR CHRIST MAS. 87 He comes ! the Conqueror's march begins ; No blood his banner stains; lie comes to save the world from sins, And break the captive's chains ! The poor, the sick and blind shall bless The Prince of Peace and Righteousness. Though now in swaddling-clothes he lies, All hearts his power shall own, When he, with legions of the skies, The clouds of heaven his throne, Shall come to judge the quick and dead, And strike a trembling world with dread. TRUE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. BY SAMUEL WORCESTER, . D. [Born at Hollii, Norember 1, 1771. Died at BrainerJ, Cherokee Nation, June 7, 1821.] IT has often and justly been remarked, that Christianity has done more than every thing beside, to elevate woman to her proper rank and dignity. But how has this been effected? The gospel, it is obvious, places woman on an equal footing with man, in regard to God and the blessings of his kingdom. It breathes a spirit of pure and exalted benevolence, and inculcates reciprocal kindness and regard, and all the endearing and improving charities and offices of the domestic and social state. Nor is this all. The principles of Christianity, cordially embraced and practiced, impart an elevation of sentiment and character, to which otherwise our fallen nature can never attain. This has been perceived and felt ; and particularly in regard to the tender sex. Inspired by the gospel, women have risen to sublime intrinsic excellence. They have struck with confusion that spirit of pride, or of sensuality, which would regard them as merely subservient to the whims or the passions of men ; and have showed themselves beings of the noblest endow- ments, impressed with the stamp of immortality, and form- ed for exalted purity, felicity and glory. Look at the women present at the crucifixion, who fol- lowed the Son of God from Galilee, and ministered unto him. Are these mere forms of earth, made only for the purposes of soft amusement or voluptuous pleasure ? No ; they stand, acknowledged beings of an exalted rank, allied to angelic natures, and destined to ascend the scale of im- TRUE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. 89 mortal perfection. Others of the sex have been seen in the same. dignified light ; and in proportion as women have been inspired with the love of God our Saviour, and influenced in their practice by the uncorrupted principles of the gos- pel, they have been raised from the debasement of sensual degradation to the dignity of intellectual and moral excel- lence. Even the most arduous virtues of the Christian char- acter, women have displayed in their highest perfection ; and in scenes of martyrdom for the name of Jesus, have shown a constancy and a courage which have never been transcended by the most renowned heroes on the field of battle. It is thus that Christianity has improved the condition of the sex. It has imparted to them intrinsic and exalted worth ; it has shown them in the unfading charms of moral beauty ; it has inspired them with a dignity and adorned them with virtues which can never fail to be regarded with esteem, with respect, with admiration. Purity, tenderness, loveliness ; are these the distinguish- ed attributes of female excellence ? They are also the dis- tinguished attributes of Christianity. What more pure, more tender, more lovely than true love to Christ ? And when it holds its empire in the female breast, what should be expected but the most delightful and admirable display of all that is most amiable and excellent ? It is indeed the genuine religion of the gospel only, which gives perfection to the character of woman. It is the love of the Saviour glowing in the heart, and imparting its influence to every action which gives substance and life to all, which consti- tutes female excellence, which adds the highest and purest lustre to female graces and charms, and which only can render woman truly " angelic." It is no splendid fiction which I here exhibit. It is a substantial reality ; a reality which has been most exten- sively felt and acknowledged. Not in the scriptures only, but in history, in poetry, and even in novels, corrupt as in general they are, piety is recognized as essential to the fin- 8* 90 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. ished female character. Men who have no religion them- selves, do homage to it in the female form, and are shocked at the idea of a woman destitute of religious principle. The desire to please has been considered as peculiarly influential in the female breast ; and when duly regulated, its influence, no doubt, has been laudable and benign. But are they desirous to render themselves pleasing to their fel- low mortals ? Are they emulous of the esteem and the ap- plauses of men ? And can they be less concerned to render themselves pleasing to their divine Creator ? Can they be less solicitous to secure the smiles and favor of Him who is infinitely good ? But how shall they render themselves pleasing to God, how secure his smiles and his favor, if not by the love and service of Christ ? On the banks of the Jordan and on the Mount of glory, the voice of the Eternal Father was heard : " This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased ; hear ye him." By many women of Israel this voice was obeyed. They heard the Saviour ; they loved and served him. . In this they pleased God. For this they received assurances of his gracious approbation and favor, and their names are record- ed with honor on the pages of his word, and enrolled with glory in the archives of his kingdom. The names of the affectionate Mary and her faithful companions will be had in glorious remembrance with God, when the proudest mon- uments of earthly renown shall have passed away with the ruins of the world. Yes, it is when woman appears truly devoted to her Sa- viour, that the beneficent Father of all looks down upon her from his throne in the heavens, with infinite compla- cency and love. It is then that he recognizes with ineffa- ble delight his last and loveliest workmanship, as truly a help-meet for man ; and with smiles of everlasting approba- tion and favor, gives charge to his angels to protect her through life, and then conduct her to glory. THE GRAVE OF PAYSON. BY WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. I STOOD, in silence and alone, Just at the Sabbath shut of day, Where, quietly, the modest stone Told me that PAVSON'S relics lay. No gorgeous tale nor herald's arms Astonished with their splendid lie, Or hireling praise ; in Truth's meek charms It said, " His record is on high." I gazed around the burial soot, That looks on Portland's spires below, And on her thousands who are not, Did sad yet useful thought bestow ; Here sleep they till the trumpet's tongue Shall peal along a blazing sky ; Yet who of these the old and young, May read his record then on high ! And near, I saw the early grave Of him who fought at Tripoli; Who would not live, the Moslem's slave, Who fell, a martyr with the free. And wrapt in Freedom's starry flag, The chief who dared to " do or die ;" And England's son, who could not lag, Whose deeds his country wrote on high. What glory lit their spirit's track, When from the gory deck they flew ! Could wishes woo the heroes back ? Say, did not fame their path pursue ? Oh, gently sleep the youthful brave Who fall where martial clarions cry, The men, entombed in earth or wave, Whose blood-writ record is on high ! I turned again to Payson's clay, And recollected well how bright The radiance, far outshining day, That robed his soaring soul in light. 92 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. What music stole awhile from heaven, To charm away his parting sigh ! What wings to waft him home were given, Whose holy record was on high ! And give me trembling, said I then, Some place, my Saviour, where suck dwell; And far above the pride of men, And pomp of which the worldlings tell, Will be my lot. Come, haughty kings ! And ye who pass in glitter by, And feel that ye are abject things, Whose record is not found on high. DUTIES OP AMERICAN CITIZENS. BY LEVI WOODBURY. WHILE meditating upon our own astonishing progress, as developed in history, and discriminating with care the origin alike of our perils and securities as a people, does it not behoove us to weigh well the importance of our present position ? Not our position merely with regard to foreign powers. From them we have, by an early start and rapid progress in the cause of equal rights, long ceased to fear much injury, or to hope for very essential aid, in our further efforts for the thorough improvement of the condition of society in all that is useful or commendable. Nor our po- sition, however the true causes may be distorted or denied our elevated position in prosperity and honorable estima- tion, both at home and abroad. But it is our position, so highly responsible, as the only country where the growth of self-government seems fully to have ripened and to have be- come a model or example to other nations ; or, as the case may prove, their scoff and scorn. To falter here and now, would therefore probably be to cause the experiment of such a government to fail for ever. It is not sufficient, in this position, to loathe servitude, or to love liberty with all the enthusiasm of Plutarch's he- roes. But we must be warned by our history how to main- tain liberty ; how to grasp the substance rather than the shadow ; to disregard rhetorical flourishes, unless accom- panied by deeds ; not to be cajoled by holyday finery, or pledges enough to carpet the polls, where integrity and burn- ing zeal do not exist to redeem them ; nor to permit ill- 94 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. vaunting ambition to volunteer and vaunt its professions of ability as well as willingness to serve the people against their own government, any more than demagogues, in a rougher mood, with a view to rob you, sacrilegiously, of those principles, or undermine with insidious pretensions, those equal institutions which your fathers bled to secure. Nor does true reform, however frequent in this position, and under those institutions, scarcely ever consist in violence, or what usually amounts to revolution, the sacred right of which, by force or rebellion, in extreme cases of oppression, being seldom necessary to be exercised here, because reform is one of the original elements of those institutions, and one of their great, peaceable, and prescribed objects. However the timid then may fear, or the wealthy denounce its prog- ress, it is the principal safety-valve of our system, rather than an explosion to endanger or destroy it. We should also weigh well our delicate position as the sole country whither the discontented in all others resort freely, and while conforming to the laws, abide securely ; and whither the tide of emigration, whether for good or evil, seems each year setting with increased force. It behooves us to look our perils and difficulties, such as they are, in the face. Then, with the exercise of candor, calmness, and fortitude, being able to comprehend fully their character and extent, let us profit by the teachings of almost every page in our annals, that any defects under our existing system have resulted more from the manner of ad- ministerinw it than from its substance or form. We less O need new laws, new institutions, or new powers, than we need, on all occasions, at all times and in all places, the requisite intelligence concerning the true spirit of our pres- ent ones ; the high moral courage, under every hazard and against every offender, to execute with fidelity the authority already possessed ; and the manly independence to abandon all supineness, irresolution, vacillation, and time-serving pusillanimity, and enforce our present mild system with that uniformity and steady vigor throughout, which alone DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 95 can supply the place of the greater severity of less free in- stitutions. To arm and encourage us in renewed efforts to accomplish every thing on this subject which is desirable, our history constantly points her finger to a most efficient resource, and indeed to the only elixir, to secure a long life to any popular government, in increased attention to useful education and sound morals, with the wise description of equal measures and just practices they inculcate on every leaf of recorded time. Before their alliance the spirit of misrule will always in time stand rebuked, and those who worship at the shrine of unhallowed ambition must quail. Storms in the political atmosphere may occasionally happen by the encroachments of usurpers, the corruption or in- trigues of demagogues, or in the expiring agonies of faction, or by the sudden fury of popular frenzy ; but with the re- straints and salutary influences of the allies before described, these storms will purify as healthfully as they often do in the physical world, and cause the tree of liberty, instead of falling, to strike its roots deeper. In this struggle, the en- lightened and moral possess also a power, auxiliary and strong, in the spirit of the age, which is not only with them, but onward, in every thing to ameliorate or improve. When the struggle assumes the form of a contest with power in all its subtlety, or with undermining and corrupting wealth, as it sometimes may, rather than with turbulence, sedition, or open aggression, by the needy and desperate, it will be in- dispensable to employ still greater diligence ; to cherish earnestness of purpose, resoluteness in conduct ; to apply hard and constant blows to real abuses rather than milk- and-water remedies, and encourage not only bold, free, and original thinking, but determined action. In such a cause our fathers were men whose hearts were not accustomed to fail them through fear, however formidable the obstacles. Some of them were companions of Cromwell, and imbued deeply with his spirit and iron decision of character, in whatever they deemed right : " If Pope, and Spaniard, and devil, (said he,) all set themselves against us, though they 9G THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. should compass us about as bees, as it is in the 18th Psalm, yet in the name of the Lord we will destroy them." We are not, it is trusted, such degenerate descendants as to prove recreant, and fail to defend, with gallantry and firm- ness as unflinching, all which we have either derived from them, or since added to the rich inheritance. New means and energies can yearly be brought to bear on the farther enlightening of the public mind. Self-inter- est, respectability in society, official rank, wealth, superior enjoyment, are all held out as the rewards of increased in- telligence and good conduct. The untaught in letters, as well as the poor in estate, cannot long close their eyes or their judgments to those great truths of daily occurrence in our history. They cannot but feel that the laws, when duly executed, insure these desirable ends in a manner even more striking to themselves and children, drudges and serfs as they may once have been, than to the learned, wealthy, or great. They see the humblest log-cabin rendered as se- cure a castle as the palace, 4nd the laborer in the lowest walks of life as quickly entitled to the benefit of a habeas corpus, when imprisoned without warrant of law, as the highest in power, and assured of as full and ready redress for personal violence, and of indemnity as ample for injury to character or damage to property. Not a particle of his estate, though but a single ewe-lamb in the western wilder- ness, or the most sterile acre on the White Mountains, can be taken away with impunity, though by the most powerful, without the voluntary consent of the indigent owner, nor even be set apart for public purposes, without the same necessities and the same just compensation awarded as in case of the greatest. It would hardly be necessary to advance any farther ar- guments deduced from our history in proof of the peculiar importance, or indeed vitality, of sound morals, as well as sound education, in such a government as ours, at all times, and more especially in periods of increased peril. They, indeed, always constitute a power higher than the law itself, DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 97 and possess a healthy vigor much beyond the law. Nor, under our admirable system, does the promotion of morality require any, as mere citizens, to aid it, through political favor to the cause of any particular creed of religion, how- ever deep may be our individual convictions of its truth or importance beyond all the world can give or the world take away. Our public associations for purposes of government now wisely relate to secular concerns alone. Surely, any of us can be the worthy descendants of the Puritans without being, after the increased lights of two hundred more years, puritanical in the indulgence of big- otry, or in placing any reliance on the dangerous and, it is hoped, exploded union of church and state for public security. On the contrary, the progress of temperance, the improve- ment in household comforts, the wider diffusiop of knowl- edge as well as of competency in property, and the associa- tion, so intimate and radical, between enlarged intelligence and the growth of moral worth and even religious principle, with the advantages all mutually confer and receive, con- stitute our safest dependence, and exhibit a characteristic, striking, and highly creditable to our whole country, as well as in some degree to the present age. If constantly reinforced by those exertions of the enlightened, the virtu- ous, and the talented, which they can well spare, and which duty, honor and safety demand, they seem to encourage strong hopes that the arm of the law will not hereafter be so often palsied by any moral indifference among the peo- ple at large, or in any quarter, as to its strength to guide as well as hold the helm. At such a crisis, therefore, and in such a cause, yielding to neither consternation nor despair, may we not all profit by the vehement exhortations of Cicero to Atticus : " If you are asleep, awake ; if you are standing, move ; if you are moving, run ; if you are running, fly ?" All these considerations warn us, the grave-stones of al- most every former republic warn us, that a high standard of moral rectitude, as well as of intelligence, is quite as in- 9 98 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. dispensable to communities in their public doings as to in- dividuals, if they would escape from either degeneracy or disgrace. There need be no morbid delicacy in employing on this subject a tone at once plain and fearless. Much of our own history unites in admonishing all, that those public doings should be characterized, when towards the members of the same confederacy, not by exasperations or taunts, but by mutual concessions, in cases of conflicting claims, by ami- cable compromises where no tribunal is provided for equal arbitration, by exact justice to the smallest as well as to the largest state ; and, through all irritations and rebuffs, the more bitter often because partaking of the freedom of their family origin, by an inflexible adherence to that spirit of conciliation, and to that cultivation of harmony, through mutual affection and mutual benefits rather than force, which, honorable if not always honored, formed and has hitherto sustained our happy Union. SONG OE THE ANGELS IN ' FAUST.' TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. BY GEORGE \V. HAVEN. RAPHAEL. THE Sun resounds with ancient wont, Mid brother spheres in rival song, And, with appointed journeymen!, Rolls in his thunder movement on. His vision gives the angels might, Though none to fathom him essay ; While rest thy lofty works of light, Lordly, as at their natal day. GABRIEL. And, swift incomprehensibly, Earth speeds in splendor round, Changing Elysian brilliancy With shuddering night profound. Foams on the cliff's deep-sunken basement, In widening streams, the sea-wave hoarse : Earth, sea, and cliff, in fearful mazement, Speed ceaseless, quick their spheric course. MICHAEL. Fell, rival storms sweep forth amain, From sea to land, from land to sea, And form in wrath their potent chain, That girds, and girds eternally. Waste, waste and wild the lightning gleams Before the bolted thunder's way, Yet, Lord, thy servants praise the beams That, softly changing, form thy day. THE THREE TOGETHER. Thy vision gives the angels might, Though none thy glories fathom may v While rest thy lofty works of light, Lordly, as at their natal day. THE RIVER MERRIMAC. BY HON. WILLIAM MERCHANT RICHARDSON. [Born at Pelbam, January 4, 1774. Died at Chester, March, 1838.] SWEET MERRIMAC ! thy gentle stream Is fit for better poet's theme, For rich thy waves and gentle too, As Rome's proud Tyber ever knew ; And thy fair current's placid swell Would flow in classic song fcs well. Yet on thy banks, so green, so sweet, Where wood-nymphs "dance and naiads meet, E'en since creation's earliest dawn, No son of song was ever horn ; No muses' fairy feet e'er trod Thy modest margin's verdant sod ; And mid Time's silent, feathery flight, Like some coy maiden, pure as light, Sequestered in some blest retreat, Far from the city and the great, Thy virgin waves the vales among Have flowed neglected and unsung. Yet as the sailor, raptured, hails His native shores, his native vales, Returning home from many a day Of tedious absence, far a\vay From her whose charms alone control The warm affections of his soul ; Thus, from life's stormy, troubled sea, My heart returns to visit tliee. Sweet Nymph, whose fairy footsteps press, And viewless fingers gaily dress, By moonlight or by Hesper's beam, The verdant banks of this sweet stream ; Who oft by twilight's doubtful ray, With wood-nymphs and with naiad gay, Lead'st up the dance in merry mood, To the soft murmurs of the flood ; All hail once more ! 't is many a year Since last I came to meet thee here, And much it glads my heart once more To meet thee on this pleasant shore ; For here in youth, when hope was high, THE RIVER MERRIMAC. 101 My breast a stranger to a sigh, And my blood danced through every vein, Amid the jolly, sportive train Of youths and maids, who gathering round, Danced to the flute's entrancing sound, I felt thy powerful influence The bliss our bosoms felt, dispense ; Delight on all our bosoms pour, And make our hearts with joy brim o'er. Thy fingers on each virgin's cheek Impressed the witching "dimple sleek;" Bade magic smiles and blushes meet, In mixture ravishingly sweet, And many a face a charm possess, Which then I felt but can't express. Blest days, alas ! forever past, Sunk in the ocean deep and vast Of years, whose dread profundity Is pierced by none but Fancy's eye, Your joys like gems of pearly light, There hallowed shine in Fancy's sight. What though beside this gentle flood, Bedewed with tears and wet with blood, Profusely shed by iron Mars, In wild Ambition's cruel wars, No evergreen of glory waves Among the fallen warriors' graves ? What though the battle's bloody rage, Where mad contending chiefs engage, The nymphs that rule these banks so green And naiads soft, have never seen ? What though ne'er tinged this crystal wave The rich blood of the fallen brave ? No deathless deed by hero done, No battle lost, no victory won ; Here ever waked with praise or blame, The loud uplifted trump of fame ? Here bounteous Spring profusely showers A wilderness of sweets and flowers. The stately oak of royal line, The spreading elm and towering pine, Here cast a purer, happier shade, Than blood-stained laurels ever made. No wailing ghosts of warriors slain, Along these peaceful shores complain; No maniac virgin crazed with care, The mournful victim of despair; While pangs unutterable swell Her henrt, to view the spot where fell The youth who all her soul possessed, She tears her hair or beats her breast. Ne'er victor lords, nor conquered slaves, Disgraced these banks, disgraced these waves ; But freedom, peace, and plenty here, Perpetual bless the passing year. 9* DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. BY REV. W M . S . B A L C II . AGAINST the operation of the great practical doctrine that all men are created free and equal, two powers have been perpetually warring; the domination of physical force and the corruption of wealth. Wordly ambition has seized upon each of these in turn and wielded them against the liberties of the people. Sometimes both have been combined to keep the great mass of men in ignorance and bondage ; for when all are equal, these distinctions are destroyed. Hence their struggles have been determined, hot and death- like. The conflict has been so loner and severe, the tri- O ' umphs of the right so temporary, and the chances so uncer- tain, that doubters have often given over, by scores and by thousands, to a settled despair for the success of the true, the equal, and the free, over the false, the partial, and the bound. The first encroachment upon the rights and liberties of man was the work of deception and falsehood, and the first triumph over him was gained by physical power. From that day darkness prevailed and animal strength bore rule. Among all savages he that was mightiest in war, or swiftest in the chase, was installed chief of his tribe : and he that has been shrewdest in management has been the most successful O competitor for renown amongst those a few grades elevated above the savage state. As tribes increased in numbers and the social ties were strengthened, these habits were changed from a nomad or wandering to an agricultural or fixed life, and emirs became kings of nations. Physical force, skill and bravery were then employed to conquer and make trib- DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. 103 utary the surrounding clans or nations, to reduce the people to actual slavery or vassalage, and consolidate authority in the person of the monarch. Hence sprang into being great kingdoms and empires based on brute power, and propped by general ignorance, which spread wide their borders over the dwellers on the earth, the sole management of which was intrusted to kings and their counsellors. Successful in so much, rulers grew giddy in their elevation and idly dreamed of universal dominion, in attempts at which their vision was so dazzled that they could not discern the means of their own safety, and they stumbled and fell. Man, physically, has no limitless powers. Bounds are set which he cannot pass. When he attempts to transcend them he falls, and the huge fabrics of his creation crumble to pieces, and resolve into new and generally improved combinations. So rose and so fell the mightiest empires of the East. So rose into greatness and sank into ruin and faded into night, the kingdoms and glory of the kingdoms of the Pharaohs and Ptolemies ; of Cyrus, Cambyses, and Xerxes ; of Philip and Alexander ; of the Caesars and the Bonapartes. And so shall fall every other kingdom, nation, and state not based on the principles of eternal right and equity. Let them fall ! But the wreck and ruin which follow the overthrow of nations based on false principles, and adopting unequal and unjust practices, is no loss, but a gain; for the world, on the whole, is not made worse but better. When tyrants fall the people rise. And when thrown upon their own resources, they begin to learn that they are men, and have rights as well as kings and rulers; and they begin to task their in- genuity to find out means to defend and render them perma- nent. A temporary and sometimes tremendous concussion will follow the breaking up of old established orders, the tearing in sunder of party lines which have bounded the am- bition of despots ; and the greatest consternation will justly fill the bosom of those snugly at ease; safely, as they think, ensconced in power and privilege. The darkest scenes of 104 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. anarchy, rapine, and plunder, may mark the incursions of barbarian hordes, who issue from their mountain fastnesses and overrun and lay waste the fairest cities and stateliest monuments which kingly pride and oppression may have reared ; but these are only the bursting of the deadly por- tions of the elements which are collected in a brief tornado, visiting ruin upon a single spot, while the whole atmosphere is rendered more pure and healthful, and true blessings are more generally and permanently diffused thereby. It was an angel of mercy that troubled the waters and gave them their healing properties. Look at it when and where you will, in the history of the past or in the nature and fitness of things, and you will find that the loosings of the power of tyranny, and the extension to the people of their just rights, have directly tended to their exaltation and improvement in knowledge, virtue, and happiness. Temporary confusion will necessarily follow revolution ; but from the mass the he- terogeneous materials will become gradually fused and amal- gamated into new and improved systems, which will more completely develope the latent resources of man's true great- ness. Ignorance is the most efficient weapon in the hands of monarchs, by which to hold their subjects in bondage. Knowledge, distributed among the people, is the only suc- cessful implement by which to repel the invasion of their rights, to assert their liberties and maintain them. It is the battle-axe of Omnipotence by which to slay sin, death, and hell, and gain universal freedom to the world. And he who wields it now in a good cause is sure of a glorious issue. But another power, more secret and more humble in pre- tensions, but equally sure in its operations, insinuated itself into the systems of government and sapped the foundation of popular liberty and equal rights. I mean the corruption of wealth. What authority based on blood and brute force could not accomplish, being obliged to act openly, became the easy work of wealth, operating under fair pretences, or on private promises for the benevolent administration of DANGERS INCIDENT TO A REPUBLIC. 105 government, or the advancement of personal interest. No sooner was this power permitted to corrupt the minds than the distinction of patrician and plebiari was created, and favors and chains were apportioned to each. At first the fa- vors were dealt out with a chary hand ; and the fetters were forged carefully, so as to set easy upon the limbs, and cause no sudden or loud complaint. But the force of habit is strong, almost supreme, especially if its growth is gradual. Soon as the mind became inured to the distinctions, the breach widened, and the restraints grew less, till the great body of the people found themselves corrupted and enslaved by those revelling in luxury, but more corrupt and depraved than themselves. Tyrant power saw the occasion, seized the opportunity, built its throne on the lives and liberties of the slain ; for the living had none ; and again performed its deeds of darkness and guilt for a season. The free spirit was then shorn of its strength ; the wings of its heavenward flight were clipped ; and, through the long night of moral and intellectual darkness, wandered forlorn, an outcast from the courts of kings, the castles of feudal lords, and the bosoms of the poor ; till at length it found a home in the lodges of Germany and Scandinavia, among the glaziers of the Alps, along the banks of the Rhine, among the Vaudois of France, and in many large souls in the Brit- ish Isles. Being of spontaneous growth, it only needed a natural soil and an opportunity to carry it to a rapid matu- rity. Taking religion to its aid, it appealed to higher than human courts for the right ; to the God of all right, and justice, and truth ; and attired itself for a new and deter- mined conquest; resolved on victory or extinction. The tocsin of war sounded from the Vatican, then mistress of tyrants, and spread the alarm through all the borders of oppressors. But to the utter astonishment of all, the sparks of freedom seemed wide scattered over all Europe, and, when fanned by oppression, burst into flames and radiated more terrifically because of surrounding darkness. Then ecclesiastics and civilians, rich men and poor, old men and 106 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. young, in whose bosoms burned the sacred love of liberty, uprose in the greatness of their strength, arrayed themselves for the contest, and marched boldly forth to mingle in the holy strife for equal rights. Wealth, royalty, and absolution were spurned, and principles of eternal truth and freedom of the soul, guarded by free investigation, were selected as the firm ground and towering bulwarks where to plant them- selves for defence. They kindled their watch-fires on every tall height, a beacon-light to the oppressed, a terror to the oppressors. The assault was made ; the conflict most se- vere. But He who rules in right gave the battle to the weak, defeat to the strong. In their weakness, the weak grew strong ; in their strength the strong were made weak. Truth, long crushed, rose in triumph over error. Oppression, long successful, gave place to the right; and the justice of God's ways were distinctly revealed to man. THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. BY REV. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. AND this is death ! how cold and still, And yet how lovely it appears ! Too cold to let the gazer smile, But far too beautiful for tears. The sparkling eye no more is bright, The cheek hath lost its rose-like red } And yet it is with strange delight I stand and gaze upon the dead. But when I see the fair wide brow, Half shaded by the silken hair, That never looked so fair as now, When life and her.lth were laughing there, I wonder not that grief should swell So wildly upward in the breast, And that strong passion once rebel That need not, cannot be suppressed. I wonder not that parents' eyes In gazing thus grow cold and dim, That burning tears and aching sighs Are blended with the funeral hymn ; The spirit hath an earthly part, That weeps when earthly pleasure flies, And heaven would scorn the frozen heart That melts not when the infant dies. And yet why mourn ? that deep repose Shall never more be broke by pain ; Those lips no more in sighs unclose, Those eyes shall never weep again. For think not that the blushing flower Shall wither in the church-yard sod : 'T was made to gild an angel's bower Within the paradise of God. Once more I gaze and swift and far The clouds of death in sorrow fly : I see thee like a new-born star Move up thy pathway in the sky ; 108 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. The star hath rays serene and bright, But cold and pale compared with thine ; For thy orb shines with heavenly light, With beams unfailing and divine. Then let the burdened heart be free, The tears of sorrow all be shed, And parents calmly bend to see '. The mournful beauty of the dead ; Thrice happy that their infant bears To heaven no darkening stains of sin, And only breathed life's morning airs Before its evening storms begin. Farewell ! I shall not soon forget ! Although thy heart hath ceased to beat, My memory warmly treasures yet Thy features calm and mildly sweet ; But no, that look is not the last ; We yet may meet where seraphs dwell, Where love no more deplores the past, Nor breathes that withering word Farewell ! RECOLLECTIONS OF PETERBOROUGH. FROM A SPEECH AT THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. BY JAMES WILSON, JR. SIR, when I learned some few weeks ago that it was pro- posed to celebrate this Centennial Anniversary of the settle- ment of my native town, I resolved to be present ; and in the expectation that I might be called on for a word, I be- gan to search the by-places and corners of my mind, to ascertain whether any thing connected with Peterborough history had been stowed away there, that might be brought out to contribute to the interest of the occasion. We have heard of the patriotism of our ancestors, of their unanimity in sustaining and devotion to the American cause, in her early efforts for free government. They sought for a government of equal and impartial laws. Permit me to relate to you an anecdote illustrating their profound re- spect for sound laws. My grandfather, as you know Mr. President, kept a tav- ern in a small house, the shape of which sets all description at defiance ; but its rickety remains are still to be seen upon the farm of your townsman, Captain William Wilson. A number of persons being assembled at his public house, an occurrence happened, not unusual in the town at that time, namely, a fight. There was a blow, and blood drawn. The defeated party threatened an immediate prosecution, but the spectators interposed their friendly advice, and a reference of the matter was agreed to by the parties. Five good men and true were designated as referees, who undertook to arbi- trate upon the momentous matter. A solemn hearing was 10 110 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. gone into. Every person present was inquired of as to the fact. After a deliberate hearing of the parties, their several proofs and allegations, the referees awarded that the aggres- sor should pay the cost of reference, by a full treat for all the company, and give as damages to the injured man, for the blood lost, an equal quantity of cherry-rum, which they appraised at a half-pint. Ill-blood is sometimes created be- tween the parties to a law-suit, that continues to circulate in the veins of succeeding generations. No such result fol- lowed the Peterborough law-suit above reported. The wis- dom of the referees was universally commended, as mani- fested in their liberal award of damages, and their sagacity highly extolled for the discovery of an adequate and proper remedy for healing the wound inflicted upon " the peace and dignity of the State." The referees, the parties and their witnesses all separated perfect friends. We have heard that one of the prominent traits of the early inhabitants was a fondness for fun. It was on all oc- casions sought after, and it mattered little at whose expense it was procured. The name of one has already been men- tioned, famous for his singular cast of mind and his witty sarcasms " Old Mosey Morison." I at this moment have in mind an anecdote which, by leave, I will relate ; and if I omit the name of the individual upon whom the wit was perpetrated, I suppose the chief marshal of the day will take no exception to the relation of the story. Mosey Morison was here universally called, in common parlance, " Uncle Mosey." A young gentleman of no small pretensions to learning and high standing in this town, some forty years ago, went to the town of Nelson, then called Packersfield, to instruct a winter school. In the course of the winter " Uncle Mosey " happened to call at the store of a Mr. Mel- ville, where a large number of the people of Packersfield were assembled, and there met the young Peterborough school-master. The school-master accosted him in the fa- miliar salutation of " How do you do, Uncle Mosey 1 " The old gentleman, looking away, and manifesting no sign of RECOLLECTIONS OF PETERBOROUGH. Ill recognition, replied in a cold, disdainful tone : " Uncle Mo- sey ! Uncle ! to be sure ! I'm na uncle of yours ; I claim, na relationship with you, young man." On his return to Peterborough, Mr. Morison related the incident to his blood relations, the Smiths, who asked him why he denied the re- lationship of the school-master. " Why," replied the old man, " J did na wish the people of Packersjield to under- stand that a' the relations of the Morisons were consummate fools." I fear, Mr. President, that I am taking too much time in the relation of Peterborough stories. I will detain you with only one more. At one of the stores in town, upon a cold winter's night, quite a number of the people being present, the toddy circulated freely, and the company became some- what boisterous, and as usual, some of them talked a good deal of nonsense. An old Mr. Morison,* who plumed him- self (and not without much reason) upon his talking talent, had made several unsuccessful attempts to get the floor, (in parliamentary phrase,) and the ear of the house. The toddy had done its work too effectually for him, and he gave it up as desperate, and taking a seat in a retired part of the room, he exclaimed in utter despair, " A' weel, a' weel, here ye are, gab, gab, gab, gab, and common-sense maun set ahind the door" I have watched with intense interest, the wonderful im- provements that have been carried forward in my native town within the last thirty years. When I was a boy, a weekly mail, carried upon horse-back by a very honest old man by the name of Gibbs, afforded all the mail facilities which the business of the town required. Now, Sir, we see a stage-coach pass and repass through this beautiful vil- lage every day, loaded with passengers, and transporting a heavy mail. Your highways and bridges have been aston- ishingly improved, showing a praiseworthy liberality on the part of the town to that important subject. Your progress * Jonathan, the first mechanic in town, and the first male child born in Londonderry. 112 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. in agriculture, manufactures, and the mechanic arts, exhibits striking evidence of the advance of improvement. Look abroad now upon the finely-cultivated fields, the substantial fences, the comfortable, yea, elegant dwellings, the superb manufacturing buildings, the splendid churches and semi- naries of learning ; and in view of all these let the mind for a moment contrast it with the prospect which presented it- self to the eye of the first settler, as he attained the summit of the East Mountain, one hundred years ago. Then not a human habitation for the eye to repose on over the whole extent of this basin-like township, one unbroken forest throughout the eye's most extensive range. No sound of music or hum of cheerful industry saluted his ear. It was only the howl of the savage beast or the yell of the still more savage man, that broke the appalling stillness of the forest. What a wonderful change hath a hundred years wrought here, and what unshrinking energy of character was requisite to induce the commencement of the under- taking ! Some of the old objects of interest to me in my younger days are gone. Their places indeed have been supplied by more expensive and elegant structures : still I must say, I regret the loss. And let me ask, Mr. President, are you quite sure that the loss may not manifest itself in some fu- ture time ? I allude, Sir, to the loss of the old church on the hill there, and the old beech-tree that stood hard by. I look, even at this period of life, upon that spot with a kind of superstitious reverence. Many are the noble resolutions that young minds have formed under the shade of the old beech-tree. Intellectual indolence is the prevailing fault of our times. Under the old beech, in my young days, the great and the talented men of this town used to assemble, and there discuss with distinguished power and ability the most important topics. Religion, politics, literature, agri- culture, and various other important subjects, were there discussed. Well, distinctly well do I remember those debates carried on by the Smiths, the Morisons, the Steeles, the Holmeses, the Robbes, the Scotts, the Todds, the Millers, RECOLLECTIONS OP PETERBOROUGH. 113 and perhaps I may be excused here for adding the Wilsons and others. No absurd proposition or ridiculous idea es- caped exposure for a single moment. A debater there had to draw himself up close, be nice in his logic and correct in his language, to command respectful attention. Abler discussion was never listened to any where. Strong thought and brilliant conceptions broke forth in clear and select lan- guage. They were reading men, thinking men, forcible talking men, and sensible men. Bright intellectual sparks were constantly emanating from those great native minds, and falling upon younger minds, kindled up their slumbering energies to subsequent noble exertion. The immediate ef- fect of those discussions could be easily traced in the beam- ing eye and the agitated muscles of the excited listeners. It was obvious to an acute observer that there was a power- ful effort going on in many a young mind among the hear- ers, to seize, retain and examine some of the grand ideas that had been started by the talkers. This rousing of the young mind to manly exertion, and aiding it in arriving at a consciousness x>f its own mighty powers, was of great ad- vantage where the seeds of true genius had been planted by the hand of nature. If any of the Peterborough boys, with- in the last thirty years, have attained to any thing like intel- lectual greatness, my life on it, they date the commence- ment of their progress from the scenes under the old beech- tree. A thousand times have I thought, Mr. President, if I had the world's wealth at my command, I would cheerful- ly have bartered it all for the ability to talk as well as those men talked. Antiquity may boast of her schools of philoso- phy ; the present may point to its debating clubs and ly- ceums, and talk loud as it will of modern improvement : give me the sound good sense that rolled unrestrained from eloquent lips under the old beech, and it is of more worth than them all. I shall always respect the spot where it grew, and even now it grieves me to see the greensward that sheltered its roots torn too roughly by the plough- share. 10* SONNETS. BY THOMAS C. UP II AM, THE MILLENNIAL DAY. " They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain : for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, a> the waters that cover the sea." Isa. xi. 9. UPON God's holy mountain all is peace. Of clanging arms, and cries, and wail, no sound Goes up to mingle with the gentle breeze, That bears its perfumed whispers all around. Beneath its trees, that spread their blooming light, The spotted leopard walks ; the ox is there ; The yellow lion stands in conscious might, Breathing the dewy and illumined air. A little child doth take him by the mane, And leads him forth, and plays beneath his breast. Naught breaks the quiet of that blessed domain, Naught mars its harmony and heavenly rest : Picture divine, and emblem of that day, When peace on earth and truth shall hold unbroken sway. GOD WORSHIPPED IN HIS WORKS. " The heavens declare the glory of God : and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day ut- tered) speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard." Ps. *ix. 1, 2, 3. MEN use a different speech in different climes, But Nature hath one voice, and only one ; Her wandering moon, her stars, her golden sun, Her woods and waters, in all lands and times, In one deep song proclaim the wondrous story. They tell it to each other in the sky, Upon the winds they send it sounding high, Jehovah's wisdom, goodness, power, and glory ; I hear it come from mountain, cliff, and tree, Ten thousand voices in one voice united ; On every side the song encircles me, The whole round world reveres and is delighted. Ah ! why, when heaven and earth lift up their voice, Ah ! why should man alone nor worship nor rejoice ! THE STUDIES OE AN ORATOR. BY SAMUEL GILMAN BROWN. HISTORY has been called the " letter of instructions which the old generations write and posthumously transmit to the new; the message which all mankind deliver to every man; the only articulate communication which the past can have with the present." It teaches us the wisdom and folly of our race ; of ourselves ; for we are only wiser or less foolish than our fathers, because we are their sons and not their progenitors. In all matters of policy, we know the effect of measures only by experiment. It is given to an age, to a nation, to develope fully the operation of certain principles, in order that the next age and other nations may be wiser. It was necessary that our fathers should have been driven from the house of bondage, in order that their sons might rejoice in the inheritance of freedom. It was needful that the privy council of Scotland should have enacted, "that, whereas the boots were the ordinary way to explicate matters relative to the government, and that there is now a new invention and engine, called the thumbikins, which will be very ef- fectual for the purpose and intent aforesaid ; the lords of his majesty's privy council do therefore ordain, that when- ever any person shall be, by their order, put to the torture, the said boots and thumbikins, both shall be applied to them, as it shall be found fitting and convenient." This was need- ful in the seventeenth century, that the privy council in the nineteenth century should allow examination by the oaths of witnesses alone. It was needful, sad necessity, that a race of doubters should arise, that a whole nation should cut itself loose from religion, in order that men might feel that faith 116 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. is better than skepticism, that government cannot safely divorce itself from religion, and, it may be, in order that the same people might some time return to a firmer, wiser belief of the truth. History is the chart of the deliberative orator. It reveals to him the quicksands and rocks where the hopes of em- pires have been wrecked. It reveals the sources of prosper- ty, the sources of misfortune. To him who can read it, it offers the suggestions of two hundred generations. It bids us beware of the follies of dead nations. To every individ- ual it offers, somewhere among its records, encouragement to great and good deeds. Would the orator rouse the pa- triotic self-devotion of his countrymen ? History tells him, that among the granite mountains of a small European con- federacy, a man was found, who, in a perilous contest, dared to make a path for his comrades, by gathering " a sheaf of Austrian lances" into his own bosom; that, in virtue of this generous self-sacrifice, the name of Arnold of Winkelried has become famous the world over ; and that for this, and other deeds like it, Switzerland is a larger country than Russia. Would he speak of the permanency and life of truth 1 He reads how the sun went down on Egypt and the East, and men slept, while it arose on awakening nations, in Italy and England ; he reads the oft-told story, how the Philosopher recanted with tears, and the world moved still. Would he tell of the direful effects of oppression ? He recollects how the pent-up elements lay simmering together for a thousand years, till they burst off the incumbent mass, and overwhelmed nations. Would he show that revolutions are not productive of evil alone ? He recollects that some- times the new order of things has at last proved better than the old ; that the volcano is a safeguard against the more destructive earthquake ; and that over the lava torrent there spreads out at length a warm and rich soil. W T ould he tell of liberty unrestrained by moral sentiment, unprotected by law ? He reads of a great nation, recoiling from its own THE STUDIES OF AN ORATOR. 117 frightful image, and rushing for protection, as far as possible, to the bosom of the power it had just madly hurled to air. It is from an ignorance of what has been, that men com- mit so many mistakes, and that the same error, after a larg- er or smaller cycle, returns again, like the forgotten fashions of our fathers. Man acts according to his belief. He believes in alche- my ; and with haggard visage and wasted sinews toils in dark caverns, in the vain hope of transmuting the worthless into the precious metals. He believes in a fountain which gives perpetual youth ; and straightway such is the record of history embarks for unexplored lands, searches with an energy which commands respect in spite of the folly, and pushes on his rugged pilgrimage with an enterprise worthy of the best cause. He believes in the insufficiency of his own judgment in matters of religion, in the divinely appoint- ed supremacy of the priesthood, and for centuries commits his conscience and his faith to his spiritual advisers. He believes that the Bible is the only and sufficient rule of faith and practice, that he may and must examine it, and imme- diately he produces the Reformation. Poetry cultivates the imagination. The province of the imagination is not to separate truth from error, but " to ren- der all objects instinct with the inspired breath of human passion." It does not demand if things be true independent- ly, but if they be true in their relation to other things. It does not discover, but enliven. It melts together, into one burning mass, the discordant materials thrown into its cru- cible. Like the colored light of sunset, it bathes in its own hue whatever it touches. Discarding technical rules, as from its nature averse to them, it adapts means to varying circumstances, and seizing upon the hearts of the audience, in aid of belief or in spite of belief, binds them in willing captivity. It annihilates space and time, brings the distant near, draws together the past and the future into the present. It warms the heart of the orator. He then speaks because he feels, not in order that he may feel. The influence flows 118 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. from within, outward, not from without, inward. It tears the orator from considerations of himself, bears him above himself, above rule, criticism, apology, audience, every thing but the subject. The orator stands like an enchanter in the midst of spirits that are too mighty for him. He alone could evoke them from the dark abyss ; but even he is but half their master. He alone can demand the secrets of fu- turity ; but then he can speak only the words that they give him. He inspires others only as he is inspired himself. Logic is necessary for that severe form of speech which carries power in its front, and, by its very calmness and re- pression of earth-born passions, seems to belong to a higher sphere. It must form the bone and muscle of an extended discourse. Imagination clothes the skeleton with beauty, breathes health into the rigid muscles, lights up the eye, loosens the tongue, excites that rapid and vehement decla- mation which makes the speaker to be forgotten, the sub- ject and the subject only to be thought of, betrays no pres- ence of art, because in fact art is swallowed up in the whirl- pool of excited feeling. Besides, there are truths with which logic has no concern ; " truths which wake to perish never ; " truths to be directly apprehended, as well as truths to be proved ; feelings as well as facts. Love and passion and fear laugh at demonstration. " Logic," says one, " is good, but not the best. The irrefragable Doctor, with his chains of inductions, his corollaries, dilemmas, and other cunning logical diagrams and apparatus, will cast you a beautiful horoscope, and speak you reasonable things ; nev- ertheless, the stolen jewel which you wanted him to find you, is not forthcoming. Often by some winged word winged as the thunderbolt is of a Luther, a Napoleon, a Goethe, shall we see the difficulty split asunder, and its se- cret laid bare ; while the Irrefragable, with all his logical roots, hews at it, and hovers round it, and finds it on all sides too hard for him." Poetry not only offers us the language of emotion, but produces emotion, and emotion elicits thought. It has been THE STUDIES OF AN ORATOR. 119 well remarked of the great English dramatist, that he has been true to nature, in placing the " greater number of his profoundest maxims and general truths, both political and moral, not in the mouths of men at ease, but of men under the influence of passion, when the mighty thoughts over- master and become the tyrants of the mind which has brought them forth." Then the mind rushes, by intuition, upon the truth ; scorns subtle and useless distinctions ; disregards entirely the husk, seizes and appropriates the kernel. Emo- tion in the speaker produces emotion in the hearer. You must feel, you must sympathize with him. Your mind darts with the speaker's, right through the textures which cover up the subject, and grasps the heart of it. How deadening are the words of some passionless men ! Like a dull mass of inert matter, their lifeless thought stretches across the path of your spirit. Different, indeed, are the words of an- other, to whom has been given some spark of ethereal fire. His words become to you a law of life. They start your sluggish spirit from its dull equilibrium, and its living wheels shall thenceforth move whithersoever the spirit that is in them moves. Rarely has been found that combination of qualities necessary to the greatest orator, dignity, enthu- siasm, wit, the power of sarcasm, the power of soothing, philosophy which does not despise imagination, imagination which does not spurn the restraints of philosophy. Such should be the studies of the orator. The great orator must be a great man, a severe student in broad and deep studies. He must thoroughly know his materials, his models, the history of his race, and most of all, the heart within him. Then shall lie have power to struggle in the noblest contest, that of mind with mind, for the noblest object, the well-being of his race. ROUSSEAU AND COVPER. BY CARLOS WILCOX. ROUSSEAU could weep : yes, with a heart of stone, The impious sophist could recline beside The pure and peaceful lake, and muse alone On all its loveliness at eventide : On its small running waves in purple dyed Beneath bright clouds or all the glowing sky, On the white sails that o'er its bosom glide, And on surrounding mountains wild and high, Till tears unbidden gushed from his enchanted eye. But his were not the tears of feeling fine, Of grief or love ; at fancy's flash they flowed, Like burning drops from some proud lonely pine By lightning fired ; his heart with passion glowed Till it consumed his life, and yet he showed A chilling coldness both to friend and foe, As Etna, with its centre an abode Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow Of all its desert brow the living world below. Was he but justly wretched from his crimes ? Then why was Cowper's anguish oft as keen, With all the heaven-born virtue that sublimes Genius and feeling, and to things unseen Lifts the pure heart through clouds that roll between The earth and skies, to darken human hope ? Or wherefore did those clouds thus intervene To render vain Faith's lifted telescope, And leave him in thick gloom his weary way to grope ? He too could give himself to musing deep : By the calm lake at evening he could stand, Lonely and sad, to see the moonlight sleep On all its breast by not an insect ninned, And hear low voices on the far-off strand, Or through the still and dewy atmosphere The pipe's soft tones, waked by some gentle hand, From fronting shore and woody island near In echoes quick returned, more mellow and more clear. ROtSSEAU AND COW PER. 121 And he could cherish wild and mournful dreams, In the pine grove, when low the full moon fair Shot under lofty tops her level beams, Stretching the shades of trunks erect and bare, In stripes drawn parallel witli order rare, As of some temple vast or colonnade, While on green turf made smooth without his care He wandered o'er its stripes of light and shade, And heard the dying day-breeze all the boughs pervade. 'T was thus in nature's bloom and solitude He nursed his grief till nothing could assuage ; 'T was thus his tender spirit was subdued, Till in life's toils it could no more engage; - And his had been a useless pilgrimage, Had he been gifted with no sacred power, To send his thoughts to every future age ; But he is gone where grief will not devour, Where beauty will not fade, and skies will never lower. 11 THE CENTENNIAL OP PETERBOROUGH. FROM AN ADDRESS AT THE FIRST CELEBRATION. BY JOHN II. M ORISON. A HUNDRED years ago this whole valley, from mountain to mountain, from the extreme north to the extreme southern limit, was one unbroken forest. The light soil upon the banks of the Contoocook was covered with huge and lofty pines, while the rocky hills and rich loamy lands were shad- ed with maple, beech and birch, interspersed with ash, elm, hemlock, fir, oak, cherry, bass, and other kinds of wood. Bogs and swamps were far more extensive then than now ; and the woods in many parts, on account of the fallen tim- ber and thick underbrush, were almost impassable. The deer and the moose roamed at large ; the wolf and bear prowled about the hills ; the turkey and partridge whirred with heavy flight from tree to tree, while the duck swam undisturbed upon the lonely, silent waters. The beaver and the freshet made the only dam that impeded the streams in their whole course from the highlands to the Merrimac; the trout, pickerel and salmon moved through them unmo- lested, while the old Monadnoc, looking down in every di- rection upon almost interminable forests, saw in the hazy distance the first feeble encroachments upon the dominion which he had retained over his wild subjects for more than a thousand years. That an attempt was made to settle this town as early as 1739 there can be no doubt. The authority of the petition for incorporation as a town, of which, through the Secretary of State, we have been favored with a copy, is on this point THE CENTENNIAL OF PETERBOROUGH. 123 decisive. The town was surveyed and laid out by Joseph Hale, Jr. in 1737. Of the party that came in 1739 no me- morial remains. Probably they were driven away before any considerable clearing had been made. In 1742 five men,* each with an axe and a small supply of provisions upon his shoulders, came from Lunenburg, Massachusetts, and cleared a few small patches of land near the old meet- ing house. They abandoned the settlement at, or more probably considerably before the alarm of war in 1744. Soon after this party, three men cut down the brush and girdled the large trees on the hill near the Ritchie-place at the south part of the town, but left before they had put in their seed. They probably returned the next year with Thomas Morison and John Swan. It could not have been later than 1744, and must have been at a period when there were no other settlers here. For it is a story often told by the children of Thomas Morison, and which cannot well be doubted, that soon after they came, several Indians call- ed upon them just after breakfast, appeared friendly, and after tarrying a short time, went away. When the cook, however, came from chopping to prepare a dinner for the party, he found not only the pot which he had left upon the fire robbed of its contents, but all their provisions carried ofF; and they were obliged to go to Townsend, twenty-five miles, for a dinner ; which they would not have done had there been other inhabitants here at the time. In 1744 the town was entirely abandoned, and the settle- ment was not resumed till the peace of 1749. Indeed, I have found little evidence that families t had established themselves here previous to that period, and this presump- * The traditions are by no means distinct, and it is possible that this party came as early as 1739. They may not have staid more than a single season. Their names, according to Mr. Dunbar, (see N. H. Historical Collections, Vol. I, p. 129,) were William Robbe, Alexander Scott, Hugh Gregg, William Gregg and Samuel Stinson. John Todd, senior, a high authority in the antiquities of our town, gays they were William Scott, William Robbe, William Wallace, William Mitchell and Samuel Stinson. The second party were William M'Xee, John Taggart, William Ritchie. t Catharine Gregg, mother of Gov. Miller, is said to have been baptized here in 1743. 124 THE N E >Y < H A M P S H I R E BOOK. tion is confirmed by the fact that the first male child, John Ritchie, was not born till February 22, 1751. All that was done therefore previous to the war of '44 was only to prepare the way for the future settlement, which was com- menced in earnest in 1749. From that time the colony was rapidly increased by new accessions from abroad, till in '59 there were forty-five or fifty families, from Lunenburg, Londonderry, and some immediately from Ireland. They all, however, belonged to the same stock. They came to this country from the north of Ireland, and were usually called Scotch-Irish. I have now before me a list of four hundred and eighty emigrants, who, scattered through sixteen different States, and if not greatly distinguished, yet holding a respectable place, retain these same strong features. Here, though at times we have felt as if strangers who came among us could only spy out the nakedness of the land after the fruitful gatherings of the harvest, there is still, enriched as the town has been by new accessions, enough to perpetuate the char- acter which we have received from our fathers. Their faults were usually virtues carried too far. The strong mind some- times became dogmatical, impatient, overbearing ; their courage became rashness, their generosity extravagance, their wit levity, their piety was sometimes proud, formal, severe ; and all these incongruous excesses were not seldom mingled in the same mind. Such were our fathers, the substantial elements of their characters well deserving atten- tion, especially in these days of timid virtue ; their faults, partly belonging to the times, but more the effect of strong feelings without the advantages of early discipline. At the same time they had in them the rudiments of a real refine- ment, warm, kind and gentle feelings, and specimens of politeness were found among them, worthy of the patri- archal age. A century has gone by since the solitude of our forests was first broken by the sound of their axe ; and within that century what events have successively risen upon the world ! THE CENTENNIAL OF PETERBOROUGH. 125 The old French war, our own Revolution, one of the few great events in the history of man ; Washington and his as-, sociates, they have come and gone, and the noise of their actions is like the distant murmurings of the sea, heard in- land, when the storm is over, and the waves are sinking to their repose. Then there was the French Revolution, filling the world at once with hope and terror, the rise and fall of that wonderful man, who beginning and ending his life in a narrow island, dethroned monarchs, shook empires, ploughed through kingdoms in his bloody course. During all this while our mountain retreat remained, answering only with a faint echo to the tumults that were agitating all the great interests of the world. The common incidents of time passed over it. Our fathers sowed, and with the pa- tience of hope waited the result of their labors ; they laugh- ed and mourned, performed or neglected the great work that was before them, and went off one by one to their re- ward. All of the first, and almost all of the second genera- tion are now gone. The few that linger with us will soon be gathered to their fathers, and no link will be left connect- ing us with the first settlers of our town. They are going, they are gone ; a strongly marked race bold as the craggy summits of our mountains, generous as our richest fields ; impetuous as the torrents that come tumbling down our hills, kind and gentle as the same streams winding through the valleys, and watering the green meadows. They, and all that they loved, hoped or feared, their in- telligence and strength, their warm sympathies and strong hearts, their loud jests and solemn prayers, are gone from their old homes. Their bones repose on yonder bleak hill- side, near the spot where they were wont to assemble, as a single family, to worship the God of their fathers. Blessings rest upon the spot ! The old meeting-house, as if it could not Iong3r in its loneliness look down day and night upon the graves of those who had once filled its walls with prayer and song, has gone like them, and the ploughshare has re- moved every mark of the place where it stood. The grave- 11* 126 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. yard alone remains. It is overgrown with wild bushes, briers and thistles. There let them in summer spread their shade over the ashes of the dead, and in winter let the winds whistle and howl through them, a fitting emblem of the des- olation which must sooner or later strip off every earthly hope. May the blessings of heaven rest still on that spot. Fresher tears may be shed, and more sumptuous ornaments prepared for the new ground, but many are the hearts of children and brothers and parents which still cling to the old grave-yard, bleak and wild and lonely as it is. And some there are, who, when the paleness of death is creeping under their thin gray locks, shall leave the parting charge of the patriarch : " Bury me with my fathers on the old hill-side. There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife ; there they buried Isaac and Rebecca his wife ; there I buried Leah, and there let my bones be laid." A hundred years have gone by. What unlooked-for events in the great wheel of human life shall rise before another century has closed, it were vain for us to inquire. But when a remote generation shall come next to celebrate this day, not one of us, not one of our children, except as a gray and wrinkled relic from the past, shall be found among the living. The Monadnoc then, as now, will catch the first glimmerings of morning, and the last rays of evening will linger upon his bald and rugged brow ; the Contoocook will journey onward to the sea ; but of all that our hands have wrought and our hearts have loved, not a vestige will re- main as we now behold it. What future good or ill, what storms of civil violence or public war may pass over the land we know not. But so may we live, that the inheritance which we have received of freedom, truth, intelligence, vir- tue and faith, may be handed down unspotted to those who shall succeed ; and the blessing of Almighty God will go with it, and go also with us. THE COURSE OF CULTURE BY THOMAS G. FESSENDEX. SURVEY the world, through every zone, From Lima to Japan, In lineaments of light 't is shown That culture makes the man. By manual culture one attains What industry may claim, Another's mental toil and pains Attenuate his frame. Some plough and plant the teeming soil, Some cultivate the arts ; And some devote a life of toil To tilling heads and hearts. Some train the adolescent mind, While buds of promise blow, And see each nascent twig inclined The way the tree should grow. The first man, and the first of men Were tillers of the soil, And that was mercy's mandate then, Which destined man to moil. Indulgence preludes fell attacks Of merciless disease, And sloth extends on fiery racks Her listless devotees. Hail, Horticulture ! heaven-ordained, Of every art the source, Which man has polished, life sustained, Since Time commenced his course. Where waves thy wonder-working wand, What splendid scenes disclose ! The blasted heath, the arid strand, Out-bloom the gorgeous rose. Even in the seraph-sex is thy Munificence described ; And Milton says in lady's eye Is heaven identified. 128 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. A seedling sprung from Adam's side, A most celestial shoot ! Became of Paradise the pride, And bore a world of fruit. The lily, rose, carnation, blent By Flora's magic power, And tulip, feebly represent So elegant a flower : Then surely, bachelors, ye ought In season to transfer Some sprig of this sweet " touch-me-not,' To grace your own parterre. And every gardener should be proud, With tenderness and skill, If haply he may be allowed This precious plant to till. All that man has, had, hopes, can have, Past, promised, or possessed, Are fruits which culture gives or gave At industry's behest. KNOWLEDGE OF ONE ANOTHER IN A FUTURE STATE. BY REV. JOHN EMERY ABBOT. [Bom at Eieter, Augu 8, 1793. Died October 6, 1818.] THE thought of heaven is often uninteresting from con- sidering it as a state of solemn uniformity, in which the perfected spirits are in continual rest, or employed only in casting their crowns of glory at the foot of the throne, and celebrating, in one unwearied song, the praises of God and the Lamb. It is true, we read of a rest which remains for the people of God ; but is it not a rest alone from evil and anxiety, from temptation and sorrow, from pain and sin? Is it designed to exclude all active exercise of those noble powers, with which the Father of our being has blessed us ? Are the capacities of exertion, of improvement, of benefit- ing others, which have been formed on earth with so much care, to be formed altogether in vain ? Is not this world rather a scene of education, to fit us for accomplishing with more exalted powers the will of God, and acting as minis- ters of his mercy in higher regions of his universe ? The cultivation of particular affections, of the affections arising from the parental, filial, and conjugal relations, is not only the dictate of nature, but the command of duty. And is the culture of this part of our character to be entire- ly useless hereafter ? Are none of the feelings which nature and Christianity have taught us to nourish, to remain ? What is to destroy these affections, what to turn them to coldness and indifference ? Not surely a mere passage through the grave ; not our admission to the kingdom of 130 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. joy and love. When corruption is turned to incorruption, is the heart to be laid waste 1 are the best and purest of our social affections to be lost? and, with the weaknesses of mortality, much which now ennobles and blesses our nature, to be annihilated for ever ? We think of a future state as too different in its nature from the present. Exalted, glori- ous, and happy indeed it is, beyond conception ; exempt from frailty, freed for ever from sorrow, from trial, and from sin ; but the sources of its happiness must be adapted to our nature, and will be such in kind as those which the righteous find on earth. Death does not miraculously change our characters. It only changes the mode of our existence, and introduces us to a holier and happier world ; and we enter it with the dispositions which we have nourished, and the capacities of enjoyment which our care has improved. And as God has created us social beings, as much of our highest and purest delight arises from the intercourses of friendship on earth, and as the culture of our social feelings is so important a part of our present duty and of our prepara- tion for heaven ; it is surely most reasonable to believe that an exalted communion with perfected spirits will be a source of happiness hereafter, and that the friends who have been dear to us on earth, will, if we and they are worthy, be again restored to our knowledge and affection. The idea is full of consolation, and of encouragement to duty. If we weep for the friends who have departed and who sleep in Jesus, we cannot sorrow without hope. They have only passed to their reward a little before us, and soon shall we meet them again. Though they have left us, we are not forgotten by them, nor is their interest in us destroy- ed. If, then, we have friends now in heaven ; if our thoughts can recur to a parent on whom our infant eyes had hardly rested, or whose form has now faded from the remembrance of our youth ; if there be a friend there, once dear to us as our own souls, and who left us widowed and desolate ; if there be a child there, on whom all our earthly hopes had THE FUTURE STATE. 131 rested, whose steps to the grave we had watched with unut- terable anguish, and whose departure bowed us to the dust ; if we desire to meet them again, let us strive to imitate their virtues, and follow the bright path of glory by which they have ascended. Let us cherish the sacred remembrance. Let us feel that now there is a circle which connects us with a better world, and often meditate on what they are, and what we may hereafter be. PRAYER. BY NATHANIEL A. HAVEN. GREAT GOD ! at midnight's solemn hour, I own thy goodness and thy power ; But bending low before thy throne, I pray not for myself alone. I pray for her, my dearest friend, For her my fervent prayers ascend ; And while to thee my vows I bring, For her my warmest wishes spring. While dark and silent rolls the night, Protect her with thy heavenly might ; Thy curtain round her pillow spread, And circling angels guard her bed. Let peaceful slumbers press her eyes, Till morning beams in splendor rise ; And pure and radiant as that beam, Be the light vision of her dream. Let each succeeding morn impart New pleasures to her tranquil heart; And richer blessings crown the night, Than meLthe view at morning light. Whate'er my swelling heart desires, When fervent prayer to Heaven aspires, Whate'er has warmed my fancy's glow, May she, with tenfold richness, know. O God ! may she thy laws fulfil, And live and die thy favorite still; Live to enjoy thy bounteous hand, And die to join the seraph hand. THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. FROM A SPEECH IN THE UNITED STATES SENATE. BY HENRY HUBBARD. I WOULD ask, on what ground shall those who served in the militia during the war of the revolution be excluded from the benefit of the pension system 1 Can any good reason be assigned for their exclusion, which will not apply with equal force to the Continental as well as to the State troops ? No body of troops were more patriotic, no men were more ardent in the prosecution of the war of the revolution, no men in the public service endured more or "suffered more, no men were clothed less, fed less or paid less than they were. In every point of view, they have as strong claims upon the justice and gratitude of the country, as any of the surviving soldiers of the revolution. It must be well known by every individual conversant with the history of the times, that great reliance was placed on the militia of the country, for defensive operations, for the sacred preservation of public freedom, for the mainten- ance of those rights and immunities dear to every true American. The men who composed the militia most rich- ly merit the favor of the government. They were doomed to bear most emphatically their full share of the burdens of the war. They were owners as well as cultivators of the soil ; they were tax payers of the republic. When their country called for physical means, they promptly obeyed that call. At the bidding of their government, they left the 12 134 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. plough for the tented field. On any emergency, they left the quiet and safety of their homes, to share in the danger of the battle. They left their own firesides, to mingle in the severer duties of the army. From April, 1775, to October, 1781, the militia of the whole country were required to be in constant readiness for active service. They knew not at what hour, on what day, or in what week their services would be demanded. They slept upon their arms. They went forth to the field of la- bor with their arms by their side. Early and late, they were prepared to meet the enemies of their country. Their pe- cuniary means, their accumulated substance, all were offer- ed at the altar of patriotism, to meet the exigencies of the republic. Nothing was withholden from her use, which could contribute to her advantage. The enemies at home, the foes from within, required the unremitted watchfulness of the militia. To expose the treachery of toryism demand- ed the exercise of all their vigilance, their firmness, their perseverance. The peculiar services and sacrifices of the militia during the war of the revolution give to that class a powerful claim upon the justice of the common country. For these services, for these sacrifices, they could not have been paid. The debt is yet due ; it still remains unsatisfied ; and on every consideration, the militia are equally well entitled to the benefit of the pension system as any other class of revolu- tionary soldiers. It was the pure patriotism, it was the unwavering devo- tion to the best interests of the republic, it was the virtue and the valor of the militia, that gave to our cause an im- pulse which was irresistible, an impulse which the whole physical force of England, aided by her subsidized Hessians, proved wholly incompetent to control and to vanquish. The battles of Lexington, Concord, Bunker Hill, taught the enemy that the soil of freemen could not be invaded with impunity, that the spirit of freemen could never be subdued THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. 135 by skill however consummate, by force however powerful. The enemy then saw and felt too much not to believe that the sacred soil of freemen might be run over, but could not be conquered. Were it necessary to advert to events to show forth the value of the militia, I would direct your at- tention to every great battle that was fought in the war of the revolution. At the north, it was the militia that gave a turn to our hostile operations, which inspired confidence in the cause of America. The battle of Bennington, under the brave Stark, of my own State, with his regiments of militia, after a series of disaster and defeat had attended the army in Canada and upon the lakes, served to animate the drooping spirit of despondency, to fill the soul of patriotism with hope, with confidence, with courage. In the south as well as in the north, the militia of the country was equally distinguished for the purity of its patri- otism and the ardor of its zeal. If any invidious foe to our country has cast imputations upon the bravery and the con- duct of our militia at any particular period of that war, it should be replied, that want of discipline not want of heroism subjected our militia in certain memorable battles to great disadvantages. There was no cowardice, no treachery in the composition of the militia. In every battle fought, in every victory won they were breast to breast, side by side with State and Con- tinental troops. When the enemy of the country cried " havoc and let slip the dogs of war," the militia came forth in their might. All the battles of 1775, before a regular army could have been organized, of Lexington, of Bunker Hill, of Ticonderoga, of St. Johns and of Norfolk, evince the most unwavering courage and conduct. If a doubt could be supposed to exist as to the value of the militia ser- vice in the war of the revolution, I would refer to the battles of Fort Moultrie, of Bennington, of Saratoga, of Long Island, of Trenton, of Germantown, and of York Town. These 136 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. engagements speak a language which cannot be mistaken and which will not be forgotten. I will here advert to one fact, showing the general enthu- siasm which pervaded the whigs of that day in favor of the cause of their country. At the great battle of Saratoga, when the hope of success had nerved the arm of every soldier, the commanding general addressed a communication to the Assembly of New Hampshire, then in session, for more men. The Assembly was under the direction of our venerated Langdon. The communication was read, and without de- lay the field of legislation was exchanged for the field of battle. Langdon and his friends flew to the aid of Gates and of their country. Victory followed. Burgoyne was captured, and public confidence was revived. And now, Sir, is there any man in this committee who would wish to humble that noble, proud and patriotic spirit, by withhold- ing justice from the militia and extending it to the troops of the Continental army ? I will not believe it. I cannot for a moment believe that at this day of general prosperity, the representatives of this free republic would be or could be disposed by such partial legislation to do such great in- justice. We are now happy at home, enjoying every blessing which can pertain to freemen. We are respected abroad, partici- pating in every right guarantied to the most honored nation. We cannot fail to realize, that every interest of our beloved country is most prosperous. Every citizen in this great re- public is made secure in the enjoyment of all his rights, by the moral influence of our free institutions. How wonder- ful have been the practical effects of the American revolu- tion ! How great has been the advance of our general pop- ulation, the march of improvement, the progress of the arts ! Our extended and extending West comes forth in all her majesty, in all her physical and moral power, to bear evi- dence to the wondering world of the great and glorious fruits of the revolution. The cause of learning, the pure THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. 137 spirit of Christianity trace their astonishing advancement to the impulse received at that eventful period. The science of self-government, the free institutions of our land, rest upon a deep and enduring foundation, laid in the war of the revolution. In every latitude, in every region, in every part of Christendom, are to be found the effects of American genius, American enterprise, and of American industry. And while we contemplate the universal prosperity and happiness which pervades our land, can we fail to take a retrospect, and bring to mind, by whose efforts and energies, by whose services and sacrifices these invaluable blessings have been secured? In the dark days of the revolution our beloved country was poor, of limited resources, little able to fulfil to the letter her engagements ; her soldiers were neither fed nor clothed nor paid according to the stipula- tion of the government ; the general currency of the country was greatly depreciated. These unfailing friends could not at such a time have received their honest, their just de- mands. Nevertheless their devotion to her cause suffered no change. Through good report and through evil report, in her prosperity and in her adversity, they went for their country and for nothing but their country. Let us then unite with one mind and with one heart to effect a satisfactory payment of this debt, a debt which we should most willingly admit, a debt which our country is now well able satisfactorily to discharge. And shall we stop, the descendants of our revolutionary fathers, the chil- dren of the patriots of that day ; shall we, freemen, the na- tive sons of the soil, stop to calculate the dollars and cents, the pounds and the pence which the passage of this bill may annually draw from our treasury. God forbid. I would have never entered upon any such inglorious work, had it not have been time and again reiterated, that the passage of such a bill as this would impoverish our country, brin^ ruin upon our republic. I would pass this bill, were I cer- 12* 138 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. tain that the consequent exaction upon me would require the surrender of the better half of my estate. I would then have left the consolation that the claims of our revolutionary patriots had been satisfied, without whose triumphant efforts every thing here would have been valueless ; political rights and political privileges would have been any thing but po- litical blessings. But calculations have been made. It is true that all computations touching this subject must be founded some- what in conjecture. It is impossible to arrive at absolute certainty. The sum of the whole matter is, that if this bill should now pass, for a few years to come a million of dollars may be required to carry its purposes into full effect. But it can only be required for a few, a very few years. The sur- viving soldiers of the revolution have already passed that boundary which has been assigned by high authority as the duration of human existence. If by reason of their strength they should continue until four score years, yet will their strength be labor and sorrow. They must be soon cut off; their places will soon know them no more for ever. The day of their departure must be at hand their years must be nearly numbered. While I am now speaking, I am forcibly reminded that even this short delay may operate to the injury of some faithful vete- ran of the revolution. I am reminded that, while I am stay- ing the progress of this bill, the spirits of many of those un- failing friends of the country may have mingled with the kindred spirits of just men made perfect. I am reminded by the journals of the day, by every newspaper that I take into my hands, that here and there the brave founders of the republic are daily increasing the congregation of the dead. I am reminded by the kind letter of a reverend clergyman in this city, received since I came into this hall, that one for whose relief a bill had been prepared has been gathered to his fathers. I cannot fail to be reminded by these events THE MILITIA OF THE REVOLUTION. 139 that I ought to proceed no farther. I would then most sol- emnly urge this committee not to delay the passage of this bill ; and my fervent prayer to the Father of the faithful would be, that many may long live to enjoy its benefits ; that they may be induced to call around them their chil- dren and their children's children, and by one more patri- otic effort rivet their affections still stronger to the republic, by pointing out to them this act of the justice and gratitude of their beloved country. BOCIIBI. BY MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON. ' And they called the name of that place Bochim ; (weepin g ;) and they sacrificed there Lord." Jadget ii. 5. NOT in our sunny paths altars we raise, Not where the roses bloom offer we praise ; Where the dark cypress boughs shadow our way, Win-re the dark willow swings there do we pray. Not when the morning light opens the flowers, Not when in glory roll day's perfect hours ; When the last rosy light fadeth away, When the dew shuts the flower then do we pray. Not when the circle is whole at the hearth, And bright faces gladden the home of their birth ; When the turf covers or seas bear away Those we have watched over then do we pray. Not. when the heart we love turns to us, true, When the bright morning brings love, again new ; When the heart trusted in turneth away, And the eye answereth not then do we pray. Not when the light of bliss shines on the brow, Not when hope whispers, sweet, "ever as now;" When the heart sinketh and hope dies away, When the eye weepeth sore then do we pray. Beautiful, then, be our valley of tears, With altars the heart in its wretchedness rears; Nor grieve we, nor pine, that in grief we must share, Since our valley of tears is a temple of prayer. INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL IMPROVEMENT. FROM AN ADDRESS TO THE STUDENTS OF BOWD01N COLLEGE. BY JESSE APPLETON, D . D. [Born at New Ipswich, November 17, 1772. Died at Brumwick, Me.] IN the composition of human beings we distinguish the body, the intellect, and the heart. The cultivation of these demands our attention in proportion to their respective im- portance. Of bodily powers, agility and physical strength are the principal if not the only constituents. By the intel- lect we perceive, compare, abstract, and form conclusions. Its province extends to moral not less than to other re- lations. Moral ideas, together with their relations, are as t o * truly objects of intellect, as are ideas of number or quantity. Perceiving these relations, we discern the reality of duty and the fitness of actions. But though the obligations of o o virtue are discerned by the understanding, the understand- ing is not the seat of moral virtue. There is no conceiva- ble state of the intellect, of which we can predicate either virtue or vice. Moral dispositions or affections are distinct from the understanding; and in these consist whatever in accountable beings is worthy of praise or blame. On this distinction are grounded those few remarks, which the present interesting occasion gives me an oppor- tunity of addressing to you, relative to that union, which ought ever to be maintained between piety and good morals on the one hand, and literature and science on the other. Mind, however capacious, if perverted, does not raise its possessor so much above brute animals, as it leaves him in- ferior to the man of moral goodness. 142 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. It being certain, that the cultivation of the intellectual powers does not necessarily imply virtue, either in princi- ple or practice, I request you to look attentively at the dif- ferent effects on civil society, produced by literature and science, as they are combined or not with sentiments of re- ligion. To whom is the cause of social order and human happiness most indebted, to such philosophers as Bou- langer, Condorcet, and Dupuis, or to Locke, Newton, and Sir William Jones? None of these distinguished charac- ters lived without effect. The influence of their examples and writings has been discovered in families : it has been felt in deliberate assemblies, by nations, and by the whole civilized world. In regard to the latter, their wonderful powers were employed either directly or indirectly to estab- lish those great principles which lie at the foundation of religion, both natural and revealed. Whether they investi- gated the laws of mind or of matter, they considered them as originating with an intelligent Lawgiver, of whose exis- tence and agency they discovered new evidence, in propor- tion as they passed beyond the boundaries by which human knowledge had been previously circumscribed. In the vic- tories which they gained over ignorance and error, they ded- icated their richest spoils to the Author of nature, " the knowledge and veneration of whom," says Mr. Locke, " is the chief end of all our thoughts, and the proper business of all our understandings." If you have any doubts of the effects resulting from tal- ents and science, unconnected with moral sentiments and feelings, consider what has rendered the European conti- nent, for the last twenty years, a scene of misery, revolu- tion, and war. Men of depraved character, possessing that influence which strong powers, science, and an enterpris- ing, restless temper seldom fail to bestow, diffused over Eu- rope that spirit of atheism and misrule which has strewed with mighty ruins the fairest part of the globe. The four winds have indeed striven on the great deep : and though INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL IMPROVEMENT. 143 the tempest is hushed, and the surges are now subsiding, we behold, on a widely-extended ocean, the fragments of scattered navies, and many human beings struggling be- tween life and death. Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto Aima virum, tabuheq ; et Troia gaza per undas. The same effects, in a proportionate degree, will be pro- duced, wherever the understanding is cultivated, and the fruits of the heart are permitted to shoot up in the wild- ness of nature. What infidels of uncommon powers have accomplished in the courts of princes or in the mass of a nation, others of ordinary growth may achieve in their own vicinity or village. There is another point of view, in which the importance of uniting religion with your studies will be farther appa- rent. A very elegant and perspicacious inquirer into the philosophy of mind, has mentioned among the advantages derived from the reading of fictitious narratives, " that by exhibitions of characters a little elevated above the common standard, they have a tendency to cultivate the taste in life; to quicken our disgust at what is mean or offensive, and to form the mind insensibly to elegance and dignity." Now, if it tends to purify and elevate the mind to contemplate fictitious representations of human excellence, to how much greater extent, as well as more certainly and constantly, will the similar effect be produced by the habitual contem- plation of an ever-present and immutable God ! a character which, to use the language of a living author, " borrows splendor from all that is fair, subordinates to itself all that is great, and sits enthroned on the riches of the universe." Nor ought it to escape your notice, that the strongest motives to cultivate both the intellectual and moral powers, are involved in the belief that we shall exist, and become immortal beyond the grave. If you, who now possess the powers and execute the functions of intelligent agents, are 144 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. by the next fever or the next casualty to be extinguished for ever ; if there be nothing in you which the fire cannot consume nor the worm devour, there is indeed less ex- citement to laborious study. For who would take much pains to trim a taper which shines but for a moment, and can never be lighted again 1 But if mind is capable of endless progression in knowledge, endless approximations to the Supreme Intelligence ; if, in the midst of unremitting success, objects of new interest will forever be presented, what prospects are opened to the view of man ! what strong inducements to application and research ! Few scenes of more solemn interest, I think, are ever exhibited on earth, than that which is presented in the last moments of a profligate man, possessing learning and talents. It is an obvious dictate of reason not less than of revelation, that men are accountable for what they have. In these circumstances, his mind recognizes two sources of alarm. It contemplates the things which have been done, and those which have been omitted. In that large sphere, in which minds of this description are designed to move, it finds nothing on which to repose with pleasure. Neither by pre- cept nor example have the duties of morality and the solemnity of religion been enforced. All that influence which he might have had on the side of order and virtue and piety, has received an opposite direction. In the con- templations of those around him, ideas of a lax morality, of talents and erudition have been most unhappily associated. Many who respected him for the latter qualities have been consoled under the lashes of conscience, and confirmed in vice by the authority of his example. For the evil done and the good neglected, he is now required to account be- fore the Eternal ! Young Gentlemen, A very few years will now fix the character which you are to sustain through life. Those farther advanced in age are often surprised at the rapidity with which the habits and feelings of the collegian are ex- INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL IMPROVEMENT. 145 changed for those of the citizen. We witness young men, taking leave of the places of their education, and if habits of regularity and diligence are formed, we are soon remind- ed of our own progress in years, by recognizing them in the pulpit, at the bar, or on the bench. The blossoms are scarcely fallen, before the fruit is seen swelling into ripeness. 13 THE WHITE CLOYER. BY SARAH SMITH. [Bom at Hanorer, 1799. Died at Hanover, August 17, 1812.] THERE is a little perfumed flower That well might grace the loveliest bower, Yet poet never deigned to sing Of such an humble, rustic thing ; Nor is it strange, for it can show Scarcely one tint of Iris' bow. Nature, perchance, in careless hour, With pencil dry might paint the flower, Yet instant blushed her fault to see, So gave it double fragrancy. Rich recompense for aught denied, Who would not homely garb abide, If gentlest soul were breathing there Blessings throughout its little sphere ? Sweet flower ! the lesson thou hast taught Shall check each proud ambitious thought ; Teach me internal worth to prize, Though found in lowliest, rudest guise ! FROM THE 'PICAYUNE.' BY GEORGE KENDALL. No other class of men in any country possess that facetious aptness at inflicting a good-humored revenge which seems to be innate with a Green Mountain boy. Impose upon or injure a Vermonter, and he seems the drollest and best na- tured fellow you ever knew in your life, until suddenly he pounces upon you with some cunningly devised offset for your duplicity ; and even while he makes his victim smart to the core, there is that manly open-heartednesss about him which infuses balm even while the wound is opening, and renders it quite impossible that you should hate him, how- ever severe may have been the punishment he dealt out to you. These boys of the Green Mountains seem to possess a natural faculty of extracting fun from every vicissitude and accident that the changing hours can bring ; even what are bitter vexations to others, those happy fellows treat in a man- ner so peculiar as completely to alter their former character, and make that seem to us agreeable, which was before in the highest degree offensive. Another man will repay an aggravation or an insult by instantly returning injury, cut- ting the acquaintance and shutting his heart forever against the offender ; but a Vermonter, with a smile upon his face, will amuse himself, while obtaining a far keener revenge, cracking a joke in conclusion, and making his former ene- my forgive him and even love him after the chastisement. One winter evening, a country store-keeper in the Moun- 148 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. tain State was about closing his doors for the night, and while standing in the snow outside putting up his window- shutters, he saw through the glass a lounging, worthless fel- * O O DO* low within grab a pound of fresh butter from the shelf and hastily conceal it in his hat. The act was no sooner detected than the revenge was hit upon, and a very few moments found the Green Mountain store-keeper at once indulging his appetite for fun to the fullest extent, and paying off the thief with a facetious sort of torture, for which he might have gained a premium from the old inquisition. " I say, Seth !" said the store-keeper, coming in and clos- ing the door after him, slapping his hands over his shoulders and stamping the snow off his shoes. Seth had his hand upon the door, his hat upon his head, and the roll of new butter in his hat, anxious to make his exit as soon as possible. " I say, Seth, sit down ; I reckon, now, on such a tarnal night as this, a leetle something warm would n't hurt a fel- low. Come and sit down." Seth felt very uncertain ; he had the butter, and was ex- ceedingly anxious to be off; but the temptation of " some- thing warm" sadly interfered with his resolution to go. This hesitation however was soon settled by the right own- er of the butter taking Seth by the shoulder, and planting him in a seat close to the stove, where he was in such a manner cornered in by barrels and boxes, that while the country grocer sat before him there was no possibility of hia getting out, and right in this very place sure enough the store-keeper sat down. " Seth, we '11 have a little warm Santa Cruz," said the Green Mountain grocer, as he opened the stove-door and stuffed in as many sticks as the space would admit. " With- out it, you 'd freeze going home such a night as this." Seth already felt the butter settling down closer to his hair, and jumped up, declaring he must go. " Not till you have something warm, Seth. Come, I 've A MELTING STORY. 149 got a story to tell you, too ; sit down, now ; " and Seth was again pushed into his seat by his cunning tormentor. " Oh, it 's darn'd hot here," said the petty thief, again at- tempting to rise. " Set down; do n't be in such a plaguy hurry," retorted the grocer, pushing him back in his chair. " But I 've got the cows to fodder, and some wood to split, and I must be a-goin'," continued the persecuted chap. " But you must n't tear yourself away, Seth, in this man- ner. Set down ; let the cows take care of themselves, and keep yourself cool : you appear to be jidgetty" said the roguish grocer with a wicked leer. The next thing was the production of two smoking glasses of hot rum-toddy, the very sight of which, in Seth's present situation, would have made the hair stand erect upon his head had it not been well oiled and kept down by the butter. " Seth, I '11 give you a toast now, and you can butter it yourself," said the grocer, yet with an air of such consummate simplicity that poor Seth still believed himself unsuspected. " Seth, here 's here 's a Christmas goose (it was about Christmas time) here 's a Christmas goose well roasted and basted, eh ? I tell you, Seth, it 's the greatest eating in creation. And, Seth, do n't you never use hog's fat or common cooking butter to baste with. Fresh pound butter, just the same as you see on that shelf yonder, is the only proper thing in natur' to baste a goose with. Come, take your buttei 1 mean, Seth, take your toddy." Poor Seth now began to smoke as well as to melt, and his mouth was as hermetically sealed up as though he had been born dumb. Streak after streak of the butter came pouring from under his hat, and his handkerchief was already soak- ed with the greasy overflow. Talking away as if nothing was the matter, the grocer kept stuffing the wood into the stove, while poor Seth sat bolt upright, with his back against the counter, and his knees almost touching the red hot fur- nace before him. " Darnation cold night this," said the grocer. " Why, 13* 150 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. Seth, you seem to perspire as if you was warm ! Why do n't you take your hat off? Here, let me put your hat away." "No!" exclaimed poor Seth at last, with a spasmodic effort to get his tongue loose, and clapping both hands upon his hat ; " no ! I must go : let me out ; I aint well, let me go ! " A greasy cataract was now pouring down the poor fellow's face and neck, and soaking into his clothes, and trickling down his body into his very boots, so that he was literally in a perfect bath of oil. " Well, good night, Seth," said the humorous Vermonter, " if you will go : " adding, as Seth got into the road, " neigh- bor, I reckon the fun I 've had out of you is worth a nine- pence, so I shan't charge for that pound of butter !" THE WHITE MOUNTAINS BY WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. I GAZED upon the mountain's top, That pierced in twain the passing cloud, And wondered at its giant form, So dark, magnificent, and proud. Can this strong mountain from its base Be shaken by the tempest's shock ? Can all the gathered thunders stir This everlasting, solid rock, And scatter forth its dust like hail ? And fling its fragments on the air ? Can aught created wield such strength ? Exists such power ? Oh, tell me where ? They may remove ; these mountains may Tremble, and hence for ever pass ; These hills, that pillar up the skies, Perish, as doth the new-mown grass. Yea, saith the Lord, they shall depart, The hills, and all the solid land ; But my sure word of truth remains, My promise shall for ever stand. CHARACTER OP THE REV. DR. PARKER, OF PORTSMOUTH. BY SAMUEL E. COUES. THE mind of Dr. Parker was characterized by vigor of conception and distinctness of thought. His course ever appeared to be regulated and directed by his practical good sense. This was exhibited in his whole life, and gave a de- cided practical tendency to all his efforts in his profession. It was seen in all his sermons. There was not found in them any attempt merely to please the taste of the day, or to gratify the imagination by the charms of rhetoric. In their style they were plain, simple and direct ; with a strong and manly eloquence they were addressed to the conscience. The end of preaching, reformation of life, appeared never to be forgotten. The most frequent topics were the practi- cal truths of revelation, the plain and universally admit- ted doctrines ; for he believed, in these consisted the power of religion over the heart. He sought not originality of ideas, but strength of illustration. He did not exert his mental strength by boldness of speculation, by treading as it were on the confines of error, in advancing new and dazzling ideas, but he used his power, directed his search, and applied his knowledge of character to enforce the great truths which are the very corner-stones and foundations of the Christian's hopes. His manner was solemn and impres- sive. There was no attempt to set himself off, or to draw the attention to the preacher. He appeared to forget self in his interest for others, to look for the effects of his ser- mons on the character of his hearers, not on his own repu- CHARACTER OF REV. DR. PARKER. 153 tation. He stood before his people as the ambassador of Christ, and his manner, expression, and whole appearance were such as to enforce the belief that he spoke from the heart, and was himself personally interested in the truths he illustrated, personally imbued with the spirit of the reli- gion he preached. There was a sanctity of manner, an appearance of heart-felt reverence in his devotions. His mind seemed intently fixed in his adoration. His petitions flowed upward from the heart ; the very tones of his voice, the richness and purity of his devotional language carried the mind upward from the changes of earth, from the weak- ness of man, to the peace and permanence of the heavens, to Him in whom is no variableness or shadow of turning. The warmth of his feelings and his intimate knowledge of character peculiarly fitted Dr. Parker for the discharge of his parochial duties. To the mourner he was indeed the son of consolation, the guide of the wounded spirit. In whatever family he visited in times of trouble to its mem- bers, he was ever after the friend of their hearts. He came not coldly to discharge the duty of a pastor, to offer the for- mal words of consolation. He entered the house of mourn- ing as the Christian friend, calm and self-possessed, yet exhibiting a heart-felt commiseration. He appeared as one who personally suffered, and his deep sympathy with the afflicted enabled him to pour the balm of consolation into the wounded heart ; he could thus hush the tumult of grief, and soothe the excited mind by directing it to the Star of Bethlehem, shining with mild and steady beams beyond the clouds which rested over their earthly hopes. How many tears now flow when the memory of his people carries them back to the times of their bereavements, when their dying friends reposed on his bosom, when his Christian friendship, his devoted benevolence comforted and sustained them, and so often made the afflictions of life to minister to their per- manent good ! He did indeed faithfully discharge the duties of a pastor. He identified himself with the sorrows of others. He came 154 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. wherever a trial was to be borne, and lightened the burden by partaking of the grief. Whoever was in trouble found a Christian friend who could impart Christian consolation. To the poor and sick, to the widow and to the stranger, Dr. Parker would freely give his attention. He sought all such opportunities of doing good. His time, his professional aid, his whole means of usefulness were at their service, whether they needed the consolations of religion, or that active char- ity which feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, and sets the prisoner free. No man in private life perhaps was ever more frequently called to scenes of sorrow, no one was more familiar with human suffering, yet he never shrunk from duty, he was never deterred from attempts to alleviate distress. He found himself fully equal to every call of duty here. " God will take charge of the happiness of him who for- gets self in his exertions for the welfare of others." This remark, it is believed, was made with a personal conviction of its truth. The very weakness of human nature, the mu- tual and constant kind offices rendered necessary by the changes and vicissitudes of life, seem designed to render more intimate the connexion of mind with mind, destined perhaps to continue in a more perfect state of being. On the strength and purity of the sympathies of our nature de- pend our happiness. These should flow alike with sorrow and with joy ; they must connect themselves with the suffer- ings as well as with the happiness of others. The changes of life seem designed to furnish them with their regular and strengthening exercise, that the character may be improved, and the capabilities for enjoyment enlarged. He who weeps with those who weep can rejoice with those who rejoice ; the mind, purified and exalted by scenes of distress, shall turn with increased sensibilities to connect itself with all that is cheerful and happy here, and with all the brightness of the Christian's future hopes. THE VICTOR'S CROWN. BY MRS. S. J. HALE. A CROWN for the Victor, a crown of light ! From a land where the flowers ne'er feel a blight, Was gathered the wreath that around it glows, And he who o'ercometh his treacherous ibes, That radiant crown shall gain : A king went forth on the rebel array That arose where a beautiful hamlet lay ; He frowned, and there 's nought save ashes and blood And blackened bones where that hamlet stood, Yet his treacherous foes he hath not slain. A crown for the Victor, a crown of light ! Encircled with jewels so pure and bright, Night never hath gloomed where their lustre glows, And he who can conquer his proudest foes, That glorious crown shall gain : A hero came from the crimson field, And low at his feet the pale captives kneeled ; In his might he had trodden a nation down, But he may not challenge the glorious crown, For his proudest foe he hath not slain. A crown for the Victor, a crown of light ! Like the morning sun, to the raptured sight From the night of a dungeon raised, it glows : And he who can slay his deadliest foes, That shining crown shall gain : With seaiching eye and stealthy tread, The man of wrath sought his enemy's bed ; Like festering wounds are the wrongs he hath borne, And he lakes the revenge his soul hath sworn, But his deadliest foe he hath not slain. A crown for the Victor, a crown of light ! To be worn with a robe whose spotless white Makes darkness seem resting on Alpine snows, And he who o'ercometh his mightiest foes That robe and crown shall gain : With eye upraised, and forehead bare, A pilgrim knelt down in holy prayer ; He hath wrestled with self and with passion striven, And to him hath the sword of the Spirit been given, O crown him, for his foes, his sins are slain ! NIGHT. FROM THE 'LAY PREACHER.' BY JOSEPH DENNIE. " Watchman, what of the night ? " To this query of Isaiah the watchman replies, " That the morning cometh, and also the night." The brevity of this answer has left it involved in something of the obscuri- ty of the season when it was given. I think that night, however sooty and ill-favored it may be pronounced by those who were born under a day-star, merits a more particular description. I feel peculiarly disposed to arrange some ideas in favor of this season. I know that the majority are literally blind to its merits ; they must be prominent indeed to be discerned by the closed eyes of the snorer, who thinks that night was made for nothing but sleep. But the student and the sage are willing to believe that it was formed for higher purposes ; and that it not only recruits exhausted spirits, but sometimes informs inquisitive and amends wick- ed ones. Duty, as well as inclination, urges the Lay Preacher to sermonize, while others slumber. To read numerous vol- umes in the morning, and to observe various characters at noon, will leave but little time, except the night, to digest the one or speculate upon the other. The night, therefore, is often dedicated to composition, and while the light of the paly planets discovers at his desk the Preacher, more wan than they, he may be heard repeating emphatically with Dr. Young : " Darkness has much divinity for me." NIGHT. 157 He is then alone, he is then at peace. No companions near, but the silent volumes on his shelf, no noise abroad, but the click of the village clock, or the bark of the village dog. The deacon has then smoked his sixth and last pipe, and asks not a question more concerning Josephus, or the church. Stillness aids study, and the sermon proceeds. Such being the obligations to night, it would be ungrate- ful not to acknowledge them. As my watchful eyes can discern its dim beauties, my warm heart shall feel, and my prompt pen shall describe, the uses and the pleasures of the nocturnal hour. Watchman, what of the night? I can with propriety imagine this question addressed to myself. I am a profess- ed lucubrator, and who so well qualified to delineate the sable hours, as " A meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin ? " However injuriously night is treated by the sleepy moderns, the vigilance of the ancients could not overlook its benefits and joys. In as early a record as the book of Genesis, I find that Isaac, though he devoted his assiduous days to ac- tion, reserved speculation till night. " He went out to meditate in the field at the eventide." He chose that sad, that solemn hour, to reflect upon the virtues of a beloved and departed mother. The tumult and glare of day suited not with the sorrow of his soul. He had lost his most amiable, most genuine friend, and his unostentatious grief was eager for privacy and shade. Sincere sorrow rarely suffers its tears to be seen. It was natural for Isaac to se- lect a season to weep in, which should resemble " the color of his fate." The darkness, the solemnity, the stillness of the eve, were favorable to his melancholy purpose. He forsook, therefore, the bustling tents of his father, the pleas- ant " south country," and " well of Lahairoi : " he went out and pensively meditated at the eventide. The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly believed that " the dead of midnight is the noon of thought." One 14 158 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. of them is beautifully described by the poet, as soliciting knowledge from the skies, in private and nightly audience, and that neither his theme, nor his nightly walks were for- saken till the sun appeared and dimmed his " nobler intel- lectual beam." We undoubtedly owe to the studious nights of the ancients most of their elaborate and immortal pro- ductions. Among them it was necessary that every man of letters should trim the midnight lamp. The day might be given to the forum or the circus, but the night was the sea- son for the statesman to project his schemes, and for the poet to pour his verse. Night has likewise with great reason been considered in every age as the astronomer's day. Young observes with energy, that " an undercut astronomer is mad." The privi- lege of contemplating those brilliant and numerous myriads of planets which bedeck our skies is peculiar to night, and it is our duty, both as lovers of moral and natural beauty, to bless that season, when we are indulged with such a gor- geous display of glittering and useful light. It must be con- fessed that the seclusion, calmness, and tranquillity of mid- night is most friendly to serious, and even airy contempla- tions. I think it treason to this sable power, who holds divided empire with day, constantly to shut our eyes at her ap- proach. To long sleep I am decidedly a foe. As it is ex- pressed by a quaint writer, we shall all have enough of that in the grave. Those who cannot break the silence of night by vocal throat, or eloquent tongue, may be permitted to disturb it by a snore. But he, among my readers, who pos- sesses the power of fancy and strong thought, should be vig- ilant as a watchman. Let him sleep abundantly for health, but sparingly for sloth. It is better, sometimes, to consult a page of philosophy than the pillow. THE SUMACH TREE. BY MRS. ELIZA B. THORNTON. I LOVE the rose when I am glad, it seems so joyous too ; With what a glow it meets the sun, with what a scent the dew ! It blushes on the brow of youth, as mingling in its mirth, And decks the bride as though it bloomed for her alone on earth. I love the columbine that grows upon the hill-top, wild ; It makes me dream 1 'm young again, a free, a blessed child ; But youthful days and bridal ones just like the roses flee, And sober fancy turns from these toward the Sumach Tree. The Sumach ? why ? its leaves are fair and beautifully green, And fringe the brilliant stem that runs a carmine thread between ; Its clustering fruit, a velvet cone of royal purple hue, Peers upward midst the foliage fair, in richest splendor too. And then the wayward fancy turns in pensive hour to thee, And twined with melancholy thoughts art thou, proud Sumach Tree, A deep- wrought spell of early days; in lone and solemn state, Rank grew a princely Sumach Tree, beside the grave-yard gate. Kindred and friends reposed below, and oft hath childish prayer Risen from my heart that I, in death, might slumber with them there; That prayer, how vain ! yet still I love in fancy oft to be Lingering within that place of graves beneath the Sumach Tree. THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. BY LEWIS CASS, [Minister at that Court.] IT was a glorious evening, toward the middle of Septem- ber, when we ascended the hill whose summit is crowned by the Chateau of Saint Cloud. The sun was pouring its setting rays over the beautiful valley of the Seine, and as the whole region stretched before us to the east, the flood of light was sent back, exhibiting all the prominent objects in bold relief, as they are represented in the pictures of Claude Lorraine. We stopped to gaze upon this landscape, no longer wondering that a residence which commanded such a prospect had long been a favorite habitation of Napo- leon, as it now was of Louis Philippe. A broad fertile val- ley was before us, bounded in the distance by the elevated plateau through which the river has worn itself a passage, and where it winds from side to side, as if to adorn as well as to fertilize the domain it has conquered. This father of the French rivers, however great his re- nown in Europe, would form but a feeble tributary to the magnificent streams which our country pours into the ocean. Nature has indeed spread out her works upon a more exten- sive scale in our favored regions, than in this older portion of the human heritage. Our lakes and rivers, plains, valleys and forests, are impressed with a character of vastness, if I may coin an abstract term, which is itself one of the attri- butes of true sublimity, and which produces upon the travel- ler who visits them, emotions which no after events in life can efface. I never felt more profoundly the weakness of man and the power of God, than when seated in a frail birch THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. 161 canoe, with its ribs of cedar, and its covering of bark, de- scending the Mississippi in the night, and approaching the junction of this mighty river with the mightier Missouri. I had arrived at St. Cloud an invited guest to dinner. Our party originally consisted of four Americans : the Min- ister, Gov. Everett of Boston, Mr. Walsh of Philadelphia, and the Secretary of Legation. Unfortunately a sudden in- disposition had prevented Mr. Walsh from accompanying us. This we all regretted, for this highly intelligent gentleman conciliates the respect of all with whom he is brought into contact. In connexion with his name, I may mention an incident concerning his invitation, which proves the kind consideration of the Royal Family. Not knowing his resi- dence with certainty, two notes had been addressed to him, one at Paris, and another at Versailles, and each had been sent by a special messenger, so as to exclude the possibility of any mistake. The rest of our party had agreed to meet in the court of the chateau at the hour indicated, which was six o'clock. As royalty must not be intruded upon before its own time, so it must not be kept waiting after the time has arrived. Punctuality, therefore, which is always a virtue, becomes here a duty of propriety. As the Minister was at Versailles, and Gov. Everett and the Secretary at Paris, the two latter had made an arrangement to come together, and to meet the former, who was to present them. The carriage which first arrived was to await the other in the outer court of the chateau. But alas ! how often are the wisest plans of life defeated by some trivial but unforeseen circumstance ! The King had visited Paris, and had not returned. Being every moment expected, the established etiquette did not allow a carriage to remain in the court. Our party, which first ar- rived from Paris, were therefore compelled to alight, and to enter the vestibule of the Palace. Here they wished to re- main, until joined by the Minister ; but they had been ob- served by the aid-de-camp on duty, who immediately sought them, and insisted upon introducing them into the hall of 14* 162 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. reception. From the vestibule they mounted a noble flight of marble stairs, which terminates at a landing, where the upper servants are stationed, and where a register is kept of all the visiters who enter. From here they passed into a large square apartment, decorated with some superb pictures, and then into a billiard hall, which is hung around with rich Gobelin tapestry, wrought with various scenes in the life of Henry the Fourth, and copied from the pictures of Rubens. The pictures are almost living and speaking, and it requires the evidence of feeling, to convince a person, not well ac- quainted with the products of this wonderful manufacture, that they are the efforts of the loom, and not of the pencil. The colors are admirable, and lights and shades are repre- sented with a clearness of effect which is almost marvellous. Passing through this room as slowly as propriety allowed, but too rapidly to give us more than a glance at its treasures, we entered the Salon of Reception. Here we found several ladies and officers of the court as- sembled ; and after the usual interchange of compliments, we looked around upon this beautiful apartment. The fur- niture was in excellent taste ; at the same time rich and comfortable, but not gorgeous in its material, nor overloaded with ornament. Two round-tables, surrounded with chairs, indicated the places where the Queen and the ladies of her family and court, as well as visiters, seat themselves habitu- ally in the evening, and pass their time in conversation. In a few minutes, the Queen, with her youngest daughter, the Princess Clementine, entered the room, and after salu- ting the company, and conversing with the American guests, took her seat in a kind of alcove, opening into a gallery, which surmounts the court, and commands a full view of the maernincent environs. The Minister soon arrived, and O * then different members of the Royal Family, who were fol- lowed by the King. The manners and address of Louis Philippe are prepossessing, and he has that ease and self- possession which an early knowledge of the world and a par- ticipation in society never fail to give. Although sixty-eight years of age, his appearance is firm, and his step elastic ; ' THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. 163 and he has a perfect command of himself, which enables him to control his emotion, and to conceal from the world whatever troubles the cares of royalty, even of French royal- ty, bring with them. He was dressed in the ordinary style of French gentlemen, wearing a plain blue coat, ornamented on the left breast with the star of the Legion of Honor, and what is peculiar to himself, but which is his usual habit, having the chain of his watch, with several keys and seals, suspended at one of his button-holes. The order and silence with which the domestic service of the dinner was conducted, were honorable to the interior organization of the royal household. There was no hurry nor confusion on the one hand, nor indifference nor careless- ness on the other ; but the servants were alert and attentive ; and there was at least one domestic for each person at the table. Like the customary arrangements at the French dinners, there were three removes, and the dishes were changed and renewed with promptitude and regularity, be- ing brought in by a long file of servants, each of whom de- livered his charge to a superior attendant, by whom it was placed upon the table. The whole ceremony did not exceed one hour, when we returned to the Salon of Reception in the order we had left it. In French society, the practice which prevails in England, and which we have borrowed from that country, of sitting at table after the ladies have retired, and guzzling wine, (the epithet is a coarse one, but not so coarse as the custom,) is unknown. It is a relic of barbarism, and ought to be banished. It leads too often to orgies, and not to pleasures ; substituting for rational en- joyment excessive indulgence. I have never been at a din- ner in Continental Europe, where the ladies and gentlemen did not retire from the table together. It is very seldom that the entertainment exceeds eighty or ninety minutes ; and often after returning to the salon, I have heard some experienced cater observe, with all the self-complacency in- spired by a most satisfactory meal, " It was an excellent dinner, and we were at table but an hour ! " 164 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. But this is the sunshine of French life : it has also its deep shadows ; and if any American envies the one, let him recollect that the other does not rest upon his country. If we have no St. Cloud, neither have we any of that misery to which the inequality of condition in Europe gives birth. Here is a family, elevated by its position, estimable by its virtues, and surrounded by all those external circumstances which the world considers as the elements of true happiness : and what is better, they have also those moral qualities, with- out which high rank becomes the shame of its possessors, and a pernicious example to all within the sphere of its in- fluence. And yet the head of this family, the Chief of the State, cannot pass the threshhold of his door, without being exposed to the bullet of the assassin. What a reproach upon the country, where such crimes are engendered, if not ap- plauded ! Thank God ! we have in our country " neither poverty nor riches," in the European acceptation of these terms. We have none of those overgrown fortunes, which accumu- late in particular families enormous wealth, placing under their control large regions of fertile land, with all who in- habit them ; and thus rendering the mass miserable, that the few may live in luxury. I content myself with stating the facts as they exist, without comment or reproach ; neither seeking to investigate the cause, nor to suggest the remedy. As one of the phases of human life, an American may well be anxious to observe the condition and manners of high European society, and to describe them for his countrymen. But the description, if faithful, will contain much more for warning than for imitation. When con- trasted with the extremity of penury and wretchedness which every where meet the eye, the present tendency of the in- stitutions in Europe, whether continental or insular, presents a subject of painful reflection to the foreign traveller, and I should think of serious alarm to every lover of good order, and to every well-wisher of human nature. In fact, Euro- pean society is a volcano, prepared at any moment for an THREE HOURS AT SAINT CLOUD. 165 eruption, which may bury beneath its lava the happiness of generations. The evil, in truth, lies far deeper than mere appearances indicate. Political institutions certainly re- quire regeneration ; a better adaptation to the present state of society, and to the prevalent opinions of the world ; a system of legislation and administration, not in the interest of the few who govern, but seeking the general welfare of the entire community. But beyond this, there are causes in operation which laws cannot reach, and which govern- ments, if they can effect, cannot control. Property is too un- equally divided ; population presses too closely upon subsist- ence ; employment is too often wanting, and too insufficient- ly paid ; and penury and misery are the consequences. Life, in advance, offers to the laboring man nothing but a perpetual struggle to procure the means of subsistence, and the prospect of early decrepitude, and of a death in some den of wretchedness, public or private. The extremity of suffering which the old world exhibits, is beyond the reach of an American imagination to conceive. I shall confine myself to a single fact. I passed the last summer at Ver- sailles, where the commanding general put at my disposition a sous-officer to accompany me in my walks, and to point out the various localities worthy of particular observation, at that seat of wonders. He was a very intelligent man, and well educated ; and I owe to his conversation much knowl- edge of the true condition of things in the internal economy of France. He was from the neighborhood of Amiens, and his father was a small proprietor. I asked him, one day, what was the usual breakfast of the laboring people in that part of the country. He said, " Plenty of water, and a piece of ammunition bread, rubbed with an onion !" Well may an American exclaim with the royal Psalmist, not proudly, but with all the humility of gratitude to that Providence who has given us such a country and such in- stitutions : " The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places ; yea, I have a goodly heritage ! " THE AUTUMN EVENING. BY WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. BEHOLD the western evening light ! It melts in deepening gloom ; So calmly Christians sink away, Descending to the tomb. The wind breathes low ; the withering leaf Scarce whispers from the tree ; So gently flows the parting breath, When good men cease to be. How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed ! 'T is like the peace the Christian gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast ! 'T is like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night The yellow star appears ; So faith springs in the heart of those Whose eyes are bathed in tears. But soon the morning's happier light Its glory shall restore, And eyelids that are sealed in death Shall wake to close no more. WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. BY REV. JOSEPH S. BUCK MINSTER. EVERY favorable conclusion which we have been dis- posed to form of the influence of Christianity on the charac- ter of your sex, is confirmed by a survey of modern Europe. Notwithstanding the progress of what is called refinement in nations, wherever religion has been most corrupted, woman is yet most depraved, and shows a more sensible degradation than our sex. It would be easy to refer you to modern Italy and Spain for illustrations of this ; but it will be sufficient to confine ourselves to that country, where the dregs of chivalry seem to have settled in the form of gal- lantry, after the pure spirit of honor had evaporated. In France the female understanding has been as highly culti- vated as in any part of Christendom. There your sex has often dictated the fashions of philosophy and taste, and ex- ercised a sensible sway over the republic of letters ; and if, with this high culture of the female imagination, and this invisible influence and authority in criticism, France had also produced the best female instructers of the world, and the purest examples in the walks of domestic usefulness, we should be obliged to relinquish some of the conclusions which we have already embraced, and acknowledge that the state of Christianity in a country has little to do in the for- mation of female perfection. But, when we look over the roll of the female writers of France, how often are we com- pelled to pause, and wonder at their strange union of senti- ment and affectation, of moral delicacy and voluptuousness, 168 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. of philosophy and paradox, of exquisite sensibility and prac- tical unprincipledness ; so that there is hardly one of their most celebrated females, whose works you may venture to recommend without reserve, or to read without exception. It may be set down, perhaps, to the prejudices of a protes- tant education, or to national pride, that though I am dis- posed to allow the singular merit and piety of the celebrated Madame Dacier, I could wish that she had not translated Aristophanes and Anacreon ; and must be allowed to pre- fer the severer accomplishments of the venerable Mrs. Car- ter, and even the curious learning and delicate ripeness of that modest prodigy, Elizabeth Smith. I have felt occa- sional sympathy with the devout and mystical genius of Madame Guyon, but I cannot give to her that homage which I pay to the angelic vision of Klopstock's wife. I acknowledge the enchanting sensibility of Madame de Se- vigne, the practical good sense of Madame de Genlis, the Delphic inspiration of Madame de Sta'el, the passionate touches of Madame Cottin ; but my admiration, at least of these latter writers, is often clouded with sorrow and dis- gust. I look in vain for one " sun, clad in perfect purity," and turn for relief to the sound philosophy of Elizabeth Hamilton, or delight myself with the exquisite elegance and hallowed fancy of Mrs. Barbauld, the exuberant diction and evangelical morality of Hannah More, the well-attempered maxims of the sensible Chapone, the practical sagacity and miraculous invention of Maria Edgeworth. These names, except perhaps the last, who has not yet authorized us to class her, all belong to Christianity. They were nourished at the breast of protestantism ; they are daughters of the Christian family ; and they have breathed, though a colder, yet a purer air, than their rivals. It is our glory to belong to the age, which they have illustrated by their genius, and our happiness to believe that they will light the way for our children to glory, honor and immortality. With these names I finish this division of my subject ; WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 169 and if you are still asked, what Christianity has done for your sex, you have only to repeat these names. You have heard us with so much patience on the past condition and character of your sex, we hope you will not be wearied with what remains of this discourse, in which we intend to explain what you may and ought to do for Christianity, which has done so much for you. Nature, when she endowed you with superior tenderness of frame and sensibility of mind, directed you to the almost instinctive exercise of the kind and compassionate duties. But Christianity, by raising you to a community of rights and interests with the other sex, while it has still left you this sphere of action, has given you, in fact, the government of the world. To you is every where intrusted, in civilized Christendom, that precious deposit, the infant's mind ; and thus, while it has made your example of early and everlast- ing effect, it has also made the culture of your understand- ings of infinite importance. Still, it may be doubted wheth- er the influence you have as mothers or as wives, is greater than that which you have already exercised, and which your daughters will exercise in their turn, upon entering the world, awakening the love, and leading away the admiration of our sex. My young friends, who will hereafter give to many homes their charm, or change them into dens of hor- ror, when you know and feel that Christianity is every thing to you, you will make it every thing to us. Think then, what you may do for pure, rational, unaffected, practical Christianity. Is it not worthy of your ambition, instead of countenancing, by your youthful favor, the unprincipled of our sex, to attempt to raise the tone of masculine under- standing and morals, and the standard of juvenile accom- plishments 1 To insure these effects, is it not time that female educa- tion were generally directed to a higher mark, not of accom- plishments, as they are called, for of them we have enough, even to satiety, but of intellectual furniture and vigor ? Is 15 170 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. 3t not time that a race of females should be formed, who may practice with intelligence and with confidence on those rules which have been given, and those ideas which have been suggested in the immortal works on education, which we already owe to the extraordinary women of the present age 1 Is it not time that some plan of more liberal and ex- tensive female education were devised to form the mothers of your children's children ; an education which shall save many a ripening female mind from that feebleness to which it might otherwise be destined in this age of vanity and books ; so that women may be more generally furnished with principles as well as sentiments, with logic as well as taste, with true knowledge as well as with a morbid thirst for entertainment ; to all which should be superadded a religious fear and love of God and his Son, so that, as they draw toward the close of life, visions of celestial bliss may fill their minds, instead of those vanishing scenes of pleas- ure which are now so frequently gliding before their idle fancies ? We look to you, ladies, to raise the standard of character in our own sex ; we look to you, to guard and fortify those barriers which still exist in society, against the encroach- ments of impudence and licentiousness. We look to you for the continuance of domestic purity, for the revival of domestic religion, for the increase of our charities and the support of what remains of religion in our private habits and public institutions. O, you who are at the head of families, husbands and wives, you who intrust each other with your closest secrets and your most important interests, let God be admitted to share your mutual confidence. Where there is no commu- nication of religious sentiment and affection, believe me, the richest spring of social and domestic bliss is unopened and untasted. The subject of religion is one on which the female mind feels more, perhaps, than on almost any other, a need of the most perfect confidence, in order to develope WOMAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 171 and keep alive its feelings. The perplexed and doubting spirit loves to find a breast where it can deposite them with- out feur or shame ; and would to God, that next to him you might always find that confidant at home ! Husbands and wives, let not this be the only subject on which you are ignorant of each other's meditations, or destitute of each other's confidence. Venture to disdain the false maxims and tyranny of the world, and try what religion will add to your domestic felicity. THE EAGLE'S SPEECH. BY HORATIO HALE. AN Eagle came from his eyrie down, On the loftiest peak of Monadnoc's crown ; The flash of his dark eye was terribly bright, As the marsh-fire's gleam in the dead of night; And the war-darts shook in his red right claw, But the bough of peace in his left I saw. Then slowly he opened his ivory beak, And he stood like a senator ready to speak ; And the forests shook, and the winds grew still, And hushed was the voice of the noisy rill ; And the raven cowered in his hollow oak, As well he might when the Eagle spoke. I am the monarch of air, said he ; Proudly I soar over land and sea; And I feel the breezes around me sing To the hurricane sweep of my mighty wing ; And my flight is chainless, and fearless, and free, For I am the bright bird of Liberty ! I marshal the course of the free and the brave, Upward and onward, o'er mountain and wave ; I lead them to glory, I beckon them on, And I join in the din till the battle is won; And the dim eye will gladden my shadow to see, For I am the bright bird of Liberty ! In the days of old, with the freemen of Rome, With Brutus and Cato I made me a home ; And my wing was before them unwearied and fleet, Till the princes of earth were all low at their feet, And the Roman was master by land and by sea, For he followed the bright bird of Liberty ! But luxury came, like the simoom's hot breath, And the flowers were all withered in valor's green wieath, And virtue was trampled and hustled aside By the pageant of guilt and the purple of pride ; But fetters, though gilded, are hateful to me, So I fled to the mountains for Liberty ! THE EAGLE'S SPEECH. 173 Then ages went by, till Muscovia's czar, In hatred determined my glory to mar; So he seized me, and chained me, and struck off my head, But courteously gave me two others instead ; My own noble beauty he never could see, For most loathsome to despots is Liberty ! But tyranny's chains are too feeble to bind, When the will is unfettered, unbroken the mind ; So I made my adieus, with a very bad grace, Arid I threw my superfluous head in his face; And southward I sped, over forest and sea, To France, the bright region of Liberty ! Oh, this was my season of triumph and pride, On the smoke-wreath of battle 't was glory to ride, Till kingdoms were shattered, and despots o'erthrown, And the hero of destiny called me his own ; Of the masters of earth none so mighty as he, For they loved not the bright bird of Liberty ! But the warrior was dazzled by glory's red ray, And forgot the mild lustre of freedom's new day, Till pontiff and tyrant arose from the shock, And the hero was chained on the far ocean-rock, And the slaves who forsook him bent lowly the knee To the tyrants who trample on Liberty ! So I parted in scorn from the land of the slave, And I found me an eyrie beyond the broad wave : With Columbia's children I made me a home ; And wider than Russia, and greater than Rome, And prouder than Gaul shall their father-land be, If they cherish the bright bird of Liberty ! 15* EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. BY REV. EBENEZER E. CUMMINGS. THE events of time fleeting, wasting time, urge us to the solemn inquiry," Our Fathers, where are they, and the prophets, do they live for ever ? " They pass one after another into eternity, but we would not be so insensible of their worth as to suffer either their characters or their labors to slumber in forgetfulness. And with equal earnestness should we labor to wrest from the hand of oblivion the his- tory of the first churches, planted in the wilderness of New Hampshire. The first settlement within the limits of New Hampshire, was made at the mouth of Piscataqua River in 1623. No account, however, is given of any persons among the first settlers who embraced the sentiments of our denomination. The first minister of whom we have any account, who embraced and defended the Baptist sentiment, was the Rev. Hanserd Knollys, who preached for some time to the people of Dover, about the year 1639, but his sentiments furnished his enemies with abundant occasion to oppose and perse- cute him, until at length he returned to Boston, where, after suffering imprisonment, he returned to England, his native country. Nothing more is heard of our denomination until 1720, when a pious and very devoted lady moved from Rehoboth, Mass., to Stratham. She was most firmly established in her faith on the doctrines and duties of the gospel, and labored most devoutly to spread divine light around her. She did not, however, witness much fruit during her life, but it ap- peared in ripening harvest after her death. There might EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 175 indeed have been many at this period who were Baptists in sentiment, but when we survey the oppressive measures that were adopted to prevent the introduction of our sentiments into the State, it is not at all surprising that they were so slow in making their appearance. It should be understood, that however mild the laws of this State may be at present, in regard to religious matters, at the time of which we are now speaking, the jurisdiction of Massachusetts extended over New Hampshire, and made pro- vision for the due administration of justice. From eighteen years after its first settlement to the year 1679, the laws of Massachusetts operated through all the province. So that, whatever laws were imposed in one State would be in the other, if circumstances demanded it. And the merest glance at the laws in Massachusetts at this time will show that they were most severe on this subject. The laws at this period required the inflicting of corporeal punishment upon any person who should be guilty of holding a religious meeting or speaking against pedo-baptism. It is moreover very apparent these laws were prosecuted with great energy on the part of the civil authority. Public sentiment went also against the prevalence of all intruding sects, and of the number of such intruders, who, in the apprehension of the guardians of the public morals, threatened to sap the foun- dation of the institutions of religion, the Baptists were not the least spoken against. Surrounded by such circumstances, it is not at all sur- prising that we find the cause progressing very slowly. There was indeed a gradual gaining of strength from the time of the formation of the church in Newtown, until 1770, though it was almost imperceptible. In 1770, commenced a new era in the history of our denomination in New Hampshire. It would be doing manifest injustice were I not to refer to the character and labors of our Fathers in the ministry, 176 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. who were instrumental in the hands of God, of planting the first churches in New Hampshire. They were men of God, and no one can look back upon their history without ad- miring the wisdom of the Great Head of the church in choosing such men, at such a time. They were called to labor in peculiar circumstances, and God gave them peculiar endowments. Their advantages were not such as are now enjoyed, to acquire an education, but they were men of great industry, and therefore were enabled to rise with the improvement of society. But most of these devoted men have rested from their labors. We look around upon our beloved brethren and fathers, and see but here and there a hoary head which may be numbered with the first ministers of New Hampshire. They have departed, one after another, to rest with their Redeemer. We follow them. And while standing on the ground which they occupied, we would cherish their memory, and wish to copy the piety, zeal, and singleness of purpose, which was so strongly developed in their life and character. We now occupy the place of our fathers. In turning our minds from them, and looking around us, we see the goodly heritage which they have bequeathed to us. Let us most solemnly feel that an important trust has been com- mitted to our hands. While, therefore, we are called upon to admire the char- acter of the churches, and their former ministry, may we so imitate their excellences as to be followers of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. The circumstances upon which we are thrown, may not require of us the same kind or the same degree of sacrifices, as was required of our predecessors. Temptations, however, to forsake the right way may be spread before us, which may be equally subtle and resistless. But in the midst of such temp- tations, may we turn and look back at the firm and undaunted courage, portrayed in those that have gone before us, and then let us consider that every particle of truth which now EARLY BAPTISTS OF NEW-HAMPSHIRE. 177 attaches to our declaration of faith and practice, is com- mitted to us in sacred charge, to keep inviolate amid all the efforts that may be made to wrest it from our hand. Much has been said for half a century to fix a reproach upon our faith and practice. We have met the charge of bigotry, ignorance, undue tenacity about small matters, and are even ready to meet them again ; yes, we will meet them as often as they are charged upon us, for in this respect we can defend ourselves on scripture ground. We will always try to meet such unkind charges in the spirit of the gospel. May we always retain the consciousness that all such charges are unfounded, and bear fruits of our innocence to the world ! May other generations, when they shall stand and survey the history of our churches, and find us on the record of her departed sons, have the assurance that we were not un- worthy of a place with them on the pages of history ! CASUAL COUNSEL. BY HORACE GREELEY. " WHAT read'st thou there, my fair-haired boy, With eye so soft and blue ? What spell has chilled the tide of joy, Which late thy veins ran through? " Up looked he from that page of fear, (Such dread our race inherits,) And spoke the title, low but clear, "The World of Evil Spirits." " Hand me the book, my gentle friend, And let me o'er it glance, Whilst thou a patient hearing lend To what I may advance. " Spirits of Evil," ah, rny child ! They are of fearful might : 'T is well thou seek'st to shun their guile ; Be sure thou seek'st aright ! " ' Devils ! ' Ah yes, in this world of wo, They throng each trodden street, By day, by night where the lonely go, Or where the joyous meet ; But dread them not in shapes like this, Absurd, grotesque, abhorred ; Ah no ! they revel in forms of bliss, And shine at the sparkling board ! " In glossy suit, perchance of black, The Devil is oft arrayed ; While the dapper boot on his sinister foot Does honor to Crispin's trade. Ah ! not by outward shape of fear Is the cunning Devil shown; But the gamester's wile or the scoffer's sneer Shall make his presence known. " ' Witches ! ' Ah yes, they too, abound ; But ne'er in a garb like this : They rather in silks than rags are found, And betray, as of old, with a kiss. CASUALCOUNSEL. 179 When the witch looks out from a wanton's eye, Or up from the ruby bowl, Then, if thou would'st not to Virtue die, Stand firm in thy strength of soul ! " ' Ghosts ! ' Ah, my child ! dread spectres they That tell of our wasted powers; The short-lived elves of Folly's day; The ghosts of our murdered hours ; Of friendship broken, love estranged, Of all that our hearts condemn ; Of good repelled to evil changed; Beware, my boy ! of them ! " THE MAIDEN AT CHURCH. SUGGESTED ON SEEING A MAIDEN LADY AT CHURCH, WHOM THE AUTHOR HAS SEEN THERE EVER SINCE HE CAN REMEMBER. BY B. B. FRENCH. THERE doth she sit that same old girl Whom I in boyhood knew, She seems a fixture to the church, In that old jail-like pew ! Once she was young a blooming Miss, So do the aged say ; Though e'en in youth, I think she must Have had an old-like way. How prim, and starched, and kind she looks, And so devout and staid ! I wonder some old bachelor Do n't wed that good old maid ! She does not look so very old, Though years and years are by Since any younger she has seemed, E'en to my boyhood's eye. That old straw bonnet she has on, Tied with that bow of blue, Seems not to feel Time's cankering hand, 'T is " near as good as new." The old silk gown the square-toed shoes, Those gloves that buckle's gleam ; That silver buckle at her waist, To me, like old friends seem. Live on live on and may the years Touch lightly on thy brow ; As I beheld thee in my youth, And as 1 see thee now ; May T, when age its furrows deep Have ploughed upon my cheek, Behold thee in that pew, unchanged, So prim, so mild, so meek ! THE HOMES OF NEW ENGLAND. BY REV. A. A. LIVER M ORE. WAS it a chance culture, an accidental education, that developed the minds and characters of the last century, and changed one unbroken wilderness into a highly civilized land, and reared the noblest institutions in the world? No. There was a cause. And we ought to learn it and ponder upon it. I say there is a cause for the virtue, and activity, and happiness of our people. And that cause, I hesitate not to say, lies here. The people of this community have, with few exceptions, been trained up in happy, virtuous, holy homes. We sat, in infancy and youth, in heavenly places, and rich influences brooded over our pliant spirits, as dew upon the tender plant. True, here in New England, and especially here in Wil- ton, Nature has lavished her fairest scenes, and breathed from the Most High the breath of life into our souls. Yes, blessed be these hills and valleys for the choice, sweet influ- ences they have shed upon the young communities spring- ing up here. Blessed be these granite mountains, that stand like vast citadels of safety around the blue ring of the hori- zon, and, gilded by the glories of the setting sun, carry up the thoughts to sublimity and God. Blessed be the fair skies which bend over us here with all their sparkling hosts of light and glory. Blessed be the pure breezes which sing from the northwestern hills, and bear health and exhilara- tion on their wings. But thrice blessed be our homes ; our homes, where love and happiness wove a charm and a spell for our hearts, never, never to be unloosed. There " heaven 16 182 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. lay about us in our infancy." The blue sky was more dear to us, because it arched proudly over the cherished roof of home. The sun and wind and rain and snow were loved because they brought their treasures and laid them at the feet of our sanctuary. The forests and vales and roaring brooks have been sweet in association from this great cen- tral attraction. And what made our homes in this great wilderness so happy and genial so fitted to tempt forth both heart and mind, and develope the elastic energies of a free people ? I will name only two things, not because they are the only two, but because they are the most important Woman and Religion. Much has been said of the part woman played, or rather worked, in the grand drama of these settlements. But the theme is an inexhaustible one. What would have been the Pilgrim Fathers without the Pilgrim Mothers ? Shaggy bar- barians of the woods. But woman came to cheer and refine the rude settlers. She bravely dared the terrors of the wil- derness, to plant the pleasant amenities of social life in the log cabin. She forded rivers and penetrated forests to come hither. She came to dwell under the shades of the vast and savage woods. Her employments were humble, but her aims lofty. " She looked well to the ways of her house- hold, and ate not the bread of idleness." Through long days and sleepless nights, she watched over her tender chil- dren. And when distant labors, or still worse, the trumpet of war, summoned her husband away from her side, she steadily plied her lonely tasks, watching his return, or learn- ed, dreadful news ! that he would return no more for ever. We have often read of the horrors of the wars of that period, and got by heart the story of the labors, dangers and suffer- ings of our forefathers. It would be unjust to forget that those who staid at home often endured far more than those who braved the naming lines of battle far more in heart- sickness, hope deferred, hope destroyed, and all the name- less, haunting terrors of the deep woods, where the wild THE HOMES OF NEW ENGLAND. 183 beast and wilder Indian were their only neighbors for miles and miles. But why need I say more? The subject has already been anticipated. I will only say, let us never for- get what heroic, much enduring woman has done for the happy homes of New England. But there was yet another agent that helped to make us what we are as a people, that consecrated our homes as holy places, and nerved our fathers' and mothers' hearts to do and dare nobly. It was religion. They brought with them the word of God as the ark of their safety, the shechinah of the Divine presence and favor. Morning and evening they offered praise to heaven from their forest dwellings. The house of God gathered them, from near and far, weekly to pay their adorations to the Great Guardian of their exposed lives, and hallow their minds with the influences of the Sab- bath and the sanctuary. Every thing around and within them tended to keep alive their sense of dependence on God, and their value of the gospel of Jesus. Endangered, tempt- ed, weary, suffering, alone, they looked to the source of com- fort and strength, and found rest and courage and patience unto the end. With them religion was first, religion last, and religion midst. Other lands may boast richer soils, other climates may be more bland, other mountains may yield more precious minerals, other skies may shine with softer hues, but where shall we look for homes as pure and religious, as free and happy, as in our dear New England 1 These have been the glory of the past century; they are the hope of the new one. Woman and religion have made them what they have been; they alone can make them what they ought to be. Guard well our homes from evil, and our nation is girded round about with a munition of rocks, and a wall of fire. WATCH AND PRAY. BY REV. JOHN G . ADAMS. I.v the morning's glowing light, When the noontide sun is bright, When the day-beams fade away, Guard thy spirit, watch and pray. When with duty's cares perplexed, Be not overcome nor vexed ; Think not from thyself to stray In thy labors watch and pray. When thy hopes are all fulfilled, When each anxious thought is stilled, Clouds of gloom all cleared away, Then remember watch and pray. When in health thy pulses fly, And the hours pass gaily by, Then forget not, all the day, That 't is best to watch and pray. When temptation lurks around, Luring to forbidden ground, Heed not what her voice may say : Keep thy distance watch and pray. When in deep affliction cast, Deem not all thy sunshine past : Joy will yet thy spirit sway, If thou wilt but watch and pray. And when sickness comes, and pain, Deem not that their work is vain : They will make thy darkness day, If, resigned, thou watch and pray. When the angel, Death, shall come, And thy spirit bid go home, Gladly shall it pass away, If thou still canst watch and pray. MY GRANDMOTHER'S ELM. BY MRS. MARY ANN SULLIVAN. IF ever you visit my native town, Will you seek out the vale where the mill-stream comes down ? Even the villagers' children will point you the road, And the very old house where my grandsire abode. But the pride of the vale which I wish you to see, Is my grandmother's elm, the old mammoth tree : How widely its graceful and spherical crown Flings over the valley a shadow of brown ! When the fierce south-easter* was raging by, Filling with clamor the gentle blue sky ; Then a lofty branch like a forest oak, From the noble old tree by its fury was broke. Oft my grandmother told us, as pondering we stood, How, three-score years since, from the neighboring wood, She carried that elm in her little right hand, And her father planted it firm in the land. Her grave is grown smooth on the green-hill side, But the elm lives still in its towering pride, And the spring's gayest birds have a colony there, And they gladden with carols the mid-summer air. And gay as the wild-bird's melody, Are the sports I have led beneath that tree ; The old elm tree oh, would it were mine In the shade of that tree even now to recline ! The September gale of 1815. 16* MORALS OF THE CURRENCY. BY NATHAN APPLETON. SUSPENSION of specie payments, is the gentle name applied to the failure or refusal to perform the promise contained on the face of a bank note ; generally accom- panied with a declaration of the perfect ability to pay, and the intention to do so at some future time. Properly viewed, this refusal deprives the bank note of the only quality which gave it circulation, the power to command the metallic money which it purports to represent. It becomes simply a broken promise, and, like other broken promises, of no other value than the chance that legal coercion may com- pel eventual performance ; or that the refusal may relax in- to a willingness to pay at some future time. It will be seen that its character has become totally changed ; that instead of possessing the original principle which gave it currency, it becomes in the hand of each possessor subject to all the fluctuations which belong to doubtful and uncertain con- tingencies. It is true, that a single bank taking this ground will not be sustained it is a failure the bank cannot choose but break. But let apart of the banks of one of our commercial cities proclaim this intention, all the others follow, and the public submit, not only without a murmur, but give it their commendation. The State Legislatures give it their sanction, almost as a matter of course. The example is considered so good, that it is followed by accla- mation, and sustained by the general voice. Like every thing else in this free country, it is public opinion which establishes and continues this state of things, first without MORALS OF THE CURRENCY. 187 or against law afterward the law is made to bend to this opinion. It is true, all affect to consider a condition of broken promises, and a depreciated currency, as an evil, but it is acquiesced in at once, as a sort of dispensation of Providence. The real evil is in a depraved public opinion, which tolerates this state of things at all. The remedy is simple, but perhaps not very easy the correction of this public opinion. Money or currency is an instrument of the first necessity to a nation. No trade or commerce can be carried on without it. A nation using a currency wholly metallic may feel a scarcity of money, but cannot be drained of it, any more than a mechanic can be made to part with the tools necessary to carry on his daily business. Over-trade may take place in such a community and excessive importa- tion of foreign commodities may cause an exportation of the precious metals, to a degree of inconvenience. The scarcity of money resulting from such exportation reduces prices, the effect of which is to check importation, and pro- mote the exportation of all commodities, and thus the evil soon cures itself, by the return of the coin necessary to its trade. No other considerable importation will take place until it has in this way recovered what is of all things most important to it, its tools of trade. Precisely the same thing takes place under a well regu- lated bank currency. It seems to be the opinion of the best writers on the subject, that the most perfect bank cir- culation would be one which should be precisely equal in amount to what the circulation of the same country would be in the precious metals, were no other circulation per- mitted. An expansion of the currency tends to an advance of prices excites commercial enterprise, and finally specu- lation and over-trade. High prices encourage importation and discourage exportation, a rise in the foreign exchanges follows, which causes an export of specie, which acts as a proper corrective by compelling the banks to call in a por- 188 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. tion of their issues. This is done by lessening or suspend- inor their usual discounts. Here is action and reaction. O * very beautiful, and all very agreeable to the public, except the last part of the process. A contraction of the cur- rency causes a pressure on the money market, reduces prices paralyzes trade brings out failures. This is all very disagreeable. It makes what is called hard times. But in fact it is always the return from a false position to a true one. It is never necessary to diminish a currency which has not been redundant. The violence of the pres- sure is in proportion to the extent of the over-trade; and generally the more violent the pressure the shorter the period. A suspension of payment by the banks, is the alternative presented in order to avoid the pressure attending the con- traction of the currency, to the degree necessary to stop the efflux of coin. But this pressure is working the cure of the body politic laboring under disease the disease is an excess of bank circulation, producing over-trade, inflated and unnatural prices. The cure is contraction, producing a distress for money, a reduction of prices, perhaps failures. Suspension is no cure ; it is merely postponement. It may be considered an opiate, which if justifiable at all, can only be justifiable where the paroxysms are so violent as to en- danger life. There can be no wholesome action, until the purity of the circulation is restored. There is no escape from this necessity. It is after all a question of time. Is it better to be a long time ill with a lingering disease, or to submit to a painful remedy for immediate relief? Here lies the essential error in the case the idea that sus- pension may be considered a remedy, a real relief whereas it is almost sure to complicate the mischief. A continued suspension is sure to end in violent convulsion. THE DEATH OF MURRAY. BY MKS. L. J. B. CASE. "Dirp.ijjo the last day of his life, his right hand was constantly in motion, and when an rone approach- ed, whatever might be the question, the answer was ready : To Ifim shall the gathering of the Pcoplt be, and his rest shall be glorious, GLORIOUS, GLOKIOCS 1 " COME to this room ! See, Death is here ! With calm and solemn mien, He stands beside the sufferer's bed, by him alone unseen ; Nay, fear him not, he has no frown, but dreaming beauty lies In the deep quiet of his brow, and in his hazy eyes. He is no spectre fierce and grim, with stern, unpitying dart, But softly lays a gentle hand upon the beating heart ; And the pulses slowly wane away, the purple life-tides cease, Till o'er each faintly quivering nerve there falls serenest peace. He touches the dim eye, and lo ! the light of earth is past, But from the future, glorious scenes are thronging thick and fast, Visions that toned the prophet's lyre to such triumphant strains Their deathless echoes hallow yet Judea's arid plains, He breathes upon the lip, and hark ! that voice so faint and low, Js full and strong with holy hope and exultation now, And rushing floods of faith sublime, burst from that feeble tongue, On which, for long and weary years, the chains of clay have hung. Thou weepest ; thou should'st freely weep, for earth is suffering loss, A noble soul is passing now, a soldier of the cross, Who, with his conscience-armor on, the path of duty trod, And when the war-cry wildly rose, heard but the voice of God. Ay, weep ! for virtue, genius, truth are passing from thee now, And fervid eloquence, whose power the strong, fierce will could bow, Could tame the vulture-heart of sin to purity and love, And lift the dim, grief-blinded eye, to happier worlds above. But look once more. Thy tears are done ! Thou seest the grave's pale king But breaks the spirit's prison-bars, unbinds the fettered wing, And gives the slumbering intellect, that long in shadows lay, The glorious freedom of the skies, heaven's bright, perpetual day. And thou hast put new courage on to meet earth's coming strife, And thou wilt walk in holy calm the stormy land of life, And meekly lift the thankful heart to him who holds thy breath, That in his own appointed time He sends his angel, Death. THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. BY PHILANDER CHASE, [Bishop of Illinois.] THIS great man, whose death we now deplore, was dis- tinguished for his talents and magnanimity in the early stages of his life. In more advanced periods, he shone as a soldier, a statesman, and orator. The walls of Yorktown can bear testimony to his military skill, intrepidity and val- or, when engaged in defending his country's cause. He enjoyed the full confidence of our great Washington, the man whose deeds shall be had in everlasting remembrance. He fought by his side in the field, and assisted him by his counsel in the camp. When the din of war was over, he exchanged the coat of mail for the garb of peace and the gown of state. Our constitution was framed and carried into execution by the assistance of his discerning mind and powerful arm. Under his auspices, public credit was estab- lished and commerce poured in her treasures upon us. As an orator in the cause of truth and private right, he shone with distinguished lustre. The friend of man, he de- fended the cause of the oppressed, and made the heart of the orphan and widow to sing for joy. He disdained dupli- city, and was above the arts of fraud and deception. Mal- ice and revenge dwelt not in his bosom, while his heart, with his hand, was given to his friend. In short, he was revered and beloved by all who knew his worth ; he was feared by his rivals, and hated only by the wicked, the ma- licious and irreclaimable. On him had a grateful country already fixed her eyes, as on one in whom she could most implicitly rely in the day of trouble and extremity. THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 191 But alas ! with too much truth can her sons now take up the plaintive song of the prophet, and say with him : " The joy of our heart has ceased ; our dance is turned into mourning." The great man, whose talents we admired, whose virtues we revered, and in whom we confided as our best earthly stay in time of need, is now no more. Death has dropped the curtain which separates him forever from time. " He hath gone to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets." Would to God we could stop here, and see nothing but the hand of God taking him, by a common death, to him- self! But in this we are not indulged. As much as we revere his name, esteem his virtues and lament his death, yet let us not be so lost to virtue and the principles of our holy religion, as to pass over, without the most pointed dis- approbation, the barbarous, the inhuman and wicked prac- tice, by the compliance with which he was brought to an untimely end. Little did our Washington, the father of his country, think, when he refused to enter his name on the list of duellists, that the man whom he delighted to honor, who shared his warmest friendship, would so soon fall a sacrifice to this abominable practice. Were he now among us, he would cry out in the language of David, the defender of Israel, uttered at the fall of Saul and Jonathan, their king and prince : " The beauty of Israel is slain in high places ! How are the mighty fallen : tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Ascalon, lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncir- cumcised triumph ! " A sad comment on the dreadful consequences of duelling is now before us. You behold a man, the ornament of the age, and the pride and boast of his countrymen, snatched away by a violent death, amidst all his usefulness, and when in the full career of his greatness ; torn from the arms of a tender and amiable wife and young and numerous family, who now more than ever need the counsel, the direction 192 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. and love of a husband and father. O, honor, honor ! false and mistaken principle ! If these are thy trophies, what but a heart of stone could cherish thee ! If we could be permitted to see at one view the dreadful effects of the practice of duelling : if we could add to the many losses which the public frequently sustains, the dis- tresses which it occasions to private families : if we could draw aside the curtain of domestic retirement, and hear the heart-rending sighs, and feel the full weight of the agonizing sorrows of a wife and mother, weeping over her shrieking and orphan children : if we would contemplate those chil- dren, from affluence and high expectations reduced to want and penury : On the other hand, if we could, in casting our eyes on the victorious combatant, look into the recesses of his heart, and behold it devoid of all that feeling and sen- sibility which designate a man from a demon, or torn to pieces and blackened with the remorse of a murderer : if we could see him, even amidst the flattery of his sycophants or the caresses of a wicked world, feeling like a second Cain, the murderer of his brother, a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth ; it could not fail of rousing every honest sentiment of our hearts, and calling forth every energy of our minds, in detesting and discountenancing the practice. Barely the mention of it would be enough to chill the heart of sensibility, and make us fly with horror from the man who would uphold it in society. After what has been said, who can return without the most painful sensations, to the sad reflection, that the great man whose death we this day deplore, fell in the very act of giving support, by his example and compliance, to this in- human and unchristian practice ! A conscious blush must suffuse the cheek of his panegyrist when he sees that the man who, in many things, " stood alone" in greatness and magnanimity, bowed to the idol, and gave up his body as a victim on the altar of the bloody Moloch of this world. O, THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 193 weak and imperfect man ! how do thy laurels fade and thy honors wither, when thou treadest on forbidden ground ! Every man of principle must condemn the act, while he must acknowledge that it was attended with all the circum- stances which are calculated to soothe and comfort the hearts of his friends and countrymen. The extreme reluc- tance which marked his every step in his progress toward this dreadful deed the anxiety which he discovered, to have the unhappy difference amicably adjusted his solemn declarations which accompanied his will, that he was op- posed to the practice of duelling from religious principles that he bore no enmity to his antagonist, that he meant not to injure him, let what would be the consequence ; all this, added to what passed just before his death, almost too affect- ing to be mentioned, seems to dispel the gloom that hangs over this bloody transaction, and to spread around the bright rays of Christian hope hope which attends the soul of the deceased through the dark valley of the shadow of death, to the radiant throne of a merciful Saviour, who died to save repenting sinners. Blessed be God that, though the name of Hamilton be added, contrary to his heart's intentions, to the catalogue of duellists, (for which all good men lament,) it is also added to the host of martyrs and apostles who, with their last and dying breath, have borne testimony to the truth of the Chris- tian religion. The great lesson we all have to learn is, to make use of our united efforts in discountenancing the barbarous prac- tice by which we have been deprived of so much worth and greatness. Let us raise our voices against it ; and by every means in our power, relieve our country of its galling chain. Let us shun the man who would justify it, that our children, and the world, may know the force of that abhorrence in which we hold it. Though our country has sinned, perhaps irreclaimably, in that they have not opposed, by a just exe- cution of the law, the first inroads of this practice, yet let it 17 194 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. not be said that we have been wanting in our duty. Let us arise like a band of patriotic Christians and drive from our society the bloody Moloch. This will be doing that which our Hamilton, on his dying bed, pledged himself to God and man he would do should his life be spared. May his inten- tions be fulfilled by us and all his beloved countrymen. FRANCONIA MOUNTAIN NOTCH. BY HARRY HIBBARD. THE blackening hills close round : the beetling cliff On either hand towers to the upper sky. I pass the lonely inn ; the yawning rift Grows narrower still, until the passer-by Beholds himself walled in by mountains high, Like everlasting barriers, which frown Around, above, in awful majesty : Still on, the expanding chasm deepens down, Into a vast abyss which circling mountains crown. The summer air is cooler, fresher, here, The breeze is hushed, and all is calm and still ; Above, a strip of the blue heaven's clear Coerulean is stretched from hill to hill, Through which the sun's short transit can distil No breath of fainting sultriness; the soul Imbued with love of Nature's charms, can fill Itself with meditation here, and hold Communion deep with all that round it doth unfold. Thou, reader of these lines, who dost inherit That love of earth's own loveliness which flings A glow of chastened feeling o'er the spirit, And lends creation half its colorings Of light and beauty ; who from living things Dost love to 'scape to that beatitude Which from converse with secret Nature springs, Fly to this green and shady solitude, High hills, clear streams, blue lakes, and everlasting wood. And as thou musest mid these mountains wild, Their grandeur thy rapt soul will penetrate, Till with thyself thou wilt be reconciled, If not with man; thy thoughts will emulate Their calm sublime, thy little passions, hate, Envying and bitterness, if such be found Within thy breast, these scenes will dissipate, And lend thy mind a tone of joy profound, An impress from the grand and mighty scenes around. 196 THE NEW -HAM PS HI RE BOOK. Here doth not wake that thrill of awe ; that feeling Of stern sublimity, which overpowers The mind and sense of him whose foot is scaling The near White Mountain Notch's giant towers ; Here is less grandeur, but more beauty; bowers For milder, varied pleasure : in the sun Blue ponds and streams are glancing, fringed with flowers ; There, all is vast and overwhelming ; one Is Lafayette, the other, matchless Washington !* Great names ! presiding spirits of each scene, Which here their mountain namesakes overlook ; 'T is well to keep their memories fresh and green By thus inscribing them within the book Of earth's enduring records, where will look Our children's children ; till the crumbling hand Of Time wastes all things, every verdant nook And every crag of these proud hills shall stand Their glory's emblems, o'er our broad and happy land ! Where a tall post beside the road displays Its lettered arm, pointing the traveller's eye, Through the small opening mid the green birch trees, Toward yonder mountain summit towering high There pause : what doth thy anxious gaze espy ? An abrupt crag hung from the mountain's brow ! Look closer ! scan that bare sharp cliff on high ; Aha ! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now ! A perfect human face neck, chin, mouth, nose and brow ! And full and plain those features are displayed, Thus profiled forth against the clear blue sky, As though some sculptor's chisel here had made This fragment of colossal imagery, The compass of his plastic art to try. From the curved neck up to the shaggy hair That shoots in pine trees from the head on high, All, all is perfect : no illusions there To cheat the expecting eye with fancied forms of air ! Most wondrous vision ! the broad earth hath not Through all her bounds an object like to thee, That traveller e'er recorded, nor a spot More fit to stir the poet's phantasy. Gray Old Man of the Mountain, awfully There from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprear Those features grand, the same eternally ; Lone dweller mid the hills ! with gaze austere Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here ! And curious travellers have descried the trace Of the sage Franklin's physiognomy The names of the two highest peaks, one of the Franconia, the other of ths White Hills. The two groups are about twenty miles distant from each other. FRANCO XI A MOUNTAIN NOTCH. 197 In that most grave and philosophic face ; If it be true, Old Man, that we do see Sage Franklin's countenance, thou indeed must be A learned philosopher most wise and staid, From all that thou hast had a chance to see, Since Earth began. Here thou, too, oft hast played With lightnings, glancing frequent round thy rugged head. Thou sawest the tawny Indian's light canoe Glide o'er the pond that glistens at thy feet, And the White Hunter first emerge to view From up yon ravine where the mountains meet, To scare the Red Man from his ancient seat, Where he had roamed for ages, wild and free. The motley stream which since from every state And clime through this wild vale pours ceaselessly, Travellers, gay tourists, all have been a theme to thee ! In thee the simple-minded Indian saw The image of his more benignant God, And viewed with deep and reverential awe The spot where the Great Spirit made abode ; When storms obscured thee, and red lightnings glowed From the dark clouds oft gathered round thy face, He saw thy form in anger veiled, nor rowed His birchen bark, nor sought the wild-deer chase, Till thy dark frown had passed, and sunshine filled its place. Oh ! that some bard would rise, true heir of glory, With the full power of heavenly poesy, To gather up each old romantic story That lingers round these scenes in memory, And consecrate to immortality ; Some western Scott, within whose bosom thrills That fire which burneth to eternity, To pour his spirit o'er these mighty hills, And make them classic ground, thrice hallowed by his spells. But backward turn the wondrous shape hath gone ! The round hill towers before thee, smoothly green ; Pass but a few short paces farther on, Nought but the ragged mountain side is seen. Thus oft do earthly things delude, I ween, That in prospective glitter bright and fair, While time or space or labor intervene. Approach them, every charm dissolves to air, Each gorgeous hue hath fled, and all is rude and bare ! And trace yon streamlet down the expanding gorge, To the famed Basin close beside the way, Scooped from the rock by its imprisoned surge, For ages whirling in its foamy spray, Which issuing hence shoots gladly into day, 17* 198 THE NEW -HAM PS HIRE BOOK. Till the broad Merrimack it proudly flows, And into ocean pours a rival sea, Gladdening fair meadows as it onward goes, Where, mid the trees, rich towns their heav'nward spires disclose. And farther down, from Garnsey's lone abode, By a rude footpath climb the mountain side, Leaving below the traveller's winding road, To where the cleft hill yawns abrupt and wide, As though some earthquake did its mass divide In olden time ; there view the rocky Flume, Tremendous chasm ! rising side by side, The rocks abrupt wall in the long, high room, Echoing the wild stream's roar, and dark with vapory gloom. But long, too long, I Ve dwelt as in a dream, Amid these scenes of high sublimity ; Another pen must eternize the theme Mine has essayed, though all unworthily. Franconia ! thy wild hills are dear to me, Would their green woods might be my spirit's home ! Oft o'er the stormy waste of memory Shall I look back, where'er I chance to roam, And see their shining peaks rise o'er its angry foam ! WASHINGTON. BY BENJAMIN ORR. IN the establishment of kingdoms and republics in the eastern continent, the struggles between liberty and usurpa- tion, and the predominance of passion over reason and hu- manity, have tarnished the deeds of men in power with guilt and oppression. Those nations which have been most able in subduing the foreign foe, have found a more destruc- tive conflict with the rage of internal ambition. While victory is obtained over invaders, or empire extended by new conquests, it is all that ambition can hope or desire ; but when the potent and aspiring warrior, on completing his conquests, has failed of that aggrandizement and distinction from his country, which his vanity aimed at, his sword is un- sheathed against the people, from whom his honors were de- rived, and his triumphs are terminated in the slaughter and subjugation of his fellow-citizens. The sovereign who per- sonally assumes the command of his victorious army, is in danger of a subversion of his government, only from exter- nal enemies. Republics, less energetic in their sovereignty, and equally dependent, in times of hostility, on the ablest character, for the chief management of their warlike opera- tions, are secured in the enjoyment of their rights and liber- ties, only by the patriotic virtues of their chief commander, in concert with their own. If, in examining the records of nations, we survey the en- lightened and magnificent dominions of the East, where shall we find a character, the first in power, and the first in pub- lic and private virtue ? Or in whom shall we discover the tender sympathies of humanity and the ardor of justice, ac- companying the uninterrupted successes of warfare? Is 290 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. there a conqueror on the annals of a nation in the eastern con tinent, whose soul was above the ambition of self-emolu- ment ? Is there one, who, regardless of the splendor of conquest, has converted his acquisitions solely to the public good ? It is in vain that we extend our inquiries to the ear- liest date of civil government, and trace the rise and pro- gress of kingdoms and republics throughout the world to the present time; for the character of our illustrious WASHING- TON STANDS ALONE. His heart was a system of all the orders of virtue, regulat- ed by the power of a superlative understanding. His mind, conscious of the imperfection of all human wisdom, was too humble to acknowledge its own excellence it was too ex- alted to stoop to the degradation of earthly splendor. In scenes of the most trying perplexity, his wisdom and forti- tude enabled him to surmount the storm, and his concep- tions shone through all his dangers and sufferings, with in- variable lustre. When he enjoyed the mighty honors of conquest, it was with a serenity which bespoke the dignity of his patriotism, and the sympathetic regret for the ravages of unbridled ambition. When seated in the high prefer- ment of state, his disregard of aggrandizement, and the love of his country, turned the clamorous spirit of envy into silent remorse. In the tranquillity of domestic retirement, his affections continued to vibrate with the fondness of a parent for his countrymen, and the inviolable maintenance of their dear-bought rights, was still the subject of his most anxious solicitude. Though his deeds of merit have surpassed all the human efforts of past and modern ages though they have excited the admiration and astonishment of the world though they have wounded the vices of the great, tarnished the glory of ambition, humbled the triumphs of conquest, and converted the imaginary virtues of crowns into dross ; yet these but imperfectly represent the inestimable powers of the intellectual man. His righteous soul has exalted the hope of a happy immortality to the just, and taught the vir- tuous to look upon death as the last messenger of peace. NAPOLEON AT MELUN. BY MRS. SARAH REBECCA BARNES. " THE glades of the forest, pretmtin? the appearance of a deep solil ERICAN EDUCATION SOCIETY. 327 the church, what have the five or six hundred done ? Tongue cannot express, imagination cannot conceive. And can a society which has done so much for Zion, and which is cal- culated to do incomparably more, fail of support in a land of free institutions ; in a land effulgent with the beams of gospel light and love a land which is the glory of all lands? No, it cannot. If New England furnishes the West with some of her best ministers for the support of your churches and your literary and theological institutions, sure- ly she will not withhold pecuniary aid. The time may come when the East will implore assist- ance from the West. While casting my eyes over this im- mense Valley, two thousand four hundred miles in length, and one thousand two hundred in breadth, and viewing the mighty Mississippi and its noble tributaries, the unparallel- ed richness of the soil, and the facilities for acquiring sus- tenance and property by land, water and steam, I am lost in admiration of this western world of its present and prospective extent, wealth and power greatness and glory. As Christianity dawned upon the East and spread her beams of effulgence to these goings down of the sun, and as rays of light and love are now from this goodly land reflected upon benighted portions of the eastern hemisphere ; so the American Education Society commenced its operations in the East, and has extended its influence to the West ; and when years shall have rolled away, the state of society may be reversed, and the eastern states may depend, at least in some degree, on the western for the light of life and sal- vation, which they may be permitted to enjoy. THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. BY A SCHOOL-GIRL. Tns first diacorerers of America believed that there wa a fountain in Florida which had the miraculous power of restoring youth to the aged. " WE are travelling on to the fountain of youth, yet brothers stay awhile, And dream once more of our sunny land where the laughing vine- yards smile ; Then our steps we '11 speed, though weary and faint, to the dim and distant shore, Where we deem that the clouds of sorrow and grief will trouble our eyes no more. For they tell us that there, in that radiant land, that beautiful land of dreams, The summer and sunshine doth never pass from the blue and silvery streams, And a dim and strange mysterious strength on the sparkling rills is lain, For the spirit of God has breathed on the waves and they bring us our youth again. Then speed, let us speed, to the glorious strand, where the gems lie thick like dew, And bathe in the fount and the murmuring rills that bring us our youth anew ; For our life is a cold and a weary thing, in this mansion-house of wo, But pain will flee on the emerald banks where the lulling waters flow." But they never found the Fountain of Youth, on that lonely and lovely shore, And their wasted joys and their rifled gems, came back on their souls no more ; But they found a stream of enduring strength, whose beauty can never fade, More bright than the rivers of light that flow in the wilderness gloom and shade. For their faith grew firm and their trust more deep in the spirit of God above, And their hearts were filled with a holier hope, a higher and purer love ; Their strength was strong, for they knew that their tears ha8 not been given in vain, And they found the Fountain of Youth on high, in the Eden Land again ! THE WATER OF LIFE. BY REV. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. " The water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." OUR Saviour in conversing with the Samaritan woman, compared his religion to a living fountain within the breast. Because it is internal it shall not perish like outward and visible things. This is the emphatic part of the sentence, it shall be in him, and because it is in him it shall continue to flow for ever. We cannot be supposed to feel what the power of that illustration was in a climate where the broad rivers shrank to silver threads, and the earth was parched and blackened by the summer sun. But the truth which it conveys, and the promise which it contains within it, are clear to every eye, the promise that religion, being an in- ternal principle, shall not share the fate of those things which perish with the using, and pass away. The same thing which makes it permanent in single hearts, insures its per- petual duration in the world ; and in times when the moral aspect of the world indicates strong tendencies to infidelity, such a promise, based on a familiar truth, serves to encour- age the hopes of believers. But whence comes this confidence ? Why are we so sure that the stream which our Saviour drew from the rock in the wilderness will never cease to flow ? Do we think that the hope of heaven and the fear of hell will always make men Christians? Do we suppose that many who reject Christian- ity now, will be driven to it for consolation in their dark and troubled hours ? Or do we take encouragement from beholding how it has grown out of small beginnings, and 28* 330 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. overspread the civilized world ? No doubt these things help our confidence. But the foundation of it is, that man wants Christianity ; there is a thirst in the soul which no other ele- ment will supply. He must turn to some invisible power above him ; he cannot confine his aspirations to the beings about him, and the present world. Having these wants, he cannot give up Christianity, the only religion which professes to supply them, or even acknowledges their existence. By the unquestionable testimony of works, which no one could do unless God were with him, Jesus assures him that he is divinely sent to the world, sent on purpose to supply this hunger and thirst of the soul for more than man and this O earth can give. This, then, is the truth, that the religious feeling lies deep in our nature, ready to welcome the disclosures of Christian- ity as soon as it knows that God has sent them from above. You appeal to the moral sense and the religious feeling in others ; and their moral sense and religious feeling start up from their death-like slumber. When you bring your chil- dren to reflect upon the subject, it is not an external process ; the work is done within, for well does inspiration say, that the fountain of devotion must be in him, within the man, or it cannot flow unto everlasting life. When you go to some poor hardened wretch, and try to touch his heart, you feel that your words are powerless, and that nothing you can say will make the least impression ; yet at that very moment, perhaps, the religious feeling is waking ; it is something within himself, which rises up and masters him ; his fierce defiance sinks away, his tears begin to fall, his own spirit is in action and will do the rest ; for to wake him to a sense of his guilt and danger is all that you can do. A great and inspiring truth this ! that the thirst for reli- gion is born in the human breast. Stifled and suppressed it may be, stifled and suppressed indeed it is ; buried deep both in single hearts and great communities, under a crush- ing weight of meaner interests and passions. Still it is there ; and had we a divining rod for the purpose, we could find the THE WATER OF LIFE. 331 living spring under all the worldliness that surrounds us. We are told that engineers are now sounding the Asiatic deserts with Artesian wells ; and they are sure to find the element far down beneath the sands that are whitened by the suns of ages. And these who, in the name of Jesus Christ, have gone into moral deserts, into those howling wastes of abandoned men in which the world abounds, ex- ploring the haunts of sensual excess, the caverns of the dun- geon and the lanes of poverty, have found that if not weary in well doing, they could set springs of devotion flowing even there ; all was not evil ; the veriest rocks of the wil- derness have melted under the touch of holy and gentle hands. If these things are so, and they are so, who can have any fears for Christianity ? Infidelity has no sympathy with our nature. It makes no provision for the thirst of the soul. It knows no such wants ; but such wants there are, and the faith which does not supply them is no religion for man. Such wants there are, and Christianity, the only faith which satisfies them, cannot be lost. It may at times be overlooked, for it springs apart from the dusty wayside of life. It may be undervalued, for none can estimate it aright but those who have made trial of its power ; but, like the ele- ment to which our Saviour likened it, it is essential and in- dispensable ; man cannot do without it ; and, therefore, it will continue to flow long after the sun has withdrawn his shining, and the stars are pale with age. What are often regarded as indications of the decline of Christianity, are signs rather of its progress ; it is throwing off every weight, redeeming itself from human inventions, and preparing to extend and be glorified in the world as it never yet has been. So far from being lost, it will come into nearer intimacy with the human heart. In what forms it will manifest itself in coming time, it is not ours to say. It will not probably manifest itself in new forms, so much as an indifference to forms compared with realities, not such an indifference as is found and sometimes boasted among us 332 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. now, not the indifference of those to whom religious forms are an unmeaning language, because they have never known the feeling which those forms express; but the indifference of those who are so profoundly impressed with the substance and spirit of Christianity, that if a man's heart is in his reli- gion, they care not in what dialect he prays, whether he stands or kneels in devotion, whether he holds a creed or governs his life by the Scriptures alone they are glad to see any form in which the faith can gain for itself a warmer welcome in any heart. But I do wrong to use the word in- difference in connexion with such a feeling as this ; it is rather an interest in all forms which breathe the true spirit of those who use them ; its watchword is, Christ is preached, and I therein do rejoice. It makes believers friendly to the whole-hearted of every party, it allows them to be unkind and unjust to none. And now let me ask, have you ever reflected, that when our Saviour likened his religion to a living spring, he com- pared it to the most durable of earthly things ? Fleeting and perishable as it seems, there is nothing more enduring. Many a wayfarer goes to the land where Jesus lived, a region made so sacred by, his presence, that men have called it the Holy Land. They look for Samaria, the great city of the kings ; they find nothing save the well where Jesus talked with the Samaritan woman, and see women coming as in past ages, to draw from it in the heat of the day. They find no vestige of Tyre, the city whose merchants were princes ; but the same waves welter round the lonely shores, and the fisher- man spreads his nets upon the desolate rock. They seek for Jerusalem as it was ; but the daughter of Zion is chang- ed ; the crown is fallen from her brow ; the holy and beauti- ful house is gone for ever ; while the fountain of Siloam, fast by the oracle of God, flows full and bright as in the day when the priests filled their golden urns from it, singing, " with joy ye shall draw water from the wells of salvation." The trav- eller asks for the ruins of Capernaum, where our Saviour made his home. Once it was exalted to heaven in its pride ; THE WATER OF LIFE. 333 now there is not a stone to show the place of its grave ; while the sea of Tiberias, where he called his disciples, and where he reproved the winds and waves and they obeyed him, still spreads out its blue waters, though for ages no dashing oar has broken the slumber of its tide. He meant that his religion should endure ; and, there- fore, he would not write it with an iron pen in the rock for ever ; he chose rather to have it engraven on the only im- mortal thing in this world ; and that is the heart of man. The heart and impressions made in it will endure for ever. This is the reason that Christianity still exists, while cities, kingdoms and empires have passed away. This is the rea- son that it shall endure unchanged, when rocks and moun- tains shall melt, and the earth shall be a scorched and black- ened ruin. It cannot perish like the works of man and the visible elements of nature. It is an immortal fountain to supply the thirst of the soul for ever. LEONORE D'ESTE. BY MRS. L. J. B. CASE. " THBR.E are few episodes in modern history on which so much has been written, and which hat fur- nished such a theme for dispute, as Torqiialo Tasso's connexion \vilh the Princess Leoiiore D'Este. The eviJeuc^rs that his passion was returned are most complete ; th y are Leou-jre's own letters." THE lamps are dim, the banquet-room is lonely, The voice of song hath died in hall and bower; Italia's soft and starry midnight, only, Looks on her now, proud Este's peerless flower. She sits alone : through the wide casement stealing, The night-wind lifts her long and drooping hair, With its light touch the mournful thought jevealing, That clouds her eye, and knits her forehead fair. She hath been gay to-night, and, proudly veiling Each troubled feeling with a joyous glance, Hath met Alphonso's eye with look unquailing, And led, the merriest, in the mazy dance. But this hath passed, and love, too wildly cherished, Again hath risen with subduing power, And phantom forms of happiness that perished Come dimly gliding through this lonely hour. There 's wealth around her ; costly jewels, gleaming, Clasp her fair neck, and band her regal brow : Beauty, that lives but in the poet's dreaming, Smiles from the marble walls upon her now : She heeds it not ; each restless thought is roving To a dark cell, where daylight seldom falls, Where he, the lofty-minded and the loving, Sees but the spider clothe the mouldy walls. O, well to him may woman's love be given, That lonely dreamer of immortal dreams ; For founts, that rise amid the fields of heaven, Have bathed his spirit with celestial streams; And he hath walked with radiant ones, whose dwelling Is in the land where beauty owes its birth ; And the proud tales his lofty lyre is telling Shall send undying echoes through the earth. LEONORE D'ESTE. 335 Thine is a clouded pathway, Genius ! never Upon thy dreary lot life's sunlight shines; Baptized in wo, and consecrated ever To lead the worship at ideal shrines ! Ay, bind thy glorious visions on thy spirit; Let them uplift thee o'er thy mournful fate : With the proud mission that thou dost inherit Is ever linked life sad and desolate. And thou, who through long days of gloom dost languish, And for thy soul's bright star in darkness pine, Comes there no voice, upon thine hours of anguish, To say, though far away, she still is thine ? To say there 's one whose heart for thee beats only, Though crowds are pleading her bright smiles to share ; Who finds Ferrara's princely palace lonely, Since thy blue eye and song are wanting there ? Sad Leonore ! so long hast thou been turning, With love's fond worship, to those soul-lit eyes, That, to thy gaze, no other suns are burning ; Earth hath no light save what within them lies. Blest is thy love, though mournful, shedding ever Into thy depths of soul its sunny ray, And bringing bright illusions, that shall never Fade in life's dark realities away ! Then gem thy golden tresses on the morrow, And smile again in thine ancestral hall : Earth's children know full many a sterner sorrow Than on divided love may ever fall ! Your hearts are one ; and thence perpetual gladness Shall fling o'er life its soft and rainbow gleams; For love hath power, through separation's sadness, To wrap the spirit in elysian dreams. CHARACTER OF REY. JOSEPH EMERSON. BORN AT HOLLIS. DIED AT WEATHERSFIELD, CONN. BY CALEB J. TENNEY, D. D. His has been a life of uncommon usefulness. Omitting all other particulars, I here allude only to the good he did as the teacher and principal of his Seminary. The instruction he imparted to a multitude of our youth, co- operated perfectly in its influence with the high design of the ministry. In the introduction and establishment of fe- male seminaries in New England, he was very much a pioneer. Such celebrity did he secure to his institution for its system, accuracy, thoroughness, and Christian character, that far and wide he spread before the public mind the im- portance of female education. His may properly be called a parent institution. For several of his pupils and many others followed his example in establishing schools of a high order for young ladies. His usefulness in this respect, has surpassed that of any other teacher of females within the last half century. Besides this, the instruction he actually communicated to many, many hundreds of minds, and the success with which he taught them how to think, how to read, how to learn, and how to feel and act, constitute an untold amount of good. By him a vast number were prepared for elevated stations in domestic life, and many to become the compan- ions of ministers and missionaries to the heathen. Repeat- edly was his seminary visited by the gracious influences of the Spirit, under which not a few were sealed to the day of redemption. Thus he has spread extensively a healthful, CHARACTER OF REV. JOSEPH EMERSON. 337 redeeming influence in the church and in the world an o influence which lives and acts while he sleeps an influ- ence which is no small item in that great amount of influ- ence, which is, under God, to renovate the world. Already does it clearly appear, that wise was that providence, in the failure of his health, which drove him from the ministry to the employment of a teacher of the young. It was rational to expect, that such a man would have a calm and peaceful death. His was indeed of this character. Persuaded, months before his exit, that the time of his de- parture drew near, he set his house in order and prepared for the last. Uniformly was he composed. Uniformly did he abound in counsel, admonition, and conversation fitted to his dying condition. In much that he said, his heart was full, his language strong, and his very countenance expres- sive. He said to myself, " I have always in my life had fears of death and a dread of the grave, but both are now gone." To the remark, " God renders your passage to the grave pleasant," he replied, "I fear too pleasant; there is nothing but pleasantness in it." To two brethren in the ministry, he said : " The ministry never appeared tome be- fore so important and glorious. Be faithful, brethren, in your great work. I trust I am going upward ; in a little while one of you will be called upward ; and the other, not long after. The reward is glorious." To the inquiry, " How do you feel to-day, Sir ? " he replied, " I feel as though I had been in heaven for two days." When told he had been enabled to do much for Christ, he answered, " That is too strong ; compared with those who have done nothing, I have done a good deal." He spoke with rapture of the certainty and glory of the millennium, and rejoiced in view of the advance of Christ's kingdom, since he came upon the stage. In a word, the Rev. Joseph Emerson was in life a rare instance of one, who in the view of observers did no evil, and great good with all his might. His end was full of heaven and immortality. Though dead, he yet speak eth. 29 SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OP GEN. PIERCE. BY MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS. A NOBLE race they were, the tried And true of olden time ; Our glorious sires who bled and died For this our own free clime ; Oh ! hallowed be each sacred name, That fearless to the conflict came, And freely on the battle plain Poured out their blood like drops of rain. Few are the sculptured gifts of art, A nation's love to tell ; And many a brave and gallant heart Hath mouldered where it fell ; The spiry maize luxuriant waves Its long green leaves o'er heroes' graves, And thoughtless swains the harvest reap Where our stern fathers' ashes sleep ! But after years the tale shall tell, In words of light revealed, Who bravely fought, who nobly fell ; And many a well-fought field, Outspread beneath this western sun, Shall live with ancient Marathon ; And Bunker Hill and Trenton's name Be linked with old Platea's fame ! But the surviving few, who stand A remnant weak and old ; Sole relics of that glorious band Whose hearts were hearts of gold ; Oh ! honored be each silvery hair, Each furrow trenched by toil and care ; And sacred each old bending form That braved oppression's battle-storm ! THE FOUNDERS OF OUR GOVERNMENT. BY WILLIAM M. RICHARDSON, LL. D. THE love of liberty has always been the ruling passion of our nation. It was mixed at first with " the purple tide " of the founders' lives, and circulating with that tide through all their veins, has descended down through every genera- tion of their posterity, marking every feature of our country's glorious story. May it continue thus to circulate and de- scend to the remotest period of time. Oppressed and persecuted in their native country, the high indignant spirit of our fathers formed the bold design of leaving aland where minds as well as bodies were chain- ed, for regions where Freedom might be found to dwell, though her dwelling should prove to be amid wilds and wolves, or savages less hospitable than wilds and wolves ! An ocean three thousand miles wide, with its winds and its * waves, rolled in vain between them and liberty. They per- formed the grand enterprise, and landed on this then uncul- tivated shore. Here, on their first arrival, they found The wilderness " all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide." Their courage and industry soon surmounted all the dif- ficulties incident to a new settlement. The savages retired, the forests were exchanged for fields waving with richest harvests, and the dreary haunts of wild beasts for the cheer- ful abodes of civilized man. Increasing in wealth and pop- ulation with a rapidity which excited the astonishment of the old world, our nation flourished about a century and a half, when England, pressed down with the enormous weight 340 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. of accumulating debts, and considering the inhabitants of these states as slaves, who owed their existence and preser- vation to her care and protection, now began to form the unjust, tyrannical and impolitic plan of taxing this country without its consent. The right of taxation, however, not being relinquished, but the same principle under a different shape being pursued, the AWFUL GENIUS OF FREEDOM arose, not with the ungovernable ferocity of the tiger to tear and devour, but with the cool, determined, persevering courage of the lion, who, disdaining to be a slave, resists the chain. As liberty was the object of contest, that being secured, the offer of peace was joyfully accepted ; and peace was restored to free, united, independent Columbia ! But the arduous labors of the sons of liberty found not here an end. They had torn the branch from the parent trunk, but to make it flourish independent of that trunk, and relying only on its own strength for the collection of sap and nurture, was still a task of much difficulty. The confederation then existing between the states, form- ed in times of tumult and disorder, and deeply tainted with the times in which it was formed, was incomplete, void in a great measure of system, and without energy. Its attrac- tive powers not being sufficient to keep the several states, impelled different ways by jarring interests, in the orbits, where general harmony would require them to move, they were continually deviating from their true paths, continually impinging upon one another. Thus confusion seemed to have universally seized the affairs of our nation ; and our country, still oppressed with the burdensome effects of a war, which had to a great degree exhausted its infant strength, without funds, without credit, exhibited scenes of irregularity and disorder, which the honest patriot will ever pray may never be repeated. In this perplexed state of our public affairs the sages of our country convened ; and with WASHINGTON at their head, formed and recommended to the people of the United States, our present excellent constitution, which was soon FOUNDERS OF OUR GOVERNMENT. 341 after deliberately adopted by the several states of the union. This constitution, marking out the path of duty to all the states, fixing the boundary between the rights retained and the rights surrendered by the people, and containing in it- self a just balance of all its powers, has displayed in opera- tion a general harmony, not unaptly compared to the har- mony which philosophy has discovered to exist among the spheres. Though Europe, with which we have been exten- sively connected in commerce, has been shaken to its cen- tre with eruptions more horrid than those of Etna or Vesu- vius ; though war has deluged its territories with seas of blood, and peace has not found where to place the sole of her foot, not even on the top of the Alps, without dipping it in gore ; though the clouds, with aspect black and threat- ening, have twice gathered in our horizon, and the light- ning has streamed, the thunder has roared, and the hail has pattered amidst our commerce on our own shores ; still our nation has not only been preserved from the ravages and distresses of war, but has in the space of twelve years ex- perienced a greater increase of wealth, strength, and all other national blessings, than other countries have done in as many centuries. Immortal wreaths are due to the heroes who fought our revolutionary battles. May the sun of glory ever blaze in unclouded day upon their tombs : while laurels, green as our fields, luxuriant as the growth of our vales, and umbra- geous as the oaks of our mountains, spring around to deck the spot where their honored bones may rest ; yet, great as is the desert of our warriors, wreaths as green and as large and as rich are due to the authors of our excellent frame of government. If those separated us from a foreign gov- ernment, these have taught us to govern ourselves. If those freed us from tyranny abroad, these have secured us from tyranny at home. If our nation, in following our warriors, proved itself brave in the glorious cause of freedom, in adopt- ing the constitution framed by our sages, it has proved itself wise, virtuous, and worthy to be free. If our WASHINGTON, 29* 342 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. at the head of our warriors, laid the broad and solid founda- tion of his immortal fame, and raised the superstructure high as humanity is wont to rise ; at the head of those states- men and sages who framed our constitution, he has added another loft to the stupendous fabric, has finished the super- structure, and his character thus completed now stands the loftiest and noblest pyramid of human greatness the world has ever seen. "WE'LL MEET AGAIN." BY SAMUEL T. HILDRETH. I ASKED if I should cherish still Those dreams and hopes of earlier days, When scarce I knew why on her face I loved to gaze. The hill looked down with calm delight, While silence slumbered on the plain ; She only said " Good night, good night ! We '11 meet again." Those random gifts should I preserve, And deem each one of love a token, The chance-plucked leaf the silvan flower, Which she had broken ? The hill looked down with calm delight, While silence slumbered on the plain ; She only said " Good night, good night ! We '11 meet again." Oh ! would she linger in her walks A moment by each favorite tree, And gather violets from the turf, As if for me ? A blush a smile that tone so slight, I bent to catch but all in vain ; I only heard " Good night, good night ! We '11 meet again." And would she think, when groves were bare, How kindly in that solemn hour, My holiest thoughts would cluster round The withered flower ? Her glance met mine their deep reply Those glistening eyes could not retain ; Her glance told all : " Good bye good bye ! Fair girl ! we '11 meet again. ' ENERGY OF THE WILL. PROF. THOMAS C. UPHAM. A HIGHER, degree of voluntary power, than is allotted to the great mass of mankind, seems to be requisite in those, who are destined to take a leading part in those great moral, religious, and political revolutions, which have from time to time agitated the face of the world. It is no easy task to change the opinions of men, to check and subdue vices which have become prevalent, or to give a new aspect and impulse to religion and liberty. The men, who take a lead in these movements, are in general men of decision and firmness ; no others would answer the purpose. If the gentle spirit of Melancthon had been placed in the precise position occupied by Luther, would the great event of the Protestant reformation have been urged forward with the same impetus, and to the same issues 1 Not unfrequently have the philanthropist and the Christian Missionary placed themselves in situations, where extreme suffering and even death itself seemed to be inevitable. Un- alterably fixed in their high purpose, amid present suffering and the sure anticipation of future and greater woes, they have often exhibited a wonderful heroism, not indeed in the cause of war and its attendant devastations, but for the sake of renovating the sensibilities, and soothing the count- less miseries of their fellow-men. In the boundless forests of North and South America, on the shores of the Nile and the Ganges, and on the banks of solitary streams un- known to civilized man, in frozen Greenland and the burn- ing sands of Africa, in the distant islands of the sea, amid the wretched hamlets of the dreary Alps, wherever there is ENERGY OF THE WILL. 345 ignorance to be enlightened or sorrow to be soothed or souls to be saved, their astonishing labors of benevolence have been witnessed, and their names will be held in veneration down to the last ages. When society becomes greatly unsettled either in its religious or political aspects, when there is a heaving and tossing to and fro, a removal of the old land-marks, and a breaking up of the old foundations, then it is, that men, not merely of intellect, but of decision and energy, (saga- cious, cool, decided, persevering, resolute,) find their way upward to the summit of the conflicting elements, and subject them to their guidance. Such is the natural course of things ; such men are needed, and no others are capable of taking their places ; and they become almost of necessity the advisers and leaders in the nascent order of society. The prominent leaders, therefore, in every great religious or political revolution will be found to illus- trate the fact, that there are original and marked differ- ences in the degree of power, which is appropriate to the will. Look at the men who presided at the events of the great English Revolution of 1640, particularly the Puritans; men of the stamp of the Vanes, Hampdens, and Fleetwoods ; who, in embarking in the convulsions of that stormy period, had a two-fold object in view, the security of political lib- erty, and the attainment of religious freedom ! Were they weak men 1 Were they men wanting in fortitude ? Were they uncertain and flexible, vacillating and double-minded ? History gives an emphatic answer to these questions. It informs us, that they entered into the contest for the great objects just now referred to, with a resolution which noth- ing could shake, with an immutability of purpose resem- bling the decrees of unalterable destiny. They struck for liberty and religion, and they struck not thrice merely, but as the prophet of old would have had them ; smiting many times, and smiting fiercely, till Syria was consumed. They broke in pieces the throne of England; they trampled under foot her ancient and haughty aristocracy ; they erected 346 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. the standard of religious liberty, which has waved ever since, and has scattered its healing light over distant lands; and by their wisdom and energy they not only overthrew the enemies of freedom at home, but made the name of their country honored and terrible throughout the earth. They seem to have entirely subjected their passions to their purposes, and to have pressed all the exciting and inflam- mable elements of their nature into the service of their fixed and immutable wills. In the prosecution of their memorable achievements, " Of which all Europe talked from side to side," they acted under the two-fold pressure of motives drawn from heaven and earth ; they felt as if they were contend- ing for principles which were valuable to all mankind, and as if all mankind were witnesses of the contest ; at the same time that they beheld on every side, in the quickened eye of their faith, the attendant angels eagerly bending over them, who were soon to transfer to the imperishable records on high the story of their victory and reward, or of their defeat and degradation. All these things imparted additional fixedness and intensity to their purposes. " Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure its charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them Stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised them above the influence of danger and corruption. It sometimes might lead them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. They went through the world like Sir Artegale's man Talus with his flail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor lot in human infirmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain ; not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be withstood by any barrier." THE BATTLE OF LMDY'S LANE. BY CALEB STARK. 'WRITTEN after a moonlight ramble on Dnimmond's Hill, U. C., the scene or that bloody action, fought July 25, 1814, where New Hampshire valor shone conspkuouaij. IN other days yon fatal hill, Glittered with arms and waved with plumes, When the sad sunset on their steel, Flashed its last splendors ; even's glooms Rang witli the bugle's martial breath That called the brave to deeds of death. Then the dismal cry of slaughter Broke on midnight's slumbering hour; And the parched ground drank blood like water, As beneath the deadly shower Of musket and artillery, With motto calm yet bold, " I 'LL TRY," The bristling ranks move on, Mid deafening thunder, sulphurous Sash, And shouts, and groans, and forests' crash, Till hark ! the sharp, clear bayonet's clash, Tells that the work is done. There deeds of deathless praise proclaim, How rolled War's tide when RIPLEV'S name Swelled the wild shout of victory ; And dauntless Miller and McNeil Led foremost, in the strife of steel, The flower of northern chivalry; While Scott from British brows then tore The laurels dyed in Gallic gore ! But these terrific scenes are past ; The peasants' slumbers, the wild blast Alone shall break them, And those proud bannered hosts are gone, Where the shrill trumpet's charging tone No more may wake them. Time in his flight has swept away, Each vestige of the battle fray, Save that the traveller views around, The shattered oak the grass-grown mound That shrines a hero's ashes ! 348 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK Peace to the brave ! around their stone Shall Freedom twine her rosy wreath, And, though with moss of years o'ergrown, Fame shall applaud their glorious death, Long as Niagara dashes ! As an appropriate pendant, the following graphic descrip- tion of the battle, and of the noble conduct of the twenty- first (New-Hampshire) regiment, under Ripley, Miller, and M'Neil, as detailed by an eye-witness, is inserted. " The fight raged some time with great fury, but, it be- came apparent, uselessly to the Americans, if the enemy retained possession of the battery, manifestly the key of their position. I was standing at the side of Colonel Miller," said the Major, " when General Ripley rode up and inquired whether he could storm the battery with his regiment, while he supported him with the younger regiment, the twenty- third. Miller, amid the uproar and confusion, deliberately surveyed the position, then quietly turning with infinite cool- ness, replied, ' I '11 try, Sir.' I think I see him now," said the Major, " as drawing up his gigantic figure to its full height he turned to his regiment, drilled to the precision of a piece of mechanism. I hear his deep tones 'Twcnty- Jirst, attention ! Form into column. You will advance up the hill to the storm of the battery. At the word ' Halt ! ' you will deliver your fire at the portlights of the artillerymen, and immediately carry the guns at the point of the bayonet. Support arms, forward, march ! ' Machinery could not have moved with more compactness than the gallant regiment followed the fearless strides of then- leader. Supported by the twenty-third, the dark mass moved up the hill like one body, the lurid light glittering and flickering on their bay- onets, as the combined fire of the enemy's artillery and infantry opened murderously upon them. They flinched not they faltered not the stern deep voices of the offi- cers, as the deadly cannon-shot cut yawning chasms through them, alone were heard : ' Close up steady, men BATTLE OF LU N D Y ' S LANE. 349 steady.' Within a hundred yards of the summit, the loud ' Halt !' was followed by a volley sharp, instantaneous as a clap of thunder. Another moment, rushing under the white smoke, a short furious struggle with the bayonet, and the artillery men were swept like chaff from their guns. Another fierce struggle the enemy's line was forced down the side of the hill, and the victory was ours the position entirely in our hands their own pieces turned and playing upon them in their retreat. It was bought at a cruel price few of the officers remained that were not killed or wounded. The whole tide of the battle now turned to this point. The result of the conflict depended entirely upon the ability of the victorious party to retain it. Major Hindman was ordered up, and posted his force at the side of the captured cannon, while the American line correspondingly advanced. " Stung with mortification, the brave General Drummond concentrated his forces, to retake by a desperate charge the position. The interval amid the darkness was alone filled by the roar of the cataract, and the groans of the wounded. He advanced with strong reinforcements, outflanking each side of the American line. We were only able, in the murky darkness, to ascertain their approach by their heavy tread. 'They halted within twenty paces poured in a rapid fire, and prepared for a rush.' Directed by the blaze, our men returned it with deadly effect, and after a desper- ate struggle, the dense column recoiled. Another interval of darkness and silence, and again a most furious and des- perate charge was made by the British, throwing the whole weight of their attack upon the American centre. The gallant twenty-first which composed it, received them with undaunted firmness while the fire from our lines was ' dreadfully effective.' Hindman's artillery served with the most perfect coolness and effect. Staggering, they again recoiled. During this second attack, Gen. Scott in person, his shattered brigade now consolidated into a single battal- ion, made two determined charges upon the right and left 30 350 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. flank of the enemy, and in these he received the scars which his countrymen now see on his manly front. Our men were now almost worn down with fatigue, dying with thirst, for which they could gain no relief. The British, with fresh reinforcements their men recruited and rested after an interval of another hour, made their third and final effort to regain the position. They advanced deliv- ered their fire as before and although it was returned with the same deadly effect, they steadily pressed forward. The twenty-first again sustained the shock, and both lines were soon engaged in ' a conflict, obstinate and dreadful beyond description.' The right and left of the American line fell back for a moment, but were immediately rallied by their officers. ' So desperate did the battle now become, that many battalions on both sides were forced back,' the men, engaged in indiscriminate mclce, fought hand to hand, and with muskets clubbed ; and ' so terrific was the conflict where the cannon were stationed, that Major Hindman had to engage them over his guns and gun carriages, and finally to spike two of his pieces, under the apprehension that they would fall into the hands of the enemy.' Gen. Ripley at length made a most desperate and determined charge upon both of the enemy's flanks; they wavered recoiled gave W ay and the centre soon following, they relinquished the fight, and made a final retreat. The annals of warfare on this Continent have never shown more desperate fighting. Bayonets were repeatedly crossed ; and after the action many of the men were found mutually transfixed. The British force engaged was about five thousand men the American thirty-five hundred : the combined loss in killed and wounded, seventeen hundred and twenty-two, officers and men. " The battle commenced at half past 4 o'clock in the af- ternoon, and did not terminate till midnight." THE CUSTOMS OF OUR FATHERS. FROM A SPEECH AT THE WILTON CEOTENNIAL. BY ABIEL ABBOT, D.D. I LOOK around and ask, Where are the fathers? but nothing is seen but their precious remembrance in their sons. They were men whom I well remember, whom I have always held in high esteem and veneration. Their devout and venerable appearance in this holy temple, where they religiously and constantly worshipped, is now fresh in my memory. The impressions on my young mind at their piety and uprightness, and their friendly and heavenly deport- ment here, at home and every where, were a rich blessing to me, and rendered the memory of those venerable patri- archs most precious and lasting. I see here my sisters and their daughters, whom I hail and recognize as bearing the resemblance of our venerated mothers, of whom I ever think with the warmest affection and most respectful regard. They were worthy companions and helps-meet for our fathers. They were partners in all their toils, hardships and priva- tions. They were patient, contented, and cheerful ; and by their efforts alleviated the burdens of their husbands, and by their smiles encouraged them in their labors and trials. Their countenance and kind expressions are still fresh in my mind, though years have elapsed since they and their beloved companions went to their better home. They came to houses not finished, not painted, not ceiled, as we see them now ; they had no parlor, no carpet, no curtains, no sofa; for some of these every-day conveniences they had no word in their vocabulary. But they were happy, happi- 352 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. ness is the property of mind. They took good care of the household. They wrought flax and wool ; the card, the spinning wheel, and the loom, were the furniture of the house. All were clothed with domestic products ; articles were also made for the market. They were healthy and strong ; they and their daughters were not enfeebled by luxuries and delicacies, nor with working muslins or em- broidery; tea and cake were rarely used; coffee was un- known. Their dress was plain, and adapted to the season and their business ; one dress answered for the day and for the week. Their living and dress produced no consump- tions, as now. Our fathers and mothers were benevolent, hospitable and kind ; the stranger was received, as in the most ancient time, with a hearty welcome. In their own neighborhood and town, they were all brothers and sisters. There was an admirable equality, a home-feeling and heart- feeling among all. Their visits were not formal, ceremo- nious and heartless, but frank, cheerful and cordial. Their sympathy for the sick, unfortunate and distressed, was ex- pressed by their ready assistance and kindly affectionate help. When prosperous, all partook in the common joy ; when sickness or calamity befell any, all were affected, the sorrow was mutual, and aid and relief, as far as possible, were afforded. They were, indeed, one family, all mem- bers of one sympathizing body. But what calls forth our warmest gratitude and most af- fectionate esteem, and is the crowning feature of their char- acter, and, in fact, comprehends their other virtues, is, they were godly women ; they were religious women ; they care- fully observed religious institutions. The duties of the Sab- bath, of family and public worship, and family instruction, Avere conscientiously and faithfully performed. Bad roads, unpleasant weather, want of comfortable conveyance, were hinderances to public worship easily overcome. If the snow had blocked up the road, our mothers fastened on the snow shoe. The ox-sled was often used in winter to convey the family, especially our mothers and sisters, to the church, THE CUSTOMS OF OUR FATHERS. 353 The Sabbath was devoted to the study of the Bible and other religious purposes. Blessed is the memory of our mothers for their early religious instruction of their children, and others committed to their care. After the service of the sanctuary, the children were called together ; they read in the Primer or Testament, as they were able ; they were taught to say their hymns, their prayers, and the catechism. Their prayers were repeated every night on going to bed. The mother began their instruction early ; she literally brought them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. I reverence and thank my mother for teaching me the cate- chism. Though it is hard to be understood, not fitting for babes, and in some parts erroneous, it was the best she knew, and I thank her for teaching it, and my father for en- couraging me to learn it. A deep reverence of God and sacred things was imprinted on my mind ; and I have no doubt of my being a better man and better Christian for this instruction. And much, very much of the prosperity, peace and high reputation of the inhabitants of this town, is owing to the faithful instruction and exemplary character of our fathers and mothers. Your well-fenced and cultivated fields, your neat and well-furnished dwellings, your domestic enjoy- ments, and the privileges of your children, are, in great measure, to be attributed to the love of truth and the prac- tice of honesty, industry, integrity and piety, which were early impressed upon the minds of the young. Our fathers and mothers were careful to educate no domestic for the penitentiary ; and to their lasting honor be it said, that no one of their children has been imprisoned and punished for crime. 30* ANDRE. BY CHARLES W. UPHAM. IBorn at Portsmouth, September 9, 1814. Died December, 1834.] BESIDE his path the beauteous Hudson rolled In silent majesty. The silvery mist, Like the soft incense of an eastern fane, Went sparkling upward, gloriously wreathing In the sun-light. And the keen-eyed eagle, From his high eyrie mid the crags, looked down In majesty, where stood the lonely one, In silence, musingly " Would it were thus With me. My spirit shares not now, as wont, In the wild majesty of nature here. Methinks there is some weight within, sinking My better thoughts. Would now that I miglit lead Some gallant battle charge where the wild trump Enkindles valor, and the free winds swell My country's banner." It was a lowly room ; And the stern heavy tread that by the door Went to and fro, told it the captive's cell. And he was there ; the same, with his high brow, And soul-disclosing eye ; and he was doomed ; But on his face a smile seemed gathering, And the fixed gaze marked that a wakeful dream Had borne him far away. And now he saw His father's home, in its old stateliness, Amid the bending trees ; and the bright band Of his young sisters, with their voices gay, Echoing there, like some glad melody. And then another form, bewildering Each thought, came rising up in peerless grace, But dimly seen, like forms which sleep creates. His breath grew quicker, and his only thought Dwelt upon her, as seen in that last hour, Her full dark eye on his, and the closed lip Just quivering with a tender smile, with which The proud young thing would veil her parting grief, And check her trembling voice, that did outsteal, ANDRE. 355 Like witching tones upborne upon the wind Of summer night telling of her high trust. But suddenly a change was on his face, And then he paced the room in agony At one dark thought. 'T was not that he must die ; But that he should not die a soldier's death : Alas, and shall she hear it, that bright one That ever saw him, in her dreams, rise up Like the young engle to the sun ? ***** The morning 1 camp, And he stood up to die ; the beautiful And brave the loved one of a sunny home, To die as felons die; yet proudly calm, With his high brow unmoved. And the full soul Beamed in his eye unconquered, and his lip Was motionless, as is the forest leaf In the calm prelude to the storm. He died ; And the stern warriors, to his country foes, Wept for his fate. And who, that e'er had hopes, Weeps not for him, meeting such mise'ry In glory's path ? TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. BY REUBEN DIMOND MUSSEY, M.D. WATER is the naturid and proper drink of man. Indeed, it is the grand beverage of organized nature. It enters largely into the composition of the blood, and juices of ani- mals and plants, forms an important ingredient in their organized structures, and bears a fixed and unalterable re- lation to their whole vital economy. It was the only bev- erage of the human family in their primeval state. In that garden, where grew " every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food," producing all the richness and variety of " fruit and flower " which an omnipotent and aJI- bountiful Creator could adapt to the relish of his senses, and the exigencies of his entire organization, it cannot for a moment be doubted that man was in a condition best suited to secure to him the uninterrupted, as well as the highest and best exercise and enjoyment, of his physical, mental, and moral powers. His drink was water. A river flowed from Paradise. From the moment that river began to " water the garden," till the present, no human inven- tion has equalled this simple beverage ; and all the attempts to improve it by the admixture of other substances, whether alcoholic, narcotic, or aromatic, have not only failed, but have served to deteriorate or poison it, and render it less healthful and safe. Water is as well adapted to man's natural appetite, as to the physical wants of his organs. A natural thirst, and the pleasure derived from its gratification, were given us to secure to the vital machinery the supply of liquid necessary TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 357 to its healthy movements. When this natural thirst occurs, no drink tastes so good, and in truth none is so good as water ; none possesses adaptations so exact to the vital necessities of the organs. So long as a fresh supply of liquid is not needed, so long there is not the least relish for water ; it offers no temptation, while its addition to the circulating fluids would be useless, or hurtfuL It is a striking remark of the celebrated Hoffman, that " if there be in nature a universal remedy, that remedy is water." Under a more perfect acquaintance with the functions of life, and with the influences exerted upon it by remedial agents, may it not be hoped that the period will arrive when not only ardent spirit, but all intoxicating liquors, will be regarded as not absolutely necessary in the practice of physic or surgery? It may, perhaps, be worth remarking, that throughout the wide-spread kingdoms of animal and vege- table nature, not a particle of alcohol in any form or com- bination whatever has been found as the effect of a single liv- ing process, but that it arises only out of the decay, the disso- lution, and the wreck of organized matter, or of its ever-varied and wonderful productions ; and is it probable that the be- neficent author of such a countless multitude of medicinal agents as exist in the products of vital action, would have left, to be generated among the results of destructive chem- istry, an article essential to the successful treatment even of a single disease ? The profession of medicine has an extensive scope. It looks into the structure of animal machinery, it investigates the laws of its vital movements, both in health and disease, and contemplates a variety of influences, by which its com- plicated processes are accelerated, retarded, suspended, or destroyed. It learns, that to the functions of life belongs a standard rate of action, beyond which they cannot be safely excited or driven ; that alcoholic and narcotic stimulants derange and confuse the healthy movements, exhaust the vital power more than nature intended, and induce prema- 358 THE N E W - H A M P S H I R E BOOK. ture decay, and dissolution. This profession claims the strictest alliance with the cause of humanity ; it cherishes good-will, and proffers substantial blessings to men. It ex- tends its hand not only to the exhausted, bed-ridden patient, and to the tottering and dejected invalid, but even to the healthy man, to save him from the pain and suffering which ignorance, or custom, or recklessness might bring upon him. Let physicians, then, be true to their profession. Let them study the duties they owe to the communities with whom they live and labor. Let them teach the means of preserving health, as well as of combating disease; let them show, as it is in their power to do, that the taking of medi- cine in health in order to prevent disease is most absurd and mischievous ; that the surest guaranty of health is a correct regimen, and that the best treatment of acute dis- ease is often very simple. Let them explain as far as practicable to those around them, the mechanism of their physical organization, and when it can be done, " knife in hand," the work will be easy. Let them expound, so far as known, the beautiful and harmonious laws enstamped upon this organization, by which its complicated movements and diversified phenomena are sustained ; laws as immutable in their nature, and in- flexible in their operation, as those that hold the planetary system together ; and like them originating in the same in- comprehensible and mighty mind, which, acting in the strength of its own philanthropy and unchangeableness, gave to man a moral code from amidst the smoke and and thunders of Sinai. No law coming from this high source can be violated with impunity; and he who in- fringes a law of the vital economy, receives, in an injury done to the machinery of life, the penalty of his transgres- sion with no less certainty than he who leaps from a tower, heedless of gravitation. With all its given power of ac- commodation to circumstances, no possible training or education of this machinery can change the nature of its TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 359 primitive adaptations, and make an article congenial and healthful, which was originally repulsive and noxious. No human ingenuity or perseverance can render impure air as wholesome as that which is pure, or any form of intoxicat- ing liquor as healthful as water. So long as alcohol retains a place among sick patients, so long there will be drunkards ; and who would undertake to estimate the amount of responsibility assumed by that physician who prescribes to the enfeebled, dyspeptic pa- tient the daily internal use of spirit, while at the same time he knows that this simple prescription may ultimately ruin his health, make him a vagabond, shorten his life, and cut him off from the hope of heaven ? Time was when it was used only as a medicine, and who will dare to offer a guar- anty that it shall not again overspread the world with disease and death 1 Ardent spirit already under sentence of public con- demnation, and with the prospect of undergoing an entire exclusion from the social circle, and the domestic fireside still lingers in the sick chamber, the companion and pretended friend of its suffering inmates. It rests with medical men to say how long this unalterable, unrelenting foe of the human race shall remain secure in this sacred, but usurped retreat. They have the power, and theirs is the duty to perform the mighty exorcism. Let the united effort soon be made, and the fiend be thrust forth from this strong but unnatural alliance and companionship with men, and cast into that " outer darkness " which lies beyond the precincts of human suffering and human enjoyment. THE SKATER'S SONG. BY EPHRAIM PEA BODY. AWAY ! away ! our fires stream bright Along the frozen river, And their arrowy sparkles of brilliant light On the forest branches quiver. Away, away, for the stars are forth, And on the pure snows of the valley, In a giddy trance the moonbeams dance ; Come let us our comrades rally. Away, away, o'er the sheeted ice, Away, away, we go ; On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet As deer o'er the Lapland snow. What though the sharp north winds are out, The skater heeds them not ; Midst the laugh and shout of the joyous rout Gray winter is forgot. 'T is a pleasant sight, the joyous throng In the light of the reddening flame, While with many a wheel on the ringing steel They wage their riotous game : And though the night-air cutteth keen, And the white moon shineth coldly, Their homes, I ween, on the hills have been ; They should breast the strong blast boldly. Let others choose more gentle sports, By the side of the winter's hearth, Or at the ball or the festival, Seek for their share of mirth ;. But as for me, away, away, Where the merry skaters be ; Where the fresh wind blows and the smooth ice glows, There is the place for me. THE ABORIGINES OF NEW ENGLAND. BY JEREMY BELKNAP, D.D. WHILST the British nation had been distracted with in- ternal convulsions, and had endured the horrors of a civil war, produced by the same causes which forced the planters of New England to quit the land of their nativity ; this wil- derness had been to them a quiet habitation. They had struggled with many hardships ; but Providence had smiled upon their undertaking ; their settlements were extended and their churches multiplied. There had been no remark- able quarrel with the savages, except the short war with the Pequods, who dwelt in the south-east part of Connecticut. They being totally subdued in 1637, the dread and terror of the English kept the other nations quiet for near forty years. During this time, the New-England colonies being con- federated for their mutual defence, and for maintaining the public peace, took great pains to propagate the gospel among the natives, and bring them to a civilized way of living, which, with respect to some, proved effectual ; others re- fused to receive the missionaries, and remained obstinately prejudiced against the English. Yet the object of their ha- tred was at the same time the object of their fear ; which led them to forbear acts of hostility, and to preserve an out- ward show of friendship, to their mutual interest. Our historians have generally represented the Indians in a most odious light, especially when recounting the effects of their ferocity. Dogs, caitiffs, miscreants and hell-hounds, are the politest names which have been given them by some writers, who seem to be in a passion at the mention of their cruelties, and at other times speak of them with contempt. 31 362 THE NEW- HAMPSHIRE BOOK. Whatever indulgence may be allowed to those who wrote in times when the mind was vexed with their recent depredations and inhumanities, it ill becomes us to cherish an inveterate hatred of the unhappy natives. Religion teaches us a better temper, and providence has now put an end to the controversy, by their almost total extirpation. We should therefore proceed with calmness in recollecting their past injuries, and forming our judgment of their char- acter. It must be acknowledged that human depravity appeared in these unhappy creatures in a most shocking view. The principles of education and the refinements of civilized life, either lay a check upon our vicious propensities, or disguise our crimes ; but among them human wickedness was seen in its naked deformity. Yet, bad as they were, it will be difficult to find them guilty of any crime which cannot be paralleled among civilized nations. They are always described as remarkably cruel ; and it cannot be denied that this disposition, indulged to the great- est excess, strongly marks their character. We are struck with horror, when we hear of their binding the victim to the stake, biting off his nails, tearing out his hair by the roots, pulling out his tongue, boring out his eyes, sticking his skin full of lighted pitch-wood, half roasting him at the fire, and then making him run for their diversion, till he faints and dies under the blows which they give him on every part of his body. But is it not as dreadful to read of an unhappy wretch, sowed up in a sack full of serpents and thrown into the sea, or broiled in a red-hot iron chair ; or mangled by lions and tigers, after having spent his strength to combat them for the diversion of the spectators in an am- phitheatre ? And yet these were punishments among the Romans, in the politest ages of the empire. What greater cruelty is there in the American tortures, than in confining a man in a trough, and daubing him with honey, that he may be stung to death by wasps and other venomous insects ; or flaying him alive, and stretching out his skin before his THE ABORIGINES OF NEW ENGLAND. 363 eyes, which modes of punishment were not inconsistent with the softness and elegance of the ancient court of Per- sia? Or, to come down to modern times; what greater mis- ery can there be in the Indian executions, than in racking a prisoner on a wheel, and breaking his bones one by one with an iron bar ; or placing his legs in a boot and driving in wedges one after another; which tortures are still, or have till lately been used in some European kingdoms ? I forbear to name the torments of the inquisition, because they seem to be beyond the stretch of human invention. If civilized nations, and those who profess the most merciful religion that ever blessed the world, have practiced these cruelties, what could be expected of men who were stran- gers to every degree of refinement, either civil or mental. The Indians have been represented as revengeful. When any person was killed, the nearest relative thought himself bound to be the avenger of blood, and never left seeking, till he found an opportunity to execute his purpose. Whether in a state where government is confessedly so feeble as among them, such a conduct is not justifiable, and even countenanced by the Jewish law, may deserve our consider- ation. The treachery with which these people are justly charged, is exactly the same disposition which operates in the breach of solemn treaties made between nations which call them- selves Christians. Can it be more criminal in an Indian, than in an European, not to think himself bound by prom- ises and oaths extorted from him when under duress ? Their jealousy and hatred of their English neighbors may easily be accounted for, if we allow them to have the same feelings with ourselves. How natural is it for us to form a disagreeable idea of a whole nation, from the bad conduct of some individuals with whom we are acquainted? And though others of them may be of a different character, yet will not that prudence which is esteemed a virtue, lead us to suspect the fairest appearances, as used to cover the most fraudulent designs, especially if pains are taken by the most 364 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. politic among us, to ferment such jealousies to subserve their own ambitious purposes? Though the greater part of the English settlers came hither with religious views, and fairly purchased their lands of the Indians, yet it cannot be denied that some, especially in the eastern parts of New England, had lucrative views only ; and from the beginning used fraudulent methods in trade with them. Such things were indeed disallowed by the government, and would always have been punished, if the Indians had made complaint : but they knew only the law of retaliation, and when an injury was received, it was never forgotten till revenged. Encroachments made on their lands, and fraud committed in trade, afforded sufficient grounds for a quarrel, though at ever so great a length of time ; and kept alive a perpetual jealousy of the like treat- ment again. JACOB'S FUNERAL. BY CHARLES W . UP II AM A TRAIN came forth from Egypt's land, Mournful and slow their tread; And sad the leader of that band, The bearers of the dead. His father's bones they bore away, To lay them in the grave Where Abraham and Isaac lay, Macpelah's sacred cave. A stately train, dark Egypt's pride, Chariot and horse are there ; And silently, in sorrow ride Old men of hoary hair. For many days they passed along To Atad's threshing floor, And sang their last and saddest song Upon the Jordan's shore. And Atad saw the strangers mourn, That silent, wo-clad band, And wondered much whose bones were borne, Thus far from Pharaoh's land. They saw the chieftain's grief was sore, He wept with manly grace ; They called that spot forevermore Misraim's mourning place. They passed the wave that Jacob passed, His good staff in his hands,* They passed the wave that Jacob passed With his returning bands. 'T was when he met upon his path His brother's wild array, And fled, for fear his ancient wrath Might fall on him that day. *Gen. zzxii. 10. 31* IMPORTANCE OF MORAL SCIENCE. BY REV. WILLIAM D. WILSON. THERE is no such thing as having no philosophy of morals and religion, though we often hear " practical men," as they like to be called, express their aversion, if not their contempt, for philosophy. It has been sneeringly asked in a public meeting, " if philosophy ever baked a single loaf of bread," and that too by one who is recognized as a public teacher of morals and religion. We would answer him no, my brother ; but then " It is written, ' man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.'" There is no one that speaks or acts, who has not a phi- losophy of morals, of his actions, though he may be unconscious of it. No one acts or speaks without motives and principles of some kind or other ; and it can be shown what those motives and principles are ; and when they are reduced to a system, they constitute the philosophy of that man's morals his moral philosophy. This philosophy he may have learned from his father and mother, though they never called their precepts and instructions by the name of philosophy ; he may have learned it from the wants and necessities of his condition, v or from the impulses of his warm and generous, or cold and selfish heart, as the case may be. It is most likely that he received some part of it from each of these sources. But a philosophy he has, though he may never have reflected upon the motives and principles of his actions enough to have given them a name, much less, to have reduced them to a system. IMPORTANCE OF MORAL SCIENCE. 367 Since this is so, the importance of making moral philoso- phy a matter of reading and study is obvious. The morals of a community will be low and selfish unless they do so. But alas for them, when the philosophy that is received and taught is itself low and selfish, and, instead of raising the character, would persuade men that there is no need of any thing higher ; that in fact there is no height above them, and that those generous and enthusiastic souls, who reject its clear, judicious, and prudent precepts, are fanatical and righteous overmuch. We are no advocates for fanati- cism or mysticism ; but we would assert with all possible distinctness, that there is something to live for that the eye cannot see and the hands cannot touch ; that there is a wisdom which Experience cannot teach, that there is a way that is right which Prudence cannot find. If then we must have a philosophy of morals, and we have seen that we must, if not voluntarily, then in spite of ourselves, how unspeakably important is it that we have one that will ele- vate and purify rather than debase and sensualize our souls ! The system, which has been most commonly taught in our community hitherto is Paley's, though we hope, for the good of our countrymen, that few if any of them have re- ceived that system entirely. It is a systematic embodyment of selfishness, wMch everybody knows does not need to be taught. This is precisely the system of Ethics which the worldly, selfish, unregenerate heart teaches. This sys- tem came from and tends to worldliness and selfishness. It is congenial to every soul, in which the conscience and the spiritual faculties are not sufficiently developed to coun- teract its influence, and force its way up to a higher view of things. But it is not every soul that has spontaneity and force enough to do this. There are many persons, also, whose thoughts are too much occupied with the business of their calling in life to allow them to give so much attention to the subject, as to discover the inadequacy and debasing tendency of Paley's system. These men would fulfil the 368 THE N E AV - II A M P S H I R E BOOK. moral law ; but they are too busy to give much time to a study into its nature and requirements. They therefore take the most commonly received exposition of that law, as a standard of duty, trusting that those who make it their business to study into these matters would never approve and recommend a faulty or inadequate system. If this sys- tem happen to be a low one, the characters which they form upon it will be low too. The Ethical system of any age is the exponent of the state of morals in that age. If the morals were better than the system, the people would repudiate the system ; and if the system were much better than the morals, it would be regarded as extravagant, over scrupulous, and be modified or laid aside for another. Hence he that would labor most effectually for the improve- ment of a people's morals, must also labor to introduce a more perfect theory of morals. But as it is with a people so it is with individuals, every man's theory is the expo- nent of himself. A man may borrow a theory that is higher or lower than himself, but the dress never suits him ; it can never be his. It is too small for him and he bursts it, or it is too large for him, and he is a David in Saul's armor. "DO THEY LOVE THERE STILL?" BY MRS. 31 A R Y R . PRATT. "Do they love there still ? for no voice I hear," Said a maid as she thought of her childhood's home, Of the rural bower, and the streamlet clear, And the flowery fields where she used to roam; And she sighed, for no answering echo came To tell that hers was a cherished name. " Do they love there still ? " in that ancient hall Where the orient sun shed his golden light, Where the moonbeams played on the painted wall, And the brilliant stars decked the joyous night? But no voice replied, for the tide of time Had borne the loved to another clime. "Do they love there still? " where the young and gay With elastic step trod the mazy dance, And words that the lips might never say Spoke to the heart in the passing glance ? And the maiden wept when a stranger tone Told that her friends were gone all gone ! "Do they love there still? " where at early morn They met to peruse the classic page, To cull bright gems and the mind adorn, " And in high pursuits its powers engage ? And tones that the maiden's bosom thrill, Tell of a love that is cherished still. " Yes, they love there still ! " and the golden chain Has wreathed its links with a clasp so strong, That the heart which its pressure would not retain Must struggle against it hard and long, Or, parting asunder all earthly ties, By Heaven's high mandate to glory rise. And then, O then, in the "better land," Where the good of earth shall together meet, May all who compose that sister band As sainted spirits each other greet ; Then what bliss divine will the bosom thrill, As the echo rings, " They love there still!" BURNS AND COWER. BY OLIVER \V . I?. I'EAUODY. WHAT a history was that of Robert Burns ! From child- hood to maturity, he is condemned by hopeless want to la- bor, till he exhausts a constitution of unusual vigor ; his verses are composed and repeated to those around him, while he is following the plough ; but the world goes hard with him, and he resolves to seek in another land the prosperous fortune which his own denies. In order to defray the ex- penses of his voyage, he publishes a collection of his poems ; and then, for the first time, bursts upon the world the knowl- edge of his power. He goes to Edinburgh ; there he is courted by the wise, the brilliant, and the gay ; the manly form and flashing eye of the young farmer are the attraction of the glittering saloon, while his conversation is the wonder of the philosophic circle; but these are unprofitable honors ; and his country has no higher permanent reward for him, than the post of an exciseman. The principle, once supe- rior to adverse fortune, melts beneath the morning sun- beams of prosperity ; his prospects are now shrouded in deeper gloom; he retains virtue enough to lament his errors and infirmities, and too much strength of passion to correct them ; instead of submitting to the evils incident to his con- dition, he exhausts his spirit in the vain attempt to war against them, as the imprisoned eagle dashes himself against the iron bars of his cage; till at length he sinks, in the prime of manhood, into an obscure and almost unhonored grave. Dugald Stewart expressed the opinion, that the intellect of Burns, bold, vigorous and commanding as it was, must BURNS AND C O W P E R . 371 have rendered him conspicuous, to whatever subject it might be applied. Others have believed that it was even better adapted to other departments of thought than that to which it was devoted ; but it is on his poetry alone, that his fame will permanently rest. Much of this can be remembered only with regret, as the effusion of a reckless and ungovern- ed spirit, repelling by its coarseness more than it attracts by its power. He was formed for higher purposes than to grovel in rude invective, or to amuse a bacchanalian rabble with licentious songs. His heart was naturally a fountain of generous and manly feeling, whose waters gushed out in a sparkling tide, spreading around them a bright circle of living green. The secret of his attraction is his fidelity to nature. It is by this that he touches the most delicate chords of sympathy ; and where shall we look for a finer example of this power, than in his Cotter's Saturday Night, so familiar, yet how beautiful ! The peasantry of Scotland loved him ; for he invested their feelings and sentiments, their joys and sorrows, with dignity and beauty ; he re- deemed their language from contempt ; he made the heart of every true Scot burn within him, as he thought of the hills and valleys of his native land ; he guided the footsteps of the pilgrim to the scenes of her traditional glories; he sung those glories in such lofty strains, that the world stood still to listen. " When the first shovel-full of earth sounded on his coffin lid," says his biographer, who was present at his funeral, " I looked up and saw tears on many cheeks, where tears were not usual." A just and touching tribute to the bard, who had led the Muses to dwell by the lowly cottage fireside ; who had shown, by testimony not soon to be forgotten, that wherever human nature is, there are the elements of poetry. " Did you never observe," said Gray, ('when rocking winds are piping loud') " that pause when the gust is re-collecting itself, and rising on the air in a shrill and plaintive note, like the swell of an ^Eolian harp? I do assure you there is nothing in the world, so like the voice of a spirit." In his better moments, in the pauses of 372 THE X E W - H A M P S H I R E BOOK. the storm, the melody of Burns was like the spirit's voice ; nothing could be more touching or more unaffected than his strain ; but the dark hour, the season of the conflict of his fiery passions, was his most familiar one ; then he ran through every mode of the lyre, from the deepest tones of sorrow to the grandest strain of prophecy. With him, poetry was indeed the language of passion. Nature's sternest aspects gave him most delight, because they suited best the prevail- ing habit of his soul. " There is scarcely any earthly ob- ject," says he, "gives me more, I do not know that I should call it pleasure, but something which exalts me, something which enraptures me, than to walk in the shel- tered side of a wood or a high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion : my mind is rapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who, in the language of the Hebrew bard, walks on the wings of the wind." He composed the noble address of Bruce to his army at Bannockburn, while riding in a terrific storm of wind and rain. Would that he had never been unfaithful to na- ture, whether bright with sunshine or dark with storm ! Would that he had never suffered the ashes to gather over his celestial fire; had never failed to remember, that the noblest way of fame is the way of virtue ! The brief and melancholy career of Burns terminated at the age of thirty-seven ; but there is little probability that, with his fierce spirit and consuming passions, added to the misery of blighted hope, length of days would have much enhanced his renown, or that his later years would have ful- filled the rich promise of the spring. In beautiful contrast with him, stands his contemporary Cowper, truly a man of God, held in reverence by all, who love to see high talent in delightful union with the amiable virtues ; by all who can sympathize with a meek and lowly spirit, crushed by the heaviest calamity under which humanity is ever called to suffer, yet always breathing out from the depth of his af- fliction, the accents of love to God and good will to man. BURNS AND C O W P E R . 373 His multiplied biographies have made his personal history familiar to all readers. Year after year was his fine intel- lect shrouded by insanity, and when the close of life drew nigh, his condition realized the idea of the dark valley of the shadow of death. His peculiar sensitiveness, combined with the infirmities of a very delicate frame, compelled him early to retire from the agitation of the world, into deep se- clusion ; there, like a river in the wilderness, unseen of man, but reflecting the bright blue sky of heaven from its bosom, his days passed tranquilly away. But his solitude was not the cold and selfish seclusion of the anchorite ; it did not chill the current of his generous affections ; and his sorrows, which were many, melted without hardening his heart. No man had ever a stronger hold on the hearts of those around him ; his unobtrusive charities, his tenderness for others, made his whole life an emblem of the influences of the faith on which his soul was anchored. Nothing can O be more touching than the love with which he clung to the remembrance of the mother, whom he lost in infancy ; his allusions to her in his writings, remind us of those address- ed by Pope to the venerable parent, who was spared to wit- ness the noontide glories of his fame. And the memory of Mrs. Unwin, the excellent friend who watched him through that painful suffering, when the burden of affection ceases to be light and easy, and the love of many waxes cold, is indissolubly bound with his. Under every aspect, and in all its relations, the character of Cowper may be studied with delight. His genius was as bold and original, as his character was pure and humble. There is not one of the poets of his country, who owed less to those who went before him ; the path in which he adventured was his own, and he trod it with a just and manly confidence in his own powers. His poetry is a faithful transcript of his own thoughts and feel- ings, as his descriptions are living copies of the scenery and objects around him. Sometimes he ventures into the domain of satire ; perhaps too frequently ; though his ridicule is 32 374 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. never personal, it is not always in perfect harmony with the prevailing gravity of his theme. He makes no effort to pro- duce effect ; the effect which he does produce arises not from highly wrought passages, but from the general strain and tenor of his writings ; indeed, he is so natural and un- pretending, that the very absence of apparent effort some- times causes the reader to lose sight of the extent and ver- satility of his genius. Yet his powers were vast and varied. Now he utters the grand and melancholy warnings of the Hebrew prophets ; now his inimitable humor flashes out with singular attraction; presently, familiar scenes are brought most vividly before us in his graphic descriptions. Under all circumstances, he awakens a deep interest in the welfare of his race, and the loftiest aspirations for their intel- lectual and social freedom. Other poets have looked upon religion as the rock of the desert ; Cowper struck that rock as with a prophet's rod, and made it flow with healing wa- ters. He transplanted new subjects into the domain of poe- try, and made them flourish with unwonted beauty. Who, before him, ever called up with such effect the images of domestic life and the recollections of the happy fireside? Who, before him, ever spread over outward nature the chas- tened light of religious feeling, which makes it lovely as our own autumnal landscape, under the sweet influences of the Indian summer ? The influence of Burns and Cowper has been direct and obvious. As the shades were closing around the eighteenth century, several stars of more than ordinary brilliancy were successively appearing above the horizon. Campbell had already published his Pleasures of Hope, the very best of all his poems ; suggested perhaps by the Pleasures of Memory, of Rogers, which appeared not long before ; and Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth, and Scott had already exhibited their rich and various powers. It was upon this brilliant circle, that the influence of Burns and Cowper was chiefly mani- fested. Burns laid open the new world of Scottish scenery, BURNS AND COW PER. 375 manners, language, and character, to other and more fortu- nate adventurers, and thus enabled Scott to gather an unfad- ing laurel harvest from the heaths and mountains of his country. It is a circumstance worth remembering, that Burns himself appears to have foreseen the future glory of the mighty minstrel. When Scott was quite a lad, he caught the notice of the poet, by naming the author of some verses, describing a soldier lying dead on the snow. Burns regard- ed the future minstrel with sparkling eyes, and said, " Young man, you have begun to consider these things early." He paused on seeing Scott's flushing face, and shook him by the hand, saying, in a deep tone, " This boy will be heard of yet." Nor was the effect of his lyrical success less strik- ing ; there can be little doubt that the melodies of Moore, which are worth all his other writings put together, were suggested by those, by which Burns did so much for the fame of Scottish minstrelsy. Still less can it be questioned, that the diversified and brilliant character of all the later poets we have mentioned, may in great part be traced to the force and originality of Cowper's example. Of all the po- ets of his time, he is certainly to be regarded with the great- est veneration ; his memory will be the very last to fail. It is well that it should be so ; for his aim was to raise poetry to its proper elevation, by making it the handmaid of high and holy purposes, the nurse of lofty aspirations for virtue and religious purity, and of ardent sympathy with what is free and noble, the enlarger of the intellect, and the purifier of the heart. We do not deem it a vain and idle persua- sion, that the day will come, when her celestial vestments and starry diadem will no more adorn the painted forms of vice and sensuality ; when mankind will no longer do hom- age to the idols of perverted genius. Perhaps all the living generation shall not taste of death, before the eastern sky kindle with the day-spring, that shall herald the coming of an age, when poetry, instead of turning the waters into blood, like the burning mountain of the apocalypse, shall bear 376 THE N E W - II A M P S II I R E BOOK. some faint resemblance to the descending city of the same mysterious vision, over the light of whose towers and pala- ces darkness shall have no dominion, and into whose gates shall enter nothing but the pure and blameless. HARVEST HYMN. MRS. EUNICE T. DANIELS. GOD of the rolling year ! to thee Our songs shall rise whose bounty pours In many a goodly gift, with free And liberal hand, our autumn stores. No firstlings of our flocks we slay, No soaring clouds. of incense rise ; But on thy hallowed shrine we lay Our grateful hearts in sacrifice. Born of thy breath, the lap of spring Was heaped with many a blooming flower ; And smiling summer joyed to bring The sunshine and the gentle shower; And autumn's rich luxuriance now, The ripening seed the bursting shell, And golden sheaf and laden bough, The fulness of thy beauty tell. No menial throng, in princely dome, Here wait a titled lord's behest, But many a fair and peaceful home Hath won thy peaceful dove a guest ; No groves of palm our fields adorn, No myrtle shades or orange bowers, But rustling meads of golden corn, And fields of waving grain are ours. Safe in thy care, the landscape o'er, Our flocks and herds securely stray ; No tyrant master claims our store, No ruthless robber rends away ; No fierce volcano's withering shower, No fell simoom, with poisonous breath, Nor burning suns, with baleful power, Awake the fiery plagues of death. And here shall rise our songs to thee, Where lengthened vales and pastures lie, And streams go singing wild and free Beneath a blue New-England sky ; Where ne'er was reared a mortal throne, Where crowned oppressor never trod, Here at the throne of Heaven alone, Shall man, in reverence, bow to GOD. 32* DUTY OP THE JUDICIARY. BY JEREMIAH MASON, LL. D. THE Constitution of this State, and that of the United States, apparently jealous of the encroaching tendency of the legislative power, have not only defined it with caution and exactness, but have also, in many instances, where from former experience the greatest danger was apprehended, guarded it with special prohibitions. But these " parch- ment barriers " will have little effect, unless carefully guard- ed, and firmly defended by the judiciary. The powers are divided, and granted to separate and independent depart- ments, to the end, that each may, in its turn, be checked and restrained, in any attempt, to exercise powers not grant- ed to it. To restrain the legislative department from over- leaping its boundary, the chief reliance is placed on the Judiciary. That the courts of law, not only have the right, but are bound to entertain questions, and decide on the constitu- tionality of acts of the legislature, though formerly doubted, seems to be now almost universally admitted. But an erro- neous opinion still prevails, to a considerable extent, that the courts, in the discharge of this great and important duty, ought to act, not only with more than ordinary delib- eration, but even with a degree of cautious timidity. The idea is, that these are dangerous subjects for courts, and that they ought not to declare acts of the legislature uncon- stitutional, unless they come to their conclusion, with ab- solute certainty, like that of mathematical demonstration, and where the reasons are so manifest, that none can doubt. A court of law, when examining the doings of a co-ordinate DUTY OF THE JUDICIARY. 379 branch of the government, will always treat it with great decorum. This is proper in itself, and necessary to pre- serve an harmonious understanding between independent departments. So also, it ought to be, after the most care- ful deliberation only, that a proceeding .of such co-ordinate branch should be pronounced void, because the result is always important. But the examination is to be pursued with firmness, and the final decision, as in other cases, must be according to the unbiassed dictate of the understanding. An act of the legislature must, necessarily, have the sanc- tion of the opinion of a majority of a numerous body of men. It cannot therefore be supposed, that the reasons, against the validity of such an act, will ordinarily be so plain and obvious, as to leave no manner of doubt. To require then, that courts shall abstain from declaring acts of the legislature invalid, while a scruple of doubt remains, is nothing less than to demand a surrender of their jurisdic- tion in this particular ; in the due exercise of which consists the chief, if not only efficient security, for the great and fundamental principle of our free governments. Experience shows, that legislatures are in the constant habit of exerting their power to its utmost extent. They intentionally act up to the very verge of their authority : and are seldom re- strained by doubts or timidity. If the courts, fearing a conflict, adopt a course directly opposite, by abandoning their jurisdiction, and retiring whenever a plausible ground of doubt can be suggested, the time cannot be distant, when the legislative department " will draw all power into its im- petuous vortex." The security of private rights is the only valuable and important advantage, which a free government has over a despotic one. If the rights of individuals must be liable to be violated by despotic power, it matters not whether that fiower rests in the hands of one, or many. Numbers im- pose no restraint, and afford no security. Experience has shown, where all the powers of government have been united, that their being exercised by a numerous assembly, 380 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. has afforded to private rights no security against the gross- est acts of violence and injustice. The legislature can make laws, by which private rights may become forfeited. But the courts of justice are alone competent to adjudge and declare the forfeiture. While the legislative and judicial powers are kept separate, it can never be competent for the legislature, under any pretence what- ever, to take property from one and give it to another, or in any way infringe private rights. Were that permitted, all questions of private right might be speedily determined by legislative orders and decrees ; and there would be no oc- casion for courts of law. The deciding on matters of private right appertains, plain- ly and manifestly, to the judiciary department. It consti- tutes the chief labor of courts of justice. As then one de- partment cannot exercise the powers belonging to another, it follows, that the legislature cannot rightfully assume any part of this jurisdiction, thus belonging to the judiciary de- partment. The province of the legislature js to provide laws, and that of the courts to decide rights, according to the laws. Were the courts to assume the power of making the laws, by which they are to decide, their judgments would be arbitrary. Because, in making the laws, they could have no other rule than their own discretion. So when the legis- lature, whose right it is to make the law, assumes the power of adjudicating, the separate powers of government become united, and a despotism is created. And accordingly, it will be generally found, that where legislatures have attempted to interfere with private rights, they have decided with little or no regard to existing laws, but according to their own arbitrary discretion ; or in other words, by the exercise of despotic power. OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES. WRITTEN AMID MY NATIVE MOUNTAINS, ON THE FOURTH OF JTH.Y. BY MRS. SUSAN R . A. BARNES. THE glad, green earth beneath our feet The blue, bright heaven is greeting ; And voiceless praise is rising up, Responsive to the meeting ; Yet wherefore wakes a scene like this The warm heart's wild emotion ? The slave may boast a home as bright, Beyond the pathless ocean. Why do we love our mountain land? The murmuring of her waters? Italia's clime is far more bland, More beautiful her daughters ! Why pine we for our native skies? Our cloud-encircled mountains? The hills of Spain as proudly rise, As freshly burst her fountains ! Alas for mount or classic stream, By deathless memories haunted, For there Oppression, unrebuked, His iron foot hatli planted. The curse is on her vine-clad hills, 'T is rife upon her waters, But doubly deep upon her sons, And on her dark-eyed daughters ! Go fling a fetter o'er the mind, And bid the heart be purer ; Unnerve the warrior's lifted arm, And bid his aim be surer. Go bid the weary, prisoned bird Unfurl her powerless pinion, But ask not of the mind to brook The despot's dark dominion ! Why turn we to our mountain homes With more than filial feeling? 'T is here that Freedom's altars rise, And Freedom's sons are kneeling! 382 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK Why sigh we not for softer climes ? Why cling to that which bore us ? 'T is here we tread on Freedom's soil, With Freedom's sunshine o'er us ! This is her home this is her home, The dread of the oppressor; And this her hallowed birth-day is, And millions rise to bless her ! 'T is joy's high sabbath ; grateful hearts Leap gladly in their fountains, And bless our God who fixed the homo Of freedom in the mountains ! VINDICATION OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH DELIVERED AT FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON, OCT. 19, 1811. BY GEORGE BARSTOW. I SHALL pass no eulogium upon New Hampshire. I shall spread before you the page of history, and rest her defence there. If the dead could speak, if the slain could rise from Bunker Hill and Bennington, and all the hard-fought fields of the Revolution, there would be a cloud of witnesses to tell you, that in generous sacrifice of blood and treasure for the cause of AMERICAN LIBERTY, New Hampshire was not behind her sister States. She had but little commerce, and was naturally the favorite and pet of the mother coun- try. Notwithstanding this close alliance and strong favor- itism from the crown, she entered into the contest with a whole soul ; and never stooped to the vile calculation of her interest in the result. Of the burdens of the revolu- tionary war, she bore one thirty-eighth part ; while her pro- portionate share was but one forty-seventh. When the humble navy of the Revolution consisted of but seven ships, New Hampshire furnished one.* Have her calumniators forgotten that she gave brave M'Clary to die side by side with Warren ? Do they forget McNeil, who bears about your streets the wounds and scars of Chippewa? Have they never read of Stark and his militia ? Nor of Langdon and Sullivan, Oilman and Thornton, Cilley and Scam- mel, Poor and Dearborn, Reid and Whipple, and Miller ? Are they unmindful of the services of New * The Raleigh, launched at Fort-mouth, May 21, 17tG 3S4 THE NEW -HAMPSHIRE BOOK. Hampshire regiments in the brilliant victory at Trenton beneath the burning sun of Monmouth and at Stillwater and Saratoga ? Do they overlook the New Hampshire troops amidst the sanguinary scenes of Bridgewater? Search the annals of either war, and you will find that the sons of New Hampshire have contributed their full share to fill up the measure of the country's glory. While such is the testimony of history, if any son of New Hampshire can be found recreant enough still to say that he is ashamed of the State, the State may well be ashamed of him. For my own part I glory in such a country. I wish for no prouder satisfaction than to be per- mitted to stand before this vast assembly and plead the cause of my native land. I claim for New Hampshire a share of all that constitutes our national character and honor. If we are known in foreign lands as a gallant, intelligent and powerful people, a part of that reputation belongs to New Hampshire. Memorials of the courage and prowess of her sons are scattered throughout America, and the world. Monuments of her genius adorn every de- partment of learning and invention. If I were to speak of talents alone, throwing aside all party distinctions, it would be sufficient to mention the names of Webster and Woodbury and Cass. If I were called upon for evidences of hardy enterprise, they abound every where. They have passed into proverbs. They may be traced from the winter encampment of the eastern lumberman to the hut of the western pioneer. Go to the army, the halls of Congress, and the learned professions. Is New Hampshire silent there? Follow, if you please, the wildest track of navigation into the polar seas. A New Hampshire mariner has been there before you. But it is unnecessary to wander abroad. Look around here. Call up in long array the fair merchants of Boston. Question them from whence they came. Select only those who are known as upright and generous dealers. Is New Hamp- shire unrepresented among them 1 No. And where were VINDICATION OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. 385 the characters of these men formed? Not in the city of their adoption. Character is always formed in youth ; and theirs was formed and completed in all its energy, bright- ness and purity, before they left their native hills. They brought it here with them. It was perhaps their only capital. With what justice is New Hampshire stigmatized as an " ignorant and benighted region ? " Enter the public schools. Examine the journals of legislation. You will find that no State has made more judicious and thorough provision for the education of the entire people. She fur- nishes fifteen common schools, with six hundred scholars ; three students in college, and forty students in academies, for every two thousand inhabitants If there be a log cabin in that State, I assure you it does not stand beyond the reach of public instruction. The poorest boy that comes forth from its rustic portals, enjoys all the advantages of a free school. I have said nothing of seminaries and higher institutions, for I would not dwell upon this subject in de- tail. But this charge of " ignorance and benightedness " has been rung in our ears till it can be borne no longer. It is a false, unfounded charge. It is time that it be silenced forever. The State of which I speak knows little of the splendors or the miseries of crowded cities : " 'Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree, Where breathes no castled lord nor cabined slave." It is inhabited chiefly by husbandmen who till their own fields with their own hands; whose debts and obligations are mainly due to the Power that rules the varied seasons ; whose simplicity of manners and genuine social intercourse might be quoted as an instance of that happy state of society which is the constant theme of poetry. It is true they lead not a life of bloated ease. Their life is one of industry and frugality. But the virtues are all theirs ; for these are companions of toil. Theirs too is freedom of 33 3S6 THE NEW-HAMPSHIRE BOOK. thought and of action. Who is independent if not the husbandman 1 He feels not the vile tyranny of patronage. No lordly dictator can withhold from him the rains and dews of Heaven. However unpopular his opinions may be, the earth will not yield less on that account ; and he fears not to utter his whole mind. Of such men the popu- lation of that State is chiefly composed. They are fearless and free. They love freedom. And should the time ever come when Liberty is driven from the shores of Commerce, she will find a refuge and a resting place among the fast- nesses of the granite hills. New Hampshire was one of the first States to aspire to freedom, and will be among the last to yield it up. A mountainous country, full of narrow defiles and rugged steeps, is the last to be stamped by the heel of Conquest. Liberty makes her last stand in moun- tain passes, and when vanquished in the final contest, as- cends towards heaven, and is seen taking her last flight from the summits of the mountains. NOTES NOTES. HUGH MOORE. Mr. Mooro was a self-educated man, a practical printer. Most of his pieces were written at an early period of life, and, though deficient in the graces of learning and cultivation, possess much freshness and imagination. They evince a degree of native poetic power, which makes us regret his death, at the early age of 28 years, at a time, too, when he was just about entering upon a station of increased honor and responsibility. It may not be amiss to remark here, how many of our writers of talent and pro- mise have died in the prime of life. Buckminster, Wilcox, Haven, Haines, Abbot, Mrs. Daniels, Ward, Upham, Hildreth, Sarah Smith, and others, died at an age, when most persons have done little for fame ; and a large proportion have been taken away from their labors in the very midst of their growing usefulness. ROBERT DINSMOOR, THE RUSTIC BARD. Mr. Dinsmoor was born at Londonderry, N. H., about 1755, and died at Windham, N. H., about 1830. He was of Scotch- Irish descent, and inherited not a little of their strong religious feeling, their humor, and their poetic temperament. At an early age he entered the army of the Revolu- tion, and at its close settled as a farmer in Windham. He possessed not even the advantages of a common school education, and like Burns, of whom he often reminds us, found his inspiration and his subjects in his daily avocations and experiences. In 1829, a volume of his poems was published under the title of his favorite signature, " THE RUSTIC BARD." MRS. EUNICE TRUE DANIELS. The name of Mrs. Daniels, like many others in these pages, is probably unknown to most of our readers, but it merits a high rank in the list of native writers. A " farmer's wife, making no pretensions to superiority over her unassuming neighbors," performing all the duties of her station with exemplary fidelity, her poetical specimens here presented display a beauty, purity, originality and freshness, which, if needing the polish of art, are found only in the productions of true genius. When it is considered, too, that few if any of these pieces were intended for publication ; that they were among her first efforts, and wers written under the pressure of household cares, ill health, and bereavements, we sadly think what would have been the full developement and maturity of such a mind, and lament the blight of so rich promise. 390 NOTES. The frequent allusions to the death of her children, which seems to have awakened the poetic inspiration, are very touching, and, as well as the " Spirit Land," were written immediately before her death. But the " Song of the Husbandman,' 1 which with the distrust and unconsciousness of genius, she declared " too hastily written " and " very, very faulty," is a noble lyric, and a fitting tribute from a " farmer's wife." In a letter to the editor of the Farmer's Monthly Visiter, she says : " The most potent spell operating upon the mind of man, and stimulating to good and noble exertions, is a spell woven in the sanctuary of home. Let a man go forth from a scene of domestic disorder and discontent, though the sun shine ever so brightly, or the dews fall ever so gratefully, the heart of that man will but ill accord with the harmony of nature. But that man whose house is the theatre of order and useful- ness, whose bosom friend is the treasurer of his purse, presents a striking and happy contrast. Every effort within will be a new incentive to action and energy without, and prosperity the sure result of order, harmony, and concert." Such sentiments are as just and beautiful as the union of high poetic talent and a faithful discharge of household duties is rare and noble. It is the perfection of Woman ; and may our young females not forget the example of Mrs. Daniels. MILTON WARD. Of this writer we possess little information. He died about 1825 at Hanover, N. H., of which place, it is believed, he was a native, at the age of about 30 years. In 1825, a volume of his poems was published under the title of " Poetic Effusions." Most of the pieces were written at the age of 16 years. " The Lyre " is said to have been written at that early age, and must be confessed to be an instance of remarkable precocity. JOSEPH DENNIE. Mr. Dennie, though not a native of this State, spent here sev- eral years of his life. In 1790, on leaving College, he commenced the study of the law at Charleston, N. H., where after three years he made a successful debut at the bar. He soon removed to Walpole, N. H., but owing to his literary taste and irregu- lar habits, gained little business. In 1796, he became the editor of the " Farmer's Museum," a newspaper published at Walpole, and which became widely celebrated for its wit, talent and originality. Roger Vose, Thomas G. Fessenden, and other gentlemen in and around Walpole, were contributors to its columns, and in them first appeared the series of essays which afterwards, collected and published under the title of the " LAY PREACHER," became so well known and honorably distinguished in our early literature. JOHN FARMER. Mr. Farmer was a native of Chelmsford, Mass, but removed to Amherst, N. H., in 1805, at the age of 16. Here he passed five years as a clerk in a store. Here too he studied medicine for a time, and taught school many years, until constitutional ill health made him an Antiquarian. He became, says one who knew him well, " distinguished above all others for his minute and exact knowledge relating to the early history of New Hampshire, and in general of New England." He died at Concord, N. H., August 13, 1839, in his 50th year, more than 34 of which he spent in this State, and, though an invalid all his life, accomplished an amount of labor which is almost incredible. His N. H. Gazetteer, N. H. Register, Notes to Belknap's History, Town Histories, and Genealogical Register, are monuments of his talent and industry, and are unsurpassed for their peculiar excellences. NOTES. 391 SAMUEL TENXEY HILDRETH. Mr. Hildreth was a man of great promise, and at the time of his death teacher of Elocution in Harvard College. The articles selected were written while he was a member of college, at the age of 18, and be died at the age of 20 years. CHAW.ES \V. UPHAM. He was the son of Gen. Timothy Upham of Portsmouth, and died at the age of 20. The articles selected were not intended for publication, and were written at the age of 18. ERRATUM. Since the publication of this work the Compilers have ascertained that the notice of the death of Milton Ward is an error. He is still living. The mistake did not originate with the Compilers, but was copied by them from the book from which "the Lyre" was extracted. May he live to sweep " the Lyre'' again. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIUTY A 000 676 761 o