mass of our enjoyment. But, were an inhabitant of this country to be removed from its delightful scenery to the midst of an Arabian desert, a boundless expanse of sand, a waste, spread with uniform desolation, enlivened by the murmur of no stream, and cheered by the beauty of no verdure; although he might live in a palace and riot in splendor and luxury, he would, I think, find life a dull, wearisome, melancholy round of existence; and, amid all his gratifications, would sigh for the hills and valleys of his native land, the brooks and rivers, the living lustre of the spring, and the rich glories of the autumn. The ever-varying brilliancy and grandeur of the landscape, and the magnificence of the sky, sun, moon, and stars, enter more extensively into the enjoyment of mankind than we, perhaps, even think or can possibly apprehend, without frequent and extensive investigation. This beauty and splendor of the objects around us, it is ever to be remembered, is not necessary to their existence, nor to what we commonly intend by their usefulness. It is, therefore, to be regarded as a source of pleasure gratuitously superinduced upon the general nature of the objects themselves, and, in this light, as a testimony of the divine goodness, peculiarly affecting.

GOFFE, THE REGICIDE.

In the course of Philip's war, which involved almost all the Indian tribes in New England, and among others those in the neighborhood of Hadley, the inhabitants thought it proper to observe the 1st of September, 1675, as a day of fasting and prayer. While they were in the church, and employed in their worship, they were surprised by a band of savages. The people instantly betook themselves to their arms,-which, according to the custom of the times, they had carried with them to the church,-and, rushing out of the house, attacked their invaders. The panic under which they began the conflict was, however, so great, and their number was so disproportioned to that of their enemies, that they fought doubtfully at first, and in a short time began evidently to give way. At this moment an ancient man, with hoary locks, of a most venerable and dignified aspect, and in a dress widely differing from that of the inhabitants, appeared suddenly at their head, and with a firm voice and an example of undaunted resolution, reanimated their spirits, led them again to the conflict, and totally routed the savages. When the battle was ended, the stranger disappeared; and no person knew whence he had come, or whither he had gone. The relief was so timely, so sudden, so unexpected, and so providential; the appearance and the retreat of him who furnished it were so unaccountable; his person was so dignified and commanding, his resolution so superior, and his

interference so decisive, that the inhabitants, without any uncommon exercise of credulity, readily believed him to be an angel sent by Heaven for their preservation. Nor was this opinion seriously controverted until it was discovered, several years afterward, that Goffe and Whalley had been lodged in the house of Mr. Russell. Then it was known that their deliverer was Goffe, Whalley having become superannuated some time before the event took place.

Of the following specimens of Dr. Dwight's poetry, the first is from the Conquest of Canaan: the other is one of the sweetest of his sacred lyrics, and is embalmed in the affections of the Christian church :

EVENING AFTER A BATTLE.

Above tall western hills, the light of day
Shot far the splendors of his golden ray;

Bright from the storm, with tenfold grace he smiled,
The tumult soften'd, and the world grew mild.
With pomp transcendent, robed in heavenly dyes,
Arch'd the clear rainbow round the orient skies;
Its changeless form, its hues of beam divine-
Fair type of truth and beauty-endless shine
Around the expanse, with thousand splendors rare;
Gay clouds sail wanton through the kindling air;
From shade to shade unnumber'd tinctures blend,
Unnumber'd forms of wondrous light extend;
In pride stupendous, glittering walls aspire,

Graced with bright domes, and crown'd with towers of fire;
On cliffs cliffs burn; o'er mountains mountains roll:

A burst of glory spreads from pole to pole:

Rapt with the splendor, every songster sings,

Tops the high bough, and claps his glistening wings;
With new-born green reviving nature blooms,
And sweeter fragrance freshening air perfumes.
Far south the storm withdrew its troubled reign,
Descending twilight dimm'd the dusky plain;
Black night arose, her curtains hid the ground:
Less roar'd, and less, the thunder's solemn sound;
The bended lightning shot a brighter stream,
Or wrapp'd all heaven in one wide, mantling flame;
By turns, o'er plains, and woods, and mountains spread
Faint, yellow glimmerings, and a deeper shade.
From parting clouds, the moon outbreaking shone,
And sate, sole empress, on her silver throne;
In clear, full beauty, round all nature smiled,

And claim'd, o'er heaven and earth, dominion mild;
With humbler glory, stars her court attend,
And bless'd, and union'd, silent lustre blend.

I LOVE THY KINGDOM, Lord.

I love thy kingdom, Lord,
The house of thine abode,

The church our blest Redeemer saved

With his own precious blood.

I love thy church, O God!
Her walls before thee stand,
Dear as the apple of thine eye,
And graven on thy hand.

If e'er to bless thy sons,
My voice, or hands, deny,
These hands let useful skill forsake,
This voice in silence die.

If e'er my heart forget
Her welfare or her woe,
Let every joy this heart forsake,
And every grief o'erflow.

For her my tears shall fall;
For her my prayers ascend;
To her my cares and toils be given,
Till toils and cares shall end.

Beyond my highest joy

I prize her heavenly ways,
Her sweet communion, solemn vows,
Her hymns of love and praise.

Jesus, thou Friend divine,

Our Saviour and our King,
Thy hand from every snare and foe,
Shall great deliverance bring.

Sure as thy truth shall last,
To Zion shall be given

The brightest glories earth can yield,
And brighter bliss of heaven.

PHILIP FRENEAU, 1752-1832.

PHILIP FRENEAU was a celebrated poet in the period of the American Revolution, most of his pieces having been written between the years 1768 and 1793. He was of French extraction, his grandfather having come to this country soon after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantz, 1598. He was born in New York, January 2, 1752, and after the usual preparatory studies, in which he distinguished himself, he entered Princeton College, New Jersey, and graduated there in 1771, at the age of nineteen. After leaving college, he went to Philadelphia, with an intention of studying the law; but he soon abandoned this, and led an aimless life for two or three years. In 1774 and 1775, we find him in New York, where he began to publish those pieces of political satire and burlesque which made his name at that time familiar and popular throughout the country. After this, for two or three years he was travelling in the West Indies. In April, 1781, appeared in Philadelphia the first number of the Freeman's Journal, which he edited for three or four years. The first edition of his poems was published in Philadelphia in 1786, entitled The Poems of Philip Freneau, written chiefly during the Late War. In

1788, appeared The Miscellaneous Works of Philip Freneau, containing his Essays and Additional Poems, in two volumes, published by Francis Bailey.

In the fall of 1790, the Government was removed to Philadelphia, and on the 31st of October of the next year appeared the first number of the National Gazette, edited by Freneau, which was continued to October 26, 1793, and in which were given the first examples of that partisan abuse which has ever since been the shame of American politics.1 After the suspension of the Gazette, he published, in 1795, The Jersey Chronicle, at Mount Pleasant, which continued but a year. Ile then was engaged for many years in various voyages to Savannah, the West Indies, Madeira, &c., and in 1809 again settled in Philadelphia. During the second war with Great Britain he wrote numerous songs and ballads, and in 1815 published A Collection of Poems on American Affairs and a Variety of other Subjects, chiefly Moral and Political, written between 1795 and 1815. In his old age he resided in New Jersey, and died near Freehold, on the 18th of December, 1832.

Freneau was undoubtedly a man of genius, and a very ready and versatile writer; and some of his early pieces of poetry, written when he was ambitious of literary distinction, are richly worthy of preservation. But most that he wrote was of an ephemeral character, strongly tinctured with partisan prejudices and vituperation, and has met with its deserved reward,-oblivion.

1 "In it Mr. Jefferson was continually referred to with expressions of fulsome adulation, and the public and private characters of Washington, Hamilton, Adams, Knox, and their associates, were vilified with unfaltering industry and malignity. The Rev. Dr. Dwight thus wrote at that time to Oliver Wolcott, then in Congress at Philadelphia:-The late impertinent attacks on the Chief Magistrate are viewed with a general and marked indignation. Freneau, your printer, linguist, and so forth, is regarded here as a mere incendiary, or rather as a despicable tool of bigger incendiaries, and his paper as a public nuisance.' That the National Gazette' was entirely under Mr. Jefferson's control appears never to have been doubted. Freneau said, years after, to Dr. Francis, (of New York,) who became his physician, that it was among his greatest griefs that he had seemed to be an enemy to Washington, but that Mr. Jefferson had written or dictated whatever in the Gazette' was reproachful or calumnious of that exalted character."-Griswold's Republican Court, p. 288. But in this case the Latin adage is especially applicable,-Quid facit per alium, facit per se.

Tomo-Chequi.

To what strange lands must Chequi take his way!
Groves of the dead departed mortals trace;
No deer along those gloomy forests stray,
No huntsmen there take pleasure in the chase,
But all are empty, unsubstantial shades,
That ramble through those visionary glades;
No spongy fruits from verdant trees depend,
But sickly orchards there

Do fruits as sickly bear,

And apples a consumptive visage show,
And wither'd hangs the hurtleberry blue.

Ah me! what mischiefs on the dead attend!
Wandering a stranger to the shores below,
Where shall I brook or real fountain find?
Lazy and sad deluding waters flow:
Such is the picture in my boding mind!
Fine tales, indeed, they tell
Of shades and purling rills,
Where our dead fathers dwell
Beyond the western hills;

But when did ghost return his state to show,
Or who can promise half the tale is true?

I, too, must be a fleeting ghost! no more;
None, none but shadows to those mansions go;
I leave my woods, I leave the Huron shore,
For emptier groves below!

Ye charming solitudes,

Ye tall ascending woods,

Ye glassy lakes and prattling streams,

Whose aspect still was sweet,

Whether the sun did greet,

Or the pale moon embraced you with her beams-
Adieu to all!

To all that charm'd me where I stray'd,

The winding stream, the dark sequester'd shade:
Adieu all triumphs here!

Adieu, the mountain's lofty swell,
Adieu, thou little verdant hill,

And seas, and stars, and skies,-farewell,

For some remoter sphere!

Perplex'd with doubts, and tortured with despair,

Why so dejected at this hopeless sleep?

Nature at last these ruins may repair,

When fate's long dream is o'er, and she forgets to weep; Some real world once more may be assign'd,

Some new-born mansion for the immortal mind!

Farewell, sweet lake! farewell, surrounding woods!
To other groves, through midnight glooms, I stray,

Beyond the mountains, and beyond the floods,

Beyond the Huron Bay!

Prepare the hollow tomb, and place me low,
My trusty bow and arrows by my side,