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That sun of glory beams once more,

But clouds have dimmed its radiant hue. The splendor of its race is o'er,

It sets in blood on Waterloo! What scene of thrilling awe is here!

No look of joy, no eye for mirth; With steeled hearts and brows austere, Their deeds proclaim a nation's birth. Fame here inscribes for future age,

A proud memorial of the free; And stamps upon her deathless page, The noblest theme of history!

JAMES LAWSON,

A CITIZEN of New York, and for many years connected with its literary interests, was born November 9, 1799, in Glasgow, Scotland. He was educated at the University of that city, and came early in life, at the close of the year 1815, to America, where he was received at New York in the countting-house of a maternal uncle. Mr. Lawson seems early to have taken an interest in American letters; for in 1821 we find him in correspondence with Mr. John Mennons, editor of the Greenock Advertiser, who was then engaged in publi-hing

a miscellaneous collection of prose and verse, entitled the Literary Coronal. Mr. Mennons desired to introduce specimens of American authors, then a novelty to the British public, into his book, and Mr. Lawson supplied him with the materials. It was through this avenue and one or two kindred publications, that the merits of several of the best American authors first became known abroad. Halleck's "Fanny" was repul by Mr. Mennons in September, 1821, a fac-simile of the New York edition. In a second volume of the Literary Coronal of 1823, it was again re-published with poems by Bryant, Percival, James G. Brooks, and Miss Manley. An English edition of Salmagundi was published in the same year in the style of the Coronal, by Mr. Mennons, who was, perhaps, the first in the old world to seek after American poetry, and introduce abroad those felicitous short pieces of verse which have since become household words in England, through collections like his own. In this, he had a willing co-operator in Mr. Lawson, whose literary and personal friendship with the authors of the country has been a marked trait of his life.

Sumeslawend

A third Edinburgh publication followed, “The American Lyre," composed entirely of American poetry. It opened with Ontwa, the Son of the Forest, a poem first published in New York in 1822, the curious and interesting notes to which on Indian character and antiquities, were written by the Hon. Lewis Cass, then Governor of Michigan. Ontwa is a spirited poem, an eloquent commemoration of the manners and extinction of the nation of the Eries.

Another volume of the Coronal, liberally supplied with American verse, appeared in 1826.

About this time the failure of the mercantile house in which Mr. Lawson was a partner, led him to turn his attention to literature. He had been

already connected with the poet and editor, Mr. J. G. Brooks, in writing for the literary priodical of the latter, the New York Literary Gizette, and American Athenæum.*

In this, Mr. Lawson wrote the first criticism on Mr. Edwin Forrest, who had then just made his appearance in New York at the Bowery Theatre, under the management of Gilfert. This opening performance, in November, 1826, was Othello; and Mr. Lawson's criticism of several columns appeared in the next number of his friend's paper. It was shrewd, acute, freely pointing out defects, and confidently anticipating his subsequent triumphs.

The Literary Gazette, on its discontinuance, was immediately succeeded by an important newspaper enterprise, founded by Mr. J. G. Brooks, Mr. John B. Skilman, and Mr. James Lawson, as associates. This was the Morning Courier grown into the New York Courier and Enquirer. The first number of this journal was issued in 1827; and its first article was written by Mr. Lawson. The joint editorship of the paper continued till 1829, when new financial arrangements were

made, and Noah's Enquirer was added to the

Courier. Mr. Brooks and Mr. Lawson retired, when the latter immediately joined Mr. Amos Butler in the Mercantile Advertiser, with which he remained associated till 1833.

In 1830, a volume, Tales and Sketches by a Cosmopolite, from the pen of Mr. Lawson, was published by Elam Bliss, in New York. In these the writer finds his themes in the domestic life and romance of his native land, and in one instance ventures a dramatic sketch, a love scene, the precursor of the author's next publication, Giordano, a tragedy; an Italian state story of love and conspiracy, which was first performed at the Park Theatre, New York, in Nov. 1828. The prologue was written by the late William Leggett, and the epilogue, spoken by Mrs. Hilson, by Mr. Prosper M. Wetmore.

This is Mr. Lawson's only dramatic production, which has issued from the press. He has, however, in several instances, appeared before the public in connexion with the stage. He was associated with Mr. Bryant, Mr. Halleck, Mr. Wetmore, Mr. Brooks, and Mr. Leggett, on the committee which secured for Mr. Forrest the prize play of Metamora by the late J. A. Stone, for which

This weekly periodical was commenced by Mr. Brooks in the octavo form, Sept. 10, 1-25, as the New York Literary Gazette and Phi Beta Kappa Repository; the latter portion of the title being taken from some dependence upon the support of members of that Society, which turned out to be nugatory. At the end of the volume, with the twenty-sixth number, the Phi Beta title was dropped, and an association effected with a similar publication. The American Athe aum, also weekly in quarto, conducted by George Bond, which had been commenced April 21, 1825, of which forty-four numers had ben issued. The joint publication bore the title "The New York Literary Gazette and American Athenæuin," and as such was published in two quarto volumes, ending March 3, 1827.

+ John Augustus Stone, the author of Metamora, was born in 18 1. at Concord. Mass. He was an actor as well as dramatic writer, and made his first appearance in Boston as "Old Norval" in the play of Douglas. He acted in New York in 1526, and in Philadelphia afterwards at intervals. He received five hundred dollars from Mr. Forrest for Metamora. He wrote two other plays in which Mr. Forrest performed, The Ancient Briton, in which he took the part of Brigantius, and for which he paid the author a thousand dollars; and Fauntleroy, The Bunker of Rouen, aversion of the story of the English personage of that name. In the latter, the hero was executed on the stage by a machine bearing a close resemblance to an actual guillotine. The loaded knife descended; the private signal was imperfectly given, and the young American tragedian saved his head by a quick motion at the expense of his locks, which were closely

JAMES LAWSON.

on its representation Mr. Wetmore wrote the prologue and Mr. Lawson the epilogue. Mr. L. was also one of the similar committee which selected Mr. J. K. Paulding's prize play of Nimrod Wildfire, or the Kentuckian in New York, for Mr. Hackett.

Mr. Lawson has also been a frequent contributor of criticism, essays, tales, and verse, to the periodicals of the day; among others, Herbert's American Monthly Magazine, the Knickerbocker, the Southern Literary Messenger, and Sargent's New Monthly.

These have, however, been but occasional employments, Mr. L., since his retirement from the active conduct of the press in 1833, having pursued the business of Marine Insurance, through which important interest he is well known in Wall street as an adjuster of averages, and in other relations.

THE APPROACH OF AGE.

Well, let the honest truth be told!
I feel that I am growing old,
And I have guessed for many a day,
My sable locks are turning grey-
At least, by furtive glances, I
Some very silvery hairs espy,
That thread-like on my temple shine,
And fain I would deny are mine:
While wrinkles creeping here and there,
Some score my years, a few my care.
The sports that yielded once delight,
Have lost all relish in my sight;
But, in their stead, more serious thought
A graver train of joys has brought,
And while gay fancy is refined,
Correct the taste, improve the mind.

I meet the friends of former years,
Whose smile approving, often cheers:
(How few are spared!) the poisonous draught
The reckless in wild frenzy quaffed,
In dissipation's giddy maze

O'erwhelmed them in their brightest days.
And one, my playmate when a boy,
I see in manhood's pride and joy;
He too has felt, through sun and shower,
Old Time, thy unrelenting power.
We talk of things which well we know
Had chanced some forty years ago;
Alas! like yesterday they seem,
The past is but a gorgeous dream!
But speak of forty coming years,
Ah, long indeed that time appears!
In nature's course, in forty more,
My earthly pilgrimage is o'er;
And the green turf on which I tread,
Will gaily spring above my head.
Beside me, on her rocking-chair,
My wife her needle plies with care,
And in her ever-cheerful smiles
A charm abides, that quite beguiles
The years that have so swiftly sped,
With their unfaltering, noiseless tread,
For we in mingled happiness,

shaved. Stone also wrote La Roque the Regicide, The Demonute, Tancred, and other pieces.

The circumstances of his death were melancholy. In a fit of derangement he threw himself into the Schuylkill and was drowned. Th date of this event is recorded on a monument over his remains, which bears this inscription: "To the memory of John Augustus Stone, who departed this life June 1, 1834. aged thirty-three years," and on the reverse, "Erected to the Memory of the Author of Metamora, by his friend Edwin Forrest."

Will not the approach of age confess.
But when our daughters we espy,
Bounding with laughing cheek and eye,
Our bosoms beat with conscious pride,
To see them blooming by our side.
God spare ye, girls, for many a day,
And all our anxious love repay!
In your fair growth we must confess
That time our footsteps closely press,
And every added
year, indeed,
Seems to increase its rapid speed.

When o'er our vanished days we glance,
Far backward to our young romance,
And muse upon unnumbered things,
That crowding come on Memory's wings;
Then varied thoughts our bosoms gladder
And some intrude that deeply sadden:
-Fond hopes in their fruition crushed,
Beloved tones for ever hushed.-
We do not grieve that being's day
Is fleeting shadow-like away;

But thank thee, Heaven, our lengthened life
Has passed in love, unmarred by strife;
That sickness, sorrow, wo, and care,
Have fallen so lightly to our share.
We bless Thee for our daily bread,
In plenty on our table spread;
And Thy abundance helps to feed
The worthy poor who pine in need.
And thanks, that in our worldly way,
We have so rarely stepped astray.
But well we should in meekness speak,
And pardon for transgressions seek,
For oft, how strong soe'er the will
To follow good, we've chosen ill.

The youthful heart unwisely fears
The sure approach of coming years:
Though cumbered oft with weighty care,
Yet age its burden lightly bears.
Though July's scorching heats are done,
Yet blandly smiles the slanting sun,
And sometimes, in our lovely clime,
Till dark December's frosty time.
Though day's delightful noon is past,
Yet mellow twilight comes, to cast
A sober joy, a sweet content,
Where virtue with repose is blent,
Till, calmly on the fading sight,
Mingles its latest ray with night.

SONNET-ANDREW JACKSON.

Come, stand the nearest to thy country's sire,
Thou fearless man, of uncorrupted heart;
Well worthy undivided praise thou art,
And 'twill be thine, when slumbers party ire,
Raised, by the voice of freemen, to a height
Sublimer far, than kings by birth may claim!
Thy stern, unselfish spirit dared the right,

And battled 'gainst the wrong. Thy holiest aim Was freedom, in the largest sense, despite

Misconstrued motives, and unmeasured blame. Above deceit, in purpose firm, and pure; Just to opposers, and to friends sincere, Thy worth shall with thy country's name endure, And greener grow thy fame, through every coming year. 1837.

SONG.

When spring arrayed in flowers, Mary,
Danced with the leafy trees;

When larks sang to the sun, Mary,
And hummed the wandering bees;

Then first we met and loved, Mary,

By Grieto's loupin' linn;
And blither was thy voice, Mary,
Than lintie's i' the whin.

Now autumn winds blaw cauld, Mary,
Amang the withered boughs;
And a' the bonny flowers, Mary,
Are faded frae the knowes;
But still thy love's unchanged, Mary,

Nae chilly autumn there,

And sweet thy smile as spring's, Mary, Thy sunny face as fair.

Nae mair the early lark, Mary,

Trills on his soaring way;
Hushed is the lintie's sa g, Mary,
Through a' the shortening day;
But still thy voice I hear, Mary,
Like melody divine;

Nae autumn in my heart, Mary,
And summer still in thine.

WILLIAM BOURNE OLIVER PEABODY-OLIVER WILLIAM BOURNE PEABODY.

THE two twin-brothers whose names stand at the head of this article, the sons of Judge Oliver Peabody of Exeter, New Hampshire, were born at that place July 9, 1799. They were educated together at the celebrated academy under the charge of Dr. Abbot, entered Harvard College together at the early age of thirteen, and were graduated together in 1816.

This close union of birth and education was accompanied by a similarity of outward form and inward temperament. Both were men of eminent natural endowment, of ripe scholarship, of gentle and affectionate tempers, and both eventually dedicated their lives to the same path of professional duty, thus laboring in spirit though not in actual bodily presence, side by side, and separated in death by but a brief interval from one another.

At the outset of life, however, their courses were for a time separate, Oliver studying law, and William theology.

Oliver, after passing some time in his father's office, completed his legal education at Cambridge, and returned to practise in his native town, where he resided for eleven years, serving for a portion of the time in the state legislature, and being also occupied at different periods as editor of the Rockingham Gazette and Exeter NewsLetter. In 1823, he delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard, and shortly after read a similar production at the celebration of the second centennial anniversary of the settlement of Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

In 1830, Mr. Peabody removed to Boston, where he became the assistant of his brother-inlaw, the Hon. Alexander II. Everett, in the editorship of the North American Review. He was also for some years an assistant editor of the Boston Daily Advertiser. His connexion with the four periodicals we have named, was that of a contributor as well as a supervisor. The three journals contain many finished essays and choice poems from his pen, marked by a closeness of thought and elaborate execution, as well as a lively and humorous inspiration; while scarcely a number of the North American, during several years, was issued without one or more articles from his pen. In 1836, Mr. Peabody was appointed Register of Probate in Suffolk county, a laborious office,

which he resigned in 1842 in consequence of impaired health, and his acceptance of the professorship of English Literature in Jefferson College, an institution supported by the state of Louisiana. Finding a southern climate unsuited to his constitution, he returned in the following year to the North.

His views and tastes had been for some time turned in the direction of theology, and he now determined to enter the ministry. In 1845, he was licensed by the Boston Unitarian Association as a preacher, and in August of the same year became the minister of the Unitarian church of Burlington, Vermont, where the remainder of his life was passed in the di-charge (so far as his delicate health would permit) of his parochial duties. He died on the sixth of July, 1848.

WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY, immediately after receiving his degree, entered upon a preparation for the ministry in the Divinity school of Cambridge; and was, soon after his ordination, called to the charge of the Unitarian church at Springfield. He entered upon his duties in this place in 1820, when not quite twenty-one years of age; and it was here that the whole of his ministerial life was passed.

William BC Liabo & B.

In addition to a conscientious discharge of the literary duties of his profession, Dr. Peabody of Springfield is said to have contributed a greater

number of articles to the North American Review and Christian Examiner than any other person. He was also the author of several choice occasional poems published in the last named and other periodicals; and of the Report of the Ornithology of Massachusetts, prepared in fulfilment of his duties as one of the commission appointed for the scientific survey of the state.

Dr. Peabody's health, another of the many points of assimilation between himself and his brother, was feeble. He suffered a severe deprivation in 1843 by the loss of his wife, and in the following year by that of a daughter, who in some measure supplied the place of the head of his household.

Neither bodily nor mental sufferings were, however, permitted to interpose more than a temporary pause in his constant course of useful labor. He died, after a confinement to his bed of but a few days, May 28, 1847.

A selection from Dr. Peabody's sermons was prepared for the press by his brother Oliver, who had nearly completed a memoir to accompany the volume, when his own life reached its terinination. The work was completed by Everett Peabody, who, soon after its publication, prepared a selection from the contributions to the North American Review and poems of its author.

MONADNOCK.

Upon the far-off mountain's brow

The angry storm has ceased to beat,
And broken clouds are gathering now
In lowly reverence round his feet.

I saw their dark and crowded bands
On his firm head in wrath descending;

LUCIUS M. SARGENT; WILLIAM B. WALTER.

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 miduight hour,

When all the world beneath were 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 rival 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.
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.

MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE IS HE?

Where is he? Hark! his lonely home
Is answering to the mournful call!
The setting sun with dazzling blaze

May fire the windows of his hall:
But evening shadows quench the light,
And all is cheerless, cold, and dim,
Save where one taper wakes at night,

Like weeping love remembering him. Where is he? Hark! the friend replies: "I watched beside his dying bed, And heard the low and struggling sighs That gave the living to the dead; I saw his weary eyelids close,

And then the ruin coldly cast, Where all the loving and beloved,

Though sadly parted, meet at last." Where is he? Hark! the marble says, That "here the mourners laid his head; And here sometimes, in after-days, They came, and sorrowed for the dead: But one by one they passed away, And soon they left me here alone To sink in unobserved decay,

A nameless and neglected stone." Where is he? Hark! 'tis Heaven replies: "The star-beam of the purple sky, That looks beneath the evening's brow, Mild as some beaming angel's eye,

As calm and clear it gazes down,

Is shining from the place of rest, The pearl of his immortal crown, The heavenly radiance of the blest !"

LUCIUS M. SARGENT.

LUCIUS MANLIUS SARGENT was born at Boston June 25, 1786. He was the son of a leading merchant of that city, and in 1804 entered Harvard College. He was not graduated in course, but received an honorary degree of A.M. from the University in 1842. After leaving college he studied law in the office of Mr. Dexter. In 1813 he published Hubert and Ellen, with other Poems,* all of a pathetic and reflective character.

Mr. Sargent married a sister of Horace Binney of Philadelphia, one of the most accomplished scholars in the country, by whom he had three children, the eldest of whom, Horace Binney, was graduated with distinction at Harvard in 1843. Some time after the death of this lady he again married.

Mr. Sargent was an early advocate of the Temperance cause, and rendered important service to the movement by his public addresses and the composition of his Temperance Tales, a series of short popular stories, which have been extensively circulated in this country and reprinted in England, Scotland, Germany, and, it is to be hoped with good moral effect, in Botany Bay.

During the editorship of the Boston Transcript by his relative Mr. Epes Sargent, he contributed a series of satirical and antiquarian sketches to its columns under the title of Dealings with the Dead by a Sexton of the Old School. His other writings for the press have been numerous, but almost entirely anonymous.

Mr. Sargent makes a liberal use of a liberal fortune, possesses a fine library, and is a thorough scholar.

WINTHROP SARGENT, a kinsman of Lucius M. Sargent and son of George W. Sargent, was born in Philadelphia, September 23, 1825. He is the author of an "Introductory Memoir" prefixed to the Journals of officers engaged in Braddock's Expedition, printed by the Pennsylvania Historical Society in 1855 froin the original manuscripts in the British Museum. Under the modest title we have cited Mr. Sargent has not only given the most thorough history of Braddock and his expedition that has ever appeared, but furnished one of the best written and most valuable historical volumes of the country. In the prosecution of his task he has used extensive research, and has grouped his large mass of varied and in many cases original material with admirable literary skill.

WILLIAM B. WALTER. WILLIAM B. WALTER was born at Boston, April 19, 1796, and was graduated at Bowdoin College in 1818. He studied divinity at Cambridge, but did not follow the profession. He published, in 1821, a small volume of Poems at Boston, with a dedication to the Rev. John Pierpont, in which he says "I cannot make the common, unprofit

Hubert and Ellen, with other poems, The Trial of the Harp, Billowy Water, The Plunderer's Grave, The Tear Drop, The Billow. By Lucius M. Sargent.

able, and to me exceedingly frivolous, apology— that these poems are the pleasant labors of idle or leisure hours. On the contrary, this volume, and I am proud to confess it, contains specimens of the precious and melancholy toil of years." The longest of these poems is entitled Romance. It opens with a picture of Palestine at the time of Our Saviour, from thence passes to the Crusades, and closes with reflections on nature, and on the vanity of human affairs. The remaining pieces, The Death Chamber, Mourner of the Last Hope, and others, are written in a strain of deep despondency.

Walter published in the same year a rambling narrative and descriptive poem, with the title of Sukey, the idea of which was evidently derived from the then recently published "Fanny." The story is little more than a thread connecting various passages of description and reflection. Sukey is introduced to us at the dame's school; grows up under the peaceful influences of country life; and has a lover who goes to sea while Sukey departs in a stage sleigh for a winter's visit to the city.

In due course of time Sukey becomes a belle, and figures at an evening party, which is minutely described, with its supper-table, jostling, and chit-chat about novels and poems, when suddenly "an Afric's form is seen," not one of the waiters, but a highly intelligent specimen of his race, who gives an animated and poetical description of a fight at sea with an Algerine pirate, whose vessel has just been brought into port by the victor, Sukey's lover.

The poem extends to one hundred and seventyone six-line stanzas, and contains several melodious passages, many of which, however, are close imitations of Byron and Montgomery. The poem appeared in the same year with Fanny, and seems to have had a large circulation; the copy before us being printed at Baltimore, "from the second Boston edition," in a form similar to, and with the copyright notice of the original. Walter died at Charleston, South Carolina, April 23, 1822.

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Wrap our being here—

Which time and thought cannot number.
She moved the fairest-the fairest among,
Like a young fairy shape of lightness;
And awakened the song

In the dance along,

Like a seraph of heaven in brightness.

None could gaze on her eye of lustrous blue, And not feel his spirit heaving,

When it flashed in love,

Like a light from above,

The azure cloud brightly leaving.

And her cheek of snow was a cheek of health, To those who knew not her weakness, Till the hectic flush,

Like the day's faint blush,

Came o'er to disturb its meekness.

When she shrunk away from her pride of form, Like a cloud in its loveliest shading, Like the death-toned lute, When winds are mute,

Or the rose in the summer's fading.

And the crowd did pass from the couch of woe; All had finished each mournful duty;

And the garlands wove,
By the hands of love,

Hung around in a withering beauty.
Never sounded the death-bell in my ear,
With a knell so awful and weary,

As they buried her deep-
For a long, long sleep

In the lone place-so dark and dreary.

Oh, CHRIST! 'tis a strange and a fearful thought That beauty like her's should have perished; That the red lean worm

Should prey on a form,

Which a bosom of love might have cherished.
I loved her Stranger! with soul of truth-
But God in his darkness hath smitten;

Who shall madly believe

That man may grieve

O'er the page of eternity written!

The Old Man rose, and he went his way,-
Oh, deep was his utterless mourning⚫

But the woes of the night-
No morrow's dear light

Will dispel with the ray of its dawning.

F. W. P. GREENWOOD. FRANCIS WILLIAM PITT GREENWOOD was born in Boston, in 1797. After completing his college course at Harvard in 1814, he studied theology at the same university, and commenced his career as a preacher with great popularity, as the pastor of the New South Church, Boston, but was obliged at the expiration of a year to visit Europe for the benefit of his health. After passing a winter in Devonshire, England, he returned to this country, and settled in Baltimore, where he became the editor of the Unitarian Miscellany. In 1824 he returned to Boston, and became associate minister of King's Chapel. In 1827, he

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