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HANNAH FLAGG GOULD is the daughter of a soldier of the Revolution, who fought in the battle of Lexington, and served in the army throughout the war. She was born at Lancaster, Vermont, but removed soon after to Newburyport, Mass. While yet a child she lost her mother. Her father survived for several years, his declining age being tenderly cared for and cheered by his constant companion, his daughter, whose subsequent poems contain many touching traces of their intercourse.

• Hannah Flagg Goul Is

Miss Gould's poems, after a favorable reception in several periodicals, were collected in a volume in 1832. By 1835, a second had accumulated, and a third appeared in 1841. In 1846, she collected a volume of her prose contributions, entitled Gathered Leaves.

Miss Gould's poems are all in subject, form, and expression. ral, harmonious, and sprightly. VOL. II.-32

short, and simple

They are natuShe treats of the

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He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest
In diamond beads-and over the breast

Of the quivering lake, he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear,
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane, like a fairy, crept;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,

By the light of the morn were seen

Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities with temples and towers; and these

All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair

He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,

66

Now, just to set them a-thinking,

I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three;
And the glass of water they've left for me
Shall tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"

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"For every time that she tries,

Some things she'd be paid for, to make, And lays down the baby, it cries, And that makes my sick brother wake. "I'd go to the yard and get chips,

But then it would make me too sad;
To see men there building the ships,
And think they had made one so bad.
"I've one other gown, and with care,

We think it may decently pass,
With my bonnet that's put by to wear
To meeting and Sunday-school class.
"I love to go there, where I'm taught
Of One, who 's so wise and so good,
He knows every action and thought,
And gives e'en the raven his food.
"For He, I am sure, who can take
Such fatherly care of a bird,
Will never forget or forsake

The children who trust to his word.

"And now, if I only can sell

The matches I brought out to-day,
I think I shall do very well,

And mother 'll rejoice at the pay.”
"Fly home, little bird," then I thought,
Fly home full of joy to your nest!"
For I took all the matches she brought,
And Mary may tell you the rest.

46

IT SNOWS.

It snows! it snows! from out the sky
The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,
Like little birds, that don't know why
They 're on the chase, from place to place,
While neither can the other trace.
It snows! it snows! a merry play
Is o'er us, on this heavy day!

As dancers in an airy hall,
That hasn't room to hold them all,
While some keep up, and others fall,
The atoms shift, then, thick and swift,
They drive along to form the drift,
That weaving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light

But now the wind comes whistling loud,
To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,
Or giant phantom in a shroud;

It spreads! it curls! it mounts and whirls,
At length a mighty wing unfurls;

And then, away! but, where, none knows,
Or ever will.-It shows! it snows!
To-morrow will the storm be done;
Then, out will come the golden sun:
And we shall see, upon the run

Before his beams, in sparkling streams,
What now a curtain o'er him seems.

And thus, with life, it ever goes;

"Tis shade and shine!-It snows! it snows!

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The prattler had stirred, in the veteran's breast,
The embers of fires that had long been at rest.
The blood of his youth rushed anew through his
veins;

The soldier returned to his weary campaigns;
His perilous battles at once fighting o'er,
While the soul of nineteen lit the eye of four-score.

"I carried my musket, as one that must be
But loosed from the hold of the dead, or the free!
And fearless I lifted my good, trusty sword,
In the hand of a mortal, the strength of the Lord!
In battle, my vital flame freely I felt

Should go, but the chains of my country to melt!

"I sprinkled my blood upon Lexington's sod, And Charlestown's green height to the war-drum I trod.

From the fort, on the Hudson, our guns I depressed,
The proud coming sail of the foe to arrest.

I stood at Stillwater, the Lakes and White Plains,
And offered for freedom to empty my veins!
"Dost now ask me, child, since thou hear'st where
I've been,

Why my brow is so furrowed, my locks white and thin

Why this faded eye cannot go by the line,
Trace out little beauties, and sparkle like thine;
Or why so unstable this tremulous knee,

Who bore sixty years since,' such perils for thee?
"What! sobbing so quick? are the tears going to

start?

Come! lean thy young head on thy grandfather's

heart!

It has not much longer to glow with the joy

I feel thus to clasp thee, so noble a boy!

But when in earth's bosom it long has been cold,

A man, thou 'lt recall, what, a babe, thou art told."

HYMN OF THE REAPERS.

Our Father, to fields that are white,
Rejoicing, the sickle we bear,

In praises our voices unite

To thee, who hast made them thy care. The seed, that was dropped in the soil, We left, with a holy belief

In One, who, beholding the toil,

Would crown it at length with the sheaf And ever our faith shall be firm

In thee, who hast nourished the root; Whose finger has led up the germ,

And finished the blade and the fruit!
The heads, that are heavy with grain,
Are bowing and asking to fall:
Thy hand is on mountain and plain,
Thou maker and giver of all!
Thy blessings shine bright from the hills,
The valleys thy goodness repeat;
And, Lord, 't is thy bounty that fills
The arms of the reaper with wheat!
Oh! when with the sickle in hand,
The angel thy mandate receives,
To come to the field with his band

To bind up, and bear off thy sheaves,
May we be as free from the blight,
As ripe to be taken away,
As full in the year, to thy sight,

As that which we gather to-day!
Our Father, the heart and the voice

Flow out our fresh off'rings to yield. The Reapers! the Reapers rejoice,

And send up their song from the field!

PARK BENJAMIN.

PARK BENJAMIN is descended from a New England family, which came originally from Wales. His father resided as a merchant in Demerara, in British Guiana. The son in his infancy suffered from an illness, the improper treatment of which left him with a permanent lameness. He was brought to America, was educated in New England, studied law at Cambridge, and was admitted to practice in Connecticut. He soon, however, withdrew from the law to the pursuits of literature, embarking in the editorship of the New England Magazine in March, 1835, shortly after the retirement of its projector, Mr. Buckingham. In less than a year he brought the work to New York, continuing it with the publishing house of Dearborn and Co., with which he became connected, as the American Monthly Magazine, five volumes of which were published from January, 1836, to June, 1838. He next published the New Yorker, a weekly journal, in association with Horace Greeley; and in January, 1840, established the New World, a weekly newspaper of large size, which met the wants of the day by its cheap, wholesale republication of the English magazine literature. It was also well sustained by a corps of spirited writers which the editor drew round him in its original departments. Of those more immediately connected with the conduct of the paper were Epes Sargent, James Aldrich, H. C. Deming, and Rufus W. Griswold; while among the frequent contributors were Judge W. A. Duer, Judge J. D. Hammond, author of the Life and Times of Silas Wright, H. W. Herbert, Charles Lanman, W. M. Evarts, John O. Sargent, John Jay, E. S. Gould, and many others.

Mr. Aldrich was a merchant of New York, and the writer of a number of poems which find a place in the collections, though never brought together by the author into a volume. One of the most popular of these is entitled

A DEATH-BED.

Her suff'ring ended with the day,
Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away

In statue-like repose.

But when the sun in all his state,

Illumed the eastern skies,

She passed through glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise!

The success of the New World led to the cheap publishing enterprises of Winchester, which were conducted with boldness, and had for the time a marked effect on the book trade.* Mr. Benjamin conducted the New World for nearly five years, when it passed into the hands of Mr. Charles Eames, a writer of marked ability, by whom it was edited for a short time in 1845, when it was finally discontinued. In 1846 Mr. Benjamin projected, at Baltimore, The Western Continent, a weekly newspaper on the plan of the New World. It was published only for a short time. The next year

* One of the most extensive of the Winchester publications was an entire reprint in numbers of Johns' translation of Froissart's Chronicles. The success of this work, in popular form, at a low price, was a decided triumph for his system. He also made a hit with the early translation of Sue's Mysteries of Paris, which was executed by Mr. Dening.

he published another weekly paper on a similar plan, involving a liberal outlay of expenditure, The American Mail, of which twelve numbers were issued from June 5 to August 21.

Since the discontinuance of these newspaper enterprises Mr. Benjamin has frequently appeared before the pub ic with favor and success, in different parts of the country, as a lecturer on popular topics and literature.

Mr. Benjamin's poems, lyrics, and occasional effusions are numerous, but have not been collected. They are to be found scattered over the entire periodical literature of the country for the last twenty years. His only distinct publications have been several college poems of a descriptive and satirical character. A poem on The Meditation of Nature was delivered before the alumni of Washington College, at Hartford, in 1832; Poetry, a Satire, before the Mercantile Library Association of New York, the same year; Infatuation, before the Mercantile Library of Boston, in 1844.

THE DEPARTED.

The departed! the departed!
They visit us in dreams,

And they glide above our memories
Like shadows over streams,

But where the cheerful lights of home
In constant lustre burn,
The departed, the departed,

Can never more return.

The good, the brave, the beautiful,
How dreamless is their sleep,
Where rolls the dirge-like music
Of the ever-tossing deep!

Or where the hurrying night winds
Pale winter's robes have spread
Above their narrow palaces,

In the cities of the dead!

I look around and feel the awe
Of one who walks alone
Among the wrecks of former days,
In mournful ruin strown

I start to hear the stirring sounds
Among the cypress trees,
For the voice of the departed
Is borne upon the breeze.
That solemn voice! it mingles with
Each free and careless strain;

I scarce can think earth's minstrelsy
Will cheer my heart again.
The melody of summer waves,
The thrilling notes of birds,
Can never be so dear to me

As their remembered words.

I sometimes dream their pleasant smiles
Still on me sweetly fall,
Their tones of love I faintly hear
My name in sadness call

I know that they are happy,

With their angel-plumage on,

But my heart is very desolate To think that they are gone.

INDOLENCE.

Time! thou destroy'st the relics of the past,
And hidest all the footprints of thy march
On shattered column and on crumbled arch,
By moss and ivy growing green and fast.
Hurled into fragments by the tempest-blast,
The Rhodian monster lies: the obelisk,
That with sharp line divided the broad disc
Of Egypt's sun, down to the sands was cast:
And where these stood, no remnant-trophy stands,
And even the art is lost by which they rose:
Thus, with the monuments of other lands,

The place that knew them now no longer knows. Yet triumph not, oh, Time; strong towers decay, But a great name shall never pass away!

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SPORT.

To see a fellow of a summer's morning,

With a large foxhound of a slumberous eye
And a slim gun, go slowly lounging by,
About to give the feathered bipeds warning,
That probably they may be shot hereafter,
Excites in me a quiet kind of laughter;
For, though I am no lover of the sport

Of harmless murder, yet it is to me
Almost the funniest thing on earth to see
A corpulent person, breathing with a snort,
Go on a shooting frolic all alone;

For well I know that when he's out of town,
He and his dog and gun will all lie down,

And undestructive sleep till game and light are flown.

STEPHEN GREENLEAF BULFINCH,

A UNITARIAN CLERGYMAN, and contributor to the collection of hymns in use in that denomination, was born in Boston, June 18th, 1809. At nine years of age he was taken to Washington, in the District of Columbia, where his father, Charles Bulfinch, had been appointed architect of the Capitol. He was graduated at the Columbian College, D. C., in 1826, and entered the Divinity School at Cambridge the following year.

From

1830 to 1837, with some interruptions, he ministered as a Unitarian clergyman at Augusta, Georgia. After this he preached and kept school at Pittsburgh, Pa., for a short time, and was then engaged in similar relations for six years at Washington, D. C. In 1845 he became settled at Nashua, N. II., and in 1852 removed to Boston, where he has been since established.

His writings are a volume, Contemplations of the Saviour, published at Boston in 1832; a volume of Poems published at Charleston, South Carolina, in 1834; The Holy Land, issued in Ware's Sunday Library in 1834; Lays of the Gospel, 1845; a devotional volume, Communion Thoughts, 1852; with several sermons and contributions to the Magazines.

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Father! these rocks are thine,
Of Thee the everlasting monument,
Since at thy glance divine,

Earth trembled and her solid hills were rent.
Thine is this flashing wave,

Poured forth by thee from its rude mountain urn,
And thine yon secret cave,

Where haply, gems of orient lustre burn.

I hear the eagle scream;

And not in vain his cry! Amid the wild
Thou hearest! Can I deem

Thou wilt not listen to thy human child?

God of the rock and flood!

In this deep solitude I feel thee nigh.
Almighty, wise and good,

Turn on thy suppliant child a parent's eye.

Guide through life's vale of fear

My placid current, from defilement free,
Till, seen no longer here,

It finds the ocean of its rest in Thee!

ROBERT CHARLES WINTHROP.

MR. WINTHROP is justly and honorably considered a representative man of Massachusetts. Tracing his descent through six generations of a family always eminent in the state, he arrives at the first emigrant of the name, John Winthrop, who became the first Governor of th colony, and who bore not only the truncheon of office but the pen of the chronicler.*

His son John, the Governor of Connecticut, was also a man of liberal tastes, was one of the founders of the Royal Society, and contributed to its proceedings and collections. His second wife was a step-daughter of Hugh Peters. Of his two sons, one of them, Fitz John, was Governor of Connecticut, and the younger, Wait Still (a family and not a fanciful Puritanical designation), became Chief Justice of the Superior Court of Massachusetts. The latter left a son John, who renewed the connexion with the Royal Society and removed to England. His son John married in New England and was a gentleman of wealth and leisure, passing his time in New London, Conn. His son, Thomas Lindall Winthrop, in the fifth generation of the American founder of the family, filled the position of Lieutenant Governor of Massachusetts. He married a daughter of Sir John Temple, the associate of Franklin in England, and a grand-daughter of Governor James Bowdoin.

Thus honorably connected, in the direct and collatera branches of the family tree, Robert Charles Winthrop was born in Boston, May 12, 1809. He was educated at the Boston Latin school, and once, as "a medal boy," received a set of books from the city authorities. He was gradu ated at Harvard in 1828. For the next three years he studied law with Daniel Webster. Being a man of fortune, with an inherited taste for public life, he chose employment in affairs of the state in preference to the more private pursuit of the law. He took a prominent part in military affairs as captain of the Boston Light Infantry and other civic stations of t'e kind. In 1834 he became a member of the Massachusetts State Legislature, and was speaker of its House of Representatives from 1838 till his election to Congress in 1840.

* Ante, vol. i. pp. 25–35.

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Robe Minthrop .

After seven years' service in the national House of Representatives he was chosen its speaker for the sessions of 1848-9. In 1850 he was appointed by the executive of Massachusetts to succeed Webster in the Senate, when the latter withdrew to the office of Secretary of State under President Fillmore. In 1851 he was a candidate for the office of Governor of Massachusetts, and received 65,000 votes, the two other candidates receiving about 40,000 and 30,000 respectively; but an absolute majority being required for an election by the people, he was defeated by a coalition of the minority parties in the legislature.

Besides his political relations Mr. Winthrop is President of the Massachusetts Historical Society, of which his father was also President, and which he lately represented in 1854, delivering a speech of much ability at the semi-centennial anniversary of the New York Historical Society; a member of the American Antiquarian Society, and of other kindred institutions.

The claims to literary distinction of Mr. Winthrop are through his Addresses and Orations. A series of these is strung along the whole course of his public life; all marked by their careful execution, literary propriety, and marked utility. They are easy, natural, finished performances, whether addressed to the State Legislature or the larger audience of national Representatives; whether in the popular political meeting, at an Agric ltural, Scientific, or Historical Anniversary, or at the brilliant Public Dinner The prominent trait of the orator and rhetorician, as he shows himself on these occasions, is self-command; command of himself and of his subject. In person at once lithe and full-formed, tall and erect, he speaks with plenary, distinct tone, without the least effort. Each thought takes its appropriate place in his skilful method, which seems rather the result of a healthy physique of the mind than of art. In temper he is moderate, as his counsels

in affairs of state have shown. This disposition is reflected in his discourses. The style has a tendency to expansion which might degenerate into weakness were it not relieved by the frequent points of a poetical or fanciful nature, at times of great ingenuity.

The Congressional speeches of Mr. Winthrop, with others of a special character, are included in a volume of Addresses and Speeches on Various Occasions, published in 1852. It includes, besides his political efforts, his address on the laying te corner-stone of the national monument to Washington at the Seat of Government, July 4, 1848; his Maine Historical Society address on the life of James Bowdoin, and several educational and other themes. Since that volume was issued he has published his address before the association of the alumni of Harvard in 1852; a Lecture on Algernon Sidney before the Boston Mercantile Library Association in 1853; and in the same season his Lecture on Archimedes and Franklin, which gave the suggestion and impulse to the erection of a statue of Franklin in Boston.*

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PEACE BETWEEN ENGLAND AND AMERICA.†

If it be a fit subject for reproach, to entertain the most anxious and ardent desire for the peace of this country, its peace with England, its peace with all the world, I submit myself willingly to the fullest measure of that reproach. War between the United States and Great Britain for Oregon! Sir, there is something in this idea too monstrous to be entertained for a moment. The two greatest nations on the globe, with more territorial possessions than they know what to do with already, and bound together by so many ties of kindred, and language, and commercial interest, going to war for a piece of barren earth! Why, it would put back the cause of civilization a whole century, and would be enough not merely to call down the rebuke of men, but the curse of God. I do not yield to the honorable gentleman in a just concern for the national honor. I am ready to maintain that honor, whenever it is really at stake, against Great Britain as readily as against any other nation. Indeed, if war is to come upon us, I am quite willing that it should be war with a firstrate power-with a foeman worthy of our steel.

Oh! the blood more stirs,
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.

If the young Queen of England were the veritable Victoria whom the ancient poets have sometimes described as descending from the right hand of Jupiter to crown the banner of predestined Triumph, I would still not shrink from the attempt to vindicate the rights of my country on every proper occasion. To her forces, however, as well as to ours, may come the "cita mors," as well as the "Victoria læta." We have nothing to fear from a protracted war with any nation, though our want of preparation might give us the worst of it in the first encounter. We are all and always ready for war, when there is no other alternative for maintaining our country's honor. We are all and always ready for any war into which a Christian man, in a civilized land, and in this age of the world, can have the face to enter. But I thank God that there are very few such cases. War and honor are fast getting to have less and less to do with each other. The highest honor of any

"Life and Public Services of R. C. Winthrop," American Review, March, 1848. Loring's Hundred Boston Orators. Wheeler's Biog. and Polit. Hist. of Congress, 1848, vol. i. +From a Speech in Congress, 1844.

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