passage from the conclusion of the college address exhibits their prevailing manner :

INTELLECTUAL POWER.

Thus if we should pass in review all the pursuits of mankind, and all the ends they aim at under the instigation of their appetites and passions, or at the dictation of shallow utilitarian philosophy, we shall find that they pursue shadows and worship idols, or that whatever there is that is good and great and catholic in their deeds and purposes, depends for its accomplishment upon the intellect, and is accomplished just in proportion as that intellect is stored with knowledge. And whether we examine the present or the past, we shall find that knowledge alone is real power—“ more powerful," says Bacon, than the Will, commanding the reason, understanding, and belief," and "setting up a Throne in the spirits and souls of men." We shall find that the progress of knowledge is the only true and permanent progress of our race, and that however inventions, and discoveries, and events which change the face of human affairs, may appear to be the results of contemporary efforts or providential accidents, it is, in fact, the Men of Learning who lead with noiseless step the vanguard of civilization, that mark out the road over which-opened sooner or later-posterity marches; and from the abundance of their precious stores sow seed by the wayside, which spring up in due season, and produce an hundred fold; and cast bread upon the waters which is gathered after many days. The age which gives birth to the largest number of such men is always the most enlightened, and the age in which the highest reverence and most intelligent obedience is accorded to them, always advances most rapidly in the career of improvement.

And let not the ambitious aspirant to enrol himself with this illustrious band, to fill the throne which learning "setteth up in the spirits and souls of men," and wield its absolute power, be checked, however humble he may be, however unlikely to attain wealth or office, or secure homage as a practical man or man of action, by any fear that true knowledge can be stifled, overshadowed, or compelled to involuntary barrenness. Whenever or wherever

men meet to deliberate or act, the trained intellect will always master. But for the most sensitive and modest, who seek retirement, there is another and a greater resource. The public press, accessible to all, will enable him, from the depths of solitude, to speak trumpet-tongued to the four corners of the earth. No matter how he may be situated-if he has facts that will bear scrutiny, if he has thoughts that burn, if he is sure he has a call to teach-the is a tripod from which he may give utterance press to his oracles; and if there be truth in them, the world and future ages will accept it. It is not Commerce that is King, nor Manufactures, nor Cotton, nor any single Art or Science, any more than those who wear the baubles-crowns. Knowledge is Sovereign, and the Press is the royal seat on which she sits, a sceptred Monarch. From this she rules public opinion, and finally gives laws alike to prince and people,-laws framed by men of letters; by the wandering bard; by the philosopher in his grove or portico, his tower or laboratory; by the pale student in his closet. We contemplate with awe the mighty movements of the last eighty years, and we held our breath while we gazed upon the heaving human mass so lately struggling like huge Leviathan, over the broad face of Europe. What has thus stirred the world? The press. The press, which has scattered far and wide the sparks of genius, kindling as they fly. Books, journals, pamphlets, these are

the paixhan balls-moulded often by the obscure and humble, but loaded with fiery thoughts-which have burst in the sides of every structure, political, social, and religious, and shattered too often, alike the rotten and the sound. For in knowledge as in everything else, the two great principles of Good and Evil maintain their eternal warfare, "O aywv avri πάντων αγώνων”a war amid and above all other wars.

soon.

But in the strife of knowledge, unlike other contests-victory never fails to abide with truth. And the wise and virtuous who find and use this mighty weapon, are sure of their reward. It may not come Years, ages, centuries may pass away, and the grave-stone may have crumbled above the head that should have worn the wreath. But to the eye of faith, the vision of the imperishable and inevitable halo that shall enshrine the memory is for ever present, cheering and sweetening toil, and compensating for privation. And it often happens that the great and heroic mind, unnoticed by the world, buried apparently in profoundest darkness, sustained by faith, works out the grandest problems of human progress: working under broad rays of brightest light; light furnished by that inward and immortal lamp, which, when its mission upon earth has closed, is trimmed anew by angels' hands, and placed among the stars of heaven.

M. C. M. HAMMOND, a younger brother of the preceding, was born in the Newberry district, December 12, 1814. He was educated at Augusta by a son of the Rev. Dr. Waddel, now a professor at Franklin College, Georgia. In 1832 he received a cadet's appointment at West Point, where in 1835 he delivered an oration to the corps, by the unanimous election of his class, on the Influence of Government on the Mind. He was a graduate of 1836. He served two years in the Seminole war, and also in the Cherokee difficulties in 1838; was then for three years stationed at Fort Gibson, Arkansas, returned again to Florida, and in 1842 resigned in ill health. He then married, and became a successful planter, while he occasionally wrote on topics of agriculture. He was then occupied, under Polk's administration, as paymaster in Louisiana and Texas, where he suffered a severe sun-stroke., Ill health again led to his resignation from the army in 1847. He had previously delivered a discourse before the Agricultural Society, which he had been mainly instrumental in forming, in Burke county, Georgia. In 1849 he began the publication of an elaborate series of military articles in the Southern Quarterly, on Fremont's Command and the Conquest of California; the Commercial and Political Position of California; the Mineral Resources of California; the Battles of the Rio Grande; of Buena Vista; Vera Cruz; Cerro Gordo; Contreras; Cherubusco; Molino del Rey; Chapultepec; the Secondary Combats of the War; an article on Amazonia; in all some six hundred pages, marked by their knowledge of military affairs, and ingenious, candid discrimination.

In 1852 he visited West Point as a member of the Board of Visitors, and was elected their president. He delivered an eloquent oration before the corps of cadets at their request, which was published. He is a resident of South Carolina, and, it is understood, is engaged in a translation of the great military authority Jomini on the art of war, and an original essay on the same subject in reference to the necessities of this country.

ROBERT M. CHARLTON.

THIS accomplished writer, to whom the engagements of literature were a relaxation from other duties, was born at Savannah, Ga., Jan. 19, 1807. His father was Judge Thomas U. P. Charlton, whose position and social virtues were renewed by the son. He was early admitted to the bar; on his arrival at age was in the state legislature; became United States District Attorney; and at twenty-seven was appointed Judge of the Supreme Court of the Eastern District of Georgia. In 1852 he was in the United States Senate. He was known for his polished oratory and his genial powers in society. His literary productions were in prose and verse: essays, sketches, lectures, and literary addresses. Many of these, including a series of sketches entitled Leaves from the Portfolio of a Georgia Lawyer, appeared in the Knickerbocker Magazine. They are all indicative of his cultivated talents and amiable temperament.

Nobist M Chuulten

In 1839 Mr. Charlton published a volume of poems, in which he included the poetical remains marked by a delicate sentiment, of his brother, Dr. Thomas J. Charlton, a young physician, who died in September, 1835, a victim to his professional zeal. This volume appeared in a second edition at Boston in 1842, with alterations and additions. It includes, besides the poems of the brothers, two prose compositions by R. M. Charlton, a eulogy on Doctor John Cumming, an esteemed citizen of Savannah, who was lost in the steainer Pulaski, and an historical lecture on Serjeant Jasper, the hero of Fort Moultrie and Savannah, delivered before the Georgia Historical Society in 1841.

The poems of Mr. R. M. Charlton are written in a facile style, expressive of a genial and pathetic susceptibility, rising frequently to eloquence.

He died at Savannah Jan. 8, 1854.

TO THE RIVER OGEECHEE,

O wave, that glidest swiftly
On thy bright and happy way,
From the morning until evening,
And from twilight until day,
Why leapest thou so joyously,
Whilst coldly on thy shore,
Sleeps the noble and the gallant heart,
For aye and evermore?

Or dost thou weep, O river,
And is this bounding wave,

But the tear thy bosom sheddeth
As a tribute o'er his grave?
And when, in midnight's darkness,
The winds above thee moan,
Are they mourning for our sorrows,
Do they sigh for him that's gone?
Keep back thy tears, then, river,

Or, if they must be shed,
Let them flow but for the living:
They are needless for the dead.

His soul shall dwell in glory,

Where bounds a brighter wave, But our pleasures, with his troubles, Are buried in the grave.

THEY ARE PASSING AWAY.

They are passing away, they are passing awayThe joy from our hearts, and the light from our day,

The hope that beguiled us when sorrow was near, The loved one that dashed from our eye-lids the tear,

The friendships that held o'er our bosoms their sway;

They are passing away, they are passing away.
They are passing away, they are passing away-
The cares and the strifes of life's turbulent day,
The waves of despair that rolled over our soul,
The passions that bowed not to reason's control,
The dark clouds that shrouded religion's kind ray;
They are passing away, they are passing away.

Let them go, let them pass, both the sunshine and shower,

The joys that yet cheer us, the storms that yet lower:

When their gloom and their light have all faded

and past,

There's a home that around us its blessing shall cast,

Where the heart-broken pilgrim no longer shall

say,

"We are passing away, we are passing away."

THE DEATH OF JASPER-A HISTORICAL BALLAD.

"T was amidst a scene of blood,
On a bright autumnal day,
When misfortune like a flood,
Swept our fairest hopes away;
"T was on Savannah's plain,

On the spot we love so well,
Amid heaps of gallant slain,

That the daring Jasper fell!
He had borne him in the fight,

Like a soldier in his prime,
Like a bold and stalwart knight,
Of the glorious olden time;
And unharmed by sabre-blow,
And untouched by leaden ball,
He had battled with the foe,
'Till he heard the trumpet's call.
But he turned him at the sound,
For he knew the strife was o'er,
That in vain on freedom's ground,
Had her children shed their gore;
So he slowly turned away,

With the remnant of the band,
Who, amid the bloody fray,

Had escaped the foeman's hand.
But his banner caught his eye,

As it trailed upon the dust, And he saw his comrade die, Ere he yielded up his trust, "To the rescue!" loud he cried, "To the rescue, gallant men!" And he dashed into the tide

Of the battle-stream again.

And then fierce the contest rose, O'er its field of broidered gold, And the blood of friends and foes, Stained alike its silken fold;

But unheeding wound and blow,

He has snatched it midst the strife, He has borne that flag away,

But its ransom is its life!

"To my father take my sword,"
Thus the dying hero said,
"Tell him that my latest word

Was a blessing on his head; That when death had seized my frame, And uplifted was his dart, That I ne'er forgot the name,

That was dearest to my heart.

And tell her whose favor gave
This fair banner to our band,
That I died its folds to save,

From the foe's polluting hand;
And let all my comrades hear,
When my form lies cold in death,
That their friend remained sincere,
To his last expiring breath."
It was thus that Jasper fell,
'Neath that bright autumnal sky;
Has a stone been reared to tell
Where he laid him down to die?
To the rescue, spirits bold!

To the rescue, gallant men!
Let the marble page unfold

*

All his daring deeds again!

WILLIAM A. CARRUTHERS,

THE author of several novels written with spirit and ability, was a Virginian, and as we learn from a communication to the Knickerbocker Magazine, in which he gives an account of a hazardous ascent of the Natural Bridge, of which he was a witness, was, in 1818, a student of Washington College, in the vicinity of that celebrated curiosity. We have no details of his life, beyond the facts of his publication of several books in New York about the year 1834, his retirement from Virginia to Savannah, Georgia, where he practised medicine, and wrote for the Magnolia and other Southern magazines, and where he died some years since.

His books which have come to our knowledge are, The Cavaliers of Virginia, or the Recluse of Jamestown, an Historical Romance of the Old Dominion, contrasting the manners of the conservative and revolutionary races, the followers of Charles and of Noll in the State; The Kentuckian in New York, or the Adventures of Three Southerns, a sketchy volume of romantic descriptive matter; and The Knights of the Horse Shoe, a Traditionary Tale of the Cocked Hat Gentry in the Old Dominion, published at Wetumpka, Alabama, in 1845. In the last book the author drew a pleasing and animated picture of the old colonial life in Virginia, in the days of Governor Spotswood. A passage from one of its early chapters will exhibit its genial spirit.

A KITCHEN FIRE-SIDE IN THE OLD DOMINION.

Imagine to yourself, reader, a fire-place large enough to roast an ox whole, and within which a common waggon load of wood might be absorbed in such a speedy manner as to horrify one of our city economical housewives-though now it was late in summer, and of course no such pile of combustibles

• July, 1888.

enlivened the scene-besides, it was night, and the culinary operations of the day were over. A few blazing fagots of rich pine, however, still threw a lurid glare over the murky atmosphere, and here and there sat the several domestics of the establishment; some nodding until they almost tumbled into the fire, but speedily regaining the perpendicular without ever opening their eyes, or giving any evidence of discomposure, except a loud snort, perhaps, and then dozing away again as comfortably Others were conversing without exhibiting any symptoms of weariness or drowsiness.

as ever.

In one corner of the fire-place sat old Sylvia, a Moor, who had accompanied the father of the Governor (a British naval officer) all the way from Africa, the birth-place of his Excellency. She had straight hair, which was now white as the driven snow, and hung in long matted locks about her shoulders, not unlike a bunch of candles. She was by the negroes called outlandish, and talked a sort of jargon entirely different from the broken lingo of that race. She was a general scape-goat for the whole plantation, and held in especial dread by the Ethiopian tribe. She was not asleep, nor dozing, but sat rocking her body back and forth, without moving the stool, and humming a most mournful and monotonous ditty, all the while throwing her large stealthy eyes around the room. In the opposite corner sat a regular hanger-on of the establishment, and one of those who kept a greedy eye always directed towards the fleshpots, whenever he kept them open at all. His name was June, and he wore an old cast-off coat of the Governor's, the waist buttons of which just touched his hips, while the skirts hung down to the ground in straight lines, or rather in the rear of the perpendicular, as if afraid of the constant kicking which his heels kept up against them when walking. His legs were bandied, and set so much in the middle of the foot as to render it rather a difficult matter to tell which end went foremost. His face was of the true African stamp: large mouth, flat nose, and a brow overhung with long, plaited queus, like so many whip-cords cut off short and even all round, and now quite grey. The expression of his countenance was full of mirthfulness and good humor, mixed with just enough of shrewdness to redeem it from utter vacuity. There was a slight degree of cunning twinkled from his small terrapin-looking eye, but wholly swallowed up by his large mouth, kept constantly on the stretch. He had the run of the kitchen; and, for these perquisites was expected and required to perform no other labor than running and riding errands to and from the capital; and it is because he will sometimes be thus employed that we have been so particular in describing him, and because he was the banjo player to all the small fry at Temple Farm. He had his instrument across his lap on the evening in question, his hands in the very attitude of playing, his eyes closed, and every now and then, as he rose up from a profound inclination to old Somnus, twang, twang, went the strings, accompanied by lips in half utterance, such as the following:some negro doggrel just lazily let slip through his

Massa is a wealthy man, and all de nebors know it;
Keeps good liquors in his house, and always says-here goes

it.

The last words were lost in another declination of the head, until catgut and voice became merged in a grunt or snort, when he would start up, perhaps, strain his eyes wide open, and go on again:

Sister Sally's mighty sick, oh what de debil ails her, She used to eat good beef and beans, but now her stomach fails her.

The last words spun out again into a drawl to ac

company a monotonous symphony, until all were lost together, by his head being brought in wonderful propinquity to his heels in the ashes.

While old June thus kept up a running accompaniment to Sylvia's Moorish monotony, on the opposite side of the fire, the front of the circle was occupied by more important characters.

Old Essex, the major-domo of the establishment, sat there in all the panoply of state. He was a tall, dignified old negro, with his hair queued up behind and powdered all over, and not a little of it sprinkled upon the red collar of his otherwise scrupulously clean livery. He wore small-clothes and knee-buckles, and was altogether a fine specimen of the gentlemanly old family servant. He felt himself just as much a part and parcel of the Governor's family as if he had been related to it by blood. The manners of Essex were very far above his mental culture; this no one could perceive by a slight and superficial observation, because he had acquired a most admirable tact (like some of his betters) by which he never travelled beyond his depth; added to this, whatever he did say was in the most appropriate manner, narrowly discerning nice shades of character, and suiting his replies to every one who addressed him. For instance, were a gentleman to alight at the hall door and meet old Essex, he would instantly receive the attentions due to a gentleman; whereas, were a gentlemanly dressed man to come, who feared that his whole importance might not be impressed upon this important functionary, Essex would instantly elevate his dignity in exact proportion to the fussiness of his visitor. Alas! the days of Essex's class are fast fading away. Many of them survived the Revolution, but the Mississippi fever has nearly made them extinct.

On the present occasion, though presumed to be not upon his dignity, the old major sat with folded arms and a benignant but yet contemptuous smile playing upon his features, illuminated as they were by the lurid fire-light, while Martin the carpenter told one of the most marvellous and wonder-stirring stories of the headless corpse ever heard within these walls, teeming, as they were, with the marvellous. Essex had often heard stories first told over the gentlemen's wine, and then the kitchen version, and of course knew how to estimate them exactly: now that before-mentioned incredulous smile began to spread until he was forced to laugh outright, as Martin capped the climax of his tale of horror, by some supernatural appearance of blue flames over the grave. Not so the other domestics, male and female, clustering around his chair; they were worked up to the highest pitch of the marvellous. Even old June ceased to twang his banjo, and at length got his eyes wide open as the carpenter came to the sage conclusion, that the place would be haunted.

It was really wonderful, with what rapidity this same point was arrived at by every negro upon the plantation, numbering more than a hundred; and these having wives and connexions on neighboring plantations, the news that Temple Farm was haunted became a settled matter for ten miles round in less than a week, and so it has remained from that day to this.

On the occasion alluded to, the story-teller for the night had worked his audience up to such a pitch of terror, that not one individual dared stir for his life, every one seeming to apprehend an instant apparition. This effect on their terrified imaginations was not a little heightened by the storm raging without. The distant thunder had been some time reverberating from the shores of the bay, mingling with the angry roar of the waves as they splashed

and foamed against the beach, breaking, and then retreating for a fresh onset.

JAMES OTIS ROCKWELL.

JAMES O. ROCKWELL was, to a great extent, a selfmade man. He was born at Lebanon, Conn., in 1807, and at an early age placed as an operative in a cotton factory at Paterson, New Jersey. When he was fourteen the family removed to Manlius, N. Y., and James was apprenticed to a printing establishment at Utica. He remained there about four years, writing for as well as working at the press, and then after a short sojourn in New York removed to Boston. After working a short time as a journeyman printer he obtained the situation of assistant editor of the Boston Statesman, from which he was soon promoted, in 1829, to the exclusive charge of a paper of his own, The Providence Patriot. tinued," says his biographer Everest, "his editorial labors until the summer of 1831, when a 'card apologetic' announced to the readers of the Patriot that its editor had been accused of ill health--tried-found guilty-and condemned over to the physicians for punishment.' The following number was arrayed in tokens of mourning for his death."*

"He con

His poems are scattered through his own and other periodicals, having never been collected. They are all brief, and though bearing marks of an ill regulated imagination and imperfect literary execution, are animated by a true poetic flame.

SPRING.

Again upon the grateful earth,
Thou mother of the flowers,
The singing birds, the singing streams,
The rainbow and the showers:
And what a gift is thine!-thou mak'st
A world to welcome thee;
And the mountains in their glory smile,
And the wild and changeful sea.

Thou gentle Spring!-the brooding sky
Looks welcome all around;

The moon looks down with a milder eye,
And the stars with joy abound;
And the clouds come up with softer glow,
Up to the zenith blown,

And float in pride o'er the earth below,
Like banners o'er a throne.

Thou smiling Spring!-again thy praise
Is on the lip of streams;

And the water-falls loud anthems raise,
By day, and in their dreams;
The lakes that glitter on the plain,

Sing with the stirring breeze;
And the voice of welcome sounds again
From the surge upon the seas.
Adorning Spring! the earth to thee
Spreads out its hidden love;
The ivy climbs the cedar tree,

The tallest in the grove;
And on the moss-grown rock, the rose
Is opening to the sun,

And the forest leaves are putting forth
Their green leaves, one by one.

Poets of Connectient, p. 857. See also a further notice from the same pen, South Lit. Mess., July, 1888, in which a suspicion of suicide is hinted at.

As thou to earth, so to the soul
Shall after glories be,-

When the grave's winter yields control,
And the spirit's wings are free:
And then, as yonder opening flower
Smiles to the smiling sun,-

Be mine the fate to smile in heaven,
When my weary race is run.

GEORGE LUNT.

GEORGE LUNT was born at Newburyport, Massachusetts. He was graduated at Harvard in 1824; was admitted to the bar in 1831; practised for awhile at his native place, and since 1848 has pursued the profession in Boston.

In 1839, he published a volume of Poems, followed in 1843 by The Age of Gold and other Poems, and in 1854, by Lyric Poems, Sonnets, and Miscellanies. He is also the author of Eastford, or Household Sketches, by Westley Brooke, a novel of New England life, published in 1854.

We quote from Mr. Lunt's last published volume of poems, a characteristic specimen.

MEMORY AND HOPE.

Memory has a sister fair,

Blue-eyed, laughing, wild, and glad, Oft she comes, with jocund air,

When her twin-born would be sad;
Hand-in-hand I love them best,

And to neither traitor prove,
Both can charm the aching breast,
Scarce I know which most to love.

Memory has a downcast face,

Yet 'tis winning, sweet, and mild, Then comes Hope, with cheerful grace, Like a bright enchanting child. Now, I kiss this rosy cheek,

And the dimpling beam appears, Then her pensive sister seek,

She too smiles, through pleasant tears.

Thus the heart a joy may take,
Else it were but hard to win,
And a quiet household make,
Where no jealousies come in.
If thy spirit be but true,

Love like this is sure to last,-
Happy he, who weds the two,
Hopeful Future,-lovely Past.

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS.

THE family of Nathaniel Parker Willis trace back their descent to George Willis, who was born in England in 1602, and who, as a newly settled resident of Cambridge near Boston, was admitted "Freeman of Massachusetts," in 1638. By the-maternal branch, dividing at the family of the grandfather of N. P. Willis, he is a descendant of the Rev. John Bailey, pastor of a church in Boston, in 1683. The portrait of the Rev. John Bailey was presented some years since to the Massachusetts Historical Society, by Nathaniel Willis, the father of N. P. Willis, to whom it had descended as the oldest of the sixth generation. Mr. Bailey was an exile for opinion's sake. He had begun his ministry at Chester, in England, at the age of 22, but was imprisoned for his non-conformist doctrines; and while waiting for his trial, had preached to crowds through the bars of Lancashire jail. He afterwards preached fourteen years in Limerick,

Ireland, and was again imprisoned and tried for his opinions. He then fled from persecution to this country. The memoir of his ministry in Boston has been written by the Rev. Mr. Emerson. He died in 1697, and his funeral sermon was preached by the Rev. Cotton Mather.

The numerous descendants of these two names have been principally residents in New England, and are traceable mainly in the church records of their different locations. The majority have been farmers. Nathaniel Willis, the grandfather of N. P. Willis, was born in Boston in 1755. He was one of the proprietors and publishers of the Independent Chronicle, a leading political paper, from 1776 to 1784. He removed from Boston to Virginia, where he established the "Potomac Guardian," which he published several years at Martinsburgh. He thence removed to Ohio, and established the first newspaper ever published in that state, the "Scioto Gazette." He was for several years the Ohio State printer. It was among the memorabilia of his life that he had been an apprentice in the same printing-office with Benjamin Franklin; and that he was one of the adventurous "Tea-Party," who, in 1773, boarded the East India Company's ship in Boston harbor, and threw overboard her cargo of tea, to express their opinion of the tea-tax. He died at an advanced age on his farm near Chillicothe, to which he had retired, to pass his latter years in repose.

The poet's father, Nathaniel Willis, was for several years a political publisher and editorthe "Eastern Argus" having been established by him at Portland in 1803. With a change in his religious opinions and feelings, he returned to Boston, his native city, and there founded in 1816, the first religious newspaper in the world, the "Boston Recorder." This he conducted for twenty years, establishing, during the latter part of the same time, the first child's newspaper in the world, the "Youth's Companion." The latter he still conducts, having parted with the Recorder as too laborious a vocation for his advancing years, and its eminent success having realized for him a comfortable independence.