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prefatory memoir which, in connexion with the merits of the verses, furnishes matter for a passing notice. The chief poem of the volume, octosyllabic measure, is in four parts, and entitled, The Shade of Plato: or a Defence of Religion, Morality, and Government. It is written with remarkable ease and smoothness. The Shade of Plato appears, to clear up objections to the moral government of the world, in the question of fate and free-will, and "vindicate the ways of God to man," closing with some shrewd and sober expostulations on the tendency to revolutionary principles in vogue with the jacobinical doctrines at the beginning of the century. There were many lessons at that time from pulpit and editor's desk from the following text

At this, I ask'd, is injury done,
To say there's twenty gods or One?
What matter, if men are sincere,
How many deities they fear?
Whether they rev'rence Three in One,
Or pay their homage to the sun;

Or worship Apis, Jove, or Baal,

Or own no deity at all?

Of what avail religious creeds,

If men are honest in their deeds?

If they'll not lie, nor cheat, nor steal?
Nor interrupt the public weal?
If they the gen'ral good pursue,
What more have mortals here to do?
Why stick at falsehood, theft, or fraud?
If men may disbelieve a God,
And their professions be sincere,
Pray tell me what they have to fear?
If this belief be rooted firm,
Duty must seem a senseless term;
And men, with passions to entice,
May range the crooked maze of vice,
Till life's contingent scene is clos'd,
Like tapers to the wind expos'd.

"Tis faith in one All-Seeing Eye,
That makes mankind themselves deny:
That does licentiousness control;
That curbs the proud, rebellious soul;
And did your race this thought forego,
No bounds to violence below;

Not conscience, nor the world's applause,
Nor magistrates, nor civil laws;
Nor monarchs, with despotic frown,
Could keep the tide of folly down.

Yet plain as is the sacred truth, It seems in modern days uncouth; And now in reason's boasted school, Is lash'd with boundless ridicule; Now human wisdom fain would prove, That there's no God who rules above; That all this boundless universe, Was once a huge ungovern'd mass; A vast, stupendous whirligig, Dancing to one Eternal jig, Till by an accident, outright, Matter on matter chanc'd to light; Substance, from one confused storm. All rush'd to embryotic form, And chaos, once convuls'd with jars, Produc'd the sun, and moon, and stars, And this terraqueous planet here, Without a God to interfere.

And are these philosophic rules? Then tell me, ye enlighten'd fools, Whether an accidental case,

Could balance worlds in empty space

And bound their course thro' ether's realm.
Without a pilot or a helm.

"The Knight and Quack: or a Looking-glass for Impostors in Physic, Philosophy, or Government; an Allegorical Poem," illustrates the same views of the world; while the remaining poem, "The Subtlety of Foxes," is a well drawn fable, exhibiting the logic of might over right.

The author of these verses was born at Bethlem, Litchfield County, Ct., in 1773, the son of a poor and honest shoemaker, who managed, we are told, in a "sketch of the author's life" prefixed to his volume, to send the son to school "when want of money or clothing did not prevent." The father died in 1790. His bedside was tended by his affectionate and serious-minded son, who wrote some of his earliest verses, paraphrases of one of the Psalms, and of a portion of Luke, “principally in the night, while watching with his father in his last sickness." Having lost that protector, he worked at farming with one of the select men of the town for five months, and was then bound apprentice to a shoemaker, remaining under the direction of a guardian whom he chose. That he chafed a little under this course of life among these overseers is not to be wondered at, yet, as the sketch naively says, "though he might by ignorance or inadvertence sometimes deserve their displeasure, still, as he never received the average sum of one dollar per month (exclusive of board) for thirty-four months' work, he could not accuse himself, on the whole, of being in the least degree prejudicial to their interests." At the age of twenty he practised his calling for himself at West Stockbridge, and Great Barrington in Mass.; his first earnings of three or four dollars a month being "laid out in purchasing clothing to su ply the place of a few rags, which, at that time, had become very unfashionable apparel for persons of his age." At twentysix he married, and at thirty-two reports himself, in the preface to his book, as poor and laborious, but enjoying "peace and contentment, with the addition of three children to his family, upon whom he dotes almost as much as the opulent do upon their riches." This is all we know of David Hitchcock. The Shade of Plato is certainly a remarkable production under the circumstances, to have been hammered out between the blows on the lapstone.

WILLIAM BIGLOW.

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WILLIAM BIGLOW was born in Natick, Mass., September 22, 1773. In an account of his early years, published in one of the numerous periodicals, the Federal Orrery, to which he contributed, he says:

I was born in a small country village, of reputable industrious parents, at a time when they were as poor as poverty herself. Nothing remarkable was at that time observed in me, except that I was, in the phrase of the hamlet, "a desperate cross body." This, however, must have been owing to some indisposition of body; for I naturally possess a very peaceable temper.

At a proper age I was sent to school-five weeks, in winter, to a master, who could read; and as long. in summer, to an old maid, who could knit. Possess ing a strong attachment to books, I soon passed from my primer to my psalter, and thence in a short

time to my Bible, which were the only books we used. At this early period of life, I perused all the neighboring libraries, which contained " Pilgrim's Progress," "Day of Doom," and many other compositions equally elegant and entertaining.

Among my schoolfellows, I was so peaceful and condescending, that I was generally denominated a coward. But that, which was attributed to pusillanimity, was rather the effect of good nature. However violently enraged, one smile from my adversary would instantaneously assuage my anger, and determine me to become his faithful friend.

Though this complaisance led my schoolmates to practise many impositions upon me, yet I esteemed this inconvenience sufficiently compensated, as it caused me to become a great favorite of my old grandmother. So great was her esteem for me, that she took me, at a very early age, to wait on her, and my venerable old grandfather. In this situation I passed several years; and, as constantly as Saturday night came round, I very piously said my catechism, and supped on hasty-pudding; and, with equal devotion, rode to meeting on Sunday, and carried my aunt behind me on a pillion.

There began my poetical career, by composing "a ballad, containing a true and surprising account of how the Deacon's son went a courting, lost his saddle, and found it again," which had a great run in the village. This circumstance added to my former fame at school; and my great aversion to every species of manual labor determined my father to give me a public education. I was accordingly sent to our parson's, where I attended closely and entirely to my studies, and, in a short time, became a member of the university.

When I came to college, I was, like most great authors, awkward and bashful; and my classmates immediately concluded that I was either a fool or a genius. My instructors, however, were decidedly of the former opinion. I was by no means an idle fellow; but I paid very little attention to the stated exercises of the college, choosing rather to follow my own inclinations than those of my governors. I studiously avoided cultivating an acquaintance with any, except a few selected classmates, and this seclusion continued me an unpolished country fellow. At length I have found my way through, and have retired into a neat rural village, and taken a small school, resolving to hide myself from the noise, insults, and injuries of the world, behind my own insignificance. I here pass for a good soul: and, because I cannot be genteel, I do all in my power to make people believe that I will not.

Notwithstanding I have passed in the world, thus silent and unknown, I have, as far as my opportunities would permit, made very accurate observations upon men and manners. When your paper made its appearance among us, I concluded that some of my compositions might be of service to you, and determined to publish them periodically. * * * * After this explanation, you will readily perceive what kind of fare I shall be likely to serve up; and, if you will give this a place in your literary oglio, I will do my endeavor shortly to prepare a still more palatable morsel.

CHARLES CHATTERBOX, ESQ.

Shortly after writing this sketch, one of a series entitled "Omnium Gatherum," he was ordained and settled in Salem as a teacher. In 1799 he delivered a poem entitled Education, before the Phi Beta Kappa at Cambridge. He soon removed to Boston, to take charge of the Public Latin School. Here he remained for several years, preaching occasionally, contributing to the pe

riodicals of the day, and preparing several educational text-books. His school was in high repute. Edward Everett was one of his pupils. Intemperate habits gaining the mastery over him, he was compelled to retire to his home at Natick. He passed some time in keeping a village school in Maine, and in the latter part of his life was employed as a proof-reader in the University printing-office at Cambridge. He died of apoplexy at Boston, January 12, 1844.

Biglow published in 1830, a History of the Town of Natick, Mass., from 1650 to the present time, and also of Sherburne, Mass., from its Incorporation to the end of the year 1830. But his best and most numerous writings are to be found in the Village Messenger, a paper published at Amherst, N. H., which he edited in 1796, the Federal Orrery, and the Massachusetts Magazine of Boston, and other periodicals. It was his custom, Mr. Buckingham informs us in his Reminiscences, to walk from Natick to Boston, some fifteen miles, "spend a day or two in the newspaper printing-offices, write poetry for his friends the editors, and then return to his rural retreat."

Biglow was a ready versifier as well as an agreeable prose writer. Having given the commencement of his career in the latter, we may present some of his stages in the former.

His college poem of 1793, entitled "Classology," in imitation of the old English song "Heathen Mythology," describing the humors of his classmates with a bacchanal flavor, is not forgotton at Harvard at the present day. He commences:Songs of scholars in reveling roundelays Belched out with hickups at bacchanal Go, Bellowed, till heaven's high concave rebound the lays,

Are all for college carousals too low.

Of dullness quite tired, with merriment fired,
And fully inspired with amity's glow,
With hate-drowning wine, boys, and punch all
divine, boys,

The Juniors combine, boys, in friendly HIGH GO.

His intimacy with the magazines did not blind his eyes to their amiable weaknesses in his day, which are pleasantly satirized in his

RECEIPT TO MAKE A MAGAZINE.

A plate, of art and meaning void,
To explain it a whole page employed:
Two tales prolonged of maids deluded;
Two more begun, and one concluded;
Life of a fool to fortune risen ;
The death of a starved bard in prison;
On woman, beauty-spot of nature,
A panegyric and a satire;
Cook's voyages, in continuation;
On taste a tasteless dissertation;
Description of two fowls aquatic:
A list of ladies, enigmatic;

A story true from French translated,
Which, with a lie, might well be mated;
A mangled slice of English history;
Essays on miracles and mystery;
An unknown character attacked,
In story founded upon fact:
Advice to jilts, coquets, and prudes:
And thus the pompous Prose concludes.
For Poetry-a birth-day ode;
A fable of the mouse and toad;

CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.

A modest wish for a kind wife,
And all the other joys of life;
A song, descriptive of the season;

A poem, free from rhyme and reason:
A drunken song, to banish care;
A simple sonnet to despair;
Some stanzas on a bridal bed;
An epitaph on Shock, just dead;
A pointless epigram on censure;
An imitation of old Spenser;
A dull acrostic and a rebus;
A blustering monody to Phoebus;

The country 'gainst the town defended;

And thus the Poetry is ended.

Next, from the public prints, display
The news and lyings of the day;
Paint bloody Mars & Co. surrounded

By thousands slain, ten thousand wounded:
Steer your sly politics between

The Aristocrat and Jacobin;

Then end the whole, both prose and rhyme, in
The ravages of Death and Hymen.

His "Cheerful Parson" will give us an inkling of his amiable character, which all of his contemporaries united in admiring, as wel as of bis poetic powers.*

THE CHEERFUL PARSON.

Since bards are all wishing, pray why may not I?
Though but a poor rhymer, for once I will try.
The life, that I choose, would be pleasant to scarce

one,

Yet the life, that I choose, is the life of a parson

First on me, kind heaven, a fortune bestow,
Too high for contempt and for envy too low,
On which I with prudence may hope to subsist,
Should I be for my damnable doctrine dismissed.

In a rich farming village, where P-s shall plead,
And Dr feel pulses, give physic, and bleed,
Where At the youths and the children shall
teach,
There may

I be called and there settled to preach.

Not damning a man for a different opinion,
I'd mix with the Calvinist, Baptist, Arminian,
Treat each like a man, like a Christian and brother,
Preach love to our Maker, ourselves and each other.
On a snug little farm, I'd provide me a seat,
With buildings all simple, substantial and neat;
Some sheep and some cattle my pastures to graze,
And a middle priced pony, to draw my new chaise.
When I find it no longer "good being alone,"
May a mild, rural nymph become bone of my

46

bone;"
Not fixed, like a puppet, on fashion's stiff wires,
But who can be genteel, when occasion requires.
Whose wealth is not money, whose beauty's not
paint;

Not an infidel romp, nor a sour-hearted saint;
Whose religion 's not heat, and her virtue not cold-

ness,

Nor her modesty fear, nor her wit manly boldness.
Thus settled, with care I'd apportion my time
To my sermons, my garden, my wife, and my rhyme,
To teach the untaught, and to better the bad,
To laugh with the merry, and weep with the sad.

Buckingham's Newspaper Reminiscences, vol. ii. 227-237, 276-293, where, with the extracts we have given, will be found many curious passages of Eiglow's writings.

At the feast, where religion might be a spectator,
Where friendship presided, and mirth was a waiter,
I'd fear not to join with the good-humored clan,
And prove that a parson may still be a man.
Thus blest, may my life be slid smoothly away,
And I still grow more grave, as my hair grows more
gray;

With age may the hope of the Christian increase,
And strew life's descent with the blossoms of peace.

And when we leave this world, as leave it we must,
With rapture meet death, and sink into the dust,
With a tear in each eye may the parish all say,
They were a kind pair, and did good in their day."
CHARLES CHATTERBOX, ESQ.

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Thomas Jaine.

At the age of seven his family removed to Boston, where he was prepared for Harvard College in one of the public schools, and entered the Freshman class in 1788. One of his classmates wrote a squib on him in verse, on the college wall, and Paine, on consultation with his friends, being advised to retaliate in kind, did so, and thus became aware of the poetic faculty of which he afterwards made such liberal use. He henceforth wrote most of his college compositions in verse, with such success, that he was assigned the post of poet at the college exhibition in the autumn of 1791, and at the Commencement in the following year. After receiving his diploma he entered the counting-office of Mr. James Tisdale, but must have proved an unprofitable assistant to that gentleman, as in the words of his biographer "he made entries in his day-book in poetry, and once made out a charter-party in the same style;" and on one occasion when sent to the bank with a

check for five hundred dollars, meeting by the way some literary acquaintances, he went off with them to Cambridge," and spent a week in the enjoyment of the feast of reason and the flow of soul,'" returning with the cash, at the end of that period, to his duties. He was a frequent contributor at this period to the "Seat of the Muses" of the Massachusetts Magazine, where a long poetical correspondence will be found between Philenia (Mrs. Morton) and himself.

In 1792 the players made their first appearance in Boston. Their performances vere at first called dramatic recitations, to avoid collision with a law forbidding "stage plays." This was repealed in 1793, who the Federal-street theatre was built and opened Feb. 4, 1794, with a prize prologue, by our author, who fell in love with Miss Baker, aged sixteen, one of the company. He passed a large portion of his time the ensuing year in writing theatrical criticisms; left the counting-house and issued the prospectus of the Federal Orrery, a semi-weekly newspaper, which made its appearance October 20, 1794. In the following February he married Miss Baker, without obtaining the consent of his father. The breach was partialry healed a few years after. In 1795 he delivered a poem on taking his degree of A.M. at Cambridge, entitled The Invention of Letters. It contained some lines referring to Jacobinism, which he spoke, notwithstanding they had been crossed out by the college authorities. It was perhaps in part owing to this circumstance that two large editions of the poem were sold. They produced him a profit of fifteen hundred dollars. It is dedicated to Washington, with a rapturous eulogy upon whom it closes :

Could Faustus live, by gloomy grave resign'd,
With power extensive, as sublime his mind,
Thy glorious life a volume should compose,
As Alps immortal, spotless as its snows.
The stars should be its types-its press the age;
The earth its binding-and the sky its page.

In 1794 he produced his earliest ode, Rise Columbia. It has a spirited burden.

When first the sun o'er ocean glow'd
And earth unveil'd her virgin breast,
Supreme 'mid Nature's vast abode,
Was heard the Almighty's dread behest;
Rise, Columbia, brave and free,
Poise the globe, and bound the sea.

In 1797 he sold his paper, which had suffered from his neglect of editorial duties, having lost several thousand dollars by the speculation. He delivered his poem, the Ruling Passion, before the Phi Beta Kappa Society in 1797. He gained twelve hundred dollars by its publication.

The famous song of Adams and Liberty was written in 1798, at the request of the "Massachusetts Charitable Fire Society." Its sale yielded him a profit of more than seven hundred and fifty dollars; more than eleven dollars for each line, as the matter of fact Mr. Allen correctly calculates. These receipts show a popularity which, particularly in the case of the two college poems, is very remarkable. In 1799 he delivered an oration to an audience "crowded to almost the utmost pressure of possibility," on the first anni

versary of the dissolution of the alliance with France. It was written a few days only before its delivery, and was very successful. The author sent a copy, after its publication, to Washington, and received a reply, in which the General prays"You will be assured that I am never more gratified than when I see the effusions of genius from some of the rising generation, which promises to secure our national rank in the literary world; as I trust their firm, manly, and patriotic conduct will ever maintain it with dignity in the political." John Adams also acknowledged this

new effort of a pregnant and prolific genius." Paine soon separated from the theatre, where he filled the office of "master of ceremonies" and occasional prologue writer, removed to Newburyport, and studied law. Here, on the invitation of the inhabitants, he delivered, on the 2d of January, 1800, a Eulogy on Washington. In the same year he removed to Boston, with his legal instructor, Mr., afterwards Chief Justice Parsons. In 1802 he was admitted, and commenced practice with great success, but unfortunately the return of the players, in 1803, led to his former unsettled mode of life. He did not again rally, planned but never executed several literary projects, and died on the 13th of November, 1811, leaving a daughter and two sons, who were provided with a home in his father's house.

His works were collect d by a most enthusiastic and pains-taking editor, Charles Prentiss, and published at Boston, in 1812, in one large 8vo. volume, a significant proof of the author's popularity.

FROM "THE RULING PASSION."

66

From fops we turn to pedants, deep and dull;
Grave, without sense; o'erflowing, yet not full."
See, the lank book-worm, piled with lumbering
lore,

Wrinkled in Latin, and in Greek fourscore,
With toil incessant, thumbs the ancient page,
Now blots a hero, now turns down a sage!
O'er Learning's field, with leaden eye he strays,
'Mid busts of fame, and monuments of praise
With Gothick foot he treads on flowers of taste,
Yet stoops to pick the pebbles from the waste.
Profound in trifles, he can tell, how short
Were Esop's legs, how large was Tully's wart;
And, scaled by Gunter, marks, with joy absurd,
The cut of Homer's cloak and Euclid's beard!

Thus through the weary watch of sleepless night,
This learned ploughman plods in piteous plight;
Till the dim taper takes French leave to doze,
And the fat folio tumbles on his toes.

ADAMS AND LIBERTY.

Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought For those rights, which unstain'd from your sires had descended,

May you long taste the blessings your valour has bought,

And your sons reap the soil which your fathers defended;

'Mid the reign of mild peace,

May your nation increase,

With the glory of Rome and the wisdom of Greece;

And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its

waves.

In a clime whose rich vales feed the marts of the Let fame to the world sound America's voice; world,

Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion,

The trident of commerce should never be hurl'd,
To increase the legitimate powers of the ocean,
But should pirates invade,
Though in thunder array'd,

Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway, Had justly ennobled our nation in story,

Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young day,

And enveloped the sun of American glory.

But let traitors be told,
Who their country have sold,
And barter'd their God for his image in gold,
That ne'er will the sons, &c.

While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,

And society's base threats with wide dissolution; May peace, like the dove who return'd from the flood,

Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution.
But, though peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,

If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

"Tis the fire of the flint each American warms:

Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision; Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms, We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a pro

vision.

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No intrigues can her sons from their government

sever:

Her pride are her statesmen-their laws are her choice,

And shall flourish till Liberty slumbers for ever. Then unite heart and hand,

Like Leonidas' band,

And swear to the God of the ocean and land, That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its

waves.

ISAAC STORY.

A VOLUME was published in Boston in 1801 entitled, A Parnassian Shop opened in the Pindarie Style, by Peter Quince, Esq.* It was a collection of the waggeries in imitation of Peter Pindar, which had given life to the well filled columns of the Farmer's Museum; a publication, which drew upon the pure invention, and sometimes the mere ingenuity of the clever writers who contributed to it. They bear date from 1795, and some of them had been contributed to Barrett's Newburyport Political Gazette. The "sign-board," by way of preface to the volume, shows the claborate preparation of these trifles, and is itself a curiosity.

SIGN-BOARD.

PETER's Shop contains the largest and most fashionable assortment of APOLLO-WARE; beautiful and variegated ODES, by the yard or piece; SONGS suitable for any and every occasion-single, or by the set; one crate of broken ELEGIES, which can be so joined together, as to suit the vilest and worthiest characters: also, a few ELASTIC TRUSSE—calculated with great care and ingenuity, for loose Politicians; one TREPANING INSTRUMENT to be used on such persons, only, who have cracked their skulls, in trying to pull down good government. A few bundles of Invocations, Addresses, Excuses, Conundrums, Whip-Syllabubs and Deifications-together with a new-invented BIB and SPATTERDASHES, for the sole benefit and behoof of slovenly Critics.

Besides the above-mentioned articles, Peter has a more pleasing and diversified assortment, in his large WARE-HOUSE, which will be opened as soon as ApolloWare becomes more fashionable. Peter keeps constantly for sale, in the back part of his shop, Parnassian-trinkets, Heliconian-spouts, and Pegassuses on truckles, for the accommodation of young and lame Poetasters; also, a very ingenious SpinningWheel, which will turn off Epic-Poems of any length and on any subject, with the utmost ease and dispatch; beside furnishing them with glossaries and obsolete quotations-all of which will be sold on the most reasonable terms, for cash or short credit. lars and Ballad-Singers may depend on making good bargains and receiving ample encouragement, at said back apartment, where they will find a number of heavy moulded geniusses eternally at pen nibbing. Peter has with much care and expense procured a curious and complicated Water-Machine, for grinding with astonishing rapidity hard and cramp phrases

Ped

* A Parnassian Shop opened in the Pindaric style; by Peter Quince, Esq.

Be not imposed on by a name

But bid your eye the picture's merit trace,
Poussin, at times, in outlines may be late.

And Guido's angels destitute of grace.-P. PINDAR Boston. Russell and Cutter: 1801. 12mo. pp. 155.

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