JAMES A. HILLHOUSE. [Born 1789. Died 1841.] THE author of "Hadad" was descended from an ancient and honourable Irish family, in the county of Derry, and his ancestors emigrated to this country and settled in Connecticut in 1720. A high order of intellect seems to have been their right of inheritance, for in every generation we find their name prominent in the political history of the state. The grandfather of the poet, the Honourable WILLIAM HILLHOUSE, was for more than fifty years employed in the public service, as a representative, as a member of the council, and in other offices of trust and honour. His father, the Honourable JAMES HILLHOUSE, who died in 1833, after filling various offices in his native state, and being for three years a member of the House of Representatives, was in 1794 elected to the Senate of the United States, where for sixteen years he acted a leading part in the politics of the country. His wife, the mother of the subject of this sketch, was the daughter of Colonel MELANCTHOS WOOLSEY, of Dosoris, Long Island. She was a woman distinguished alike for mental superiority, and for feminine softness, purity, and delicacy of character. Although educated in retirement, and nearly self-taught, her son was accustomed to say, when time had given value to his opinions, that she possessed the most elegant mind he had ever met with; and much of the nice discrimination, and the finer and more delicate elements of his own character, were an inheritance from her. Among the little occasional pieces which he wrote entirely for the family circle, was one composed on visiting her birth-place, after her death, which I have been permitted* to make public. "As yonder frith, round green Dosoris roll'd, "Thus, though bedimm'd by many a changeful year, "I have fulfill'd her charge,-dear scenes, adieu!- "Would I could paint the ever-varying grace, I am indebted for the materials for this biography to the poet's intimate friend, the Reverend WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIPP, Rector of St. Paul's Church, in Albany, New York, who kindly consented to write out the character of the poet, as he appeared at home, and as none but his associates could know him, for this work. Mr. HILLHOUSE was born in New Haven, on the twenty-sixth of September, 1789. The home of such parents, and the society of the intelligent circle they drew about them, (of which President DWIGHT was the most distinguished ornament,) was well calculated to cherish and cultivate his peculiar tastes. In boyhood he was remarkable for great activity and excellence in all manly and athletic sports, and for a peculiarly gentlemanly deportment. At the age of fifteen he entered Yale College, and in 1808 he was graduated, with high reputation as a scholar. exhibition, he had been distinguished for the eleFrom his first junior gance and good taste of his compositions. Upon taking his second degree, he delivered an oration on "The Education of a Poet," so full of beauty, that it was long and widely remembered, and induced an appointment by the Phi Beta Kappa Society, (not much in the habit of selecting juvenile writers,) to deliver a poem before them at their next anniversary. It was on this occasion that he wrote "The Judgment," which was pronounced before that society at the commencement of 1812. A more difficult theme, or one requiring loftier powers, could not have been selected. The reflecting mind regards this subject in accordance with some preconceived views. That Mr. HILLHOUSE felt this difficulty, is evident from a remark in his preface, that in selecting this theme, "he exposes his work to criticism on account of its theology, as well as its poetry; and they who think the former objectionable, will not easily be pleased with the latter." Other poets, too, had essayed their powers in describing the events of the Last Day. The public voice, however, has decided, that among all the poems on this great subject, that of Mr. HILLHOUSE stands unequalled. His object was, "to present such a view of the last grand spectacle as seemed the most susceptible of poetical embellishment;" and rarely have we seen grandeur of conception and simplicity of design so admirably united. His representation of the scene is vivid and energetic; while the manner in which he has grouped and contrasted the countless array of characters of every age, displays the highest degree of artistic skill. Each character he summons up appears before us, with historic costume and features faithfully preserved, and we seem to gaze upon him as a reality, and not merely as the bold imagery of the poet. "For all appear'd As in their days of earthly pride; the clank Of steel announced the warrior, and the robe Of Tyrian lustre spoke the blood of kings" His description of the last setting of the sun in the west, and the dreamer's farewell to the evening star, as it was fading forever from his sight, are passages of beauty which it would be difficult to find surpassed. About this period Mr. HILLHOUSE passed three years in Boston, preparing to engage in a mercantile life. During the interruption of business which took place in consequence of the last war with England, he employed a season of leisure passed at home, in the composition of several dramatic pieces, of which "Demetria" and "Percy's Masque" best satisfied his own judgment. When peace was restored, he went to New York, and embarked in commerce, to which, though at variance with his tastes, he devoted himself with fidelity and perseverance. In 1819, he visited Europe, and though the months passed there were a season of great anxiety and business occupations, he still found time to see much to enlarge his mind, and accumulated stores of thought for future use. Among other distinguished literary men, from whom while in London he received attentions, was ZACARY MACAULAY, (father of the Hon. T. BABBINGTON MACAULAY,) who subsequently stated to some American gentlemen, that "he considered Mr. HILLHOUSE the most accomplished young man with whom he was acquainted." It was during his stay in England that "Percy's Masque" was revised and published. The subject of this drama is the successful attempt of one of the Percies, the son of Shakspeare's Hotspur, to recover his ancestral home. The era chosen is a happy one for a poet. He is dealing with the events of an age where every thing to us is clothed with a romantic interest, which invests even the most common every-day occurrences of life. "They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd." Of this opportunity he fully availed himself, in the picture he has here given us of the days of chivalry. As a mere work of art, "Percy's Masque" is one of the most faultless in the language. If subjected to scrutiny, it will bear the strictest criticism by which compositions of this kind can be tried. We cannot detect the violation of a single rule which should be observed in the construction of a tragedy. When, therefore, it was republished in this country, it at once gave its author an elevated rank as a dramatic poet. In 1822, Mr. HILLHOUSE was united in marriage to CORNELIA, eldest daughter of ISAAC LAWRENCE, of New York. He shortly afterward returned to his native town, and there, at his beautiful place, called Sachem's Wood, devoted himself to the pursuits of a country gentleman and practical agriculturist. His taste extended also to the arts with which poetry is allied; and in the embellishment of his residence, there was exhibited evidence of the refinement of its accomplished occupant. Here, with the exception of a few months of the winter, generally spent in New York, he passed the remainder of his life. "And never," remarks his friend, the Reverend Mr. KIPP, has a domestic circle been anywhere gathered, uniting within itself more of grace, and elegance, and intellect. He who formed its centre and its charm, possessed a character combining most beautifully the high endowments of literary genius, with all that is winning and brilliant in social life. They who knew him best in the sacred relations of his own fireside, will never cease to realize, that in him their circle lost its greatest ornament. All who were accustomed to meet his cordial greeting, to listen to his fervid and eloquent conversation, to be delighted with the wit and vivacity of his playful moments; to witness the grace and ele gance of his manners, the chivalric spirit, the indomitable energy and high finish of the whole character, can tell how nobly he united the com bined attractions of the poet, the scholar, and the ¦¦ perfect gentleman. Never, indeed, have we met with one who could pour forth more eloquently his treasures, drawn from the whole range of English literature, or bring them to bear more admirably upon the passing occurrences of the day. Every syllable, too, which he uttered, conveyed the idea of a high-souled honour, which we associate more naturally with the days of old romance, than with these selfish, prosaic times. His were indeed high thoughts, seated in a heart of cour tesy." "Hadad" was written in 1824, and printed in the following year. This has generally been esteemed HILLHOUSE's masterpiece. As a sacred drama, it is probably unsurpassed. The scene is in Judea, in the days of David; and as the agency of evil spirits is introduced, an opportunity is af forded to bring forward passages of strange sublimity and wildness. For a work like this, HILLHOUSE was peculiarly qualified. A most intimate acquaintance with the Scriptures enabled him to introduce each minute detail in perfect keeping with historical truth, while from the same study he seems also to have imbibed the lofty thoughts, and the majestic style of the ancient Hebrew prophets. In 1840, he collected, and published in two volumes, the works which at that time he was willing to give to the world. In addition to those I have already mentioned, was "Demetria," a domestic tragedy, now first revised and printed, after an interval of twenty-six years since its first composition, and several orations, delivered in New Haven, on public occasions, or before literary societies in other parts of the country. The manly eloquence of the latter, is well calculated to add the reputation of an accomplished orator, to that which he already enjoyed as a poet. These volumes contain nearly all that he left us. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that he passed his life merely as a literary man. The early part of it was spent in the anxieties of business, while, through all his days, literature, instead of being his occupation, was merely the solace and delight of his leisure moments. About this time his friends beheld, with anxiety, the symptoms of failing health. For fifteen months, however, he lingered on, alternately cheering their hearts by the prospect of recovery, and then causing them again to despond, as his weakness increased. In the fall of 1840, ne left home " for the last time, to visit his friends in Boston. He returned, apparently benefited by the excursion, and no immediate danger was apprehended until the beginning of the following January. On the second of that month his disorder assumed an alarming form, and the next day was passed in intense agony. On Monday, his pain was alleviated; yet his skilful medical attendants beheld in this but the precursor of death; and it became their duty, on the following morning, to impart to him the news that his hours were few and numbered. "Of the events of this solemn day, when he beheld the sands of life fast running out, and girded up his strength to meet the King of Terrors," says the writer to whom I have before alluded, "I cannot speak. The loss is still too recent to allow us to withdraw the veil and tell of his dying hours. Yet touching was the scene, as the warm affections of that noble heart gathered in close folds around those he was about to leave, or wandered back in remembrance to the opening of life, and the friends of childhood who had already gone. It was also the Christian's death. The mind which had conceived so vividly the scenes of the judgment, must often have looked forward to that hour, which he now could meet in an humble, trusting faith. And thus the day wore on, until, about eight o'clock in the evening, without a struggle, he fell asleep." As a poet, he possessed qualities seldom found united a masculine strength of mind, and a most delicate perception of the beautiful. With an imagination of the loftiest order-with "the vision and the faculty divine" in its fullest exercise, the wanderings of his fancy were chastened and controlled by exquisite taste. The grand characteristic of his writings is their classical beauty. Every passage is polished to the utmost, yet there is no exuberance, no sacrifice to false and meretricious taste. He threw aside the gaudy and affected brilliancy with which too many set forth their poems, and left his to stand, like the doric column, charming by its simplicity. Writing not for present popularity, or to catch the senseless applause of the multitude, he was willing to commit his works-as Lord Bacon did his memory" to the next ages." And the result is proving how wise were his calculations. The "fit audience," which at first hailed his poems with pleasure, from realizing their worth, has been steadily increasing. The scholar studies them as the productions of a kindred spirit, which had drunk deeply at the fountains of ancient lore, until it had itself been moulded into the same form of stern and antique beauty, which marked the old Athenian dramatists. The intellectual and the gifted claim him as one of their own sacred brotherhood; and all who have a sympathy with genius, and are anxious to hold communion with it as they travel on the worn and beaten path of life, turn with ever renewed delight to his pages. They see the evidences of one, who wrote not because he must write, but because he possessed a mind crowded and glowing with images of beauty, and therefore, in the language of poetry, he poured forth its hoarded treasures. Much as we must lament the withdrawal of that bright mind, at an age when it had just ripened into the maturity of its power, and when it seemed ready for greater efforts than it yet had made, we rejoice that the event did not happen until a permanent rank had been gained among the noblest of our poets. THE JUDGMENT. I. THE rites were past of that auspicious day A trance-like sleep fell on me, and a dream II. Methought I journey'd o'er a boundless plain, Unbroke by vale or hill, on all sides stretch'd, Like circling ocean, to the low-brow'd sky; Save in the midst a verdant mount, whose sides Flowers of all hues and fragrant breath adorn'd. Lightly I trod, as on some joyous quest, Beneath the azure vault and early sun; But while my pleased eyes ranged the circuit green, New light shone round; a murmur came, confused, Like many voices and the rush of wings. Upward I gazed, and, 'mid the glittering skies, Begirt by flying myriads, saw a throne Whose thousand splendours blazed upon the earth Refulgent as another sun. Through clouds They came, and vapours colour'd by AURORA, Mingling in swell sublime, voices, and harps, And sounding wings, and hallelujahs sweet. Sudden, a seraph that before them flew, Pausing upon his wide-unfolded plumes, Put to his mouth the likeness of a trump, And toward the four winds four times fiercely breathed. Doubling along the arch, the mighty peal To heaven resounded; hell return'd a groan, III. Now, o'er the mount the radiant legions hung, Like plumy travellers from climes remote On some sequester'd isle about to stoop. Gently its flowery head received the throne; Cherubs and seraphs, by ten thousands, round Skirting it far and wide, like a bright sea, Fair forms and faces, crowns, and coronets, And glistering wings furl'd white and numberless. About their LORD were those seven glorious spirits Who in the ALMIGHTY's presence stand. Four lean'd On golden wands, with folded wings, and eyes Fix'd on the throne: one bore the dreadful books, The arbiters of life: another waved The blazing ensign terrible, of yore, To rebel angels in the wars of heaven: Of wondrous size, wreathed multiform and strange. IV. Then on the mount, amidst these glorious shapes, Which wont to glitter in his Father's hand: V. His throne of heavenly substance seem'd composed, Whose pearly essence, like the eastern shell, That, like a zodiac, thick with emblems set, Confusion bright upon the dazzled eye. VI. In honour chief, upon the LORD's right hand His station MICHAEL held: the dreadful sword That from a starry baldric hung, proclaim'd The Hierarch. Terrible, on his brow Blazed the archangel crown, and from his eye Thick sparkles flash'd. Like regal banners, waved Back from his giant shoulders his broad vans, Bedropt with gold, and, turning to the sun, Shone gorgeous as the multitudinous stars, Or some illumined city seen by night, When her wide streets pour noon, and, echoing through Her thronging thousands, mirth and music ring. In sable vesture, with the Books of Life. mien, Sedate and calm, and deep upon his brow Had Meditation set her seal; his eyes Look'd things unearthly, thoughts unutterable, Or utter'd only with an angel's tongue. Renown'd was he among the seraphim For depth of prescience, and sublimest lore; Skill'd in the mysteries of the ETERNAL, Profoundly versed in those old records where, From everlasting ages, live God's deeds; He knew the hour when yonder shining worlds, That roll around us, into being sprang; Their system, laws, connexion; all he knew But the dread moment when they cease to be. None judged like him the ways of Gon to man, Or so had ponder'd; his excursive thoughts Had visited the depths of night and chaos, Gathering the treasures of the hoary deep. VII. Like ocean billows seem'd, ere this, the plain, Confusedly heaving with a sumless host From carth's and time's remotest bounds: a roar Went up before the multitude, whose course The unfurl'd banner guided, and the bow, Zone of the universe, athwart the zenith Sweeping its arch. In one vast conflux roll'd, Wave following wave, were men of every age, Nation, and tongue; all heard the warning blast. And, led by wondrous impulse, hither came. Mingled in wild confusion, now, those met When Time himself was young, whose temples shook The hoary honours of a thousand years, Stood side by side with Roman consuls :-here, Mid prophets old, and heaven-inspired bards, Were Grecian heroes seen :-there, from a crowd Of reverend patriarchs, tower'd the nodding plumes, Tiars, and helms, and sparkling diadems Clad as when forth the hundred gates of Thebes VIII. Nearest the mount, of that mix'd phalanx first, Our general parent stood: not as he look'd Wandering, at eve, amid the shady bowers And odorous groves of that delicious garden, Or flowery banks of some soft-rolling stream, Pausing to list its lulling murmur, hand In hand with peerless EvE, the rose too sweet, Fatal to Paradise. Fled from his cheek The bloom of Eden; his hyacinthine locks Were changed to gray; with years and sorrows bow'd He seem'd, but through his ruined form still shone Upon his sons a grieved and pitying look IX. Close at his side appear'd a martial form, Of port majestic, clad in massive arms, Cowering above whose helm with outspread wings The Roman eagle flew; around its brim Was character'd the name at which earth's queen Bow'd from her seven-fold throne and owned her lord. In his dilated eye amazement stood; Within the capitol, amidst the crowd Of traitors, fearless else, he caught the gleam X. Near him, for wisdom famous through the east, ABRAHAM rested on his staff; in guise A Chaldee shepherd, simple in his raiment XI. At hand, a group of sages mark'd the scene. By toiling caravans for Memphis bound, Awe-struck,-amazement rapt their inmost souls. of all Their idle dreams, their proud philosophy, Mixing with angel symphonies, may sound |