little dog, he seemed to have no friend in the wide world.

There was another I will recall to your mind, in this review of our old acquaintance. The queer little man we used to call the little duke, who first attracted our notice, I remember, by making his appearance in our great public walk, dressed in a full suit of white dimity, with a white hat, a little white dog, and a little switch in his hand. Here, of a sunny day, the little duke would ramble about with the lofty air of a man of clear estate, or lean against a tree, and scrutinize the ladies as they passed, with the recognizance of a thorough-bred connoisseur. Sometimes he would go to the circusthat is to say, you would see him lying most luxuriously over a fence just opposite, where, as the windows were open in the summer, he could hear the music, and see the shadow of the horses on the opposite wall, without its costing him a farthing.

In this way he lived, until the Corporation pulled down a small wooden building in the yard of what was then the government-house, when the duke and his dog scampered out of it like two rats. He had lived here upon a little bed of radishes; but now he and his dog were obliged to dissolve partnership, for his master could no longer support him. The dog I never saw again; but the poor duke gradually descended into the vale of poverty. His white dimity could not last for ever, and he gradually went to seed, and withered like a stately onion. In fine, he was obliged to work, and that ruined him— for nature had made him a gentleman.-And a gentleman is the caput mortuum of human nature, out of which you can make nothing, under heaven-but a gentleman. He first carried wild game about to sell; but this business not answering, he bought himself a buck and saw, and became a redoubtable sawyer. But he could not get over his old propensity-and whenever a lady passed where he was at work, the little man was always observed to stop his saw, lean his knee on the stick of wood, and gaze at her till she was quite out of sight. Thus, like Antony, he sacrificed the world for a woman -for he soon lost all employment-he was always so long about his work. The last time I saw him he was equipped in the genuine livery of poverty, leaning against a tree on the Battery, and admiring the ladies.

The last of the trio of Frenchmen, which erst attracted our boyish notice, was an old man, who had once been a naval officer, and had a claim of some kind or other, with which he went to Washington every session, and took the field against Amy Dardin's horse. Congress had granted him somewhere about five thousand, which he used to affirm was recognising the justice of the whole claim. The money produced him an interest of three hundred and fifty dollars a year, which he divided into three parts. One-third for his board, clothing, &c.; one for his pleasures, and one for the expenses of his journey to the seat of government. He travelled in the most economical style-eating bread and cheese by the way; and once was near running a fellow-passenger through the body, for asking him to eat dinner with him, and it should cost him nothing. He always dressed neatly-and sometimes of a remarkably fine day would equip himself in uniform, gird on his trusty and rusty sword, and wait upon his excellency the governor. There was an eccentric sort of chivalry about him, for he used to insult every member of Congress who voted against his claim; never put up with a slight of any kind from anybody, and never was known to do a mean action, or to run in debt. There was a deal of dignity, too, in his appearance and deport

ment, though of the same eccentric cast, so that whenever he walked the streets he attracted a kind of notice not quite amounting to admiration, and not altogether free from merriment. Peace to his claim and his ashes; for he and Amy Dardin's horse alike have run their race, and their claims have survived them.

CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.

In analysing the character of Washington, there is nothing that strikes me as more admirable than its beautiful symmetry. In this respect it is consummate. His different qualities were so nicely balanced, so rarely associated, of such harmonious affinities, that no one seemed to interfere with another, or predominate over the whole. The natural ardour of his disposition was steadily restrained by a power of self-command which it dared not disobey. His caution never degenerated into timidity, nor his courage into imprudence or temerity. His memory was accompanied by a sound, unerring judg ment, which turned its acquisitions to the best advantage; his industry and economy of time neither rendered him dull or unsocial; his dignity never was vitiated by pride or harshness, and his unconquerable firmness was free from obstinacy, or selfwilled arrogance. He was gigantic, but at the same time he was well-proportioned and beautiful. It was this symmetry of parts that diminished the apparent magnitude of the whole; as in those fine specimens of Grecian architecture, where the size of the temple seems lessened by its perfection. There are plenty of men who become distinguished by the predominance of one single faculty, or the exercise of a solitary virtue; but few, very few, present to our contemplation such a combination of virtues unalloyed by a single vice; such a succession of actions, both public and private, in which even his enemies can find nothing to blame.

Assuredly he stands almost alone in the world. He occupies a region where there are, unhappily for mankind, but few inhabitants. The Grecian biographer could easily find parallels for Alexander and Cæsar, but were he living now, he would meet with great difficulty in selecting one for Washington. There seems to be an elevation of moral excellence, which, though possible to attain to, few ever approach. As in ascending the lofty peaks of the Andes, we at length arrive at a line where vegetation ceases, and the principle of life seems extinct; so in the gradations of human character, there is an elevation which is never attained by mortal man. A few have approached it, and none nearer than Washington.

He is eminently conspicuous as one of the great benefactors of the human race, for he not only gave liberty to millions, but his name now stands, and will for ever stand, a noble example to high and low. He is a great work of the almighty Artist, which none can study without receiving purer ideas and more lofty conceptions of the grace and beauty of the human character. He is one that all may copy at different distances, and whom none can contemplate without receiving lasting and salutary impressions of the sterling value, the inexpressible beauty of piety integrity, courage, and patriotism, associated with a clear, vigorous, and well-poised intellect.

Pure, and widely disseminated as is the fame of this great and good man, it is yet in its infancy. It is every day taking deeper root in the hearts of his countrymen, and the estimation of strangers, and spreading its branches wider and wider, to the air and the skies. He is already become the saint of liberty, which has gathered new honours by being

associated with his name; and when men aspire to free nations, they must take him for their model. It is, then, not without ample reason that the suf frages of mankind have combined to place Washington at the head of his race. If we estimate him by the examples recorded in history, he stands without a parallel in the virtues he exhibited, and the vast, unprecedented consequences resulting from their exercise. The whole world was the theatre of his actions, and all mankind are destined to partake sooner or later in their results. He is a hero of a new species: he had no model; will he have any imitators? Time, which bears the thousands and thousands of common cut-throats to the ocean of oblivion, only adds new lustre to his fame, new force to his example, and new strength to the reverential affection of all good men. What a glorious fame is his, to be acquired without guilt, and enjoyed without envy; to be cherished by millions living, hundreds of millions yet unborn! Let the children of my country prove themselves worthy of his virtues, his labours, and his sacrifices, by reverencing his name and imitating his piety, integrity, industry, fortitude, patience, forbearance, and patriotism. So shall they become fitted to enjoy the blessings of freedom and the bounties of heaven.

THE MAN THAT WANTED BUT ONE THING; THE MAN THAT WANTED EVERYTHING; AND THE MAN THAT WANTED NOTHING.

Everybody, young and old, children and greybeards, has heard of the renowned Haroun Al Raschid, the hero of Eastern history and Eastern ronance, and the most illustrious of the caliphs of Bagdad, that famous city on which the light of learning and science shone, long ere it dawned on the benighted regions of Europe, which has since succeeded to the diadem that once glitterel on the brow of Asia. Though as the successor of the Prophet he exercised a despotic sway over the lives and fortunes of his subjects, yet did he not, like the eastern despots of more modern times, shut himself up within the walls of his palace, hearing nothing but the adulation of his dependents; seeing nothing but the shadows which surrounded him; and kaowing nothing but what he receivel through the medium of interested deception or malignant falsehood. That he might see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears, he was accustomed to go about through the streets of Bag lal by night, in disguise, accompanie l by Giafer the Barmecide, his grand vizier, and Mesrour, his executio er; one to give him his counsel, the other to fulfil his commands promptly, on all occasions. If he saw any commotion among the people he mixed with them and learned its cause; and if in passing a house he heard the moanings of distress or the complaints of suffering, he entered, for the purpose of administering relief. Thus he made himself acquainted with the condition of his subjects, and often heard those salutary truths which never reached his ears through the walls of his palace, or from the lips of the slaves that surrounded him.

On one of these occasions, as Al Raschid was thus perambulating the streets at night, in disguise, accompanied by his vizier and his executioner, in passing a splendid mansion, he overheard through the lattice of a window, the complaints of some one who seemed in the deepest distress, and silently approaching, looked into an apartment exhibiting all the signs of wealth and luxury. On a sofa of satin embroiderel with gold, and sparkling with brilliant gems, he beheld a man richly dressed, in whom he recognised his favorite boon companion

Bedreddin, on whom he had showered wealth and honors with more than eastern pro ligality. He was stretched out on the sofa, slapping his forehead, tearing his beard, and moaning piteously, as if in the extremity of suffering. At length starting up on his feet, he exclaimed in tones of despair, "Oh, Allah! I beseech thee to relieve me from my misery, and take away my life."

The Commander of the Faithful, who loved Bedreddin, pitied his sorrows, and being desirous to know their cause, that he might relieve them, knocked at the door, which was opened by a black slave, who, on being informed that they were strangers in want of food and rest, at once admitted them, and informed his master, who called them into his presence, and bade them welcome. A plentiful feast was spread before them, at which the master of the house sat down with his guests, but of which he did not partake, but looked on, sighing bitterly

all the while.

The Commander of the Faithful at length ventured tɔ ask him what caused his distress, and why he refrained from partaking in the feast with his guests, in proof that they were welcome. "Has Allah afflicted thee with disease, that thou canst not enjoy the blessings he has bestowed? Thou art surrounded by all the splendor that wealth can procure; thy dwelling is a palace, and its apartments are adorned with all the luxuries which captivate the eye, or administer to the gratification of the senses. Why is it then, oh! my brother, that thou art miserable?"

True, O stranger," replied Bedreddin. "I have all these. I have health of body; I am rich enough to purchase all that wealth can bestow, and if I required more wealth and honors, I am the favorite companion of the Commander of the Faithful, on whose head lie the blessing of Allah, and of whom I have only to ask, to obtain all I desire, save one thing only."

"And what is that?" asked the caliph.

"Alas! I adore the beautiful Zuleima, whose face is like the full moon, whose eyes are brighter and softer than those of the gazelle, and whose mouth is like the seal of Solomon. But she loves another, and all my wealth and honors are as nothing. The want of one thing renders the possession of every other of no value. I am the most wretched of men; my life is a burden, and my death would be a blessing."

By the beard of the Prophet," cried the Caliph, "I swear thy case is a hard one. But Allah is great and powerful, and will, I trust, either deliver thee from thy burden or give thee strength to bear it.” Then thanking Bedreddin for his hospitality, the Commander of the Faithful departed, with his companions.

Taking their way towards that part of the city inhabited by the poorer classes of people, the Caliph stumbled over something, in the obscurity of night, and was nigh falling to the ground; at the same moment a voice cried out, "Allah, preserve me! Am I not wretched enough already, that I must be trodden under foot by a wandering beggar like myself, in the darkness of night!"

Mezrour the executioner, indignant at this insult to the Commander of the Faithful, was preparing to cut off his head, when Al Raschid interposed, and inquired of the beggar his name, and why he was there sleeping in the streets, at that hour of the night.

all one to me, for neither by day nor by night do I know any rest. If I close my eyes for a moment, my dreams are of nothing but feasting, and I awake only to feel more bitterly the pangs of hunger and disease."

"Hast thou no home to shelter thee, no friends or kindred to relieve thy necessities, or administer to thy infirmities?"

No," replied the beggar; " my house was consumed by fire; my kindred are all dead, and my friends have deserted me. Alas! stranger, I am in want of everything: health, food, clothing, home, kindred, and friends. I am the most wretched of mankind, and death alone can relieve me."

"Of one thing, at least, I can relieve thee," said the Caliph, giving him his purse. "Go and provide thyself food and shelter, and may Allah restore thy health."

The beggar took the purse, but instead of calling down blessings on the head of his benefactor exclaimed, “Of what use is money; it cannot cure disease?" and the Caliph again went on his way with Giafer his vizier, and Meziour his executioner.

Passing from the abodes of want and misery, they at length reached a splendid palace, and seeing lights glimmering from the windows, the caliph approached, and looking through the silken curtains, beheld a man walking backwards and forwards, with la guid step, as if oppressed with a load of cares. At length casting himself down on a sofa, he stretched out his limbs, and yawning desperately, exclaimed, "Oh! Allah, what shall I do; what will become of me! I am weary of life; it is nothing but a cheat, promising what it never purposes, and affording only hopes that end in disappointment, or, if realized, only in disgust."

The curiosity of the Caliph being awakened to know the cause of his despair, he ordered Mezrour to knock at the door, which being opened, they pleaded the privilege of strangers to enter, for rest and refreshments. Again, in accordance with the precepts of the Koran, and the customs of the East, the strangers were admitted to the presence of the lord of the palace, who received them with welcome, and directed refreshments to be brought. though he treated his guests with kindness, he neither sat down with them nor asked any questions, nor joined in their discourse, walking back and forth languidly, and seeming oppressed with a heavy bur den of sorrows.

But

At length the Caliph approached him reverently, and said: "Thou seemest sorrowful, O my brother! If thy suffering is of the body I am a physician, and peradventure can afford thee relief; for I have travelled into distant lands, and collected very choice remedies for human infirmity."

66

My sufferings are not of the body, but of the mind," answered the other.

"Hast thou lost the beloved of thy heart, the friend of thy bosom, or been disappointed in the attainment of that on which thou hast rested all thy hopes of happiness?"

Alas! 10. I have been disappointed not in the means, but in the attainment of happiness. I want nothing but a want. I am cursed with the gratification of all my wishes, and the fruition of all my hopes. I have wasted my life in the acquisition of riches, that only awakened new desires, and honors that no longer gratify my pride or repay me for the labor of sustaining them. I have been cheated in the pursuit of pleasures that weary me in the enjoyment, and am perishing for lack of the excitement of some new want. I have everything I wish, yet I have everything I wish, yet enjoy nothing.'

Thy case is beyond my skill,” replied the Caliph;

Mr. Paulding did not long survive his old friend and early companion in literature. A few months after Washington Irving was carried to the tomb, he too passed away from his beautiful rural residence on the Hudson. He died at his family seat at Hyde Park, in Dutchess County, in the eighty-second year of his age, on the 6th of April, 1860, and, a few days after, his remains were interred in the cemetery at Greenwood, near the city of New York.

Mr. Paulding retained his mental faculties to the last, and the occasional productions of his pen were distinguished by his old ease and elegance of style. We are not aware of his having undertaken or contemplated any writings of length after those recorded in our previous notice, nor have any new editions of his works appeared in the interim, with the exception of a reprint of Salmagundi," in the composition of which he was associated with Washington and William Irving. This work was passing through the press at the time of his death. Its revival was received with favor. It carried the reader backward a period of more than fifty years, to the beginning of Mr. Paulding's literary career, when that first promise of humor, taste, suscep、 tibility, a genuine love of nature and of man, was given to the world, which was amply sustained through so many subsequent volumes.

The works of Mr. Paulding were once collected in a uniform edition; but it has been long out of print. When the publication shall be revived a new generation of readers will be enabled to appreciate the intelligence, the sympathy, the good humor, spite of occasional censure, with which, through a long life of letters, this sincere and ingenious author looked upon the world.

** The Literary Life of James K. Paulding, by his son, William Irving Paulding, was published in 1867. This was soon followed by a re-issue of his select works in four volumes: The Bulls and the Jonathans; Tales of the Good Woman; A Book of Vagaries; The Dutchman's Fireside. From a characteristic article in the first work, entitled "The American People," and hitherto unpublished, the following extract is made:

THE AMERICAN PEOPLE.

The people of the United Sates have been considered by foreign writers as a congregation of shreds and patches, without any peculiar or distinctive character. But this is a great mistake; since, taking into consideration their numbers and the extent of the territories they occupy, they clearly appear to be the most homogeneous nation in the world. With a few trifling exceptions, they all speak one language and one dialect; though of

a great variety of sects, all are Christians; and, though descended immediately from a variety of nations, share the common rights of one great family. Whatever disparities may prevail among them at first, they in a little while become cemented together by the strongest of all bonds, that of Liberty and Equality. Although in the United States, as everywhere else, unequal distributions. of wealth necessarily occur, from unequal opportunities, exertions, capacity, or.fortune, yet such distinctions are not, and cannot be, permanent. The exclusive right of the first-born is not recognized, and the possessions of the wealthy man dwindle into a competency for each of his children. Generally speaking, the grandsons are obliged to begin the world anew. Thus the moneyed Aristocracy of one generation becomes the laboring Democracy of the next; and thus those bitter hereditary feuds between the few and the many, which elsewhere become more inflexible and nialignant by being handed down from father to son, can find no root. The aristocrat looks forward to his posterity's becoming democrats, and the poor democrat anticipates for his children, if he does not gain it himself, a place among the rich.

The history of the first race of white men which occupied the Atlantic States is not yet, and I hope never will be, forgotten. It should be one of the earliest lessons of our children, for it furnishes admirable examples of piety, courage, unconquerable patience, and never-dying hope. When Poetry shall once again devote herself to heroic themes, and glorious endeavor restore to the noblest of the arts its most noble attributes, the early history of this country, its heroes, and its martyrs, will assuredly take its appropriate place among those themes which more than any of the works of man partake of immortality.

The inhabitants of this region came of excellent stock originally, and have been greatly improved by being transplanted to a sphere of action which, from the first, called into requisition all the highest qualities of manhood, and gave full exercise to their courage, their fortitude, their patience, and their inventive powers. They occupied, for generations, the frontier post in the progress of Christianity and civilization. They were the forlorn hope of human Liberty, and bore the brunt, not only of every obstacle which Nature herself could place in the way of men, but of the never-sleeping, never-dying hostility of an enemy, as has been truly said, "the most subtle, the most bloody, and the most formidable of any on the face of the earth." In this obscure position, among wintry storms and in the midst of interminable forests, these few, laborious, nameless heroes, wrought out a work which, in future times, when the destiny of this New World is accomplished, will be the miracle of distant ages. Never let their posterity forget what a sublime responsibility rests upon them to carry out this great work and consummate this glorious beginning.

The descendants of these courageous, muchenduring men, have not altogether degenerated. They have, indeed, approximated once more to European habits and refinements, but much of their primitive individuality remains. They are still, as a people, distinguished for activity of body and mind, versatile capacity, and a spirit of enterprise, coupled with a certain mental hardihood prompting them to deeds and undertakings which those who have been fettered to the great treadmill of the Old World have neither the genius

to conceive nor the courage to attempt. Accordingly they have achieved results which scarcely have a parallel in History.

The

The people of the Atlantic States, especially the Eastern and Middle, are probably, in proportion to their numbers, the most commercial in the world; and, certainly, the most expert and daring seamen in existence are there to be found. men of New England have a singular aptitude for nautical life; are equally hardy, adventurous, and skilful; and being, for the most part, brought up in habits of sobriety, retain their vigor and activity to a much later period of life than almost any other class of sailors. Success, when it does not lead to a foolish confidence which neglects the means by which it was attained, is one of the elements of strength, and the seamen of the United States are not only animated by the recollection of repeated triumphs, but are likewise conscious of having obtained a reputation which is one of the best guarantees for their future conduct.

The inhabitants of what is aptly styled "The Great West" constitute a species of men of a most racy and peculiar character. The greater por

tion of them are natives of the old r States or of Europe, and retain some of the habits and modes of thinking characteristic of the places of their birth, in a sufficient degree to distinguish them from each other. But being thrown together in one great and entirely new sphere of action, they have assimilated through the force of circumstances by the absolute necessity of adopting the same modes of life, and of coping in the first instance with similar hardships, privations, and dangers. Thus they have in some measure acquired a new being. Both their minds and their bodies have undergone a change. The one partakes of that expansion which is presumed to result only from study and contemplation, but which is much more frequently due to the exercise of the faculties on a great scale and in situations perpetually stimulating self-dependence under the most trying circumstances; the other becomes more hardy, vigorous, and alert, by wrestling with more formidable difficulties and fatigues.

Those petty obstacles which deter others from great undertakings are to such men only stimulants to action. Thus they have acquired what is their characteristic an independence of mind, a self-reliance, which to a great extent discards the authority of names, precedents, and established opinions.

This race inhabits the richest region of the earth, the valley of the Mississippi, a vast empire capable of supporting in abundance a hundred millions of people. They are increasing beyond example, and will continue to increase; for there is nothing there of such value as man, and men, like money, will go where they are most wanted and of most worth.

Should I personify this people, I would say The Backwoodsman is a soldier from necessity. Mind and body have been disciplined in a practical warfare. He belongs to this continent, and to no other. He is an original. He thinks" 'big;" he talks "big;" and when it is necessary to toe the mark, he acts "big." He is the genius of the New World.

It is upon this continent that the superfluous millions of Europe, where "the land grows weary of her inhabitants," are seeking and finding an asylum; and here, that, in the sublime words of George Canning, "THE NEW WORLD WILL REDRESS THE WRONGS OF THE OLD." It affords the means

of happiness and prosperity to all those who pine in hopeless poverty and irremediable insignificance, for want of a proper opening for the development of those physical and intellectual qualities which are the common gift of a common benefactor. Hither comes man, to resume his ancient dignity, as lord of the creation; and to enjoy the free use of that reason which has made him master of the world. He comes to relieve himself and his posterity from the burden of ages, from that weight which in his native land presses him to the dust, so that, in the language of the old Puritan, "though the most precious of all animals, he is more vile and base than the carth he treads upon." He comes, not to a strange land, but to a home; not as an alien, to remain for life debarred from all voice and influence in the choice of his rulers, or the making of those laws to which both life and property are subjected, but to share with the descendants of common parents, after a brief probation, all the rights of a free citizen of a free Commonwealth. Surely Providence will prosper such a land, and keep it long sacred as a refuge to mankind. Not all the pigmy politicians of the earth can arrest the progress of what has been grandly called "A DELUGE OF MEN DRIVEN ONWARD BY THE HAND OF GOD."

That such a people, so circumstanced, are destined to play a conspicuous part in the great drama of the future seems very probable, if not certain. They are the cradled Hercules of the Like the fabled demigod, they too present time. have their choice to make between a splendid and a happy destiny; between a government which shall become great and powerful by sacrificing the liberties and prosperity of the people, and one that shall devote all its wisdom and its energies to the sustaining of those interests.

I see that this is to become perhaps the greatest empire the world ever saw, and hope it may also be the happiest. But that this may be so, those manners, habits, and principles, on which the permanent prosperity of every nation reposes, must be preserved. The American people have incurred a weighty responsibility to the human race, for whose sake as well as their own they should cherish, as the apple of their eye, those virtues which enabled their forefathers to triumph over every impediment of Nature, and their more immediate progenitors to leave behind them a legacy richer than any diadem that ever descended from an imperial brow. Should they, as there is too much reason to fear, through that strong desire for personal independence and personal distinction which is one of our noblest characteristics, degenerate into sordid worshippers of gold; should they, from whatever motives, adopt the essential policy and principles of European governments, while preserving merely the outward forms and phrases of Democracy; should they fall asleep under the shadow of the tree of Liberty, while it is distilling poisons: then will it be reduced to a certainty that men cannot govern themselves, and that, like the wild beasts of the forest, they must be chained, to prevent them from devouring each other.

If the people of the United States cannot sustain a free government, or if they suffer themselves to be enslaved either by force or fraud, then may the human race read their doom; for never was there, and never can there be, a people placed under circumstances more favorable to its preservation. The moment they cease to be free they will merit the scorn and contempt of the world.

Let it be said again: It is only by cherishing those principles and preserving those wholesome and manly habits and virtues by which their freedom was acquired, that they can hope to retain it; for never yet was there a nation that did not sink into abject slavery when it had lost those noble traits. When the love of pelf becomes the ruling passion, and the golden calf the only divinity; when money is made the standard by which men are estimated, and held as the sole agent in the attainment of that happiness which is the common pursuit of all mankind: then will this majestic fabric of Freedom, like every other that has yet reared its lonely front in the great desert of the world, crumble to pieces, and from its ruins will arise a hideous monster with Liberty in his mouth and Despotism in his heart.

JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.

JOSEPHI T. BUCKINGHAM, one of the most prominent journalists of New England, is a descendant of Thomas Tinker, who came to Plymouth in the May Flower. His father, Nehemiah Tinker, resided at Windham, and ruined himself during the Revolutionary War by expending his whole property in the purchase of supplies for the army, for which he received pay in Continental currency, which rapidly depreciated, so that at his death, on the 17th of March, 1783, the several thousand dollars of paper money which he possessed, "would hardly pay for his windling sheet and coffin." He left a widow and ten children, the youngest of whom, Joseph, was born on the twenty-first of December, 1779. The widow endeavored to support the eight children dependent upon her by continuing her husband's business of tavern-keeping, but was obliged to abandon the establishment within a year, on account of ill health. She grew poorer and poorer, and her occasion, the crusts cut from the bread prepared son records her thankfulness at receiving, on one for the Holy Communion of the coming Sunday. She was at last compelled to solicit the aid of the selectmen of the town, and was supported in that manner for a winter. In the following year she received and accepted the offer of a home in the family of her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lathrop, at Worthington, Mass. Her son, the subject of this sketch, was indentured at the same time by the selectmen to a farmer of the name of Welsh, until he attained the age of sixteen. He was kindly cared for in the family, and picked up a tolerable knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic. He devoured the few books he came across, and records his obligations to a set of Ames's Almanacs. At the expiration of his time he obtained a situation in the printing-office of David Carlisle, the publisher of the Farmer's Museum, at Walpole, N.II. The joviality of the wits who filled the columns of that famous sheet seems to have been shared in by the compositors who set up their articles, for they exhausted the poor boy's slender stock of cash by a demand for a treat, and then nearly choked him by forcing his own brandy down his throat. He remained only a