in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing:-" To. Cl. Write down that they hope they serve God: and be sure to write God first; for God defend, but God should go before such villains."

B. It is in vain to attempt explanation to a mind so prejudiced as your's. I perceive you are determined to find fault, and so let us drop the subject.

A. Why, do you imagine I believe one word of your boxes and your ballots? You are either ridiculing, or endeavoring to excuse a performance, which would, indeed, disgrace a schoolboy.

When I compare this address with the president's short but elegant reply, I cannot but observe, how strongly the difference is marked between an author who sits down to think what he shall write, and one who only sits down to write what he thinks.

VERSES

Wrote in a blank book which once belonged to Mr. Shenstone the poet, and was given by the Lord Bishop of Worcester. Come little book, the giver's hand,

Shall add such worth to mine,
That I will hold thee highly priz'd,
And joy to call thee mine.

Come little book; nor in my care,
An humbler lot refuse,

Tho' Worcester own'd thee once, tho' once
Design'd for Shenstone's muse.

Had Shenstone in thy spotless page
In glowing numbers plac'd,
All that is pleasing, great, and good,
With ev'ry virtue grac❜d:
Fill'd thee with gentleness and love,
With piety and truth;
The wisdom of experienc'd years,
The brilliant powers of youth;
With all the condescending ease
Of manners most refin'd,

Then hadst thou been an emblem fit,
Of Worcester's generous mind.

Come little book; and let me boast
No small, no common fame,
That in thy once so honour'd
I write my humble name.
Hartlebury Castle, in Worcestershire, 1767.

page,

DESCRIPTION OF A CHURCH.

As late beneath the hallow'd roof I trod,
Where saints in holy rapture seek their God;
Where heart-stung sinners suing Heav'n for grace,
With tears repentant consecrate the place.
Oh! how my soul was struck with what I saw,
And shrunk within me in religious awe:

The massy walls, which seem'd to scorn the rage
Of battering tempests and of mouldering age:
In long perspective stretched, till breadth and height
Were almost lost in distance from the sight;
With monumental decorations hung,
They spoke mortality with silent tongue.

There, sorrowing seraphs heav'nward lift their eyes,
And little cherubs weep soft elegies.

I trod-and started at the mighty noise;
The hollow pavement lifted up its voice;
The swelling arch receiv'd the rising sound,
Responsive to the stroke the walls around,
And sent it murm'ring to the vaults around,
Thro' lengthen'd aisles prolong'd the solemn sound.

Far in the west, and noble to the sight,
The gilded organ rears its tow'ring height:
And hark! methinks I from its bosom hear,
Soft issuing sounds that steal upon the ear
And float serenely on the liquid air.

Now by degrees more bold and broad they grow,
And riot loosely thro' the aisles below;
Till the full organ lifts its utmost voice,
And my heart shudders at the powerful noise:
Like the last trump, one note is heard to sound
That all the massy pillars tremble round:
The firm fixt building shivers on its base,
And vast vibration fills th' astonish'd place:
The marble pavements seem to feel their doom,
And the bones rattle in each hollow tomb.

But now the blast harmonious dies away,
And tapers gently in a fine decay:
The melting sounds on higher pinions fly,
And seem to fall soft oozing from on high;
Like evening dew they gently spread around
And shed the sweetness of heart-thrilling sound;
'Till grown too soft, too fine for mortal ear,
The dying strains dissolve in distant air.
Methought I heard a flight of angels rise,
Most sweetly chaunting as they gain'd the skies:
Methought I heard their less'ning sound decay
And fade and melt and vanish quite away.

Hail heav'n born music! by thy pow'r we raise Th' uplifted soul to acts of highest praise; Oh! I would die with music melting round, And float to bliss upon a sea of sound.

A MORNING HYMN.

Once more the rising source of day,
Pours on the earth his genial ray:
Withdraws the starry veil of night,
And smiles on ev'ry mountain height.
Once more my soul, thy song prepare,
Thy God approach in praise and pray'r
With early voice salute the skies,
And on the lark's fleet pinions rise.
This hand did me from danger keep
When nature lay entranc'd in sleep:
When ev'ry sense forsook its post,
And reason's guardian pow'r was lost.
Soon as dark night o'erspreads the skies,
Cold mists and drowsy damps arise:
Contagious streams their confines break,
And slumber o'er the sluggish lake.
Loud shrieks the melancholy owl,

And prowling wolves through deserts howl
The fancied spectre glides the green,
And midnight murder walks unseen.
Forlorn the wearied wand'rer strays,
Lost in a labyrinthian maze;
Where'er he treads, is danger there,
And his soul sickens in despair.

Whilst slumbers soft my eye-lids close,
And golden dreams and sweet repose,
Wear the sad hours of night away,
And hasten on the cheerful day.

My God! shall not such goodness move
My soul to gratitude and love?
Or shall my heart forget to raise,
Her loud hosannahs to thy praise?

When shall my eager spirit rise,
And soar above these floating skies?
Oh! when with hosts seraphic join,
To sing thy majesty divine?

In realms where no returns of night,
Shall e'er the tim'rous soul affright?
But one eternal blaze of day,
Shines forth with unremitting ray?

AN EVENING HYMN.

At length the busy day is done,
And you bright orb, the glorious sun,
Deep in the west reclines his head,
Where misty curtains shroud his bed.

Oh! God of hosts! with this day's close,
How many sleep in death's repose?
And with the sinking sun's decline,
To thee their fleeting souls resign.
Hark! 'tis the tolling bell I hear,
And slow and dull it strikes mine ear:
E'en whilst I tune my pensive song,
The solemn fun'ral moves along.

He whom this night th' expecting tomb,
Shall wrap within its dreary gloom,
At yester-morn, devoid of care,
Up rose and breath'd the healthful air.
Gay Hope o'erlook'd the present day,
Prospects of years before him lay;
He hasten'd distant joys to meet,
Nor saw the grave yawn at his feet.
Ambition, stop thy mad career,
Look on that corse and drop a tear;
E'en when thy hand would grasp the prize,
The stroke is giv'n, and glory dies.

Let Av'rice, feeble, grey and old,
Whilst his broad palm protects his gold,
Lift up his eyes, and sighing say,
Death is a debt we all must pay.

Let thoughtless youth, too often found,
In sensual joy's enchanting round,
Behold, and as he trembling stands,
Let Pleasure's cup fall from his hands.
And thou, my soul, thy thoughts employ,
On God thy glory, wealth and joy :
Virtue alone is stable here,
Nought but religion is sincere.

When mortal pangs his frame shall seize,
And the chill'd blood begins to freeze;
When my fixt eyes must roll no more,
And life escapes thro' ev'ry pore.

Ah! what shall cheer my drooping heart?
Shall worldly honours joy impart?
Can sensual pleasure sweeten death,
Or wealth redeem one parting breath?
Therefore, my soul, thy thoughts employ,
On God, thy Glory, wealth and joy:
Virtue alone is stable here,
Nought but religion is sincere.

AN EPITAPH FOR AN INFANT.

Sleep on, sweet babe! no dreams annoy thy rest,
Thy spirit flew unsullied from thy breast:
Sleep on, sweet innocent! nor shalt thou dread
The passing storm that thunders o'er thy head:
Thro' the bright regions of yon azure sky,
A winged seraph, now she soars on high;
Or, on the bosom of a cloud reclin'd,
She rides triumphant on the rapid wind;
Or from its source pursues the radiant day;
Or on a sun-beam, smoothly glides away;
Or mounts aerial to her blest abode,
And sings, inspir'd, the praises of her God:
Unveiled thence, to her extensive eye,
Nature, and Nature's Laws, expanded lie:
Death, in one moment, taught this infant more
Than years or ages ever taught before.

A CAMP BALLAD.

Make room, oh! ye kingdoms in hist'ry renowned Whose arms have in battle with glory been crown'd,

Make room for America, another great nation,
Arises to claim in your council a station.

Her sons fought for freedom, and by their own brav'ry

Have rescued themselves from the shackles of slav'ry,

America's free, and tho' Britain abhor'd it,
Yet fame a new volume prepares to record it.
Fair freedom in Britain her throne had erected,
But her sons growing venal, and she disrespected;
The goddess offended forsook the base nation,
And fix'd on our mountains a more honour'd station.
With glory immortal she here sits enthron'd,
Nor fears the vain vengeance of Britain disown'd,
Whilst Washington guards her with heroes sur-
rounded,

Her foes shall with shameful defeat be confounded.
To arms then, to arms, 'tis fair freedom invites us;
The trumpet shrill sounding to battle excites us;
The banners of virtue unfurl'd, shall wave o'er us,
Our hero lead on, and the foe fly before us.

On Heav'n and Washington placing reliance,
We'll meet the bold Briton, and bid him defiance.
Our cause we'll support, for 'tis just and 'tis glorious
When men fight for freedom they must be vic-
torious.

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS.*
Gallants attend and hear a friend,
Trill forth harmonious ditty,
Strange things I'll tell which late befcl
In Philadelphia city.

"Twas early day, as poets say,

Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood,
And saw a thing surprising.
As in amaze he stood to gaze,

The truth can't be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor too in jerkin blue,

This strange appearance viewing, First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, "Some mischief's brewing. "These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold, Pack'd up like pickled herring; And they're come down t' attack the town, In this new way of ferrying." The soldier flew, the sailor too,

And scar'd almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cry'd, which some denied,

But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran thro' the streets half naked.

66

Sir William he, snug as a flea,

Lay all this time a snoring,

Nor dream'd of harm as he lay warm,
In bed with Mrs. Loring.
Now in a fright, he starts upright,
Awak'd by such a clatter;
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
For God's sake, what's the matter?
At his bed-side he then espy'd,

Sir Erskine at command, sir,
Upon one foot, he had one boot,
And th' other in his hand, sir.

Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries, "The rebels-more's the pity, Without a boat are all afloat, And rang'd before the city. "The motly crew, in vessels new, With Satan for their guide, sir, Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs, Come driving down the tide, sir. "Therefore prepare for bloody war,

These kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted."
The royal band now ready stand
All rang'd in dread array, sir,
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales,

With rebel trees surrounded;

'The distant woods, the hills and floods, With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,

Attack'd from ev'ry quarter;

Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay,
'Mongst folks above the water.
The kegs, 'tis said, tho' strongly made,
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conq'ring British troops, sir.
From morn to night these men of might
Display'd amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly down,
Retir'd to sup their porrage
An hundred men with each a pen,
Or more upon my word, sir,
It is most true would be too few,
Their valour to record, sir.
Such feats did they perform that day,
Against these wicked kegs, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.

THE NEW ROOF: A SONG FOR FEDERAL MECHANICS.

I.

Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools,
Your saws and your axes, your hammers and rules;
Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line,
And plenty of pins of American pine:

For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,
Our government firm, and our citizens free.

II.

Come up with the plates, lay them firm on the wall, Like the people at large, they're the ground-work of all;

a native of Philadelphia, born about 1738. He took orders in England, and became a rector of the Episcopal church in his native city. In 1771 appeared from his pen the Letters of Tamoc Caspipina, an acrostic on his designation as Assistant Minister of Christ's Church, and St. Peters, in Philadelphia, in North America.* They have reference to the English politics of the times. One of them has an allusion to Sir William Draper, who was about that time in America, urging him to a fresh encounter with his antagonist Junius, "the knight of the polished armour." The letters are addressed by Tamoc Caspipina to Right Hon. Viscounts, Lady Carolines, Lord Bishops, &c.; and give an easy account, with not too much matter, of some of the institutions of Philadelphia, a few trite moralities of religion, two or three feeble poems,

Soon, Myrtilla, must thy friend
Hasten to a distant shore, &c.,

and a passing mention of the volumes of Godfrey and Evans. In one of the letters there is a contemplation of the rising greatness of America, which is expressed in a flowing style-probably a very good specimen of the author's rhetorical manner in his sermons, which, joined to a good delivery, might readily produce the effect assigned to Duché's pulpit eloquence. This collection was several times reprinted. In an elegant edition, in two small volumes, published at Bath in England in 1777, there is an allusion to two prior ones; and there is one still later, published at London in 1791. To the Bath edition is appended, A Brief Account of the Life of William Penn, Esq., Proprietor and Governor of Pennsylvania; in which his settlement of that Province is included, and to which is added his Character.

The incidents of Duché's first services in the Continental Congress were striking. John Adams has given an account of the scene in a letter to his wife dated September 16, 1774. Duché appeared "with his clerk and his pontificals, and read several prayers in the established form, and then read the collect (psalter) for the seventh day of September, which was the thirty-fifth psalm. You must remember this was the next morning after we heard the horrible rumor of the cannonade of Boston. I never saw a greater effect upon an audience. It seems as if Heaven had ordained that psalm to be read on that morning. After this Mr. Duché, unexpectedly to everybody, struck out into an extemporary prayer, which filled the bosom of every man present. I must confess I never heard a better prayer, or one so well pronounced. Episcopalian as he is, Dr. Cooper himself never prayed with such fervor, such ardor, such earnestness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime for America, for the Congress, for the Province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially the town of Boston. It has had an excellent effect upon everybody here. I must beg you to read that psalm. If there was any faith in the Sortes Virgiliana or Sortes Ho

* Caspipina's Letters. Observations on a variety of subjects, literary, moral, and religious; in a series of original letters, written by a gentleman of foreign extraction who resided some time in Philadelphia. Philadelphia. 1774. + Graydon's Memoirs. Littell's Ed., p. 98.

mericæ, or especially in the Sortes Biblicæ, it would be thought providential. Mr. Duché is one of the most ingenious men, and best characters, and greatest orators in the Episcopal order upon this continent-yet a zealous friend of liberty and his country."

He published two revolutionary sermons, a fast sermon before Congress, and another address to the militia. The Duty of Standing Fast in our Spiritual and Temporal Liberties, was the title of his discourse preached in Christ church, July 7, 1775, before the First Battalion of the city. He addressed his audience from the text, Stand fast, therefore, in the Liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, as freemen both in the spiritual and temporal sense. It is temperate to England, but animated for independence. In one sentence he indulges in a bit of sarcasm. "We wish not to possess the golden groves of Asia, to sparkle in the public eye with jewels torn from the brows of weeping nabobs, or to riot on the spoil of plundered provinces."

The American Line, was his fast-day sermon, delivered before the honorable Continental Congress the same month, in which he looks to the past prosperity of the country and invokes its continuance. He gave the pay of his chaplaincy to the families of the Whigs slain in battle. Though a man of conscientious views, and a lover of right, his judgment unfortunately wavered from timidity or the pressure of society around him on the British occupation of Philadelphia, and he felt himself called upon to write an unfortunate letter to General Washington,* urging him to abandon the cause of Independence, which Washington prudently laid before Congress, and which Duché's brother-in-law, Francis Hopkinson, replied to with great spirit and directness.† This action caused his retirement from the country. He was well received in England, where he published two volumes of sermons in 1780, and a sermon before the Humane Society in 1781. After the war he returned to Philadelphia in 1790, where he died in 1794.

***My attachment to America, I am apt to think, in a great measure proceeds from the prospect of its growing greatness, to which every day seems more or less to contribute. In Europe, the several arts and sciences are almost arrived at their meridian of perfection; at least, new discoveries are less frequent now than heretofore. Architecture, gardening, agriculture, mechanics are at a stand. The eye is weary with a repetition of scenes, in which it discovers a perpetual sameness, though heightened by all the refinements of taste. Excellency itself, in works of human art, cloys the faculties, if the mind is not now and then relieved by objects of inferior beauty. After roving over the magnificence of churches and palaces, we are glad to fix a while upon a simple farm-house, or straw-built cottage. We feel a particular delight in tracing the windings of a beautiful river from its first springs till it empties itself into the vast ocean. The mind pursues it through an immense tract of variegated country, and

* October 8, 1777.

This letter was thought of importance enough to be published in England, in Bath, 1777, in 4to.

seems to flow and increase and widen along with it, till it loses itself in the abyss of waters.

The objects of art, as well as those of nature, in this new world, are at present in such a state, as affords the highest entertainment to these faculties of the mind. The progression is begun: here and there, in the midst of venerable woods, which, scarce a century ago, were the uncultivated haunts of roaming savages, the power of cultivation presents itself to the traveller's view, in opening lawns, covered with the richest verdure, fields of corn, orchards, gardens, and meadows fertilized by well directed streams. Hamlets, villages, and even populous cities, with their towering spires, excite our admiration. We are struck with the charm of novelty wherever we go. The comparison is always at hand-for, within the compass of a short mile, we may behold at once, nature in her original rusticity, and art rising by rapid advances to perfection.

The progress of the human mind may here likewise be observed to keep equal pace with the external improvements: the gradual polish of manners, from awkwardness itself even to courtly civility; from superstitious notions, and bigoted religious attachments, to genuine spiritual devotion, may very readily be traced by a thoughtful and inquisitive mind. All the powers of nature seem to be upon the stretch, as if they were in pursuit of something higher still, in science, in manners, in religion itself, than the mother country can afford.

Indeed, my Lord, I feel my heart expand at the immense prospect that irresistibly opens upon me. I see new kingdoms and empires rushing forth from their embryo state, eager to disclose their latent powers; whilst the old ones on the other side of the Atlantic, "hide their diminished heads," lost in a superior lustre. I see learning stripped of all scholastic pedantry, and religion restored to gospel purity. I see the last efforts of a powerful Providence exerted in order to reclaim our wandering race from the paths of ignorance and error. I see the setting rays of the Sun of Righteousness shining forth with seven-fold lustre to the utmost bourn of this Western Continent.

Wonder not then, my Lord, at my attachment to this favoured spot. I tread the hallowed soil with far higher pleasures from anticipation than your classic enthusiasts feel from reflection, whilst they kiss the floor of Tusculum, or walk the "Eternal flint by Consuls trod."

There is one thought, indeed, that throws a damp upon that ardour of joy, which such speculations generally produce in my breast. From the strange propensity of human nature to abuse the richest gifts of Providence, (of which history as well as experience affords us so many sad examples) I fear, lest the old leaven of wickedness should insinuate itself again by degrees, till it has corrupted the whole mass; lest the melancholy scenes we have beheld in the kingdoms and churches of the East should be acted over again in the West; and the declension of sound knowledge and virtuous practice, should be more rapid than their increase and advancement.

Your lordship has seen the works of the divine Herbert. You may remember how excessively fond Dr. Ry was of his poems, and how earnestly he would recommend his excellent little treatise, called The Country Parson, to all his pupils who were to be candidates for holy orders. Lest you should not have the book by you, I must beg leave to transcribe a very remarkable passage from a poem entitled The Church Militant, which, as it relates wholly to America, and breathes a kind of prophetic spirit, has generally been called "Herbert's Prophecy." The language is uncouth and the measure

far from harmonious-but there is something very striking and animated in the sentiment :

Religion stands on tip-toe in our land

Ready to pass to the American strand, &c.*

You see, my Lord, from the short sketches which I have given you, that Herbert's Prophecy, if it may be so called (though it is no more than what our schoolmen have styled reading from analogy), is fulfilling fast. Arts and religion still keep pace with each other; and 'tis not impossible, as he conjectures, that their return to the East will be the "time and place where judgement shall appear."

HENRY CRUGER.

HENRY CRUGER was the first American who sat in the British House of Commons. He was a member of a leading family in the society and politics of the colony and city of New York, and a nephew of John Cruger, mayor of New York, and speaker of the Colonial Assembly at the time of the passage of the stamp act, and a proposer, and afterwards prominent member of the first Provincial Congress held in New York, in 1765. The "Declaration of Rights" issued by that body was written by him. Henry Cruger was born in New York, in 1739, and on arriving at manhood became connected in business with his father, who had established himself at Bristol, which then held a position, in reference to American commerce, similar to that of Liverpool at the present day, and was elected mayor of the city. The father's popularity seems to have been shared by the son, as he was also chosen mayor, and in 1774 one of the two representatives of the city, in the House of Commons, his colleague being Edmund Burke.

Menbruger

The election was a sharply contested one. Burke was introduced on the hustings by Cruger, and made a brief speech, at the conclusion of which, a Mr. C is reported in the newspapers of the day to have exclaimed, "I say ditto to Mr. Burke." The story has passed into the jest books, and been fastened upon Cruger, who, as he had just before spoken, is not likely to have spoken again; or if he did, would not, as his future career shows, have expressed himself so briefly. The true author of this famous speech was a Mr. Carrington.

Cruger made his maiden speech December 16, 1774, in the debate on the Army Estimates. Josiah Quincy, Jun., was present in the gallery, and mentions the circumstance in one of his letters. A New York clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Vardell, of Trinity Church, was also an auditor, and wrote home the following enthusiastic account of the new member, in a letter, which we find printed in the Memoirs of Peter Van Schaick:

Mr. Cruger's fame has, I suppose, by this time reached his native shore. His applause has been universally sounded in this country. Administra

*See Art. Berkeley, ante, p. 169.