“And there, darling,” said Bessie, pressing | to the steps which ascended the pier. As I closer to my side, "I sat on the little crimson lifted him on to the first oozy plank the stem cushion and knew that you loved me!" of the vessel was straight above me. "The Cumberland, of Seabrink !"

"Halloa!" cried I; "what are you doing you wouldn't let me!" there, Sir ?"

He never answered a word, but running to the side of the porch jumped off among the neglected lilac bushes, and was out through a side gate before I could give the alarm. We saw him shoot like a deer down the silent, sombre street, and on Bessie's account, being unable to follow him, I ventured through the gate, shut the blinds of my old study, and having done this kindness to the stranger, again we wandered

A SOLDIER'S LETTER.

January 20, 1862.

ITH the head of a drum for my desk, I sit on a Southern slope,

WITH

While the sunlight streaks the apples that hang in the orchard hard by, And puzzle my brains over verses and many a marvelous trope,

And vainly seek inspiration from out the sky.

What can I tell you now that you have not known before?

How dearly I love you, Mary, and how hard the parting was;

And how bravely you kissed my lips when we stood at the open door,

And blessed me for going with heart and hand in the Cause.

Oh! sweet as a lily flushed with the red of the roses near

When beat by the hot, implacable sun above,

Was the hue of your angel face as tear after tear
Rose to your ivory eyelids and welled with love!

War is not quite so hard as you poor townspeople think;

We have plenty of food to eat, and a good warm blanket at night, And now and then, you know, a quiet, moderate drink:

Which doesn't hurt us, dearest, and makes things right.

But the greatest blessing of all is the total want of care;

The happy, complete reliance of the carefully-guardianed child
Who has no thought for his dinner, and is given good clothes to wear,
And whose leisure moments are with innocent sports beguiled.

The drill of the soldier is pleasant if one works with a willing heart,
It is only the worthless fellow that grumbles at double-quick;

I like the ingenious manoeuvres that constitute war an art,
And not even the cleaning of arms can make me sick.

One of the comrades five that sleep in the tent with me

Is a handsome, fair-faced boy, with curling sun-burned hair;
Like me, he has left a sweet-heart on the shore of the Northern sea,
And, like her I love, he says she also is good and fair.

So we talk of our girls at night when the other chaps are asleep-
Talk in the sacred whispers that are low with the choke of love-
And often when we are silent I think I can hear him weep,

And murmur her name in accents that croon like the nesting dove.
Then when we are out on picket, and the nights are calm and still,
When our beats lie close together, we pause and chatter the same;
And the weary hours pass swiftly, till over the distant hill
The sun comes up unclouded and fierce with flame.

The scene that I look on is lovely! The cotton-fields smooth and white,
With the bending negroes shelling the flocculent bursting pods,

And the quiet sentinels slowly pacing the neighboring height,

And now and then hidden by groups of the golden-rods.

Beautiful are the isles that mottle the slumberous bay;

Beautiful are the azure veins of the creeks;

Beautiful is the crimson that, far away,

Burns on the woods like the paint on an Indian's cheeks! Beautiful are the thoughts of the time when

Hist!

What sound is that I hear? "Tis the rifle's continuous crack!
The long roll beats to arms! I must not-can not be missed-
Dear love, I'll finish this letter when I come back.

January 30,
Don't be startled, my darling, at this handwriting not being mine:
I have been a little ill, and the comrade I spoke of before
Has kindly offered to take from my loving lips this line;

So he holds, as you see, the pen I can hold no more.

That was a skirmish that came as I wrote to you out on the hill;
We had sharp fighting a while, and I lost my arm-

There! don't cry, my darling!-it will not kill,

And other poor fellows there met greater harm.

I have my left arm still to fold you close to my heart,

All the strength of my lost one will pass into that, I know;

We will be soon together, never, never to part,

And to suffer thus for your country is bliss, not woe!

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Review had passed into the hands of Mr. Sparks, who wrote to Bryant that the time for his re

FORTY-SIX years ago, Bryant published, in venge had arrived; and he gladly availed him

the North American Review, "Thanatop- self of the opportunity to do justice to his early sis," which Christopher North says is alone suf-literary friend. The sixteenth volume of the ficient" to establish the author's claim to the Review contains an able criticism on the "Idle honors of genius." It was composed four years Man" and the "Buccaneer," which, while it prior to its publication, when its author was gives due credit to Dana, is at the same time scarcely nineteen years of age. From the date of one of the best specimens of Bryant's prose comits appearance Bryant has been before the public positions. as a poet. "Wherever English poetry is read and loved," says Hillard, "his poems are known by heart. Among American poets his name stands, if not the very first, at least among two or three foremost. Some of his pieces are perhaps greater favorites with the reading public than any others written in the United States. His 'Thanatopsis,' for example, is universally regarded as admirable in conception and exquisite in execution. Its rich and solemn melody, its almost Miltonic rhythm, its majestic imagery, its grave and impressive moral, fill the mind, move the heart, and stamp themselves forever on the memory."

Nor were the poems that followed at all discreditable to the early genius of its author. The "Inscription for an Entrance into a Wood," written in 1813, and published in the North American Review in 1817; "The Waterfowl," published in 1818; and "The Ages," delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College-all exhibit high poetic excellence. The last, composed in the grand and flexible Spencerian stanza, is his longest and best sustained effort. This poem, with several others, most of which had already appeared in the North American Review, was published in 1821, forming a small volume of forty-four pages.

Up to 1825 Bryant resided in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, chiefly engaged in the pursuit of law. At the invitation of Henry D. Sedgwick, who procured for him a position as editor of the New York Review, in conjunction with Henry J. Anderson, afterward Professor of Mathematics in Columbia College, he removed to New York and entered upon the occupation of an editor, which he has since, without intermission, continued to follow. At the house of Mr. Sedgwick Bryant was always a welcome visitor, and there became acquainted with many of the pleasantest people in the city. He here made the acquaintance of Halleck, at that time a very popular poet, and a great favorite in society. Halleck's welcome of Bryant to New York was very cordial, and the two have ever since continued warm friends.

"From what State are you?" said Mr. Sedgwick to Halleck, one day, when they were dining together in company with Bryant.

"From Connecticut,” bluffly replied Halleck. "I should never have dreamed it," responded Sedgwick (he was from New England himself). "I never met with a New Englander who had not the stamp of his nativity written upon him as plainly as the curse was impressed upon the brow of Cain."

When Bryant told this anecdote, I remarked that neither in appearance nor speech did he betray his New England origin. He replied that,

not only to avoid all provincialisms in conversation, but likewise to school his pronunciation so as to avoid all intonations peculiar to particular sections; as to the former, he could of course exercise no control.

When Bryant contributed his early poems to the North American, that periodical had not attained to the grave dignity of a Review, which it has since assumed. It was rather a magazine-in regard to the latter, he had taken great pains a large part of its contents being original articles. Its management was in the hands of a committee, for whom Richard H. Dana and Edward Tyrell Channing acted as editors. Dana was among the earliest to oppose the arbitrary dicta of Jeffrey, and to give to Wordsworth and Colcridge the position, since generally awarded, as men of genius and great poets. The views advanced by him found but little favor with the majority of the members of the committee, who relieved him from the position of chief-editor in order to bestow it upon one more conformable in criticism to the times. The selection fell upon Edward Everett.

Whether this change was attended with any personal animosity I am unable to say; but certain it is that a review of Dana's "Idle Man,” prepared by Bryant, was rejected by the committee, although Willard Philips, the able author on the Law of Insurance, and the writer of a clever review of Bryant's poems, did what he could to procure its admission.

In 1827, Dana's "Buccaneer” appeared; and in the mean time the chief editorship of the

I remarked, what is probably true, that the whole physiognomy is often changed in a thoughtful and studious man by his particular trains of thought, so that the portraits of such an one in early life bear scarce a trace of resemblance to those made in later years. This is especially the case in regard to those of Bryant, and on reflection he was disposed to admit the truthfulness of the remark.

At this time Cooper, who was just rising into popularity, lived in New York.

"Come to dine with me," said he, soon after Bryant became a resident in New York. "I live at No. 345 Greenwich Street."

"Put that down for me," said Bryant, "or I shall forget the place."

"Can't you remember three-four-five," replied Cooper, bluntly.

Bryant did remember "three-four-five,"

He dined with him according to appointment, and again met Halleck, who was the only additional guest at the table besides Cooper's immediate family.

not only for the moment, but ever afterward. in this street, and once told me how he very nearly became the cause of the death of De Witt Clinton at his own house. Morse had invited Clinton and two or three others to breakfast, and knowing his partiality for coffee, had prepared a very strong decoction, with his own hands, by the French process of infiltration, now quite common here, but at that time almost unknown. Clinton partook of it with great relish, and after complimenting Morse on the excellence of the coffee, requested a second cup, which he had scarcely swallowed before he was seized with a sense of oppression, near to fainting, and was removed from the breakfast-table to a sofa, where he slowly recovered. Not many years after he died suddenly from what was discovered to be a disease of the heart. There is no doubt but the acceleration of the heart's action, under the unusual stimulus, caused the sense of oppres sion, which, if carried slightly further, might have terminated in death.

New York was then not a large place, and its literary society was small, yet it numbered several who had already, or have since, achieved a world-wide fame. Among this little circle Gulian C. Verplanck was, by common consent, acknowledged as the leading spirit. He had shown himself to be a clever writer by two or three excellent addresses before the Historical Society, and something of a wit by a poetical satire called the "Bucktail Bards." He was, besides, a very excellent classical scholar, whose judgment was generally deferred to in case of any dispute, and withal a most genial companion. Upon the appearance of Bryant's "Ages," in 1821, Mr. Verplanck had contributed to the New York American, edited by Charles King, now President of Columbia College, a very complimentary review of it. His welcome of the author was not less cordial than his reception of the poem, and the two not only became warm friends but were associated in several literary enterprises. One of these was the "Literary Annual," in which they were joined by Robert C. Sands, who died in 1832. Among the productions of Sands was a poem entitled "Yamoyden," which contains a great number of excellent things, but by far its best portion is the proem, or introduction. Verplanck and Bryant conjointly edited the works of Sands after his death, as a fitting tribute to his memory.

One of the earliest meetings of the Sketch Club which Bryant attended was at Cole's house. The number of members at that time was some fifteen or twenty. It was the custom of the entertainer to give the artists at the moment a subject, upon which each tried his skill, while the mere amateurs watched the progress of the respective competitors. The intimacy between Bryant and Cole continued unabated until the death of the latter, when his early friend, in a handsomely written eulogy, paid a parting tribute to his memory.

Cole was of English birth, but came to this country while quite young. His youth was spent in Ohio, and he became a resident of New York about the period of his early manhood.

In addition to the literary men above-named were Hillhouse, the poet, who at that time resided in New York, and Dunlap, who was both a painter and an author, although it must be Trumbull, the painter of the four national confessed that his literary productions are rather pieces in the Rotunda of the Capitol, at Washheavy. Percival also, who then resided in Newington-one of which possessing, however, no Haven, was in the habit of visiting New York, and, although eccentric, was far from being the solitary recluse he afterward became.

mean merit, was facetiously styled by John Randolph the "shin piece"-was at the time a resi dent of New York, and the President of the While Bryant edited the New York Review Academy of Fine Arts. When he was shown there appeared in its columns poems by Willis, some of the earliest of the sketches by Cole, he who then lived at New Haven; metrical trans-remarked, “This youth has accomplished withlations by Bancroft, who had at this period not out difficulty what I have all my life been trying turned his attention to historical composition; to do." and the "Dying Raven," the first of Richard H. Dana's poetical contributions.

"In the composition of his greatest pieces," said I, on one occasion when conversing with In 1825 was founded the Sketch Club, a social | Bryant about him, "was Cole secluded or open réunion of artists, and those having a taste for to his friends?" the Fine Arts, which has continued its existence | to the present time. Among its original members Morse, Verplanck, Wier, Huntington, Ingraham, Wall, Durand, and Cummings are now living. Among those who have died are Inman, Verbruyck, Agate, and Cole. Bryant was a member of the club, and has, when in town, continued to meet with it since. He here formed the acquaintance of Cole, then in the first flush of his artistic power. Cole was at that time a becher, and lived with his father on Canal See, then a fashionable part of the city and Morse had likewise his residence

"When engaged in the conception of any important subject," replied Bryant, "he liked to be alone; but when the idea was fully developed in his own mind, he rather sought than avoided companionship. The conversation of his friends interposed no obstacle to his labors of the brush; and when he had no one to converse with, he frequently alternated his time with some book which he kept by him for the purpose, and which, by amusing him, he thought gave a more vigorous tone to his mind."

This somewhat surprised me, inasmuch as his favorite pupil, Church, frequently excluded him

self for weeks together while engaged on some | visiting Bryant, that he had greatly under-estimaster-work.

I asked Bryant if Cole was rapid in his execution. "Very much so," replied Bryant; "but he had a motto, which he invariably put into execution, and by means of which he was enabled to get through a great deal of work-that was, 'Never allow a day to pass without painting. This," continued Bryant, "was his in- Cooper, soon after Bryant came to reside in flexible rule, from which he never deviated when New York, went abroad and spent several years in health except on Sunday, for he was a reli--for the most part in France-before returning gious man, and a strict member of the Episcopal to his native land. He then selected CoopersChurch."