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but told him that he should be glad to see the cause of that revolution, and to take a walk with his friend West anywhere. The next morning he called, according to agreement, and took Mr. Adams into Hyde Park, to a spot near the Serpentine River, where he gave him the following narrative:-" The king came to the throne a young man, surrounded by flattering courtiers, one of whose frequent topics it was to declaim against the meanness of his palace, which was wholly unworthy a monarch of such a country as England. They said that there was not a sovereign in Europe who was lodged so poorly; that his sorry, dingy, old brick palace of St. James looked like a stable, and that he ought to build a palace suited to his kingdom. The king was fond of architecture, and would therefore more readily listen to suggestions which were, in fact, all true. This spot that you see here was selected for the site, between this and this point, which were marked out. The king applied to his ministers on the subject; they inquired what sum would be wanted by his majesty, who said that he would begin with a million. They stated the expenses of the war, and the poverty of the treasury, but that his majesty's wishes should be taken into full consideration. Some time afterwards, the king was informed that the wants of the treasury were too urgent to admit of a supply from their present means, but that a revenue might be raised in America to supply all the king's wishes. This suggestion was followed up, and the king was in this way first led to consider, and then to consent to, the scheme for taxing the colonies."

FRANCIS S. KEY, 1779-1843.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY, the son of an officer in the army of the Revolution, was born in Frederick County, Maryland, August 1, 1779. He studied law, and in 1801 established himself in his profession at Fredericktown; but, after a few years, he removed to Washington, D. C., and became District-Attorney for the city, where he lived till his death, January 11, 1843.

A small volume of Mr. Key's poems was published, with an introductory letter by Chief-Justice Taney, in 1857. Besides that stirring national song by which he is chiefly known, it contains many pieces of very great beauty.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.1

I.

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hail'd, at the twilight's last gleaming?

1 In 1814, when the British fleet was at the mouth of the Potomac River, and intended to attack Baltimore, Mr. Key and Mr. Skinner were sent in a vessel with

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming;
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
Oh, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

II.

On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner; oh, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

III.

And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore

That the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more?

Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution;
No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

IV.

Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust;"

a flag of truce to obtain the release of some prisoners the English had taken in their expedition against Washington. They did not succeed, and were told that they would be detained till after the attack had been made on Baltimore. Accordingly, they went in their own vessel, strongly guarded, with the British fleet as it sailed up the Patapsco; and when they came within sight of Fort McHenry, a short distance below the city, they could see the American flag distinctly flying on the ramparts. As the day closed in, the bombardment of the fort commenced, and Mr. Key and Mr. Skinner remained on deck all night, watching with deep anxiety every shell that was fired. While the bombardment continued, it was sufficient proof that the fort had not surrendered. It suddenly ceased some time before day; but as they had no communication with any of the enemy's ships, they did not know whether the fort had surrendered, or the attack upon it had been abandoned. They paced the deck the rest of the night in painful suspense, watching with intense anxiety for the return of day. At length the light came, and they saw that "our flag was still there," and soon they were informed that the attack had failed. In the fervor of the moment, Mr. Key took an old letter from his pocket, and on its back wrote the most of this celebrated song, finishing it as soon as he reached Baltimore. He showed it to his friend Judge Nicholson, who was so pleased with it that he placed it at once in the hands of the printer, and in an hour after it was all over the city, and hailed with enthusiasin, and took its place at once as a national song.

And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Of Mr. Key's sacred lyrics there are two-exquisite little gems-that should be found in every collection of American poetry.

LIFE.

If life's pleasures cheer thee,
Give them not thy heart,
Lest the gifts ensnare thee
From thy God to part:

His praises speak, his favor seek,
Fix there thy hopes' foundation;
Love him, and he shall ever be
The rock of thy salvation.

If sorrow e'er befall thee,
Painful though it be,
Let not fear appall thee:
To thy Saviour flee:

He, ever near, thy prayer will hear,
And calm thy perturbation;

The waves of woe shall ne'er o'erflow
The rock of thy salvation.

Death shall never harm thee,

Shrink not from his blow,
For thy God shall arm thee,
And victory bestow:

For death shall bring to thee no sting,
The grave no desolation;

'Tis gain to die, with Jesus nigh,

The rock of thy salvation.

HYMN.

Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise thee
For the bliss thy love bestows,
For the pardoning grace that saves me,
And the peace that from it flows.
Help, O God! my weak endeavor,
This dull soul to rapture raise;
Thou must light the flame, or never
Can my love be warm'd to praise.

Praise, my soul, the God that sought thee,
Wretched wanderer, far astray;
Found thee lost, and kindly brought thee
From the paths of death away.
Praise, with love's devoutest feeling,
Him who saw thy guilt-born fear,

And, the light of hope revealing,

Bade the blood-stain'd cross appear.

Lord! this bosom's ardent feeling
Vainly would my lips express;
Low before thy footstool kneeling,
Deign thy suppliant's prayer to bless.
Let thy grace, my soul's chief treasure,
Love's pure flame within me raise;
And, since words can never measure,
Let my life show forth thy praise.

JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.

JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM, one of the most prominent journalists of New England, was born at Windham, Connecticut, on the 21st of December, 1779. After working upon a farm till he was sixteen years old, he obtained a situation in the printing-office of David Carlisle, the publisher of "The Farmer's Museum," at Walpole, N. H.; which he left in a few months, and apprenticed himself in the office of the "Greenfield Gazette."

In 1800, he went to Boston, and in 1805 he commenced the publication, on his own account, of a magazine, under the title of The Polyanthos. It was suspended in 1807, resumed in 1812, and continued till 1815. In January, 1809, he published the first number of The Ordeal, a political weekly, of sixteen pages, octavo, which was discontinued in six months. In 1817, he commenced, with Samuel L. Knapp, a lawyer of Boston, a weekly paper, entitled The New England Galaxy and Masonic Magazine, which was conducted with great spirit, talent, and independence, and obtained a large circulation. In 1828, he sold it in order to devote his entire attention to "The Boston Courier," a daily paper which he had commenced in March, 1824. He continued to edit the "Courier" with great ability till 1848, when he sold out his interest in this also.

In 1831, Mr. Buckingham commenced, in conjunction with his son Edwin, The New England Magazine,—a monthly of ninety-six pages, octavo, and one of the best of its class ever published in our country, containing articles by some of the best writers and most popular authors of the day. In less than two years his son Edwin died at sea, in a voyage undertaken for the benefit of his health; and, in 1834, the magazine was transferred to Dr. Samuel G. Howe and John O. Sargent.

Mr. Buckingham was a member of the Massachusetts House of Representatives for seven years, (four from Boston and three from Cambridge,) and of the Senate four years from Middlesex County. Since he retired from the press, he has published Specimens of Newspaper Literature, with Personal Memoirs, Anecdotes, and Reminiscences, in two volumes, and Personal Memoirs and Recollections of Editorial Life, also in two volumes. These are very interesting and instructive books, and give us a high opinion of the author, as an industrious and upright man, never discouraged by difficulties; as a writer of pure and nervous English; and as an editor, truthful, independent, courageous, and loving the right more than the expedient. As a legislator, Mr. Buckingham did himself lasting honor by the re

ports he presented as chairman of committees on Lotteries, on the Mexican War, on the Fugitive Slave Bill, and on many other questions of public interest.

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The incidents of the last few days have been such as will probably never again be witnessed by the people of America,—such as were never before witnessed by any nation under heaven. History cannot produce the record of an event to parallel that which has awakened this universal burst of pleasure, this simultaneous shout of approbation, that echoes through our wideextended empire.

The multitudes we see are not assembled to talk over their private griefs, to indulge in querulous complaints, to mingle their murmurs of discontent, to pour forth tales of real or imaginary wrongs, to give utterance to political recriminations. The effervescence of faction seems for the moment to be settled, the collision of discordant interests to subside, and hushed is the clamor of controversy. There is nothing portentous of danger to the commonwealth in this general awakening of the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the old and the young,-this "impulsive ardor" which pervades the palace of wealth and the hovel of poverty, decrepit age and lisping infancy, virgin loveliness and vigorous manhood. No hereditary monarch graciously exhibits his august person to the gaze of vulgar subjects. No conquering tyrant comes in his triumphal car, decorated with the spoils of vanquished nations, and followed by captive princes, marching to the music of their chains. No proud and hypocritical hierarch, playing "fantastic airs before high Heaven," enacts his solemn mockeries to deceive the souls of men and secure for himself the honor of an apotheosis. The shouts which announce the approach of a chieftain are unmingled with any note of sorrow. No lovelorn maiden's sigh touches his ear; no groan from a childless father speaks reproach; no widow's curse is uttered, in bitterness of soul, upon the destroyer of her hope; no orphan's tear falls upon his shield to tarnish its brightness. The spectacle now exhibited to the world is of the purest and noblest character,-a spectacle which man may admire and God approve,—an assembled nation offering the spontaneous homage of a nation's gratitude to a nation's benefactor.

There is probably no man living whose history partakes so largely of the spirit of romance and chivalry as that of the individual who is now emphatically the guest of the people. At the age of nineteen years, he left his country and espoused the cause of the American colonies. His motive for this conduct must have been one of the noblest that ever actuated the heart of man. He

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