by the name of the Company of the Redwood Library, in honor of its leading benefactor. Henry Collins gave the lot of land on which the building now stands, and the wealthy citizens of the place subscribed five thousand pounds. The library building was commenced in 1748, and completed in 1750. The plan of the building, which was furnished by Joseph Harrison, who had been engaged at Blenheim, has been much admired for its simple Doric elegance; the wings on either side, which interfere with its proportions, not belonging to the original conception.

The Redwood Library.

Abraham Redwood had removed to Newport from Antigua. He possessed great wealth, liberally expending it for charitable objects. He was a member of the Society of Friends. He died at Newport in 1788, in the seventy-ninth year of his age.

Callender, the author of the Centennial Historical Discourse of Rhode Island, was one of the members of the Society. Dr. Stiles, during his residence on the island, consulted its literary treasures, then rare in the country, and procured additional volumes for its shelves. Channing has recorded his debt of gratitude to its stores in the culture of his youthful powers. "I had," he says, "no professor or teacher to guide me, but I had two noble places of study. One was yonder beautiful edifice, now so frequented and so useful as a public library, then so deserted that I spent day after day, and sometimes week after week, amidst its dusty volumes, without interruption from a single visitor. The other place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so often mingled with the worship of this place, my daily resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more attractive in the storm."*

The library suffered somewhat in the Revolution, the British troops at their departure carrying off some of the finest works. There are now between six and seven thousand volumes. The late Judah Touro, a native of Newport, bequeathed three thousand dollars to the library company. It has received, from time to time, other valuable donations, including the folio collection of the English Historical Records, and gifts of land from Solomon Southwick, of Albany, in 1813, and from

Discourse at Newport, Works, iv. 337.

Abraham Redwood, of England, in 1834. The Baron Hottinguer, the Parisian banker, connected by marriage with the Redwood family, in 1837, gave a thousand francs for the restoration of the building.*

JONATHAN MITCHEL SEWALL

THE couplet,

No pent-up Utica contracts your powers,
But the whole boundless continent is yours,

is far better known than the poem of which it forms a part.† than the remaining writings, or than even the name of its author, Jonathan Mitchel Sewall. It is a name that should be better known and cherished, for it was borne by one whose lyrics warmed the patriotism and cheered the hearts of the soldiers of the Revolution in the perils of the battle and the privations of the

camp.

Sewall was born at the old town of Salem, Mass., in 1748. He was adopted at an early age, on the death of his parents, by his uncle, Stephen Sewall, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts; and after passing through Harvard College, devoted himself to merchandise, a pursuit which he soon abandoned for the study and practice of the law. In 1774 he was Register of Probate for Grafton county, N. H. He afterwards removed to Portsmouth in the same state, where he resided until his death, March 29, 1808.

He published a collection of his poems in a small volume, in 1801. They are for the most part the productions of his youth, and consist of paraphrases of Ossian, patriotic odes, epilogues, and a few epigrams. His War and Washington was composed at the beginning of the American Revolution, and sung by the army in all parts of the country.

The couplet we have quoted is found in an epilogue to the tragedy of Cato, written in 1778. It is occupied by a parallel between the scenes and characters which have just passed before the spectators' eyes and those in which author and audience were alike participants.

EPILOGUE TO CATO. Written in 1778.

You see mankind the same in ev'ry age:
Heroic fortitude, tyrannic rage,
Boundless ambition, patriotic truth,
And hoary treason, and untainted youth,
Have deeply mark'd all periods, and all climes:
The noblest virtues, and the blackest crimes!

Britannia's daring sins, and virtues both, Perhaps once mark'd the Vandal and the Goth. And what now gleams with dawning ray at home, Once blaz'd in full-orb'd majesty at ROME

Did Cæsar, drunk with pow'r, and madly brave, Insatiate burn, his country to enslave? Did he for this lead forth a servile host, And spill the choicest blood that Rome could boast. Our British Caesar too has done the same, And damn'd this age to everlasting fame.

Jewett's Public Libraries, pp. 48-53. Elton's Memoir of Callender. Mason's Newport Illustrated.

+ It was brought into vogue, with a slight change, as the motto of Park Benjamin's newspaper, the New World.

Miscellaneous Poems, with several specimens from the Author's Manuscript version of the Poems of Ossian, by J. M. Sewall, Esq., Portsmouth. Printed by William Treadwell & Co. for the Author, 1801.

Columbia's crimson'd fields still smoke with gore!
Her bravest heroes cover all the shore!
The flow'r of Britain too in martial bloom,
In one sal year sent headlong to the tomb!

Did Ro ne's brave senate nobly strive t' oppose
The mighty torre it of domestic foes?
And boldly arm the virtuous few, and dare
The desp'rate perils of unequal war?

Our se ate, too, the same bold deed has done,
And for a CATO, arm'd a WASHINGTON!
A chief in all the ways of battle skill'd,
Great in the con cil, glorious in the field!
Thy scourge, O Britain! and Columbia's boast,
The dread, a id admiration of each host!
Whose martial arm, and steady soul, alone
Have male thy legions quake, thy empire groan,
Aid thy pol monarch tremble on his throne.
What now thou art, oh, ever may'st thou be,
And death the lot of any chief bit thee!
We've had our Decius too, and Howe can say
Health, pardon, peace, GEORGE se ids America!
Yet brings destruction for the olive-wreath,
For health conatag o 1, and for pardon death.
In brave FAYER E young JUBA lives again,
And many a MARCUS bleeds on yonder plain.
Like POMPEY, WARREN fell in martial pride.
And great MONTGOMERY like Scipio dy'd!
In GREEN the hero, patriot, sage we see,
And Lucius, JUBA, CATO, shine in thee!
When Rome receiv'd her last decisive blow,
Hadst thou, im nortal GATES, been Cæsar's foe,
All-perfect discipline had check'd his sway,
And thy superior conduct won the day.
Freedom hal triumph'd on Pharsalian ground,
Nor Saratog i's heights been more renown'd!
Long as heroic deeds the soul enflame,
Eternal praise bold STARK will ever claim,
Who led thy glorious way, and gave thee half thy

fame.

See persevering ARNOLD proudly scale
Canadia's alpine hills, a second HANNIBAL!
In Caesar's days had such a daring mind
With WASHINGTON's serenity been join'd,
The tyrant the had bled, great Cato liv'd,
And Rome in all her majesty surviv'd.
What praise, what gratitude, are due to thee,
Oh brave, experie.ic'd, all-accomplish'd LEE?
The sword, the pen, thou dost alternate wield,
Nor JULIUS' self to thee would blush to yield.
And while SEMPRONIUS' bellowings stun the ear,
I see the traitor CHURCH his thunders hear.

But all was false, and hollow, tho' his tongue
Dropt manna," with the garb of reason hung.
Ere long the wily SYPHAX may advance,
And AFRIC faith be verify'd in FRANCE.
How long, deluded by that faithless pow'r,
Will ye dream on, nor seize the golden hour?
In vain do ye rely on foreign aid,

By her own arm and heaven's Columbia must be freed.

Rise then, my countrymen! for fight prepare,
Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war!
For your griev'd country nobly dare to die,
And empty all your veins for LIBERTY.
No pent-up Utica contracts your pow'rs,
But the whole boundless continent is yours!

Rouse up, for shame! your brethren slain in

war,

Or groaning now in ignominious bondage,
Point at their wounds and chains, and cry aloud
To battle! WASHINGTON impatient mourns
His scanty legions, and demands your aid.
Intrepid LEE still clanks his galling fetters!
MONTGOMERY complains that we are slow!
And WARREN's ghost stalks unreveng'd among us!"

EULOGY ON LAUGHING.

Delivered at an Exhibition by a Young Lady.
Like merry Momus, while the Gods were quaffing,
I come to give an eulogy on laughing!
True, courtly Chesterfield, with critic zeal,
Asserts that laughing's vastly ungenteel!
The boist'rous shake, he says, distorts fine faces,
And robs each pretty feature of the graces!
But yet this paragon of perfect taste,
On other topics was not over-charte;
He like the Pharisees in this appears,
They ruin'd widows, but they made long pray'rs.
Tithe, anise, mint, they zealously affected:
But the law's weightier matters lay neglected;
And while an insect strains their squeamish caul,
Down goes a monstrous camel-bunch and all!

Yet others, quite as sage, with warmth dispute
Man's risibles distinguish him from brute;
While instinct, reasoa, both in common own,
To laugh is man's prerogative alone!

Hail, rosy la gliter! thou deserv'st the bays!
Come, with thy dimples, animate these lays,
Whilst universal peals attest thy praise.
Daughter of Joy! thro' thee we health attain,
When Esculapian recipes are vain.

Let sentimentalists ring in our ears
The tender joy of grief-the luxury of tears—
Heraclitus may whine-and oh! and ah!-
I like an honest, hearty, ha, hah, hah!
It makes the wheels of nature gliblier play;
Dull care suppresses; smooths life's thorny way;
Propels the dancing current thro' each vein;
Braces the nerves; corroborates the brain;
Shakes ev'ry muscle, and throws off the spleen.
Old Homer makes yon tenants of the skies,
His Gods love laughing as they did their eyes!
It kept them in good humour, hush'd their squabbles,
As froward children are appeas'd by baubles;
Ev'n Jove the thund'rer dearly lov'd a laugh,
When, of fine nectar, he had taken a quafi!
It helps digestion when the feast runs high,
And dissipates the fumes of potent Burgundy.

But, in the main, tho' laughing I approve,
It is not ev'ry kind of laugh I love;
For many laughs e'en candor must condemn!
Some are too full of acid, some of phlegin;
The loud horse-laugh (improperly so styld),
The ideot simper, like the slumb'ring child,
Th' affected laugh, to show a dimpled chin,
The sneer contemptuous, and broad vacant grin,
Are despicable all, as Strephon's smile,
To show his ivory legions, rank and file.

The honest laugh, unstudied, unacquir'd,
By nature prompted, and true wit inspir'd,
Such as Quin felt, and Falstaff knew before,
When humor set the table on a roar;
Alone deserves th' applauding muse's grace!
The rest is all contortion and grimace.
But you exclaim, "Your Eulogy's too dry;
Leave dissertation and exemplify!
Prove, by experiment, your maxims true;
And, what you praise so highly make us do."
In troth I hop'd this was already done,
And Mirth and Momus had the laurel won!
Like honest Hodge, unhappy should I fail,
Who to a crowded audience told his tale,
And laugh'd and snigger'd all the while himself
To grace the story, as he thought, poor elf!
But not a single soul his suffrage gave-
While each long phiz was serious as the grave!
Laugh! laugh! cries Hodge, laugh loud! (no
halfing)

I thought you all, e'er this, would die with laughing!
This did the feat; for, tickled at the whim,
A burst of laughter, like the electric beam,

Shook all the audience-but it was at him!
Like Hodge, should ev'ry stratagem and wile
Thro' my long story, not excite a smile,
I'll bear it with becoming modesty;

But should my feeble efforts move your glee,
Laugh, if you fairly can-but not at ME!

WAR AND WASHINGTON.

A Song, Composed at the beginning of the American
Revolution.

Vain BRITONS, boast no longer with proud indignity,

By land your conqu'ring legions, your matchless

strength at sea,

Since we, your braver sons incens'd, our swords have girded on,

Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza, for WAR and WASHINGTON.

Urg'd on by NORTH and vengeance those valiant champions came,

Loud bellowing Tea and Treason and George was all on flame,

Yet sacrilegious as it seems, we rebels still live on, And laugh at all their empty puffs, huzza for WASHINGTON !

Still deaf to mild entreaties, still blind to England's good,

You have for thirty pieces betray'd your country's blood.

Like Esop's greedy cur you'll gain a shadow for your bone,

Yet find us fearful shades indeed, inspir'd by WASHINGTON.

Mysterious! unexampled! incomprehensible! The blund'ring schemes of Britain their folly, pride, and zeal,

Like lions how ye growl and threat! mere asses have you shown,

And shall share an ass's fate, and drudge for ye WASHINGTON !

Your dark, unfathom'd councils our weakest heads defeat,

Cur children rout your armies, our boats destroy your fleet,

And to complete the dire disgrace, coop'd up within

a town,

You live, the scorn of all our host, the slaves of WASHINGTON !

Fir'd with the great idea, our Fathers' shades would rise,

To view the stern contention, the gods desert their skies.

And WOLFE, 'midst hosts of heroes, superior bending down,

Cry out with eager transport, GOD SAVE GREAT WASHINGTON!

Should GEORGE, too choice of Britons, to foreign realms apply,

And madly arm half Europe, yet still we would defy Turk, Hessian, Jew, and Infidel, or all those pow'rs

in one,

While ADAMS guides our senate, our camp great WASHINGTON!

Should warlike weapons fail us, disdaining slavish fears,

To swords we'll beat our ploughshares, our pruninghooks to spears,

And rush, all desp'rate! on our foe, nor breathe 'till battle won,

Then shout, and shout AMERICA! and conqu'ring WASHINGTON !

Proud FRANCE should view with terror, and haughty SPAIN revere,

While ev'ry warlike nation would court alliance here. Aud GEORGE, his minions trembling round, dismounting from his throne

Pay homage to AMERICA and glorious WASHING TON!

HUGH HENRY BRACKENRIDGE,

THE democratic politician and judge, eminent for his social wit, and the author of one of the finest political satires which the country has produced, was born in the year 1748 near Campbelton, in Scotland. He was brought by his father, a poor farmer, to America, when he was five years old. The family settled down on a small lease farm, in York county, Pennsylvania, west of the Susquehannah, on the borders of Maryland. The difficulties of his position did partly from the country school, but mainly from not prevent the youth securing a good education, an intelligent and painstaking clergyman of the region, who gave him some lessons in Latin and Greek. The mother encouraged the bookish efforts of her son, who would travel during the

arms were hurl'd,

thirty miles, to secure a volume or a newspaper. A copy of Horace, of which he came into pos session, he left one day in the field, when it was munched by a cow. Meeting with a young man possessed of some knowledge of mathematics, he exchanged with him his Latin and Greek for that acquisition. At the age of fifteen he applied for the situation of teacher at a free school in Maryland, and secured the position. His juvenile years exposed him to some opposition from his older pupils, one of whom resisted his authority by force. Brackenridge seized a brand from the fire, knocked the rebel down, and spread terror around him."* With the small means which he laid up in this employment, he made his way to the college at Princeton, then under the charge of President Witherspoon. Ile was adinitted, and supported himself in the higher classes by

66

We are indebted for this, as for the other anecdotes in this account, to the Biographical Notice by 11. M. Brackenridge, of Pittsburgh, appended to the edition of Modern Chivalry, of 1846.

teaching the lower. His name appears on the list of graduates in 1771, with Gunning Bedford, Samuel Spring, James Madison, and Philip Freneau. In conjunction with the last, he delivered at the Cominencement a poem in dialogue between Acasto and Eugenio, on the Rising Glory of America, which was published the next year in Philadelphia.* The part which he wrote is easily separated, since Freneau afterwards published his portion separately in the The verse of edition of his poems in 1795. Brackenridge is smooth and glowing, and is tinctured with a grave religious tone.

Brackenridge continued a tutor in the college after taking his first degree, and studied divinity. He was licensed to preach, though not ordained, and undertook, at a profitable remuneration, for several years, the charge of an academy in Maryland.

His patriotic feeling on the breaking out of the Revolution induced him to prepare a dramatic production, entitled Bunker's Hill, which was recited by his pupils. It was published in 1776,† with a dedication "to Richard Stockton, Esq., Member of the Honorable the Continental Congress, for the state of New Jersey." It has a Prologue spoken "by a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Continental ariny," and an Epilogue, "written by a gentleman of the army, supposed to be spoken immediately after the battle, by Lieutenant-Col. Webb, aide-de-camp to General Putnam." dramatis persona are Warren, Putnam, and Gardiner, for the American officers; Gage, Howe, Burgoyne, Clinton, and Lord Pigot, for the BriWarren tish. There is no lady in the case.

The

Who never yet, of luxury, or soft

Delights, effeminate and false, have tasted.
But, through hate of chains, and slav'ry, suppos'd,
Forsake their mountain tops, and rush to arms.
Oft have I heard their valour published:
Their perseverance, and untameable.

Fierce mind, when late they fought with us, and drove

The French, encroaching on their settlements,
Back to their frozen lakes. Or when with us
On Cape Breton, they stormed Louisburg.
With us, in Canada, they took Quebec;
And at the Havannah, these NEW ENGLAND MEN,
Led on by PUTNAM, acted gallantly.

The assault is made, and Warren falls. This
is a portion of his dying speech :----
Weep not for him who first espous'd the cause
And risking life, have met the enemy,
In fatal opposition. But rejoice-
For now I go to mingle with the dead,
Great Brutus, Hampden, Sidney, and the rest,
Of old or modern memory, who liv'd,
A mound to tyrants, and strong hedge to kings;
Bounding the indignation of their rage
Against the happiness and peace of man.
I see these heroes, where they walk serene,
By chrystal currents, on the vale of Heaven,
High in full converse of immortal acts,
Achiev'd for truth and innocence on earth.
Meantime the harmony and thrilling sound
Of mellow lutes, sweet viols and guitars,
Dwell on the soul, and ravish ev'ry nerve.
Anon the murmur of the tight-brac'd drum,
With finely varied fifes to martial airs,
Wind up the spirit to the mighty proof
Of siege and battle, and attempt in arms.
Illustrious group! They beckon me along,
To ray my visage with immortal light,
And bind the amaranth around my brow.
I come, I come, ye first-born of true fame;
Fight on, my countrymen; BE free, be free.

Appended to the Poem are the two following Lyrics:

AN ODE ON THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S-HILL. Sung and acted by a Soldier, in a Military Habit, with his Firelock, &c., in the same Measure with a Seapiece, entitled the Tempest.

66

'Cease, rude BOREAS, blustering railer."

The curling volumes all behind them,
Dusky clouds of smoke arise;

Our cannon-balls, brave boys, shall find them,
At each shot a hero dies.

Once more, WARREN, 'midst this terror,
Charge, brave soldiers, charge again;
Many an expert vet'ran warrior
Of the enemy is slain.

Level well your charged pieces,

In direction to the town;

They shake, they shake, their lightning ceases; That shot brought six standards down."

III.

Maids in virgin beauty blooming,
On Britannia's sea-girt isle,
Say no more your swains are coming,
Or with songs the day beguile.
For sleeping found in death's embraces,
On their clay-cold beds they lie;
Death, grim death, alas, defaces

Youth and pleasure, which must die.
"March the right wing, Gard'ner, yonder;
The hero spirit lives in thunder;
Take th' assailing foe in flank,

Close there, serjeants, close that rank. The conflict now doth loudly call on Highest proof of martial skill; Heroes shall sing of them, who fall on The slipp'ry brow of BUNKER'S HILL."

IV.

Unkindest fortune, still thou changest,

As the wind upon the wave;
The good and bad alike thou rangest,
Undistinguish'd in the grave.
Shall kingly tyrants see thee smiling,
Whilst the brave and just must die;
Them of sweet hope and life beguiling
In the arms of victory.
"Behave this day, my lads, with spirit,
Wrap the hill top as in flame;
Oh! if we fall, let each one merit
Immortality in fame.

From this high ground, like Vest.v'us,
Pour the floods of fire along;
Let not, let not numbers move us,
We are yet five hundred strong."

V.

Many a widow sore bewailing

Tender husbands, shall remain, With tears and sorrows, unavailing,

From this hour to mourn them slain. The rude scene striking all by-standers, Bids the little band retire;

Who can live like salamanders,

In such floods of liquid fire?
"Ah, our troops are sorely pressed-
Howe ascends the smoky hill;

Wheel inward, let these ranks be faced,
We have yet some blood to spill.
Our right wing push'd, our left surrounded,
Weight of numbers five to one;
WARREN dead, and GARD'NER Wounded-
Ammunition is quite gone."

VI.

See the steely points, bright gleaming
In the sun's fierce dazzling ray;
Groans arising, life-blood streaming,
Purple o'er the face of day.
The field is cover'd with the dying,
Free-men mixt with tyrants lie,
The living with each other vieing,
Raise the shout of battle high.

Now brave PUTNAM, aged soldier:
"Come, my vet'rans, we must yield;
More equal match'd, we'll yet charge bolder,
For the present quit the field.

The God of battles shall revisit

On their heads each soul that dies;

Take courage, boys, we yet shan't miss it,
From a thousand victories."

A MILITARY SONG, BY THE ARMY, ON GENERAL WASHINGTON'S VICTORIOUS ENTRY INTO THE TOWN OF BOSTON.

Sons of valor, taste the glories

Of celestial Liberty;

Sing a triumph o'er the Tories,
Let the pulse of joy beat high.
Heaven, this day, hath foil'd the many
Fallacies of George their king;
Let the echo reach Britany,

Bid her mountain summits ring.

See yon navy swell the bosom
Of the late enraged sea;
Where-e'er they go we shall oppose them,
Sons of valour must be free.

Should they touch at fair RHODE-ISLAND,
There to combat with the brave;
Driven from each hill and high-land,
They shall plough the purple wave.
Should they thence to fair VIRGINY
Bend a squadron to DUNMORE;
Still with fear and ignominy,

They shall quit the hostile shore.
TO CAROLINA or to GEORGY,
Should they next advance their fame,
This land of heroes shall disgorge the
Sons of tyranny and shame.

Let them rove to climes far distant,
Situate under Arctic skies,
Call on Hessian troops assistant,
And the savages to rise

Boast of wild brigades from Russia,
To fix down the galling chain;
Canada and Nova Scotia

Shall discharge these hordes again.

In New York state, rejoined by CLINTON,
Should their standards mock the air,
Many a surgeon shall put lint on

Wounds of death, received there.

War, fierce war, shall break their forces,
Nerves of Tory men shall fail,
Seeing Howe with alter'd courses,
Bending to the western gale.
Thus, from every bay of ocean,
Flying back, with sails unfurl'd;
Tost with ever-troubl'd motion,

They shall quit this smiling world.
Like Satan, banished from HEAVEN,
Never see the smiling shore,
From this land so happy, driven,
Never stain its bosom more.

On going to Philadelphia in 1776, Brackenridge supported himself by editing the United States Magazine, a periodical of which an anecdote of his editorship is given by his son. "At one time the magazine contained some severe strictures on the celebrated General Lee, and censured him for his conduct to Washington. Lee, in a rage, called at the office, in company with one or two of his