plications of his genius that would every where greetence. Strange that now for the first time we are furhis eye-the various and splendid forms in which he would see his indignant verse embalmed. Little could he have imagined that centuries after his corporeal part had verified his own remark about the ashes of the dead-whether of the great or the humble-his mind would be pervading worlds he never dreamt of in his finest phrenzy-would be infusing itself day after day into the thoughts of millions

Omnibus in terris quæ sunt a Gadibus usque
Auroram et Gangem,

nished with a fitting memoir of a man "who, whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do," who, "whether we take him as a poet, a comic writer, or as an historian, stands in the first class"-encomiums that Dr. Johnson uttered, and that few will have the hardihood to gainsay. The reading world owe a deep debt of gratitude to Mr. Prior, who has at. length erected a monument to him not unworthy of his fame. The volume bears conclusive marks of its author's having addressed himself to his task, con amore, with the fullest conviction of its interest and importance, and not only "a Gadibus," but from a much more occi- and a strenuous resolve to spare no pains to accomdental quarter of the globe. Little could he have ima- plish it in a mode equally creditable to himself and gined the wonders that were to be worked by an in- satisfactory with regard to its subject. The main fault significant piece of lead! And could his compeer, to to be found with it is ascribable to the very circumwhom I have alluded-could admirable Flaccus have stance of his fondness for the theme, and desire to do seen with his blear eye the shadows of coming events, it the amplest justice. It is loaded with too many dewith how much intenser exultation might he have em- tails of a trivial character, which induce at times a senblazoned his "monumentum ære perennius!" With ex-sation of fatigue that a little exercise of discriminating cellent reason in that case might he have requested judgment would have prevented. Le superflus is not "unborn ages" to do him the favor not to "crowd upon always a chose très necessaire; in spite of the homelihis soul," as was asked of them by a subsequent bard.ness of its dress, the maxim that "enough's as good as "Visions of glory spare my aching sight," would have a feast," is better philosophy, at least in book-making. been extorted beyond question from his lips, or “something to that effect."

Mr. Prior's vision seems to have become so much absorbed with his enterprise, that every thing connected with it in the slightest degree was magnified to a value scarce inferior to that of the most important facts. All seems infected that the infected spy, is an observation as true in a good as in a bad sense. Whatever costs us labor to obtain, as many of his trivia appear to have cost our author, we naturally are tempted to estimate in proportion to the trouble experienced.

It is marvellous, Mr. Editor, that with the diffusion of such works as his and his equals, such an immense quantity of trash should not only be written but read. (I hope you don't think I am furnishing an instance of the melancholy truth I speak of) If the chaff were winnowed from the wheat-"my conscience!"-where would be all the crop? Truly, I am very much afraid, that the literary bread on which we are mostly fed at What an evidence does this memoir give us of the present, is nearly all bran-and though bran bread, as truth of Johnson's complaint, "slow rises worth by it is called, with a due proportion of pure flour, may be poverty depressed"-what a picture does it present of wholesome for dyspeptic stomachs, it is to be appre- the indomitable spirit of genius struggling against the hended that when there is scarcely any thing but bran, perversity of fortune-and how striking is the contrast the strongest constitutions must be damaged. Every it exhibits between the career of a votary of literature now and then, however, we do get a loaf which may a few years ago and that of one at the present day! be eaten with infinite relish and benefit; and such a How many writers who will only be remembered by one is a volume I have just devoured, for which we are posterity when Oliver Goldsmith is forgotten, and not indebted to Mr. Prior, one of the most useful bakers, until then, receive thousands as a remuneration for their or best bred authors of the day. I refer to his biogra-fadaises, where he got scarcely hundreds for these perphy, lately published, of him who “nihil tetigit quod fect effusions, which men will never willingly let die. non ornavit." Who has written more delicious poetry If any of our novelists would bear in mind the paltry than Oliver Goldsmith? Who has written a more ad-sum that the inimitable and immortal Vicar obtained, mirable comedy and fiction than Oliver Goldsmith? he might be made almost ashamed to take the moneys Who has written more entertaining and instructive essays than Oliver Goldsmith? Who has written on a greater variety of themes, and written on them all more delightfully than Oliver Goldsmith? Whose wit is more exquisite-whose humor more natural and ir-heavy reading. resistible-whose sentiments more beautiful and just- Mr. Prior is particularly solicitous to do away the whose philosophy more genial-whose style more chaste, more perspicuous, more elegant, more worthy of the epithet simplex munditiis? Whose productions, in short, if lost, would be more extensively and sincerely regretted? for whose have imparted more general or more real satisfaction? To laud them now would indeed be the wasteful and ridiculous excess of adding perfume to the violet, but it is a pleasure to pour forth a tribute of grateful admiration to one who has contributed so much to our instruction and amusement-who has given so many happy beneficial hours to our exist

which his perishable creations, or rather compounds, produce. Intellect is certes not, like beauty, "purchased by the weight." Au contraire-unless indeed in the sense that light writing is (or ought to be) very

prevalent notion, that Goldsmith was a person, of whom
it might be declared, "he never wrote a foolish thing
and never said a wise one"-an idea which Boswell, in
an especial manner, has conveyed, and which Garrick's
epitaph upon him,

Here lies poet Goldsmith, called commonly Noll,
Who wrote like an angel and talked like poor Poll,

has certainly done nothing to remove. But Mr. Prior's
success in this matter is not commensurate with his
good will. He admits enough to show that "Goldy's"

tongue was by no means as inspired as his pen, and enter the saloon where the fair was held. And in good that he was often, if not absolutely foolish, at least weak sooth it was an exhibition well worth the quarter of a and indiscreet in his conversation. It seems almost in-dollar that was asked for the entrance fee. The sides comprehensible that the same mind should have worked so differently with the two instruments-but there is no end to nature's freaks. More than one admirable talker has proved a very stupid writer. At times, however, Oliver must have been equal to the best of them even in speech. One of his retorts, recorded by Mr. Prior, is felicitous in the extreme. He was complaining that the writers of fables always make their animals talk like men, and instanced the fable of the little fishes praying to Jupiter to enable them to fly like the birds they saw above their heads. Johnson laughed at him. "As for you, Doctor," he replied, "if you were to make little fishes speak, they'd all talk like whales." In truth, the mouths of the little creatures would find it hard work to manage such words as the great leviathan's. I never encounter his sesquipedalians but I think of the joke of Harry Erskine, when the son of a very magniloquent personage informed him that he had the misfortune to break his arm by falling from a stile. "It's well," said the wag, "it wasn't from your father's style, or you'd have bro-to say that the speaker was somewhat startled e'en at ken your neck."

I ought not to conclude this without giving you an account of an affair which has just been exciting a good deal of commotion in our excellent city of brotherly love said affair being a fair for the benefit of those unfortunates, who having eyes, see not, though from no fault of theirs; I mean (vulgarly speaking) the blind. It was got up by the fair, many of our principal ladies having interested themselves warmly in it, and carried it through with all that energy of purpose and kindliness of feeling, which render woman indeed a ministering angel whenever care and anguish or misfortune of any kind is to be relieved, however uncertain, coy, and hard to please the dear, vexatious variable creature may be in our easy moments. For some weeks previous to its commencement, you could not pay a visit to any even of the reigning toasts, without seeing her lovely fingers busily occupied with the materials of purse, or slipper, or watch chain, or what not, with which she was to enrich one or another of the "tables" that she herself or some of her friends, was to stand behind and adorn. You could scarce maintain an interesting conversation upon the weather, or the sayings and mis-doings of your neighbors, or any of the other most favorite topics, for the way in which the approaching event monopolized all original ideas and charitable sentiments. Instead of singing with glorious John, "none but the brave deserve the fair," every body was exclaiming, that "naught but the fair deserved the least attention," and the first kind of fair gave out that they who were anxious to merit favor, need only exhibit for the time being the bravery of their pockets for the benefit of the second kind, so that every gallant youth found himself under the necessity of substituting charity for chivalry pro tem. In the present age of economists and calculators, the former virtue, be it hinted, en passant, is quite as much out of keeping with the spirit of the times as the latter.

The day at length arrived, when the doors of the Masonic Hall were thrown open for the admission of all whose curiosity or benevolence prompted them to

of the apartment were lined with tables, which were adorned with all the elegance that might have been expected from the taste of those who had been concerned in their arrangement, and upon them was a splendid display of useful and ornamental articles of various descriptions, mostly wrought by hands that imparted double value and beauty to whatever they touched. Each table had its complement of dames and damsels who, of course, were the principal objects of admiration, and manifested the most exemplary tact and delicacy in securing purchasers. “Qui vent acheter? qui vent acheter?" was the popular chorus, and said by such lips as uttered it on this occasion, it produced a decidedly greater effect than it ever did when sung by the wives and daughters of Masaniello's companions, with all the advantage of a magnificent orchestral accompaniment. Who could resist “would you not like this purse, sir," or "take a ticket in a raffle, sir,” uttered in the sweetest tones, with the most winning smile, and a soft suffusion of the cheeks, which seemed

the sound her self had made? The impossibility of such hard-heartedness was fully demonstrated by the result of the sales. Three days were devoted to them, and at the end nearly every thing of moment was disposed of. Including the money taken at the door, the proceeds were little short of ten thousand dollars, the largest sum, I am inclined to think, ever obtained in the same manner in this country, and one which, if it will not open the eyes of those for whom it was designed, will at all events serve to cheer their hearts and improve their minds. There is certainly something particularly beautiful in the spectacle of female loveliness engaged in the work of charity, and the veriest old batchelor that ever disgraced the name of cavalier, would have felt a degree of tenderness stealing over his breast, until then so "unknowing how to yield," had he witnessed the scene in question, which might have produced there's no knowing what results. The following song or hymn for the blind, was written for the occasion, with which I shall terminate this ella podrida.

For me the sun doth never shine
(Oh! 'tis a heavy doom)

For me night's sparkling orbs in vain
The firmament illume.

Unheeded all the fields put on

Their robes of varied hue,
Nor summer's green, nor winter's white
E'er glads my yearning view.

"These are thy works, great Father, these!"
The inspired poet sings,

But me, alas! they ne'er shall lift

On rapture's seraph wings.

My soul they ne'er shall raise above
This vile, encumb'ring clod;
From nature I may never mount
To nature's holy God!

SKETCHES

OF PRIVATE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF

WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD.

From the pen of one who enjoyed the confidence of this excellent man and his family-and who had opportunities of knowing him both in public and private life, which few possessed. The personal appearance and the character of Mr. Crawford corresponded so exactly, that those who knew him only from reputation, never experienced the disappointment often felt on being introduced to a celebrated personage, whose diminutive size, insignificant features, or repulsive manners, are in strong opposition to our preconceived ideas.

see him alone, but that all their discussions were carried on in presence of his family-" And whom am I to trust if not my wife and children ?" replied he, when a friend made known to him these complaints. At this period the conflicting interests of the several parties attached to the several candidates excited the violence of party spirit to such a degree, as to introduce suspicion and want of confidence even into social intercourse: each individual in society was zealously and exclusively attached to one or other of the presidential candidates, and was cautious of betraying the slightest incident or casual expression, that could have the least influence on the interest of the party he embraced. A system of espionage existed-not concerted, but naturally arising from the state of things, which required the greatest Mr. Crawford, as a public man, was distinguished for the prudence and vigilance, not to compromise the interests, strength, clearness and solidity of his judgment. In the or betray the confidence of the chosen party. Nor in Senate, as an orator, he never dazzled, but he convinced such trying times could it be expected that treachery he never excited enthusiasm, but he commanded respect. should be idle. Yet, though fully aware of these cirSuch, too, was the character of his physiognomy. cumstances, never could Mr. Crawford be prevailed on His clear blue eye-the bold outline of his features to conceal, far less to disguise, any sentiment or fact rehis high and ample forehead-while they expressed in-lative to himself, which, as his friends represented, tellectual strength, gave no indication of those brilliant qualities which constitute genius. His whole appear ance and manners were in accordance with this physionomical impression. His person towered far above On one occasion an intimate friend said to him-"Mr. that of most men. His figure was noble, and command- Crawford, you are a Baptist; yet here, when the city is ing. He looked the great man he really was-and in filled with Baptist clergymen [for the convention of foreign courts, it is said, often attracted not only atten- that church was in session], you have not asked one of tion but admiration by his stately form, which distin- them to your house, while Mr. has asked forty or guished him, even in a royal circle, as a noble, of na-fifty of them by turns to dine with him-the ladies of ture's creation, notwithstanding the republican simplicity of his dress and manners. He had the ease and dignity which self-possession and self-respect bestow, without any of that grace and polish derived from art or fashion. While the candor and frankness of his disposition made him accessible to every one, he at the same time inspired a feeling of respect that checked all familiarity. His upright and unbending form suited well with his firm and unyielding integrity-and had it not been for the benignity of his countenance and the cordiality of his manners, a cold esteem, instead of a kind good will, would have been the sentiment his appearance inspired. As it was, there were few persons who did not say to themselves, after an introduction to William H. Craw

ford-"this is an honest and a wise man" and on taking the hand he offered in common civility, did not feel inclined to press it as the hand of a friend-such was the confidence which his looks inspired.

This was the impression made on those who knew him only as a public man. But to those who knew him as a father, a husband, a friend, though respect was not diminished, it was absorbed in the warmer sentiments of confidence and affection.

might be turned to his disadvantage; nor would be use the means, commonly used by candidates for popular favor, to conciliate his opponents.

his family are paying them every kind of attentionand last night had a large party for them and their wives, and in fact are doing every thing that can be done to gain over a body, which, as you well know, has great political influence. Pray, Mr. Crawford, give them a party."

"Indeed, I shall not," said he. "They know my character and my claims to their suffrages now, just as well as if I asked them daily to my house. I will not take a single step out of the straight forward path to pick up the vote of any man."

"But, my dear sir, this is not going out of the straight forward path; it is only hospitality."

"Only bribery," interrupted he, almost sternly. "If they call to see me, I will receive them as I receive all my fellow-citizens, frankly and cordially-but I will not

run after them."

"But, Mr. Crawford, are you always frank and cordial in your reception of persons that call on you? I have heard your manner and Mr.'s, in this respect, contrasted. When persons visit his department, and are shown into his room, he always rises, shakes hands, and asks the visiter to be seated-and I have heard that

just look up, and leave the person standing, until you are at leisure to attend to his business."

Restraint and reserve were banished from the domes-you, so far from doing this, often continue writing, or tic circle. Free from all duplicity or design himself, he suspected it not in others and so implicit was his reliance on the honesty and disinterestedness of his friends, that his frankness was sometimes carried beyond the caution and prudence his political position required.

At the time when he was one of the five* competitors for the presidency, his political friends often advised him to be less frank and communicative, and in their private interviews complained that they could never Adams, Calhoun, Clay, Jackson, and Crawford.

"A high misdemeanor this," said Mr. Crawford, smiling-"I attend to my public duties instead of my private interests. Why, if such persons had common sense, they would like me all the better for it."

"Yes, but then you might ask them to sit down." "Were I to ask every one to sit down who came to my office, I should get little business done," replied he; "for every one has a long story to tell, and thinks the

most minute details must be interesting to me, because | on fine days to ride out. His convalescence was rapid, they are so to him, and once seated, cannot be stopped." and private and political friends were rejoicing in the "Few, if any, know your motive, which it must be prospect of his complete restoration to health and acacknowledged is a very reasonable and just one-and tivity, when one morning, after eating a hearty breakthey ascribe your formal reception to pride." fast, in good spirits and apparently in good health, an

"Let them call on me in my own house, and they attack of paralysis prostrated his strength and endanwill soon be convinced of the contrary."

gered his life. His recovery was doubtful. The vital powers were long suspended. What a dreadful shock to his fond wife and children!-What consternation seized his political friends!-What a triumph for his political opponents! Yes, such is the selfishness of human nature, that the death of a good man was a triumph to political partisans. For several weeks domestic and public anxiety was kept in painful suspense— he lived, but that was all. The calculations, the measures, the schemes of politicians, were suspended: with more of fear than hope, his affectionate family and per

tenderness and fidelity. At length all fears for his life were removed. The most eminent physicians who had been called in, pronounced him out of danger, and promised, though not a speedy, an entire recovery of bodily and mental health. This opinion, though universally diffused through the country, was not generally believed-and by those who did not wish it to be true, its correctness was strenuously denied.

This was, indeed, most true, and never could any one complain of a cold or formal reception when they visited Mr. Crawford at home. During this presidential canvass, Mr. Crawford's health was much impaired. The severe medicines administered to him in a bilious fever that brought him to the very verge of the grave, left him in a state of almost infantine debility, and injured his sight to such a degree, that, although not blind, he lost the use of his eyes for many months, and had to exclude almost every ray of light from his room. His constitutional cheer-sonal friends watched beside his couch with unremitting fulness and sanguine temperament wonderfully supported him during this long and darksome confinement. His wife and children were always around him. Never was there a fonder husband or more indulgent parent: with these beloved objects by his side, the time was never tedious. The little ones used to clamber on his knees and sit for hours, prattling of all their concerns, or listening to the pretty stories he would tell them; or at times he would cradle the infant in his arms and lull it to sleep, and thus hold it for hours. His eldest daughter acted as his private secretary. Every morning when letters and papers were brought from the office, she read them to her father, and by his direction made such endorsements on the back of each, as enabled his first clerk to carry on the necessary business. His private correspondence, both abroad and at home, (and his foreign correspondence was very extensive,) was conducted exclusively by his daughter. She, too, read to him the daily papers, and such books as he desired to hear. Only his most intimate and confidential friends were admitted to visit him. Sometimes his patience gave way, and his temper became perturbed when those friends annoyed him with accounts of the party intrigues that were carrying on, or entered into political discussions.

Once, when a friend found him thus worried and irritated, the inquiry was made-"Why do you not give up public life, and go home, where, with your domestic habits and inclinations, you would be so much happier?" "Would to God I could," replied he fervently. "But it is long since I have been a free agent. When once a man becomes the head of a party, he is no longer a free man. No, he is one of the veriest of slaves. Not only public concerns, but the individual selfish interests of his whole party are fastened on him, and bind him with fetters he cannot break. Were it not for having thus committed myself, long, long ere now, should I have returned to private life; for there are times at which I am heart-sick of the intrigues and selfishness of political warfare."

In reciting conversations, it is not pretended that the exact words or precise expressions are repeated, though, as far as possible, they are preserved; but the meaning, the sentiment, the opinion, are always faithfully true. With the return of spring, Mr. Crawford's health was much improved. He left his darkened room, and was able to receive his friends in the drawing-room, and

At the commencement of summer he and his family retired to a beautiful little farm within three miles of Washington. The house was very small, but commodious-situated on a hill, in the midst of shrubbery and forest trees, and commanding an extensive prospect of fields, meadows and woodlands. The salubrity of the air, the rural scenery, of which he was very fond, the quietude of the country, combined their bland influences, and soon produced the most salutary effects on Mr. Crawford's health. His powers of speech conti nued imperfect, and perhaps his memory still suffered from the shock of paralysis. But the general tone and activity of his mind were restored, and he took a more lively interest than he had done for many months in public concerns. He resumed the duties of his office, so far as depended on his mind, for as yet his hards and his eyes were too weak to be employed, and those of his daughter were substituted for his own. Mr. D—n, his first clerk and most faithful friend, passed some hours every day with him, and, as he was a most talented, efficient, and industrious man, the public business did not suffer from Mr. C.'s prolonged absence from his office. Numerous visiters, both citizens and strangers, private and public characters, and foreign ministers, visited him in his humble retreat. On the principal or ground floor of the house, there were only two small rooms, which opened into each other. One of these was used as a parlor, the other was fitted up as conveniently as possible for Mr. C.'s chamber, in which, being the most pleasant and comfortable, he always sat. Several doors opened from this chamber, and afforded him views of the surrounding scenery-and large forest trees threw a refreshing shade over the lawn and shrubbery around the house. Here would he often sit, watching his youngest children at play on the grass, while his daughter read to him, or wrote to his dictation, and pass whole mornings with unalloyed delight. His natural cheerfulness had quite returned, and those who knew him best, said they had never known him