It past over rivers, and vallies, and groves, I thought of my friends, of their fates, of their loves, And often, full often of you. At length it came over a beautiful scene, The place was but small, but 'twas sweetly serene, I gazed, and I envied with painful goodwill, Like a lark from the sky it came fluttering down. When who should I meet, in this charming retreat, Delighted to find you in honour and ease, But the wind coming fair, I ascended the breeze, ETHAN ALLEN. ETHAN ALLEN, the hero of Vermont, was as proud of his literature as of his personal vigor and generalship. Indeed, no small part of the former was put into his writings. He wrote as he acted, a word and a blow. For a certain quick intense conception of things, the uninstructed physique of the mind, his narrative of his captivity is a model, like his own figure, of rude, burly strength. It is to be regretted that he did not choose a better province for the exercise of his intellect in his main work than a low form of infidelity and vulgar attack upon the Christian religion. Ethan Allen, the son of a farmer in Connecticut, was born at Coventry in that state, Jan. 10, 1737. He removed to Verinont about the year 1772, and became the stalwart leader of the Green Mountain Boys in their resistance to the territo Ethan Allen rial claims of New York. His brilliant surprisal of Ticonderoga, in 1775, "in the name of the great Jehovah and of the Continental Congress," need hardly be mentioned here. It was probably the success of that adventure which led to the rashi attempt upon Montreal, where he was taken prisoner; a captivity which gave rise to his authorship of a volume which contains as much of the essence of military revolutionary whigism and anti-toryism, as it is possible to convey in the same space. This work tells a sad story of the lack of gallantry and of the oppression of the British service at that time. A prisoner taken in war by the English seems to have been regarded as something between an enemy and a convict, not entitled to the honorable courtesy due to the one, and not exactly responsible to the gallows assigned for the other. The intermediate term was a rebel, and the respect for consanguinity which England should have shown in the struggle, was lost in the contempt of familiarity-as an old-fashioned father would whip his own children and reverence those of other persons. In this humor of his conquerors, Allen was taken from Montreal confined hand and feet in irons, carried on board the Gaspee schooner-of-war, taken from Quebec to Liverpool in a government vessel, suffering the accommodations of a slave ship, landed with indignity at Falmouth; was kept a prisoner and a show at Pendennis castle; removed to the Solebay frigate, which putting into Cork, the stores which tender-hearted Irish friends sent him were confiscated for the use of the vessel; was brought to the coast of America, and kept in various degrees of restraint, latterly under freedom of parole at New York, till the victory of Saratoga brought about his release in 1778. He published the narrative of his captivity in the fo'lowing year. A few sentences of this production will show the man in the author. It opens directly with the affair of Ticonderoga :-" Ever since I arrived at the state of manhood, and acquainted myself with the general history of mankind, I have felt a sincere passion for liberty." For a vivid picture of a personal encounter at a critical moment, witness his defence of himself against an Indian before Montreal, by seizing a British officer for a shield, and holding him before him: The officer I capitulated with, then directed me and my party to advance towards him, which was done; I handed him my sword, and in half a minute after, a savage, part of whose head was shaved, being almost naked and painted, with feathers intermixed with the hair of the other side of his head, came running to me with an incredible swiftness; he seemed to advance with more than mortal speed; as he approached near me, his hellish visage was beyond all description; snake's eyes appear innocent in comparison to his; his features extorted; malice, death, murder, and the wrath of devils and damned spirits are the emblems of his countenance; and in less than twelve feet of me, presented his firelock; at the instant of his present, I twitched the officer, to whom I gave my sword, between me and the savage; but he flew round with great fury, trying to single me out to shoot me without killing the officer; but by this time I was nearly as nimble as he, keeping the officer in such a position that his danger was my defence; but, in less than half a minute, I was attacked by just such another imp of hell: Then I made the officer fly around with incredible velocity, for a few seconds of time, when I perceived a Canadian, who had lost one eye, as appeared afterwards, taking my part against the savages; and in an instant an Irishman came to my assistance with a fixed bayonet, and drove away the fiends, swearing by he would kill them. This tragic scene composed my mind. The escaping from so awful a death made even imprisonment happy; the more so as my conquerors on the field treated me with great civility and politeness, was 46 Allen. me, when I heard an unusual noise in the street, and a huzza from the boys. I was in the second story, and, stepping to the window, saw a tall figure in tarnished regimentals, with a large cocked hat and an enormous long sword, followed We hardly need his assurance, that while conby a crowd of boys, who occasionally cheered him fined on board the Gaspee schooner in irons, he with huzzas, of which he seemed insensible. He I could came up to my door and stopped. obliged to throw out plenty of extravagant language, which answered certain purposes at that see no more. My heart told me it was Ethan time, better than to grace a history." The nonI shut my window and retired behind chalant humor of the man was defiant even of my table and my bottle. I was certain the hour death. "The cause," says he, "I was engaged in of reckoning had come. There was no retreat. I ever viewed worthy hazarding my life for, nor Mr. Staples, my clerk, came in paler than ever, was I, in the most critical moments of trouble, and, clasping his hands, said, "Ma ter, he has come!" "I know it." "He entered the store sorry that I engaged in it; and, as to the world and asked if James Rivington lived there?' I of spirits, though I knew nothing of the mode and manner of it, I expected nevertheless, when I answered, 'Yes, sir.' 'Is he at home?' 'I will should arrive at such a world, that I should be as go and see, sir,' I said; and now, master, what is well treated as other gentlemen of my merit." to be done? There he is in the store, and the His characters of those about him show a subtle boys peeping at him from the street." I had knowledge of human nature, as this hint at a fool made up my mind. I looked at the Madeirain authority: "I now found myself under a worse possibly took a glass. "Show him up," said I; "and if such Madeira cannot mollify him, he captain than Symonds, for Montague was loaded must be harder than adamant." There was a with prejudices against every body and every thing that was not stamped with royalty; and fearful moment of suspense. I heard him on the stairs, his long sword clanking at every step. In being by nature underwitted, his wrath was heahe stalked. vier than the others; or at least his mind was in no "Is your name James Rivington?" instance liable to be directed by good sense, humor, "It is, sir, and no man could be more happy than or bravery, of which Symonds was by turns susI am to see Colonel Ethan Allen." "Sir, I have ceptible." His account of Loring, the British "Not another word, my dear colocommissary of prisoners in the days of prisonnel, until you have taken a seat and a glass of ships at New York, is in his strongest manner. old Madeira." "But, sir, I don't think it proper "Not another word, colonel. Taste this wine. I have had it in glass for ten years. Old wine, you know, unless it is originally sound, never improves by age." He took the glass, swallowed the wine, smacked his lips, and shook his head approvingly. "Sir, I come another word until you have taken another glass, and then, my dear colonel, we will talk of old affairs, and I have some queer events to detail." In short, we finished two bottles of Madeira, and parted as good friends as if we had never had cause to be otherwise."* This Loring is a monster!-There is not his like in human shape. He exhibits a smiling countenance, seems to wear a phiz of humanity, but has been instrumentally capable of the most consummate acts of wickedness, which were first projected by an abandoned British council clothed with the authority of a Howe, murdering premeditatedly, in cold blood, near or quite two thousand helpless prisoners, and that in the most clandestine, mean, and shameful manner, at New York. He is the most mean spirited, cowardly, deceitful, and destructive animal in God's creation below, and regions of infernal devils, with all their tremendous horrors, are impatiently ready to receive Howe and him, with all their detestable accomplices, into the most exquisite agonies of the hottest region of hell fire. Probably the British were as glad to part with a gentleman who could employ his tongue as powerfully as his sword, when he was denied the latter weapon, as Allen was to be released by Elias Boudinot, sent by Congress for the service, and fall into the open arms of General Washington, at Valley Forge, "with peculiar marks of his approbation and esteem." It is told of one of Allen's word encounters with a British officer, that the latter replied to his challenge, to produce another woman who had seven such sons as his mother-that Mary Magdalene was a case in point, who was also delivered of seven devils. His interview with Rivington, the pleasureloving king's printer at New York, during his parole, is characteristic of both parties. Rivington had offended him by his allusions, and Allen swore he would lick him the very first opportunity he had." The sequel is told by Rivington himself. "I was sitting," says he, "after a good dinner, alone, with my bottle of Madeira before come ་་ "Not After his captivity, Allen returned to Vermont, where he was received with a hearty welcome at Bennington. He again identified himself with the history of the independence of Vermont both against England and the neighboring states, and after that was secured in 1791, lived mostly in retirement, composing his infidel work, Reason the only Oracle of Man, which appeared in 1784. De Puy's Ethan Allen, p. 262. + Reason the only Oracle of Man, or a compendions system of natural religion, alternately adorned with confutations of a variety of doctrines incompatible to it; deduced from the most exalted ideas which we are able to form of the Divine and Human characters, and from the universe in general. Svo. pp. 477. Bennington, Vt. 1784. As the greater portion of this edition was destroyed by fire in its printing office, and it has not been reprinted entire, this is now a very scarce volume. A mutilated edition appeared about 1-49 in New York. When Graydon was a prisoner in New York in 1777, after the loss of Fort Washington, he met Allen, and has left in his Memoirs a striking account of his impressions of the man. "His figure was that of a robust, large-framed man, worn down by confinement and hard fare; but he was now recovering his flesh and spirits; and a suit of blue clothes, with a gold laced hat that had been presented to him by the gentlemen of Cork, enabled him to make a very passable appearance for a rebel Colonel. He used to show a fracture in one of his teeth, occasioned by his twisting off with it, in a fit of anger, the nail which fastened the bar of his handcuffs; and which drew from one of the astonished spectators the exclamation of "Damn Of this book, Dr. Dwight, in his Travels, has remarked that "it was the first formal publication in the United States, openly directed against the Christian religion. When it came out, I read as much of it as I could summon patience to read. Decent nonsense may possibly amuse an idle hour; but brutal nonsense can only be read as an infliction of penal justice."* The story of Allen's second marriage, illustrating these opinions, is told by his latest biographer, De Puy, in his interesting and valuable contribution to the history of Vermont.t "General Allen, who had at various times resided at Bennington, Arlington, and Tinmouth, soon as the ceremony was ended, General Allen and his bride entered his carriage and drove off." Two anecdotes of Allen show the best nature of the man. He once gave a note to a citizen of Boston, who put it in collection in Vermont. Judgment was about being taken, when Allen employed a lawyer to stay proceedings. To his surprise, he heard, from a distant part of the court-house, his lawyer deny the signature; upon which he rushed forward, and in a loud, indignant tone, confronted him: "Mr. -, I didn't hire you to come here and lie. That is a true note. I signed it; I'll swear to it; and I'll pay it! I want no shuffling. I want time. What I em Allen at last took up his residence on the Winooski.ployed you for, was to get this business put over During a session of the court at Westminster, he appeared with a magnificent pair of horses and a black driver. Chief Justice Robinson and Stephen R. Bradley, an eminent lawyer, were there, and as their breakfast was on the table, they asked Allen to join them. He replied that he had breakfasted, and while they were at the table, he would go in and see Mrs. Buchanan, a handsome widow who was at the house. He entered the sitting-room, and at once said to Mrs. Buchanan, Well, Fanny, if we are to be married, let us be about it. Very well,' she promptly replied, 'give me time to fix up.' In a few minutes she was ready, and Judge Robinson was at once called upon by them to perform the customary ceremony. Said Allen, Judge, Mrs. Buchanan and I have concluded to be married; I don't care much about the ceremony, and as near as I can find out, Fanny cares as little for it as I do; but as a decent respect for the customs of society requires it of us, we are willing to have the ceremony performed.' The gentlemen present were much surprised, and Judge Robinson replied, 'General Allen, this is an important matter; have you thought seriously of it?' 'Yes, yes,' exclaimed Allen, looking at Mrs. Buchanan; but it don't require much thought.' Judge Robinson then rose from his seat and said, ‘Join your hands together. Ethan Allen, you take this woman to be your lawful and wedded wife: you promise to love and protect her according to the law of God and Stop, stop, Judge. The law of God,' said Allen, looking forth upon the fields, all nature is full of it. Yes, go on. My team is at the door.' As him, can he eat iron!"*** His style was a singular compound of local barbarisms, scriptural phrases, and oriental wildness; and though unclassic and sometimes ungrammatical, it was highly animated and forcible. In the following sentence of his narrative, though it is not perhaps strictly correct in its construction, there is to me, a flash of moral pathos not unworthy a Robertson. When the fleet,' says he, consisting of about forty-five sail, including five men-of-war, sailed from the cove (of Cork) with a fresh breeze, the appearance was beautiful, abstracted from the unjust and bloody designs they had in view. Notwithstanding that Allen might have had something of the insubordinate, lawless frontier spirit in his composition, having been in a state of hostility with the government of New York before the war of the revolution, he appeared to me to be a man of generosity and honor; several instances of which occur in his publication, and one not equivocally came under my own observation. General Washington, speaking of him in an official letter of May the 12th, 1788, observes, with a just discrimination, that there was an original something in him which commanded admiration.“Graydon's Memoirs, 243. * II. 406. + Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Heroes of 76, with a sketch of the Early History of Vermont, by Henry W. De Puy, author of Louis Napoleon and his Times," "Kossuth," &c. Bulalo. Phinney & Co., 1853. to the next court; not to come here and lie and It was not long after the time of these stories, in the full possession of his powers, at the age of fifty, he was cut off suddenly by apoplexy, at Burlington, Vermont, February 12, 1789. A brother of Ethan Allen, Ira Allen, wrote the Natural and Political History of the State of Vermont, published in an octavo volume in 1798. And, mined me to take part with my country. while I was wishing for an opportunity to signalize myself in its behalf, directions were privately sent to me from the then colony (now state) of Connecticut, to raise the Green-Mountain Boys, and, if possible, with them to surprise and take the fortress of Ticonderoga. This enterprise I cheerfully undertook; and, after first guarding all the several passes that led thither, to cut off all intelligence between the garrison and the country, made a forced march from Bennington, and arrived at the lake opposite to Ticonderoga, on the evening of the ninth day of May, 1775, with two hundred and thirty valiant GreenMountain Boys; and it was with the utmost difficulty that I procured boats to cross the lake. However, I landed eighty-three men near the garrison, and sent the boats back for the rear-guard, commanded by Col. Seth Warner, but the day began to dawn, and I found myself under the necessity to attack the fort, before the rear could cross the lake; and, as it was viewed hazardous, I harangued the officers and soldiers in the manner following: "Friends and fellow soldiers-You have for a number of years past been a scourge and terror to arbitrary power. Your valor has been famed abroad, and acknowledged, as appears by the advice and orders to me, from the General Assembly of Connecticut, to surprise and take the garrison now before us. I now propose to advance before you, and, in person, conduct you through the wicketgate; for we must this morning either quit our pretensions to valor, or possess ourselves of this fortress in a few minutes; and, inasmuch as it is a desperate attempt, which none but the bravest of men dare undertake, I do not urge it on any contrary to his will You that will undertake voluntarily, poise your firelocks." The men being, at this time, drawn up in three ranks, each poised his firelock. I ordered them to face to the right, and at the head of the centre-file, marched them immediately to the wicket-gate aforesaid, where I found a sentry posted, who instantly snapped his fusee at me; I ran immediately towards him, and he retreated through the covered way into the parade within the garrison, gave a halloo, and ran under a bomb-proof. My party, who followed me into the fort, I formed on the parade in such a manner as to face the two barracks which faced each other. The garrison being asleep, except the sentries, we gave three huzzas which greatly surprised them. One of the sentries made a pass at one of my officers with a charge 1 bayonet, and slightly wounded him: My first thought was to kill him with my sword; but, in an instant, I altered the design and fury of the blow to a slight cut on the side of the head, upon which he dropped his gun, and asked quarter, which I readily granted him, and demanded of him the place where the commanding officer kept; he shewed me a pair of stairs in the front of a barrack, on the west part of the garrison, which led up to a second story in said barrack, to which I immediately repaired, and ordered the commander, Capt. De la Place, to come forth instantly, or I would sacrifice the whole garrison; at which the Capt. came immediately to the door, with his breeches in 'his hand; when I ordered him to deliver me the fort instantly; he asked me by what authority I demanded it: I answered him, "In the name of the Great Jehovah, and the Continental Congress." The authority of the Congress being very little known at that time, he began to speak again; but I interrupted him, and with my drawn sword over his head, again demanded an immediate surrender of the garrison: with which he then complied, and VOL. 1.-14 ordered his men to be forthwith paraded without arms, as he had given up the garrison. In the mean time some of my officers had given orders, and in consequence thereof, sundry of the barrack doors were beat down, and about one third of the garrison imprisoned, which consisted of the said commander, a Lieut. Feltham, a conductor of artillery, a gunner, two serjeants, and forty-four rank and file; about one hundred pieces of cannon, one thirteen inch mortar, and a number of swivels. This surprise was carried into execution in the grey of the morning of the tenth of May, 1775. The sun seemed to rise that morning with a superior lustre; and Ticonderoga and its dependencies smiled to its conquerors, who tossed about the flowing bowl, and wished success to Congress, and the liberty and freedom of America. FRANCIS HOPKINSON. HOPKINSON, the author of The Pretty Story, and the famous ballad, The Battle of the Kegs, was one of the prime wits of the Revolution, and may be ranked alongside of Trumbull for his efficiency in the cause. The genius of the two men may be readily distinguished. They had wit and humor in different combinations. The author of M'Fingal had more of the power, Hopkinson a larger proportion of that gentle quality which plays around the heart. The one had the advantage in verse, the other in prose. The works of both remain eminent ornaments of the literature of their country. We have had nothing better in their way since. Tra Hop kinson Francis Hopkinson was born in Philadelphia in 1738. His father, Thomas, was an Englishman, who emigrated to that city, having secured, it is said, government patronage through his marriage with the niece of the Bishop of Worcester. He assisted Franklin in his discoveries in electricity, and actively promoted the liberal improvements of the day. Upon his death his widow directed the education of the son who was sent to the College, since the University of Pennsylvania. He afterwards studied law. In 1761 he served as secretary in a conference held on the banks of the Lehigh, between the government of Pennsylvania and several Indian nations. One of his poems, The Treaty, celebrates the event. In 1765 he was in England, remaining there two years, and passing his time between town and country. On his return to America he resided at Bordentown, New Jersey, where he married Miss Ann Borden of that place. His Pretty Story, written in the fashion of Arbuthnot's John Bull, though in a milder vein, was published with great success in a pamphlet in 1774. It represents England as a nobleman, possessed of a valuable farm, and with a great number of children and grandchildren, for the government of whom he had entered into various compacts. Parliament is represented as his wife, chosen for him every seven years by the family. The fortunes of the American settlers are depicted, and the encroachments of parliament none the less forcibly presented in the humorous description. The chapters end with a broken prophetic sentence: "These harsh and unconstitutional proceedings of the overseer so highly irritated Jack, and the other families of the new farm, that ******. Cetera desunt." The author's "Prophecy," in 1776, and "Political Catechism" in 1777, helped to work out the sequel. The latter is a set of queries and answers respecting Lord North and the conduct of the war, ending with a tribute to Washington. "Who has the chief command of the American army?" "His Excellency General Washington!" "What is his character?" "To him the title of Excellency is applied with peculiar propriety. He is the best and the greatest man the world ever knew. In private life he wins the hearts and wears the love of all who are so happy as to fall within the circle of his acquaintance. In his public character he commands universal respect and admiration. Conscious that the principles on which he acts are indeed founded in virtue and truth, he steadily pursues the arduous work with a mind neither depressed by disappointment and difficulties, nor elated with temporary success. He retreats like a General, and attacks like a Hero. Had he lived in the days of idolatry he had been worshipped as a God. One age cannot do justice to his merit; but a grateful posterity shall, for a succession of ages, remember the great deliverer of his country." Hopkinson represented New Jersey in the general Congress of 1776, and signed the Declaration of Independence. His Battle of the Kegs, written about this time, and celebrating an actual incident, has been the most popular of American Revolutionary ballads. His humorous handling of Rivington, the royal printer at New York, is among his best political squibs. When the war was concluded, a new general government was to be established and local difficulties overcome. Hopkinson's pen here achieved some of its greatest triumphs in exposing the dissensions and absurdities of state politicians. His New Roof, an allegory, containing in substance the arguments of the debate in the Convention of Pennsylvania in 1787, met to consider the Constitution of the United States, is a masterly production, and his song on the subject has happily preserved its spirit in verse. His sharp raillery in his essays did much to mitigate the excessive litigation and newspaper controversies of the day. In his Typographical Mode of Conducting a Quarrel he anticipated Southey's fashion of telling his Bear story in the Doctor, by gradations of type. The paper made two belligerents of the day, a merchant and a lawyer, who were oppressing the public in the newspapers, ridiculous. It proposed a new style of printing for different degrees of abuse and invective-various type, from five line pica to minion, through French canon downwards. "There is no looking," says he, "at the first page of the Daily Advertiser, without imagining a number of people hollowing and bawling to you to buy their goods or lands, to charter their ships, or to inform you that a servant or a horse hath strayed away. For my part, I am so possessed with this idea, that as soon as I take up the paper of the day, I turn over to articles of intelligence as quick as possible, lest my eyes should be stunned by the ocular uproar of the first page." His Thoughts on the Disease of the Mind; with a scheme for purging the moral faculties of the good people of Pennsylvania, proposes that a weekly and daily newspaper should be expressly set apart and acknowledged as receptacles for all the filth and scandal of the town. The treatment is rather Swiftian, in occasional coarseness, but the satire is truthful. He compares the humors of the mind to the secretions of the body: "A sarcasm is nothing more than spitting,-and so it is usual to say, 'he has spit his spite.' A crude attempt at humor is parallel with blowing one's nose, for such humors are apt to collect in cold constitutions; and a young poetaster may be put into a considerable perspiration by the scorching flames of love." Hopkinson was a reformer in the cause of education, and wrote various papers laughing at its grammatical, metaphysical, and scientific perplexities. His Modern Learning: exemplified by a specimen of a collegiate examination, in which a salt-box is put through the various categories of the sciences, is the best of his papers of this class. In his sketches of the minor morals and manners of the day, he was equally happy. His Essay on White- Washing was mistaken for the composition of Franklin, and published among his writings. His friend, Dr. Rush, was a great admirer of his genius in these productions. Hopkinson took pride in his share in planning the grand Fourth of July Federal Procession at Philadelphia, in 1788; a minute account of which he prepared and has left in his writings. In 1779 he was made Judge of the Admiralty of Pennsylvania. His decisions while in office were collected by him for the edition of his writings. In 1790 he was appointed by the President, Judge of the District Court. He died the following year, May 9, of an apoplectic fit. Before his death he had prepared the carefully arranged collection of his literary productions for the press, which was published by Dobson in Philadelphia, "in the dress in which he left them," in three octavo volumes in 1792, bearing the title: The Miscellaneous Essays and Occasional Writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq. A more finished and accomplished work has never issued from the American press. The prose of Hopkinson is quite unique and original; simple in style, and ingenious in thought and invention; always neat and elegant in expression, and perfect in its gentle playfulness. His poetry is of an agreeable turn, his L' Allegro and |