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it obtained on its first appearance, and the support and protection it received through the earliest period of its existence, were won by the labors of a young man, to whom, as he is removed from the reach of praise or reproach, an allusion may be pardoned.

The sea his body, heaven his spirit holds.'* But the object of this valedictory address would be but half accomplished, and injustice would be done to the memory of the loved and lost, were this acknowledgement omitted. While penning these lines, we feel the awful but invisible presence of the departed; mysteriously and affectionately calling for this recognition of his claim, this last appeal to the remembrance of friends he respected and loved. In his name as well for him, whose youthful pulse beat strong at every thought of his country's fame, whose manly heart swelled high at the anticipated prosperity of his loved New-England, whose mental faculties. expanded and brightened with the hope of adding to the reputation and sharing in the glory of his native city, — his surviving partner and representative bids farewell to the readers and to the pages of the NewEngland Magazine."

as our own,

"Hebrew Poetry," the "Morality of Macbeth," "Folly Dancing on the Bible," and other articles, by the Rev. Leonard Withington; "Letters from Ohio," by Timothy Walker, of Cincinnati ;- contributions, too numerous to be particularized, by Gen. H. A. S. Dearborn, Oliver W. Holmes, William J. Snelling, John A. Bolles, Rev. William Croswell, Miss H. F. Gould, Dr. Samuel G. Howe, John O. Sargent, Epes Sargent, Park Benjamin, Silas P. Holbrook ; Joseph R. Chandler and Mathew Carey of Philadelphia; Dr. B. Waterhouse and Sidney Willard of Cambridge; -Rev. A. P. Peabody, then a resident graduate of Harvard College; -beside many, whose names I am not able to recall, but whose contributions may have been equally valuable and popular.

* Part of the inscription on a cenotaph at Mount Auburn, erected to the memory of Edwin Buckingham, by members of the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanic Association, of which he was a member.

SILAS PINCKNEY HOLBROOK,

Who has been before mentioned as a correspondent of the New-England Galaxy, contributed liberally to the columns of the Courier. He was born at Wrentham in the county of Norfolk, June 1, 1797. He was prepared for college at Day's academy in that town, except for a few months, in which he pursued his preparatory studies under the direction of the Rev. Mr. Williams at South-Wrentham. He was graduated at Brown University in 1815, and studied law in Boston with the late Hon. William Sullivan, and in Philadelphia with Mr. Meredith. In 1822, he commenced the practice of the law in Boston, (having previously visited South-Carolina and the Western states,) but soon after removed to Medfield, in the neighborhood of his native town. His time was divided, in great part, between Medfield and Boston, although he occasionally visited his relatives in South-Carolina, and made a voyage to Europe, where he passed a few months in visiting England, France, and Italy. He left Boston about the middle of March, 1835, for Charleston, S. C. During a long and tedious passage in one of the packets, he caught a severe cold, which caused an irritation of the lungs. He recovered, however, in a great measure, and was about to return to Boston, when he was exposed to a violent shower, which renewed his complaint, and carried him off in a few days. He died on the 27th of May, 1835. Mr. Hol. brook was one of the most popular correspondents that contributed to the Courier. His various articles, if collected, would fill several volumes. From his

numerous contributions, scattered through the files from the beginning of 1828 till just before his death, the following are selected :

*

"WHAT A PIECE OF WORK IS MAN!"

Our hopes are a cheat, and our joys are a dream;
We are dew on the flowers, we are flies on the stream;
And downward we float, without caution or fear,
For the current is smooth, though the cataract is near.

And sooner with evil than good we comply,

For we love for a season, but hate till we die ;
We forgive in our foes any injury past,

But those that we injure we pardon the last.

What is Friendship?

a wish to make use of our friends;

Ambition? - bad means to accomplish our ends:

What is Love? - he will find in his bosom who delves,

'Tis that ardent affection we feel for ourselves.

Our Love is all selfish; our Honor is Pride;

For many a wretch like a hero has died:

Our Wit is but Malice, and who tries to smother
The laugh it excites at the cost of another?

Our Reason; what is it? I am blushing for mine,

It has led me in many a devious line;

Or, if Reason and Passion blow contrary ways,
Pray, which is the impulse the vessel obeys?

* Mr. Holbrook was the writer of a series of letters entitled "Letters from a Boston Merchant," —another series, entitled "Recollections of Japan," — another, "Recollections of China,”. -and a fourth, "Recollections of Turkey," -all of which were published in the Courier. The facts, which formed the basis of these "recollections" were, of course, obtained from books, he having never visited the countries described, except some of those noticed in the "Letters from a Boston Merchant." A year or two before his death, he made a selection from these articles, which he published in a duodecimo volume, under the title of "Sketches by a Traveler."

Yet high are the hopes of a being so frail,

When his eye becomes dim and his cheek waxes pale,
That his spirit will rise, when the struggle is o'er,
Where Love is eternal, and Sin is no more.

LAMENTATION.

Lament, my sad friend, for the days that are over,
And dread in the future, more ills than the past,
For, (as I was once told by a doctor in Dover,)
The toughest of grinders to ache are the last.

O had we but lived in the fabulous ages,

When men were robust, and contented and true, When youth was instructed in virtue by sages, And criminal judges had nothing to do!

Or in those later times that we see in romances,
When honor pertained to the brave and the strong,
When lords for the right periled breaking of lances,
Which ladies would smile on, though broke for the
wrong!

O for that era of Beauty and Banners,

When minstrels, like us, would win favor and fame! When, if morals were easy, the better the manners, Than in folks, that it might be a libel to name.

Let us buy a new beaver to wear in the gallery;
Let us jest, for 't is wiser to laugh than to cry;
Get an office, and spend every cent of the salary,
And be happy to-day, for to-morrow we die.

66 PURPUREOS SPARGAM FLORES."

Wreaths for the Brave!. for their country that die!
Love shall bend over the spot where they lie!
Honor shall guard the repose of their grave,

And Liberty hallow it :- Wreaths for the Brave!

Wreaths for the Wise! - for them Science shall weep,
And Art shall embellish the tomb where they sleep;
They lived for the future, their fame never dies,
'Tis uttered in blessings Wreaths for the Wise!

Wreaths for the Just! - while the names we revere
Of the Faithful and Just that too early are here,
Let us copy their life as we honor their dust;
Justice demands from us Wreaths for the Just.

Wreaths for the True! - though the garlands we spread
May soothe not the rest of the good that are dead;
Yet the names are so dear, and the graves are so few,
It gives joy to the living: - Wreaths, wreaths for the True!

"TO-MORROW, AND TO-MORROW, AND TO-MORROW."

"I intend to be better and wiser To-morrow;

Of the Future one day I may venture to borrow,
As the Future will furnish the fund to repay

The twenty-four hours, — besides, what is a day?”

'Tis a life; - if you look at the course of the last,
You will see the image of all that is past;

You will see, Mr. Scroggins, the difference, too,
Between what you have done and intended to do.

If your duty To-day you perceive and neglect,
How great a reform may To-morrow expect?

Look back on the past, and pronounce, Scroggins, whether
A duty delayed is not shirked altogether.

Hell is paved, saith the Tuscan, with righteous intents;

And if safe 'tis to prophesy future events,

We may say that such folks as I, Scroggins, and you,
Will give Beelzebub's pavers a great deal to do.

Whate'er you intend to perform or to pay,

I counsel you, Scroggins, to do it to-day;
Nor drag out a life of dependence and sorrow,
The slave of To-day and the dupe of To-morrow.

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