nature of Bryant-nor the brilliant style and playful humor of Halleck-no, he is more in the petit larceny manner of Crabbe, with a slight touch of Byronic power and gloom. He is familiarly acquainted with all those interesting scenes of vice and poverty so fondly dwelt upon by that reverend chronicler of little villany, and if ever he can be prevailed upon to publish, there will doubtless be found a remarkable similarity in their works. His height is about five feet seven inches, but who makes his clothes we have as yet been unable to ascertain. His countenance is strongly marked, and forcibly brings to mind the lines of Byron when describing his Corsair :

There was a laughing devil in his sneer

That raised emotions both of hate and fear;
And where his glance of "apprehension" fell,
Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed, farewell!

Yet with all his great qualities, it is to be doubted
whether he is much to be envied. His situation
certainly has its disadvantages. Pure and blame-
less as his life is, his society is not courted-no man
boasts of his friendship, and few indeed like even
to own him for an intimate acquaintance. Wher-
ever he goes, his slightest action is watched and cri-
ticized; and if he happen carelessly to lay his hand
upon a gentleman's shoulder and whisper some-
thing in his ear, even that man, as if there were
contamination in his touch, is seldom or never seen
afterwards in decent society.
fail to prey upon his feelings.

Such things cannot
But when did ever

greatness exist without some penalty attached to it?

The first time that ever Hays was pointed out to me, was one summer afternoon, when acting in his official capacity in the city-hall. The room was crowded in every part, and as he entered with a luckless wretch in his gripe, a low suppressed murmur ran through the hall, as if some superior being had alighted in the midst of them. He placed the prisoner at the bar-a poor coatless individual, with scarcely any edging and no roof to his hat--to stand his trial for bigamy, and then, in a loud, authoritative tone, called out for "silence," and there was silence. Again he spoke-" hats off there!" and the multitude became uncovered; after which he took his handkerchief out of his left-hand coat pocket, wiped his face, put it back again, looked sternly around, and then sat down. The scene was awful and impressive; but the odor was disagreeable in consequence of the heat acting upon a large quantity of animal matter congregated together. My olfactory organs were always lamentably acute : I was obliged to retire, and from that time to this, I have seen nothing, though I have heard much, of the subject of this brief and imperfect, but, I trust, honest and impartial memoir.

Health and happiness be with thee, thou prince of constables-thou guardian of innocence-thou terror of evil-doers and little boys! May thy years be many and thy sorrows few-may thy life be like a long and cloudless summer's day, and may thy

salary be increased! And when at last the summons comes from which there is no escaping-when the warrant arrives upon which no bail can be put in-when thou thyself, that hast "wanted" so many, art in turn "wanted and must go,"

"Mayst thou fall

Into the grave as softly as the leaves

Of the sweet roses on an autumn eve,
Beneath the small sighs of the western wind,
Drop to the earth!"

AUGUST.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE quiet August noon is come;

A slumberous silence fills the sky; The fields are still, the woods are dumb, In glassy sleep the waters lie.

And mark yon soft white clouds, that rest
Above our vale, a moveless throng;

The cattle on the mountain's breast
Enjoy the grateful shadow long.

Oh, how unlike those merry hours

In sunny June, when earth laughs out; When the fresh winds make love to flowers, And woodlands sing and waters shout!—

When in the grass sweet waters talk,
And strains of tiny music swell

From every moss-cup of the rock,
From every nameless blossom's bell!

But now, a joy too deep for sound,

A peace no other season knows,

Hushes the heavens, and wraps the groundThe blessing of supreme repose.

Away! I will not be, to-day,

The only slave of toil and care; Away from desk and dust, away! I'll be as idle as the air.

Beneath the open sky abroad,

Among the plants and breathing things,
The sinless, peaceful works of God,
I'll share the calm the season brings.

Come thou, in whose soft eyes I see
The gentle meaning of the heart,
One day amid the woods with thee,
From men and all their cares apart.

And where, upon the meadow's breast,
The shadow of the thicket lies,
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest
Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.

Come-and when, mid the calm profound,
I turn, those gentle eyes to seek,
They like the lovely landscape round,
Of innocence and peace shall speak.

Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade,
And on the silent valleys gaze,
Winding and widening till they fade
In yon soft ring of summer haze.

The village trees their summits rear
Still as its spire: and yonder flock,
At rest in those calm fields, appear

As chiselled from the lifeless rock.

One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks, Where the hushed winds their sabbath keep,

While a near hum, from bees and brooks,

Comes faintly like the breath of sleep.