Chorus-Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle, dandy, And there we see a thousand men, The 'lasses they eat every day, Would keep an house a winter; A load for father's cattle. And every time they shoot it off, And makes a noise like father's gun, I went as nigh to one myself, I thought he would have cock'd it; He kind of clapt his hand on't, And there I see a pumpkin shell I see a little barrel too, The heads were made of leather, He got him on his meeting clothes, He set the world along in rows, There was Captain Washington, A giving orders to his men- I wanted pockily to get To give to my Jemima. And there they'd fife away like fun, Old Uncle Sam come there to change To give his wife and young ones. But I can't tell you half I see, They kept up such a smother; So I took my hat off, made a bow, And scamper'd home to mother. The flaming ribbons in his hat, To give to my Jemimah. I see another snarl of men A digging graves, they told me, So tarnal long, so tarnal deep, They 'tended they should hold me. It scar'd me so, I hook'd it off, Nor stop'd, as I remember, Nor turn'd about, 'till I got home, Lock'd up in mother's chamber. WILLIAM CHARLES WELLS. THE pleasant and confiding autobiography prefixed to the volume of Miscellanies by Dr. Wells, informs us that he was born at Charleston, S. C., in May, 1757. His father and mother were both of Scottish birth, and emigrated to the colony in 1753. By way of preventive to the "disloyal principles which began, immediately after the peace of 1763, to prevail throughout America," his father arrayed the boy in "a tartan coat, and a blue Scotch bonnet; hoping by these means to make him consider himself a Scotchman." A more efficacious course to the desired result, was the removal of the son to Scotland, where he was placed at Dumfries school, in his tenth year. In 1779 he was removed to Edinburgh, and attended several of the lower classes in the University. The next year he returned to Carolina, and remained quietly studying medicine as an apprentice to Dr. Alexander Garden, until "the American rebellion first broke out in New England." Upon this his father, the printer of a newspaper, and an unflinching Royalist, left for England, and was followed three months after by the son. From 1775 to 1778 he was employed in the study of his profession at Edinburgh. At the end of that time he obtained the position of a surgeon in a Scotch regiment in the service of Holland. He had not been long in that country before feeling himself aggrieved by the acts of his commanding officer, who twice imprisoned him, he resigned his commission, and the same day challenged his late superior. The opponent immediately arrested him, and transmitted a complaint of insubordination to the higher powers. The circumstances of the resignation of his commission being made known, he was at once set at liberty. In 1780, "Carolina having been conquered by the king's troops,” he returned to Charleston to settle his father's business, which had been greatly injured by the war. While thus occupied he wrote an article directed against Americans, who, on being released on parole by the British, took up arms against the mother country. The article was ordered to be frequently printed in the newspapers by the British commander, and its author"thinks it highly probable, that it was owing to this warning, that General Balfour and Lord Moira thought themselves justified in putting to death a Colonel Hayne," one of the most memorable acts of the southern campaigns. On the evacuation of Charleston in 1782, Wells removed to East Florida. Here he remained until the preliminaries of peace having been signed, he returned, at his father's request, to Charleston, under the protection of a flag of truce. On his arrival he was arrested "upon a private suit, growing out of a transaction of his brother's." He refused to give bail, on the ground that doing so would be an admission of the invalidity of the flag as a means of protection against arrest, and was imprisoned. He applied to the English commander in Florida for relief, who after a delay of two months demanded his release. The affair was finally settled by the payment of the claim on which he was arrested, and he immediately after returned to Florida. He was shipwrecked off St. Augustine, but none of the ship's company were lost or injured. In May, 1784, he returned to England, and about midsummer, 1785, "had the name of Dr. Wells affixed to the door" of his lodging. He "passed several years almost without taking a single fee,” but at last received some aid in the shape of an appointment as one of the physicians to the Finsbury Dispensary, with a salary of £50 a year. It was ten years before his income from every source amounted to £250. During this period he published in 1792, An Essay on Vision; in 1795, a paper in the Philosophical Transactions, on the Influence which incites the muscles of animals to contract, in Mr. Galvani's experiments; in 1797, Experiments on the Colour of the Blood; and in 1811, Experiments and Observations on Vision. In 1800 he was attacked with a slight fit of apoplexy, the recurrence of which he warded off, as he supposes, by the adoption of vegetable diet. In 1812 he commenced some researches on the subject of Dew. Night exposure, and labor in autumn in this matter, brought on an attack of illness, which his medical friends anticipated would cause his death in a few months. Upon receiving this intelligence, he immediately set about preparing his paper on Dew for publication, as his scattered memoranda would have been of no service to the world after his death. His philanthropic endeavors secured his fame and perhaps his life, for he recovered from his dangerous disease. It His Essay was published in August, 1814. at once established the author in the high position as a scientific writer which he has since maintained, the work having been recently cited by Lyell, in his lectures in this country, as the best authority on its subject. Its style, like that of his other philosophical writings, is marked by its ease and simplicity. The restoration to health was but a temporary respite from the attacks of disease to which the closing years of his life were subjected. "His autobiography was dictated by him at intervals," says the editor of his works, "during his illness, after he had lost all hope of recovery, and while he was uncertain whether he should live to finish it, and when he was too feeble to speak long, or to write much." It must be considered a proof of extraordinary composure and vigor of mind in such circumstances. The closing sentence is dated August 28, 1817, and a brief note informs us that their author died on the evening of the 18th of September following. Dr. Wells's writings, with the exception of a few brief biographical sketches, were all on medical and scientific topics. A volume of his works, VOL. I.-30 Containing Essays on Vision and Dew, was published in London in 1816. ROBERT DINSMOOR. IN 1828 was published at Haverhill, Mass., a volume entitled, Incidental Poems, accompanied with Letters, and a few select Pieces, mostly original, for their illustration, together with a Preface and Sketch of the Author's Life, by Robert Dinsmoor, the "Rustic Bard." This was a writer of originality, who penned verses in the Scottish dialect and good Saxon English on occasional topics, arising from personal incidents, the correspondence of his friends, or his own emotions. What he found worth living for he considered good enough to write about, and set it down with skill and simplicity. He belonged to a family of Scotch Presbyterians, who had settled in the north of Ireland, and had emigrated to America at the beginning of the eighteenth century. He was born at Windham in New Hampshire, October 7, 1757. His father (something of a rhymer too in his day) was a soldier in the old French war. The son followed the example, and at twenty was at the battle of Saratoga. Returning he became a farmer at Windham, and a zealous Presbyterian, passing his long life among the staunch old settlers of Londonderry.* The bard's early education was of the scantiest, picked up at the village school from Master Sauce, an old British soldier, and a Master McKeen, a man of profound erudition, but very dilatory in attending, who if he took in hand to catch a squirrel by the way, would do it if it took him half the forenoon," from whom he learned reading and writing. His poetry seems to have come by nature and the reading of Robert Burns. It had its sentiment and its Doric humor, which did not disdain very homely realities, as in the account of his illness, of which the reader will be satisfied on the production of a single stanza :— With senna, salts, and castor oil, They drench'd me every little while; The strong disease such power could foil, To yield full loth, At length we found the foe recoil, At the hot-bath. Rott Dinfmoor Whittier has described his old age in a genial picture of the man and his writings :—' "The last time I saw him he was chaffering in the marketplace of my native village (Haverhill), swapping potatoes, and onions, and pumpkins, for tea, coffee, molasses, and, if the truth be told, New England rum. Three-score years and ten, to use his own words Hung o'er his back, Yet he still stood stoutly and sturdily in his thick shoes of cowhide, like one accustomed to tread For some interesting memorials of this settlement, The History of Londonderry, by the Rev. Edward L. Parker, published in Boston in 1851, may be consulted. + Life of the Author, written by himself, in a letter to Silas Betton, Esq., of Salem, N. H. independently the soil of his own acres-his broad, honest face, seamed by care, and darkened by exposure to all the airts that blow,' and his white hair flowing in patriarchal glory beneath his felt hat. A genial, jovial, large-hearted old man, simple as a child, and betraying, neither in look nor manner, that he was accustomed to Feed on thoughts which voluntary move "Peace to him. In the ancient burial-ground of Windham, by the side of his beloved Molly,' and in view of the old meeting-house, there is a mound of earth, where, every spring, green grasses tremble in the wind, and the warm sunshine calls out the flowers. There, gathered like one of his own ripe sheaves, the farmer-poet sleeps with his fathers."* SKIP'S LAST ADVICE. Written in the seventeenth year of the author's age on his father's favorite old dog, who had survived his 15th year. It was sent with the following note to William Dinsmoor, the bard's uncle, who had requested a copy of it. At your request, kind sir, I send it, In honor to his name. He was a dog of noble spirit, And died in honest fame. The rational creation may Learn wisdom from the brute- Introduction. This poor auld dog liv'd mony a year, That death about the doors was creepin', I took the hint, an' gat my pen, In Scottish rhyme have rightly penn'd 'em- Tent weel! for 'tis SKIP's last advice! To lea' the filthy fleas an' lice, That us'd to gnaw 'im. * Old Portraits and Modern Sketches, p. 808 After breakfast he lay down; Till a' the hills an' vallies round Hear me a' sizes o' my kind, Be guid, an' they'll be hard to find, Do a' you're able for your bluid, The best that e'er on four feet stood, Let generations yet to breed, Wow! but they're simpletons indeed Don't you like those your guid time spend, An' gi'e aye praise, An' thank the Ane wha did you send Sae mony days. Though like a lord man o'er An' bang ye round wi' chairs an stools An' bruise ye wi' the auld pot buils, Mind not their powers Their bodies maun gang to the mools, Now ere I quat, I'll ask ye a', An' gar me satisfy their law' For my transgression? I maun hae done, farewell, adieu! I hae na breath to name enou; He's taken me for ane I trow, II. Farewell, yon mould'ring mansion, there, Where first I drew the natal air, And learn'd to prate and play. They taught their offspring there to real Their children still were bless'd. III. Kind man! my guardian and my sire, Friend of the muse and poet's lyre, With genuine wit and glee, He read his verse to me! And where our fathers long had been I strove to gain his art. IV. No more I'll tune the poet's lyre, To warm my chilling breast; Farewell, the mount, call'd Jenny's Hill- V. On summer evenings, calm and bright, The hares there, she scares there, VI. Andover's steeples there were seen, There Windham Range, in flowery vest, Lay croaking and mocking The bull's tremendous roar. VII. The fields no more their glories wear, The rosy lawn, the flowery mead, No more I'll hear with ravish'd ears, Sweet scenes of youth, now gone with years Long pass'd beyond the flood. Bereaved and grieved, I solitary wail, With sighing and crying, VIII. No more will I the Spring Brook trace, No more I'll wander there alone, "Twas there she bleached her linen cloth, From that sweet stream she made her broth, Whose rumbling and tumbling None but her voice could match. IX. Farewell, sweet scenes of rural life, THE SPARROW.* Poor innocent and hapless Sparrow! The plough has turn'd the mould'ring furrow Just in the middle o' the hill, Thy nest was plac'd wi' curious skill; Beneath the shade In that sweet bower secure frae ill, Robert Dinsmoor to Silas Betton. MY DEAR SIR-I take the liberty to address the following poem to you, and wish you to correct it and send me your candid remarks upon it. I will not say criticism, lest it should prevent my ever writing any more. It was occasioned by my crushing a nest of Sparrow's eggs, when ploughing among the corn, July 20, 1812. And about that time, I saw a well-done piece in the Haverhill Intelligencer, in imitation of Burns's delightful Nanny, which induced me to adopt the Scottish dialect, that it might the better resemble his beautiful mountain daisy. I call it The Sparrow. The pious priest! What savage heart could be sae hardy, Thy ruin was nae fau't o' mine, (It gars me greet to see thee pine;) Omniscience tents wi' eyes divine, A pair more friendly ne'er were married, When all their hope an' treasure's buried "Tis sad indeed. How much like theirs are human dools! But poor blin' mortals are sic' fools, Nae doubt, that He wha first did mate us, He'll gar the ills that here await us, Then martial fire inspir'd us all, And as a soldier, stand or fall, O'er western hills we travell'd far, And Gates, our glorious western star, From the green ridge, we glanc'd our eyes, Though smoke in burning pillars rise, But to Fort Edward* we were sent, Our orders there, was to prevent By counter orders, back we came, Near Burgoyne's line, with fixed aim, With courage bold, we took the field, Proud Burgoyne's army there did yield, Great Britain's honor there was stain'd, Our future glory was ordain'd, To Windham, back with joy we turn'd, Sweet pearly drops their cheeks adorn'd, When all our vanquish'd foes were fled, O! let not you and I forget, And solemnly his table at, And when the sacred scene was past, One God, our souls redeemed hast, |