frailties, when she remembers his abundant labors in the cause of benevolence. He promoted societies for the suppression of civil disorders; projected an extensive association of peacemakers, for the composing and preventing of differences in private life; proposed the establishment of an Evangelical Treasury, for the maintenance of churches in destitute places; introduced into Massachusetts the method of inoculation for the small pox, and was constantly interested and zealously engaged in promoting the welfare of his country.

We can readily account for the deficiency of the imaginative power in his poetical compositions. His education had involved him in the venerable dust of antiquity, and had unfitted his mind for the luxuriant growth of fancy. The strong soil where the mountain oak has long flourished, will afford but little nourishment to the delicate exotic, and he who from infancy has been seeking for the treasures of ancient lore, is seldom willing, even in his moments of relaxation, to linger in the myrtle bower, or to listen to the murmurings of the silver fountain. Dr Mather's toil was truly of that kind which produces "weariness of flesh," and he sought for a more substantial mental aliment than that "camelion food," with which the poet could supply him. To such a one, the gathering of flowers, even though they were those of Parnassus, and the wandering on the banks of Ilissus itself, would be deemed but an indifferent amusement. The poetic specimens that we have selected from Dr Mather's works are distinguished by little else than the hardness of their style, and the want of that indescribable quality in which we recognise the spontaneous ebullitions of a mind "smit with the love" of song.

ON THE DEATH OF HIS SON.

The motto, inscribed on the grave stone, "Reserved for a glorious Resurrection."

THE exhortation of the Lord,
With consolation speaks to us;
As to his children his good word,
We must remember speaking thus:

My child, when God shall chasten thee,
His chastening do thou not contemn:
When thou his just rebukes dost see,
Faint not rebuked under them.

The Lord with fit afflictions will
Correct the children of his love;
He doth himself their father still,
By his most wise corrections prove.

Afflictions for the present here
The vexed flesh will grievous call;
But afterwards there will appear,
Not grief, but peace, the end of all.

ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER.
The motto, inscribed on the grave stone, "Gone, but not lost."

THE dearest Lord of heaven gave
Himself an offering once for me:
The dearest thing on earth I have,
Now, Lord, I'll offer unto Thee.

I see my best enjoyments here,
Are loans, and flowers, and vanities;

Ere well enjoy'd they disappear:

Vain smoke, they prick and leave our eyes.

But I believe, O glorious Lord,

That when I seem to lose these toys,

What's lost will fully be restor❜d
In glory, with eternal joys.

I do believe, that I and mine,
Shall come to everlasting rest;

Because, blest Jesus, we are Thine,
And with thy promises are blest.

I do believe that every bird

Of mine, which to the ground shall fall,
Does fall at thy kind will and word;
Nor I, nor it, is hurt at all.

Now my believing soul does hear
This among the glad angels told;
I know, thou dost thy Maker fear,
From whom thou nothing dost withhold!

Some offers to Embalm the Memory of the truly reverend and renowned JOHN WILSON; the first Pastor of Boston, in New England: Interr'd (and a great part of his Country's Glory with him) August 11, 1667. Aged 79.

MIGHT Aaron's rod (such funerals mayn't be dry)
But broach the rock, 'twould gush pure elegy,
To round the wilderness with purling lays,

And tell the world, the great Saint Wilson's praise.
Here's one (pearls are not in great clusters found)
Here's one, the skill of tongues and arts had crown'd;
Here's one (by frequent martyrdom was tried)
That could forego skill, pelf, and life beside,

For Christ: both Englands' darling, whom in swarms
They press'd to see, and hear, and felt his charms.

"Tis one (when will it rise to number two?
The world at once can but one phoenix show :)
For truth a Paul, Cephas for zeal, for love
A John, inspir'd by the celestial dove.
Abram's true Son for faith; and in his tent
Angels oft had their table and content.

So humble, that alike on's charity,
Wrought Extract gent. with Extract rudii.
Pardon this fault; his great excess lay there,
He'd trade for Heaven with all he came anear;
His meat, clothes, cash, he 'd still for ventures send
Consign'd, per brother Lazarus, his friend.

Mighty in prayer, his hands uplifted reach'd
Mercy's high Throne, and thence strange bounties fetch'd,
Once and again, and oft: so felt by all,

Who weep his death, as a departing Paul.
All, yea, baptiz'd with tears, lo children come,
(Their baptism he maintain'd!) unto his tomb.

"Twixt an Apostle, and Evangelist,
Let stand his order in the heavenly list.
Had we the costly alabaster box,

What's left, we'd spend on this New-English Knox;
True Knox, fill'd with that great reformer's grace,
In truth's just cause, fearing no mortal's face.

Christ's word, it was his life, Christ's church, his care;
And so great with him his least brethren were,
Nor heat, nor cold, nor rain, or frost, or snow,
Could hinder, but he 'd to their sermons go:
Aaron's bells chim'd from far, he'd run, and then
His ravish'd soul echo'd amen, amen!

He travers'd oft the fierce Atlantic sea,
But, Patmos of confessors, 'twas for thee.
This voyage lands him on the wished shore,
From whence this Father will return no more,
To sit the moderator of thy sages.

But tell his zeal for thee to after ages,

His care to guide his flock, and feed his lambs,

By words, works, prayers, psalms, alms, and anagrams:
Those anagrams, in which he made no start

Out of mere nothings, by creating art,

Whole words of counsel; did to motes unfold
Names, till they lessons gave richer than gold,
And every angle so exactly fay,

It should outshine the brightest solar ray.
Sacred his verse, writ with a cherub's quill;
But those wing'd choristers of Zion's hill,
Pleas'd with the notes, call'd him a part to bear
With them, where he his anagram did hear,
"I pray come in, heartily welcome sir."*

* The line is thus explained by Mather. Ward, the simple cobler of Agawam, as he called himself, "observing the great hospitality of Mr Wilson, in conjunction with his meta-grammatizing temper," said that the anagram of John Wilson was, I pray come in, you are heartily welcome.

REMARKS

On the bright and the dark side of that American pillar, the Reverend Mr William Thompson; Pastor of the Church at Braintree. Who triumphed on Dec. 10, 1666.

BUT may a rural pen try to set forth

Such a great Father's ancient grace and worth?
I undertake a no less arduous theme,

Than the old sages found the Chaldee dream.
"Tis more than tythes of a profound respect,
That must be paid such a Melchizedeck.
Oxford this light, with tongues and arts doth trim;
And then his northern town doth challenge him.
His time and strength he center'd there in this;
To do good works, and be what now he is.
His fulgent virtues there, and learned strains,
Tall, comely presence, life unsoil'd with stains,
Things most on worthies, in their stories writ,
Did him to moves in orbs of service fit.
Things more peculiar yet, my muse, intend,
Say stranger things than these; so weep and end.
When he forsook first his Oxonian cell,
Some scores at once from popish darkness fell;
So this reformer studied! rare first fruits!
Shaking a crab-tree thus by hot disputes,
The acid juice by miracle turn'd wine,

And rais'd the spirits of our young divine.

Hearers, like doves, flock'd with contentious wing,
Who should be first, feed most, most homeward bring.
Laden with honey, like Hyblæan bees,

They kneed it into combs upon their knees.

Why he from Europe's pleasant garden fled,

In the next age, will be with horror said.
Braintree was of this jewel then possess'd,
Until himself, he labor'd into rest.

His inventory then, with John's, was took;
A rough coat, girdle with the sacred Book.

When reverend Knowles and he sail'd hand in hand,
To Christ espousing the Virginian land,

Upon a ledge of craggy rocks near stav'd,

His Bible in his bosom thrusting sav'd;

The Bible, the best of cordial of his heart,

"Come floods, come flames, (cried he) we 'll never part." A constellation of great converts there,

Shone round him, and his heavenly glory were.