He early saw in his boy the germ of a brilliant genius, and spared no pains in his education. At a very early age, the boy wrote poetry. When but thirteen years old, he wrote two poems of considerable length, which were published in a book form. In 1810 he entered Williams' College, where he distinguished himself in the languages, and in polite letters. He remained there two years, when desiring to leave, he sought and obtained an honorable dismissal. He at once commenced the study of the law, and was admitted to practice at the bar in Plymouth, Mass., in the year 1815. He continued to practice his profession till 1825, when he removed to New York. His famous poem, perhaps his best, "Thanatopsis," was written in 1821, or at least published during that year in a volume with others. He was married in 1825, and one year after he assumed the proprietorship and editorship of the New York Evening Post, one of the oldest and most influential democratic journals in the country. He has ever since been connected with that paper, adding much to its usefulness and popularity. Of Mr Bryant's person and manners, we can say little, but will quote from the "Homes of American Authors," upon this head, premising that "Roslyn" is his country seat, a little away from New York:

"Mr. Bryant's habits of life have a smack of asceticism, although he is the disciple of none of the popular schools which,

under various forms, claim to rule the present world in that direction. Milk is more familiar to his lips than wine, yet he does not disdain the 'cheerful hour' over which moderation presides. He eats sparingly of animal food, but he is by no means afraid to enjoy roast goose lest he should outrage the manes of his ancestors, like some modern enthusiasts. He 'hears no music,' if it be fantastical, yet his ear is finely attuned to the varied harmonies of wood and wave. His health is delicate, yet he is almost never ill; his life laborious, yet carefully guarded against excessive and exhausting fatigue. He is a man of rule, but none the less tolerant of want of method in others; strictly self-governed, but not prone to censure the unwary or the weak-willed. In religion he is at once catholic and devout, and to moral excellence no soul bows lower. Placable, we can, perhaps, hardly call him, for impressions on his mind are almost indelible; but it may with the strictest truth be said, that it requires a great offense or a great unwor thiness to make an enemy of him, so strong is his sense of justice. Not amid the bustle and dust of the political arena, cased in armor offensive and defensive, is a champion's more intimate self to be estimated, but in the pavilion or the bower, where, in robes of ease, and with all professional ferocity laid aside, we see his natural form and complexion, and hear, in placid domestic tones, the voice so lately thundering above the fight. So we willingly follow Mr. Bryant to Roslyn; see him musing on the pretty rural bridge that spans the fish-pond; or taking the oar in his daughter's fairy boat; or pruning his trees; or talking over farming matters with his neighbors; or-to return to the spot whence we set out some time ago-sitting calm and happy in that pleasant library, surrounded by the

friends he loves to draw around him, or listening to the prattle of infant voices, quite as much at home there as under their own more especial roof-his daughter's-within the same inclosure.

"In person, Mr. Bryant is quite slender, symmetrical, and well poised; in carriage, eminently firm and self-possessed. He is fond of long rural walks and of gymnastic exerciseson all which his health depends. Poetical composition tries him severely-so severely, that his efforts of that kind are necessarily rare. His are no holiday verses; and those who urge his producing a long poem are, perhaps, proposing that he should, in gratifying their admiration, build for himself a monument in which he would be self-enveloped. Let us rather content ourselves with asking a few more of the same,' especially of the later poems, in which, certainly, the poet trusts his fellows with a nearer and more intimate view of his inner and peculiar self, than was his wont in earlier times. Let him more and more give human voice to woods and waters; and, in acting, as the accepted interpreter of nature, speak fearlessly to the heart as well as the eye. His countrymen were never more disposed to hear him with delight; for, since the public demand for his poems has placed a copy in every house in the land, the taste for them has steadily increased, and the national. pride in the writer's genius become a generous enthusiasm, which is ready to grant him an apotheosis while he lives."

We shall not attempt to criticise Mr. Bryant as a
An anonymous critic says, and justly, we

poet.

think:

"His versification is preeminently fine. In rythmic melody and cadence, his lines have few equals, and no superiors. His diction is admirable, being pure, polished, and gemmed perpetually with picturesque and felicitously graphic epithets. In these respects he need not shrink from competition with the highest on the bardic roll of Anglo-Saxondom.

"As hitherto manifested, however, his poetic faculty (as I said before) is neither very fruitful, various, nor comprehensive. His forte would seem to be a most life-like portraiture of natural scenery, wherein is developed with impressive exactitude the moral significance of these works of the Creative Hand.

"Of his original poems, most are of this strain. And the same meditative temper, which signalizes this, his favorite class of effusions, follows him into whatever spheres else he may occasionally enter. Witness his 'Ages,' a lengthened and

beautiful resume of man's historic evolution. Note also his 'Lines to a Waterfowl,' a gem of rarest water, with a fully corresponding setting, whose final stanza utters a moral alike transcendantly beautiful and religiously sublime."

A few stanzas from some of his finest poems, it may not be improper for us to quote-especially from those which give evidence of his warm sympathy for the poor and down-trodden. Of this latter class he has written many poems which are calmly, sadly beautiful.

One of his poems oft read and oft quoted, is entitled

THE AFRICAN CHIEF.

Chained in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name.
All stern of look, and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground,
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly but well that chief had fought,
He was a captive now;

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.

The scars his dark, broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave,

A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave!

Then to his conqueror he spake:

"My brother is a king;

Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring. And send me where my brother reigns And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold-dust from the sands."

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold

The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,

In lands beyond the sea."