The death of Wolfe called forth many mournful tributes to his virtues. We select a few lines which appeared in the Pennsylvania Gazette, Nov. 8, 1759.

Thy merits, Wolfe, transcend all human praise,
The breathing marble or the muses' lays."
Art is but vain-the force of language weak,
To paint thy virtues, or thy actions speak.
Had I Duché's or Godfrey's magic skill,
Each line to raise, and animate at will-
To rouse each passion dormant in the soul,
Point out its object, or its rage control-

Then, Wolfe, some faint resemblance should we find
Of those great virtues that adorn'd thy mind.
Like Britain's genius shouldst thou then appear,
Hurling destruction on the Gallic rear-
While France, astonish'd, trembled at thy sight,
And placed her safety in ignoble flight.

Thy last great scene should melt each Briton's heart,
And rage and grief alternately impart.

With foes surrounded, midst the shades of death, These were the words that closed the warrior's breath

My eyesight fails!-but does the foe retreat?
If they retire, I'm happy in my fate!"

A generous chief, to whom the hero spoke,
Cried, "Sir, they fly!—their ranks entirely broke:
Whilst thy bold troops o'er slaughter'd heaps ad-

vance,

And deal due vengeance on the sons of France."
The pleasing truth recalls his parting soul,
And from his lips these dying accents stole:-
"I'm satisfied!" he said, then wing'd his way,
Guarded by angels to celestial day.

An awful band!-Britannia's mighty dead,
Receives to glory his immortal shade.
Marlborough and Talbot hail the warlike chic-
Halket and Howe, late objects of our grief,
With joyful song conduct their welcome guest
To the bright mansions of eternal rest-
For those prepared who merit just applause
By bravely dying in their country's cause.

JOHN MAYLEM.

John Maylem was graduated at Harvard in 1715. He published, in 1758, The Conquest of Louisbourg, a Poem, 8vo. pp. 16, and in the same year, Gallic Perfidy, a Poem, about the same length. His name appears on the titlepages of both these productions, with the warlike aflix, "Philo-bellum." From the character of some unpublished poems, copied in a MS. collection made by Du Simitière the antiquary, preserved in the Philadelphia library, he appears to have loved wine and Venus as well. Du Simitière, who appears to have had a special fondness for the writer, has also copied a letter from John Maylem to Mr. J-s-phon, in which he calls himself a drunkard, and describes an attempt which he made to hang himself, in which a brief tension of the rope by his suspended neck was followed by an abandonment of the project, serious reflection, and, up to the date of the letter, a thorough reformation.

Maylem's poetic ordnance is suggestive of the weight of the metal rather than the fire and momentum of the discharge. We will, however, give a brief passage from one of the most inten-ified of his "sound and fury" strains:

Meanwhile, alternate deaths promiscuous fly, And the fierce meteors blaze along the sky;

Then shiver in the air, and sudden pour
A cloud of atoms, in a sulphur shower;
Or in their city wild convulsive burst
Ten thousand ways, and mingle with the dust,
A gaping chasm in their wall disclose,
The reeking soldier at his death repose.
While fate in showers of lead connected rains,
And wings famed heroes to her dark domains;
The cutting grape-shot spatter o'er the heath,
And the fierce langrel aid the glare of death.
In such sad scenes alternately involved,
Till one fair season half her course dissolved;
Too much the odds-the Gallic ensigns struck,
By all their patron images forsook,

With drooping flag and solemn pace advance,
Their courage faints, nor more can stand the chance,
The last sad purpose of their souls impart,
And claim the mercy of a British heart.

The following decided expression of opinion is taken from Du Simitière's MS. copy:

SATIRE ON HALIFAX, IN NOVA SCOTIA.

The dregs of Thames and Liffy's sable stream,
Danubian rubbish and the Rhine's my theme,
Of them I sing, the rebel vagrant rout,
Base emigrants that Europe speweth out,
Their country's bane, such traitrous scoundrel crews,
Torn from the gaols, the gallows, and the stews,
From Europe's plains to Nova Scotia's woods,
Transported over the great Atlantic floods;
In shoals they come, and fugitive invade
The horrid gloom of Halifax's shade.

Oh, Halifax! the worst of God's creation,
Possest of the worst scoundrels of each nation:
Whores, rogues, and thieves, the dregs and scum of

We know nothing of this writer in connexion with America except that he wrote a portion of his poem on War in Newfoundland, in the winter of 1758; that the second edition of his performance was published at Portsmouth, "in Piscataqua, or New Hampshire Colony, in America, in 1761," the first having appeared in London in 1760, and the third "in Massachusetts Colony, in 1762." The fourth and last edition was published in London without date, but must have appeared in or before 1766, as we find it advertised in its complete form on the title-page of a play, The Conquest of Canada, by the same writer, and it was not until its fourth issue that it attained its full growth of ten books. He was also the author of Stentorian Eloquence and Medical Infal libility, a satire in verse on itinerant preachers and advertising quacks, published in 1771, and of Benevolence and Gratitude, a Poem, in 1772.

The longest and most ambitious of these productions is the Heroic Poem on War. The subject grew upon the author from an account of the conquest of Louisburg to a chronicle of the entire war, including the achievements of the English at the Havana and Manilla. Wolfe is of course the chief hero of his chronicle. A few lines from the argument of his poem will display its style:

Couldst act the patriot hero's part,
And bear thy country on thy heart,
Ev'n while it languish'd in the pangs of death.

As once the Decii certain death defy'd,
Tinsure Rome conquest and devoted dy'd;
As Curtius, noble youth! intrepid brav'd
The gulf wide-yawning, and his country sav'd:
So thou, brave Wolfe, durst, at the heav'nly call,
Rush into ruin's open jaws,

Thus like those heroes didst thou greatly fall,
Thyself devoted in thy country's cause.

Long as Quebec shall rear aloft her head,
Long as her rocks her stable walls sustain,

Long as Laurentius in his spacious bed,
Rolls his vast tide of waters to the main;
So long, O Wolfe, thy memory shall bloom,
And deathless laurels flourish on thy tomb.

This is followed by two patriotic hymns, composed for, and sung on days of national thanksgiving, "by desire of the preacher on his text."

The author also tries his hand on French verse, and gives La Lamentation de Louis sur les victoires des Anglois. A.D. MDCCLX.

This is followed by Loyal Tears shed over Royal Dust, an elegy on George II. Also, "on the Liberty of the Press to Mr. F―, printer, at New York, A.D. MDCCLXII." With other verses on incidents of the war, and two Latin paraphrases of the lament of David over Absalom, and the fight with Goliath.

In 1791, Dr. Prime published Columbia's Glory, or British Pride Humbled; a Poem on the American Revolution: some part of it being a parody on an ode entitled Britain's Glory, or Gallic Pride Humbled; composed on the capture of Quebec, A.D. 1759, by Benjamin Young Prime, M.D. In a brief preface, he speaks of his former publication in London, in 1764, and of the requests of his friends made to him to compose a parody upon it in honor of the American revolution. The plan expanded to a composition of 1441 lines, occupied with a review of the events of the war, a eulogy of the friends and denunciation of the enemies of the country. It was ready for publication at the close of the war, but, as the author informs us, in consequence of a seven years' absence from the city, his affairs had become somewhat deranged, and as no printer could be found to execute the work on any but cash terms, he postponed publishing for a few years. We extract a portion of a panegyric upon Washington:—

O Washington! thou dear, illustrious chief!
Thou ornament and blessing to mankind!

The soldier's glory and thy country's pride!
Columbia's skilful guide

Through the dire contest, and her sweet relief
In all the sorrows of her state forlorn!
Low has thy character refin'd

From the Virginia Gazette, May 2, 1766. Sure never was picture drawn more to the life Or affectionate husband more fond of his wife, Than America copies and loves Britain's sons, Who, conscious of Freedom, are bold as great guns. "Hearts of Oak are we still, for we're sons of those Men,

Who always are ready, steady, boys, steady, To fight for their freedom again and again." Tho' we feast and grow fat on America's soil, Yet we own ourselves subjects of Britain's fair isle; And who's so absurd to deny us the name! Since true British blood flows in every vein. "Hearts of Oak, &c."

Then cheer up, my lads, to your country be firm, Like kings of the ocean, we'll weather each storm; Integrity calls out, fair liberty, see,

Waves her Flag o'er our heads and her words are be free.

"Hearts of Oak, &c."

give.

Our worthy forefathers (let's give them a cheer)
To climates unknown did courageously steer;
Through oceans to deserts for freedom they came,
And, dying, bequeath'd us their freedom and fame.
In freedom we're born, &c.

Their generous bosoms all dangers despised,
So highly, so wisely their birthrights they prized;
We'll keep what they gave, we will piously keep,
Nor frustrate their toils on the land and the deep.
In freedom we're born, &c.

The tree their own hands had to Liberty rear'd,
They lived to behold growing strong and revered,
Now our wishes we
With transport then cried,

gain, For our children shall gather the fruits of our pain." In freedom we're born, &c.

How sweet are the labours that freemen endure,
That they shall enjoy all the profit, secure-
No more such sweet labours Americans know
If Britons shall reap what Americans sow.
In freedom we're born, &c.

Swarms of placemen and pensionerst soon will

Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all,
By uniting, we stand, by dividing, we fall;
In so righteous a cause let us hope to succeed
For Heaven approves of each generous deed.
In freedoin we're born, &c.

All ages shall speak with amaze and applause
Of the courage we'll show in support of our laws;
To die we can bear, but to serve we disdain,
For shame is to freemen more dreadful than pain.
In freedom we're born, &c.

This bumper I crown for our sovereign's health,
And this for Britannia's glory and wealth;
That wealth and that glory immortal may be,
If she is but just, and if we are but free.

In freedom we're born, &c.

A tory parody of this song appeared in the Supplement Extraordinary to the Boston Gazette of Monday, September 26, 1768:

And stupidly steady,

In folly, &c.

In folly, &c.

spared,

When fuddled with rum, the mad sots to restrain;
Sure Tyburn will sober the wretches again.
In folly, &c.

Your brats and your bunters by no means forget,
But feather your nests, for they're bare enough yet;
From the insolent rich sure the poor knave may

steal,

Who ne'er in his life knew the scent of a meal.

In folly, &c.

When in your own cellars you've quaffed a regale,
Then drive, tug and stink the next house to assail.
For short is your harvest, nor long shall you know
The pleasure of reaping what other men sow.
In folly, &c.

Then plunder, my lads, for when red coats appear,
You'll melt like the locusts when winter is near:
Gold vainly will glow; silver vainly will shine;
But faith you must skulk, you no more shall purloin.
In folly, &c.

Then nod your poor numbskulls, ye pumpkins, and bawl!

The De'il take such rascals, fools, whoresons and all.
Your cursed old trade of purloining must cease,
The curse and the dread of all order and peace.
In folly, &c.

All ages shall speak with contempt and amaze,
Of the vilest Banditti that swarm'd in those days;
In defiance of halters, of whips, and of chains,
The rogues would run riot, damn'd fools for their
pains.

In folly, &c.

Gulp down your last dram, for the gallows now

We are indebted for this and the previous song to a very valuable collection of cuttings from American and English newspapers, illustrating the history of our country from 1660 to 1840, formed by the antiquary William Upcott, in the possession of the New York Historical Society.