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Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming;
On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ?
That the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion,
Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution;
Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation !
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
a flag of truce to obtain the release of some prisoners the English had taken in their expedition against Washington. They did not succeed, and were told that they would be detained till after the attack had been made on Baltimore.
Accordingly, they went in their own vessel, strongly guarded, with the British fleet as it sailed up the Patapsco; and when they came within sight of Fort McHenry, a short distance below the city, they could see the American flag distinctly flying on the ram parts. As the day closed in, the bombardment of the fort commenced, and Mr. Key and Mr. Skinner remained on deck all night, watching with deep anxiety every shell that was fired. While the bombardment continued, it was sufficient proof that the fort had not surrendered. It suddenly ceased some time before day; but as they had no communication with any of the enemy's ships, they did not know whether the fort had surrendered, or the attack upon it bad been abandoned. They paced the deck the rest of the night in painful suspense, watching with intense anxiety for the return of day. At length the light came, and they saw that our flag was still there," and soon they were informel that the attack bad failed. In the fervor of the moment, Mr. Key took an ola letter from his pocket, and on its back wrote the most of this celebrated song, finishing it as soon as he reached Baltimore. He showed it to his friend Judge Nicholson, who was so pleased with it th ho placed it at once in the bands of the printer, and in an hour after it was all over the city, and hailed with enthusiasm, and took its place at once as a national song.
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
Of Mr. Key's sacred lyrics there are two-exquisite little gems—that should be found in every collection of American poetry.
If life's pleasures cheer thee,
Give them not thy heart,
From thy God to part:
Fix there thy hopes' foundation;
Painful though it be,
To thy Saviour flee:
And calm thy perturbation;
Death shall never harm thee,
Shrink not from his blow,
And victory bestow :
The grave no desolation;
The rock of thy salvation.
Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise thee
For the bliss thy love bestows,
And the peace that from it flows.
This dull soul to rapture raise;
Can my love be warm'd to praise.
Wretched wanderer, far astray;
From the paths of death away.
Him who saw thy guilt-born fear,
Bade the blood-stain'd cross appear.
Lord! this bosom's ardent feeling
Vainly would my lips express ;
Deign thy suppliant's prayer to bless.
Love's pure flame within me raise;
Let my life show forth thy praise.
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.
Joseph T. Buckingham, one of the most prominent journalists of New England, was born at Windham, Connecticut, on the 21st of December, 1779. After working upon a farm till he was sixteen years old, he obtained a situation in the printing-office of David Carlisle, the publisher of “The Farmer's Museum,” at Walpole, N. H. ; which he left in a few months, and apprenticed himself in the office of the “Greenfield Gazette."
In 1800, he went to Boston, and in 1805 he commenced the publication, on his own account, of a magazine, under the title of The Polyanthos. It was suspended in 1807, resumed in 1812, and continued till 1815. In January, 1809, he published the first number of The Ordeal, a political weekly, of sixteen pages, octavo, which was discontinued in six months. In 1817, he commenced, with Samuel L. Knapp, a lawyer of Boston, a weekly paper, entitled The New England Galaxy and Masonic Magazine, which was conducted with great spirit, talent, and independence, and obtained a large circulation. In 1828, he sold it in order to devote bis entire attention to "The Boston Courier," a daily paper which he had commenced in March, 1824. He continued to edit the “Courier" with great ability till 1848, when he sold out his interest in this also.
In 1831, Mr. Buckingham commenced, in conjunction with his son Edwin, The New England Magazine,--a monthly of ninety-six pages, octavo, and one of the best of its class ever published in our country, containing articles by some of the best writers and most popular authors of the day. In less than two years his son Edwin died at sea, in a voyage undertaken for the benefit of his health ; and, in 1834, the magazine was transferred to Dr. Samuel G. Howe and John 0. Sargent.
Mr. Buckingham was a member of the Massachusetts House of Representatives for seven years, (four from Boston and three from Cambridge,) and of the Senato four years from Middlesex County. Since he retired from the press, he has published Specimens of Nercspaper Literature, with Personal Memoirs, Anecdotes, and Reminiscences, in two volumes, and Personal Memoirs and Recollections of Editorial Life, also in two volumes. These are very interesting and instructive books, and give us a high opinion of the author, as an industrious and upright man, never discouraged by difficulties; as a writer of pure and nervous English; and editor, truthful, independent, courageous, and loving the right more than the expedient. As a legislator, Mr. Buckingham did himself lasting honor by the re
ports he presented as chairman of committees on Lotteries, on the Mexican War, on the Fugitive Slave Bill, and on many other questions of public interest.
The incidents of the last few days have been such as will probably never again be witnessed by the people of America,-such as were never before witnessed by any nation under heaven. History cannot produce the record of an event to parallel that which has awakened this universal burst of pleasure, this simultaneous shout of approbation, that echoes through our wideextended empire.
The multitudes we see are not assembled to talk over their private griefs, to indulge in querulous complaints, to mingle their murmurs of discontent, to pour forth tales of real or imaginary wrongs, to give utterance to political recriminations. The effervescence of faction seems for the moment to be settled, the colli. sion of discordant interests to subside, and hushed is the clamor of controversy. There is nothing portentous of danger to the commonwealth in this general awakening of the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the old and the young,—this “impulsive ardor” which pervades the palace of wealth and the hovel of poverty, decrepit age and lisping infancy, virgin loveliness and vigorous manhood. No hereditary monarch graciously exhibits his august person to the gaze of vulgar subjects. No conquering tyrant comes in his triumphal car, decorated with the spoils of vanquished nations, and followed by captive princes, marching to the music of their chains. No proud and hypocritical hierarch, playing “fantastic airs before high Heaven," enacts his solemn mockeries to deceive the souls of men and secure for himself the honor of an apotheosis. The shouts which announce the approach of a chieftain are unmingled with any note of sorrow. No lovelorn maiden's sigh touches his ear; no groan from a childless father speaks reproach; no widow's curse is uttered, in bitterness of soul, upon the destroyer of her hope; no orphan's tear falls upon his shield to tarnish its brightness. The spectacle now exhibited to the world is of the purest and noblest character,-a spectacle which man may admire and God approve,--an assembled nation offering the spontaneous homage of a nation's gratitude to a nation's benefactor.
There is probably no man living whose history partakes so largely of the spirit of romance and chivalry as that of the individual who is now emphatically the guest of the people. At the age of nineteen years, he left his country and espoused the cause of the American colonies. His motive for this conduct must have been one of the noblest that ever actuated the heart of man. He was in possession of large estates, allied to the highest orders of French nobility, surrounded by friends and relatives, with prospects of future distinction and favor as fair as ever opened to the ardent view of aspiring and ambitious youth. He was just married to a lady of great worth and respectability, and it would seem that nothing was wanting to a life of affluence and ease. Yet Lafayette left his friends, his wealth, his country, his prospects of distinction, his wife, and all the sources of domestic bliss, to assist a foreign nation in its struggle for freedom, and at a time, too, when the prospects of that country's success were dark, disheartening, and almost hopeless. He fought for that country, he fed and clothed her armies, he imparted of his wealth to her poor. He saw her purposes accomplished, and her government esta blished on principles of liberty. He refused all compensation for his services. He returned to his native land, and engaged in contests for liberty there. He was imprisoned by a foreign government, suffered every indignity and every cruelty that could be inflicted, and lived, after his release, almost an exile on the spot where he was born. More than forty years after he first embarked in the cause of American liberty, he returns to see once more his few surviving companions in arms, and is met by the grateful salutations of the whole nation. It is not possible to reflect on these facts without feeling our admiration excited to a degree that almost borders on reverence. Sober history, it is hoped, will do justice to the name of Lafayette. It is not in the power of fiction to embellish his character or his life.
New England Galaxy, 1826.
THE EVILS OF LOTTERIES.
A lottery is gaming. This is against the policy of society, and there are few civilized nations that have not adopted means to restrain or entirely prohibit it; because it is seeking property for which no equivalent is to be paid, and because it leads directly to losses and poverty, and, by exciting bad passions, is the fruitful original of vice and crime.
It is the worst species of gaming, because it brings adroitness, cunning, experience, and skill to contend against ignorance, folly, distress, and desperation. It can be carried on to an indefinite and indefinable extent without exposure; and, by a mode of settling the chances by "combination numbers,"—an invention of the modern school of gambling,—the fate of thousands and hundreds of thousands may be determined by a single turn of the wheel.
Lotteries, like other games of chance, are seductive and infatuating. Every new loss is an inducement to a new adventure;