the Vermont District.* He was an acute preacher; two sermons delivered by him at Torringford, Conn., The Perfection of God, the Fountain of God, and published at Norwich, "for a number of hearers," fully supporting a reputation in this particular. There is an improvement in one of them in an allusion to Washington which is curious. He is illustrating the providence of the Deity: "Observe the sunbeams that shoot by stealth into a darkened room. There you will see myriads of playing motes. Can there be any importance in these? Indeed there can, indeed there is: too much for any except God to manage. One of these may overthrow an empire, give the world a shock, and extend its influence into eternity. It may fall on the lungs of some monarch, and occasion great revolutions in his dominions. It may light on the eye of a David, a Solomon, a Cyrus, an Alexander, bring on an inflammation which may spread to the other; produce a mortification, first of those parts, and then of the whole body. Should this be the case with the Commander-inChief of the present American forces, what dreadful consequences might not follow. Our strength might give way; our country be subdued; our religious privileges be wrested from us; superstition and idolatry be introduced, and, by and by, spread from us throughout this continent; and then spread over the other quarters of the world, in an heavier cloud than they now lie under." He also published several other discourses, but he will be mainly remembered by his American Hero, a sapphic ode, sung vigorously in Norwich in the olden time, and still revived, we understand, on certain occasions in New Haven.*

The bombardment of Bristol occurred on the 7th of October, 1775, and the ballad on the subject was written not long after. We extract the lines from Mrs. Williams's Biography of Barton. Wallace was the commander of the English squadron off Newport:

THE BOMBARDMENT OF BRISTOL.

The incident which occasioned the following ballad is thus described by an eye-witness (whose name is not given) in a letter to Mrs. Williams.

October 7, 1775, the day when Wallace fired upon the town of Bristol, I was something over ten years old, and all the circumstances relating to that event are fresh in my memory. It was on a pleasant afternoon, with a gentle breeze from the south, that the ships at Newport got under weigh, and stood up towards Bristol (appearing to us a pretty sight). The wind being light they did not arrive till sunset. Wallace, in the Rose, led the way, run up and anchored within a cable's length of the wharf. I think the other ships' names were the Gaspee and Eskew. The next followed, and anchored cable's length to the south. The other one, in endeavouring to go further south, grounded on the middle ground. Besides these, I think there was a bomb brig and a schooner. The schooner run up opposite the bridge, and anchored. I was on the wharf, with hundreds of others, viewing the same, and suspecting no evil. At eight o'clock the Commodore fired a gun. Even then the people felt no alarm, but in a very short time they began to fire

one

History of Norwich, Conn., from its first settlement in 1660, to January, 1945, by Miss F. M. Caulkins, p. 298. Dodd's Revolutionary Memorials, p. 66.

all along the line, and continued to fire for an hour. The bomb brig threw carcasses, machines made of iron hoops, and filled with all manner of combustibles, to set fire to the town. They threw them up nearly perpendicular, with a tremendous tail to them, and when they fell on the ground they blazed up many yards high, several of which were put out. The cowardly rascal, after firing for an hour or so, being hailed by one of our citizens, ceased firing, and a committee from the town went on board, and his demand on them was a number of sheep and cattle. I believe they collected a few; and the next day, being Sunday, he got under way, and left us, with a name not yet forgotten.

It is marvellous that there were not more people killed, as the bridge was crowded with people all the time of the firing, and the schooner lay within pistol shot of the bridge, and kept up a constant fire. The rest of the ships fired grape, round and double head shot, which were plentifully found after the firing. The following verses

were made on the occasion:-
In seventeen hundred and seventy-five,
Our Bristol town was much surprised
By a pack of thievish villains,
That will not work to earn their livings

October 't was the seventh day,
As I have heard the people say,
Wallace, his name be ever curst,
Came on our harbor just at dusk.
And there his ships did safely moor,
And quickly sent his barge on shore,
With orders that should not be broke,
Or they might expect a smoke.
Demanding that the magistrates
Should quickly come on board his ships,
And let him have some sheep and cattle,
Or they might expect a battle.

At eight o'clock, by signal given,
Onr peaceful atmosphere was riven
By British balls, both grape and roun
As plenty afterwards were found.
But oh! to hear the doleful cries
Of people running for their lives!
Women, with children in their arms,
Running away to the farms!

With all their firing and their skill
They did not any person kill;
Neither was any person hurt,
But the Reverend Parson Burt.
And he was not killed by a ball,
As judged by jurors one and all;
But being in a sickly state,
He, frightened, fell, which proved his fate.
Another truth to you I'll tell,

That

you may see they levelled well;
For aiming for to kill the people,
They fired their shot into a steeple.

They fired low, they fired high,
The women scream, the children cry;
And all their firing and their racket
Shot off the topmast of a packet.

In relation to the following, we find the schooner True American, twelve guns, Captain Daniel Hawthorne, spoken of as in service in 1777 in a list of Salem Privateers, in Joseph B. Felt's Annals of Salem (Salem, 1849), vol. ii. 268. The ballad is given in McCarty's Songs, vol. ii. 250, from R. W. Griswold's manuscript col

lection of American Historical Ballads, and is said to have been taken down "from the mouths of the surviving shipmates of Hawthorne, who were accustomed to meet at the office of the Marine Insurance Company in Salem."

BOLD HAWTHORNE; OR THE CRUISE OF THE FAIR AMERICAN, COMMANDED BY CAPT. DANIEL HAWTHORNE.

Written by the Surgeon of the Vessel.

The twenty-second of August,
Before the close of day,

All hands on board of our privateer,
We got her under weigh;
We kept the Eastern shore along,
For forty leagues or more,
Then our departure took for sea,
From the isle of Mauhegan shore.
Bold Hawthorne was commander,
A man of real worth,
Old England's cruel tyranny
Induced him to go forth;

She, with relentless fury,

Was plundering all our coast,

And thought, because her strength was great,
Our glorious cause was lost.

Yet boast not, haughty Britons,
Of power and dignity,

By land thy conquering armies,
Thy matchless strength at sea;
Since taught by numerous instances
Americans can fight,

With valour can equip their stand,
Your armies put to flight.
Now farewell to fair America,

Farewell our friends and wives;
We trust in Heaven's peculiar care,
For to protect their lives;
To prosper our intended cruise
Upon the ragi: g main,

And to preserve our dearest friends
Till we return again.

The wind it being leading,
It bore us on our way,
As far unto the southward
As the Gulf of Florida;

Where we fell in with a British ship,
Bound homeward from the main;
We gave her two bow-chasers,
And she return'd the same.

We hauled up our courses,

And so prepared for fight;

The contest held four glasses,

Until the dusk of night;

Then having sprung our mainmast,
And had so large a sea,

We dropp'd asteru and left our chase
Till the returning day.

Next morn we fish'd our mainmast,
The ship still being nigh,
All hands made for engaging

Our chance once more to try;
But wind and sea being boisterous
Our cannon would not bear,
We thought it quite imprudent
And so we left her there.

We cruised to the eastward,
Near the coast of Portugal,

In longitude of twenty-seven
We saw a lofty sail;

We gave her chase, and soon perceived
She was a British snow

Standing for fair America,

With troops for General Howe.
Our captain did inspect her
With glasses, and he said,
"My boys, she means to fight us,
But be you not afraid;
All hands repair to quarters,
See every thing is clear,
We'll give her a broadside, my boys,

As soon as she comes near.'

She was prepared with nettings,
And her men were well secured,
And bore directly for us,

And put us close on board;

When the cannon roar'd like thunder,
And the muskets fired amain,

But soon we were alongside

And grappled to her chain.

And now the scene it alter'd,

The cannon ceased to roar,

We fought with swords and boarding-pikes One glass or something more,

Till British pride and glory

No longer dared to stay,
But cut the Yankee grapplings,
And quickly bore away.
Our case was not so desperate
As plainly might appear;
Yet sudden death did enter
On board our privateer.
Mahoney, Crew, and Clemmons,
The valiant and the brave,
Fell glorious in the contest,

And met a watery grave.
Ten other men were wounded
Among our warlike crew,
With them our noble captain,*
To whom all praise is due;
To him and all our officers,
Let's give a hearty cheer;
Success to fair America

And our good privateer!

Joseph Warren contributed by his voice and pen, as well as his sword, to the progress of the American cause. He delivered in 1772 and 1775 orations on the Boston Massacre, the second of which was pronounced in defiance of the threats of the soldiery of the garrison, who lined the pulpit stairs. Warren, to avoid confusion, entered by the window in the rear. The address was an animated and vigorous performance. The interest it excited out of Boston may be gathered from the abusive account of its delivery in Rivington's Gazette, March 16, 1775, an amusing specimen of the style of writing in that periodical.†

On Monday, the 5th instant, the Old South Meeting-house being crowded with mobility and fame, the selectmen, with A lams, Church and Hancock, Cooper and others, assembled in the pulpit, which was covered with black, and we all sat gaping at one another, above an hour, expecting! At last, a single horse chair stopped at the apothecary's, opposite the meeting, from which descended the orator (Warren) of the day, and, entering the shop, was followed by a servant with a bundle, in which were the Ciceronian toga, ete

Having robed himself, he proceeded across the

Hawthorne was wounded in the head by a musket ball + Quoted in Loring's Hundred Boston Orators, p. 60.

street to the meeting, and, being received into the pulpit, he was announced by one of his fraternity to be the person appointed to declaim on the occasion. He then put himself into a Demosthenian posture, with a white handkerchief in his right hand, and his left in his breeches,-began and ended without action. He was applauded by the mob, but groaned at by people of understanding. One of the pulpiteers (Adams) then got up and proposed the nomination of another to speak next year on the bloody massacre,-the first time that expression was made to the audience,-whea some officers cried, O fie, fie! The gallerians, apprehending fire, bounded out of the windows, and swarmel down the gutters like rats, into the street. The 43 regiment, returning accidentally from exercise, with drums beating, threw the whole body into the greatest cousternation. There were neither pageantry, exhibitions, processions, or bells tolling, as usual, but the night was remarked for being the quietest these many months past.

Warren wrote for the newspapers in favor of freedoin, and turned his poetical abilities in the same direction. His Free America, written probably not long before his lamented death, shows that he possessed facility as a versifier.

Tune

FREE AMERICA.

British Grenadiers."

That seat of science, Athens,

And earth's proud mistress, Rome; Where now are all their glories? We scarce can find a tomb. Then guard your rights, Americans, Nor stoop to lawless sway; Oppose, oppose, oppose, oppose, For North America.

We led fair Freedom hither,

And lo, the desert smiled!

A paradise of pleasure
Was opened in the wild!
Your harvest, bold Americans,
No power shall snatch away!
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.

Torn from a world of tyrants,
Beneath this western sky,

We formed a new dominion,

A land of liberty:

The world shall own we're masters here;

Then hasten on the day:

Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.

Proud Albion bow'd to Cesar,

And numerous lords before;
To Picts, to Danes, to Normans,
And many musters more:
But we can boast, Americans,
We've never fallen a prey;
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.

God bless this maiden climate,
And through its vast domain
May hosts of heroes cluster,
Who scorn to wear a chain:
And blast the venal sycophant
That dares our rights betray;
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.

Lift up your hands, ye heroes,
And swear with proud disdain,

A POEM, CONTAINING SOME REMARKS ON THE PRESENT WAR, ETC.

Britons grown big with pride

And wanton ease,

And tyranny beside,

They sought to please

Their craving appetite;

They strove with all their might,
They vow'd to rise and fight,

To make us bow.

The plan they laid was deep,
Even like hell;

With sympathy I weep,
While here I tell

Of that base murderous brood,
Void of the fear of God,

Who came to spill our blood

In our own land.

They bid their armies sail
Through billows' roar,

And take the first fair gale

For Boston's shore;

They cross'd the Atlantic sca
A long and watery way,
Poor Boston fell a prey

To tyranny.

The harbour was block'd up

No ship could sail;

Our fishery was stopt,

A doleful tale!

Of tyrants' cruelty;
Their banners lifted high,
Made sons of freedom cry
Unto their God.

The Congress that we chose
Bid us unite,

And to withstand our foes,
For freedom fight;
They bid us ready stand,
Fight for our fathers' land,
Though we a feeble band,
Bid us not fear.

With great reluctancy
We ready stood,
And with our spirits high,
Trusting in God;
Our prayers did ascend,

That he would be our friend,
That he would us defend

In troubles great.

But oh! when cruel Gage
Did see that we

Would not bow to his rage

And tyranny;

Did fortify most strong,

His guards were stretch'd along
A base and brutish throng,

Of British troops.

Gage was both base and mean,
He dare not fight;

The men he sent were seen
Like owls in night.
It was in Lexington,

Where patriots' blood did run
Before the rising sun

In crimson gore.

Here sons of freedom fell
Rather than flee,

Unto those brutes of hell

They fell a prey;

But they shall live again,

Their names shall rise and reign Among the noble slain

In all our land.

But oh! this cruel foe
Went on in haste,
To Concord they did go,
And there did waste
Some stores in their rage,
To gratify old Gage,
His name in every page
Shall be defam'd.

Their practice thus so base
And murder too,
Rous'd up the patriot race,
Who did pursue,
And put this foe to flight,

They could not bear the light,

Some rue'd the very night

They left their den.

And now this cruelty

Was spread abroad,

The sons of liberty

This act abhorr'd;

Their noble blood did boil,
Forgetting all the toil,

In troubles they could smile,
And went in haste.

On Charlestown he display'd
His fire abroad;
He it in ashes laid,

An act abhorr'd
By sons of liberty-

Who saw the flames on high
Piercing their native sky,
And now lies waste.

To Bunker-hill they came
Most rapidly,

And many there were slain,
And there did die.
They call'd it bloody hill,
Although they gain'd their will
In triumph they were still,
'Cause of their slain.
Here sons of freedom fought
Right manfully;

A wonder here was wrought,
Though some did die.
Here WARREN bow'd to death
His last expiring breath,
In language mild he saith-
Fight on, brave boys.
Oh! this did stain the pride
Of British troops;
They saw they were deny'd
Of their vain hopes
Of marching thro' our land,
When twice a feeble band
Did fight, and boldly stand
In our defence.

Brave WASHINGTON did come
To our relief;

He left his native home,

Filled with grief;

He did not covet gain,
The cause he would maintain
And die among the slain
Rather than flee.

His bosom glow'd with love
For liberty;

His passions much did move

To orphans' cry.

He let proud tyrants know, How far their bounds should go, And then his bombs did throw

Into their den.

This frighted them full sore
When bombs were sent,
When cannon loud did roar
They left each tent;

Oh! thus did the tyrants fly,
Went precipitately,
Their shipping being nigh,
They sailed off.

And now Boston is free

From tyrants base;

The sons of liberty

Possess the place;

They now in safety dwell,

Free from those brutes of hell, Their raptured tongues do tell Their joys great.

But they must try again

Us to undo;

Their fleets have cross'd the main
And do pursue.
They've come in mighty haste
To lay our country waste,

The Southern States must taste
Of tyrants' rage.

Britons and Hessian troops,
A brutish throng,
To prosecute their hopes
They've sail'd along;
The Tories ask'd them o'er,
To come and try once more,
Some landed on the shore

Near Charleston bar.
Brave Charleston was prepar'd
For this brave foe;
A fortress they had rear'd
To let them know

That freedom's cause was good,
They would resist for blood,
And manfully withstood,

And drubb'd them well.
Oh! here Parker was beat
Right manfully;

And with his scatter'd fleet

With wounded's cry.
His ammunition fail'd,
He took the first fair gale,
With scarce a mast or sail
To join old Howe.
Howe's fleet cover'd the sea
Near New York shore
And very subtle he

To try once more;
Here Tories join'd our foe,
As base as hell below,
Who did our shores know,
Help'd them to land.
But oh! the bloody scene
I now will write;

Long Island I do mean,
Where was the fight,

Where our brave men did die,
Fighting for liberty,

No succor could come nigh
For their relief.

Here valiant men did bleed,
And fell a prey;
Here tyrants did succeed
And win the day;
It was by Tories' art,
Who took the tyrants' part
We yet do feel the smart

Of that base crew.
Brave WASHINGTON did say,
Alas! good God,
Brave men I've lost to-day,
They're in their blood.
His grief he did express
To see them in distress,
His tears and hands witness
He lov'd his men.

And then he thought best
To leave that place,

Than there to stand the test
With men so base.
He was wise and discreet,
He bid his men retreat,

Go farther from the fleet,
So left New York.

Du Simitière's volume of poetical selections in MS., to which we have frequently expressed our obligations, furnishes us with some lively verses for the outset of 1776, which are there entitled

Parody by John Tabor Kemp, Attorney-General of New York, to welcome Cortland Skinner, Attorney-General of New Jersey, on board of the Asia Man-of- War, at New York, Feb., 1776.

I.

Welcome, welcome, brother Tory,
To this merry floating place;
I came here a while before you;
Coming here is no disgrace.
Freedom finds a safe retreat here,
On the bosom of the waves;
You she now invites to meet her.
Welcome, then, thou Tory brave.

II.

As you serve, like us, the King, sir,
In a hammock you must lay;
Better far 'tis so to swing, sir,

Than to swing another way.
Tho' we've not dry land to walk on,
The quarter deck is smooth to tread:
Hear how fast, while we are talking,
Barrow trips it over head.

III.

Should vile Whigs come here to plunder,
Quick we send them whence they came;
They'd soon hear the Asia thunder,

And the Phoenix in a flame.
Neptune's gallant sons befriend us,
While at anchor here we ride;
Britain's wooden walls defend us,
Britain's glory and her pride.

In 1776, appeared The Fall of British Tyranny: or American Liberty Triumphant,-The First Campaign; a Tragi-Comedy of five acts, as lately planned at the Royal Theatrum Pandemonium, at St. James'. Phila. 8vo. pp. 66. It is one of several dramatic satires, like the Group of Mrs. We Warren, which appeared during the war. present a portion of