in the canvass. He was always an eschewer of New- || ever so distinguished a man was born, or whoever may England rum, and had especial abhorrence for molasses. have been his father and mother-nay, whether the How then, could he possibly have consented to be born || latter ever "knew he was out," I do not consider at all in either of those places? necessary to know with exact certainty. Lyme having brought forward proofs, as she thinks them, that our hero probably first appeared in the "North Quarter," or on "Pygan's Hill," I have only to say, that it is "no such thing." Neither is there any thing more sound in the supposition that he was a native of Hardscrabble; and quite as little plausibility is there in the plea put in by the good people of Puckhungonock. I have the same remark for the denizens of Togwonk, and must be equally summary in deciding against the pretensions of Pettipaqug. He was neither born on Wigwam Rock or "The Great Flats." Swagotchy has urged claims that have staggered me for a moment, I confess; but a little research into the early annals of that interesting region has been sufficent to convince me that there are no good grounds for believing that he was either born there or "brought up" in Sunkepague. There is, however, a little village not very far from several of these places, which adduces so many plausible proofs, and advances such a variety of very good reasons why he ought to have been born within its borders, that, without positively committing myself, I am bound to say, that I am very much inclined in its favor. I shall not give the name of this village, nor is it best, perhaps, to designate its "location" too clearly. It has had occasion to boast of several great men, and of course, is in no need of making itself more illustrious through the agency of my hero, and my pen. is immortal enough in having produced Elnathan Oxbow-in being the birthplace of the first plucker and planter of buttonwood staddles, of the age, and the most adroit snarer of partridges and pedlar of whortleberries "of this or any other country!" Samuel, was undoubtedly either born here or some where else—always supposing as I have already hinted, he was born any where. His parentage, or whether he had any, is a point almost as problematical as his birth-place. I have been unable to find the slightest clue to the name of his father, and even that of his mother, generally less difficult to trace in such cases as his, has not been without its difficulties. Noah Beebe, a poet and philosopher of some repute in that country, supposes my hero's maternal parent to have been the celebrated Hannah Hill, who left so many descendants of the same name along the coast of Connecticut, that remain to this day famous for their good qualities, and who are only equalled in their savoury standing with the public by a family very nearly related to them-the Paugies, of Two-Tree Island.* These matters, however, are not after all, of very especial importance, and having done my duty in hinting at them, I shall pursue the matter no farther. Where A small sandy islet, so called from the fact that there is no such thing as a tree upon the premises. It is in Long-Island sound, and saving that there is nothing on it but plumb-bushes and rock-weed, it is a very picturesque spot. Sam Hill was a smart boy and very tractable in his learning, so far as the limited means of those early days afforded him any opportunity to "develope his genius." There was very little attention paid to the classics in those days in Sam's native village, nor indeed, were the rudimental branches very carefully looked after in his case. Even reading in Mr. Dilworth's valuable compend of elemental knowledge was entirely neglected, and our hero had arrived at the period whimsically called "years of discretion," before he reached that point in his education. Genius, however, will break out, despite the disadvantages that attend a total ignorance of the alphabet, an original idea that I first caught in looking into the early history of young Hill. He didn't know B from a basket of turnips 'till he was past twenty, but he discovered a decided talent for chuck-farthing before he was five. He had never learned even one of Dr. Watt's night prayers, 'till he was " of age," or made at that time so much progress in other earthly literature as to be able to understand that most sensible of lyric lullabys, "goosy, goosy gander;" and yet, the fellow had scarcely got out of his bib before he rifled his uncle's water-melon patch. He found it utterly impossible to count ten long after he had become an adept in some of the more abstruse rogueries of the neighborhood. Some people are born with theories in their heads, and others are merely blessed with practical faculties. Our hero's cranium was innocent, from birth to death, of any thing in the shape of theory. His virtues were eminently practical in every particular. Disdaining all human learning, as great men will sometimes take it into their heads to do, all his earlier energies were directed to the natural promptings of nature, or, to speak more accurately, to instinct. There was an innate love of filth-a sort of intuitive aptitude for mischief, that soon settled the point in most men's minds, that Sam was born to be a man of action-that he was not one of Malvolio's men of might not one of your disforced upon him, but one who was born great! tinguished citizens who was likely to have greatness I have already remarked that the sciences (that of reading among others) were entirely overlooked in his education. He made up, however, for that seeming deficiency by the strength of his own instincts and escaped from their consequences by the hardihood of his own head. Nature had provided him with a thickness of skull, that for a long time counteracted all the perils that seemed to await his utter want of brains-that is, the lack of the right kind of material in the upper story-and it is recorded as an evidence of the great sagacity of his mother, that she humorously remarked of him when he first ran away and nobody could tell where he had gone, that "Nought was never in danger." From the philosophy of this singularly felicitous observation, it will at once be perceived that my hero's genius was hereditary, at least on the maternal side. Few women of her station in society, could have hit upon so wise and so original a reflection. However, his biographer will be the last person on earth to set up any ancestral claims for him. If he cannot be made a great man without calling upon his mother, or even his grandmother, he may remain less than the least, to all eternity, for aught I care. There is no danger of him, however. Perhaps it would be impossible to produce proof of precocious genius more striking than one exhibited by the subject of these memoirs in the very juvenescence, as it were, of his career of manhood. I have it from a manuscript diary of an old maid, who was familiar with the family, and an acute observer as well as a very careful chronicler of events in the history of this very eventful family. She says, in a letter addressed to a distinguished lady, residing at the time near Quaker Hill "I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am very well, He next courted a cousin of his, Miss Jerusha Juniper, who first favored his suit or pretended to do so, and then cut him most inhumanly for the village fifer. Mr. Hill took his mother's counsel on this occasion, and instead of demolishing the musician, as he at first swore in his wrath he would do, paid his addresses to a comely damsel who had previously met with a misfortune in business-having been jilted by a merchant in the city; or to make the matter more familiar, Polly Johnson's beau having become bankrupt in the business of selling grog upon credit, at his store on the " Beach," had broken off his engagement with her, and married the daughter of a wealthy smackman at Green's Harbor. Sam's suit in this case seemed likely to prosper, but all sublunary calculations, are uncertain. The truth is luck is very little better than a Carolina negro's opinion of a white man-it is "mighty uncertain." Polly paddled out of her promises to Samuel, and married a pedlar from the "Green Woods." and hope you are injoyin the same blessin. My little ones are al harty and helthy as pigs, so is our nabor's. Nothin purtickilar has happened, but I ort to write a word or two perhaps He consoled himself in this affliction by offering his about that wunderfull child of Miss Hill. Did you ever heer hand to the servant maid of a family in New-London, any thing like it? He is now seven yeers old, and his mother has never left of nursin him til last weak, and 'tis the oppinyan | which he had been in the habit of supplying with peaof al her frinds that he never would a left of any more than brush, and but for one untoward circumstance this Deacon Jones' 10 year old caff, if Sam had n't learned to swear and chew tobacco." matter would have turned out happily for our hero. This circumstance consisted simply in being beaten out of the kitchen with a broom-stick the very first time that he “laid his love" before that amiable and estimable young lady. Of course, Sam being a young man of spirit, and withal, exceedingly apt at taking a hint, perceived at once that he was not so partially thought of in that quarter as he might be, and forebore to press further. matters any There seems to be a general tradition that it was actually chewing tobacco which first weaned our hero from the maternal bosom! There is nothing, I take it, in ancient or modern history to compete with this portion of our hero's career. If there is, let it be produced! Asterisks again, and I feel warranted in using them; for there are certain passages a little too luxuriant for sober history, and they are omitted from prudential motives, as your cabinet ministers, omit the production of diplomatic documents. They may to be sure, be the only papers of the least earthly use, but are withheld because their seeing daylight would be "prejudicial to the public interests." The stripling grew up and became a stout boy, rather "longer between joints" than most of his country compeers, to be sure, but equally lithe and awkward in the use of his rather elongated limbs. Brighter times, however, were awaiting him, and it was not long after this uncomfortable era in his life, that he so distinguished himself, that it was out of the question for any mere mortal fair one to deny him any thing. The reader will be pleased to consider the present point of my history as the 29th day of February, 17, and I have forgotten what-and of course that it is a good time for a leap. Let us take it together. Mr. Samuel Hill is now twenty-one years of age, and notwithstanding the loss of some of those charms which belong exclu Of course it was not in the nature of things for a young sively to early youth, is very nearly or quite as interestman of Sam's "capabilities" to live long in and not ing as he was when he went home from a baptist meeting fall in love. He did so at any early period of his event- at six years of age, and drowned his mother's cat in ful life, and it grieves me to record some of the mishaps imitation of certain ceremonies he had seen on the occa and misadventures which it brought upon him. "Thesion. He is now an "altered man" and fourth corporal course of true love never did run smooth"-at any rate of a militia company. He has added too, to his previous it didn't in his case. Sam was first smitten with the fair face and pug nose of Miss Barbara Waugs, a nice young lady living near him, and then smitten on the cheek by a blow from the clenched fist of that virtuous and accomplished virgin, which effectually knocked all his amatory partialities in the head. The good people of Connecticut were never very particular in matters matrimonial. They generally spoke of married matrons as Miss so and so; and I am sorry to say they don't always make the proper distinction even now. easy accomplishments, for he has learned to read " authors," and even gone far enough into erudition to be able with a very little difficulty to write his own name. Having a natural taste in the fine arts, he very soon after mastering the mysteries of "reading in three syllables," put himself under the tuition of an ancient professor of psalmody, and very rapidly rose to distinction in that sublime profession. So brilliant, indeed, was his progress, that in less than thirty lessons from his great maestro, Mr. Solomon Solafasol, Sam was sent for to take charge of the singing school at Little Crotchettown, a village some miles from his residence, on the road to Stumpington. Here our hero rose to the very summit of his earthly renown, and here he formed those associations and opened his eyes to those magnificent prospects of the future, which made him pretty much all that he ever was, and at the same time laid the foundation of those habits, which it grieves us to say, brought down upon him all the calamities which fate, or an irrepressible passion for eating and drinking, had ordained for his final discomfiture. Caressed as he naturally was, and looked upon as he could not fail to be in so intelligent a community as that of Crotchettown, his celebrity extended itself amazingly, and it was but a very little while before he became as famous for his vocal, (or rather his nasal excellence, for Sam's melody was always most conspicuous through the nose,) in the neighboring parishes as he was in the very field of his first achievements, in psalm singing. Upper Schreechington, East Gruntingburgh, and the two "societies" in the Reverend Mr. Snuffleville's "circuit" were equally smitten with the unction of our hero's powers; even Mr. Straintext's congregation expressed a decided wish that "the distinguished Mr. Hill" might be invited to "extend his usefulness among the admiring people of Brahamsville; Deacon Guttural was particularly anxious, and old Swallowfrog, the time honored chorister of that vocal village, urged, with a voice that could hardly be excelled by catgut itself, the solemn duty of giving "the celebrated Mr. Hill" a call. Mumphegan was scarcely less clamorous, and the two rival neighborhoods of Wheezingham and Whistleville were equally vociferous for the honor of a visit from so supereminent a nasalist. Sam remained perfectly noncommittal for a long time, and fearful of offending the factions that had undertaken to make themselves busy with his " great powers," he declared himself satisfied with his location at Little Crotchettown, and made known his determination to live and die in that immortal town. Public men, how ever, can no more maintain their own resolutions, than a public oyster. The one may make up his mind to be opened at no less popular place than at Downing's, in Broad street, and the other may resolve that he will speechify only at Tammany Hall, but it may become necessary to be broiled in the Bowery, and possibly the politician will find it most to his interest to hold forth at the Battery. The subject of these memoirs found himself under the necessity of yielding to circumstances. He was fairly obliged to be famous in more places than and was finally prevailed upon to give a "Concert of Sacred Music," in the "meeting house of the Rev. Mr. Snuffle at Porkington, in the adjoining village of Ragsausage. His success was complete, but like some other great men, he was unequal to his good fortune. In adding to the exhiliration of popular applause by a comfortable stimulus or two from the bar-room of the village inn, he took the cup of flip that does the mischief on all such occasions-that is to say the last one-and consequently was unable to preserve his perpendicularity. In one, a word, he was carted home excited. This may be considered the commencement of his downward destiny. His popularity still continued, to be sure, and he was equally the favorite of the musical and the military portions of the community, but, his greatness was evidently drawing to a close. Having been chosen captain of the "Soul of Soldiery," a company of martialists who had adopted that title out of the mere modesty of their own souls, he had of course to undergo the fatigues, distresses, and dangers incident to "active service" in a draggle-tailed regiment of militia; and that bold body of the "national defence," having been suddenly summoned to supply a vacancy occasioned by the demise of Lieutenant Sweat, who had overheated himself in attempting to draw on his boots of a foggy forenoon in May, Captain Hill laid down his life precisely as a certain soldier would wish to die. it The muster of the company being a special one, became the duty of the officers to "stand the shot"that is, they were bound to "treat all around," and Sam, whose soul was nearly the size of a hogshead of "hard cider," planked his four-and-sixpence with the most praiseworthy nonchalance, that being his share in the extraordinary expenditures of the occasion. Sam was pluck to the back-bone, and disdained, as became him, the amount that was expected from him, but, discreet and prudent, as is the duty of all public men, it struck him as it has stricken a great many of his countrymen, that it was a matter of policy as well as patriotism, to get his money's worth." Having the dinner to pay for, it would be foolish not to take at least his own share. He did take it, and as some of his contemporaries contend, rather more. At any rate, the boiled pig and pumpkin puddings killed him. He either over or under ate himself, and died as a military man should do—in the discharge of his duty! Thus departed this life, Mr. Samuel Hill-and thus went into oblivion one of the great men of the day. Oblivion did I say? Let us take that back, if you please, Mr. Reader. These pages, I apprehend, have taken care of this business. Sam might have gone to oblivion, sure enough, if I hadn't stood by him in the emergency. As it is, it would be pleasant enough to hear "one of the vulgar" venture to say any thing about the oblivion aforesaid. I wonder whether I wouldn't demolish him before he thought of such a thing! CONCLUSION. There is a moral in biography as well as in Esop's fables, and there is not only a moral, but there is, as it were, something more. In the present case, I shall let the moral pretty much alone. If the reader cant reach it by his own gumption, it is not exactly any of my business, that I know of. If there is not raw material enough for something moral or immoral in reflection on this history, I don't consider it any fault of mine. It is before you, ladies and gentlemen: help yourselves to such as you like best. There is something to be added, however, and it is as well perhaps, for antiquarians to attend to it. Sam Hill is as familiar to my fellow citizens of New-England, as Thanksgiving, and they are as well acquainted with that worthy, "by reputation," as they are with pumpkin pie or Parson Byles' sermons. His name is a household word from Rye to Passamaquaddy; but, they never knew 'till I told them, where he came from and what became of him; and to confess the truth, I don't know that they are much wiser now. It is very much to be lamented if they are not! "that That the hero of these memoirs was a man take him all in all" possessed more attributes than " any body else in creation," is quite clear from all contemporaneous history; for no other individual was ever celebrated and sworn by for so great a diversity of opposite qualities. No true-blooded yankee ever had the toothache without ascribing to his ailment an intenlike sity compared with my hero. His tooth aches Sam Hill." If a fellow is swift of foot, the New-Englanders are unanimous in the opinion that he "runs like Sam Hill," and if a cripple gets along leisurely in the world it is said of him at once that he limps like the same personage, and poor old Broom's cattle on the Colchester turnpike always had the name of being "slow as Sam Hill." What the Sam Hill is the matter with you?" is a common expression, whenever any thing extraordinary is discernible in a man's deportment, and you "lie like Sam Hill," if a neighbor's word is distrusted. "True as Sam Hill" is equally in the mouths of those who would swear to the veracity of a favorite statement. A man is said to be as smart, and he is said to be as dull as "Sam Hill"-and if he is very bold or very timorous, "Sam Hill" is still the standard by which his good or bad qualities are measured. Of course, as I have already remarked, my hero must have been possessed of all sorts of qualities, and have been gifted with more versatility of powers than even the admirable Crichton himself. A word more, and I leave him and his historian to their fates. This biography will be looked upon in various lights by the reader. One class will call it "stupid as Sam Hill," and another will pronounce it "smart as Sam Hill." This latter body of citizens are very sensible people, and my heart warms to them like-SAM HILL. C. F. D. Original. THE IDEAL. BY HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. WHEN our young spirits were sent forth to brave Each pristine glory when the world-clouds dim Mark its etherial essence floating by Ah! who the heart's rich alchemy hath tried Oh, what self-mockery is it to turn Perverse recipients of angelic powers, Of Fancy's magic wand—'tis these give birth The soul's deep thirst from that celestial spring Of its bright beams?-a day without a morn, A rayless star, a harp to dirges strung, A flowerless track-a destiny unsung! Boston, 1841. Original. discovering character, enabled him to read mine with WILFULNESS; OR, THE WIFE'S TALE. perfect ease, and he was not slow in availing himself of BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. "The thorns which I have reaped, are of the tree 1 planted-they have torn me, and I bleed.”—Byron. Letter from Mrs. Ormeston to her friend, enclosing the manuscript. "You, alone, my dear friend, have judged me correctly: you, alone, have been willing to believe that I might be influenced by proper motives, in pursuing a course of conduct which, to the world, has seemed eccentric and censurable: you, alone, have defended me from the heavy charges of parsimony, unkindness to my family, and a want of affection towards those nearest and dearest to me. When I retired to this humble village, people wondered that I should quit the gay world; when I commenced a system of rigid economy, they called it meanness, because I was supposed to be in possession of a large estate; when my husband sought his amusements elsewhere than in his own home, I was accused of having made that home an unhappy one; and, to crown the whole, when I devoted all the energies of my nature to the education of my children-when I strove to keep them from the contact of falsehood and vice by an anxious and severe watchfulness over their young hearts, the good natured world censured my rigid code of morals, and hinted at my cold-heartedness. You, alone, were my champion, although even you could not account for all my conduct; and therefore it is, that I now set myself to the task of combining the lights and shadows of my past life into one complete picture. I would have you to reserve it for the eye of affection only. I care little for the opinion of those who have so long misjudged me, but I would fain be fully understood, and, shall I add, appreciated by those whom I love. My sorrows have been many, but they were no unmerited punishment. Wilfulness has met its reward. "Few persons ever entered upon the gay scenes of life under happier auspices than myself. The only daughter of a rich and respected merchant, highly educated, refined in my tastes, taught to believe that my person was far from being unattractive, and surrounded with every luxury that affection could devise, or wealth procure, I certainly possessed every advantage that could promise a brilliant career. Among the earliest of my acquaintances, was the handsome and fashionable Henry Ormeston. His fine person and prepossessing manners, his noble talents and cultivated mind, made him the object of admiration to all who came within the sphere of his fascinations. He soon distinguished me by the most marked attentions, and I was not insensible to the triumph of conquering such a || heart; while the delicate homage which he paid to me, was the most subtle of all flattery to a refined and sensitive nature. I soon learned to consider him as first among his compeers, and my vivid imagination exalted him into a hero of goodness and genius. His tact in such knowledge, for, ere I was aware of the nature of my own feelings, I learned to love him with the most passionate devotion. Ignorant and inexperienced in the customs of the world, I saw no obstacles in the way of my happiness, and when he preferred his suit, I referred him to my father, with a full belief that our wishes needed but to be known, in order to receive parental sanction. I was soon undeceived. My father refused his consent to our union, and forbade me to hold any further intercourse with Mr. Ormeston. "My whole soul rebelled against this harsh decree. I knew my lover was not rich, and I could imagine no other cause for my father's rejection of his suit. I therefore looked upon it as an act of gross injustice, and for this first instance of opposition to my will, I dared to accuse my good, kind father of tyranny. I shall never forget his grave and sad reproof. "It is not Mr. Ormeston's poverty, my daughter, said he, to which I object, for you will have wealth enough to enrich any one whom your heart may prefer, but I think him deficient in stability of character. He has no strength of principle, and in the day of temptation he will be found weak. This was the prominent trait in his father, and the son resembles him too much in person and manners, to allow a hope that he differs in other respects.' "What did you know of his father?" I asked. He was a man whom everybody liked, and nobody esteemed,' answered my father, an excellent boon-companion, one of those persons who are always invited to dinner-parties, but never chosen to fulfil a It is for your own sake, my child, that I disapprove of young Ormeston, and remember that I have given you warning in time.' trust. "Perhaps this prohibition tended to increase my interest in the subject of it. I had been so much indulged, that I could not brook the least restraint, and I determined to judge for myself of the character of my suitor. But when a woman loves, and is beloved, there is little opportunity for the calm study of character. The very affection which actuates both, gives a degree of amiability to the temper and manners which often serves to disguise the real nature. Even if we see a few defects, we behold them in a softened light; and the contemplation of human nature in such circumstances, is like beholding a landscape in a Claude Lorraine glass, a couleur de rose, is diffused over every thing. "Ormeston was tenderly attached to me, but he was not one to sacrifice his inclinations to the real welfare of another. He continued to visit me until my father, aroused to anger by his pertinacity, forbade him to enter the house. We then met in secret, and corresponded clandestinely, until, at length, carried away by the romance of my feelings, I made him a solemn promise never to give my hand to another. I mean not to dwell upon all the painful details of my life at that time. It is but too common a tale. Infatuated by my blind passion, I forgot my duty to the father who |