'allow us to say.' A common error is here forcibly alluded to by the orator: We are apt to talk of our release from Great Britain on the fourth of July, 1776, as a 'liberation from slavery.' We never were in slavery. As men, as Anglo-Saxons, as subjects of the British empire, we, in this country, were always freemen, and never yielded our birth-right; it was the attempt to curtail our rights, to interfere with our domestic polity, and to check our career of greatness, that led to the Declaration of Independence; but the eternal and immutable truths of that sacred instrument were written upon our hearts, were embodied in the colonial charters and institutions, were the household words of the nation for generations before they were penned by a committee of Congress. Every where, for a century and more previous to the date of our Independence, in the primary assemblies of the people, in the legislative halls, in judicial tribunals, from the press, and by word of mouth, the colonists knew and proclaimed their rights; and thus Great Britain came to believe that we were determined on severing every tie which bound us to the land from whence we came. Does this look like slavery? We commend this oration warmly to our readers, for its truly American tendency and spirit. LIFE AND SPEECHES OF HENRY CLAY.'-Two superb volumes thus entitled, executed in a style of typographical neatnesss which would be remarkable in any other press save that of the printer, DICKINSON of Boston, have just been issued by Messrs. ROBERT P. BIXBY AND COMPANY of this city. They reach us at a late hour; leaving us only time and space to state, that here, in addition to a copious biography, are gathered together a far larger and better collection of Mr. CLAY'S public performances than has heretofore been given to the public. The speeches, addresses, etc., amount to eighty in number; and cover all the ground, and embrace all the prominent events, of his public life. No labor,' says the compiler, in an inflated and carelessly written preface, 'has been spared in seeking for them; and it is believed that few if any which have been reported will be found wanting in the collection.' A brief but comprehensive memoir is prefixed to each, illustrative of the subject and occasion on which it was delivered, and the fate of the question. Mr. CLAY's eloquence, however, is said to be of that order, that no written or verbal report of his words can do any justice to it. The ease of his delivery, the music of his unsurpassed voice, and the 'grace beyond the reach of art' which characterizes his carriage and gesture, are described as calculated to win the applause of all who have ever had the good fortune to hear him in public debate. We must not neglect to notice the pictorial attractions of these volumes. They contain a full-length portrait of Mr. CLAY; a view of his birth-place in Virginia; of his present seat at Ashland, Kentucky; and of the fine monument erected in his honor, near Wheeling, Virginia; the whole transferred to steel from original paintings, by our excellent engraver, Mr. DICK. The volumes are destined to a wide sale. "THE BLAND PAPERS.' We have received from the hands of Mr. H. BARNUM, of Virginia, a copy of a handsome book, of some two hundred and ninety pages, printed at Petersburg, Virginia, bearing the title of 'The BLAND Papers; being a selection from the manuscripts of THEODORICK BLAND, Jr., of Prince George county, Virginia. To which are prefixed an Introduction, and a Memoir of Colonel BLAND. Edited by CHARLES CAMPBELL.' The volumes before us contain a great number of important manuscripts and letters connected with our revolutionary struggle, written by persons of the highest distinction, from General WASHINGTON downward, whose confidence and friendship, we may add, Colonel BLAND had the happiness to enjoy, without abatement or interruption, during his whole life. We anticipate no small degree of pleasure from the perusal of these rare and accidentally-discovered documents. The work is divided into three parts, with an appendix. The three parts consist wholly of letters; the appendix comprises not only letters but other miscellaneous writings, such as military orders, congressional papers, etc. The first part is composed of correspondence held prior to the revolutionary war; the second part of correspondence held during the war; and the third part of correspondence held subsequently. The BLAND Papers' are on sale in this city at Messrs. BARTLETT AND WELFORD's, Number seven, Astor-House. NEW POEM, BY ROBERT TYLER, ESQ.-The Brothers HARPER have published, quite in a model style of drawing-paper and typography, a poem by ROBERT TYLER, Esq., entitled ' Death, or Medorus' Dream.' We receive the volume at the moment of closing our pages, and have not as yet found time to examine it with a leisurely eye. If we may judge of its character, however, from the extract entitled 'Death,' which appeared originally in these pages, and which was widely copied and commended, we may safely predict that the poem will find favor with the public, and add to the author's reputation. We shall recur to the volume on another and more convenient occasion. ORIGINAL PAPERS. ART. I. CHRONICLES OF THE PAST. BY AN AMERICAN ANTIQUARY, III. AN OLD MAN'S REMINISCENCE, . IV. THE INNOCENCE OF A GALLEY-SLAVE. CONCLUDED, V. THE COUNT OF PARIS. BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR, VI. SKETCHES OF FLORIDA: 'OFFICER OF THE NIGHT,' IX. FIORELLO'S FIDDLE-STICK: OR THE MUSICAL AMATEUR, X. SUNSET: THE DYING CHRISTIAN. BY T. W. STOCKTON, ESQ., XII. THE EMPIRE STATE' OF NEW-YORK. BY AN ENGLISHMAN, XIII. GREEN SPOTS IN THE CITY. BY MRS. MARY E. HEWITT, XIV. A DREAM OF CHILDHOOD. BY MRS. J. WEBB, XV. ANECDOTE OF A BOTTLE OF WINE. BY JOHN WATERS, 291 297 .298 299 .322 323 .328 3.9 .329 332 .333 335 .341 342 .343 346 XVII. GLEANINGS FROM THE GERMAN. BY WILLIAM PITT PALMER, Esq., 1. COUNSEL: BY KNEBEL. 2. EPITAPH: HAUG. 3. EPITAPHS IN A CHURCH-YARD: HAUG. 4. ON BAVIUS: HAUG. 5. LADIES' TONGUES: HAUG. 6. THE GRAY-BEARD: WEISSER. 7. GARLANDS: BRINCKMANN. 8. FRIEND AND FOE: BRINCKMANN. 9. PLEASURE: GOTZ. XVIII. THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE: HARRY HARSON. NUMBER EIGHT,. XIX. THE SEASON OF DEATH. BY EDMUND BREWSTER GREEN, Esq.,.. XX. THE MEMOIRS OF COUNT ROSTOPTCHIN. WRITTEN IN TEN MINUTES, XXI. ANACREONTIC: FROM THE IRISH, XXII. INTERNATIONAL COPY-RIGHT: ITS MISERABLE POLICY,' XXV. POETICAL EPISTLE TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, FLORENCE, . LITERARY NOTICES: 1. NEW-YORK CITY AND STATE IN THE OLDEN TIME, 2. LETTERS FROM NEW-YORK. BY L. MARIA CHILD,. 3. DEATH, OR MEDORUS' DREAM. BY ROBERT TYLER, ESQ.,. 4. EXERCISES OF THE ALUMNE OF THE ALBANY FEMALE ACADEMY, EDITOR'S TABLE: 1. THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS, 2. REV. JOHN NEWLAND MAFFITT: A LETTER FROM BOSTON, 3. POEMS BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL, Esq., 4. THE ATTACHE. BY SAM SLICK, 5. GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS, 1. A RHAPSODY: BY N. P. WILLIS, JUNIOR.' 2. WHAT IS LOVE?' 3. A DAY AT SING-SING ETC. 6. THOMSON'S ABRIDGMENT OF DAY'S ALGEBRA, LITERARY RECORD: 'PRAYERS FOR THE USE OF FAMILIES; THE WYANDOTTE, OR THE HUTTED KNOLL;' .347 348 .356 357 .360 360 .364 365 367 371 .372 375 .377 377 378 .380 . 381 .382 384 392 THE old town of Ipswich, in the Bay State, exhibits many rare relics of antiquity. Purchased under the title of Agawam, in the early settlement of the colony, and granted in the year 1632 to twelve freeholders who made oath of their 'intention of settlement,' it dates back its origin among the very first townships of NewEngland. At that time, and for many years afterward, it was the northern frontier of Massachusetts, and was constantly exposed to the attacks of the tribes of Indians in its neighborhood. Though its population was composed mostly of tillers of the soil, the buildings, unlike all other farming towns of the commonwealth, were erected for common safety upon a single street; and even to this day its sturdy yeomanry live in town, though the farms they cultivate are many of them miles distant in the country. The old street is still in existence, and we venture to say that it has not its parallel in all New-England. Antique domicils, exhibiting the English architectural style of the seventeenth century; sturdy block-houses, erected to defend the early settlers from the hostile incursions of the crafty foe; barns, shops, and crazy woodsheds, leaning and trembling in extreme decrepitude; and chairs, tables, bureaus, bedsteads, and pictures, all relics of a former age, each one of which would be a gem in the cabinet of an antiquary, daily exposed for sale in the windows of the trucksters or on the counter of the auctioneer; are found in rich profusion through this old street of the Pilgrims. But better than all else is the churchyard, the original burial-place, with its green graves and gray headstones; its turf-sward running far up the hill to the tall elms and luxuriant evergeens that crown the summit; and its nameless hillocks, catching the evening sunlight as it falls in long lines athwart the green-slope, and reflecting it back upon the passer-by with peculiar brightness! I love those old grave-stones, half sunk in the church-yard mould; and the rudely-carved cherubims with their swollen cheeks and distended wings, or the more frequent emblems of skull and cross-bones, are to my eye far more grateful and appropriate than the modern blazonry upon heavy shafts, on tall, slim marbles. It is well worth the visit of many a long mile, to walk in that ancient cemetery, and read the rustic epitaphs that would teach us to live and die. There side by side, 'Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,' lie the old puritans, the rude forefathers of the hamlet, who fled from the father-land in search of freedom to worship God; and though they may have possessed grievous faults, yet who does not venerate their unyielding firmness and holy piety? There too sleep the early pastors of the American churches; the men of rare endowments and ripest learning, who turned their backs upon the livings of the old country, that they might plant the standard of the cross in this distant wilderness. And there too rest the loved and venerated of our own day, for whom, even now that so many long years have fled, one feels as if it were impiety so utterly to have ceased to weep, so seldom to remember! One there was, whose voice was sweet to my ear in childhood; whose eyes, bedimmed into a pathetic beauty, never restrained the glee that sparkled in the orbs of those about her; her, who had so long heard the voice that called her, whispering in her ear, that she could smile at its accents, and feel those silent words to be cheerful as angel's tones. In one corner of the cemetery, where a low sunken fence separates it from a neighboring court-yard, is the grave of Richard Shatswell, the first deacon of Ipswich church. In his first and only place of residence until he emigrated, the city of Ipswich, England, he was a man of considerable importance, having for several successive years borne the honor of mayor of that town. But the unjust laws against the dissenters hampered him he could not take the oaths of office; he would not make the sacrifice of principle to personal honor or private emolument and popular dissensions bearing hard upon his refusal to recant his sentiments, he fled his country, and became one of the first freeholders of Agawam. It is remarkable, that on the very spot where the good man pitched his tent and cleared his land; on the very farm where he sowed his grain and raised his crops; lives and labors the only descendant in the sixth generation who bears the name of Shatswell. He is now an old man, and retains in his face and character strong impress of his puritanical descent, as indeed does every thing about him the mark of family antiquity. The house is one of those substantial old mansions which our ancestors delighted to rear; and though now far advanced in its second century, its stanch oak timbers, and heavy mouldings, and massive ballustrades, bid fair to last for many generations. Every article of furniture which the house contains carries you far back into olden time. The andirons in the broad fire-place, bearing the mark of 1596; the high-backed, spinster |