temperance was not abstinence; his prudence was not parsimony, nor his economy avarice. His hospitality was without stint, his welcome without disguise. His deportment at the social board was cheerful, pleasant, and sometimes sportive. With a willing disposition to communicate happiness whenever he came in contact with his fellow-men, Mr. Brooks could not be otherwise than loving, affectionate, beloved, and honored in his family. But of the parental and filial relations, it does not become us to speak. Their character, and the efficacy of his example and instruction, may be seen in the characters and habits of his children, who, we presume, are the inheritors of the principal part of his wealth, and on whom the mantle of his integrity and honor descends. To them he has left a legacy better than silver and gold, -the fragrance of an unspotted life and the remembrance of an undisturbed and gentle death, illustrating the description of the sacred poet:

His hands, while they his alms bestowed,
His glory's future harvest sowed,

Whence he shall reap wealth, fame, renown,
A temporal and eternal crown.

His justice, free from all decay,
Shall blessings to his seed convey.
The sweet remembrance of the just,
Like a green root, revives, and bears
A train of blessings for his heirs,
When dying nature sleeps in dust.
January, 1849.

ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS.

THE ENTRANCE OF THE NEW CENTURY, 1ST JANUARY, 1801.

Translated from the German of Schiller.

BY THE REV. N. L. FROTHINGHAM.

То *

Noble friend! where now to Peace, worn-hearted,
Where to Freedom is a refuge-place?

The old century has in storm departed,
And the new with carnage starts its race.

And the bond of nations flies asunder,
And the ancient forms rush to decline;
Not the ocean hems the warring thunder,
Not the hill-god and the ancient Rhine.

Two imperious nations are contending
For one empire's universal field;
Liberty from every people rending,
Thunderbolt and trident do they wield.

Theirs the wealth of every country's labor;
And like Brennus in the barbarous days,
See, the daring Frank his iron sabre

In the balances of justice lays.

The grasping Briton his trade-fleets, like mighty
Arms of the ocean polypus, doth spread,
And the realm of unbound Amphitrite
Would he girdle like his own homestead.

To the south pole's unseen constellations
Pierce his keels, unhindered, resting not;
All the isles, all coasts of farthest nations,
Spies he, - all but Eden's sacred spot.

Ah! in vain on charts of all Earth's order

Mayst thou seek that bright and blessed shore,
Where the green of Freedom's garden border,
Where man's prime is fresh forevermore.

Endless lies the world that thine eye traces,
Even Commerce scarcely belts it round;
Yet, upon its all unmeasured spaces,
For ten happy ones is no room found.

On the heart's holy and quiet pinion

Must thou fly from out this rough life's throng!
Freedom lives but within Dream's dominion,
And the Beautiful blooms but in song.

March 8, 1837.

LINES,

Written as if for the Address to be recited at the Re-opening of the FEDERAL STREET THEATRE, but never offered for that purpose.*

BY THE SAME.

O'er life's quick scenes not many years have flown
Since wondering nations hailed the "GREAT UNKNOWN."
A world's fond wishes could not keep him long, -

That king of fiction and that child of song;
He shrunk to dust who swayed our hearts at will,
And Dryburgh's ruin shrined a nobler still.

But leave that broken spell and its lost lord;

Look round to-night; - here see the GREAT RESTORED.
Restored to that old form we held so dear, -

To healthful laugh and purifying tear,
To scenic art, the Drama's acted page,
And all the guiltless witchcraft of the stage.

* The Boston Theatre, restored to the purpose for which it was originally built, was opened on the evening of August 27, 1846. This poem, published in the Courier of that morning, was written as a divertisement, but was not intended either for recitation or competition for the premium offered by the manager.

Restored to many a Memory's crowding host, —
Restored to every Muse it sadly lost.

Hail, the returning Spirit of the place,
Banished so long! Hail each recovered grace;
Hail, renewed spot! In thee the oldest here
Call back the figures of life's magic year;
When all seemed real in this mimic show,

And all beamed wondrous in young Fancy's glow:
When ear and sight with strange delights were fed,
As these scant boards to spacious regions spread:
When men looked giants by the painted trees,
And Mirth and Terror strove which most could please.
How the heart fluttered at the prompter's bell!
What visions faded when the curtain fell!
Not all the forms the "Wizard of the North"
In light and beauty ever summoned forth
So live and move before the thought, as those
That spoke embodied as that curtain rose.
These rounding seats a whole charmed circle grew;
That line of foot-lights bounded worlds all new.

But think what changes here have held their sway,
Since all those tricksy Powers were forced away.
Scarce were they banished, when a rabble throng *
Of scoffing spirits gloomed these walls along.
Not fallen from Heaven,

- for they were never there;
Their law low pleasure, and their creed despair.
No graceful ticket gave the entrance then ;

'T was
largest liberty's" most sullen den.
No "hats off" rang the sullen ranks between ;
What was respected? What was to be seen?
The audience dingy, far as eye could reach;
A gray haired atheist spectacle and speech.
Was it for this, ye foemen of our art,

Who think there's but one way to touch the heart,

*The deserted Theatre fell first into the hands of Abner Kneeland and his followers.

And that your own?

-

was it for this ye beat The genial Sisters from their ancient seat, Turning this intellectual, brilliant dome

To stupid Blasphemy's disordered home?

Was this your "Player's Lash," ye modern Prynnes? *
To scourge enjoyments, while you beckoned sins?
Was this your preference 'twixt the Outs and Ins?

But lo, another change like Stockwell's own!
The DEN has vanished and a CHURCH is shown.
More reverence than befits us here to tell,
We yield to courts where sacred honors dwell.
But have not they their places? Have not we?
Has not each liberal province leave to be?
Not every building for one use is raised,
Nor any use is singly to be praised.
All School Inn - Hospital- — were dull indeed;
Our honest Playhouse but for life would plead.

But whence the name ODEON? Here we track
Another change in these our fortunes back.
O Music, charming, though no word be sung!
What stringed expression! What an air-shaped tongue!
Far be from us the jealous heart to slight

The listening transport of each tuneful night!
And yet the ACADEMY's most skillful powers

In scope and number surely yield to ours.

Here all the Aonian maids their gifts combine :-
And who will say that One was worth the Nine?

Another metamorphosis recall

To Memory ranging round this scenic hall.
As if the last Muse left had met her doom,-
Euterpe gone, - behold a LECTURE ROOM!
A sober uniformity bears rule,

While old and wise here gravely come to school.
Now, deepest learning highest truths imparts;
Now, Genius, Eloquence, entrance all hearts.

* Poor William Prynne's "Histrio-Mastix" was published in 1632.