make his proficiency the subject-matter of a letter to his mother. It is said that in his early days, Philip gave such evidence of his satirical powers upon whatever gave him displeasure as to cause him to be as much dreaded as a foe as he was loved as a friend. In his sophomore year he wrote a poem in four cantos, entitled "The Poetical History of the Prophet Jonah;" a rhythmical poem, or "versified paraphrase," to use his own expression. He likewise wrote other compositions in various metres, on classical and historical themes, during his collegiate course. Two years after depicting Jonah's sad fate, he wrote the "Pyramids of Egypt," a dramatic dialogue in blank verse. The scene of this poem is laid in Egypt, and the characters are a Traveller, a Genius, and Time; it contains one hundred and thirty-five lines, and was considered a remarkable poem for one so young. The plot of the poem we give. The Traveller, who has visited Italy, arrives in Egypt, meets the Genius, and asks to be shown the Pyramids, saying that he thought the remnants of Rome he had lately seen were unrivalled. The Genius thus answers: "Talk not of Rome! before they lopt a bush From the seven hills, where Rome, Earth's Empress, stood, These Pyramids were old, their birthday is Beyond tradition's reach, or history." On seeing them, the Traveller asks how many generations, monarchies, and empires "had their rise and fall While these remain and promise to remain, The Genius replies: "The time shall come When these stupendous piles you deem immortal, 'T was on this plain the ancient Memphis stood, To the Traveller's question as to how the Pyramids were built, the Genius says: "What cannot tyrants do, When they have nations subject to their will, The poem closes with Time's address to the Traveller in these striking lines: "These piles are not immortal; This earth, with all its balls of hills and mountains, Shall perish by my hand. Then how can these, These hoary-headed pyramids of Egypt, That are but dwindled warts upon her body, (Time not immortal, but a fancied point in the circle of eternity) Are swallowed up, and like the pyramids, Leave not an atom for their monument." "Is not this true poetry?" Mr. Delancey adds. "Is it not extraordinary as the work of a youth of eighteen years? But one other American poet ever wrote anything to compare with it so early in life. Bryant wrote at nineteen his Thanatopsis,' and never later did he surpass that great poem.' In the year 1770 the soldiers in New York City cut down a liberty pole that had been erected by the band of patriots called the "Sons of Liberty." A conflict ensued in which the latter won the day. Shortly after this event the Boston massacre occurred, which created a great sensation throughout the country. As we have already said, President Witherspoon was an ardent patriot, and he left no means untried to instil into the minds of his collegians the same fire of enthusiasm that burned within him; and his efforts met a ready response in the enthusiastic temperament of Philip, whose hatred of oppression and of England was equalled only by his passionate love of liberty and America. During his college days the young poet offered his pen on the shrine of Liberty, and vowed to ever use it in her sacred service. How well he used it, her enemies best can tell. His pen was his bayonet, and its wounds were mortal. In 1771, the year of Philip's graduation, he composed, jointly with Hugh Henry Brackenridge, their commencement address, which they recited. It was entitled "The Rising Glory of America," and was written in 1 I am indebted to Mr. Edward F. Delancey for permission to reprint this fragment of the poem along with his remarks which are taken from his lecture before the Huguenot Society of America entitled "Philip Freneau the Huguenot Patriot Poet of the Revolution and his Poetry." blank verse in the form of a dialogue. It was in eulogy of the energy and progress of the colonies, and prophetic of the future glory of the United States. The poem was well received and appeared two years later in print in Philadelphia. Its motto, taken from Seneca, was afterwards adopted by Washington Irving as the heading to his "Life of Columbus.' I would call the attention of the reader to his eulogy of Washington in the poem which is used as the dedicatory poem of this work; his admiration of that illustrious man's character never waned, although in after years many and severe were his comments upon his policy. This poem has been said by a reviewer1 to possess "considerable merit in respect to the ease of its versification and beauty of its description; and although as a whole it bears the marks of youth, some points are worthy of a person of mature years, and will not suffer by comparison with similar productions of the present day." In it he has displayed his remarkable prophetic gift. The ivy planted by the class of '71 still clasps in its embrace the old walls that supported it during the many varied and thrilling scenes through which it passed; but the hands that planted it have long since turned to dust. Upon leaving college, Philip, to comply with the desire of his deceased father that he should study divinity, accepted an invitation from Hugh Henry Brackenridge, his former classmate and fellow-orator of '71, to take the second position in a seminary in Maryland, of which he, Brackenridge, was to be principal, and at the same time pursue his theological course. It would seem from the letter to Madison while with Brackenridge, that in the interim of his leaving 1 North American Review, v. xciii. j Princeton and beginning his course of teaching and study in the Maryland seminary, he had tried his hand at pedagogy in Flatbush, Long Island; we will let him describe his non-success in that occupation which he held some thirteen days. SOMERSET COUNTY IN MARYLAND. SIR, If I am not wrongly informed by my memory, I have not seen you since last April. You may recollect I was then undertaking a school at Flatbush on Long Island. I did enter upon the business, it is certain, and continued in it thirteen days but Long Island I have bid adieu, with all its brainless crew. The youth of that detested place, are void of reason and of grace. From Flushing hills to Flatbush plains, Deep ignorance unrivall'd reigns. I am very poetical, but excuse it. Si fama non venit ad aures,' if you have not heard the rumour of this story (which, by the by, is told in various Taverns and eating houses), you must allow me to be a little prolix with it. Those who employed me were some gentlemen of New York; some of them were bullies, some merchants, and others Scoundrels. They sent me Eight children, the eldest of whom was 10 years. Some could read, others spell and a few stammer over a chapter of the Bible. These were my pupils and over these was I to preside. My Salary moreover was £40,- there is something else relating to that I shall not at present mention. After I forsook them they proscribed me for four days and swore that if I was caught in New York they would either Trounce or maim me, but I luckily escaped with my goods. to Princetown, where I remained till commencement SO much for this affair. I have printed a poem in New York called "The American Village," containing about four hundred and fifty lines, also a few short pieces added; I would send you one if I had a proper opportunity the additional poems are: 1. "A Poem to the Nymph I never saw,” “The Miserable Life of a Pedagogue," and Stanzas on "An ancient Dutch House on Long Island." As to the main poem, it is damned by all good and judicious Judges. My name is in the |