Being of the sanguine, nervous temperament, he imparts the thrilling glow of his exuberant nature to the rich productions of his magic pen, so that the reader becomes intensely interested; indeed, one almost feels the author's heart throbbing at the point of his pen, and the pulse beating in every paragraph; he is genial as the light, and when he puts forth an intellectual effort, it seems as though his soul arose like a sun in his breast, shedding warmth, and light, and beauty, on the enchanting page. His readers, not only admire his genius but love the man; his humor is so amiable, his pathos so touching, and his philosophy so true to nature, that he commands our affection, while he irresistibly compels our attention. Then, again, his cordial greeting, his constant urbanity, his genuine courtesy, his gentlemanly address, and his spotless character, all contribute to form life-lasting friendships. Who ever heard any one speak contemptuously of Washington Irving? Everybody acquainted with his writings desire him all the happiness and all the success he aimed at. Such flexibility of style, such purity of sentiment, such perfection of finish, is rarely found in prose writers of the present day. Who has such richness of ideality, such copiousness of language, such exuberance of fancy? His writings are chaste as the snow, and surpassingly beautiful in their elegant uniformity.

His physical organization is perfect. Although now quite advanced in life, he is erect as a palm tree, and walks with the elastic vigor of a young man. He is not above the common size, of ordinary stature, with a contemplative cast of face,

dark hair, dark complexion, and dark pensive eyes, which kindle when he becomes interested in conversation. Specimens of his style may be found in all our books of choice prose selections.

The following is from a beautiful work, entitled “Homes and Haunts of American Authors :"

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Washington Irving, although so obviously adapted by natural endowments for the career in which he has acquired such eminence, was educated, like many men of letters, for the legal profession; he, however, early abandoned the idea of practice at the bar for the more lucrative vocation of a merchant. His brothers were established in business, in the city of New York, and invited him to take an interest in their house, with the understanding that his literary tastes should be gratified by abundant leisure. The unfortunate crisis in mercantile affairs that followed the peace of 1815, involved his family, and threw him upon his own resources for subsistence. To this apparent disaster is owing his subsequent devotion to literature. The strong bias of his own nature, however, had already indicated his destiny; his inaptitude for affairs of business, his sensibility to the beautiful, his native humor, and the love he early exhibited for wandering, observing, and indulging in day dreams, would infallibly have led him to record his fancies and his feelings.

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Indeed, he had already done so with effect, in a series of letters, which appeared in a newspaper of which his brother was editor. His tendency to a free, meditative, and adventurous life, was confirmed by his visit to Europe, in early

youth. Born in the city of New York, on the 3d of April, 1783, he pursued his studies, his rambles, and occasional pencraft there, until 1804, when ill health made it expedient for him to go abroad. He sailed for Bordeaux, and thence roamed over the most beautiful portions of southern Europe, visited Switzerland and Holland, sojourned in Paris, and returned home in 1806. In 1809, 'Knickerbocker's History of New York, appeared, then followed the 'Sketch Book,' 'Bracebridge Hall,' 'Tales of a Traveller,' 'Life of Columbus,' Conquest of Granada,' ' Alhambra,' &c. He was afterwards appointed Secretary of Legation to the American Embassy, in London, which office he held until the return of Mr. McLane, in 1831. During his stay in England, he received one of the fifty guinea gold medals, provided by George IV., for eminence in historical composition and the degree of LL. D. from the University of Oxford; on his return to New York, in 1832, he was welcomed by a festival.

"He afterwards wrote the Tour on the Prairies,' 'Newstead Abbey,' 'Legends of Spain," Astoria,' 'The Adventures of Captain Bonneville,' and other works, and is now engaged on the 'Life of Washington.' "

G. W. BETHUNE.

By refering to Griswold's popular and beautiful book of American Poetry I find that the Rev. George. W. Bethune, the poet and the preacher, was born in the Empire State. His reputation as a scholar and an orator are such as to render his name quite familiar to American citizens, in all parts of this Confederacy. He is the author of several volumes of literary and religious discourses, which are as much distinguished as his poems, by a genial loving spirit, and a classical elegance of diction. In 1847 he edited an edition of Walton's Angler, supplying many ingenious and learned notes, and in the same year he published a volume of "Lays of Love and Faith." The following graphic sketch I have been permitted to copy in advance of publication from a splendid work now in press in Boston. The work to which the writer is so deeply indebted is entitled the "Church-goer ;" it is from the pen of my friend Dr. J. R. Dix, a sketch of whom may be found in another portion of this volume-and here I will venture the prediction that his series of pulpit sketches will have an immense circulation in this country. The allusion to the English clergymen* in the following extract, although by no means disrespectful, offended one of our Yankee aristocrats to such an extent that

*The articles were published first in a weekly periodical in Boston.

he foolishly exhibited his bad temper and worse taste by denouncing the writer and the publisher.

"There he stands, and so let him for a few moments, whilst the reporters are sharpening their pencils-the people settling down in their places, and your humble servant'all eye all ear.' "Externally, Dr. George W. Bethune is of the portly, parsonic order, and in respect of adipose matter he forms a very striking contrast to the reverend gentleman upon whom, the reader will remember, I accidentally stumbled in Philadelphia. He was none of your lean, hungry, ascetic looking men, such for instance as was in appearance the late Moses Stuart, who, when I saw him in his dusty old study at Andover, looked as musty and as dry as any of the 'Fathers' on his shelves. No, the Doctor rather reminded me of that sleek and oily gentleman, Friar Tuck, whose very name is suggestive of venison pasties and dainty bits of warden pie.' Neither did he at all provoke remembrances of certain hard-working Curates. Far from it; he was of the Bishop order—that sort of bishop I mean who holds a fat diocese, and dispenses divinity in lawn sleeves. Mind, I speak only of externals, for I believe that very few of the old British bishops to whom I refer are, so far as mental endowments or usefulness are concerned, at all comparable with our orator of the Phi Beta Карра.

"Dr. Bethune's face possesses a shrewd but certainly not a highly intellectual expression-it is too fleshy for that. The forehead is broad, but not high; and on its summit the long,