Court, and member of the United States Senate, honors of which he might well be proud, had he been true to freedom and humanity. He has not been the faithful exponent of liberty. He has not been a true friend to humanity.

In person, he is short and thick, with a broad, dark face, hazel eyes, high cheek bones, plebeian hands and feet. He is by no means prepossessing, and his manners are not such as would become a court of fashion. In debate he is a bully, and very brave when he fights with men who wear white cravats. He is pretty sure not to pick quarrels with plucky men; for, although he thinks very little of the rest of mankind, he has a great deal of regard for himself. Of his style of writing and speaking, I have not much to say. It is plain, blunt and logical, without much depth, and with no originality, and perfectly free from elegance of diction or eloquence of expression.

He has no poetry in his composition; tyrants never are on terms with the Muses. Without the stature of a Vermonter, he claims to be the giant of the West-but if he is the Brobdignag, the rest of the inhabitants must be small Liliputians— for Douglas is so little, he was never seen until he made the auction block his platform, or climbed into notice on the back of a negro. Contrast him with Sam Houston, his superior as much in mental as in physical stature. It is perfectly aston-. ishing that Mr. Everett should have displayed the white feather, when this impertinent little whippersnapper assailed the three thousand clergymen of New England. It is a pity that gentleman had so little "grit," when such a famous

opportunity was afforded to annihilate the anti-Nebraskian. If Sumner could have assailed him, we should have heard the reverberation of his blows throughout the land. If Daniel Webster had been alive, he would have made another speech equal to his reply to Hayne.

If it be true that " coming events cast their shadows before," then the days of Douglas are numbered-his political death-warrant is signed by the people's autograph--his political winding-sheet is woven by the hands of fate, and his political grave yawns to receive his remains.

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS, an American poet, historian and novelist, is a native of South Carolina, and was born April 17th, 1806. In consequence of the premature death of his mother and the failure of his father in business, he was placed in charge of his grandmother in Charleston, when he was quite young. At first he designed to study medicine, but afterwards determined to read law, and he was admitted to the bar at the age of twenty one.

He had practiced his profession but a short time when he assumed the editorial management of a daily newspaper, in which he battled manfully against nullification. In this enterprise his expectations were not realized, and he retired from

the avocation of an editor under a load of pecuniary embar

rassment.

But he "resolved to retrieve his fortunes," and in the year 1827, he made his authorial début before the public, by issuing a volume of poems. Other poems speedily followed, but the one which attracted most notice was "Atlantis; a story of the Sea." It met with a hearty reception, and elicited enthusiastic encomiums from the press on both sides of the Atlantic. In 1833, he published his first novel, "Martin Faber," which was followed by "Guy Rivers," "Yemassee," "The Partisan," "Mellichampe," "Pelayo," "Carl Werner," "Richard Hurdis," "The Damsel of Darien," "Count Julian," Beauchamps," ," "The Kinsman," "Katharine Walton." His principal biographical and historical works consist of lives of Captain John Smith, General Marion, General Green and Chevalier Bayard, a "History of South Carolina." These works do not embrace all the productions of his versatile and prolific pen. He has been a member of the State Legislature, and has won some renown as a public speaker. His literary reputation procured for him the title of LL. D. He is one of the brightest stars in the firmament of American litera

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ture.

Mr. Simms has a vivid imagination, and is by no means deficient in artistic skill. His language is frequently faulty, but that is undoubtedly owing to the fact, he writes so much he does not take time to revise the productions of his pen. While he occupies a respectable rank among the poets. of America, he stands at the head of that class of authors who

entertain us with light literature. I have only room for the

following specimen of his poetry.

Well may we sing her beauties,

This pleasant land of ours,

Her sunny smiles, her golden fruits,
And all her world of flowers.

The young birds of her forest groves,
The blue folds of her sky,

And all those airs of gentleness

That never seem to fly.

They wind about our forms at noon,

They woo us in the shade,

When panting from the summer heats,
The woodman seeks the glade.

They win us with a song of love,

They cheer us with a dream

That gilds our passing thoughts of life,

As sunlight does the stream.

And well would they persuade us now,

In moments all too dear,

That sinful though our hearts may be,

We have our Eden here.

JAMES GORDON BENNETT.

JAMES GORDON BENNETT, the editor and proprietor of the "New York Herald," is a native of Scotland, but he has been so long connected with the press in this country, he has become a live lion here. A few years ago, I noticed a vast crowd of persons in front of a fashionable hotel in a western city, and inquired the cause of such a convocation; I was informed that James Gordon Bennett had just arrived. Whether he be more notorious than popular, I will not assume the province of determining, but will hazard the remark, that the people of the United States would go farther and give more to see him than they would to see the President or any member of the United States Senate. He has passed through various phases of literary life, having been reporter, sub-editor, and editor, and being now editor and proprietor of a paper broadly circulated all over this continent and Europe. While it undoubtedly owes a part of its circulation to the surpassing ability of its chief-it is indebted much to the efforts made by cotemporary journals to crush it, for the vast number of readers which daily devour its contents. While many deprecate the course its editor pursues respecting the reforms of the day, they cannot fail to give him credit for his courage—and they must admire his