genius. Mr. Bennett has acquired an ample fortune; has visited various portions of the Old World-and rumor says, that he recently gave his mother a handsome chateau in the land of song and story, where she resides. In person, he is tall and slender, with a "literary stoop " in his shoulders; his head is covered with long silvery grey hair, and his face hid behind a grey goatee, and moustache to match; his eyes are light, with a squint in them, which fact he notices more than any one else. He is about fifty-five years of age; quick in his movements; and of a nervous temperament; he dresses neatly; and is very sociable and pleasant in the society of his friends, although his pen burns at the nib, and its strokes are like the stings of scorpions.

CALEB CUSHING.

CALEB CUSHING and William Lloyd Garrison, were the principal contributors to one of the first papers published at Newburyport, Massachusetts. The former was a young attorney of fair talents, with a good country practice; the latter, a journeyman printer of superior ability, and the anonymous author of some splendid essays, which were attributed to some of the most classical and popular writers of that period. Cushing was a Whig-originally, but being disappointed in his aspirations, he resolved not to drown himself, but to turn democrat; he afterwards became a coalitionist, and now he is

a "crusher." He is a paradoxical politician. He went to the Mexican war and fell into a ditch, cleaned himself, went into office at Washington, and again returned to his wallowing in the mire. He is an ambitious man, with his eye on the presidential chair, and will "stick at nothing" to gratify his ambition. He is an accomplished scholar, familiar with several languages, a perfect gentleman in his address, has a large circle of friends and admirers, is personally handsome, tall, and of good mould. His late eulogy on the death of Vice-president King, is an eloquent and masterly production, abounding in pathos, and the most chaste and beautiful imagery. Although on the sunny side of fifty, he has been a judge, a Mexican general, a member of Congress, minister to China, and is now Attorney-General of the United States.

JAMES WATSON WEBB.

JAMES WATSON WEBB, editor and proprietor of the "New York Courier and Enquirer, was for many years the Apollo of the press, towering like a proud patrician above the heads of his compeers :—

Even

"His fair large front and eye sublime declared
Absolute rule, and hyacinthine locks

Round from his parted forelocks manly hung,-
Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad."

now, his natural force is unabated; his eye has not lost

its lustre; his pen retains its power, and notwithstanding the fact, that his raven hair has been bleached (more by thought than years), he is erect and massive as a column crowned with snow. He is a soldier, "born to command," and wields the pen or the sword with equal facility. When a mere boy he ran away from home, afterwards entered into military life, and became noted for his feats of strength and activity. Having a constitution of iron strength, he was equal to any. hardship he had to encounter. That he is a ready writer, and that his paper is the highest authority in commercial matters, no disinterested person qualified to judge will deny. He is, however, of the silver grey school, and turns a coldshoulder on the political and moral reforms of this progressive age; a fact to be deplored, since his social position, his commanding talents, and his vast influence with leading men would enable him to accomplish an incalculable amount of good, were he to side with the "radicals," and stop saving the Union.

DOCTOR DUFFIELD.

THE Doctor is a deep thinker, a sound reasoner, a logical but not an eloquent debater. His voice, face, and manner all denote depth, earnestness, and sincerity. His sermons have little poetry, but much common sense; few striking comparisons, but many straightforward truths; they do not shine with ornaments, but they are sharp, and cut deeply. Dr.

Duffield has more judgment than fancy, more power of concentration than power of origination. He never sinks down to mediocrity, and seldom soars to the heavenly heights of impassioned oratory. He has a heavy stock of goods on hand, and cannot display them all at the front window; indeed, he lacks taste, and is apt to show them the wrong side out; I fear he is too conservative to keep pace with the strides of progress. He has courage, and yet like the coward in a duel, he chooses to fight the enemy at a distance; for instance, last Sabbath he attacked the tyrants of Europe, but let the tyrants of America go unscathed.

The subject of this sketch is upwards of fifty years of age; of medium size and stature; wears a long, earnest, serious face; has a square, not high forehead; Roman nose; flashing eyes, and aristocratical chin. He looks as though his clothes had been put on his person by some one else. His collar, unlike his creed, yields to every pressure, and his shirt bosom may be without spot, but is not without wrinkle or any such thing. His coat hangs like a bag on his back, and one would think he was unused to wearing such a garment; then that huge gold chain, dangling against his satin vest, is out of place. Imagine a backwoodsman (with an intellectual face) fashionably dressed for the first time, and you will form a tolerably correct idea of the manner in which Doctor Duffield appears.

J. R. LOWELL.

LOWELL is one of the few who has the frankness and the courage to unrobe his bosom, and let the world see his heart beat. He has sufficient independence to think aloud, and dream with his eyes open. He shines because there is light in his brain, and he writes because his mind is pregnant with thought which must be born. He has a divine call to preach the gospel of love and liberty, in verse; and he does not grieve away the spirit of his muse by remaining mute when he should speak. In his L' Envoi, he says:

"But if the poet's duty be to tell

His fellow-men their beauty and their strength,
And show them the deep meaning of their souls,

He also is ordained to higher things;

He must reflect his race's struggling heart,

And shape the crude conceptions of his age."

He deems this the land of song; and he looks upon the vast forests, broad prairies, huge rivers, lofty mountains, and thundering cataracts, as the poetry of nature; and yet he thinks the spirit of poetry does not spring from waves and woods, and rocks; "her womb and cradle are the human heart," and man is the noblest theme for song. He proclaims