MR. LORD is a native of Western New York, and is descended through both his parents from the New England Puritans. His father was a Presbyterian clergyman, and his mother, who now resides with her eldest son, the Rev. Dr. LORD of Buffalo, is a woman of refinement and cultivation. He had therefore the advantages of a good domestic training. He exhibited at a very early age a love of letters, and soon became familiar with SHAKSPEARE and the other great writers of the Elizabethan age, and probably few men are now more familiar with English literature in all its departments. During his college life his health failed, and his friends, yielding to a desire for a sea voyage, committed him to the care of the master of a whale ship, owned by a family friend at New London. After being a few weeks at sea he grew weary of the monotony of a cabin passage, and, against the remonstrances of the captain, forced his way into the forecastle, where he soon became a sturdy seaman, and, during four years of service in the Pacific, endured all the hardships, privations and perils of that adventurous life, exhibiting on every occasion the boldest traits of character. On returning home he resolved to devote his time to the study of moral science, and with this view, in 1841, entered the theological school at Auburn;

but the death of the Rev. Dr. RICHARDS, president of that institution, occurring in 1843, he joined the senior class of the Princeton Theological Seminary, in which he completed his course of study, with much credit, early in the following year. He is now a fellow of the College of New Jersey, and is engaged in the preparation of a course of Lectures on English Literature.

Mr. LORD has been a laborious and successful student; is familiar with the ancient languages and literatures; has been a diligent reader of the best German writers; and has cultivated an acquaintance with the arts of design. Philosophy is his favourite study, however, and COLERIDGE and WORDSWORTH are his most familiar authors.

Mr. LORD's only published volume of poems appeared in 1845. Its contents were all written during the previous year, and they bear generally marks of haste and carelessness, but such proofs of genuine poetical taste and power as to win attention and praise from judicious critics. His mind is imbued with the spirit of his favourite authors, but many passages in his writings are as original, in thought and manner, as they are beautiful. The pervading tone of his poetry is that of reverent meditation, but occasionally it is distinguished by a graceful playfulness.

KEATS.*

Ou gold Hyperion, love-lorn Porphyro,

Ill-fated from thine orb'd fire struck back Just as the parting clouds began to glow,

And stars, like sparks, to bicker in thy track! Alas! throw down, throw down, ye mighty dead, The leaves of oak and asphodel

That ye were weaving for that honour'd head,— In vain, in vain, your lips would seek a spell In the few charmed words the poet sung,

To lure him upward in your seats to dwell,— As vain your grief! O! why should one so young Sit crown'd midst hoary heads with wreaths divine?

Though to his lips Hymettus' bees had clung,

His lips shall never taste the immortal wine, Who sought to drain the glowing cup too soon, For he hath perish'd, and the moon Hath lost Endymion-but too well

The shaft that pierced him in her arms was sped :Into that gulf of dark and nameless dread, Star-like he fell, but a wide splendour shed Through its deep night, that kindled as he fell.

*From "An Ode to England."

TO MY SISTER.

AND shall we meet in heaven, and know and love?
Do human feelings in that world above
Unchanged survive? blest thought! but ah, I fear
That thou, dear sister, in some other sphere,
Distant from mine, will find a brighter home,
Where I, unworthy found, may never come;-
Or be so high above me glorified,
That I, a meaner angel, undescried,
Seeking thine eyes, such love alone shall see
As angels give to all bestowed on me;
And when my voice upon thy ear shall fall,
Hear only such reply as angels give to all.

Forgive me, sister, O forgive the love
Whose selfishness would reach the life above,
And even in heaven do its object wrong-
But should I see thee in the heavenly throng,
Bright as the star I love-the night's first star,
If, like that star, thou still must shine afar,
And in thy glory I must never see
A woman's, sister's look of love from thee,-
Must never call thee by a sister's name,
I could but wish thee less, if thus, the same,
My sister still, dear Sarah! thou might'st be,
And I thy brother still, in that blest company.