row. It took place at his beautiful mansion in the month of June, 1844. Refinement of feeling, intellectual tastes, and a noble hospitality, were among the features of his character; and hoary years brought no mental declension, and drew no shade over the ardent affections by which he was distinguished, and in whose reciprocity was his undeclining solace. The grief of those most dear to him is shared by many hearts, to whom his liberality in the cause of education had rendered him a benefactor. The establishment of schools, the diffusion of books, and the best modes of culture for the unfolding mind, occupied much of his thought and effort during the later years of life. And surely no form of munificence should entitle to a more grateful and lasting remembrance, than that which promotes the right education of youth! especially in a republic, where most emphatically "knowledge is power," and ignorance and vice subversive of safety.

The Great Western Tree, so celebrated for its antiquity and magnificence, is on the estate of the late Hon. James Wadsworth. It is a white oak, of massy foliage, with a trunk seventy feet in height, ere the protrusion of the branches, and thirty in circumference, so that seven persons are scarcely able to clasp it, with arms extended to their utmost length. It stands on the banks of the Geneseo, whose gently flowing waters wind their way through broad valleys, studded with fine trees, rising singly or in groups, and forming the very perfection of park scenery. In the old Maps of New York, the surrounding region bears the appellation of "Big Tree," and an Indian chieftain of the same name formerly ruled over a tribe inhabiting

that vicinity. In winter he resided on the uplands, and in summer came with his people, to cultivate some lands adjoining the "Big Tree." Beneath its dense canopy the chiefs of neighbouring tribes often assembled to hold council, to see their young men contend in athletic games, to advise them to good conduct, and invoke on their nation, the blessing of the Great Spirit.

This majestic Oak is supposed to have attained the age of at least 1000 and possibly 1500 years. Of its date there is neither history nor tradition, but one of a similar species, and of less than a third part of its diameter, having been cut down, revealed three hundred annual circles.

The neighbouring aborigines were accustomed of old to regard it with veneration, as a sort of intelligent or tutelary being.

Among the tribes who formerly inhabited the valley of the Geneseo was a small one which had made such progress in civilization, as to be able to speak a little English, to read inperfectly, and to sing psalms very well. They often conducted their simple worship under the spreading branches of the "Big Tree." In the summer of 1790, Mr. William Wadsworth (afterwards the General), received the appointment of Captain, and paraded his company of fifty or sixty men, collected from a space now equal to two or three counties, in front of the log house then tenanted by himself and his brother. The chief of the before-mentioned tribe, who was a man of mild and friendly disposition, attended to witness the spectacle. His countenance was observed to be strongly marked with sadness. Mr. James Wadsworth inquired what was the cause of his

depression. Pointing to the company of soldiers, and then turning to the remnant of his own people, he said mournfully, "You are the rising sun; but we are the setting sun;" and, covering his head with his mantle, wept bitterly.

SUNRISE AT NEW LONDON.

THE welkin glows! what floods of purple light,
Announce the coming of the King of Day-
The streaming rays that every moment grow
More tremulously bright, in haste uplift
The diamond-pointed spear, and swiftly run
Before his chariot. Lo! with dazzling pomp
The gates of morning burst, and forth he comes
In light ineffable, and strength supreme,
Best image of the God that rules the world.
Hill-top, and sacred spire, and monument,
Receive him first, with princely reverence,
And blushing, point him to the vales below.
The sea doth greet him flecked with gliding sails,
That catch his radiance on their breast of snow,
While joyously the little islands touch
Their waving coronets in loyalty.

Up go the aspiring rays, and reddening fall
On dome, and spreading tree, and cheerful haunt
Of peace and plenty. Here our fathers dwelt,
Simply in ancient times, the scattered huts
Of the dark Indian, mingling with their own.
Methinks even now, amid yon garden shades,
Or on the margin of his lilied lake,

Sage Winthrop walks, our old colonial sire,
Musing how best to advance his country's weal.
On his broad forehead sits the conscious thought

Of power unmixed with pride, and that pure warmth Of patriotism, which nerved him to endure

Toil and privation, for the infant State

That well his wisdom ruled.

See, rosy beams
Kindle around the pleasant home, where dwelt
The saintly Huntington, in danger tried,
The firm in battle, and the fond of peace.
High in the friendship of Mount Vernon's chief,
He walked in meekness, on to life's decline,
Seeking that honour which from God doth come,
And hath its crown above the starry skies.
But ah! the slant rays tint a lowly grave,
Where rests the tuneful bard, by nature loved.
Brainard! the echoes of thy spirit-lyre
Do warn us hither, and we fain would sit
Beside thy pillow, and commune with thee.
O, gentle friend! the autumnal dews are chill
Upon thy grassy bed, and the frail flowers
Whose saddened hearts are ominous of ill,
Cling closely there, as if they knew that thou,
Like them, didst feel an early frost and die.
Yet art thou of that band that cannot die.
Thou hast a dwelling with us, and thy words
Are sweetly on our lips, at close of day,
At lamp-light, by the hearth-stone. Unforgot
Shalt thou remain, for the sweet germs of song
Do flourish, when the gauds of wealth and pomp
Sink in oblivion.

Lo! the risen sun

Stays not his course, but o'er the horizon sends
The Maker's message. On he goes, to wake
The self-same joys and sorrows, that have trod