Biography might appear like an overloaded vessel, her deck crowded with the bright and honored names of heroes, statesmen, patriots, scholars, and others, the famed and gifted of our land—but she gallantly bears the freight, for a greater than Cæsar is among them. Washington! how the full tide of feeling gushes at the name—a nation’s pride and glory, and the admiration of the world. Many brilliant pens have told his character and fame, and yet the theme seems new. How bright a pattern to American youth, is the docility of his childhood, and submission to parental rule, the beautiful truth of his boyhood, and pure morality of his youth. His tenderness, even in the noon of his fame, to the venerable mother, on whose breast at parting fell the strange but unchecked tears of manhood. His pure patriotism, his undaunted courage, his unchanging firmness and impartial justice, his meek devotion and faith in the God of nations, all present a beautiful example for imitation. Happy America! rearing in your own bosom the son whose talents and virtues were your protection in the hour of danger. And gloriously was he associated with the bright host of heroes and patriots, whose deathless names will live with his in the grateful memory of the country to which they gave freedom and independence. With such themes biography holds, and must continue to hold, an elevated rank in American literature; and when to these is added the bright list of those who, in later times have periled their all for their country’s glory, or whose talents and virtues have brightened her fame, the task of perpetuating their names and deeds to posterity will employ many gifted minds, and must look far into the future for its completion. The ancient history of our country lies hid in the western mounds, or amidst the buried relics of past ages. Forests, in Central America, have grown over the ruins of temples and dwellings that, awakened from their sleep of ages by a Stephens and others, will in time become the Palmyra of the Western World. In the grandeur of their mysteries conjecture seems lost, yet there would appear a connection between them and the aboriginal race of our own land, whose lingering steps are receding toward the Pacific. In this remaining posterity of a lost genealogy, all that is left to tell the tale of the race from whence they sprung, is their firm independence, undying love of country, deep sense of injury and spirit of revenge, and strong faith of happier homes beyond the grave. Is not this a theme worthy the pen of the American poet, philosopher, antiquarian, or novelist?