in order to resist their encroachments. The “Anthology,” which marked the birth of the new literary school, came in a few years to a natural end, but was revived in 1815 under the name of the “North American Review,” by the exertions of William Tudor. The life of the new Review belonged to a later period, and was shaped by other influences than those that surrounded the “Anthology.” With the beginning of the next epoch, the provincial stage of the Boston school was closed. More and more its influence tended to become national, and even to affect other countries. Perhaps by a natural consequence rather than by coincidence, the close of the old period was marked by the appearance of a short original poem in the “North American Review” for September, 1817:-- “... The hills, Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; the floods that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That wind among the meads and make them green,-- Are but the solemn declarations all, Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven Are glowing on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Borean desert pierce; Or lose thyself in the continuous woods That veil Oregan, where he hears no sound Save his own dashings,--yet the dead are there; And millions in these solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep: the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest: and what if thou shalt fall Unnoticed by the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? Thousands more Will share thy destiny. The tittering world Dance to the grave. The busy brood of care Plod on, and each one chases as before His favorite phantom. Yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.”