from America to England to receive the meed due to her learning, her talents, and her virtues, at _twenty-two_. What one of America's paler daughters, contemporary with her, with all the advantages that home, fortune, friends, and favor bring,--what one ascended so far up the hill of just fame at any age? I have searched in vain to find the name upon the literary page of our country's record. "O Wheatley! What degrading hand, what slavish chain, What earthly power, could link thy nobler soul To baser things, and check its eagle flight? Angel of purity, child of beauteous song, Thy harp still hangs within our sight, To cheer, though thou art gone." The succeeding extract from his poem "The Coming Man" is very suggestive, especially at this time. "I break the chains that have been clanging Down through the dim vault of ages; I gird up my strength,--mind and arm,-- And prepare for the terrible conflict. I am to war with principalities, powers, wrongs With oppressions,--with all that curse humanity. I am resolved. 'Tis more than half my task; 'Twas the great need of all my past existence. The glooms that have so long shrouded me, Recede as vapor from the new presence, And the light-gleam--it must be life-- So brightens and spreads its pure rays before, That I read my mission as 'twere a book. It is life; life in which none but _men_-- Not those who only wear the form--can live To give this life to the _World_; to make men Out of the thews and sinews of oppressed slaves." Mr. Wilson is a teacher, and whether the following is drawn from his own experience, or not, we are left to conjecture. THE TEACHER AND HIS PUPIL. SCENE.--School Room. School in session. _Dramatis Personæ._ TEACHER. A bachelor rising thirty. PUPIL. A beautiful girl of sixteen. I see that curling and high-archéd brow. "Scold thee?" Ay, that I will. Pouting I see thee still; Thou jade! I know that thou art laughing now! Silence! hush! nor dare one word to mutter! If it were e'er so gentle, (I speak in tone parental,) Do not thy very softest whisper utter. I know that startled trembling all a hoax, Thou pert and saucy thing! I'll make thy fine ears ring; I'll pretermit thy silly, taunting jokes. "Whip thee?" Ay, that I will, and whip thee well; Thy chattering tongue now hold! There, there; I will no further scold. How down those lovely cheeks the hot tears fell! How quickly changed! Nay, nay; come hither, child. 'Tis with kindness I would rule; Severity's the erring fool, Who harms the tender or excites the wild.