teer such a defence, though if called for by the occasion, we should be prompt to undertake it. But their bigot zeal,' il such it were, took a quite different direction from that here named; and in this particular instance, where the contest was equally on both sides for existence, it strikes us as no better than sentimentality to represent them as remorseless oppressors, and the other party as cruely wronged. We have not full faith in the philosophy which teaches that a right on one side always implies a corresponding obligation on the other. Politically speaking, Philip had perhaps a right to attempt to rid the country of his English neighbours; but, politically speaking, they had an equal right to keep their ground, if they could. Philip may be suffered to pass for a hero. That he was brave, ambitious, and cunning, is certain. That he was generous, does not appear. As to the merits of his cause, it is for the most part the simplest of occupations to discuss the question of the right or wrong of any war, certainly of a war made by a savage; but if he is to be brought off triumphant in foro conscientiæ, a court which it is not likely he ever thought of, it must be on the ground of his prophetic conviction of the necessity of guarding against the course of events, and not by the plea of injury sustained from any specific encroachment. It was as truly as proudly said by Governor Winslow of Plymouth, in 1676, I think I can clearly say, that before these present troubles broke out, the English did not possess one foot of land in this colony, but what was fairly obtained by honest purchase of the Indian proprietors.' Massassoit, the father of Philip, came voluntarily to Plymouth within three months after the first landing, to enter into engagements with the English. He was always treated by them with scrupulous kindness. He gained by their alliance far more than he gave, and a little time before his death he came to renew it for his children. With Philip himself the war was neither wantonly nor willingly engaged in. They were a long time apprized of his plots against them, before they were willing to take a hostile step, and persisted in their forbearance till longer forbearance would have been more than extreme temerity. The immediate cause of the war was the execution of three of his tribe, whose lives by the conditions of his own treaty became forfeit to the English for the murder of a friendly Indian. Philip, too conscious of his own agency in that affair, and

alarmed lest he should be called on to answer for it, precipitated himself prematurely into a contest, which the colonists still made every effort to avoid. There was no design of apprehending him; and even when the colony of Plymouth, itself cautious and backward, insisted on the necessity of proceeding to hostilities, it was still kept back by that of Massachusetts; till at last the assault of the Indians on the town of Swanzey, and manifestations of the same sort in other quarters, rendered absolutely inevitable the resort to arms. The war begun, it is not surprising that it should be carried on with great exasperation on both sides. New England never saw so critical a time. It was a conflict in which the existence of one party depended on the destruction of the other. The Indians, had they known bow to use it, had an overwhelming superiority of force; and though there are sentiments of humanity which under all circumstances generous minds respect, yet in the contest with such an eneenmy, so wanton and so impracticable,-Grotius and Vattel lose their authority. The Indians were once in force within twelve miles of Boston. Scarcely was there a principal family in the four colonies but lost a father, brother, or son; and these poor victims of infuriate rage,' who are so feelingly said to have been hunted from corner to corner of the commonwealth, it is to be remembered were hunted with arms and fire-brands in their hands, with which they carried devastation or terror into every hamlet from the Connecticut to the shore. They encamped at night by the blaze of christian dwellings, and rose in the morning to the quest of blood. Not a New England mother slept but with the image before her mind of her infant dashed against the rocks, nor woke but to fancy every wind through the forest burdened with a savage yell. At such times there is at least a conflict of rights. What one may take another may keep, if he can; and though there may have been instances of unjustifiable severity, yet when the war had been needlessly begun by Philip, his entire decisive overthrow was the only thing which could give security to the settlers.

Yamoy den, however, is no history, nor do we mean to take it to task in that character. It is not without embarrassment that we have gone through the thankless labour of remarking on a work, which, much as we find in it to praise, we cannot help feeling all along to be unequal as a

whole to the claims and the power of the writers. We have spoken of it,—as it is unavoidable to speak of what is before the public, in the same manner as if it had been the production of a professed author, appearing under the common advantages of a published work; but we have not forgotten that it was but a recreation of the leisure of persons engaged in soberer pursuits. The work-day world is likely to be in prosperous condition, when there are persons who for their amusement can write like this. We are happy not to know any farther than we learn from the preface and notes, what portions are to be attributed to the authors respectively, and we are sure from the care which the survivor manifests for the reputation of his friend, that he would be quite as much pained by any distinctions we might make in his favour, as to his prejudice. For the one, it may well be cause of satisfaction to those interested in his fame that he will be held in honourable memory by some who have known him only as author of Yamoyden; and for the other, while we would be above the common place of giving to what is even the careless production of a mature mind the frugal praise of being a promise of better things, we are not less sure that the world will hear more of him hereafter, than we are that not even,

'As the light carol of a bird flown by,
Will pass this youthful strain.'

But

By the public we cannot be thought to have spoken under any improper favourable bias. The writers have gone out of their way to throw a gauntlet to New England, and been at some pains to give out that part of the descendants of the pilgrims are no better than they should be. heavier offences than this we can forgive. We do not despair of convincing the half anonymous author, when he will favour us with the opportunity, that there are better things among us than half learned pretension's shallow store,' and that all the distinctions of Cambridge are not the odious ones, which in an application but too intelligible of a quotation from Mather he attempts to fix upon it. If they will send us from New York such poems as this, and that of Percy's Masque-a work of which any living dramatist might be proud,-we will engage to be pleased with their literature, and to say nothing, in remarking on it, either of their politics or religion.

W. Phillips

ART. XXVI.-Address, delivered at the Fourth Anniversary of the Massachusetts Peace Society, December 25, 1819. By John Gallison, Esq. Cambridge, Hilliard and Metcalf.

WE propose to say more of the author of this address, than of the address itself; to which we are induced, by the consideration, that his conduct through life may be useful as an example, and because his character is worthy of being exhibited as a model. It is also more especially due from us not to take silent leave of him, as he was one of our number, and his death is a loss common to the contributors to this journal and its readers.

The events of Mr. Gallison's life were not striking, and only a few of them need to be mentioned, for the purpose of making a short notice of his character more intelligible. He was born at Marblehead, October 1788. His mother, who was sister of the late Chief Justice Sewall, survived his birth but a few hours. His father has lived to experience one of the greatest calamities of age, in the death of a dutiful, affectionate, beloved, and honoured son. Young Gallison was, at an early age, put under the instruction of the Rev. Dr. Harris, now president of Columbia College. He was admitted into Cambridge University at the age of fifteen, where he remained till the spring of 1807, when with many others, he quitted that institution without a degree, on account of a dissatisfaction in regard to its administration, which prevailed pretty generally among the students at the time. Notwithstanding his thus dissolving his connexions with it, the university a few years since, conferred upon him the degree of A. M. On leaving Cambridge, he began the study of the law in Boston, in the office of the Hon. J. Q. Adams. He afterwards pursued his studies in the office of Judge Story, who was then in practice at Salem. On being admitted to the bar, he commenced the practice of his profession in his native town; but, by the advice of his friends, he soon removed to Boston, where he resided and continued to grow in honour esteem, and usefulness, till the time of his death, which took place in December last, a short time after he had completed the thirty second year of his age.

His life was a short one, but he improved it so well, that he is remembered for what he accomplished, as well as regretted for what was expected of him. He had become

known to many, and was regarded with respect by all, who knew him, and with a warm affection by all who knew him intimately. He was formed to gain the opinions and good will of men. He was kind and sincere in his disposition; nature seemed to have shed virtuous influences upon him, and generous sentiments and honourable principles sprung up in his mind spontaneously.

His faculties always readily inclined to his duties. In his childhood and youth he needed not to be bidden to his tasks. Those who remember him well, while he was the pupil of Dr. Harris, say that he was then as remarkable for the correct and punctual performance of his school exercises, as he always was afterwards for doing, faithfully, and thoroughly, whatever he undertook. Nor was this from a passive submission to an order, or a mechanical adherence to a rule prescribed by himself or others; he was moved by a strong and active principle of duty, not that of obedience merely, but that which arises from a lively sense of moral obligation, and an habitual feeling of what one owes to himself and others. He had, besides, a love and admiration of order, and propriety, and completeness, in so much, that it is not easy to name a thing, though of small importance, which he ever did, carelessly or superficially.

His perceptions, and tastes, and desire of knowledge, were not confined to a few objects, nor yet were they too diversified. He did not fall into the error of which there are so many examples, in men who dissipate their faculties in multifarious and inconsequential attempts, hurrying from their proposed ends, the moment they have overcome the first obstacles, to waste their endeavours again upon something else, and so never finishing any thing, or accomplishing themselves in any particular course of action. Gallison persevered in his pursuits, and never allowed himself to believe a thing to be impossible. As an example of this; soon after being matriculated at Cambridge, he resolved to study his historical exercises, in the French, of which language he had little or no knowledge. Though an acquaintance with history cannot but be considered requisite to every scholar, by all the members of any literary institution, yet at that time the prescribed exercises in this study were made small account of by the students, who hardly considered the reputation of excelling in them, to be worth coveting. But notwithstanding the little