SYLVESTER B. BECKETT.

SYLVESTER B. BECKETT is a native of Portland, in which City he was born during the month of May, 1812. At an early age he became an apprentice to the printing business in the office of the Christian Mirror, a weekly paper, published in that City, and devoted to Religion. After serving his apprenticeship he remained as a compositor in the office, and having been endowed by nature with promising native talent, devoted his spare moments to literary matters, contributing to various journals and magazines. He was for some time connected with his friend Colesworthy, as editor of the Portland Tribune,' after that gentleman had disposed of his interest in it as publisher. Subsequent to this Mr. Beckett had been a regular contributor to its columns. He still resides in his native City.

O, LADY! SING THAT SONG AGAIN!

O, lady! sing that song again;

Sweet visions of the past

Are wakened at the plaintive strain

Sing on and bid them last!

Thou hast the voice of one who sleeps

Beneath the willow tree,

Who oft in by gone happy hours,
Hath tuned those notes for me.

They bring to mind the home of youth,
Beneath the old oak's shade,

Each breezy slope, each rock and tree,
Each darksome forest-glade;

And forms familiar rise to view,

To whom my heart would cling,

All clothed with beauty, gladness, youth,
Sing on, kind lady, sing!

Sad was the day when I went forth

And death came in my stead,

And they are scattered through the world,

Or in their narrow bed;'

But as I listen to thy voice,

In fancy blest I roam,

Amidst the green and peaceful scenes

Of my forsaken home!

Owing to an unfortunate accident, which occurred at this portion of our work, we are obliged to curtail our selections from these authors, which we regret exceedingly. — EDITOR.

CHARLES PHELPS ROBERTS.

CHARLES P. ROBERTS is a native of the City of Bangor, where he was born on the fourteenth day of February, 1822. His father removed to Bangor in early youth, and is now one of its oldest citizens. The subject of this sketch received his early education at the Bangor High School, from which he entered Bowdoin College, and was graduated in the Class of 1845. After this he studied law for some time in the office of James S. Rowe, Esq., a member of the Penobscot Bar, and U. S. Commissioner for Bangor. Mr. Roberts was admitted to practice in 1847, but becoming connected with the editorial department of the Bangor Daily Mercury, he relinquished it, and for four years devoted his time and talent to editorial matters. He is now one of the editors of the Bangor Daily Journal, a new daily paper recently started in that City.

THE SLEEP OF NATURE.

As an earthquake rocks a corse,

In its coffin in the clay

So white Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold year to-day.

SHELLEY.

She is not dead, but sleepeth.

SCRIPTURE.

THE wind is loud, and a frosty shroud

Wraps Nature in its fold,

The Frost King's hands, as with iron bands,
Have set and sealed their hold.

How swift and fleet were the Day-God's feet,
That danced along the plain!

And sudden and brief the fall of the leaf,
Told Winter come again!

As sweet and deep as a maiden's sleep,
In snow-white vesture laid,

Looks Nature now, with her pale cold brow,
In her wintry garb array'd.

Yet fair as the flush of a virgin's blush,
Shall she rise from sleep and dream,
And roseate hues with the glittering dews,
Shall weave her gorgeous sheen.

And again shall sing the birds in the Spring,
And Nature's heart shall glow;

The fruits and flowers, in the genial showers,
Shall blossom sweet and grow.

On hill-side and plain shall nod the ripe grain,
In Summer's golden sun,

And Autumn shall cheer with the fruits of the
The reapers' work well done.

Thus warm or a-cold, she waxeth not old,
Since the sweet morn of her birth,
When the glad stars sang and the echoes rang,
Through all the heaven and earth.

year,

BENJAMIN A. G. FULLER.

B. A. G. FULLER, Esq., is a native of Augusta, where he was born on the twenty-third of May, 1818, and is a son of the late Judge Fuller, of that city. He was educated at Bowdoin College, from which he graduated in 1839. During the previous year he delivered a poem before the Athenean Society of the College. On graduating, he studied law in his father's office, and also at the Harvard Law School, Cambridge, Mass. In 1841, he was admitted to the Kennebec Bar, and entered to practice in his native city, where he has since remained. For the past four years he has been Judge of the Municipal Court of Augusta.

FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY.

And now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three: but the greatest of these is Charity.'

HAVE HOPE! it is the brightest star

That lights life's pathway down:

A richer, purer gem than decks

An Eastern Monarch's crown.

The Midas that may turn to joy

The grief-fount of the soul;

That points the prize, and bids thee press
With fervor to the goal.

Have HOPE! as the toss'd mariner

Upon the wild wave driven,

With rapture hails the Polar star,

His guiding light to haven,
So Hope shall gladden thee, and guide

Along life's stormy road,

And, as a sacred beacon, stand

To point thee to thy God.

Have FAITH!-the substance of things hoped,

Of things not seen, the sign;

That nerves the arm with God-like might,

The soul with strength divine.

Have FAITH! - her rapid foot shall bring

Thee conquering to the goal,

Her glowing hand with honors wreathe
A chaplet for thy soul.

Have FAITH!- and though around thy bark

The tempest surges roar;

At her stern voice the storm shall rest,

The billows rage no more.

HOPE bids the soul to soar on high,

And yet no wing supplies;

She marks the way-but FAITH shall bear
The spirit to the skies.

Have CHARITY!

for though thou'st faith

To make the hills remove,

Thou nothing art, if wanting this,

The Charity of love.

And though an angel's tongue were thine,

Whose voice none might surpass,

If Charity inspire thee not,

Thou art as sounding brass!

Have CHARITY! - that suffers long,

Is kind and thinks no ill;
That grieveth for a brother's fault,

Yet loves that brother still.

FAITH, HOPE and CHARITY!- of these
The last is greatest, best,

"Tis Heaven itself come down to dwell

Within the human breast.