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Her monument tributes their memory sharing

With the North and the South, the East and the West?

The fame of her Jefferson proudly defying,

Like his own Declaration, the mildew of time;
The names of her signers, revered and undying,
While Truth holds a temple, or Freedom a shrine;

The fame of her Franklin, whose genius ascended
The storm-demon's throne when his thunders were loud,
And, seizing the sceptre of lightning, appended
His name to the scroll of each menacing cloud;

The fame of her Henry, whose eloquence breaking
The spell which had fettered the nations so long
Was heard in the palace, its tyranny shaking,

And ringing the knell of oppression and wrong;

The fame of her Washington, broad as creation,
The Christian, philosopher, hero, and sage;
Uniting the models of every nation,

The pride and perfection of every age—

These national jewels, oh! cherish their lustre,
All beauty excelling, all value above;
Nor sever one gem from the family cluster,
Nor shatter the casket of union and love!

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THE ISLE OF LONG AGO.

H! a wonderful stream is the River of Time,
As it runs through the realm of tears,
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme,
And a boundless sweep and a surge sublime,
As it blends with the Ocean of Years.

How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow,
And the summers, like buds between ;

And the year in the sheaf-so they come and they go, On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow,

As it glides in the shadow and sheen.

There's a magical Isle up the River of Time,
Where the softest of airs are playing;
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime,
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime,

And the Junes with the roses are staying.

And the name of that Isle is the Long Ago,
And we bury our treasures there;
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow
There are heaps of dust- but we loved them so!-
There are trinkets and tresses of hair:

There are fragments of song that nobody sings,
And a part of an infant's prayer;

There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings; There are broken vows, and pieces of rings,

And the garments that she used to wear.

There are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air;

And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair.

Oh, remembered for aye be the blessèd Isle,
All the day of our life till night!

When the evening comes with its beautiful smile,
And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile,
May that "Greenwood" of Soul be in sight!

'TWA

THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE.

WAS a jolly old pedagogue, long ago,
Tall and slender, and sallow, and dry;
His form was bent and his gait was slow,
His long, thin hair was as white as snow;

But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye;

And he sang every night as he went to bed, "Let us be happy down here below;

The living should live, though the dead be dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue long ago.

He taught his scholars the rule of three,
Writing, and reading, and history too,
Taking the little ones on his knee,

For a kind old heart in his breast had he, And the wants of the littlest child he knew: "Learn while you're young," he often said, "There is much to enjoy down here below;

Life for the living, and rest for the dead!" Said the jolly old pedagogue long ago.

He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane,
With roses and woodbine over the door;
His rooms were quiet and neat and plain,

But a spirit of comfort there held reign,
And made him forget he was old and poor;
"I need so little," he often said,
"And my friends and relatives here below
Won't litigate over me when I am dead,"
Said the jolly old pedagogue long ago.

He smoked his pipe in the balmy air

Every night when the sun went down,
While the soft wind played in his silvery hair,
Leaving its tenderest kisses there

On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crown;
And feeling the kisses he smiled and said,
""Tis a glorious world down here below;
Why wait for happiness till we are dead?"
Said the jolly old pedagogue long ago.

He sat at his door one midsummer night,
After the sun had sunk in the west,

And the lingering beams of golden light

Made his kindly old face look warm and bright;

While the odorous night-wind whispered "Rest!"
Gently, gently he bowed his head. . .

There were angels waiting for him, I know;
He was sure of happiness, living or dead,
This jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

I

JUSTICE TO THE WHOLE COUNTRY.

THINK, sir, the country calls upon us loudly and imperatively to settle this question. I think that the whole world is looking to see whether this great popular government can get through such a crisis. We are the observed of all observers. It is not to be disputed or doubted that the eyes of all Christendom are upon us. We have stood through many trials. Can we stand through this, which takes so much the character of a sectional controversy? Can we stand that? There is no inquiring man in all Europe who does not ask himself that question every day, when he reads the intelligence of the morning. Can this country, with one set of interests at the South, and another set of interests at the North- these interests supposed, but falsely supposed, to be at variance — can this people see, what is so evident to the whole world beside, that this Union is their main hope and greatest benefit, and that their interests are entirely compatible? Can they see, and will they feel, that their prosperity, their respectability among the nations of the earth, and their happiness at home, depend upon the maintenance of their Union and their Constitution? That is the question. I agree that local divisions are apt to overturn the understandings of men, and to excite a belligerent feeling between section and section. It is natural, in times of irritation, for one part of the country to say, If you do that, I will do this, and so get up a feeling of hostility and defiance. Then comes belligerent legislation, and then an appeal to arms. question is, whether we have the true patriotism, the Americanism, necessary to carry us through such a trial. The whole world is looking toward us, with extreme anxiety.

The

For myself, I propose, sir, to abide by the principles and the purposes which I have avowed. I shall stand by the Union, and

by all who stand by it. I shall do justice to the whole country, according to the best of my ability, in all I say - and act for the good of the whole country in all I do. I mean to stand upon the Constitution. I need no other platform. I shall know but one country. The ends I aim at shall be my country's, my God's, and Truth's. I was born an American; I live an American; I shall die an American; and I intend to perform the duties incumbent upon me in that character to the end of my career. I mean to do this, with absolute disregard of personal consequences. What are personal consequences? What is the individual man, with all the good or evil that may betide him, in comparison with the good or evil which may befall a great country in a crisis like this, and in the midst of great transactions which concern that country's fate? Let the consequences be what they will, I am careless. No man can suffer too much, and no man can fall too soon, if he suffer, or if he fall, in defence of the liberties and Constitution of his country!

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THE CURSE OF CAIN.

H, the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing!

Like the tempest that withers the blossoms of spring,
Like the thunder that bursts on the summer's domain,
It fell on the head of the homicide Cain.

And, lo! like a deer in the fright of the chase,
With a fire in his heart, and a brand on his face,
He speeds him afar to the desert of Nod-

A vagabond, smote by the vengeance of God!

All nature, to him, has been blasted and banned,

And the blood of a brother yet reeks on his hand;
And no vintage has grown, and no fountain has sprung,
For cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue.

The groans of a father his slumber shall start,

And the tears of a mother shall pierce to his heart,
And the kiss of his children shall scorch him like flame,
When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name.

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