well as with hopes, are struggling within him. He heads a short procession over these then naked fields; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree; he ascends to the top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest. stand as thick around him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and here he performs the appointed duty of the day. And now, if this vision were a reality; if Washington actually were now amongst us, and if he could draw around him the shades of the great public men of his own day, patriots and warriors, orators and statesmen, and were to address us in their presence, would he not say to us: "Ye men of this generation, I rejoice and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, and sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous, you are happy, you are grateful. The fire of liberty burns brightly and steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from bursting forth in wild and destructive conflagration. Cherish liberty, as you love it; cherish its securities, as you wish to preserve it. Maintain the Constitution which we labored so painfully to establish, and which has been to you such a source of inestimable blessings. Preserve the Union of the States, cemented as it was by our prayers, our tears, and our blood. Be true to God, to your country, and to your duty. So shall the whole Eastern world follow the morning sun, to contemplate you as a nation; so shall all generations honor you, as they honor us; and so shall that Almighty power which so graciously protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting blessings upon you and your posterity!" Great father of your country! we heed your words; we feel their force, as if you now uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your example teaches us, your affectionate addresses teach us, your public life teaches us your sense of the value of the blessings of the Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, and still taste. Nor do we intend that those who come after us shall be denied the same high function. Our honor, as well as our happiness, is concerned. We cannot, we dare not, we will not, betray our sacred trust. We will not filch from posterity the treasure placed in our hands to be transmitted to other generations. The bow that gilds the clouds in the heavens, the pillars that uphold the firmament, may disappear and fall away in the hour appointed by the will of God; but, until that day comes, or so long as our lives may last, no ruthless hand shall undermine that bright arch of Union and Liberty which spans the continent from Washington to California! "VAS MARRIAGE A FAILURE?" CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS.* Vas marriage a failure? Vell, now, dot depends Vas marriage a failure? Der vote vas in doubt; Vas marriage a failure? Eef dot vas der case, Vot you dink dot der oldt " Pilgrim faders" vould say, To see der fine coundtry dis peoples haf got, Vas marriage a failure? Shust go, ere you tell, *Author of "Leedle Yawcob. Strauss " "Dot Baby off Mine," "Mother's Doughnuts," "Der Oak und der Vine," and other popular dialect recitations to be found in previous issues of this Series. 1 vas only a Deutscher, budt I dells you vot! 1 pelief every dime, in sooch "failures" as dot. Vas marriage a failure? I ask mine Katrine, Und she look off me so dot I feels pooty mean. Dhen she say: 'Meester Strauss, shust come here eef you blease," Und she dake me vhere Yawcob und little Loweeze By dhere shnug trundle-bed vas shust saying der prayer. Und she say, mit a smile: "Vas dhere some failures dhere?" SENT BACK BY THE ANGELS.-FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE "A little bit queer"-my Mary! And it's that you think, with a nod and wink, As you sit in my easy chair! Drop it, I tell you, do, Or language, I doubt, I shall soon let out Shake hands, and I ax your pardon- And what if she has her fancies? She's up to the nines, my Mary; Lord bless her, she keeps us right! It's up with her gown and the house scrubbed down As certain as Friday night. Is it rheumatiz, cough, lumbager? Is anything queer inside? She'll physic you up with a sup in a cup As tickles the doctor's pride. Is it mending of socks or trousers, Is it letting alone the joint with the bone, She hasn't her likes, my Mary She hasn't a fad, and she never had― Six years we was wed, and over, And nowheres, I swear, a more dotinger pali So when of a winter morning At last we was 'ma and dad, No Royal Princess had the welcome, I guess, Lord, wasn't she Christmas sunshine She was nothing in size, with tremenjous eyes, She'd stare at the folks that knowing, Laid over the nurse's knee, As I'd laugh, and I'd say, in a joking way, "She's older nor you nor me." And wasn't she nuts to Mary! Just picter her, them as can, A-doing her best with her mother's breast For Alexandrina Ann! It was so as we'd named the baby, By way of a start in life, From parties, I knew, as could help her through, The Queen and my uncle's wife. And wasn't the baby fêted! She lay in her bassinet With muslin and lace on her tiny face, As ever growed smaller yet. But it wasn't in lace nor coral To bribe her to linger here; I looks in her eyes, and "She's off," I sighs, Her treasures was all around her, For the pug on the shelf and, as big as herself, The doll as her grand'ma gave. She wanted the stars for playthings, Our wonderful six-weeks' guest: So, with one little sigh, she closed her eye, And how did the missis take it? Most terrible calm and mild; With a face a'most like a bloodless ghost There was me, like a six-foot babby, While she sat there in the rocking-chair, I couldn't abide to see it- I touches her so, and I whispers low, 66 My darlingest, can't you cry?" She gave me a smile for answer, Then over her work she bowed, And all through the night her needle bright In the gray of the winter morning, He reckoned it only a plaything,— A drum or a horse-and-cart,— The box that had space, O Father of Grace, To bury a mother's heart! Great God, such a shaller coffin, And yet so awful deep! I placed it there by the poor wife's chair, And I thinks, "At last she'll weep.” And-waxy and cold and so light to hold- Then, moving with noiseless footfall, I carried the plaything coffin, And she stood there at the head of the stair, |