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.

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!

0

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.

And the wife of his bosom-the faithful and fair-
Can mix no sweet drop in his cup of despair;
For her tender caress and her innocent breath
But stir in his soul the hot embers of death.

And his offering may blaze unregarded by Heaven,
And his spirit may pray, yet remain unforgiven;

And his grave may be closed, yet no rest to him bring:Oh, the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing!

CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY.

must be so. Plato, thou reasonest well;
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us,

'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me!
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us—

And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Through all her works-He must delight in virtue;
And that which He delights in must be happy.

But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures - this must end 'em.

Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to my end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
+ Plato's Treatise.

* The dagger.

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

THE DEATH OF VIRGINIA.

In order to render the commencement less abrupt, six lines of introduction have been added to this extract from the fine ballad by Macaulay.

HY is the Forum crowded? What means this stir in Rome?
"Claimed as a slave, a free-born maid is dragged here from
her home.

On fair Virginia, Claudius has cast his eye of blight;
The tyrant's creature, Marcus, asserts an owner's right.
Oh, shame on Roman manhood! Was ever plot more clear?
But look! the maiden's father comes! Behold Virginius here!"

Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside,
To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide.
Hard by, a butcher on a block had laid his whittle down —
Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown.
And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell,
And in a hoarse, changed voice, he spake, "Farewell, sweet child,
farewell!

The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls-
The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls—
Now for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom,
And, for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb.

"The time is come. The tyrant points his eager hand this way! See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey! With all his wit, he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, bereft, Thy father hath, in his despair, one fearful refuge left;

He little deems that, in this hand, I clutch what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave; Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blowFoul outrage, which thou knowest not-which thou shalt never know.