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on the life-blood of wasted principalities,—& customhouse on the bank of every river, a fortress on every frontier hill, a pirate lurking in the recesses of every bay, --or whether they shall coutinue to constitute a federal republic, the most extensive, the most powerful, the most prosperous in the long line of ages.
No one can read the Farewell Address without feeling that this was the thought and this the care which lay nearest and heaviest upon that noble heart; and ifwhich Heaven forbid—the day shall ever arrive when his parting counsels on that head shall be forgotten, ou that day, come it soon or come it late, it may as mournfully, as truly be said that Washington has lived in vain. Then the vessels as they ascend and descend the Potomac may toll their bells with new significance as they pass Mount Vernon; they will strike the requiem of constitutional liberty for us,-for all nations.
But it cannot, shall not be; this great woe to our beloved country, this catastrophe for the cause of national freedom, this grievous calamity for the whole civilized world, it cannot, shall not be. “No, by the glorious 19th of April, 1775; no, by the precious blood of Bunker Hill, of Princeton, of Saratoga, of King's Mountain, of Yorktown; no, by the undying spirit of '76; no, by the sacred dust enshrined at Mount Vernon; no, by the dear, immortal memory of Washington,—that sorrow and shame shall never be.
A great and venerated character like that of Washington, which commands the respect of an entire population, however divided on other questions, is not an isolated fact in History to be regarded with barren admiration,-it is a dispensation of Providence for good. It was well said by Mr. Jefferson in 1792, writing to Washington to dissuade him from declining a renomination,
North and to i Washinå him as ou hang to
* North and Scuth will hang together while they have you to hang to.” Washington in the flesh is taken from us; we shall never behold him as our fathers did; but his memory remains, and I say, let us hang to his memory. Let us make a national festival and holiday of his birthday; and ever, as the 22d of February returns, let us remember that, while with these solemn and joyous rites of observance we celebrate the great anniversary, our fellow-citizens on the Hudson, on the Potomac, from the Southern plains to the Western lakes, are engaged in the same offices of gratitude and love.
Nor we, nor they alone ;-beyond the Ohio, beyond the Mississippi, along that stupendous trail of immigration from East to West, which, bursting into States as it moves westward, is already treading the Western prairies, swarming through the portals of the Rocky Mountains and winding down their slopes, the name and the memory of Washington on that gracious night will travel with the silver queen of heaven through sixty degrees of longitude, nor part company with her till she walks in her brightness through the golden gate of California, and passes serenely on to hold midnight court with her Australian stars. There, and there only, in barbarous archipelagoes, as yet untrodden by civilized man, the name of Washington is unknown; and there, too, when they swarm with enlightened millions, new honors shall be paid with ours to his memory. E. EVERETT.
1 One bright midsummer day,
Bright faces clustered on the deck,
Or, leaning o'er the side,
That flecked the rippling tide.
That smiling bends serene,
Impended o'er the scene-
That frame of sturdy oak
Blackened with fire and smoke?
A moment whispered low;
He hurried down below.
And clear his orders came, No human efforts could avail
To quench th' insidious flame.
It sped from lip to lip,
Looked from the doomed ship.
A hundred lips implore; “But one,” the captain made reply,
“To run the ship on shore.” A sailor, whose heroic soul
That hour should yet reveal,-
Stood calmly at the wheel.
“ Head her south-east !” the captain shouts,
Above the smothered roar, “Head her south-east without delay!
Make for the nearest shore !"
No terror pales the helmsman's cheek,
Or clouds his dauntless eye,
His voice responds, “Ay, Ay!"
Crowd forward, wild with fear,
Above the deck appear.
But still, with steady hand
He steered the ship to land.
The captain cries once more,
And we will reach the shore.”
Responded firmly, still
“With God's good help I will!"
The flames approach with giant strides,
They scorch his hands and brow; One arm disabled seeks his side,
Ah, he is conquered now!
He crushes down the pain,-
He guides the ship again.
One moment yet! one moment yet!
Brave heart, thy task is o'er!
The steamer touches shore.
In praise to God, that He
And from th’ingulfing sea.
The captain saw him reel-
Blackened with smoke and fire.
A nobler funeral pyre!
THE OLD YANKEE FARMER. W AL, Mr. Brown, how's things goin' on with y'there
V daown below? I s'pose Boston don't look much as 't did fifty year ago. I was tellin'-I was tellin' Miss Pillsbury t'other day, ef she felt smart enough, we'd take a little jant daown and look round a little. But she's got the rumatiz so like all possest, she can't stir raound much. She's e'en a most discouraged sometimes; but I tell her I guess it'll all wear off arter a spell, ha! ha! ha! I doant git raound much myself. I'm a gittin' suthin' inter years—but I tell 'em I'm better'n half the young folks naow.
Folks doant live now-a-days as they used ter when I was a boy. Why, they've all got the indigeestion, or