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mandate. In battle, in the fullness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sings his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel.

4. But he who dies of hunger, wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to cheer him in the terrible conflict; for, if he had friends, how could he die of hunger? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him; for his foe, vampirelike, has exhausted his veins. Famine comes not up, like a brave enemy, storming, by a sudden onset, the fortress that resists. Famine besieges. He draws his lines round the doomed garrison. He cuts off all supplies. He never summons to surrender, for he gives no quarter.

5. Alas! for poor human nature, how can it sustain this fearful warfare? Day by day the blood recedes; the flesh deserts; the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless. At last the mind, which at first had bravely nerved itself against the contest, gives way, under the mysterious influences which govern its union with the body. Then the victim begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Providence. He hates his fellow-men, and glares upon them with the longing of a cannibal; and, it may be, dies blaspheming.

6. This is one of the cases in which we may, without impiety, assume, as it were, the function of Providence. Who knows but that one of the very objects of this calamity is to test the benevolence and worthiness of us, upon whom unlimited abundance is showered? In the name, chen, of common humanity, I invoke your aid in behalf of starving Ireland. He who is able, and will not aid in such a cause, is not a man, and has no right to wear the form. He should be sent back to Nature's mint, and reissued as a counterfeit on humanity, of Nature's baser metal.




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NE morn a Peri at the gate

Of Eden stood, disconsolate; And as she listened to the springs

Of life within, like music flowing, And caught the light upon her wings

Through the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place!


“How happy,” exclaimed this child of air, “Are the holy spirits who wander there,

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall! Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,

One blossom of heaven outblooms them all!”



The glorious angel who was keeping
The gates of light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listened,
A tear within his eyelids glistened.-
“Nymph of a fair but erring line!”
Gently he said, one hope is thine.
'Tis written in the book of fate,

The Peri yet may be forgiven,
Who brings to this eternal gate

The gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin; 'Tis sweet to let the pardoned in!”


Rapidly as comets run
To the embraces of the sun,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,

And lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,

Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.


Over the vale of Baalbec winging,

The Peri sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,

As rosy and as wild as they ; Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, The beautiful blue damsel-flies That fluttered round the jasmine stems, Like wingëd flowers or flying gems: And near the boy, who, tired with play, Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small temple's rustic fount

Impatient fling him down to drink.


Then swift his haggard brow he turned

To the fair child, who fearless satThough never yet hath day-beam burned

Upon a brow more fierce than that Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire, In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed.


Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening-time
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play;
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches that have burnt all night

Encounter morning's glorious rays.


But hark! the vesper call to prayer,

As slow the orb of daylight sets, Is rising sweetly on the air

From Syria's thousand minarets !

The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth;
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!


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And how felt he, the wretched man
Reclining there-while memory ran
O’er many a year of guilt and strife
That marked the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace ?
“There was a time,” he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones, “thou blessed child !
When young, and haply pure as thou,
I looked and prayed like thee; but now
He hung his head; each nobler aim

And hope and feeling which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came

Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept!


And now! behold him kneeling there,
By the child's side in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven
The triumph of a soul forgiven!


'T was when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they lingered yet,
There fell a light-more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star-

Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam;
But well th' enraptured Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the angel threw
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear-,
Her harbinger of glory near!
"Joy! joy !" she cried; "my task is done-
The gates are passed, and heaven is won!”





IMMERMAN asks, "Which is the real hereditary sin

of humanity? Do you imagine that I shall say pride, or luxury, or ambition ? No! I shall say indolence. He who conquers that, can conquer all.” How perfectly true this is, we are not all ready to acknowledge; and, with due respect to a man who was a strange but deep thinker, we doubt whether the sin attaches to Nature. She is surely, in this respect, far above suspicion. “Nature," says a dis

, tinguished writer, “knows no pause, and attaches a curse upon all inaction."

2. The botanist, the geologist, the chemist, alike attest this great truth. Sitting down upon the sea-shore, and watching the rise and fall, and the ebb and flow, of the waves; marking the little ripples left in the sand to be moved and washed away at the next tide; deeply regarding the water-worn rocks or the chalk cliffs, which have been driven, as it were, inland by the ceaseless work of the sea; looking at the ever-springing grass, the cirrus and cumulative clouds which pass away and "leave not a rack. behind;" listening to the continual chirp of the cricket, the "thin, high-elbowed things" which thread the grass; or watching the sea-gull lifting itself above the breaking waves,

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