MARCH.

The earth seems a desolate motherBetrayed like the princess of old, The ermine stripped from her shoulders, And her bosom all naked and cold.

But a joy looks out from her sadness,
For she feels with a glad unrest
The throb of the unborn summer
Under her bare, brown breast.

THE KING AND THE POPE.

The King and the Pope together,
Have written a letter to me;
It is signed with a golden sceptre,
It is sealed with a golden key.
The King wants me out of his eyesight;
The Pope wants me out of his See.

The King and the Pope together
Have a hundred acres of land:
I do not own the foot of ground
On which my two feet stand;
But the prettiest girl in the kingdom
Strolls with me on the sand.

The King has a hundred yeomen
Who will fight for him any day,
The Pope has priests and bishops
Who for his soul will pray:
I have only one little sweetheart,
But she'll kiss me when I say.

The King is served at his table

By ladies of high degree;

The Pope has never a true love,

So a cardinal pours his tea:

No ladies stand round me in waiting,

But my sweetheart sits by me.

And the King with his golden sceptre,
The Pope with Saint Peter's key,
Can never unlock the one little heart
That is opened only to me.

For I am the Lord of a Realm,

And I am the Pope of a See;

Indeed, I'm supreme in the kingdom
That is sitting just now on my knee!

CROQUET.

"Which way?”

Out on the lawn, in the evening gray,
Went Willie and Kate. I said,
And they both replied, "Croquet, croquet!'

The evening was bright with the moon of May,
And the lawn was light as though lit by day;
From the window I looked - to see croquet.

Of mallets and balls, the usual display;
The hoops all stood in arch array,

And I said to myself, "Soon we'll see croquet."

But the mallets and balls unheeded lay,

And the maid and the youth? side by side sat they; And I thought to myself, Is that croquet?

I saw the scamp - it was light as day

Put his arm round her waist in a loving way,
And he squeezed her hand,—was that croquet?

While the red rover rolled forgotten away,
He whispered all that a lover should say,
And kissed her lips,- what a queer croquet!

Silent they sat 'neath the moon of May,
But I knew by her blushes she said not Nay;
And I though in my heart, Now that's croquet!

EBSTER, DANIEL, an American statesman and orator; born at Salisbury, N. H., January 18, 1782; died at Marshfield, Mass., October 24, 1852. He was graduated from Dartmouth in 1801; commenced the study of law, was admitted. to the bar in 1805, and the next year entered upon practice at Portsmouth, N. H. In 1812 he was elected to Congress from New Hampshire, and was re-elected in 1814. In 1816 he removed to Boston, and soon acquired an extensive legal practice. In 1822 he was elected to Congress from Boston, and in 1827 was chosen to the United States Senate, and held that position until 1841, when he became Secretary of State in the administration of W. H. Harrison, retaining that place during a portion of the administration of Mr. Tyler, who became President upon the death of VOL. XXIV.-7

Mr. Harrison. In 1850 he again became Secretary of State in the administration of Mr. Fillmore. His health beginning visibly to decline, he tendered his resignation of the secretaryship, which was declined by the President. The closing months of his life were passed at his residence of Marshfield, a few miles from Boston. The Works of Daniel Webster consist of Orations; Discourses; and Addresses on various occasions; Legal Arguments; Speeches and Debates in Congress, and Diplomatic Papers. Two volumes of his Private Correspondence, edited by his son, were published in 1858. His Life has been written by several persons, notably by George Ticknor Curtis (1869). Many personal details are given in Daniel Webster and His Contemporaries, by C. W. March (1850).

In 1830 Webster made what the popular heart, if not the orator's own mind, has always considered his greatest effort the reply to Hayne. Its delivery was a memorable scene in the annals of Congress. The old Senate-chamber was crowded to overflowing with notables of every grade, party, and nationality, kept spellbound for hours by the speaker's eloquence. This speech was regarded, at the time, as settling forever, as a matter of argument, the nullification doctrine. Bitter subsequent experience has shown that both the doctrine of secession and the love for the Union were too deeply rooted for mere forensic argument.

Brilliant, however, as Webster's Congressional speeches are, they do not fully equal his set orations. Three of these the Plymouth Rock discourse, the Bunker Hill Monument discourse, and the Eulogy on Adams and Jefferson are among the very choicest masterpieces of all ages and all tongues. Nothing in