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Now here, now there, in vain he tried ;
4 A rich man burst the door
As Cresus rich; I'm sure
What a confusion !-all stand up erect
These bow in honest duty and respect;
5 The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said, " This is indeed beyond my comprehension :"
Then looking round,
One friendly face he found,
A man may lend his store
Of gold or silver ore,
The Folly and Wickedness of War --Kv k. 1 Two poor mortals, elevated with the distriction of
golden bauble on their heads, called a crown, take offence at each other, without any reason, or with the very bad one of wishing for an opportunity of aggrandizing themselves by making reciprocal depredations. The creatures of the court, and the leading men of the nation, who are usually under the influence of the court, resolve (for it is their interest) to support their royal master, and are never at a loss to invent some colorable pretence for engaging the
nation in war. Taxes of the most burdensome kind are 2 levied, soldiers are collected, so as to leave a paucity of
husbandmen ; reviews and encampments succeed ; nd at last fifteen or twenty thousand men meet on a plain, and coolly shed each other's blood, without the smallest per sonal aniinosity, or the shadow of a provocation.
Then kings, in the mean time, and the grandees, who have employed these poor innocent victims to shoot bullets at each other's heads, remain quietly at home, and amuse theinselves, in the intervals of balls, hunting schemes, and pleas
ures of every species, with reading at the fireside, and 3
over a cup of chocolate, the despatches from the army, and the news in the Extraordinary Gazette. If the king of Prussia were not at the head of some of the best troops in the world, he would be judged more worthy of being tried, and condemned, at the Old Bailey, than any shedder of blood who ever died by a halter. But he is a king ; but he is a hero ;-those names fascinate us, and we enrol the butcher of mankind among their benefactors.
When one considers the dreadful circumstances that attend even victories, one cannot help being a little shocked 4 at the exultation which they occasion. I have often thought
it would be a laughable scene, if there were not too much of the melancholy in it, when a circle of eager politicians nave met to congratulate each other on a piece of good news just arrived. Every eye sparkles with delight; every voice is raised in announcing the happy event. And what is the cause of all this joy ? and for what are our windows illuininated, bonfires kindled, bells rung, and feasts celebrated ? We have had a successful engagement.
have left a thousand of the enemy dead on the field of 5 battle, and only nine hundred of our countrymen. Charm
ing news! it was a glorious battle! But before you give a loose to your raptures, pause awhile; and consider, that to every one of these nineteen hundred, life was no less sweet than it is to you; that to the far greater part of them there probably were wives, fathers, inothers, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, and friends, all of whom are at this mo
ment wailing that event which occasions
foolish and brutal triumph.
We cannot see an individual expire, though a stranger or an enemy, without being sensibly moved, and prompted by compassion to lend him every assistance in our power. Every trace of resentment vanishes in a moment; every other emotion gives way to pity and terror. In these läst extremities, we remember nothing but the respect and tenderness due to our common nature. What a scene, then, must a field of battle present, where thousands are lest without assistance, and without pity, with their wounds exposed to the piercing air, while their blood, freezing as it flows, binds them to the earth, amid the trampling of horses and the insults of an enraged foe! Far from their native home, no tender assiduitics of friendship, no well-known voice, no wife, or mother, or sister, is near to soothe their sorrows, relieve their thirst, or close their eyes in death. Unhappy man! and must you be swept into the grave, unnoticed and unnumbered, and no friendly tear be shed for your sufferings, or mingled with your dust !-Robert Hall.
Extract from an Address of Mr. Everett. Most of us are of that class, who owe whatever of knowledge has shone into our minds, to the free and popular institutions of our native land. There are few of us, who may not be permitted to boast, that we have been reared in an honest poverty or a frugal competence, and owe every thing to those means of education which are equally open to all. We are summoned to new energy and zeal by the high nature of the experiment we are appointed in Provi
dence to make, and the grandeur of the theatre on which it 2 is to be performed. When the old world afforded no longer
any hope, it pleased Heaven to open this last refuge of hu. manity. The attempt has begun, and is going on, far from foreign corruption, on the broadest scale, and under the most benignant auspices; and it certainly rests with us to solve
the great problem in human society, to settle, and that forever, the momentous question—whether mankind can be trusted with a truly popular system? One might almost think, without extravagance, that the departed wise and good of all places and times, are looking down from their happy seats to witness what shall now be done by us; that they who lavished their treasures and their blood of old, who labored and suffered, who spake and wrote, who fought and perished, in the one great cause of Freedom and Truth, are now hanging from their orbs on high, over the last solemn experiment of humanity. As I have wandered over the spots, once the scene of their labors, and mused among the prostrate columns of their senate houses and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a voice from the tombs of departed ages ; from the sepulchres of the nations, which died
hefore the sight. They exhort us, they adjure us to be 4 faithful to our trust. They implore us, by the long trials of
struggling humanity, by the blessed memory of the depart. ed; by the dear faith, which has been plighted by pure hands, to the holy cause of truth and man; by the awful secrets of the prison houses, where the sons of freedom have been immured; by the noble heads which have been brought to the block; by the wrecks of time, by the eloquent ruins of nations, they conjure us not to quench the light which is rising on the world. Greece cries to us, by
the convulsed lips of her poisoned, dying Demosthenes ; 5
and Rome pleads with us in the mute persuasion of her mangled Tully.—Yes, such is the exhortation which calls on us to exert our powers, to employ onr time, and consecrate our labors in the cause of our native land.
Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle.
offence is rank, it smells to heaven :
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
But to confront the visage of ollence ?
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 3 May one be pardoned, and retain the offence ?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Try what repentance can : what can it not? 5 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state ! oh bosom, black as death!
Marco Bozzaris. (He fell in an attack upon the Turkish Camp at Laspia, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were—" To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain.” 1 At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour,
Should tremble at his power ;