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Think ye my noble father's glave,
Could drink the life blood of a slave ?

The pearls that on the handle flame,
Would blush to rubies in their shame!

The blade would quiver in thy breast,
Ashamed of such ignoble rest!
No; thus I rend thy tyrant's chain,
And fling him back a boy's disdain!”

A moment, and the funeral light
Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright;
Another, and his young heart's blood
Leaped to the floor a crimson flood.
Quick to his mother's side he sprang,
And on the air his clear voice rang
"Up, mother, up! I'm free! I'm free!
The choice was death or slavery;
Up! mother, up! look on my face
I only wait for thy embrace.
One last, last word -a blessing, one,
To prove thou knowest what I have done,
No look! No word! Canst thou not feel
My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal ?
Speak, mother, speak — lift up thy head.
What, silent still ? Then art thou dead !
Great God, I thank thee! Mother, I
Rejoice with thee, and thus to die."
Slowly he falls. The clustering hair
Rolls back and leaves that forehead bare.
One long, deep breath, and his pale head
Lay on his mother's bosom, dead.



Upward, -- onward ! Fellow workmen !

Ours the battle-field of life;
Ne'er a foot to foeman yielding,

Pressing closer midst the strife!

Forward! in the strength of manhood,

Forward! in the fire of youth,
Aim at something; ne'er surrender, -

Arm thee in the mail of truth!

Though thy way be strewn with dangers,

Summer rain-drops lay the dust;
Faith and hope are two-edged weapons

Which will ne'er belie thy trust.
Shrink not, though a host surround thee,

Onward! Duty's path pursue;
All who gild the page of story,

Know the brave words-Dare and do!

Miller was a rough stone-mason;

Shakespeare, Goldsmith, Keats and Hood,
Franklin, Jerrold, Burns and Gifford,

Had to toil as we, for food.
Yes: these men with minds majestic,

Sprang from ranks the rich call poor,
Cast a halo round brown labor,-

Had to wrestle, fight, endure.

Forward, then! bright eyes are beaming;

Fight, nor lose the conqueror's crown!
Stretch thy right hand, seize thy birthright,

Take it, wear it, 'tis thine own!
Slay the giants which beset thee,

Rise to manhood, glory, fame;
Take thy pen, and in the volume

Of the gifted write thy name!




He who sows the wind will reap the storm. History is the revelation of Providence. The Almighty rules, by eternal laws, not only the material but the moral world; and every law is a principle, and every principle is a law. Men, as well as nations, are endowed with free will to choose a principle, but that once chosen, the consequences must be abided. With self-government is freedom, and with freedom is justice and patriotism. With centralization is ambition, and with ambition dwells despotism. Happy your great country, sir, for being so warmly addicted to that great principle of self-government. Upon this foundation your fathers raised a home to freedom móre glorious than the world has ever seen.

Upon this foundation you have developed it to a living wonder of the world. Happy your great country, sir, that it was selected, by the blessing of the Lord, to prove the glorious practicability of a federative union of many sovereign states, all conserving their state rights and their self-government, and yet united in one —every star beaming with its own lustre, but altogether one constellation on mankind's canopy.

Upon this foundation your free country has grown to a prodigious power in a surprisingly brief period. You have attracted power, in that your fundamental principles have conquered more in seventyfive years than Rome by arms in centuries. Your principles will conquer the world. By the glorious example of your freedom, welfare and security, mankind is about to become conscious of its aim. The lesson you give to humanity will not be lost; and the respect of the state rights in the federal government of America, and in its several states, will become an instructive example for universal toleration, forbearance, and justice, to the future states and republics of Europe. Upon this basis will be got rid of the mysterious question of language and nationalities, raised by the cunning despotisms in Europe to murder liberty; and the smaller states will find security in the principles of federative union, while they will conserve their national freedom by the principles of sovereign self-government; and while larger states, abdicating the principle of centralization, will cease to be a blood-field to sanguinary usurpation, and a tool to the ambition of wicked men, municipal institutions will insure the developement of local particular elements. Freedom, formerly an abstract political theory, will become the household benefit to municipalities; and out of the welfare and contentment of all parts will flow happiness, peace and security of the whole. That is my confident hope. Then will at once subside the fluctuations of Germany's fate.





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An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came.
He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame -
The Chief who shouted “Forward !" where e'er his banner rose,

And bore his stars in triumph behind the flying foes.
“ Have you forgotten, General,” the battered soldier cried,
“ The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side ?

Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane ?

’T is true, I'm old, and pensioned, but I want to fight again."
“ Have I forgotten ?” said the Chief, “my brave old soldier, No!

And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so ;
But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray,
And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day.”

But, General!” cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow,
“ The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors, now;

They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue,
And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true.
I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun
To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them one by one.
Your Minie rifles, and such arms, it ain't worth while to try;

I could n't get the hang o’them, but I'll keep my powder dry! - God bless you, comrade!” said the Chief —“God bless your loyal heart !

But younger men are in the field, and claim to have their part.
They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town,
And woe, henceforth, to any hand, that dares to pull it down !"

But, General," — still persisting--the weeping veteran cried, “ I am young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide;

And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I;
So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!
If they should fire on Pickens, let the Colonel in command
Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my hand;
No odds how hot the cannon smoke, or how the shells may fly,
I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die !
I'm ready, General, so you let a post to me be given,
Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest Heaven,
And says to Putnam, at his side, or, may be, General Wayne,
• There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane!'
And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly,
When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky,
If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face,
My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!

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