MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES AND CHOICE GEMS

MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES AND CHOICE GEMS(‡ decoration)Miscellaneous Masterpieces,FROM VARIOUS AMERICAN AND ANONYMOUS AUTHORS,CHOSEN WITH A VIEW TO THEIR GENERAL POPULARITY OR ADAPTATIONFOR READING AND RECITATIONHOME, SWEET HOME.John Howard Payne, the author of the following beautiful and perhaps most widely known song in the world, was born in New York, on the ninth of June, 1792. His remarkable career as an actor and dramatist belongs to the history of the stage. As a poet he will be known only by a single song. He died at Tunis, in 1852, where he was for some time Consul for the United States.MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.Home! home, sweet home!There’s no place like home!An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;The birds singing gayly that come at my call:Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than all.Home! sweet, sweet home!There’s no place like home.THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.Francis Scott Key, the author of the following patriotic poem, was born in Frederick County, Maryland, August 1, 1779. He was a very able and eloquent lawyer, and one of the most respectable gentlemen whose lives have ever adorned American society. He was a man of much literary cultivation and taste, and his religious poems are not without merit. He died very suddenly at Baltimore on January 11, 1843. In 1814, when the British fleet was at the mouth of the Potomac River, and intended to attack Baltimore,Mr.Key andMr.Skinner were sent in a vessel with a flag of truce to obtain the release of some prisoners the English had taken in their expedition against Washington. They did not succeed, and were told that they would be detained till after the attack had been made on Baltimore. Accordingly, they went in their own vessel, strongly guarded, with the British fleet, and when they came within sight of Fort McHenry, a short distance below the city, they could see the American flag flying on the ramparts. As the day closed in, the bombardment of the fort commenced, andMr.Key andMr.Skinner remained on deck all night, watching with deep anxiety every shell that was fired. While the bombardment continued, it was sufficient proof that the fort had not surrendered. It suddenly ceased some time before day; but as they had no communication with any of the enemy’s ships, they did not know whether the fort had surrendered and their homes and friends were in danger, or the attack upon it had been abandoned. They paced the deck the rest of the night inpainful suspense, watching with intense anxiety for the return of day. At length the light came, and they saw that “our flag was still there,” and soon they were informed that the attack had failed. In the fervor of the moment,Mr.Key took an old letter from his pocket, and on its back wrote the most of this celebrated song, finishing it as soon as he reached Baltimore. He showed it to his friend Judge Nicholson, who was so pleased with it that he placed it at once in the hands of the printer, and in an hour after it was all over the city, and hailed with enthusiasm, and took its place at once as a national song. Thus, this patriotic, impassioned ode became forever associated with the “Stars and Stripes.”O! SAY, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming;Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming?And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there;O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deepWhere the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze o’er the towering steepAs it fitfully blows, half-conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam;Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream:’Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.And where is the band who so vauntingly swore,Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country they’d leave us no more?Their blood hath wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution;No refuge could save the hireling and slaveFrom the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave,And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.O! thus be it ever, when freeman shall standBetween our loved home and the war’s desolation;Bless’d with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued landPraise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation!Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,And this be our motto, “InGodis our trust,”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.THE AMERICAN FLAG.BY JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.Born in New York, August 17, 1795; died September 21, 1820.WHEN Freedom from her mountain height,Unfurled her standard to the air,She tore the azure robe of night,And set the stars of glory there!She mingled with its gorgeous dyesThe milky baldric of the skies,And striped its pure celestial whiteWith streakings of the morning light;Then, from his mansion in the sun,She called her eagle-bearer down,And gave into his mighty handThe symbol of her chosen land!Majestic monarch of the cloud!Who rear’st aloft thy regal form,To hear the tempest trumping loud,And see the lightning lances driven,When strive the warriors of the storm,And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven—Child of the sun! to thee ’tis givenTo guard the banner of the free,To hover in the sulphur smoke,To ward away the battle-stroke,And bid its blendings shine afar,Like rainbows on the cloud of war,The harbingers of victory!Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,The sign of hope and triumph high!When speaks the signal-trumpet tone,And the long line comes gleaming on,Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turnTo where thy sky-born glories burn,And, as his springing steps advance,Catch war and vengeance from the glance.And when the cannon-mouthings loudHeave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,And gory sabres rise and fallLike shoots of flame on midnight’s pall,Then shall thy meteor glances glow,And cowering foes shall shrink beneathEach gallant arm that strikes belowThat lovely messenger of death.Flag of the seas! on ocean waveThy stars shall glitter o’er the braveWhen death, careering on the gale,Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,And frighted waves rush wildly backBefore the broadside’s reeling rack,Each dying wanderer of the seaShall look at once to heaven and thee,And smile to see thy splendors flyIn triumph o’er his closing eye.Flag of the free heart’s hope and home,By angel hands to valor given!Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,And all thy hues were born in heaven.Forever float that standard sheet!Where breathes the foe but falls before us!With freedom’s soil beneath our feet,And freedom’s banner streaming o’er us!BLIND MAN AND THE ELEPHANT.BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE.Born in Vermont, June 2, 1816; died in Albany,N. Y., March 31, 1887.IT was six men of IndostanTo learning much inclined,Who went to see the elephant(Though all of them were blind,)That each by observationMight satisfy his mind.The First approached the elephant,And, happening to fallAgainst his broad and sturdy side,At once began to bawl:“God bless me! but the elephantIs very like a wall!”The Second, feeling of the tusk,Cried: “Ho! what have we hereSo very round and smooth and sharp?To me ’tis mighty clearThis wonder of an elephantIs very like a spear!”The Third approached the animal,And, happening to takeThe squirming trunk within his hands,Thus boldly up and spake:“I see,” quoth he, “the elephantIs very like a snake!”The Fourth reached out his eager hand,And felt about the knee,“What most this wondrous beast is likeIs mighty plain,” quoth he;“Tis clear enough the elephantIs very like a tree!”The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,Said: “E’en the blindest manCan tell what this resembles most;Deny the fact who can,This marvel of an elephant,Is very like a fan!”The Sixth no sooner had begunAbout the beast to grope,Than, seizing on the swinging tailThat fell within his scope,“I see,” quoth he, “the elephantIs very like a rope!”And so these men of IndostanDisputed loud and long,Each in his own opinionExceeding stiff and strong,Though each was partly in the right,And all were in the wrong!MORAL.So, oft in theologic warsThe disputants, I ween,Rail on in utter ignoranceOf what each other mean,And prate about an elephantNot one of them has seen!HAIL, COLUMBIA!BY JOSEPH HOPKINSON.Born 1770; died 1842. The following interesting story is told concerning the writing of this now famous patriotic song. “It was written in the summer of 1798, when war with France was thought to be inevitable. Congress was then in session in Philadelphia, deliberating upon that important subject, and acts of hostility had actually taken place. The contest between England and France was raging, and the people of the United States were divided into parties for the one side or the other, some thinking that policy and duty required us to espouse the cause of republican France, as she was called; while others were for connecting ourselves with England, under the belief that she was the great conservative power of good principles and safe government. The violation of our rights by both belligerents was forcing us from the just and wise policy of PresidentWashington, which was to do equal justice to both, to take part with neither, but to preserve a strict and honest neutrality between them. The prospect of a rupture with France was exceedingly offensive to the portion of the people who espoused her cause; and the violence of the spirit of party has never risen higher, I think not so high, in our country, as it did at that time, upon that question. The theatre was then open in our city. A young man belonging to it, whose talent was as a singer, was about to take his benefit. I had known him when he was at school. On this acquaintance, he called on me one Saturdayafternoon, his benefit being announced for the following Monday. His prospects were very disheartening; but he said that if he could get a patriotic song adapted to the tune of the ‘President’s March’, he did not doubt of a full house; that the poets of the theatrical corps had been trying to accomplish it, but had not succeeded. I told him I would try what I could do for him. He came the next afternoon, and the song, such as it was, was ready for him. The object of the author was to get up anAmerican spirit, which should be independent of and above the interests, passions, and policy of both belligerents, and look and feel exclusively for our own honor and rights. No allusion is made to France or England, or the quarrel between them, or to the question which was most in fault in their treatment of us. Of course the song found favor with both parties, for both were Americans: at least, neither could disavow the sentiments and feelings it inculcated. Such is the history of this song, which has endured infinitely beyond the expectation of the author, as it is beyond any merit it can boast of, except that of being truly and exclusively patriotic in its sentiments and spirit.”HAIL, Columbia! happy land!Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,And when the storm of war was gone,Enjoy’d the peace your valor won.Let independence be our boast,Ever mindful what it cost;Ever grateful for the prize;Let its altar reach the skies.Firm—united—let us be,Rallying round our liberty;As a band of brothers join’d,Peace and safety we shall find.Immortal patriots! rise once more;Defend your rights, defend your shore;Let no rude foe, with impious hand,Let no rude foe with impious hand,Invade the shrine where sacred liesOf toil and blood the well-earn’d prize.While offering peace sincere and just,In Heaven we place a manly trust,That truth and justice will prevail,And every scheme of bondage fail.Firm—united,etc.Sound, sound the trump of Fame!LetWashington’s great nameRing through the world with loud applause,Ring through the world with loud applause;Let every clime to Freedom dearListen with a joyful ear.With equal skill and godlike power,He governs in the fearful hourOf horrid war; or guides, with ease,The happier times of honest peace.Firm—united,etc.Behold the chief who now commands,Once more to serve his country stands,—The rock on which the storm will beat,The rock on which the storm will beat;But, arm’d in virtue firm and true,His hopes are fix’d on Heaven and you.When Hope was sinking in dismay,And glooms obscured Columbia’s day,His steady mind, from changes free,Resolved on death or liberty.Firm—united,etc.BETTY AND THE BEAR.HUMOROUS.IN a pioneer’s cabin out West, so they say,A great big black grizzly trotted one day,And seated himself on the hearth, and beganTo lap the contents of a two-gallon panOf milk and potatoes,—an excellent meal,—And then looked about to see what he could steal.The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep,And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peepJust out in the kitchen, to see what was there,And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear.So he screamed in alarm to his slumberingfrow,“Thar’s a bar in the kitchen as big’s a cow!”“A what?” “Why, a bar!” “Well, murder him, then!”“Yes, Betty, I will, if you’ll first venture in.”So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized,While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed.As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows,Now on his forehead, and now on his nose,Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within,“Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin,Now a rap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout,Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out.”So, with rapping and poking, poor Bettyalone,At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone.Now when the old man saw the bear was no more,He ventured to poke his nose out of the door,And there was the grizzly stretched on the floor.Then off to the neighbors he hastened to tellAll the wonderful things that that morning befell;And he published the marvelous story afar,How “meand my Betty jist slaughtered a bar!O yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it,Come see what we did,MEand Betty, we did it.”Anonymous.Visit ofSᵗNicholasBY CLEMENT C. MOORE.Born in New York, July 15, 1779; died in Rhode Island, July 10, 1863.TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes thatSt.Nicholas soon would be there.The children were nestled all snug in their bedsWhile visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads;And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,Had settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.Away to the window I flew like a flash,Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snowGave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;When what to my wondering eyes should appearBut a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,With a little old driver, so lively and quick,I knew in a moment it must beSt.Nick.More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! and Vixen!On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”(‡ Fireplace with stockings)As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,With a sleigh full of toys, andSt.Nicholas too.And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roofThe prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my head, and was turning around,Down the chimneySt.Nicholas came with a bound.He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!(‡ Santa with reindeer)His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.He had a broad face, and a little round bellyThat shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf—And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself;A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,And laying his finger aside of his nose,And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.He sprang to the sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle,But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”(‡ Santa getting into chimney)WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.Born in Pennsylvania in 1802; died in 1864.WOODMAN, spare that tree!Touch not a single bough!In youth it sheltered me,And I’ll protect it now.’Twas my forefather’s handThat placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand,Thy axe shall harm it not!That old familiar tree,Whose glory and renownAre spread o’er land and sea,And wouldst thou hew it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke!Cut not its earth-bound ties;O, spare that aged oak,Now towering to the skies!When but an idle boyI sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joyHere too my sisters played.My mother kissed me here;My father pressed my hand—Forgive this foolish tear,But let that old oak stand!My heart-strings round thee cling,Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild-bird sing,And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storm still brave!And, woodman, leave the spot;While I’ve a hand to save,Thy axe shall hurt it not.SANCTITY OF TREATIES, 1796.BY FISHER AMES.An American Statesman and writer; born in Dedham, Massachusetts, 1758, and died July 4, 1808.WE are either to execute this treaty or break our faith. To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation: to such men I have nothing to say.What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for a spot where a man was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent preference, because they are greener? No, sir; this is not the character of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country’s honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protection while he gives it.What rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a State renounces the principles that constitute their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country, as his parent? The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any,—and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land.I see no exception to the respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians. A whiff of tobacco smoke or a string of beads gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money; but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obligation.THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL ON THE CORN.BY DONN PIATT.Born in Ohio in 1819.IHEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of morn;The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn.I stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-o-chee,To see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me.I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along,And pause to pluck a flower or hear the thrush’s song.Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen,She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended kneeFor love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood,With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine,And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her to be mine.’Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dim-lit dream—’Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream;’Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh,More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life,To mould its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.’Tis said that angels watch o’er men, commissioned from above;My angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears—I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years,For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy morn,With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the corn.THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.BY J. Q. ADAMS.John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States, was born at Quincy, Massachusetts, July 11, 1767. He died at Washington in 1848.THE Declaration of Independence! The interest which, in that paper, has survived the occasion upon which it was issued,—the interest which is of every age and every clime,—the interest which quickens with the lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens as it recedes,—is in the principles which it proclaims. It was the first solemn declaration by a nation of the only legitimate foundation of civil government. It was the corner-stone of a new fabric, destined to cover the surface of the globe. It demolished, at a stroke, the lawfulness of all governments founded upon conquest. It swept away all the rubbish of accumulated centuries of servitude. It announced, in practical form to the world, the transcendent truth of the inalienable sovereignty of the people. It proved that the social compact was no figment of the imagination, but a real, solid, and sacred bond of the social union.From the day of this declaration, the people of North America were no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemisphere. They were no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless mother; no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of royal promises, and invoking the faith of parchment to secure their rights. They were a nation, asserting as of right, and maintained by war, its own existence. A nation was born in a day.“How many ages henceShall this, their lofty scene, be acted o’er,In States unborn, and accents yet unknown?”It will be acted o’er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated.It stands, and must forever stand, alone; a beacon on the summit of the mountain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn their eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity and this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands forever, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall be inhabited by human beings, so long as man shall be of a social nature, so long as government shall be necessary to the great moral purposes of society, so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of oppression,—so long shall this declaration hold out, to the sovereign and to the subject, the extent and the boundaries of their respective rights and duties, founded in the laws of nature and of nature’s God.WASHINGTON’S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND, 1776.BY GEORGE WASHINGTON.Born 1732; died 1799.THE time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves; whether they are to have any property they can call their own; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretchedness from which no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or to die.Our own, our country’s honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and manly exertion; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us; and we shall have their blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. Let us, therefore, animate and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a freeman contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth.Liberty, property, life, and honor are all at stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from us only; and they have every reason to believe that Heaven will crown with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show and appearance; but remember they have been repulsed on various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad,—their men are conscious of it; and, if opposed with firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is sure of doing execution.THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT AND THE STATES.BY ALEXANDER HAMILTON.Born in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757; was killed by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 1804.This speech was delivered in the New York Convention, on the adoption of the Constitution, 1788.MR.CHAIRMAN, it has been advanced as a principle, that no government but a despotism can exist in a very extensive country. This is a melancholy consideration, indeed. If it were founded on truth, we ought to dismiss the idea of a republican government, even for the State of New York. But the position has been misapprehended. Its application relates only to democracies, where the body of the people meet to transact business, and where representation is unknown. The application is wrong in respect to all representative governments, but especially in relation to a Confederacy of States, in which the Supreme Legislature has only general powers, and the civil and domestic concerns of the people are regulated by the laws of the several States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the national Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow aimed at the members must give a fatal wound to the head, and the destruction of the States must be at once a political suicide. But imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the government; suppose they should make the attempt. Certainly, sir, it would be forever impracticable. This has been sufficiently demonstrated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the members of republics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the head. Let us attend to one general historical example.In the ancient feudal governments of Europe, there were, in the first place, a monarch; subordinate to him, a body of nobles; and subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the people. The authority of the kings was limited, and that of the barons considerably independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of monarchy.Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the members in limited governments possess over their head. As long as the barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the people, they had the strength of the country on their side, and wereirresistible. I may be told in some instances the barons were overcome; but how did this happen? Sir, they took advantage of the depression of the royal authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and civilization increased, the people began to feel their own weight and consequence; they grew tired of their oppressions; united their strength with that of their prince, and threw off the yoke of aristocracy.These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of power will flow; whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the State Governments will become the oppressors of the people? Will they forfeit their affections? Will they combine to destroy the liberties and happiness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving themselves in ruin? God forbid! The idea, sir, is shocking! It outrages every feeling of humanity and every dictate of common sense!WHAT SAVED THE UNION.BY GENERAL U. S. GRANT.Born 1822; died 1885. From a speech delivered on the Fourth of July at Hamburg.ISHARE with you in all the pleasure and gratitude which Americans so far away should feel on this anniversary. But I must dissent from one remark of our consul, to the effect that I saved the country during the recent war. If our country could be saved or ruined by the efforts of any one man, we should not have a country, and we should not now be celebrating our Fourth of July. There are many men who would have done far better than I did, under the circumstances in which I found myself during the war. If I had never held command, if I had fallen, if all our generals had fallen, there were ten thousand behind us who would have done our work just as well, who would have followed the contest to the end, and never surrendered the Union. Therefore, it is a mistake and a reflection upon the people to attribute to me, or to any number of us who hold high commands, the salvation of the Union. We did our work as well as we could, so did hundreds of thousands of others. We demand no credit for it, for we should have been unworthy of our country and of the American name if we had not made every sacrifice to save the Union. What saved the Union was the coming forward of the young men of the nation. They came from their homes and fields, as they did in the time of the Revolution, giving everything to the country. To their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in command. So long as our young men are animated by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union.THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON.BY RUFUS CHOATE.Born 1799; died 1858.THE birthday of the “Father of his Country!” May it ever be freshly remembered by American hearts! May it ever reawaken in them filial veneration for his memory; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard to the country he loved so well; to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare; to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in the field; to which again he offered the counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as President of the Convention that framed our Constitution; which he guided and directed while in the Chair of State, and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred in our love; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and might.Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying love andregard from the whole American people. “The first in the hearts of his countrymen!” Yes, first! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation; and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life!Yes, others of our great men have been appreciated,—many admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements,—no sectional prejudice nor bias,—no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that promethean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated. Well did Lord Byron write:“Where may the wearied eye repose,When gazing on the great,Where neither guilty glory glows,Nor despicable state?—Yes—one—the first, the last, the best,The Cincinnatus of the West,Whom envy dared not hate,Bequeathed the name of Washington,To make man blush, there was but one.”OH! WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD?BY WILLIAM KNOX.A favorite poem with Abraham Lincoln, who often repeated it to his friends.

(‡ decoration)

FROM VARIOUS AMERICAN AND ANONYMOUS AUTHORS,

CHOSEN WITH A VIEW TO THEIR GENERAL POPULARITY OR ADAPTATION

FOR READING AND RECITATION

HOME, SWEET HOME.

John Howard Payne, the author of the following beautiful and perhaps most widely known song in the world, was born in New York, on the ninth of June, 1792. His remarkable career as an actor and dramatist belongs to the history of the stage. As a poet he will be known only by a single song. He died at Tunis, in 1852, where he was for some time Consul for the United States.

MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.Home! home, sweet home!There’s no place like home!An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;The birds singing gayly that come at my call:Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than all.Home! sweet, sweet home!There’s no place like home.

ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home!

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,

Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.

Home! home, sweet home!

There’s no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,

Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;

The birds singing gayly that come at my call:

Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than all.

Home! sweet, sweet home!

There’s no place like home.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

Francis Scott Key, the author of the following patriotic poem, was born in Frederick County, Maryland, August 1, 1779. He was a very able and eloquent lawyer, and one of the most respectable gentlemen whose lives have ever adorned American society. He was a man of much literary cultivation and taste, and his religious poems are not without merit. He died very suddenly at Baltimore on January 11, 1843. In 1814, when the British fleet was at the mouth of the Potomac River, and intended to attack Baltimore,Mr.Key andMr.Skinner were sent in a vessel with a flag of truce to obtain the release of some prisoners the English had taken in their expedition against Washington. They did not succeed, and were told that they would be detained till after the attack had been made on Baltimore. Accordingly, they went in their own vessel, strongly guarded, with the British fleet, and when they came within sight of Fort McHenry, a short distance below the city, they could see the American flag flying on the ramparts. As the day closed in, the bombardment of the fort commenced, andMr.Key andMr.Skinner remained on deck all night, watching with deep anxiety every shell that was fired. While the bombardment continued, it was sufficient proof that the fort had not surrendered. It suddenly ceased some time before day; but as they had no communication with any of the enemy’s ships, they did not know whether the fort had surrendered and their homes and friends were in danger, or the attack upon it had been abandoned. They paced the deck the rest of the night inpainful suspense, watching with intense anxiety for the return of day. At length the light came, and they saw that “our flag was still there,” and soon they were informed that the attack had failed. In the fervor of the moment,Mr.Key took an old letter from his pocket, and on its back wrote the most of this celebrated song, finishing it as soon as he reached Baltimore. He showed it to his friend Judge Nicholson, who was so pleased with it that he placed it at once in the hands of the printer, and in an hour after it was all over the city, and hailed with enthusiasm, and took its place at once as a national song. Thus, this patriotic, impassioned ode became forever associated with the “Stars and Stripes.”

O! SAY, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming;Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming?And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there;O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deepWhere the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze o’er the towering steepAs it fitfully blows, half-conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam;Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream:’Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.And where is the band who so vauntingly swore,Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country they’d leave us no more?Their blood hath wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution;No refuge could save the hireling and slaveFrom the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave,And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.O! thus be it ever, when freeman shall standBetween our loved home and the war’s desolation;Bless’d with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued landPraise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation!Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,And this be our motto, “InGodis our trust,”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

! SAY, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,

What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming;

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there;

O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,

What is that which the breeze o’er the towering steep

As it fitfully blows, half-conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam;

Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream:

’Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

And where is the band who so vauntingly swore,

Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,

A home and a country they’d leave us no more?

Their blood hath wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution;

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave,

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O! thus be it ever, when freeman shall stand

Between our loved home and the war’s desolation;

Bless’d with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land

Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,

And this be our motto, “InGodis our trust,”

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

BY JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

Born in New York, August 17, 1795; died September 21, 1820.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain height,Unfurled her standard to the air,She tore the azure robe of night,And set the stars of glory there!She mingled with its gorgeous dyesThe milky baldric of the skies,And striped its pure celestial whiteWith streakings of the morning light;Then, from his mansion in the sun,She called her eagle-bearer down,And gave into his mighty handThe symbol of her chosen land!Majestic monarch of the cloud!Who rear’st aloft thy regal form,To hear the tempest trumping loud,And see the lightning lances driven,When strive the warriors of the storm,And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven—Child of the sun! to thee ’tis givenTo guard the banner of the free,To hover in the sulphur smoke,To ward away the battle-stroke,And bid its blendings shine afar,Like rainbows on the cloud of war,The harbingers of victory!Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,The sign of hope and triumph high!When speaks the signal-trumpet tone,And the long line comes gleaming on,Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turnTo where thy sky-born glories burn,And, as his springing steps advance,Catch war and vengeance from the glance.And when the cannon-mouthings loudHeave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,And gory sabres rise and fallLike shoots of flame on midnight’s pall,Then shall thy meteor glances glow,And cowering foes shall shrink beneathEach gallant arm that strikes belowThat lovely messenger of death.Flag of the seas! on ocean waveThy stars shall glitter o’er the braveWhen death, careering on the gale,Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,And frighted waves rush wildly backBefore the broadside’s reeling rack,Each dying wanderer of the seaShall look at once to heaven and thee,And smile to see thy splendors flyIn triumph o’er his closing eye.Flag of the free heart’s hope and home,By angel hands to valor given!Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,And all thy hues were born in heaven.Forever float that standard sheet!Where breathes the foe but falls before us!With freedom’s soil beneath our feet,And freedom’s banner streaming o’er us!

HEN Freedom from her mountain height,

Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there!

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes

The milky baldric of the skies,

And striped its pure celestial white

With streakings of the morning light;

Then, from his mansion in the sun,

She called her eagle-bearer down,

And gave into his mighty hand

The symbol of her chosen land!

Majestic monarch of the cloud!

Who rear’st aloft thy regal form,

To hear the tempest trumping loud,

And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm,

And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven—

Child of the sun! to thee ’tis given

To guard the banner of the free,

To hover in the sulphur smoke,

To ward away the battle-stroke,

And bid its blendings shine afar,

Like rainbows on the cloud of war,

The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,

The sign of hope and triumph high!

When speaks the signal-trumpet tone,

And the long line comes gleaming on,

Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,

Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turn

To where thy sky-born glories burn,

And, as his springing steps advance,

Catch war and vengeance from the glance.

And when the cannon-mouthings loud

Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,

And gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight’s pall,

Then shall thy meteor glances glow,

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath

Each gallant arm that strikes below

That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave

Thy stars shall glitter o’er the brave

When death, careering on the gale,

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,

And frighted waves rush wildly back

Before the broadside’s reeling rack,

Each dying wanderer of the sea

Shall look at once to heaven and thee,

And smile to see thy splendors fly

In triumph o’er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart’s hope and home,

By angel hands to valor given!

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.

Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us!

With freedom’s soil beneath our feet,

And freedom’s banner streaming o’er us!

BLIND MAN AND THE ELEPHANT.

BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

Born in Vermont, June 2, 1816; died in Albany,N. Y., March 31, 1887.

IT was six men of IndostanTo learning much inclined,Who went to see the elephant(Though all of them were blind,)That each by observationMight satisfy his mind.The First approached the elephant,And, happening to fallAgainst his broad and sturdy side,At once began to bawl:“God bless me! but the elephantIs very like a wall!”The Second, feeling of the tusk,Cried: “Ho! what have we hereSo very round and smooth and sharp?To me ’tis mighty clearThis wonder of an elephantIs very like a spear!”The Third approached the animal,And, happening to takeThe squirming trunk within his hands,Thus boldly up and spake:“I see,” quoth he, “the elephantIs very like a snake!”The Fourth reached out his eager hand,And felt about the knee,“What most this wondrous beast is likeIs mighty plain,” quoth he;“Tis clear enough the elephantIs very like a tree!”The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,Said: “E’en the blindest manCan tell what this resembles most;Deny the fact who can,This marvel of an elephant,Is very like a fan!”The Sixth no sooner had begunAbout the beast to grope,Than, seizing on the swinging tailThat fell within his scope,“I see,” quoth he, “the elephantIs very like a rope!”And so these men of IndostanDisputed loud and long,Each in his own opinionExceeding stiff and strong,Though each was partly in the right,And all were in the wrong!MORAL.So, oft in theologic warsThe disputants, I ween,Rail on in utter ignoranceOf what each other mean,And prate about an elephantNot one of them has seen!

T was six men of Indostan

To learning much inclined,

Who went to see the elephant

(Though all of them were blind,)

That each by observation

Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the elephant,

And, happening to fall

Against his broad and sturdy side,

At once began to bawl:

“God bless me! but the elephant

Is very like a wall!”

The Second, feeling of the tusk,

Cried: “Ho! what have we here

So very round and smooth and sharp?

To me ’tis mighty clear

This wonder of an elephant

Is very like a spear!”

The Third approached the animal,

And, happening to take

The squirming trunk within his hands,

Thus boldly up and spake:

“I see,” quoth he, “the elephant

Is very like a snake!”

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,

And felt about the knee,

“What most this wondrous beast is like

Is mighty plain,” quoth he;

“Tis clear enough the elephant

Is very like a tree!”

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,

Said: “E’en the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can,

This marvel of an elephant,

Is very like a fan!”

The Sixth no sooner had begun

About the beast to grope,

Than, seizing on the swinging tail

That fell within his scope,

“I see,” quoth he, “the elephant

Is very like a rope!”

And so these men of Indostan

Disputed loud and long,

Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right,

And all were in the wrong!

MORAL.

So, oft in theologic wars

The disputants, I ween,

Rail on in utter ignorance

Of what each other mean,

And prate about an elephant

Not one of them has seen!

HAIL, COLUMBIA!

BY JOSEPH HOPKINSON.

Born 1770; died 1842. The following interesting story is told concerning the writing of this now famous patriotic song. “It was written in the summer of 1798, when war with France was thought to be inevitable. Congress was then in session in Philadelphia, deliberating upon that important subject, and acts of hostility had actually taken place. The contest between England and France was raging, and the people of the United States were divided into parties for the one side or the other, some thinking that policy and duty required us to espouse the cause of republican France, as she was called; while others were for connecting ourselves with England, under the belief that she was the great conservative power of good principles and safe government. The violation of our rights by both belligerents was forcing us from the just and wise policy of PresidentWashington, which was to do equal justice to both, to take part with neither, but to preserve a strict and honest neutrality between them. The prospect of a rupture with France was exceedingly offensive to the portion of the people who espoused her cause; and the violence of the spirit of party has never risen higher, I think not so high, in our country, as it did at that time, upon that question. The theatre was then open in our city. A young man belonging to it, whose talent was as a singer, was about to take his benefit. I had known him when he was at school. On this acquaintance, he called on me one Saturdayafternoon, his benefit being announced for the following Monday. His prospects were very disheartening; but he said that if he could get a patriotic song adapted to the tune of the ‘President’s March’, he did not doubt of a full house; that the poets of the theatrical corps had been trying to accomplish it, but had not succeeded. I told him I would try what I could do for him. He came the next afternoon, and the song, such as it was, was ready for him. The object of the author was to get up anAmerican spirit, which should be independent of and above the interests, passions, and policy of both belligerents, and look and feel exclusively for our own honor and rights. No allusion is made to France or England, or the quarrel between them, or to the question which was most in fault in their treatment of us. Of course the song found favor with both parties, for both were Americans: at least, neither could disavow the sentiments and feelings it inculcated. Such is the history of this song, which has endured infinitely beyond the expectation of the author, as it is beyond any merit it can boast of, except that of being truly and exclusively patriotic in its sentiments and spirit.”

HAIL, Columbia! happy land!Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,And when the storm of war was gone,Enjoy’d the peace your valor won.Let independence be our boast,Ever mindful what it cost;Ever grateful for the prize;Let its altar reach the skies.Firm—united—let us be,Rallying round our liberty;As a band of brothers join’d,Peace and safety we shall find.Immortal patriots! rise once more;Defend your rights, defend your shore;Let no rude foe, with impious hand,Let no rude foe with impious hand,Invade the shrine where sacred liesOf toil and blood the well-earn’d prize.While offering peace sincere and just,In Heaven we place a manly trust,That truth and justice will prevail,And every scheme of bondage fail.Firm—united,etc.Sound, sound the trump of Fame!LetWashington’s great nameRing through the world with loud applause,Ring through the world with loud applause;Let every clime to Freedom dearListen with a joyful ear.With equal skill and godlike power,He governs in the fearful hourOf horrid war; or guides, with ease,The happier times of honest peace.Firm—united,etc.Behold the chief who now commands,Once more to serve his country stands,—The rock on which the storm will beat,The rock on which the storm will beat;But, arm’d in virtue firm and true,His hopes are fix’d on Heaven and you.When Hope was sinking in dismay,And glooms obscured Columbia’s day,His steady mind, from changes free,Resolved on death or liberty.Firm—united,etc.

AIL, Columbia! happy land!

Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!

Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,

And when the storm of war was gone,

Enjoy’d the peace your valor won.

Let independence be our boast,

Ever mindful what it cost;

Ever grateful for the prize;

Let its altar reach the skies.

Firm—united—let us be,

Rallying round our liberty;

As a band of brothers join’d,

Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots! rise once more;

Defend your rights, defend your shore;

Let no rude foe, with impious hand,

Let no rude foe with impious hand,

Invade the shrine where sacred lies

Of toil and blood the well-earn’d prize.

While offering peace sincere and just,

In Heaven we place a manly trust,

That truth and justice will prevail,

And every scheme of bondage fail.

Firm—united,etc.

Sound, sound the trump of Fame!

LetWashington’s great name

Ring through the world with loud applause,

Ring through the world with loud applause;

Let every clime to Freedom dear

Listen with a joyful ear.

With equal skill and godlike power,

He governs in the fearful hour

Of horrid war; or guides, with ease,

The happier times of honest peace.

Firm—united,etc.

Behold the chief who now commands,

Once more to serve his country stands,—

The rock on which the storm will beat,

The rock on which the storm will beat;

But, arm’d in virtue firm and true,

His hopes are fix’d on Heaven and you.

When Hope was sinking in dismay,

And glooms obscured Columbia’s day,

His steady mind, from changes free,

Resolved on death or liberty.

Firm—united,etc.

BETTY AND THE BEAR.

HUMOROUS.

IN a pioneer’s cabin out West, so they say,A great big black grizzly trotted one day,And seated himself on the hearth, and beganTo lap the contents of a two-gallon panOf milk and potatoes,—an excellent meal,—And then looked about to see what he could steal.The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep,And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peepJust out in the kitchen, to see what was there,And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear.So he screamed in alarm to his slumberingfrow,“Thar’s a bar in the kitchen as big’s a cow!”“A what?” “Why, a bar!” “Well, murder him, then!”“Yes, Betty, I will, if you’ll first venture in.”So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized,While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed.As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows,Now on his forehead, and now on his nose,Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within,“Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin,Now a rap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout,Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out.”So, with rapping and poking, poor Bettyalone,At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone.Now when the old man saw the bear was no more,He ventured to poke his nose out of the door,And there was the grizzly stretched on the floor.Then off to the neighbors he hastened to tellAll the wonderful things that that morning befell;And he published the marvelous story afar,How “meand my Betty jist slaughtered a bar!O yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it,Come see what we did,MEand Betty, we did it.”Anonymous.

N a pioneer’s cabin out West, so they say,

A great big black grizzly trotted one day,

And seated himself on the hearth, and began

To lap the contents of a two-gallon pan

Of milk and potatoes,—an excellent meal,—

And then looked about to see what he could steal.

The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep,

And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep

Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there,

And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear.

So he screamed in alarm to his slumberingfrow,

“Thar’s a bar in the kitchen as big’s a cow!”

“A what?” “Why, a bar!” “Well, murder him, then!”

“Yes, Betty, I will, if you’ll first venture in.”

So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized,

While her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed.

As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows,

Now on his forehead, and now on his nose,

Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within,

“Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin,

Now a rap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout,

Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out.”

So, with rapping and poking, poor Bettyalone,

At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone.

Now when the old man saw the bear was no more,

He ventured to poke his nose out of the door,

And there was the grizzly stretched on the floor.

Then off to the neighbors he hastened to tell

All the wonderful things that that morning befell;

And he published the marvelous story afar,

How “meand my Betty jist slaughtered a bar!

O yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it,

Come see what we did,MEand Betty, we did it.”

Anonymous.

Visit ofSᵗNicholas

BY CLEMENT C. MOORE.

Born in New York, July 15, 1779; died in Rhode Island, July 10, 1863.

TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes thatSt.Nicholas soon would be there.The children were nestled all snug in their bedsWhile visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads;And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,Had settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.Away to the window I flew like a flash,Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snowGave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;When what to my wondering eyes should appearBut a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,With a little old driver, so lively and quick,I knew in a moment it must beSt.Nick.More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! and Vixen!On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”(‡ Fireplace with stockings)As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,With a sleigh full of toys, andSt.Nicholas too.And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roofThe prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my head, and was turning around,Down the chimneySt.Nicholas came with a bound.He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!(‡ Santa with reindeer)His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.He had a broad face, and a little round bellyThat shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf—And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself;A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,And laying his finger aside of his nose,And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.He sprang to the sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle,But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”(‡ Santa getting into chimney)

WAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes thatSt.Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads;

And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below;

When what to my wondering eyes should appear

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must beSt.Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

(‡ Fireplace with stockings)

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,With a sleigh full of toys, andSt.Nicholas too.And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roofThe prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my head, and was turning around,Down the chimneySt.Nicholas came with a bound.He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With a sleigh full of toys, andSt.Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimneySt.Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

(‡ Santa with reindeer)

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.He had a broad face, and a little round bellyThat shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf—And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself;A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,And laying his finger aside of his nose,And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.He sprang to the sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle,But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow.

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face, and a little round belly

That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf—

And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to the sleigh, to the team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle,

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

(‡ Santa getting into chimney)

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.

Born in Pennsylvania in 1802; died in 1864.

WOODMAN, spare that tree!Touch not a single bough!In youth it sheltered me,And I’ll protect it now.’Twas my forefather’s handThat placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand,Thy axe shall harm it not!That old familiar tree,Whose glory and renownAre spread o’er land and sea,And wouldst thou hew it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke!Cut not its earth-bound ties;O, spare that aged oak,Now towering to the skies!When but an idle boyI sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joyHere too my sisters played.My mother kissed me here;My father pressed my hand—Forgive this foolish tear,But let that old oak stand!My heart-strings round thee cling,Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild-bird sing,And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storm still brave!And, woodman, leave the spot;While I’ve a hand to save,Thy axe shall hurt it not.

OODMAN, spare that tree!

Touch not a single bough!

In youth it sheltered me,

And I’ll protect it now.

’Twas my forefather’s hand

That placed it near his cot;

There, woodman, let it stand,

Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown

Are spread o’er land and sea,

And wouldst thou hew it down?

Woodman, forbear thy stroke!

Cut not its earth-bound ties;

O, spare that aged oak,

Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy

I sought its grateful shade;

In all their gushing joy

Here too my sisters played.

My mother kissed me here;

My father pressed my hand—

Forgive this foolish tear,

But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,

Close as thy bark, old friend!

Here shall the wild-bird sing,

And still thy branches bend.

Old tree! the storm still brave!

And, woodman, leave the spot;

While I’ve a hand to save,

Thy axe shall hurt it not.

SANCTITY OF TREATIES, 1796.

BY FISHER AMES.

An American Statesman and writer; born in Dedham, Massachusetts, 1758, and died July 4, 1808.

WE are either to execute this treaty or break our faith. To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation: to such men I have nothing to say.What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for a spot where a man was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent preference, because they are greener? No, sir; this is not the character of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country’s honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protection while he gives it.What rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a State renounces the principles that constitute their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country, as his parent? The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any,—and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land.I see no exception to the respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians. A whiff of tobacco smoke or a string of beads gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money; but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obligation.

WE are either to execute this treaty or break our faith. To expatiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for declamation: to such men I have nothing to say.

What is patriotism? Is it a narrow affection for a spot where a man was born? Are the very clods where we tread entitled to this ardent preference, because they are greener? No, sir; this is not the character of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus we obey the laws of society because they are the laws of virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the venerable image of our country’s honor. Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he gains protection while he gives it.

What rights of a citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a State renounces the principles that constitute their security? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, and dishonored in his own? Could he look with affection and veneration to such a country, as his parent? The sense of having one would die within him; he would blush for his patriotism, if he retained any,—and justly, for it would be a vice. He would be a banished man in his native land.

I see no exception to the respect that is paid among nations to the law of good faith. It is the philosophy of politics, the religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians. A whiff of tobacco smoke or a string of beads gives not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, a truce may be bought for money; but when ratified, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obligation.

THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL ON THE CORN.

BY DONN PIATT.

Born in Ohio in 1819.

IHEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of morn;The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn.I stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-o-chee,To see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me.I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along,And pause to pluck a flower or hear the thrush’s song.Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen,She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended kneeFor love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood,With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine,And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her to be mine.’Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dim-lit dream—’Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream;’Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh,More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life,To mould its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.’Tis said that angels watch o’er men, commissioned from above;My angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears—I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years,For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy morn,With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the corn.

HEARD the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of morn;

The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn.

I stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-o-chee,

To see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me.

I saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along,

And pause to pluck a flower or hear the thrush’s song.

Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen,

She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.

Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,

For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.

The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended knee

For love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.

So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood,

With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.

I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine,

And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her to be mine.

’Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dim-lit dream—

’Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream;

’Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh,

More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.

The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life,

To mould its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.

’Tis said that angels watch o’er men, commissioned from above;

My angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.

Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears—

I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years,

For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy morn,

With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the corn.

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.

BY J. Q. ADAMS.

John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States, was born at Quincy, Massachusetts, July 11, 1767. He died at Washington in 1848.

THE Declaration of Independence! The interest which, in that paper, has survived the occasion upon which it was issued,—the interest which is of every age and every clime,—the interest which quickens with the lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens as it recedes,—is in the principles which it proclaims. It was the first solemn declaration by a nation of the only legitimate foundation of civil government. It was the corner-stone of a new fabric, destined to cover the surface of the globe. It demolished, at a stroke, the lawfulness of all governments founded upon conquest. It swept away all the rubbish of accumulated centuries of servitude. It announced, in practical form to the world, the transcendent truth of the inalienable sovereignty of the people. It proved that the social compact was no figment of the imagination, but a real, solid, and sacred bond of the social union.From the day of this declaration, the people of North America were no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemisphere. They were no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless mother; no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of royal promises, and invoking the faith of parchment to secure their rights. They were a nation, asserting as of right, and maintained by war, its own existence. A nation was born in a day.“How many ages henceShall this, their lofty scene, be acted o’er,In States unborn, and accents yet unknown?”It will be acted o’er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated.It stands, and must forever stand, alone; a beacon on the summit of the mountain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn their eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity and this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands forever, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall be inhabited by human beings, so long as man shall be of a social nature, so long as government shall be necessary to the great moral purposes of society, so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of oppression,—so long shall this declaration hold out, to the sovereign and to the subject, the extent and the boundaries of their respective rights and duties, founded in the laws of nature and of nature’s God.

From the day of this declaration, the people of North America were no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemisphere. They were no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless mother; no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of royal promises, and invoking the faith of parchment to secure their rights. They were a nation, asserting as of right, and maintained by war, its own existence. A nation was born in a day.

“How many ages henceShall this, their lofty scene, be acted o’er,In States unborn, and accents yet unknown?”

“How many ages hence

Shall this, their lofty scene, be acted o’er,

In States unborn, and accents yet unknown?”

It will be acted o’er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated.

It stands, and must forever stand, alone; a beacon on the summit of the mountain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn their eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity and this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands forever, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall be inhabited by human beings, so long as man shall be of a social nature, so long as government shall be necessary to the great moral purposes of society, so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of oppression,—so long shall this declaration hold out, to the sovereign and to the subject, the extent and the boundaries of their respective rights and duties, founded in the laws of nature and of nature’s God.

WASHINGTON’S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND, 1776.

BY GEORGE WASHINGTON.

Born 1732; died 1799.

THE time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves; whether they are to have any property they can call their own; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretchedness from which no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or to die.Our own, our country’s honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and manly exertion; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us; and we shall have their blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. Let us, therefore, animate and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a freeman contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth.Liberty, property, life, and honor are all at stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from us only; and they have every reason to believe that Heaven will crown with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show and appearance; but remember they have been repulsed on various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad,—their men are conscious of it; and, if opposed with firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is sure of doing execution.

Our own, our country’s honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and manly exertion; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us; and we shall have their blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. Let us, therefore, animate and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a freeman contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth.

Liberty, property, life, and honor are all at stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from us only; and they have every reason to believe that Heaven will crown with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show and appearance; but remember they have been repulsed on various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad,—their men are conscious of it; and, if opposed with firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is sure of doing execution.

THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT AND THE STATES.

BY ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

Born in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757; was killed by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 1804.

This speech was delivered in the New York Convention, on the adoption of the Constitution, 1788.

MR.CHAIRMAN, it has been advanced as a principle, that no government but a despotism can exist in a very extensive country. This is a melancholy consideration, indeed. If it were founded on truth, we ought to dismiss the idea of a republican government, even for the State of New York. But the position has been misapprehended. Its application relates only to democracies, where the body of the people meet to transact business, and where representation is unknown. The application is wrong in respect to all representative governments, but especially in relation to a Confederacy of States, in which the Supreme Legislature has only general powers, and the civil and domestic concerns of the people are regulated by the laws of the several States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the national Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow aimed at the members must give a fatal wound to the head, and the destruction of the States must be at once a political suicide. But imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the government; suppose they should make the attempt. Certainly, sir, it would be forever impracticable. This has been sufficiently demonstrated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the members of republics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the head. Let us attend to one general historical example.In the ancient feudal governments of Europe, there were, in the first place, a monarch; subordinate to him, a body of nobles; and subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the people. The authority of the kings was limited, and that of the barons considerably independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of monarchy.Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the members in limited governments possess over their head. As long as the barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the people, they had the strength of the country on their side, and wereirresistible. I may be told in some instances the barons were overcome; but how did this happen? Sir, they took advantage of the depression of the royal authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and civilization increased, the people began to feel their own weight and consequence; they grew tired of their oppressions; united their strength with that of their prince, and threw off the yoke of aristocracy.These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of power will flow; whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the State Governments will become the oppressors of the people? Will they forfeit their affections? Will they combine to destroy the liberties and happiness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving themselves in ruin? God forbid! The idea, sir, is shocking! It outrages every feeling of humanity and every dictate of common sense!

In the ancient feudal governments of Europe, there were, in the first place, a monarch; subordinate to him, a body of nobles; and subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the people. The authority of the kings was limited, and that of the barons considerably independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of monarchy.

Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the members in limited governments possess over their head. As long as the barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the people, they had the strength of the country on their side, and wereirresistible. I may be told in some instances the barons were overcome; but how did this happen? Sir, they took advantage of the depression of the royal authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and civilization increased, the people began to feel their own weight and consequence; they grew tired of their oppressions; united their strength with that of their prince, and threw off the yoke of aristocracy.

These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of power will flow; whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the State Governments will become the oppressors of the people? Will they forfeit their affections? Will they combine to destroy the liberties and happiness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving themselves in ruin? God forbid! The idea, sir, is shocking! It outrages every feeling of humanity and every dictate of common sense!

WHAT SAVED THE UNION.

BY GENERAL U. S. GRANT.

Born 1822; died 1885. From a speech delivered on the Fourth of July at Hamburg.

ISHARE with you in all the pleasure and gratitude which Americans so far away should feel on this anniversary. But I must dissent from one remark of our consul, to the effect that I saved the country during the recent war. If our country could be saved or ruined by the efforts of any one man, we should not have a country, and we should not now be celebrating our Fourth of July. There are many men who would have done far better than I did, under the circumstances in which I found myself during the war. If I had never held command, if I had fallen, if all our generals had fallen, there were ten thousand behind us who would have done our work just as well, who would have followed the contest to the end, and never surrendered the Union. Therefore, it is a mistake and a reflection upon the people to attribute to me, or to any number of us who hold high commands, the salvation of the Union. We did our work as well as we could, so did hundreds of thousands of others. We demand no credit for it, for we should have been unworthy of our country and of the American name if we had not made every sacrifice to save the Union. What saved the Union was the coming forward of the young men of the nation. They came from their homes and fields, as they did in the time of the Revolution, giving everything to the country. To their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in command. So long as our young men are animated by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union.

THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON.

BY RUFUS CHOATE.

Born 1799; died 1858.

THE birthday of the “Father of his Country!” May it ever be freshly remembered by American hearts! May it ever reawaken in them filial veneration for his memory; ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard to the country he loved so well; to which he gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous period of the early Indian warfare; to which he devoted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in the field; to which again he offered the counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as President of the Convention that framed our Constitution; which he guided and directed while in the Chair of State, and for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was the first man of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred in our love; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the last American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and might.Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying love andregard from the whole American people. “The first in the hearts of his countrymen!” Yes, first! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation; and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life!Yes, others of our great men have been appreciated,—many admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements,—no sectional prejudice nor bias,—no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that promethean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated. Well did Lord Byron write:“Where may the wearied eye repose,When gazing on the great,Where neither guilty glory glows,Nor despicable state?—Yes—one—the first, the last, the best,The Cincinnatus of the West,Whom envy dared not hate,Bequeathed the name of Washington,To make man blush, there was but one.”

Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to create his country, and, at the same time, secure an undying love andregard from the whole American people. “The first in the hearts of his countrymen!” Yes, first! He has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in every colony. But the American nation, as a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejaculation; and it will be the last gasp of her expiring life!

Yes, others of our great men have been appreciated,—many admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. About and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements,—no sectional prejudice nor bias,—no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington shall nerve every American arm and cheer every American heart. It shall relume that promethean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated. Well did Lord Byron write:

“Where may the wearied eye repose,When gazing on the great,Where neither guilty glory glows,Nor despicable state?—Yes—one—the first, the last, the best,The Cincinnatus of the West,Whom envy dared not hate,Bequeathed the name of Washington,To make man blush, there was but one.”

“Where may the wearied eye repose,

When gazing on the great,

Where neither guilty glory glows,

Nor despicable state?—

Yes—one—the first, the last, the best,

The Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate,

Bequeathed the name of Washington,

To make man blush, there was but one.”

OH! WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD?

BY WILLIAM KNOX.

A favorite poem with Abraham Lincoln, who often repeated it to his friends.

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