THE IDLE YOUNG MAN.

“THE world owes me a living." Such were the words I heard fall, the other day, from the lips of an idle young man. The world owes you a living? No such thing, Mr. Fold-upyour-hands! The world owes you not a single cent! You have done nothing these twenty years but consume the products earned by the sweat of other men's brows:

"You have eaten, and drunken, and slept ;
Why, eaten, and drunken, and slept again."

what then?

And this is the sum total of your life! And the world, you say, "owes you a living"! For what? How came it indebted to you? What have you done for it? What family in distress have you befriended? What products have you created? What miseries have you alleviated? What errors have you removed removed? What arts have you per

fected?

Never was there

a sponge upon

The world owes you a living, idle man? a more absurd idea! You have been a tax the world ever since you came into it. It is your creditor to a vast amount. Your liabilities are immense, your assets are nothing, and yet you say the world is owing you! Go to! The amount in which you stand indebted to the world is greater than you will ever have the power to liquidate!

You owe the world the labor of your two strong arms, and all the skill in work they might have gained; you owe the world the labor of that brain of yours, the sympathies of that heart, the energies of your being; you owe the world the whole moral and intellectual capabilities of a man! Awake, then, from that dreamy, do-nothing state of slōthfulness in which you live, and let us no longer hear the assertion that the world is owing you, until you have done something to satisfy the world's just demand!

FOX SC

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I REMEMBER, I remember,

The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;

He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now I often wish the night
Had börne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day-

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,

But now 't is little joy

To know I'm further off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

HOOD.

ON THE RETURN OF BRITISH REFUGEES.

SIR, let but Liberty stretch forth her fair hand to the people of the Old World, tell them to come, and bid them welcome, and you will see them pouring in from the north and from the south, from the east and from the west; your wildernesses will be cleared and settled; your deserts will smile; your ranks will be filled; and you will soon be in a condition to defy the power of any adversary.

But gentlemen object to any accession from Great Britain; and particularly to the return of the British refugees. Sir, I feel no objection to the return of those deluded people. They have, to be sure, mistaken their own interests most wofully, and most wofully have they suffered the punishment due to their offenses. But the relations which we bear to them and

to their native country are now changed: their king has acknowledged our independence; the quarrel is over; peace has returned, and found us a free people.

Sir, let us have the magnanimity to lay aside our antipathies and prejudices, and consider the subject in a political light. They are an enterprising, moneyed people. They will be serviceable in taking off the surplus produce of our lands, and supplying us with necessaries during the infant state of our manufactures. Even if they be inim'ical to us, in point of feeling and principle, I can see no objection, in a political view, in making them tributary to our advantage. And as I have no prejudices to prevent my making use of them, so I have no fear of any mischief that they can do us. Afraid of them! What! shall we, who have laid the proud British lion at our feet, now be afraid of his whelps?

P. HENRY.

THE EXCELLENT MAN.

THEY gave me advice and counsel in store,
Praised me and honored me, more and more;
Said that I only should "wait a while,”
Offered their patronage, too, with a smile.

But, with all their honor and approbation,
I should, long ago, have died of starvation,
Had there not come an excellent man,
Who bravely to help me along began.

Good fellow! he got me the food I ate,

His kindness and care I shall never forget;

Yet I can not embrace him, though other folks can:
For I myself am this excellent man.

HEINE.

:

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

Hohenlinden is a village in Bavaria, in which a bloody battle was fought, 3d December, 1800, between the Austrians and the French.

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven,