ing amidst cold, and poverty, and death, upon the rude rocks f Plymouth,—I have ventured to think the will of Deity was there!

When I have remembered the Revolution of '76,—the seven years' war-three millions of men in arms against the most powerful nation in history, and vindicating their independence,-I have thought that their sufferings and death were not in vain! When I have gone and seen the forsaken hearth-stone, looked in upon the battle-field, upon the dying and the dead,-heard the agonizing cry, "Water, for the sake of God! water!" seeing the dissolution of this being,— pale lips pressing in death the yet loved images of wife, sister, lover, I will not deem all these in vain! I can not regard this great continent, reaching from the Atlantic to the far Pacific, and from the St. John's to the Rio del Norté, a barbarian people of third-rate civilization.

Like the Roman who looked back upon the glory of his ancestors, in woe exclaiming,

"Great Scipio's ghost complains that we are slow,

And Pompey's shade walks unavenged among us,”

the great dead hover around me ;-Lawrence, "Don't give up the ship!"-Henry, "Give me liberty or give me death!" Adams, "Survive or perish, I am for the declaration !”Allen, "In the name of the living God, I come!"

Come, then, thou Eternal! who dwellest not in temples. made with hands, but who, in the city's crowd, or by the far forest stream, revealest thyself to the earnest seeker after the true and right, inspire my heart; give me undying courage to pursue the promptings of my spirit, and, whether I shall be called in the shades of life to look upon as sweet and kind and lovely faces as now, or, shut in by sorrow and night, horrid visions shall gloom upon me in my dying hour-O! MY

COUNTRY, MAYEST THOU YET BE FREE.

Ex. CCXV.-NORTHERN LABORERS.

C. C. NAYLOR.

THE gentleman has misconceived the spirit and tendency of northern institutions. He is ignorant of northern character. He has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrection to the northern laborers! Who are the north

ern mir¿? The history of your country is their history. The renown or your country is their renown. The brightness of their doings is emblazoned on its every page. Blot from your annals the deeds and the doings of northern laborers, and the history of your country presents but a universal blank.

Who was he that disarmed the thunderer; wrested from his grasp the bolts of Jove; calmed the troubled ocean; became the central sun of the philosophical system of his age, shedding his brightness and effulgence on the whole civilized world; whom the great and mignty of the earth delighted to honor; who participated in the achievement of your independence; prominently assisted in molding your free institutions, and the beneficial effects of whose wisdom will be felt to the last moment of "recorded time?" Who, I ask, was he? A northern laborer, a Yankee tallow-chandler's son, a printer's runaway boy!

And who, let me ask the honorable gentleman, who was he that, in the days of our Revolution, led forth a northern army, -yes, an army of northern laborers,--and aided the chivalry of South Carolina in their defense against British aggression, drove the spoilers from their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invaders? Who was he? A northern laborer, a Rhode Island blacksmith,-the gallant General Greene, who left his hammer and his forge, and went forth conquering and to conquer in the battle for our independence! And will you preach insurrection to men like these?

Our country is full of the achievements of northern laborers! Where are Concord, and Lexington, and Princeton, and Trenton, and Saratoga, and Bunker Hill, but in the north? And what has shed an imperishable renown on the never-dying names of those hallowed spots, but the blood and the struggles, the high daring and patriotism, and sublime courage, of northern laborers? The whole north is an everlasting monument of the freedom, virtue, intelligence, and indomitable independence of northern laborers! Go, preach insurrection to men like these!

The fortitude of the men of the north, under intense suffering for liberty's sake, has been almost godlike! History has so recorded it. Who comprised that gallant army, that, without food, without pay, shelterless, shoeless, penniless, and almost naked, in that dreadful winter,-the midnight of our Revolution,-whose wanderings could be traced by their blood tracks in the snow, whom no arts could seduce, no ap

peal lead astray, no sufferings disaffect, but who, true to their country and its holy cause, continued to fight the good fight of liberty, until it finally triumphed? Who were these men? Why, northern laborers!

Ex. CCXVL-THE BATTLE-FIELD.

ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and arméd hands
Encountered in the battle-cloud.

Ah! never shall the land forget

How gushed the life-blood of her brave,-
Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save.

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still;
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine, are heard.

No soleman host goes trailing by

BRYANT.

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry-—

O, be it never heard again!

Soon rested those who fought,-but thou,
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,—
Thy warfare only ends with life.

A friendless warfare! Ingering long
Through weary day and weary year;
A wild and many-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot!

The timid good may stand aloof,

The sage may frown,--yet faint thou not!

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn,
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshipers.

Yea, though thou die upon the dust,

When those who helped thee flee in fear,

Die full of hope and manly trust,

Like those who fell in battle here.

Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another band the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave!

Ex. CCXVII-EARLY RISING.

"Early to bed, and early to rise,

Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

DOW, JR.

MY HEARERS: The text I have chosen for my present discourse is most beautifully homely; but it contains the keen kernels of truth, without husk or chaff. All the brute creation close their peepers at the setting of the sun, save such as see best in the dark; and whose deeds are evil: why should man be an exception since he is not an owl, nor a bat, that sleeps through the day for the want of properly adapted optics! I see no reason, under the planet of Jupiter, why you should not go to bed as soon as evening empties her soot-bag upon the earth, and get out of it at the first blush of morn. Even ten hours sleep,would do you no harm, after you got used to it; and I know that most of you are able to bear almost twice the quantity without a grunt.

My dear friends, look at that man-the early riser. The rose of health blooms upon his cheek; his eye sparkles with the glow and fire of youth; his step is as elastic as though his legs were set with wire spiral-springs, and his body composed of India rubber. He is strong, too; aye, stronger than last

You

winter's butter-stronger than an argument-stronger than a horse, and tougher than beef. He can out-jump, out-walk, out-run, and out-live any human being that never leaves his bed-chamber until nine o'clock, I do n't care where you bring him from-whether from the hardy Greenland, or from the soft, sunny clime of the equator. He is infusible. He is not to be fried in his own fat by the melting heat of a midsummer's sun and he can bare his bosom to the bitter northern blast, with no more sign of a shake or shiver than the Bunker Hill monument in a snow-storm. Oh, you puny, sickly, saffron-skinned sluggards, that never see the sun rise! lose a glorious sight-an exhibition that affords more delight to both eye and soul, than all the shows ever presented to mortal view—the northern lights and Barnum's Museum not excepted. I can't paint the picture. When I think of it, discouraged fancy drops her pencil at once, and says it's no use. Try and get up, and take a peep for yourself for once in your lives; then, if you think it a humbug, go to bed again, and snooze till the day of judgment for aught I care. But how do you feel, shaking your feathers, with the sun hard upon the meridian? Rather streaked, I imagine-almost afraid to venture into the street, for fear your shadows would laugh at you. You morning sleepers! know you not that you lose by driblets the very honey of life, the very quintes sence of all that is bright, lovely, and joyful in existence? You do, while others are alive, stirring about, securing health, accumulating wealth, happy and merry as larks; you lie as dead as so many logs, intellectually decaying, morally rotting, and corporeally consuming. Arise ye! shake off sloth, even as the lion shaketh the dew from his mane; go out, and behold the beauties of morn in all their glory and magnificence, and become healthier, wealthier, wiser, and handsomer human beings than you are.

Ex. CCXVIII.-GENIUS.

H. GILES.

GENIUS, to enjoy and to communicate happy and exalting life, must have union with the moral and the spiritual,—with the truth which they inspire, with the beauty which they sanctify. These belong to the soul's moral and progressive being; and these, good and fair for ever, no genius can ex