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tween these two sections of our common country. Are there not many of us who believe the same thing? Is not that the common sentiment, or if it is not, ought it not to be, of the great mass of our people North and South? Bound to each other by a common Constitution, destined to live together under a common government, forming unitedly by a single member of the great family of nations, shal we not now at least endeavor to grow toward each other once more in heart as we are already indissolubly linked to each other in fortunes? Shall we not, over the honored remains of this great champion of human liberty, this feeling sympathizer with human sorrow, this earnest pleader for the exercise of human tenderness and charity, lay aside the concealments which serve only to perpetuate misunderstandings and distrust, and frankly confess that on both sides we most earnestly desire to be one; one not merely in political organization; one not merely in identity of institutions; one not merely in community of language and literature and traditions and country; but more and better than all that, one also in feeling and in heart? Am I mistaken in this? Do the concealments of which I speak still cover animosities which neither time nor reflection, nor the march of events have yet sufficed to subdue? I cannot believe it. Since I have been here, I have watched with anxious scrutiny your sentiments as expressed, not merely in public debate, but in the abandon of personal confidence. I know well the sentiments of these, my Southern brothers, whose hearts are so enfolded that the feelings of each is the fee!ing of all; and I see on both sides only the seeming of a constraint which each apparently hesitates to dismiss. The South-prostrate, exhausted, drained of her life blood as we.. as of her material resources, yet still honorable and true-accepts the bitter award of the bloody arbitrament without reservation, resolutely determined to abide the results with chivalrous fidelity; yet, as if struck dumb by the magnitude of her reverses, she suffers on in silence.

The North, exultant in her triumph, and elated by success, still cherishes, as we are assured, a heart full of magnanimous emotions toward her disarmed and discomfited antagonist; and yet, as if mastered by some mysterious spell, silencing her better impulses, her words and acts are the words and acts of suspicion and distrust.

Would that the spirit of the illustrious dead whom we lament today could speak from the grave to both parties to this deplorable dis

cord, in tones which should reach each and every heart throughout this broad territory: “My countrymen, know one another, and you will love another."

LUCIUS Q. C. LAMAR.

THE FACE AGAINST THE PANE.

Mabel, little Mabel,

With face against the pane,

Looks out across the night:
And sees the Beacon Light

A trembling in the rain;
She hears the sea- birds scree
And the breakers on the beach

Making moan, making moan.
And the wind about the eaves
Of the cottage, sobs and grieves;
And the willow-tree is blown
To and fro, to and fro.

Till it seems like some old crone
Standing out their all alone,
With her woe!
Wringing, as she stands,
Her gaunt and palsied hands
While Mabel, timid Mabel,

With face against the pane,
Looks out across the night,
And sees the Beacon Light
A-trembling in the rain.

Set the table; maiden Mabel,
And make the cabin warm;

Your little fisher lover

Is out there in the storm,

And your father-you are weeping,
O Mabel, timid Mabel,

Go, spread the supper-table,

and set the tea a-steeping.

Your lover's heart is brave,

His boat is staunch and tight;

And your father knows the perilous reef
That makes the water white.
-But Mabel, Mabel darling,
With face against the pane,
Looks out across the night
At the Beacon in the rain.

The heavens are veined with fire!

And the thunder, how it rolls! In the lullings of the storm

The solemn church-bell tolls

For lost souls!

But no sexton sounds the knell
In that belfry old and high;
Unseen fingers sway the bell
As the wind goes tearing by!
How it tolls for the souls

Of the sailors on the sea!
God pity them, God pity them,
Wherever they may be!

God pity wives and sweethearts
Who wait and wait in vain!

And pity little Mabel,

With her face against the pane.

A boom!-the Lighthouse gun!

(How its echo rolls and rolls!) 'Tis to warn the home bound ships Off the shoals.

See! a rocket cleaves the sky

From the fort;-
;-a shaft of light!
See! it fades and, fading, leaves

Golden furrows on the night! What made Mabel's cheek so pale? What made Mabel's lips so white? Did she see the helpless sail

That tossing here and there,
Like a feather in the air,
Went down and out of sight?
Down, down and out of sight,
O, watch no more, no more,

With face against the pane;
You cannot see the men that drown
By the Beacon in the rain.

From a shoal of richest rubies

Breaks the morning clear and cold;
And the angel on the village spire,
Frost-touched, is bright as gold.
Four ancient fishermen,

In the pleasant autumn air,
Come toiling up the sands,
With something in their hands,-
Two bodies stark and white,

Ah, so ghastly in the light,

With sea-weed in the hair!

O ancient fishermen,

Go up to yonder cot,
You'll find a little child,

With face against the pane,
Who looks toward the beach.
And, looking, sees it not.
She ill never watch again!

Never watch and weep at night.
For those pretty, saintly eyes

Look beyo the stormy skies, And they see the Beacon Light.

THOS. B. ALDRICH,

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