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“Torsha arrah darrah mishky bookshean!"

I told him he was right.

Wocky-bocky again rubbed his tomahawk across my face, and said, "Wiuk-ho-loo-boo!"

Says I, "Mr. Wocky-bocky," says I, "Wocky, I have thought so for years, and so's all our family."

He told me I must go to the tent of Strong-Heart and eat raw dog. It don't agree with me. I prefer simple food. I prefer hash, because then I know what I'm eating. But as raw dog was all they proposed to give to me, I had to eat it or starve. So at the expiration of two days I seized a tin plate and went to the chief's daughter, and I said to her in a silvery voiçe-in a kind of German-silvery voiceI said:

"Sweet child of the forest, the pale-face wants his dog." There was nothing but his paws! I had paused too long! Which reminds me that time passes. A way which time has.

I was told in my youth to seize opportunity. I once tried to seize one. He was rich. He had diamonds on. As I seized him-he knocked me down. Since then I have learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary. I will seize this opportunity to close my lecture.

MATURNUS' ADDRESS TO HIS BAND.

Men-not slaves!

EDWARD SPENCER.

I speak to you! This creature tells the truth:
We did not taste Rome's power until we turned
To fight the legions! That power I knew full well,
And knowing made the venture-took all risks-
And now approve them--thus:

I frankly tell you, we are hard bested!
We've lost three battles, and will lose another

If we must fight to-morrow--and the last!

Say we may chance escape from here-break through

These serried lines-what then? Twere but exchange

Of dungeons, for Rome's prison is the world!

That sleepless tigress, once she tastes our blood,

Must lap it every drop! We have defied

The sacred majesty of Rome, proud sitting

Upon her seven hills! Whither shall man fly
When Rome pursues, or how escape when Rome
Says he shall cease! If we flee to the desert,
Rome's arm will reach us there! Across the sea,
On pathless wilds, in dungeons, in the grave-
There is no sanctuary for us anywhere-
No refuge for us-no escape from out
Rome's ghastly thraldom of ubiquity!

You all have heard

How proud Achilles was made safe from wounds,
Except in one small spot!—An arrow probed it,
And proud Achilles died! And so proud Rome,
Steel-crusted, shaking off assaults like spray
Of raindrops dashed on granite, bears within
A heart so wrung by passion's fiery thrills,
So flushed, so overcome, so weak, subdued
By pleasure's mad fruitions, idle ease
And pampered luxury and cankering lust-
So dastard in effeminate wantonness-
That every touch afflicts it-every blow,
Though but an infant with his bauble dealt it,
Brings agonies! There is the spot to strike-
Beneath the armor, past the shield, right through
The palpitating heart! Great Jove! Rome's heart!
Our swords are whetted!

Comrades, we have borne these toils
Not all in vain! The deed that is to do
Pales all our past deeds to a feeble shadow
In its heroic glory! Day and night
Blend softly with each other, year on year,
When, sudden, 'thwart the startled face of night,
A flaming wonder, some great comet, bursts,
Waving her sword, and all the nations tremble!
So what we plan shall flash upon the world,
And strike Rome palsied with astonishment!

I know a path-it leads o'er yonder crag,
And through dim valleys, where the banished sun
Ne'er dreams of shining, till it finds the rills
That flow to the Adrian sea! Along that path
We steal away to-night, unseen, until

We cross the mountains! Then, disbanding, creep Like peaceful travelers, one by one, to Rome. There will I meet you-there complete the plot That gives us Rome to spoil.

To Rome, then, soldiers! Follow swift my steps! Tread quick and bold--yet light! Wake not the foe Who slumbers there beneath us; nor the snow That trembles there above us! Guard each breath! Above, below, around us, lurks swift death!

THE HERO OF THE COMMUNE.-MARGARET J. PRESTON,

"Garçon! You, you

Snared along with this cursed crew?

(Only a child, and yet so bold,

Scarcely as much as ten years old!)

Do you hear? do you know

Why the gens d'armes put you there, in the row,
You with those Commune wretches tall,
With your face to the wall?”

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Know? To be sure I know! Why not?
We're here to be shot;

And there, by the pillar's the very spot,
Fighting for France, my father fell:
Ah, well!-

That's just the way I would choose to fall,
With my back to the wall!"

"(Sacre! Fair, open fight, I say,

Is something right gallant in its way,

And fine for warming the blood; but who
Wants wolfish work like this to do?

Bah! 'tis a butcher's business!) How?

(The boy is beckoning to me now:

I knew that his poor child's heart would fail,
Yet his cheek's not pale:)
Quick! say your say, for don't you see

When the church-clock yonder tolls out Three,

You are all to be shot?
-What?

'Excuse you one moment? O, ho, ho!
Do you think to fool a gen d'orme so?"

"But, sir, here's a watch that a friend, one day,
(My father's friend) just over the way,
Lent me; and if you'll let me free--
It still lacks seven minutes of Three-
I'll come, on the word of a soldier's son,

Straight back into line, when my errand's done."

"Ha, ha! No doubt of it! Off! Begone!
(Now, good St. Dennis, speed him on!
The work will be easier since he's saved;
For I hardly see how I could have braved
The ardor of that innocent eye,

As he stood and heard,
While I gave the word,
Dooming him like a dog to die.)”

"In time? Well, thanks, that my desire
Was granted; and now I'm ready:-Fire!
One word!-that's all!

-You'll let me turn my back to the wall?"

"Parbleu! Come out of the line, I say,
Come out! (Who said that his name was Ney?)
Ha! France will hear of him yet, one day!"

TEXAS CENTENNIAL ORATION.-R. B. HUBBARD.

Sirs, you have been told that we are demons in hate, and gloat at the thought of war and blood. Men of New England-men of the great North! will you believe me when, for two millions of people whom I represent, and for the whole South as well, I denounce the utterance as an inhuman slander, an unpardonable falsehood, against a brave, and, God knows, a suffering people?

Want war! want bloodshed!-Sirs, we are poor, broken in fortune, and sick at heart. Had you stood by the ruined hearth-stones, by the wrecks of fortune, which are scattered all along the shore; had you seen, as I have seen, the wolf howling at the door of many a once happy home-widowhood and orphanage starving, and weeping over neverreturning sires and sons, who fell with your honored dead at Gettysburg and Manassas; could you hear, as I have heard, the throbbing of the great universal Southern heart-throbbing for peace, and longing for the old and faithful love between the States; could you have seen, and felt, and heard all these things, my countrymen, you would take me by the hand, and swear that the arm thus uplifted against us should wither at the socket, and the tongue which utters the great libel on our name become palsied at its root forever!

With each returning spring let us scatter flowers over the resting-place alike of Federal and Confederate dead, as we enshrine with immortelles of memory your Sumner, and Thomas, and McPherson, with our Sidney Johnston, Stonewall Jackson, and the great Lee, forever. Let universal amnesty crown the closing of the century. Our brothers

died not in vain in the last great struggle. Standing, long ago, in the capitol of Texas, with my oath to support the Constitution fresh upon my lips, I uttered these words, and from a full heart I repeat them here to-day: “They died not in vain." Whether wearing the gray or the blue, their lives were offered freely, like libations of water, for right—as each dying soldier deemed-and for native land. In their graves, made immortal by the same ancestral heroism of race and blood, let us bury the feuds of that stormy hour of our history.

In this generous and knightly spirit, Texas to-day sends fraternal greeting to all the States of the Union.

ST. PATRICK'S MARTYRS.

I wonder what the mischief was in her, for the mistress was niver contrairy,

But this same is just what she said to me, just as sure as my name is Mary;

"Mary," says she, all a-smiling and swate like, "the young ladies are coming from France,

And we'll give them a welcome next Monday, with an elegant supper and dance."

"Is it Monday, ye're maning?" says I; “ma'am, why, thin, I'm sorry to stand in yer way,

But it's little of work I'll do Monday, seeing that Monday's St. Patrick's Day;

And sure it's meself that promised to go wid Cousin Kitty Malone's brother Dan,

And bad luck to Mary Magee," says I, "if she disappoints such a swate young man!"

"Me children have been away four years"— and she spoke in a very unfeelin' way--

"Ye cannot expect I shall disappoint them either for you or St. Patrick's Day;

I know nothing about St. Patrick." "That's true for ye, ma'am, more's the pity," says I,

"For it 's niver the likes of ye has the luck to be born under the Irish sky."

Ye see I was getting past jokin'-and she sitting there so aisy and proud,

And me thinking of the Third Avenue, and the procession and music and crowd;

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