8. No speaker ever understood better than Mr. Henry, the true use and power of the pause; and no one ever practiced it with happier effect. His pauses were never resorted to, for the purpose of investing an insignificant thought with false importance; much less were they ever resorted to as a finesse, to gain time for thinking. The hearer was never disposed to ask, "why that pause?" nor to measure its duration by a reference to his watch. On the contrary, it always came at the very moment when he would himself have wished it, in order to weigh the striking and important thought which had just been uttered; and the interval was always filled by the speaker with a matchless energy of look, which drove the thought home through the mind and through the heart.

9. His gestures, and this varying play of his features and voice, were so excellent, so exquisite, that many have referred his power as an orator principally to that cause; yet this was all his own, and his gesture, particularly, of so peculiar a cast, that it is said it would have become no other man. I do not learn that it was very abundant; for there was no trash about it; none of those false motions to which undisciplined speakers are so generally addicted; no chopping nor sawing of the air; no thumping of the bar to express an earnestness, which was much more powerfully, as well as more elegantly, expressed by his eye and his countenance.

10. Whenever he moved his arm, or his hand, or even his finger, or changed the position of his body, it was always to some purpose; nothing was inefficient; every thing told; every gesture, every attitude, every look, was emphatic; all was animation, energy, and dignity. Its great advantage consisted in this-that various, bold, and original as it was, it never appeared to be studied, affected, or theatrical, or “to overstep," in the smallest degree, "the modesty of nature;" for he never made a gesture or assumed an attitude, which did not seem imperiously demanded by the occasion. Every look, every motion, every pause, every start, was completely filled and dilated by the thought which he was uttering, and seemed indeed to form a part of the thought itself.

11. His action, however strong, was never vehement. He was never seen rushing forward, shoulder foremost, fury

in his countenance, and frenzy in his voice, as if to overturn the bar, and charge his audience sword in hand. His judgment was too manly and too solid, and his taste too true, to permit him to indulge in any such extravagance. His good sense and his self-possession never deserted him. In the loudest storm of declamation, in the fiercest blaze of passion, there was a dignity and temperance which gave it seeming. He had the rare faculty of imparting to his hearers all the excess of his own feelings, and the violence and tumult of his emotions, and all the dauntless spirit of his resolution.

LVIII. THE END OF THE GREAT REBELLION.

OLIVER W. HOLMES.

1. Four summers coined their golden light in leaves,
Four wasteful autumns flung them to the gale,
Four winters wore the shroud the tempest weaves,
The fourth wan April wept o'er hill and vale,—

2. And still the war-clouds scowled on sea and land, With the red gleams of battle staining through, When lo! as parted by an angel's hand,

They open, and the heavens again are blue!

8. Which is the dream, the present or the past?
The night of anguish or the joyous morn?
The long, long years with horrors overcast,
Or the sweet promise of the day new-born?

4. Tell us, O father, as thine arms enfold

Thy belted first-born in their first embrace, Murmuring the prayer the patriarch breathed of old,— "Now let me die, for I have seen thy face!"

5. Tell us, O mother-nay, thou can'st not speak ;

But thy fond eyes shall answer, brimmed with joy-
Press thy mute lips against the sun-browned cheek:
Is this a phantom,—thy returning boy?

6. Tell us, O maiden-ah, what can'st thou tell That Nature's record is not first to teach,-— The open volume all can read so well,

With its twin crimson pages full of speech?

7. And ye who mourn your dead,-how sternly true
The cruel hour that wrenched their lives away,
Shadowed with sorrow's midnight veil for you,
For them the dawning of immortal day!

8. Dream-like these years of conflict,-not a dream!
Death, ruin, ashes tell their awful tale,

Read by the flaming war-track's lurid gleam;
No dream, but truth that turns the nations pale'

9. For on the pillar raised by martyr-hands
Burns the rekindled beacon of the right,
Sowing its seeds of fire o'er all the lands,—
Thrones look a century older in its light!

10. Rome had her triumphs; round the conqueror's car The ensigns waved, the brazen clarions blew, And o'er the reeking spoils of bandit-war

With outspread wings the cruel eagles flew ;

11. Arms, treasures, captives, kings in clanking chains
Urged on by trampling cohorts bronzed and scarred,
And wild-eyed wonders snared on Lybian plains,
Lion and ostrich and camelopard.

12. Vain all that prætors clutched, that consuls brought

When Rome's returning legions crowned their lord; Less than the least brave deed these hands have wrought We clasp, unclenching from the bloody sword!

13. Theirs was the mighty work that seers foretold d;
They know not half their glorious toil has won,
For this is Heaven's same battle,--joined of old
When Athens fought for us at Marathon!

14. Behold a vision none hath understood!

The breaking of the Apocalyptic seal;

Twice rings the summons-Hail and fire and blood!
Then the third angel blows his trumpet-peal.

15. Loud wail the dwellers on the myrtled coasts, The green savannas swell the maddened cry, And with a yell from all the demon hosts

Falls the great star, called Wormwood, from the sky'

16. Bitter it mingles with the poisoned flow

Of the warm rivers winding to the shore,
Thousands must drink the waves of death and woe,
But the star Wormwood stains the Heaven no more!

17. Peace smiles at last; the Nation calls her sons To sheathe the sword; her battle-flag she furls, Speaks in glad thunders from unshotted guns,

And hides her rubies under milk-white pearls.

18. O ye that fought for Freedom, living, dead,
One sacred host of God's anointed Queen,
For every holy drop your veins have shed
We breathe a welcome to our bowers of green!

19. Welcome, ye living! From the foeman's gripe
Your country's banner it was yours to wrest.-
Ah, many a forehead shows the banner-stripe,
And stars, once crimson, hallow many a breast.

20. And ye, pale heroes, who from glory's bed

Mark when your old battalions form in line,
Move in their marching ranks with noiseless tread,
And shape unheard the evening countersign,

21. Come with your comrades, the returning brave;
Shoulder to shoulder they await you here;
These lent the life their martyr-brothers gave,-
Living and dead alike forever dear.

LIX.-KEEP IT BEFORE THE PEOPLE

A. J. H. DUGANNE.

1. Keep it before the people!

That Earth was made for Man!

That flowers were strown,

And fruits were grown,

To bless and never to ban.

That sun and rain

And corn and grain,

Are yours and mine, my brother!
Free gifts from heaven,

And freely given

To one as well as another!

2. Keep it before the people!

That man is the image of God!

His limbs or soul

Ye may not control

With shackle or shame or rod!

We may not be sold

For silver or gold,

Neither you nor I, my brother!
For freedom was given

By God, from heaven,
To one as well as another.

8. Keep it before the people!

That famine and crime and woe

For ever abide

Still side by side,

With luxury's dazzling show!

That Lazarus crawls

From Dives' halls,

And starves at his gate, my brother!

Yet life was given

By God, from heaven,

To one as well as another