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were told with emphasis, "Catiline is at the gates of Rome, and yet we deliberate." We know, gentlemen, that this was all imagination. We are far from being at Rome; nor is there any Catiline at the gates of Paris. But now are we threatened with a real danger; bankruptcy, national bankruptcy, is before you; it threatens to swallow up your persons, your property, your honor, and yet you deliberate.




HE joy-bells are ringing in gay Malahide,
The rest wind is singing along the sea-side;

The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers,
And the harpstrings are trembling in all the glad bowers.


Swell, swell the gay measure! roll trumpet and drum! 'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendor they come!

The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide

For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride.


Before the high altar young Maud stands array'd;
With accents that falter her promise is made—
From father and mother for ever to part,

For him and no other to treasure her heart.


The words are repeated, the bridal is done,
The rite is completed-the two, they are one;
The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart,
That must not be broken till life shall depart.


Hark! 'mid the gay clangor that compassed their car,
Loud accents in anger come mingling afar!

The foe's on the border, his weapons resound

Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found.


As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold,
When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold,
So rises already the chief in his mail,

While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale.


"Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife,
For the sister and mother, for children and wife!
O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain,
Up, true men, and follow! let dastards remain!"


Hurrah! to the battle! they form into line-
The shields, how they rattle! the spears, how they shine!
Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue-

On, burgher and yeoman, to die or to do!


The eve is declining in lone Malahide,

The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride;
She marks them unheeding-her heart is afar,
Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war.


Hark! loud from the mountain-'t is Victory's cry!
O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky!
The foe has retreated! he flies to the shore;
The spoiler's defeated-the combat is o'er!


With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come-
But why have they muffled the lance and the drum?

What form do they carry aloft on his shield?

And where does he tarry, the lord of the field?


Ye saw him at morning how gallant and gay!
In bridal adorning the star of the day:
Now weep for the lover, his triumph is sped,
His hope it is over! the chieftain is dead!


But oh for the maiden who mourns for that chief,
With heart overladen and rending with grief!
She sinks on the meadow,-in one morning-tide
A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride!


Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole!
Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul.
True true, 't was a story for ages of pride,
He died in his glory-but, oh, he has died!


The dead-bells are tolling in sad Malahide,
The dead-wail is rolling along the sea-side;
The crowds, heavy-hearted, withdraw from the green,
For the sun has departed that brighten'd the scene!



OM, I invite you to a walk."


"Well, George, a walk is a great temptation, this beautiful day."

2. It was the month of January in Australia. A blazinghot day was beginning to glow through the freshness of morning. The sky was one cope of pure blue, and the southern air crept slowly up, its wings clogged with fragrance, and just tuned the trembling leaves, no more.

3. "Is not this pleasant, Tom?-is n't it sweet?"

"I believe you, George! and what a shame to slander such a country as this! There they come home and tell you that the flowers have no smell, but they keep dark about the trees and bushes being haystacks of flowers. Snuff the air as we go, it is a thousand English gardens in one. Look at those tea-scrubs, each with a thousand blos

soms on it as sweet as honey; and the golden wattles on the other side, and all smelling like seven o'clock."

4. “Ay, lad! it is very refreshing; and it is Sunday, and we have got away from the wicked for an hour or two. But in England there would be a little white church out yonder. and a spire like an angel's forefinger pointing from the grass to heaven, and the lads in their clean frocks like snow, and the lasses in their white stockings and new shawls, and the old women in their scarlet cloaks and black bonnets, all going one road, and a tinkle-tinkle from the belfry, that would turn all these other sounds and colors and sweet smells holy, as well as fair, on the Sabbath morn. Ah, England! Ah!"

5. "You will see her again,-no need to sigh. Prejudice be hanged, this is a lovely land."


6. So it is, Tom, so it is. But I'll tell you what puts me out a little bit;-nothing is what it sets up for here. If you see a ripe pear and go to eat it, it is a lump of hard wood. Next comes a thing, the very sight of which turns your stomach, and that is delicious,-a loquot, for instance. There, now, look at that magpie! well, it is Australia, so that magpie is a crow and not a magpie at all. Everything pretends to be some old friend or other of mine, and turnst out a stranger. Here is nothing but surprises and deceptions. The flowers make a point of not smelling, and the bushes, that nobody expects to smell, or wants to smell, they smell lovely."

7. "What does it matter where the smell comes from, so that you get it."

8. "Why, Tom," replied George, opening his eyes, "it. makes all the difference. I like to smell a flower,--a flower is not complete without smell; but I don't care if I never smell a bush till I die. Then the birds, they laugh and talk like Christians; they make me split my sides, bless their little hearts! but they won't chirrup. It is Australia! where everything is inside-out and topsy-turvy. The animals have four legs, so they jump on two. Ten-foot square

of rock lets for a pound a month; ten acres of grass for a shilling a year. Roasted at Christmas, shiver o' cold on Midsummer Day. The lakes are grass, and the rivers turn their backs on the sea and run into the heart of the land; and the men would stand on their heads, but I have taken a thought, and I've found out why they don't."

9. "Why?"

แ Because, if they did, their heads would point the same way a man's head points in England."

10. Tom Robinson laughed, and told George he admired the country for these very traits. "Novelty for me against the world. Who'd come twelve thousand miles to see nothing we could n't see at home? One does not want the same story always. Where are we going, George?"

11. "O, not much farther, only about twelve miles from the camp."

"Where to?"

"To a farmer I know. I am going to show you a lark, Tom," said George, and his eyes beamed benevolence on his comrade.

12. Robinson stopped dead short. "George," said he, "no! don't let us. I would rather stay at home and read my book. You can go into temptation and come out pure; I can't. I am one of those that if I go into a puddle up to my shoe, I must splash up to my waist."

13. "What has that to do with it?"

"You're proposing to me to go on a lark on the Sabbath day."

14. "Why, Tom, am I the man to tempt you to do evil?" asked George, hurt.

66 Why, no! but, for all that, you proposed a lark.”

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15. Ay, but an innocent one, one more likely to lift your heart on high than to give you ill thoughts."

"Well, this is a riddle!" and Robinson was intensely. puzzled.

16. "Carlo!" cried George, suddenly, "come here; I will not have you hunting and tormenting those kangaroo-rats

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