ters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart, Liberty and union, now and forever, one and in separable! THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.--By G. W. Patten. BLAZE, with your serried columns ! I've scared ye in the city, I've scalped ye on the plain; Go, count your chosen, where they fell I scorn your proffered treaty ! Revenge is stamped upon my spear, Some strike for hope of booty, To see the white man fall: And catch, while chanting at his side, Ye've trailed me through the forest, I ne'er will ask ye quarter, And I ne'er will be your slave; THE VAGABONDS.-By J. T. Trowbridge, WE are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger's my dog :- Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, (This out-door business is bad for strings,) No, thank ye, Sir,-I never drink; Aren't we, Roger ?-see him wink! Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. He's thirsty, too,-see him nod his head? What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk! He understands every word that's said,— And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect (Here's to you, Sir !) even of my dog. But he sticks by, through thick and thin; And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, To such a miserable thankless master! We'll have some music, if you're willing, And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) Shall march a little.-Start, you villain! Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle! (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriot soldier! March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes, Five yelps, that's five; he's mighty knowing! Why not reform? That's easily said; But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, And there are times when, mad with thinking, Is there a way to forget to think? At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, If you had seen her, so fair and yo mg, If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed That ever I, Sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a glass of grog! She's married since,-a parson's wife: Than a blasted-home and a broken heart. But little she dreamed, as on she went, Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! You've set me talking, Sir; I'm sorry; Another glass, and strong, to deaden Do you know This pain; then Roger and I will start. He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, I'm better now; that glass was warming.- For supper and bed, or starve in the street. Not a very gay life to lead, you think? But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ;— CARDINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST OFF BY KING HENRY VIII.—Shakspeare. NAY, then, farewell, I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; I haste now to my setting: I shall fall So farewell to the little good you hear me. This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must more be heard,—say, then, I taught thee,-- Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee,— Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; And,- -Prithee, lead me in: There, take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but served my God with half the zeal DEATH OF JOHN Q. ADAMS.-By I. E. Holmes. MR. SPEAKER: The mingled tones of sorrow, like the voice of many waters, have come unto us from a sister state -Massachusetts, weeping for her honored son. The state I G* |