No matter what the journey be,-
Adventures dangerous, far

To the wild deep, or bleak frontier,
To solitude, or war,

Still something cheers the heart that dares,
In all of human kind;

And they who go are happier

Than those they leave behind.

The bride goes to the bridegroom's home
With doubtings and with tears,
But does not Hope her rainbow spread
Across her cloudy fears?
Alas! the mother who remains,

What comfort can she find

But this, the gone is happier

Than the one she leaves behind?

Have you a trusty comrade dear,--
An old and valued friend?

Be sure your term of sweet concourse
At length will have an end.

And when you part,

—as part you will,—

O take it not unkind,

If he who goes is happier
Than you he leaves behind.

God wills it so, and so it is:

The pilgrims on their way,

Though weak and worn, more cheerful are
Than all the rest who stay.

And when, at last, poor man, subdued,
Lies down, to death resigned,

May he not still be happier far

Than those he leaves behind?

Edward Pollock.

ADAMS AND JEFFERSON.

As

Adams and Jefferson, I have said, are no more. human beings, indeed, they are no more. They are no more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of independence; no more, as on subsequent periods, the head of the government; no more, as we have recently seen

them, aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard. They are no more. They are dead.

But how little is there of the great and good which can die! To their country they yet live, and live forever. They live in all that perpetuates the remembrance of men on earth; in the recorded proofs of their own great actions, in the offspring of their intellect, in the deep engraved lines of public gratitude, and in the respect and nomage of mankind. They live in their example; and they live, emphatically, and will live, in the influence which their lives and efforts, their principles and opinions, now exercise, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs ☛ of men, not only in their own country, but throughout the civilized world.

A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly great man,-when Heaven vouchsafes so rare a gift,-is not a temporary flame, burning bright for a while, and then expiring, giving place to returning darkness. It is rather a spark of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with power to enkindle the common mass of human mind; so that, when it glimmers in its own decay, and finally goes out in death, no night follows; but it leaves the world all light, all on fire, from the potent contact of its own spirit.

Bacon died; but the human understanding, roused by the touch of his miraculous wand to a perception of the true philosophy and the just mode of inquiring after truth, has kept on its course successfully and gloriously. Newton died; yet the courses of the spheres are still known, and they yet move on, in the orbits which he saw and described for them, in the infinity of space.

No two men now live,-perhaps it may be doubted whether any two men have ever lived in one age,—who, more than those we now commemorate, have impressed their own sentiments, in regard to politics and government, on mankind; infused their own opinions more deeply into the opinions of others; or given a more lasting direction to the current of human thought. Their work doth not perish with them. The tree which they assisted to plant will flourish, although they water it and protect it no longer; for it has struck its roots deep; it has sent them to the very centre; no storm, not of force

to burst the orb, can overturn it; its branches spread wide; they stretch their protecting arms broader and broader, and its top is destined to reach the heavens.

We are not deceived. There is no delusion here. No age will come, in which the American revolution will appear less than it is,-one of the greatest events in human history. No age will come, in which it will cease to be seen and felt, on either continent; that a mighty step, a great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human affairs, was made on the 4th of July, 1776. And no age will come, we trust, so ignorant, or so unjust, as not to see and acknowledge the efficient agency of these we now honor, in producing that momentous Daniel Webster.

event.

THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEA POWDER.

A Frenchman once,-so runs a certain ditty,--
Had crossed the Straits to famous London city,
To get a living by the arts of France,

And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance.
But, lacking pupils, vain was all his skill;
His fortunes sank from low to lower still;
Until, at last,-pathetic to relate,—
Poor Monsieur landed at starvation's gate.
Standing, one day, beside a cook-shop door,
And gazing in, with aggravation sore,
He mused within himself what he should do
To fill his empty maw, and pocket too.
By nature shrewd, he soon contrived a plan,
And thus to execute it straight began:
A piece of common brick he quickly found,
And with a harder stone to powder ground,
Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece
Of paper, labelled "Poison for de Fleas,'
And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try,
To show his treasures, and to see who'd buy.
From street to street he cried, with lusty yell,
"Here's grand and sovereign flea poudare to sell !"
And fickle Fortune seemed to smile at last,
For soon a woman hailed him as he passed,
Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot,
And made him five crowns richer on the spot.

Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale,
Went into business on a larger scale;
And soon, throughout all London, scattered he
The "only genuine poudare for de flea."
Engaged, one morning, in his new vocation
Of mingled boasting and dissimulation,
He thought he heard himself in anger called;
And, sure enough, the self-same woman bawled,¬-

In not a mild or very tender mood,

From the same window where before she stood.

66

Hey, there," said she, "you Monsher Powder-man! Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can;

I'll let you dirty, thieving Frenchmen know
That decent people won't be cheated so."

Then spoke Monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh,
With humble attitude and tearful eye;-

"Ah, Madame! s'il vous plait, attendez vous,—
I vill dis leetle ting explain to you:

My poudare gran! magnifique! why abuse him?
Aha! I show you how to use him;

First, you must wait until you catch de flea;
Den, tickle he on de petite rib, you see;

And when he laugh,-aha! he ope his throat;
Den poke de poudare down!—BEGAR! HE CHOKE.

IN THE OTHER WORLD.

It lies around us like a cloud,—
A world we do not see;
Yet the sweet closing of an eye
May bring us there to be.

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;
Amid our worldly cares
Its gentle voices whisper love,
And mingle with our prayers.

Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
Sweet helping hands are stirred,
And palpitates the veil between
With breathings almost heard.

The silence,-awful, sweet, and calm,-
They have no power to break;
For mortal words are not for them
To utter or partake.

So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide,
So near to press they seem,
They seem to lull us to our rest,
And melt into our dream.

And in the hush of rest they bring,
'Tis easy now to see

How lovely, and how sweet a pass
The hour of death may be.

To close the eye, and close the ear,
Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
And gently dream in loving arms,-
To swoon to that-from this.

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
Scarce asking where we are,

To feel all evil sink away,

All sorrow and all care.

Sweet souls around us! watch us still,
Press nearer to our side,

Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
With gentle helpings glide.

Let death between us be as naught,
A dried and vanished stream,-

Your joy be the reality,

Our suffering life the dream.

II. Beecher Stowe.

VERY DARK.

The crimson tide was ebbing, and the pulse grew weak and faint,

But the lips of that brave soldier scorned e'en now to make

complaint;

"Fall in rank!" a voice called to him; calm and low was his

reply:

"Yes, I will if I can do it,-I will do it, though I die."

And he murmured, when the life-light had died out to just a

spark,

"It is growing very dark, mother,-growing very dark."

There were tears in mauly eyes, then, and manly heads were bowed,

Though the balls flew thick around them, and the cannons thundered loud;