their ambition, though apparently for the moment successful, had but put a barren scepter in their grasp? Ay, sir, "a barren scepter in their gripe, Thence to be wrenched by an unlineal hand, XXVI.-NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD. "THE bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia; and there they will remain forever."-Webster. NEW ENGLAND's dead! New England's dead! On every hill they lie; On every field of strife, made red By bloody victory. Each valley, where the battle poured Its red and awful tide, Beheld the brave New England sword With slaughter deeply dyed. Their bones are on the northern hill, By brook and river, lake and rill, The land is holy where they fought, And holy where they fell; For by their blood that land was bought, Then glory to that valiant band, They left the plowshare in the mold, To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe, Oh, few and weak their numbers were, A handful of brave men; But to their God they gave their prayer, The God of battles heard their cry, XXVII.-NEW ENGLAND. GLORIOUS New England! thou art still true to thy ancient fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors. We have assembled in this far distant land to celebrate thy birthday. A thousand fond associations throng upon us, roused by the spirit of the hour. On thy pleasant valleys rest, like sweet dews of morning, the gentle recollections of our early life. Around thy hills and mountains cling, like gathering mists, the mighty memories of the Revolution. And, far away in the horizon of thy past, gleam, like thy own bright northern lights, the awful virtues of our pilgrim sires! But while we devote this day to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the reflection, that though we count by thousands the miles which separate us from our birthplace, still our country is the same. We are no exiles meeting upon the banks of a foreign river, to swell its waters with our homesick tears. Here floats the same banner which rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. The sons of New England are found in every State of the broad republic! In the East, the South, and the unbounded West, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion. In all its rooms we are at home, and all who inhabit it are our brothers. To us the Union has but one domestic hearth. Its household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly devolves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth; of guarding with pious care those sacred household gods. We can not do with less than the whole Union. To us it admits of no division. In the veins of our children flow Northern and Southern blood. How shall it be separated? Who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of our nature? We love the land of our adoption; so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true to both; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrity of the republic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of union! Thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shall propose its severance! But no! the Union can not be dissolved. Its fortunes are too brilliant to be marred; its destinies, too powerful to be resisted. And when, a century hence, this city shall have filled her golden horns; when within her broad-armed port shall be gathered the products of the industry of freemen; when galleries of art and halls of learning shall have made classic this mart of trade; then may the sons of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the north, stand upon the banks of the Great River, and exclaim, with mingled pride and wonder; Lo! this is our country. When did the world ever behold so great and glorious a republic? FROM S. S. PRENTISS. XXVIII. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound, And the swan glides past them with the sound The merry Homes of England! What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There, woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along The bless-ed Homes of England! That breathes from sabbath hours! The cottage Homes of England! The free, fair Homes of England! To guard each hallowed wall! And green forever be the groves, And bright the fairy sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God! FROM MRS. HEMANS. XXIX. THE HERMIT HUNTER How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land, The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side, And for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride! Alone, alone; yet not alone, for God is with me there, Without a guide, yet guided well, young, buoyant, fresh, and Without a care, without a fear, without a grief or pain, Or, brushing through the copse, from his leafy home I start Nor stop until my dogs have brought the glorious brute to bay. XXX. THE DOCTOR.-SCENE I. CHARACTERS. Gregory and his wife Dorcas. (Enter Dorcas and Gregory.) Gregory. I TELL you no, I wont comply, and it is my business to talk and to command. Dorcas. And I tell you, you shall conform to my will. I was not married to you to suffer your ill-humors. Greg. O the intolerable fatigue of matrimony! Aristotle never said a better thing in his life, than when he told us, "that a wife is worse than a plague." Dor. Hear the learned gentleman, with his Aristotles. Greg. And a learned man I am, too. Find me out a maker of fagots, that's able, like myself, to reason upon things, or that can boast such an education as mine. Greg. Ay, woman, a regular education; first at the charity-school, where I learnt to read; then I waited on a gentleman at Oxford, where I learnt-very near as much as my master; from whence I attended a traveling physician |