Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned; Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies; Some pious drops the closing eye requires : E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries; E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee who, mindful of the unhonored Dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;

If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say:
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech

That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

“One morn I missed him on the 'customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne.

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to misery all he had, a tear;

He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend.

No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God.

cir' cum scribed', limited; confined. el'e gy, funeral song; plaintive poem. fret'ted, ornamented.

her' ald ry, emblazoned arms of nobility, hence noble descent.

glebe, sod; ground.

in ev'i ta ble, certain to come.

in gen' u ous, high-minded.
joc' und, merry.

se ques' tered, secluded.

THE END OF THE WAR.

(SPEECH DELIVERED AT OMAHA, OCTOBER 12, 1898.)

WILLIAM MCKINLEY.

It has been said that the normal condition of nations is war. That is not true of the United States. We never enter upon war until every effort for peace without it has been exhausted. Ours has never been a military government. Peace, with whose blessings we have been so singularly favored, is the desire and the goal of every American.

On the 25th of April, for the first time in more than a generation, the United States sounded the call to arms. The banners of war were unfurled; the best and bravest from every section responded; a mighty army was enrolled; the North and the South vied with each other in patriotic devotion; the youth and the veteran joined freely in offering their services to their country. There was no break in the line, no halt in the march, no fear in the heart.

What a wonderful experience it has been! The storm broke so suddenly that it was here almost be

fore we realized it. Our navy was too small, though forceful with its modern equipment, and most fortunate in its trained officers and sailors. Our army had years ago been reduced to a peace footing. We were ill equipped when the war was declared, but the account which our officers and men gave of themselves in the battles has never been surpassed. American patriotism and manhood were there, and their resources were limitless. Those who, a little more than a third of a century ago, were divided and at war with each other were again united under the holy standard of liberty. Patriotism banished party feeling and dissipated the shadows of sectional animosity.

What shall we say of our triumph? Matchless in its results! Unequaled in its completeness and the quick succession with which victory followed victory! Attained earlier than it was believed to be possible! How comprehensive in its sweep! Above all and beyond all, does the valor of the American army, and the bravery of the American navy, and the majesty of the American name stand forth in unsullied glory, while the humanity of our purpose and the magnanimity of our conduct have given to war, always horrible, touches of noble generosity, Christian sympathy and charity, and examples of human grandeur which can never be lost to mankind. Passion and bitterness formed no part of our impelling motive, and humanity triumphed at every step of the war's progress.

Our heroes fighting at Manila, and Santiago, and Puerto Rico have made immortal history. They are worthy successors and descendants of Washington and Greene, of Paul Jones, Decatur, and Hull, and

of Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and Logan, of Farragut, Porter, and Cushing, and of Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet. New names stand out on the honor roll of the nation's greatness, and with them unnamed stand the heroes of the trenches and the forecastle, invincible in battle and uncomplaining in death. The intelligent, loyal, indomitable soldier, sailor, and marine, regular and volunteer, are entitled to equal praise as having done their whole duty, whether at home or under the baptism of foreign fire.

an' i mos' i ty, hatred.

com'pre hen' sive, including much. dis' si pa' ted, scattered.

ex haust' ed (egz), completely used up.

gran' deur, greatness.

mag' na nim'i ty, greatness of mind. un sul' lied, unstained.

EARLY ENGLAND, 449-577.

J. R. GREEN.

For the fatherland of the English race we must look far away from England itself. In the fifth century after the birth of Christ, the one country which we know to have borne the name of Angeln, or England, lay within the district which is now called Sleswick, a district in the heart of the peninsula that parts the Baltic from the northern seas.

Its pleasant pastures, its black-timbered homesteads, its prim little townships looking down on inlets of purple water, were then but a wild waste of heather and sand, girt along the coast with a sunless woodland, broken here and there by meadows that crept down to the marshes and the sea.