Abou Ben Adhem, (may his tribe incre e!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold.

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room, he said,
"What writest thou?"

The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord!"

"And is mine one?" asked Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spake more low,

But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again, with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest; And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

LEIGH HUNT.

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither.
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo!

ROBERT BURNS,

AMERICAN LIBERTY.

I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious so 1, by all you are, and all you hope to be. Resist every object of disunion, resist every encroac':ment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction.

※

I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman, the love of your offspring. Teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her.

I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are; whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defense of the liberties of your country.

I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection that you have lived in vain. May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nat on of slaves.

No. I read in the destiny of my country far better hopes, far brighter visions. We, who are now assembled here, must soon be gathered to the congregation of other days. The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theater of life. May God speed them and theirs. May he, who, at the distance of another century shall stand here to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous people. May he have reason to exult as we do. May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth as well as of poetry, exclaim, that here is still his country!

JOSEPH STORY.

VALUE OF REPUTATION.

O divine, O delightful legacy of a spotless reputation! Rich is the inheritance it leaves; the example it testifies! Pure, precious, and imperishable, the hope which it inspires! Can there be conceived a more atrocious injury than to filch from its possessor this inestimable benefit; to rob society of its charm, and solitude of its solace; not only to out-law life, but to attaint death, converting the very grave, the refuge of the sufferer, into the gate of infamy and of shame! I can conceive of but few crimes beyond it.

He who plunders my property takes from me that which can be repaired by time. But what period can repair a ruined reputation? He who maims my person, effects that which medicine may remedy. But what herb has sovereignty over the wounds of slander? He