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And she folded both her thin white hands, and turned from that

bright board, And from the golden gifts, and said, “With thee, with thee, O

Lord !" The chilly winter morning breaks up in the dull skies On the city wrapt in vapor, on the spot where Gretchen lies. In her scant and tattered garment, with her back against the wall, She sitteth cold and rigid, she answers to no call. They have lifted her up fearfully, they shuddered as they said, "It was a bitter, bitter night I the child is frozen dead.” The angels sang their greeting for one more redeemed from sin; Men said, “It was a bitter night; would no one let her in ?!! And they shivered as they spoke of her, and sighed. They could How much of happiness there was after that misery.

not see

“Move my arm-chair, faithful Pompey,

In the sunshine bright and strong,
For this world is fading, Pompey-

Massa won't be with you long;
And I fain would hear the south wind

Bring once more the sound to me
Of the wavelets softly breaking

On the shores of Tennessee.
“Mournful though the ripples murmur,

As they still the story tell,
How no vessels float the banner

That l've loved so long and well,
I shall listen to their music,

Dreaming that again I see
Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop,

Sailing up the Tennessee.
“And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting

Fór death's last despatch to come,
If that exiled starry banner

Should come proudly sailing home,
You shall greet it, slave no longer

Over yonder Missis sleeping

No one tends her grave like me; Mebbe she would miss the flowers

She used to love in Tennessee. "'Pears like she was watching, Massa,

If Pompey should beside him stay; Mebbe she'd remember better

How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder

White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven

While he lived in Tennessee.' Silently the tears were rolling

Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master,

In his long-accustomed place. Then a silence fell around them,

As they gazed on rock and tree, Pictured in the placid waters

Of the rolling Tennessee;Master, dreaming of tlie battle

Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bid the haughty Tarleton

Stoop his lordly crest of pride; Man, remembering how yon sleeper

Once he held upon his knee, Ere she loved the gallant soldier,

Ralph Vervair, of Tennessee. Still the south wind fondly lingers

'Mid the veteran's silvery hair; Still the bondman, close beside him,

Stands behind the old arm-chair. With his dark-hued hand uplifted,

Shading eyes, he bends to see
Where the woodland, boldly jutting,

Turns aside the Tennessee.
Thus he watches cloud-born shadows

Glide from tree to mountain crest,
Softly creeping, aye and ever,

To the river's yielding breast. Ha! above the foliage yonder

Something flutters wild and free! "Mássa! Massa! Hallelujah!

The flag's come back to Tennessee!" “Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,

Help me stand on foot once more, That I may salute the colors

As they pass my cabin door.

Yere's the paper signed that frees you ;

Give a freeman's shout with me-
'God and Union !' be our watchword

Evermore in Tennessee."
Then the trembling voice grew fainter,

And the limbs refused to stand;
One prayer to Jesus—and the soldier

Glided to that better land.
When the flag went down the river,

Man and master both were free,
While the ring-dove's note wiis mingled

With the rippling Tennessee.


YE call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years bas met upon the arena every shape of unan or beast the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one ainong you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus, – a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vineclad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sportce; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was; but my cheeks burned. I know not why, and I clasped faintly, gasped, and died ;--the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph! I told the prætor that tho dead man had been my friend, generous and brave; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay! upon my knees, anid 'the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay! And the prætor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, “Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans.' And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and 80 must I, die like dogs. ,, Romel Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay! thou hast given to that poor, gen. tle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foc;—to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled !

Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! The strength of brası is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he has tasted flesh; but tomorrow he shall break his fast upon yours,—and a dainty meal for him ye will be! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife! If ye arc men, follow me! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and then do bloody work, as did your sires at old Thermopylæ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? O, comrades! warriors ! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle !


A SUPERCILIOUS nabob of the East

Haughty, being great-purse-proud, being rich A governor, or general, at the least,

I have forgotten which-
Had in his family a humble youth,

Who went from England in his patron's suite,
An imassuming boy, and in truth

A lad of decent parts, and good repuie.

This youth had sense and spirit;

But yet, with all his sense,

Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,

His honor, proudly free, severely merry, Conceived it would be vastly fine

To crack a joke upon his secretary.

“Young man,” he said, “by what art, craft, or trade,

Did your good father gain a livelihood ?”'“He was a saddler, sir,” Modestus said,

And in his time was reckon'd good.”


"A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek,

Instead of teaching you to sew ! Pray, why did not your father make

A saddler, sir, of you ?”

Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.

At length Modestus, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),

“Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade !"

“My father's trade! by heaven, that's too bad !
My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low-
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."

“ Excuse the liberty I take,"

Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make

A gentleman of you?”

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