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But the graveyard lies between, Mary,

And my step might break your restFor I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,

With your baly on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary,

For the poor maké no new friends; But, ()! they love the better still

The few our Father sends! And you were all I had, Mary

My blessing and my pride : There's nothing left to care for now,

Since my poor Mary died.


irs was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul,

And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip,

And the kind look on your brow-I bless you, Mary, for that same,

Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile

When your heart was fit to break-
When the hunger pain was gnawing there,

And you hid it for my sake;
I bless you for the pleasant word,

When your heart was sad and sore0! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,

Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm bidding you a long farewell,

My Mary-kind and true!
But I'll not forget you darling,

In the land I'm going to;
They say there's bread and work for all,

And the sun shines always there-
But I'll not forget old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fair'

And often in those grand old woods

I'll sit, and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again

To the place where Mary lies;
And I'll think I see the little stile

Where we sat side by side, and the springing corn, and the bright May morn

When first you were my bride.

ABSALOM.-By N. P. Willis. The waters slept. Night's silvery vail hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves With a sost check upon the lulling tide, Forgot the lifting winds: and the long stems Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest. How strikingly the course of nature tells By its light lieed of human suffering, That it was fashioned for a happier world. King David's limbs were weary:

Ile had tied From far Jerusalem: and now he stood With his faint people, for a little space, Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow, To its refreshing breath: for he had worn The mourner's covering, and had not felt That he could see his people until now. They gathered round him on the fresh green bank And spoke their kindly words: and as the sun Rose lip in heaven, he knelt among them there, And bowed his head upon liis hands to pray. Oh when the heart is full,--when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance, And the poor common words of courtesy, Are such a very mockery--bow much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer. He prayed for Israel : and his voice went up Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those, Whose love had been his shield: and his deep tones Grew tremulous. But Oh! for AbsalomFor his estranged misguided Absalom ! The proud bright being who had burst away In all his princely beauty, to defy, The hean that cherished him-for him he poured Strong supplication, and forgave him there, Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.

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The pall was settled. IIe who slept beneath.

With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed beside him: and the jewellel hilt
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blarie,
Rested like mockery on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle, and their chief
The mighty Joab stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall silently,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blada
As if a trumpet rang: but the bent form
Of David entered, and l.e gave command
In a low tone to his fellow followers,
And left him with his head. The King stood still
Till the last echo died then throwing off
The sackcloth from hus brow, and laving back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth

In the resistless eloquence of woe :
“Alas my noble boy! that thou should'st die,

Thon who wert made so beautifully fair ! That death should settle on thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hairHow could he mark thee for the silent tomb

My proud boy Absalom!
Cold is thy brow my son! and I am chill

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee-
Tlow was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp string, yearning to caress thee And hear thy sweet, my father,' from these dumb

And cold lips, Absalom! Che grave hath won thee. I shall hear the voice

Of music, and the voices of the young : And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds llins, out thou no more with thy sweet voice shall conie

To meet me Absalom!
And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet amid death's gathering gloom

To see thee, Absalom! "And now farewell ! 'tis hard to give thee up,

With death so like a gentle slumber o’er ihee; And thy dark sin--oh! I could drink the cup

If from this woe its bitternes: had won thee, May God have called thee like a wanderer home,

My erring Absalom!"

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le covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment o'er his child: then giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer:
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly and composed the pall
Fairly and quietly, and left him there
As it his rest had been a breathing sleep!


FRIENDS and fellow-citizens, of this conflictuous commu. nily:-I'se riz to give you warnin', and ma a political speech, and tell you what I'se gone to talk abont and allude 11—"now, I'd like to have you pay particular attention;" las the preacher says, when the boys are pitchin' beans at his nose) I say a crisis has arrived ;-the wheels of government is stopped ; -- the rudder's unshipped ;-the biler busted ;and we're afloat and the river risin;-our glorious Ship of State, that like a bobtailed gander has so peacefully glided adlown the current of time, has had its harmony disturbed ; and is now driftin' with fearful rapidity towards the shoals and quicksands of diennion, threatenin' to bust everything into flinders, and pick itself up in the end,

a gone goslin. Learken no longer ye worthy denizens of Goose Hollow, Terrapin Neck, Possum Swamp, and adjacent regions, to the siren voice that whispers in your ear the too delusive sound of peace, peace;- for peace has sloped, and flowed to other lands :-or div to the depths of the mighty deep;-or in the emphatic language of Tecumphsorun;

"Gone flickerin through the frogs of other climes,

To aid the miser watcher in his dimes:") or like the great Alexander, who at the battle of Ilunker's Bill, in the cons of dear frantically shrieked out:-*0.

confusion runs riot and anarchy reigns supremest; rise up, then, like pokers in a tater-patch, and fall into ranks; sound the tocsin, blow the drum, and beat the tin-horn-till, the startled echoes, reverberatin' from hill-top to hisl-top, and from gopher-hill to gopher-hill

, shall reach the adamantine hills of New England, and the ferruginions disporitions of Missouri, and the auriferous particles of California, to pick up their ears, and in whispered accents, inquire of her valors: "what's out.

Feller-citizens and the wimmin: I repeat it, to your posts, and from the top-most peak of the Ozark Mountains bid nie. fiance to the hull earth, by hollerin "who's afeard,'' in such thunderin' tones, that quakin with fear, you'll forget what danger is. Don your rusty regimentals, and wipe the flints of your old guns; beat up your scythes and make swords of chem, put on your huntin' shirts, mount your hosses, and

save the nation, or bust.

My dear hearers, and the rest of the boys; time's criticaland every man that's got a soul as big as the white of a "culled pusson's eye, will fight, bleed, and die for his country. Thems the times you want men in the council of the nation you can depend on- —that's me-elect me to Congress, and I'll stick to you through thick and thin, like a lean tick to a nigger's shin. You all know me, I've been fotched up among ye ;-already, on the wings of top-lifted imagination, I fancy I can see you marching up to the polls in solid phalanx, and with shouts that make the earth ring. Hurrah! for Jiin Smith ;-come down on my opponent like a thousand of brick on a rotten pumkin.

But, my devoted constituency, I'm not going to make an electioneerin' speech, I'd scorn the act from the lowest depths of my watch foh,-words are ina lequate to fully portray my feelings towards you, and my love for office. 'All I ask is your votes, and leave everything else with the people ;concluding in the touchin' words of that glorious old martyr in the wax figger bizness;—"Be virtuous and you'll be happy.”

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