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Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow,

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating,

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the biyouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act-act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead. Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time
Footprints, that perhaps another,

Şailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

Toll for the master bold,

The high-souled and the brave, Who ruled her like a thing of life

Amid the crested wave! Toll for the hardy crew,

Sons of the storm and blast, Who long the tyrant ocean dared;

But it vanquished them at last.

Toll for the man of God,

Whose hallowed voice of prayer
Rose calm above the stified groan

Of that intense despair !
How precious were those tones,

On that sad verge of life,
Amid the fierce and freezing storm,

And the mountain billows' strife!

Toll for the lover, lost

To the summoned bridal train Bright glows a picture on his breast,

Beneath th' unfathomed main. One from her casement gazeth

Long o'er the misty sea : IIe cometh not, pale maiden

Ilis heart is cold to thee!

Toll for the absent sire,

Who to his home drew near,
To bless a glad, expecting group-

Fond wife, and children dear!
They heap the blazing hearth,

The festal board is spread, But a fearful guest is at the gate;

Room for the sheeted dead!

Toll for the loved and fair,

The whelmed beneath the tide

Tbo brol-on born

sind

Yea, with thy heaviest knell,

From surge to rocky shore,
Toll for the living—not the dead,

Whose mortal woes are o'er

Toll, toll, toll!

O'er breeze and billow free;
And with thy startling lore instruct

Each rover of the sea.
Tell how o'er proudest joys

May swift destruction sweep,
And bid him build his hopes on high-

Lone teacher of the deep!

THE HYPOCHONDRIAC.

Good morning, Doctor ; how do you do? I haint quite so well as I have been ; but I think I'm some better than I was. I don't think that last medicine you gin me did me much good. I had a terrible time with the ear-ache last night; my wife got up and drapt a few draps of Walnut sap into it, and that relieved it some; but I didn't get a wink of sleep till nearly daylight. For nearly a week, Doctor, I've had the worst kind of a narvous head-ache; it has been so bad sometimes that I thought my head would bust open. Oh, dear! I sometimes think that I'm the most afflictedest human that ever lived.

Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I have had every winter for the last fifteen year, has began to pester me agin. (Coughs.) Doctor, do you think you can give me anything that will relieve this desprit pain I have in my side ?

Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of my neck, so that I can't turn my head without turning the hull of my body. (Coughs.)

Oh, dear | Wit'shall I do! I have consulted almost

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the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes I'm so crippled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion.

What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out plowing last week? Why, the weacked old critter, she kept a backing and backing, on till she back'd me right up agiu the colter, and knock'd a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big. (Coughs.)

But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see it was washing-day-and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a little stove-wood-you know we lost our help lately, and my wife has to wash and tend to every thing about the house herself.

I knew it wouldn't be safe for me to go out--as it was a raining at the time-but I thought I'd risk it any how. So I went out, pick’d'up a few chunks of stove-wood, and Has a coming up the steps into the house, when my feet slipp'd from under me, and I fell down as sudden as if I'd been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knockd out three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and my face aint well enouglı yet to make me fit to be seen, specially by the women folks. (Coughs.) Oh, dear! but that aint all, Doctor, I've got fifteen corns on my toes—and I'm afearl I'm a going to have the "yallar janders.” (Coughs.)

THE NATION'S DEAD.

Four hundred thousand men

The brave—the good--the true,
In tangled wood, in mountain glen,
On battle plain, in prison pen,

Lie dead for ine and you !
Four hundred thousand of the brave
Have made our ransomed soil their grave,

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you !

In many a fevered swamp,

By many a black bayou,
In many a cold and frozen camp,
The weary sentinel ceased his tramp,

And died for me and you !
From Western plain to ocean tirle
Are stretched the graves of those who died

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you !

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On many a bloody plain

Their ready swords they drew,
And poured iheir life-blool, like the rain,
A home--a heritage to gain,

To gain for me and you !
Our brothers mustered by our side;
They marched, they fought, and bravely died

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you !
Up many a fortress wall

They charged--those boys in blue--
Mid surging smoke, the volley'al ball;
The bravest were the first to tul!

To fall for me and you !
These noble men--the nation's pride-
Four hundred thousand men have died

For me and you !
Good friend, for me and you!
In treason's prison-hold

Their martyr spirits ore!
To stature like the saints of old,
While amici agonies utold,

They starved for me and you!
The good, the patient, and ine tried,
Four hundred thousand men have died

For me and you!
Good friend, for me and you !
A debt we ne'er can pay

To them is justly due,
And to the nation's latest day
Our children's children still shall say,

“They died for me and you !"
Four hundred thousand of the brave
Made this, our ransomed soil, their grave,

For me and you !
Gouni friend, for me and you !

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