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of bed and hugger her! I larfell and hollered, I crowed like a rooster, I danced round there, and I cut up more capers than you ever heerd tell on, till dad thought I was crazy, and got a rope to tie me with. Dad," sez I, I'm goin' to be married 19 “ Married !" bawled dad. Married !” squalled mam. “Married !" screamed aunt Jane. "Yes, married,” sez I; “married all over, married for sure, married like a flash-joined in wedlock, hooked on for life, for worser or for better, for life and for death-to SaLL' I am that very thing-me! Peter Sorghum EsquiRE!"

With that I ups and tells 'em all about it from Alfer to Ermeger! They was all mighty well pleased, and I went to bed as proud as a young rooster with his first spurs.

EXTRACT FROM THE DEDICATORY ODE FOR

TIIE GETTYSBURG NATIONAL CEMETERY, July 1st, 1869.–Bayard Taylor.

After the eyes that looked, the lips that spake
Here, from the shadows of impending death,
Those words of solemn breath,
What voice may fitly break
The silence, doubly hallowed, left by him ?
We can but bow the head, with eyes grown dim,
And as a nation's litany, repeat
The phrase his martyrdom has made complete,
Noble as then, but now more sadly-sweet :
“Let us the Living, rather dedicate
Ourselves to the unfinished work, which they
Thus far advanced so nobly on its way,
And save the periled State!
Let us, upon this field where they, the brave,
Their last full measure of devotion gave,
Ilighly resolve they have not died in vain !-
That, under God, the Nation's later birth
Of Freedom, and the People's gain
Of their own Sovereignty, shall never wane
And perish from the circle of the earth !"
From sneh a perfect text, shall Song aspire
To light its faded fire-
And into wandering music turn
Its virtue, simple, sorrowful and steru ?

His voice all elegies anticipated ;

For whatsoe'er the strain,

Eurth keeps

We hear that one refrain ; ** We consecrate ourselves to them, the consecrated !” After the thunder-storm our heaven is blue; Far off, along the borders of the sky, In silver folds the clouds of battle lie, And round the sweeping circle of your hills With soft consoling sunlight shining through ; The crashing cannon-thrills Have faded from the memory of the air ; And Summer pours from unexhausted fountains Jler bliss on yonder mountains :

no stain where hero-blood was poured : The hörnets

, humming on their wings of lead, Have ceased to sting, their angry swarms are dead, And, harmless in its scabbard, rusts the sword ! Oh, not till now-oh, now we dare, at last, To give our heroes fitting consecration ! Not till the soreness of the strife is past, And Peace hath comforted the weary nation! So long her sad, indignant spirit held Que keen regret, one throb of pain, unequalled, Solong the land about her feet was waste, The ashes of the burning lay upon her. We stood beside their graves with brows abased, Waiting the purer mood to do them honor ! They, through the flames of this dread holocaust, The patriot's wrath, the soldier's ardor lost: They sit above us and above our passion, Disparaged even by our human tears Deholding truth our race, perchance may fashion In the slow judgment of the creeping years. We saw the still reproof upon their faces; We heard them whisper from the shining spaces: ". To-day ye grieve: come not to us with sorrow! Wait for the glad, the reconciled To-morrow! Your grief but clouds the ether where we dwell; Your anger keeps your souls and ours apart: But come with peace and pardon, all is well! And come with love, we touch you, heart to heart! Immortal Brothers, we have heard ! Our lips declare the reconciling word : For Battle taught, that set us face to face, The stubborn temper of the race,

And both, from fields no longer alien, come,
To grander action equally invited-
Marshalled by Learning's trump, by Labor's drum,
In strife that purifies and makes united !
We force to build, the powers that would destroy ;
The muscles, hardened by the sabre's grasp,
Now give our hands a firmer clasp :
We bring not grief to you, but solemn joyi
And feeling you so near,
Look forward with your eyes, divinely clear
To some sublimely-perfect, sacred year.
When sons of fathers whom ye overcame
Forget in mutual pride the partial blame,
And join with us, to set the final crown
Upon your dear renown-
The People's Union in heart and name!

*

This they have done for us who slumber here--
Awake, alive, though now so dumbly sleeping;
Spreading the board, but tasting not its cheer,
Sowing, but never reaping ;
Building, but never sitting in the shade
Of the strong mansion they have made ;
Speaking their word of life with mighty tongue,
But hearing not the echo, million-voiced,
Of brothers who rejoiced,
From all our river-vales and mountains flung?
So take them, Heroes of the songful Past !
Open your ranks, let every shining troop,
Its phantom banners droop,
To hail Earth's noblest martyrs, and her last
Take them, O Fatherland!
Who, dying, conquered in thy name;
And, with a grateful hand,
Inscribe their deeds who took away thy blame-
Give, for their grandest all, thine insullicient fame!
Take them, O God! our Brave,
The glad fulfillers of Thy dread decree ;

< But,

I ask not health, nor even life-
Life! what a curse it's been to me!
I'd rather sink in deepest hell,
Than drink again its misery.

octor, may I not have rum ?
One drop alone is all crave :
Grant this small boon--I ask no more
Then I'll defy-yes e'en the grave ;
Then, without fear, I'll fold my arms,

And bid the monster strike his dart, '. To haste me from this world of woe,

And claim his own-this ruined heart.

“A thousand curses on his head
Who gave me first the poisoned bowl,
Who taught me first this bane to drink-
Drink-death and ruin to my soul.
My soul! oh cruel, horrid thought!
Full well know thy certain fate;
With what instinctive horror shrinks
The spirit from that awsul state!

" Lost-lost-I know forever lost!
To me no ray of hope can come:
My fate is sealed; my doom is
But give me rum; I will have rum.
But, Doctor, don't you see him there?
In that dark corner low he sits ;
See ! how he sports his fiery tongue,
And at me burning brimstone spits !
“Say, don't you see this demon fierce!
Does no one hear? will no one come ?
Oh save me--Silve me I will give-
But rum ! I must have will have rum!
Ah ! now he's gone; once more I'm free:
Ile--the boasting knave and liar-
He said that he would take me off
Down to But there ! my bed's on fire!
"There stands his burning coach of fire ;
IIe smiles and beckons me to come-
What are those words he's written there?
'In hell, we never want for rum!'"
One loud, one piercing shriek was heard ;
One yell rang out upon the air;
One sound, and one alone, came forth-
The victim's cry of wild despair.

Why longer wait ? I'm ripe for liell;
A spirit's sent to bear me down:
There, in the regions of the lost,
I sure will wear a fiery crown.
Damned, I know, without a hope !--
One moment more, and then I'll come ! -
And there I'll quench my awful thirst
With boiling, burning, fiery rum!"

WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S

STAFF.-J. Q. Adams.

TIe sword of Washington! The staff of Franklin! O, Sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these names! Washington, whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's cause! Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and the plouyli share !- What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind! Washington and Franklin! What other two men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom, have left a deeper „mpression of themselves upon the age in which they lived, and upon all after time?

Washington, the warrior and the legislator! In war, contending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for the freedom of the human raceever manifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of humanity ; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countryment, into harmony and union, and giving to that very sworl, now presented to his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus.

Franklin !- The mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, in caily youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to

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