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He stooped not at the foot-stool stone,
He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne;
Erect he stood amid the ring,
His only words-—"Be just, oh king !"
On Pharaoli's cheek the blood flushed high,
A fire was in bis sullen eye;
Yet on the chief of Israel
No arrow of his thousands fell;
All mute and moveless as the grave
Stood chilled the satrap and the slave.

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“Thou’rt come," at length the monarch spoke,
Haughty and high the words outbroke:
“ Is Israel weary of its lair,
The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare ?
Take back the answer to your band :
Go, reap the wind ; go, plough the sand !
Go vilest of the living vile,
To build the never-ending pile,
Till, darkest of the nameless dead,
The vulture on their flesh is fed !
What better asks the howling slave
Than the base life our bounty gave?”

Shouted in pride the turbaned peers,"
Upclashed to heaven the golden spears.
" King ! thou and thine are doomed !-Behold !"
The prophet spoke-the thunder rolled !
Along the pathway of the sun
Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun.
“Yet there is time,” the prophet said :
He raised his stait--the storm was stayed;
“King! be the word of freedom given :
What art thou, man, to war with Heaven ?"

There came no word—the thunder broke!
Like a huge city's final smoke;-
Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame,

Echoed from earth a hollow roar
Like ocean on the midnight shore !
A sheet of lightning o'er them wheeled,
The solid ground beneath them reeled ;
In dust sank roof and battlement;
Like webs the giant walls were rent;
Red, broad, before his startled gaze
The monarch saw his Egypt blaze.
Still spelled the plague—the flame grew pale ;
Burst from the clouds the charge of hail -
With arrowy keenness, iron weight,
Down poured the ministers of fate;
Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed,
Covered with death the boundless field.

Still swelled the plague-uprose the blast,
The avenger, fit to be the last:
On ocean, river, forest, vale,
Thundered at once the mighty gale.
Before the whirlwind flew the tree,
Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea;
A thousand ships were on the wave-
Where are they?-ask that foaming grave!
Down go the hope, the pride of years,
Down go the myriad mariners;
The riches of earth's richest zone
Gone ! like flash of lightning, gone!

And, lo! that first fierce triumph o'er,
Sweils ocean on the shrinking shore ;
Still onward, onward, dark and wide,
Engulfs the land the furious tide.
Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king,
Thou serpent, rest of fang and sting;
Humbled before the prophet's knee,
lle groaned, “ Be injured Israel free !"
To heaven the sage upraised his wand;
Back rolled the deluge from the land;
Back to its caverns sank the gale;
Fled from the noon the vapors pale ;
Broad burned again the joyous sun:
The hour of wrath and death was done.


MY FRIENDS,- Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest man it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow, wbich may mean every day, or once in seven days, at least. I know that occasionally, in meeting, perhaps, a person confesses that he is a poor, miserable sinner, but you tell that person the same fact, out of doors, and he will get mad and tear round dreadfully. We are all honest, good, conscientious people, my friends, no matter what any body says.

Now, I propose, my friends, to state a few of the things for us to be thankful for when we are in the mood, of course; for when we are not inclined, who can make us give thanks for any thing? We should be thankful that we know more than any body else; for, are we not capable of talking and giving lectures upon every subject ever talked of? I should like to see the male or female in this audience, who didn't know a great deal more than any body has any idea of !

We should be thankful that we are all good looking. Ain't we? Just look around this audience, and see if you can spot” the person who is, in his own estimation, not good looking. It would be a curious study to be sure, to find in what particular some people are good looking; but it's none of our personal business if a man bas carroty hair, eyes like a new moon, nose like a split pear, mouth like a pair of wallc-irons, chin like a Dutch churn, neck like a gander's, and a body like a crow-bar :-comparatively he is good-looking; that is, there are homelier men and animals than he; so everybody is good looking

to be unexceptionable, in all respects; from the fact that we don't work on Sunday, and eat the big dinners which It has made the women-folks almost tired to death to prepare. Who is the person in this room that is not pious ? I do not care to know him for the present.

We should give thanks that our house is, in many respects, superior to our neighbors. True it may not be as big, nor as fine-looking, nor, indeed, as attractive gen. erally; but it is superior, nevertheless, as we always inform any man who wants to purchase:-we should be very thankful that we can turn things so favorably for our own interests.

We shonld be thankful that our teachers, and our editors, and doctors, and lawyers, are such superior men, as we learn they are, when they come to die and have their epitaphs written.

We should be thankful, in fact, that this world was especially created for our own comfort, convenience, and use; that we have a perfect right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,-no matter if these do conflict with some other persons wishes, and happiness, and rights.

I hope you will thank me for this recognition of your good qualities, your rights, your glory; and trust I shall be permitted to say of myself, when I retire, “Here lies an hone

young man."

Le Grand.


Only waiting till the reapers

Have the last sheaf gathered home;
For the summer time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come.
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly

The last ripe hours of my heart,
For the bloom of lifo is withered,

And I lasten to depart.

Only waiting till the angels

Open wide the mystic gate,
At whose fect I long have lingered,

Weary, poor, and desolate.
Even now I hear the footsteps,

And their voices, far away ;
If they call me, I am waiting,

Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the shadows

Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer

of the day's last beam is flown ;
Then from out the gathereil darkness,

Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall glasily

Tread its pathway to the skies.


Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square,

Has made three separate journeys to Paris; And her father assures me, each time she was there,

That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris, Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping, In one continuous round of shopping; Shopping alone and shopping together, Atall hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather, For all manner of things that a woman can put On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot, Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist, Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced, Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow, In front or behind, above or below; Dresses for home, and the street, and the hall, Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall;

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