secret which the murderer possesses socn comes to possess him; and like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master;-it betrays his discretion; it breaks down his courage; it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed; it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but in suicide, and suicide is confession.

ARTEMUS WARD'S TRIP TO RICHMOND.
C. F. BROWNE.

It's putty plane to my mind that we earnt tu have Peas as long as the fite goes on. Not much.

The other day I 'pinted myself a committee ov the Whole to go to Richmond an' see ef I coodent convins J. Davis ov the error of his ways, and persuade him to jine the Young Men's Christian Association. Sumthin' must soon be did to have the War stopt, or by the time it's ended the Northern Sympathizers will have no Southern Brethren, or no Constitootion or no Declaration of Injypendence, or no nothing, or anything else. None. Whar cood we procoor G. Washingtons, J. Quincy Jeffersons, Thomas Adamses, and etsettery, to make another Constitootion and so 4th-the larst especi ally? Echo ansers-Whar? That's why the Blacks air taken sich good care ov that instrooment-which reminds me ov a little incident, as A. L. observes.

But, I am goin' to tell you about me trip to the Capitol ov the Southern Conthieveracy. It was a bootiful mornin' that I started; nary a cloud obskewered the Orb ov day, and I rove at the Secesh lines, when a dirty looking Confed. called me" Halt," and pinted a bagonet at me. He arskt me who I was, an' whar I was gone.

46

'My friendly ruff," sez I, "I've just bin up North stealin things an' sich for Jeff. Me an' him air ole pals."

He left me pars.

After traveling a spell, I obsarved a ole house by the roadside, & feelin' faint and thirsty, I entered. The only family

I found at home was a likely lookin' young femail gal, whose Johnny had gone for a solger. She was a weepin' bitterly. "Me putty rose-bud," sez I, "why dost thou weep?"

She made nary answer, but weepedested on. I placed me hand onto her hed, brusht back the Snowy ringlets from her pale brow, an kis-an' passyfied her.

"What cawsed them tears, fare maid?" I arskt again.

Why," sez she, "brother John promist 2 bring me home some Yankee boans to make jewelry, but he had to go an' git killd, & now I won't get ary boan, an'-O it's 2 bad-boohoo-oo-o!"

Yes, it was muchly 2 bad-and more too. A woman's tears brings the undersined, an' for the time bein' I was a rebel sympathizer.

Enny Fathers?"

"Only one. But he's ded. Mother went over to see Unkle Reub."

"Was John a putty good brother?"

“Yes, John was O so kind. His was the only breast I had to repose these weary head onto."

I pitied the maid, and hinted that she might repose her weary head on my Shirt front-an' she reposed. And I was her Brother John for a while, as it were.

Ere we parted, I arskt for a draught of water to squench me thirst, an' the damsel tript gaily out of the door to procure it. As she was gone a considirable period, I lookt out the winder and saw her hoppin' briskly 4th, accompanied by 2 secesh cusses, who war armed to the teeth. I begin to smell as many as two mouses. The "putty dear" had discovered I was a Yankee, an' was goin' to hev me tooken prisoner. I frustrated her plans a few-I leapt out the back winder as quick as a Prestidiguretaterandisch, an' when she entered the domicil, she found "brother John" non ester, (which is Latin or somethin',) and be4 I had proceeded much I found me Time repeter non ester too. The fair maid, who was Floyd's Neace, had hookt it while reposin' on me weskit. It was a hunky watch-a family hair-loom, an' I woodn't have parted with it fer a dollar & sixty-nine cents ($1.69).

In doo corse ov mail I arrov in Richmond. I unfolded me mission, and was ushered into J. Davis's orgust presents. But the result was not as soothing to weak nerves as my hart could wish, and I returned to Washington, disgusted with all peas measures. The sympathizers may do their own dirteatin' in the footer, as they hey done in the parst. Good-by! Adoo! Farewell!

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.-CAROLINE E. NORTON.

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;

But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,

And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And he said, "I never more shall see my own, my native land; Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen-at Bingen on the Rhine. "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around

To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun; And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many

scars:

But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline; And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine! "Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage: For my father was a soldier, and even as a child

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate'er they would but kept my father's sword
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used
to shine,

On the cottage-wall at Bingen-calm Bingen on the Rhine! "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread;

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye.
For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die;
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame;
And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword
and mine,)

For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the Rhine!
"There's another, not a sister; in the happy days gone by,
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in

her eye;

Too innocent for coquetry,-too fond for idle scorning,Oh! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heavi est mourning!

Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen,
My body will be out of pain-my soul be out of prison,)
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along I heard, or seemed to hear,

The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still;

And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, with friendly talk,

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk,

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine:

But we'll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on the Rhine!"

His voice grew faint and hoarser,--his grasp was childish weak,

His eyes put on a dying look,-he sighed and ceased to speak: His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled! The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land—was dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strown; Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

OUR DEFENDERS.-T. BUCHANAN READ.

Our flag on the land and our flag on the ocean,
An angel of peace wheresoever it goes:

Nobly sustained by Columbia's devotion,
The angel of death it shall be to our foes!

True to its native sky

Still shall our eagle fly,

Casting his sentinel glances afar;

Though bearing the olive-branch,
Still in his talons staunch

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Hark to the sound! There's a foe on our border,-
A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom ;
Freemen are rising and marching in order,
Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom.
Rust dinis the harvest-sheen

Of scythe and of sickle keen;

The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar;
Veteran and youth are out,
Swelling the battle-shout,

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyrie,
Our lithe panthers leap from forest and plain;
Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie,
Out of the East roll the waves of the main.
Down from their Northern shores,

Swift as Niagara pours,

They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar; Under the Stripes and Stars,

Each, with the soul of Mars,

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto,

While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave,
The oak of the North, or the Southern palmetto,
Shall shelter no foe except in the grave!

While the Gulf billow breaks,
Echoing the Northern lakes,

And ocean replies unto ocean afar,
Yield we no inch of land

While there's a patriot hand

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

HEZEKIAH STUBBINS' ORATION, JULY FOURTH.

Feller-Citizens of Pine Holler: Fourth of July's come, and we've come to meet him. Here we are, with our cannon, and muskets, and fire-crackers, and squibs, ready to kick up a rusty, or pitch slam-bang into any feller that's got a word to say agin our forefathers, that fit, bled, and died for liberty. (Why don't you cheer me?)

Feller-Citizens: In the name of the martyrs of liberty, who fell supportin' the declaration on the bloody fields of Trafalgar; in the names of Franklin, Washington, and Bonyparte, who, hand in hand, fit the bloody British lion at Monterey; in the name of the mighty eagle himself, who now flaps his wings on the top-rail of creation, I tell you something's got to be did. (Cheer me agin.)

You've got to look at the clock-work of this glorious Union, and see if there ain't a peg out -a jint loose, or the cogs don't want greasin'. You've got to overhaul the conductors you've put on the Union Smoky-lotive, and see if they hain't been