miraculous energy of imprisoned fire. Of the rich exuberance of our plenty we may impart with a world-wide charity; and ocean smiles to transport upon her bosom the messengers freighted with salvation to the famine-stricken millions of slavery-blasted Ireland!

KOSSUTH IN MASSACHUSETTS.

·A. Burlingame.

OUR first invitation found him beyond the Alleghanies with the free sons of the West, he had then visited the chief cities along the Atlantic slope. Since then, he has made the wide circuit of the republic, everywhere pouring out his life into the great bosom of the people, filling it with the loftiest sentiments. He kindled the bold spirit of our western land into a flame of enthusiasm. He laid his hand tenderly upon the fiery heart of the South, and soothed it into sympathy. This he did before he turned his feet toward New England; and many of his friends, in this home of his friends, feared because of the long interval between his arrival in the country and his visit here that the original interest awakened by the story of his heroic life might have somewhat declined; but the shouts of the people with which he is greeted — rising, as they do here to-night, like the voice of many waters — tell us that the interest in himself and country has rather deepened than diminished.

He does not feel the breeze from the distant prairies, or enjoy the fragrance of the magnolia's blossoms; but here, on these cold hills, and by this stormy sea, he has found hearts as God made them, open to the reception of truth, and responsive to the voice of humanity. And why is it that this people-taught from the cradle to the grave to conserve its own dignity—gives itself with child-like confidence to the voice of this one man, and he a stranger? Is it blind adoration of that form, not yet quite wasted by the dungeon or broken by the toils of a struggling life, for that which may be cold in an hour? No! no! It is because eternal truth dwells on those lips; it is because those eyes beam with the effulgence of principles which shall flourish in immortal vigor when all

men are in the dust. But, gentlemen, I shall not give wing to speech, or do anything to break the delicious spell which now enthralls you. I leave you to the charms of the serene eloquence you have heard, feeling that its mournful melody will linger in your memories like the recollections of some grand old song, long after the voice which made it shall have died away!

THE PATRIOT'S HOPE.-T. Ewing.

OUR republic has long been a theme of speculation among the savans of Europe. They profess to have cast its horoscope; and fifty years was fixed upon by many as the utmost limit of its duration. But those years passed by, and beheld us a united and happy people; our political atmosphere agitated by no storm, and scarce a cloud to obscure the serenity of our horizon; all of the present was prosperity, all of the future hope. True, upon the day of that anniversary two venerated fathers of our freedom and of our country fell; but they sunk calmly to rest, in the maturity of years and in the fulness of time, and their simultaneous departure, on that day of jubilee, for another and a better world, was hailed by our nation as a propitious sign, sent to us from heaven. Wandering, the other day, in the alcoves of the library, I accidentally opened a volume containing the orations delivered by many distinguished men on that solemn occasion, and I noted some expressions of a few who now sit in this hall, which are deep-fraught with the then prevailing, I may say universal feeling. It is inquired by one, "Is this the effect of accident or blind chance, or has that God who holds in his hand the destiny of nations and of men designed these things as an evidence of the permanence and perpetuity of our institutions?" Another says, "Is it not stamped with the seal of divinity?" And a third, descanting on the prospects, bright and glorious, which opened on our beloved country, says, Auspicious omens cheer us!"

Yet it would have required but a tinge of superstitious gloom to have drawn from that event darker forebodings of that which

was to come. In our primitive wilds, where the order of nature is unbroken by the hand of man, there, where majestic trees arise, spread forth their branches, live out their age, and decline, sometimes will a patriarchal plant, which has stood for centuries the winds and storms, fall when no breeze agitates a leaf of the trees that surround it. And when, in the calm stillness of a summer's noon, the solitary woodsman hears on either hand the heavy crash of huge, branchless trunks, falling by their own weight to the earth whence they sprung, prescient of the future, he foresees the whirlwind at hand, which shall sweep through the forest, break its strongest stems, upturn its deepest roots, and strew in the dust its tallest, proudest heads. But I am none of those who indulge in gloomy anticipation. I do not despair of the republic. My trust is strong, that the gallant ship, in which all our hopes are embarked, will yet outride the storm; saved alike from the breakers and billows of disunion, and the greedy whirlpool, the all-ingulfing maelstroom, of executive power; that, unbroken, if not unharmed, she may pursue her prosperous voyage far down the stream of time; and that the banner of our country, which now waves over us so proudly, will still float in triumph, borne on the wings of heaven, fanned by the breath of fame, every stripe bright and unsullied, every star fixed in its sphere, ages after each of us now here shall have ceased to gaze on its majestic folds forever!

DEATHS OF ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. E. Everett.

THE jubilee of America is turned into mourning. Its joy is mingled with sadness; its silver trumpet breathes a mingled strain. Henceforward and forever, while America exists among the nations of the earth, the first emotion on the Fourth of July shall be of joy and triumph in the great event which immortalizes the day, the second shall be one of chastised and tender recollection of the venerable men who departed on the morning of the jubilee. This mingled emotion of triumph and sadness has sealed the moral beauty and sublimity of our great anniversary. In the simple

commemoration of a victorious political achievement, there seems not enough to occupy all our purest and best feelings. The Fourth of July was before a day of unshaded triumph, exultation, and national pride; but the angel of death has mingled in the all-glorious pageant, to teach us we are men. Had our venerated fathers left us on any other day, the day of the united departure of two such men would henceforward have been remembered but as a day of mourning. But now, while their decease has gently chastened the exultations of the triumphant festival, the banner of independence will wave cheerfully over the spot where they repose. The whole nation feels, as with one heart, that since it must sooner or later have been bereaved of its revered fathers, it could not have wished that any other had been the day of their decease. Our anniversary festival was before triumphant; it is now triumphant and sacred. It before called out the young and ardent to join in the public rejoicings; it now also speaks, in a touching voice, to the retired, to the gray-headed, to the mild and peaceful spirits, to the whole family of sober freemen. With some appeal of joy, of admiration, of tenderness, it henceforth addresses every American heart. It is henceforward what the dying Adams pronounced it, a great and a good day. It is full of greatness, and full of goodness. It is absolute and complete. The death of the men who declared our independence their death on the day of the jubilee was all that was wanting to the Fourth of July. To die on that day, and to die together, was all that was wanting to Jefferson and Adams.

Think not, fellow-citizens, that, in the mere formal discharge of my duty this day, I would overrate the melancholy interest of the great occasion. Heaven knows I do anything but intentionally overrate it. I labor only for words to do justice to your feelings and to mine. I can say nothing which does not sound as cold, as tame, and as inadequate, to myself as to you. The theme is too great and too surprising, the men are too great and good, to be spoken of in this cursory manner. There is too much in the contemplation of their united characters, their services, the day and coïncidence of their death, to be properly described, or to be fully

felt at once. I dare not come here and dismiss, in a few summary paragraphs, the characters of men who have filled such a space in the history of their age. It would be a disrespectful familiarity with men of their lofty spirits, their rich endowments, their deep. counsels and wise measures, their long and honorable lives, to endeavor thus to weigh and estimate them. I feel the mournful contrast in the fortunes of the first and best of men, that after a life in the highest walks of usefulness; after conferring benefits, not merely on a neighborhood, a city, or even a state, but on a whole continent, and a posterity of kindred men; after having stood in the first estimation for talents, services and influence, among millions of fellow-citizens, a day should come which closes all up, pronounces a brief blessing on their memory; gives an hour to the actions of a crowded life; describes in a sentence what it took years to bring to pass, and what is destined for years and ages to continue and operate on posterity; forces into a few words the riches of busy days of action and weary nights of meditation; passes forgetfully over many traits of character, many counsels and measures, which it cost, perhaps, years of discipline and effort to mature; utters a funeral prayer, chants a mournful anthem, and then dismisses all into the dark chambers of death and forgetfulness.

GENIUS.-H. Giles.

GENIUS, to enjoy and to communicate happy and exalting life, must have union with the moral and the spiritual, — with the truth which they inspire, with the beauty which they sanctify. These belong to the soul's moral and progressive being; and these, good and fair forever, no genius can exhaust, and no genius can transcend. Genius, therefore, to ask in freedom, and in a right direction, must be of faith, and love, and hope: of the faith which can reverence and can trust; of the love which can receive and give; of the hope which faith and love sustain, which gleams cheeringly over the path of humanity, and which, by large sympathy, has