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Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise,
No tear is wept to Thee unknown,

No hair is lost, no sparrow dies !
That Thou canst stay the ruthless hands

Of dark disease, and soothe its pain;
That only by Thy stern commands

The battle's lost, the soldier's slain;
That from the distant sea or land

Thou bring'st the wanderer home again.
And when upon her pillow lone

Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed,
May happier visions beam upon

The brightening current of her breast;
No frowning look or angry tone

Disturb the Sabbath of her rest.
Whatever fate those forms may show,

Loved with a passion almost wild-
By day, by night, in joy or woe--

"By fears oppressed, or hopes beguiled,
From every danger, every foe,

O God, protect my wife and child !


'Twas late in the autumn of '53

That, making some business-like excuso, I left New York, which is home to me,

And went on the cars to Syracuse. Born and cradled in Maiden Lane,

I went to school in Battery Row, Till when, my daily bread to obtain,

They inade me clerk to Muggins & Co. But I belonged to a genteel set

Of clerks with souls above their sphere,
Who, night after night, together met

To feast on intellectual cheer.
We talked of Irving and Bryant and Spratt--

Of Willis, and how much they pay him per page-
Of Sonntag and Jullien and Art, and all that-

And what d'ye call it ?-the Voice of the Age! We wrote little pieces on purling brooks,

And meadow, and zephyr, and sea, and skyThings of which we had seen good descriptions in books,

And the last between houses some sixiy feet high!

Somehow in this way my soul got fired;

I wanted to see and hear and know
The glorious things that our hearts inspired-

The things that sparkle in poetry so!
And I had heard of the dark-browed braves

Of the famous Onondaga race,
Who once paddled the birch o'er Mohawk's waves,

Or swept his shores in war and the chase. I'd see that warrior stern and fleet!

Aye, bowed though he be with oppression's abuse, I'd grasp his hand !--so in Chambers Street

I took my passage for Syracuse. Arrived at last, I gazed upon

The smoke-dried wigwam of the tribe. “The depot, sir,”-suggested one

I smiled to scorn the idle gibe. Then to the baggage-man I cried,

“Oh, point me an Indian chieftain out!" Rudely he grinned as he replied,

“You'll see 'em loafin' all about !" Wounded, I turned--when lo, e'en now

Before me stands the sight I crave!
I know him by his swarthy brow;

It is an Onondaga brave!
I know him by his falcon eye,

His raven tress and mien of pride;
Those dingy draperies, as they fly,

Tell that a great soul throbs inside! No eagle-feathered crown he wears,

Capping in pride his kingly brow; But his crownless hat in grief declares,

“I am an unthroned monarch now !" “Oh, noble son of a royal line!"

I exclaim, as I gaze into his face, “How shall I knit my soul to thine ?

How right the wrongs of thine injured race? What shall I do for thee, glorious one?

To soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires. Speak! and say how the Saxon's son

May atone for the wrongs of his ruthless sires." He speaks! he speaks!--that noble chief!

From his marble lips deep accents come; And I catch the sound of his mighty grief-

"Ple' gi' me tree cent for git some rum!"


I believe in the existence of one Mr. Alcohol, the great head and chief of all manner of vice, the source of ninetenths of all diseases; and I not only believe, but am sure, that when my money is gone and spent, the landlord will stop the tap and turn me out.

I have ten commandments to keep—the same which the landlord and the landlady spake in the bar, saying, we are thy master and thy mistress, who brought thee out of the paths of virtue, placed thee in the ways of vice, and set thy feet on the road which leads to misery, starvation, and eternal destruction:

I. Thou shalt use no other house but mine.

II. Thou shalt not make to thyself any substitute for intoxicating drinks, --such as tea, coffee, ginger-pop, and lemonade ;-for I am a jealous man, wearing the coat that should be on thy back, eating thy children's bread, and pocketing the money which should make thee and thy wife happy all the days of thy life.

III. Thou shalt not use my house in vain.

IV. Remember that thou eat but one meal on the Sabbath. Six days shalt thou drink, and spend all thy money, but the seventh day is the Sabbath, wherein I wash my floors, mend my fires, and make ready for my company the remaining part of the week.

V. Thou shalt honor the landlords, the landladies, and the gin-shops with thy presence, that thy days may be few and miserable in the land wherein thou dwellest.

VI. Thou shalt commit murder, by starving, hungering, and beating thy wife and family.

VII. Thou shalt commit self-destruction.

VIII. Thou shalt sell thy wife's and children's bread, and rob thyself of all thy comforts.

IX. Thou shalt bear false witness when thou speakest of the horrors, saying thou art in good health when laboring under the barrel fever.

X. Thou shalt covet all thy neighbor is possessed of, thou shalt covet his house, his purse, his health, his wealth, and

all that he has got, that thou mayst indulge in drunkenness, help the brewer to buy a new coach, a pair of fine horses, a new dray, and a fine building, that he may live in idleness all his days; likewise to enable the landlord to purchase a new sign to place over his door, with “Licensed to be drunk on the premises " written thereon.

Adapted-from an English publication.


In the good old days when I was young,
Which nobody but myself has sung,
There was in the town where I was born
A boarding-school which was so forlorn,
The townsfolk called it, making merry,
The Female Penitentiary.
The walls were of brick, and high and thin,
And the winter winds howled out and in;
A row of scrawniest locust trees
Stood by the house and creaked their knees;
Another row, in the yard behind,
Had died long since, but still stood, twined
With knotty clothes-line; high in their tops
Were four kite tails and ragged old mops,
As dismal sight as was ever seen.
Some stunted quince trees grew up between,
Mildewed and blue, with but two or three
Quinces a year on each poor old tree;
And these on a tumble-down stone wall,
And a neighbor's yellow cat, were all
That the poor girls saw from morn till night,
For the blinds in front were kept shut tight.
The butcher stopped there but once a week,
And of what he left would never speak;
But the girls who, when they first went in,
Were round and fat, grew hollow and thin;
And no maids, however stout and strong,
Could be hired to stay and work there long;
They went away, and with look of dread,
They crossed themselves if a woril were said
Of how the Miss Grimkins kept their school
Under a cruel, inhuman rule.
At last from a city at the West,
There came a girl not like the rest.

She broke their rules, and she laughed at them:
In vain they tried the tide to stem,
Which filled their school with impudent glee.
She was so rich that they dared not be
As severe with her as they had been
With other girls; so many a sin
They made believe that they did not know,
Till, finally, she could come and go
As much as she liked throughout the town,
And came to be held in great renown
As the girl who had first broken through,
In spite of all that Grimkins could do.
Such suppers at night, such stolen talks,
Such serenades, flirtations, and walks-
Not a boy in town but was her friend,
And would fight her battles to the end.
Aias for human ingratitude!
The poor Miss Grimkins, they got no good
For winking at all her wicked tricks,
And lavishing all their rhetorics
Of flattery on her: quite too well
She understood them; she took an ell
For all the inches they gave, and yet
Resolved at the first chance she could get
She would make of them such laughing-stock
That they would never forget the shock.
The day she chose was the closing day
Of the term, when the Grimkins had a way
Of asking in the old trustees,
Whom of course they much desired to please,
And setting a supper bountiful,
So rich and good that it pulled the wool
Quite over the old trusteemen's eyes,
Who smacked their lips and said, “What a prize
The oldest Miss Grimkins really is !
What lucky girls! How wonderful 'tis
To find a woman so good at books
Who also keeps such excellent cooks.”
All day the smell of the roast and boil
Rose up to the rooms, and poured like oil
On fires of wrath and hunger which raged
In all the girls, and were ill assuaged
By the scraps of pork and withered beans
Which were served for them behind the scenes.
But vengeance they knew was coming soon,
How the moments dragged that afternoon!
By eight o'clock, in all dark lanes,
Boys were to be seen in shouting trains.
Each boy on his shoulder had a bag,
Which seemed so queerly to sway and sag,

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