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CHARLES MACKAY, a Scottish journalist and poet, born at Perth, March 27, 1814; died in London, Dec. 24, 1889. About 1834 he became connected with the London Morning Chronicle, and was subsequently editor of the Glasgow Argus. He published “ The Salamandrine,” a poem, in 1842; “Legends of the Isles” (1845); “ Voices from the Crowd” (1846), including a popular song entitled “The Good Time Coming;” “Egeria, or the Spirit of Nature" (1850); “The Lump of Gold " (1856). In 1857 he came to the United States on a lecturing tour, and wrote “Life and Liberty in the United States.” From 1862 to 1866 he was the New York correspondent of the London Times. He wrote largely for periodicals, and published numerous volumes of verse and prose, among which are “Voices from the Mountain" (1846); “ Town Lyrics" (1848); “Under Green Leaves ” (1857); “ A Man's Heart” (1860); “Studies from the Antique" (1864); "Under the Blue Sky” (1871); “Lost Beauties of the English Language" (1874); “The Founders of the American Republic ” (1885); “A Dictionary of Lowland Scotch” (1888).


THERE's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray

Of the good time coming.
Cannon-balls may aid the truth,

But thought's a weapon stronger;
We'll win our battle by its aid;-

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coining:
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And Right, not Might, shall be the lord

In the good time coming.
Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,

And be acknowledged stronger;

The proper impulse has been given ;

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:
War in all men's eyes shall be
A monster of iniquity

In the good time coming:
Nations shall not quarrel then

To prove which is the stronger;
Nor slaughter men for glory's sake;-

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:
Hateful rivalries of creed
Shall not make their martyrs bleed

In the good time coming.
Religion shall be shorn of pride,

And flourish all the stronger;
And Charity shall trim her lamp;-

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:
And a poor man's family
Shall not be his misery

In the good time coming.
Every child shall be a help,

To make his right arm stronger;
The happier he the more he has ;-

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming :
Little children shall not toil,
Under or above the soil,

In the good time coming;
But shall play in healthful fields

Till limbs and mind grow stronger;
And everyone shall read and write;

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming;
The people shall be temperate,
And shall love instead of hate,

In the good time coming.
VOL. XIV. -17

They shall use and not abuse,

And make all virtue stronger.
The reformation has begun;-

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming :
Let us aid it all we can,
Every woman, every man,

The good time coming.
Smallest helps, if rightly given,

Make the impulse stronger;
'Twill be strong enough one day;

Wait a little longer,

WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. What might be done if men were wise What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,

Would they unite

In love and right,
And cease their scorn for one another?
Oppression's heart might be imbued
With kindling drops of loving kindness

And knowledge pour

From shore to shore,
Light on the eyes of mental blindness.
All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, ,
All vice and crime might die together;

And wine and corn,

To each man born,
Be free as warmth in summer weather.
The meanest wretch that ever trod,
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,

Might stand erect

In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done? This might be done, And more than this, my suffering brother

More than the tongue

Ever said or sung,
If men were wise and loved each other!



Henry MACKENZIE, a Scottish lawyer and novelist, born at Edinburgh in August, 1745; died there, Jan. 14, 1831. He studied law at Edinburgh and London, and was made Attorney for the Crown at Edinburgh. His first novel, “ The Man of Feeling,” was published anonymously in 1771. His second novel, “The Man of the World," appeared in 1773, and was followed in 1777 by “Julia de Roubigné.” He edited The Mirror and The Lounger, for which he wrote many papers, among which is “ The Story of La Roche.” He wrote political essays in favor of the Government, for which he was in 1804 rewarded with the position of Comptroller of Taxes for Scotland.


(From "The Man of Feeling.") WHEN the stage-coach arrived at the place of its destination, Harley began to consider how he should proceed the remaining part of his journey. He was very civilly accosted by the master of the inn, who offered to accommodate him either with a postchaise or horses, to any distance he had a mind: but as he did things frequently in a way different from what other people call natural, he refused these offers, and set out immediately a-foot, having first put a spare shirt in his pocket, and given directions for the forwarding of his portmanteau. This was a method of traveling which he was accustomed to take ; it saved the trouble of provision for any animal but himself, and left him at liberty to choose his quarters, either at an inn, or at the first cottage in which he saw a face he liked: nay, when he was not peculiarly attracted by the reasonable creation, he would sometimes consort with a species of inferior rank, and lay himself down to sleep by the side of a rock, or on the banks of a rivulet. He did few things without a motive, but his motives were rather eccentric: and the useful and expedient were terms which he held to be very indefinite, and which therefore he did not always apply tz the sense in which they are commonly understood. The sun was now in his decline, and the evening remarkably serene, when he entered a hollow part of the road, which winded between the surrounding banks, and seamed the sward in dif. ferent lines, as the choice of travelers had directed them to tread it. It seemed to be little frequented now, for some of those had partly recovered their former verdure. The scene was such as induced Harley to stand and enjoy it; when, turning round, his notice was attracted by an object, which the fixture of his eye on the spot he walked had before prevented him from observing.

An old man, who from his dress seemed to have been a soldier, lay fast asleep on the ground; a knapsack rested on a stone at his right hand, while his staff and brass-hilted sword were crossed at his left.

Harley looked on him with the most earnest attention. He was one of those figures which Salvator would have drawn; nor was the surrounding scenery unlike the wildness of that painter's back-grounds. The banks on each side were covered with fantastic shrub-wood, and at a little distance, on the top of one of them, stood a finger-post, to mark the directions of two roads which diverged from the point where it was placed. A rock, with some dangling wild flowers, jutted out above where the soldier lay; on which grew the stump of a large tree, white with age, and a single twisted branch shaded his face as he slept. His face had the marks of manly comeliness impaired by time; his forehead was not altogether bald, but his hairs might have been numbered; while a few white locks behind crossed the brown of his neck with a contrast the most venerable to a mind like Harley's. “ Thou art old,” said he to himself, “but age has not brought thee rest for its infirmities: I fear those silver hairs have not found shelter from thy country, though that neck has been bronzed in its service.” The stranger waked. He looked at Harley with the appearance of some confusion: it was a pain the latter knew too well, to think of causing in another; he turned and went on. The old man readjusted his knapsack, and followed in one of the tracks on the opposite side of the road.

When Harley heard the tread of his feet behind him, he could not help stealing back a glance at his fellow-traveler. He seemed to bend under the weight of his knapsack; he halted on his walk, and one of his arms was supported by a sling, and lay motionless across his breast. He had that steady look of sorrow, which indicates that its owner has gazed upon his griefs

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