greater: mutatis mutandis, suppose France in possession of the British naval power-and to her the trident must pass, should England be unable to wield it--what would be your condition? What would be the situation of your seaports, and their seafaring inhabitants? Ask Hamburg, Lubeck! Ask Savannah! What, sir, when their privateers are pent up in our harbours by the British bull-dogs: when they receive at our hands every right of hospitality, from which their enemy is excluded; when they capture in our own waters, interdict ed to British armed ships, American vessels; when such is their deportment toward you, under such circumstances, what could you expect if they were the uncontrolled lords of the ocean? Had those privateers at Savannah borne British commissions, or had your shipments of cotton, tobacco, ashes, and what not, to London and Liverpool, been confiscated, and the proceeds poured into the English exchequer, my life upon it, you would never have listened to any miserable, wire-drawn distinctions between "orders and decrees affecting our neutral rights," and "municipal decrees," confiscating, in mass, your whole property: you would have had instant war! The whole land would have blazed out in war. And shall republicans become the instruments of him who has effaced the title of Attila to the "scourge of God?" Yet even Attila, in the fallen fortunes of civilization, had, no doubt, his advocates, his tools, his minions, his parasites, in the very countries that he overrun --sons of that soil, whereon his horse had trod, where grass could never after grow. If perfectly fresh, instead of being as I am, my memory clouded, my intellect stupified, my strength and spirits exhausted, I could not give utterance to that strong detestation which I feel toward (above all other works of the creation) such characters as Gengis, Tamerlane, Kouli Khan, or Bonaparte. My instincts involuntarily revolt at their bare idea-malefactors of the human race, who have ground down man to a mere machine of their impious and bloody ambition! Yet, under all the accumulated wrongs, and insults, and robberies of the last of these chieftains, are we not, in point of fact, about to become a party to his views, a partner in his wars?

But before this miserable force of ten thousand men is raised to take Canada, I beg gentlemen to look at the state of defence at home; to count the cost of the enterprise before it is set on foot, not when it may be too late; wha the best blood of the country shall be spilt, and naught but empty coffers left to pay the cost. Are the bounty lands to be given in Canada? It might lessen my repugnance to that part of the system, to granting these lands, not to these miserable wretches, who sell themselves to slavery for a few dollars, and a glass of gin, but, in fact, to the clerks in our offices, some of whom, with an income of fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars, live at the rate of four or five thousand, and yet grow rich; who, perhaps, at this moment, are making out blank assignments for these land rights. I beseech the house, before they run their heads against this post, Quebec, to count the cost. My word for it, Virginia planters will not be taxed to support such a war-a war which must aggravate their present distresses-in which they have not the remotest interest. Where is the Montgomery, or even the Arnold, or the Burr, who is to march to the Point Levi ?

I call upon those professing to be republicans, to make good the promises held out by their republican predecessors, when they came into power; promises which, for years afterward, they honestly, faithfully fulfilled. We have vaunted of paying off the national debt; of retrenching useless establishments, and yet have now become as infatuated with standing armies, loans, taxes, navies, and war, as ever were the Essex Junto. RANDOLPH.

86.-A FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND.

Our native land-our native vale,-
A long and last adieu ;-
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,
And Cheviot mountains blue !
Farewell ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renown'd in song;
Farewell, ye blithesome braes and meads,
Our hearts have loved so long.
Farewell ye broomy elfin knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow;
Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes
O'erhung with birk and sloe.

The battle mound the Border tower,
That Scotia's annals tell ;-

The martyr's grave-the lover's bower-
To each to all-farewell !

Home of our hearts! - our father's home-
Land of the brave and free!

The sail is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee!

We seek a wild and distant shore
Beyond th' Atlantic main;
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again !

But may dishonour blight our fame,
And quench our household fires,
When we, or ours, forget thy name,
Green island of our sires.

Our native land-our native vale,-
A long, a last adieu ;-
Farewell to bonny Treviotdale,

And Scotland's mountains blue.

She loved, as Roman matron should,
Her hero's spotless name;

She would have calmly seen his blood

Flow on the field of fame;

PRINGLE.

But could not bear to have him die
The sport of each plebeian eye;
To see his stately neck bow'd low
Beneath the headsman's dastard blow.

She brought to him his own bright brand,
She bent a suppliant knee,
And bade him by his own right hand,
Die freeman mid the free.
In vain the Roman fire was cold
Within the fallen warrior's mould :-

Then rose the wife and woman high,
And died to teach him how to die!

"It is not painful, Pætus."-Ay
Such words would Arria say,
And view, with an unalter'd eye,
Her life blood ebb away.
Professor of a purer creed,
Nor scorn nor yet condemn the deed,
Which proved, unaided from above,
The deep reality of love.

Ages since then have swept along;
Arria is but a name ;-

Yet still is woman's love as strong-
Still woman's soul the same,-
Still sooths the mother and the wife
Her cherish'd ones mid care and strife.
" It is not painful, Pætus"-still
Is love's word in the hour of ill.

L

88. THE MARINER'S SONG.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

•

"O! for a soft and gentle wind,"
I heard a fair one cry ;
But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys
The good ship tight and free,
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners,
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free,
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

CUNNINGHAM

89.-ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.

HIGHER, higher will we climb,
Up the mount of glory,
That our names may live through time

In our country's story;
Happy, when her welfare calls,
He who conquers, he who falls.

Deeper, deeper let us toil

In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth, and learning's spoil,
Win from school and college;
Delve we there for richer gems
Than the stars of diadems.

Onward, onward may we press
Through the path of duty;
Virtue is true happiness,
Excellence true beauty.
Minds are of celestial birth,
Make we then a heaven of earth.