Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres : He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neigh bors!

Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,

By the heavens, he 's free! - than thunder more loud,
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken -
One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,
An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat;
To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
An' they'll not have the luck to catch him ag'in.
Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,
But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must hang.

He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be
In America, darlint, the land of the free.

James Sheridan Le Fanu. Adapted.

THE RAINBOW.

I SOMETIMES have thoughts in my loneliest hours,
That lie on my heart like the dew on the flowers,
Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon

When my heart was as light as a blossom in June;
The green earth was moist with the late-fallen showers,
The breeze fluttered down and blew open the flowers,
While a single white cloud, to its haven of rest
On the white wing of peace, floated off in the west.

As I threw back my tresses to catch the cool breeze,
That scattered the rain-drops and dimpled the seas,
Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled
Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold.
'T was born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth,
It was stretched to the nttermost ends of the earth,

And, fair as an angel, it floated as free,

With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea.

How wide was the sweep of its beautiful wings!
How boundless its circle! how radiant its rings!
If I looked on the sky, 't was suspended in air;
If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was there;
Then forming a girdle, as brilliant and whole
As the thoughts of the rainbow, that circled my
Like the wings of the Deity, calmly unfurled,
It bent from the cloud and encircled the world.

soul

There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives
Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves;
When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose,
Like the innermost leaves of the heart of the rose.
And thus, when the rainbow had passed from the sky,
The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by;
It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove,
All fluttering with pleasure and fluttering with love.

I know that each moment of rapture or pain
But shortens the links in Life's mystical chain;
I know that my form, like that bow from the wave,
Must pass from the earth and lie cold in the grave;
Yet, oh! when Death's shadows my bosom encloud,
When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud,
May Hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold
In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold.

Mrs. Amelia B. Welby.

—on

FREE SPEECH.

My reason for loving a republican form of government, and for preferring it to any other -- to monarchical and despotic governments-is, not that it clothes me with rights which these withhold from me, but that it makes fewer encroachments, than they do, on the rights which God gave me on the divinely appointed scope of man's agency. I prefer, in a word, the republican system because it comes up more nearly to God's system. It is not, then, to the constitutions of my nation and state that I am indebted for the right of free discussion -- though I am thankful for the glorious defence with which those instruments surround that right. No; God himself gave me this right; and a sufficient proof that He did so is to be found in the fact that He requires me to exercise it. Take from the men who compose the church of Christ on earth the right of free discussion, and you disable them for His service. They are now the lame and the dumb and the blind. In vain is it now that you bid them "hold forth the word of life" - in vain that you bid them "not to suffer sin upon a neighbor, but in any wise to rebuke him"-in vain is it that you bid them "go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature." If God made me to be one of his instruments for carrying forward the salvation of the world, then is the right of free discussion among my inherent rights; then may I, must I, speak of sin, any sin, every sin, that comes in my way any sin, every sin, which it is my duty to search out and to assail. When, therefore, this right is called in question, then is the invasion not of something obtained from human convention and human concession, but the invasion of a birthright of that which is as old as our being, and a part of the original man.

Gerrit Smith.

MARGUERITE.

MOCKING little Marguerite!
Artful little Marguerite!

See how she loves to tease me

Just now her words were soft and sweet,
As if she meant to please me;
Yet, look you, if we chance to meet
To-morrow in the village street,

She'll be so cruelly discreet,

Her very looks will freeze me!

Saucy little Marguerite!
Scornful little Marguerite!

She'll sometimes try to charm me;
Or else, her triumph to complete,
With cold disdain alarm me.

And then, with laughter wild and sweet,
She'll taunt me with my own defeat,
Dance round me on bright twinkling feet,
And once again disarm me!

Heartless little Marguerite!
Faithless little Marguerite!

I vow you've so bewitch'd me
That I am more than half inclined
To call your very scornings kind,

And say that, though my peace of mind
Be stolen, you've enrich'd me!

Amelia B. Edwards.

A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME.

WHERE, where will be the birds that sing,
A hundred years to come?

The flowers that now in beauty spring,
A hundred years to come?

The rosy lip, the lofty brow,
The heart that beats so gaily now;
O! where will be love's beaming eye,
Joy's pleasant smile, and sorrow's sigh,
A hundred years to come?

Who'll press for gold the crowded street,
A hundred years to come?

Who'll worship God with willing feet,
A hundred years to come?

Pale, trembling age, and fiery youth,
And childhood, with its heart of truth;
The rich, the poor, on land and sea :
Where will the mighty millions be
A hundred years to come?

We all within our graves shall sleep,
A hundred years to come;
No living soul for us shall weep,
A hundred years to come;

But other men our lands shall till,
And others then our streets shall fill,
While other birds will sing as gay,
And bright the sunshine as to-day,
A hundred years to come.

HAMLET AND HIS MOTHER.

Hamlet. Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you

down,

And let me wring your heart: for so I shall,

If it be made of penetrable stuff;

If damnéd custom have not brazed it so,

That it be proof and bulwark against sense.