Till the moon fell out of the heavens,
And the stars with age grew dim.
Oh, the strength of man's devotion!
Oh, the vows a woman speaks!
'Tis years since that blush of rapture
Broke redly over my cheeks.

He found a gold that was brighter
Than that of my floating curls,
And married a cross-eyed widow,
With a dozen grown-up girls.
And I did I pine and languish?
Did I weep my blue eyes sore?
Or break my heart, do you fancy,
For love that was mine no more?

I stand to-night in the meadows,
Where Harry and I stood then,
And the moon has drawn two shadows
Out over the grass again;

And a low voice keeps repeating—

So close to my startled ear

That the shadows melt together-
"I love you, Margery dear.

""Tis not for your cheeks' rich crimson,
And not for your eyes soft blue,
But because your heart is tender
And noble and pure and true."
The voice is dearer than Harry's,
And so I am glad, you see,
He married the cross-eyed widow,
Instead of Margery Lee.

CHARACTER OF HENRY CLAY.-WILLIAM H. SEWARD

Не

He was indeed eloquent-all the world knows that. held the keys to the hearts of his countrymen, and he turned the wards within them with a skill attained by no other master. But eloquence was, nevertheless, only an instrument, and one of many that he used.

His conversation, his gestures, his very look was magiste

And his appliance

rial, persuasive, seductive, irresistible. of all these was courteous, patient, and indefatigable. Defeat only inspired him with new resolution. He divided opposition by his assiduity of address, while he rallied and strengthened his own bands of supporters by the confidence of success which, feeling himself, he easily inspired among his followers.

His affections were high, and pure, and generous, and the chiefest among them was that one which the great Italian poet designated as the charity of native land. In him, that charity was an enduring and overpowering enthusiasm, and it influenced all his sentiments and conduct, rendering him more impartial between conflicting interests and sections than any other statesman who has lived since the Revolu tion.

Thus, with great versatility of talent, and the most catholic equality of favor, he identified every question, whether of domestic administration or foreign policy, with his own great name, and so became a perpetual Tribune of the people. He needed only to pronounce in favor of a measure, or against it, here, and immediately popular enthusiasm, excited as by a magic wand, was felt, overcoming and dissolving all opposition in the Senate chamber.

In this way he wrought a change in our political system that, I think, was not foreseen by its founders. He converted this branch of the legislature from a negative position, or one of equilibrium between the executive and the House of Representatives, into the active, ruling power of the republic. Only time can disclose whether this great innovation shall be beneficent, or even permanent.

Certainly, sir, the great lights of the Senate have set. The obscuration is no less palpable to the country than to us, who are left to grope our uncertain way here, as in a labyrinth, oppressed with self-distrust. The time, too, presents new

embarrassments.

We are rising to another and more sublime stage of national progress-that of expanding wealth and rapid territorial aggrandizement. Our institutions throw a broad shadow across the St. Lawrence, and, stretching beyond the valley of Mexico, reach even to the plains of Central Amer

Ica, while the Sandwich Islands and the shores of China recognize their renovating influence.

Wherever that influence is felt, a desire for protection under those institutions is awakened. Expansion seems to

be regulated, not by any difficulties of resistance, but by the moderation which results from our own internal constitution. No one knows how rapidly that restraint may give way. Who can tell how far or how fast it ought to yield.

Commerce has brought the ancient continents near to us, and created necessities for new positions-perhaps connections or colonies there-and with the trade and friendship of the elder nations, their conflicts and collisions are brought to our doors and to our hearts. Our sympathy kindles or indifference extinguishes, the fires of freedom in foreign lands.

Before we shall be fully conscious that a change is going on in Europe, we may find ourselves once more divided by that eternal line of separation that leaves on the one side those of our citizens who obey the impulses of sympathy, while on the other are found those who submit only to the counsels of prudence. Even prudence will soon be required to decide whether distant regions, east and west, shall come under our own protection, or be left to aggrandize a rapidly spreading domain of hostile despotism.

Sir, who among us is equal to these mighty questions? 1 fear there is no one. Nevertheless, the example of Henry Clay remains for our instruction. His genius has passed to the realms of light, but his virtues still live here for our emulation. With them there will remain, also, the protection and favor of the Most High, if, by the practice of justice and the maintenance of freedom, we shall deserve them. Let, then, the bier pass on. We will follow with sorrow but not without hope, the reverend form that it bears to its final resting-place; and then, when that grave opens at our feet to receive so estimable a treasure, we will invoke the God of our fathers to send us new guides, like him that is now withdrawn, and give us wisdom to obey their instructions.

I WAS WITH GRANT.-BRET HARTE.

"I was with Grant-" the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Say no more,
But rest thee here at my cottage porch,
For thy feet are weary and sore."
"I was with Grant-" the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Nay, no more-
I prithee sit at my frugal board,
And eat of my humble store."

"How fares my boy-my soldier boy,
Of the old Ninth Army Corps?
I warrant he bore him gallantly

In the smoke and the battle's roar."
"I know him not," said the aged man,
"And, as I remarked before,

I was with Grant-" "Nay, nay, I know,"
Said the farmer, "Say no more;

"He fell in battle-I see, alas!

Thou didst smooth these tidings o'er-
Nay; speak the truth, whatever it be,
Though it rend my bosom's core.
"How fell he? with his face to the foe,
Upholding the flag he bore?

Oh, say not that my boy disgraced
The uniform that he wore!"

"I cannot tell," said the aged man,
"And should have remarked before,
That I was with Grant-in Illinois-
Some three years before the war.”

Then the farmer spake him never a word,
But beat with his fist full sore

That aged man who had worked for Grant
Some three years before the war.

LABOR IS WORSHIP.-FRANCES S. OSGOOD.

Pause not to dream of the future before us;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us;
Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus,
Unintermitting, goes up into heaven!

Never the ocean wave falters in flowing;

Never the little seed stops in its growing;

More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

"Labor is worship!"-the robin is singing;
"Labor is worship!"-the wild bee is ringing;
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing

Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower;
From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower;
From the small insect, the rich coral bower;

Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.

Labor is life! 'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth;

Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labor is glory!-the flying cloud lightens;

Only the waving wing changes and brightens;

Idle hearts only the dark future frightens;

Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune.

Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us,

Rest from all petty vexations that meet us,

Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us,
Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill.
Work-and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work-thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow;
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willow;
Work with a stout heart and resolute will!

Labor is health! Lo, the husbandman reaping,
How through his veins goes the life current leaping!
How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping,
True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides.
Labor is wealth! In the sea the pearl groweth;
Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth;
From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth;
Temple and statue the marble block hides.

Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee;
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee;
Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee;

Rest not content in thy darkness-a clod,

Work for some good, be it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly;

Labor! all labor is noble and holy;

Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God.