A PSALM OF THE UNION. God of the Free! upon thy breath ANONYMOUS. Our flag is for the Right unrolled; For Duty still their glories burn, Then shout, beside thine oak, O North ! Together lift the Nation's psalm ! How glorious is our mission here! We look, and lo! a continent Is crouched beneath the Stripes and Stars; Together lift the Nation's psalm! No tyrant's impious step is ours; The blood of all the world is here, And they who strike us, strike the world. Then shout beside thine oak, O North! Together lift the Nation's psalm ! God of the Free! our Nation bless For all the struggling of the Earth : Truth's, Honor's, Freedom's holy light! Together lift the Nation's psalm! THE INDIANS. JOSEPH STORY. There is, in the fate of these unfortunate Indians, much to awken our sympathies, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment; much which may be urged to excuse their own atrocities; much in their characters, which betrays us into an involuntary admiration. What can be more melancholy than their history? By a law of their nature, they seem destined to a slow, but sure extinction. Everywhere, at the approach of the white man, they fade away. We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves of autumn, and they are gone for ever. They pass mournfully by us, and they return no more. Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams and the fires of their councils rose in every valley, from Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the mountains and the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk whistled through the forests; and the hunter's trace and dark encampment star tled the wild beasts in their lairs. The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young listened to the songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants, and gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The aged sat down; but they wept not. They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home prepared for the brave, beyond the western skies. Braver men never lived; truer men never drew the bow. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance, beyond most of the human race. They shrank from no dangers, and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their country, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave. THE AUCTION EXTRAORDINARY. ANONYMOUS. I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, The bachelors grumbled, and said 'twas no use, 'Twas cruel injustice and horrid abuse ; And declared that, to save their own hearts' blood from spill ing, Of such a vile tax they would ne'er pay a shilling. But the rulers determined their scheme to pursue, So they set all the bachelors up at vendue. A crier was sent through the town to and fro, And presently all the old maids of the town, The bachelors all were sold off in a trice; And forty old maidens,- -some younger, some older,Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder! THE POOR MAN AND THE FIEND. A Fiend once met a humble man ANONYMOUS. At night, in the cold, dark street And led him into a palace fair, Where music circled sweet; And light and warmth cheered the wanderer's heart, Till his brain grew mad beneath the joy, Ah! well if he ne'er had knelt to that Fiend, And he said, "One half of thy life on earth And when, from rising till set of sun, Thou hast toiled in the heat or snow, Let thy gains on mine altar an offering be;" The poor man had health, more dear than gold; Stout bone and muscle strong, That neither faint nor weary grew, To toil the June day long; And the Fiend, his god, cried hoarse and loud, "Thy strength thou must forego, Or thou no worshipper art of mine;" Three children blessed the poor man's home- The Fiend beheld their sweet blue eyes, I want an evening sacrifice;" And the poor man ne'er said, "No!" A young wife sat by the poor man's fire, Had gilded his sorrow, and brightened his joys, Foul fall the Fiend! he gave command, Come, mix the cup of woe, Bid thy young wife drain it to the dregs;' Oh! misery now for this poor man! Next the Fiend his godlike Reason took, He pilfered his Soul also; And-marvel of marvels !-he murmured not: The poor man ne'er said, "No!" |