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warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his "sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice-" but Jesus Christ-like a God!" If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine.

LXVII. THE HOUR OF DEATH.

FELICIA HEMANS.

1. Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set,—but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

2. Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth.

3. The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth and song and wine;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears-but all are thine.

4. Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee-but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

5. Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set,—but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

6. We know when moons shall wane,

When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain—
But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

7. Is it when spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our path grow pale?

They have one season-all are ours to die.

8. Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home;

And the world calls us forth-and thou art there.

9. Thou art where friend meets friend,

Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

10. Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set,—but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

LXVIII.-MENTAL CULTURE FOR WOMEN.

JAMES T. BRADY.

Extract from an Address delivered in 1858, at a meeting called to devise means for establishing a Woman's Free Library in the city of New York.

1. Much is often said by skeptics-for so I must call them -about this problem, as they denominate it, about this hope, false as they declare it to be, of improving the merit of woman by the culture of her intellect. This often leads to discussions about the comparative mental capacities of men and women, which debates are very learned and eloquent, but never profitable. It can scarcely be wise to speculate upon the results in such a comparison until we have done that which has never yet been performed, until we have afforded woman an opportunity entirely equal to that of man to exhibit the extent to which her capabilities may affect her elevation.

2. When we look at the history of the Old World, we find in Italy, during the period of the Republic, and in the eighteenth century, among the distinguished women who

adorned that lovely land and that interesting era, four professors of learning and art in the Academy at Bologna, the names of two of whom suggest themselves to most of you— the one, professor of Intellectual Philosophy, the other, of Mathematics. The latter was not what some of our enemies call, in token of derision and hate, merely "a blue-stocking," belonging to a class that is supposed to comprehend all the intellectual activity of woman.

3. She possessed rare personal charms and was acknowledged to be the most beautiful woman of her time. Living to the age of eighty, she made the beauty of her features and the charming attractiveness of her person secondary to her moral qualities, in the estimation of those who knew her history, by devoting all the leisure she could draw from her profound studies to works of charity. If the women of that republic and that time could instruct learned men, who considered it a privilege to sit under their teaching, can it be possible that there is no sphere of elevated effort for those of our era, who live in an atmosphere full of intellectual activity, many of whom are panting and striving to take the equal position to which they deem themselves to be entitled?

4. But I pass from individuals to the particular class whose special interest we have at this moment in charge-to those toiling women who, for a scanty reward, dispose of the best part of their mortal existence--the sewing and other operative females of this city. Few of you are well acquainted with their condition. Some of them have homes, humble yet comfortable, and may defy the approach of want. Others have aged parents or relatives, idle and dissolute brothers, or drunken or worthless husbands, depending upon their unaided labors for support; and, I venture to say, upon authority which I can not for a moment doubt, that the number of women thrown out of employment at this moment, in this city, by reasons which unavoidably affect trade, is probably ten thousand. Now there is a class of men in the world from whom, if I say to them that these women must live, I might look for an answer like that given when the same remark was made to the distinguished Talleyrand. "Women must live," said some one, speaking to him. "Live, live!" responded the cynic, "I do not see the necessity of that."

5. Why, ladies, if I may for one moment address myself to you-no, I will say my fellow-men-one of the greatest boasts with which we flatter ourselves, or upon which we justly pride ourselves, is, that American men are gallant; and intelligent foreigners do indeed ascribe to us this quality. It is said that we are especially attentive to woman; that to make her comfortable, to make her happy, to treat her on all occasions with marked politeness, is one of our prominent characteristics. Will you pardon me for saying that this praise is not entirely just? Courtesy and kindness to woman are, indeed, chivalric, but what is the true chivalry of manhood? Is it to attest what we can do for woman in the period of her prosperity? No. It is when, in the period of her adversity, in her sickness, in her poverty, and in her sorrow, even when the world has pronounced against her a dreadful sentence of social outlawry, we accept the challenge then given to our manliness.

6. What is our chivalry to the courage and heroism of those poor girls whom you may see at early morning in the tide that pours down through the principal thoroughfares to the crowded marts and haunts of business! With what heroism do they master the strongest instincts of their nature, overcome the passion for dress, love of admiration, the spirit of rivalry, and the hope of conquest, which employ so much of the time and energies of the more prosperous among their sex, and this, too, amid the pinching throes of poverty! Not the spirited Hebrew maiden, when she stood upon the giddy turret, baffling and defying the ruffian Templar, more sacredly guarded her honor, than does many a half-starved sewing woman in the streets of New York.

7. Women have been made teachers; they can be made teachers, or made to accomplish any thing for which intellect and education are required. But what if they can not? Is it nothing to afford a poor girl the means of enlightening her mind, and elevating her character? Is it nothing to assist her in protecting herself from the corrupting influences of that cheap literature which teaches her false views of society, of life, of ambition, and of destiny? Is it nothing to prepare her for the sphere of wife and mother, which the opponents of our cause profess to regard with such sacred and

religious care? The great Napoleon once asked Madame Campan a question, or rather made to her a suggestion, in this form: "The old systems of instruction are worth nothing; what is wanting, in order that the youth of France may be well educated?" "MOTHERS!" replied she. Here is a system of instruction in one word. Be it, then, your care to know how to train up mothers who, in turn, shall understand how to educate their children.

LXIX.-NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.

ISAAC MCLELLAN.

1. New England's dead! New England's dead!
On every hill they lie;
On every field of strife made red

By bloody victory.

Each valley, where the battle poured

Its red and awful tide,

Beheld the brave New England sword

With slaughter deeply dyed.
Their bones are on the northern hill,
And on the southern plain,
By brook and river, lake and rill,
And by the roaring main.

2. The land is holy where they fought,
And holy where they fell;

For by their blood that land was bought,

The land they loved so well.

Then glory to that valiant band,

The honored saviors of the land!

Oh! few and weak their numbers were,—

A handful of brave men;

But to their God they gave their

prayer,

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