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none that does not lead to that! Come the liberty that shall strike off every chain, not only of iron, and iron-law, but of painful constriction, of fear, of enslaving passion, of mad selfwill; the liberty of perfect truth and love, of holy faith and glad obedience!

ORVILLE DEWEY.

SECTION XVI.

I.
86. THE INQUIRY.

VELL me, ye wingèd winds, that round my pathway röar,
Do
ye

not know some spot where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, the weary

soul

may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,

And sighed for pity as it answered—“No." 2. Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play,

Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far ăwāy, Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs,Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ?

The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,

Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer—"No." 3. And thou, serenèst moon, that, with such lovely face,

Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace ;
Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not seen some spot,
Where miserable man might find a happier lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,

And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded—“No."
4. Tell me, my secret soul ;-oh! tell me, Hope and Faith,

Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death ?-
Is there no happy spot, where mortals may be blessed,
Where grief may find a balm, and wearinèss a rest?

Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whispered—“YES, IN
HEAVEN!"

CHARLES MACKAY.

II. 87. THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. SHORT time since, and he, who is the occasion of our A sõrrows, was the ornament of his country. He stood on an eminence, and glory covered him. From that eminence ho has fallen : suddenly, forever fallen. His intercourse with the living world is now ended ; and those who would hereafter find him, must seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is the heart which just now was the seat of friendship ; there, dim and sightless, is the eye, whose rādiant and enlivening orb beamed with intelligence ; and there, closed forever, are those lips, on whose persuasive accents we have so often, and so lately hung with transport!

2. From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there proceeds, methinks, a light, in which it is clearly seen, that those gaudy objects which men pursue are only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the splendor of victory-how humble appears the majesty of grandeur! The bubble, which seemed to have so much solidity, has burst; and we again see, that all below the sun is vanity.

3. True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced, the sad and solemn procession has moved, the badge of mourning has already been decreed, and presently the sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name of Hamilton, and rehearse to the passing traveler his virtues (just tributes of respect, and to the living useful); but to him, möldering in his nărrow and humble habitation, what are they? How vain! how unavailing!

4. Approach, and behold, while I lift from his sepulcher its covering! Ye admirers of his greatness! ye emulous of his talents and his fame! approach and behold him now. How pale! how silent! No martial bands admire the adroitness of his movements; no fascinating thrõng weep, and melt, arch tremble at his eloquence! Amazing chānge! a shroud! a culfin! a nărrow, subterraneous cabin !--this is all that now rcmains of Hamilton! And is this all that remains of Hamilton? During a life so transitory, what lasting monument, then, can our fondèst hopes erect !

5. My brethren, we stand on the borders of an awful gulf, which is swallowing up all things human. And is there, amidst this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, frail, dying man can fasten? Ask tho hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you have been accustomed to revere, and he will tell you. He will tell you, did I say? He has already told you, from his death-bed; and his illumined spirit still whispers from the heavens, with well-known eloquence, the solemn admonition : "Mortals hastening to tho tomb, and once the companions of my pilgrimage, take warning and avoid my errors ; cultivate the virtues I have recommended; choose the Saviour I have chosen : live disin'terestedly ; livo for immortality ; and would you rescue any thing from final dissolution, lay it up in God.”

Nотт. . ELIPHALET Nort, D.D., LL.D., was born in Ashford, Connecticut, in 1773, and passed his youth as a teacher, thereby acquiring tho mcans of educating himself. He received the degree of Master of Arts from Brown University in 1795. Hc soon after established himself as clergyman and principal of an academy at Cherry Valley, in the State of New York. From 1798 to his clection as president of Union College, in 1803, he was pastor of the Presbyterian Church, at Albany, where he delivered a discoursc“On the Death of Hamilton," from which the above extract is taken. In 1854, the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Nott's presidency was celebrated at Union College, at the Commencement in July. Very many graduates assembled, and addresses were delivered by Dr. Wayland of Brown University, and Judge Campbell of New York. Dr. Nott also spoke with his old eloquence. His “ Addresses to Young Men," "Temperance Addresses," and a collection of "Sermons," are his only published volumes. He died in 1866.

;

III.

SW

88. PASS ON, RELENTLESS WORLD..
WIFTER and swifter, day by day,

Down Time's unquiet cŭrrent hurled,
Thou passést on thy restless way,

Tumultuous and unstable world!
Thou passest on! Time hath not seen

Delāy upon thy húrried path;
And prayers and tears alike have been

In vain to stay thy course of wrath!
2. Thou passest on, and with thee go

The loves of youth, the cares of age ;
And smiles and tears, and joy and woe,

Are on thy history's troubled page!

There, every day, like yěsterday,

Writes hopes that end in mockery ;
But who shall tear the veil away

Before the abyss of things to be?
3. Thou passest on, and at thy side,

Even as a shade, Oblivion treads,
And ö’er the dreams of human pride

His misty shroud forever spreads ;
Where all thine iron hand hath traced

Upon that gloomy scroll to-dāy,
With records ages since effaced,-

Like them shall live, like them decāy.
4. Thou passest on, with thee the vain,

Who sport upon thy flaunting blaze,
Pride, framed of dust and folly's train,

Who court thy love, and run thy ways :
But thou and I,—and be it so,-

Press onward to eternity;
Yět not together let us go

To that deep-voiced but shorelèss sea.
5. Thou hast thy friends,—I would have mine ;

Thou hast thy thoughts,-leave me my own;
I kneel not at thy gilded shrine,

I bow not at thy slavish throne :
I see them pass without a sigh,-

They wake no swelling raptures now,
The fierce delights that fire thine eye,

The triumphs of thy haughty brow.
6. Pass on, relentless world! I grieve

No more for all that thou hast riven;
Pass on, in God's name,-only leave

The things thou never yệt hast given,
A heart at ease, a mind at home,

Affections fixed above thy swāy,
Faith set upon a world to come,

And patience through life's little dāy. LUNT. GEORGE LUNT, born at Newburyport, Massachusetts, was graduated at Harvard in 1824; admitted to the bar in 1831 ; practiced for a while at his native place, and since 1848 has pursued the profession in Boston. He published his first volume of poems in 1839, followed in 1843 by “The Age of Gold and other Poems,” and in 1854 by “Lyric Poems, Sonnets, and Miscellanies.” His novel of New England life, entitled “Eastford, or Household Sketches, by Westley Brooke," was also published in 1854,

IV.
89. THE WORLD FOR SALE.

I

THE WORLD FOR SALE !—Hang out the sign ;

Call every traveler here to me:
Who'll buy this brave estate of mine,

And set me from earth’s bondage free ?-
'Tis going !--yěs, I mean to fling

The bauble from my soul ăwāy;
I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring ;-

The World at Auction here to-dāy!
2. It is a glorious thing to see,-

Ah, it has cheated me so sore!
It is not what it seems to be :

For sale! It shall be mine no more.
Come, turn it o'er and view it well ;-

I would not have you purchase dear :
'Tis going! GOING !-I must sell!

Who bids ?– Who'll buy the splendid Tear?
3. Here's WEALTH in glittering heaps of gold ;-

Who bids?—But let me tell you fair,
A baser lot was never sold ;-

Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care ?
And here, spread out in broad domain,

A goodly landscape all may trace ;
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill, and plain ;-

Who'll buy himself a burial-place! 4. Here's LOVE, the dreamy potent spell

That beauty flings around the heart ;
I know its power, alas! too well ;

'Tis going, Love and I must part!
Must part ?- What can I more with Love !

All over the enchanter's reign ;
Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove,-
An hour of bliss,-an age of pain!

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