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The Ordinance of 1787
The Constitution of the United States.
France and America 1524-1783..
Marquette's journal of his first visit to the Mississippi.
The Patriot war
Anthony Wayne and the Battle of Fallen Timbers.
The political campaign of 1840
The story of emancipation

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An old time trip
Legends of Indian history in the Saginaw valley.
Incidents in the early history of the Saginaw valley.
A trip from Rome, N. Y., to Mackinaw in territorial days.
Sketches of the northwest
The log school house era (Parts of).
St. Mary's river and Sault Ste. Marie.
Destruction of the forests of southern Michigan.
Revolutionary days; or Detroit in 1796..
A tale of two cities
Log cabin times and log cabin people.
Alexis St. Martin of Mackinaw..
Cadillac's description of Michigan in 1702.

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James B. Angell.

We should cherish with the highest respect the memory of the founders of this State. Among them were many of the most intelligent and enterprising men and women of Ohio, New York, New England, and Virginia. The men who drafted the first constitution of the State were men of large views and broad statesmanship. The friends of the educational system of Michigan should be especially grateful to the authors of the constitutional article on education. Isaac E. Crary of Marshall, a graduate of Trinity College, Connecticut, drafted that article, after much consultation with Rev. John D. Pierce, a graduate of Brown University, who was afterwards the first Superintendent of Public Instruction in this State. Thanks to the wisdom of the fathers and to the generous love of education cherished by their successors, the school children of our day can see the path open to them through the district school and higher schools, to the normal schools, the agricultural college, the mining school, and the University, at moderate expense. No state is better provided than Michigan with facilities for every child to obtain an education which will fit him for any position in life.

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Do they miss me at home, do they miss me?
'Twould be an assurance most dear,
To know that this moment some lov'd one
Were saying, “I wish he were here;”
To feel that the group at the fireside
Were thinking of me as I roam;
Oh, yes, 'twould be joy beyond measure
To know that they miss me at home,
To know that they miss me at home.
When twilight approaches, the season
That ever is sacred to song,
Does someone repeat my name over,
And sigh that I tarry so long?
And is there a chord in the music,
That, missed when my voice is away,
And a chord in each heart that awaketh
Regret at my wearisome stay?
Regret at my wearisome stay?
Do they set me a chair at the table,
When evening's home pleasures are nigh,
When the candles are lit in the parlor,
And the stars in the calm, azure sky?
And when the "good nights” are repeated,
And all lay them down to their sleep,
Do they think of the absent, and waft me
A whispered "good night” while they weep?
A whispered “good night” while they weep?

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me
At morning, at noon, or at night?
And lingers one gloomy shade round them
That only my presence can light?
And joys less invitingly welcome,
And pleasures less hale than before,
Because one is missed from the circle,
Because I am with them no more?
Because I am with them no more?

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"Oh, keep the sword!”—his accents broke

A smile and he was dead-
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade

Upon the dying bed.
The son remains; the sword remains-

Its glory growing still-
And twenty millions bless the sire,

And sword of Bunker Hill.


Charles Kingsley.

Three fishers went sailing out into the west,
Out into the west as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's littie to earn, and many to keep;

Tho' the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and brown;
But men must work, and women must weep,
Tho'storms be sudden and waters deep;

And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands,
For those who will never come back to the town;
For men must work and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,

And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

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