trigues of Calhoun and his followers and myrmidons have been zealously and indefatigably exerted. For the achievement of this object various leading prints have long toiled without intermission, seeking to exasperate the Southern people by daily efforts of inflammatory eloquence. For the accomplishment of this object they have traduced the North, misrepresented its sentiments, falsified its language, and given a sinister interpretation to every act. For the accomplishment of this object they have stirred up the present excitement on the slave question, and constantly do all in their power to aggravate the feeling of hostility to the North which their hellish arts have engendered. We see the means with which they work, and know the end at which they aim. But we trust their fell designs are not destined to be accomplished.

If, however, the political union of these states is only to be preserved by yielding to the claims set up by the South; if the tie of confederation is of such a kind that the breath of free discussion will inevitably dissolve it; if we can hope to maintain our fraternal connection with our brothers of the South only by dismissing all hope of ultimate freedom to the slave; let the compact be dissolved, rather than submit to such dishonorable, such inhuman terms for its preservation. Dear as the Union is to us, and fervently as we desire that time, while it crumbles the false foundations of other governments, may add stability to that of our happy confederation, yet rather, far rather, would we see it resolve into its original elements to-morrow than that its duration should be effected by any measures so fatal to the principles of freedom as those insisted upon by the South.

Albert Gorton Greene.

BORN in Providence, R. I., 1802. DIED at Cleveland, Ohio, 1868.

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.

[Selected from his Fugitive Verse.]

'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay,

The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

"They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er,
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more;
They come, and to my beard they dare tell me now, that I,
Their own liege lord and master born, that I, ha! ha! must die.

And what is death? I've dared him oft before the Paynim spear,-
Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here?
I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot,—
I'll try his might-I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.

Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin,-
Bid each retainer arm with speed,-call every vassal in,
Up with my banner on the wall,-the banquet board prepare;
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then-the banquet forth was spread

And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread,

While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted wall,

Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed retainers poured,

On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board.
While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate.

"Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine;
There's life and strength in every drop,—thanksgiving to the vine!
Are ye
all there, my vassals true ?—mine eyes are waxing dim;
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.

"You're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword
And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board:
I hear it faintly:-Louder yet!-What clogs my heavy breath?
Up all, and shout for Rudiger, Defiance unto Death!'"

Bowl rang to bowl-steel clang to steel-and rose a deafening cry
That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high:—
"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?-Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!

But I defy him:-let him come!" Down rang the massy cup,
While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half way up;
And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head,
There in his dark, carved oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat, dead.

OLD GRIMES.

OLD Grimes is dead; that good old man

We never shall see more:

He used to wear a long, black coat,

All buttoned down before.

His heart was open as the day,

His feelings all were true;

His hair was some inclined to gray,— He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.

Kind words he ever had for all;
He knew no base design:

His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true:

His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes

He passed securely o'er,

And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.

But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown;

He wore a double-breasted vest;
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert;

He had no malice in his mind,

No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay;

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view,

Nor make a noise, town-meeting days, As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw

In trust to fortune's chances;

But lived (as all his brothers do)

In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,

His peaceful moments ran;
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.

Josiah Quincy.

BORN in Boston, Mass., 1802. DIED at Quincy, Mass., 1882.

SOME FIGURES OF THE PAST.

[Figures of the Past. 1883.]

IN CUPID'S GROVE.

I HAVE mentioned the meeting-house as associated with President

Adams, and as giving character to his native town. But there was another locality in Quincy which was a still more interesting resort for its inhabitants; at least, during the earlier portions of their lives. Among my boyish recollections there is distinctly visible a very pretty hill, which rose from the banks of the river, or what passed for one, and was covered with trees of the original forest growth. This was known as Cupid's Grove; and it had been known under that title for at least three generations, and perhaps from the settlement of the town. The name suggests the purposes to which this sylvan spot was dedicated. It was the resort of the lovers of the vicinage, or of those who, if circumstances favored, might become so. The trunks of the trees were cut and scarred all over with the initials of ladies who were fair and beloved, or who once had been so; for it was then the fashion to pay modest maidens a compliment which would be now thought in very doubtful taste. But, as Shakespeare makes his Orlando-a fine, spirited fellow and very much of a gentleman-cut the name of Rosalind upon every available bit of timber in the forest of Arden, it will not be necessary to apologize for the habits of my contemporaries in this respect. It is sad to mention that poor Cupid has long been driven from his sanctuary, which has suffered violence at the hands of his brother god of heathendom, who has so often gotten the better of him. Plutus strode by that humble hillock, and straightway the grove was cut down and sold for firewood; and not only this, but the little eminence itself was purchased for its gravel, and under that form, as I believe, has been dumped upon the vulgar highway. The fate of Cupid's Grove is typical of that of the romance which was associated with places of this nature in our older

New England towns. In the days when there were no public libraries, no travelling operas, no theatre trains, when, in fact, the one distraction of the week was going to meeting,-who can wonder that the flowery paths leading to the domestic circle were more frequented than at present? In those old times it happened that a certain young lawyer, named John Adams, was wont to visit a good deal at the house of a great-grandfather of mine, who had a large landed estate and several daughters; and the family tradition is that one of these ladies was not wholly uninteresting to the young fellow, who had just begun his struggle with the world. Just what it all amounted to it is impossible to say, at this distance of time; neither would it be well to say it, even if it were possible. The historical facts are that my great-aunt married Ebenezer Storera gentleman of some pretension, who was for forty years treasurer of Harvard College—and that young Adams married Miss Abigail Smith. Eventful years rolled by, and I, a young man, just entering life, was deputed to attend my venerable relative on a visit to the equally venerable ex-President. Both parties were verging upon their ninetieth year. They had met very infrequently, if at all, since the days of their early intimacy. When Mrs. Storer entered the room, the old gentleman's face lighted up, as he exclaimed, with ardor, "What! Madam, shall we not go walk in Cupid's Grove together?" To say the truth, the lady seemed somewhat embarrassed by this utterly unlooked-for salutation. It seemed to hurry her back through the past with such rapidity as fairly to take away her breath. But self-possession came at last, and with it a suspicion of girlish archness, as she replied, "Ah, sir, it would not be the first time that we have walked there!"

A

WEBSTER'S PERSONAL MAGNETISM.

S the present paper has had so much concern with Mr. Webster, I will conclude it by giving an incident which occurred some years afterward, and which will show the overwhelming effect which his mere personal presence wrought upon men. The route between Boston and New York by the way of New Haven had just been opened, and I was occupying a seat with Mr. Webster when the cars stopped at the latter city. Mr. Webster was not quite well, and, saying that he thought it would be prudent to take some brandy, asked me to accompany him in search of it. We accordingly entered a bar-room near the station, and the order was given. The attendant. without looking at his customer, mechanically took a decanter from a shelf behind him and placed it near some glasses on the counter. Just as Webster was about to help him