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mile of the fatal three was safely passed. The apprehensions of the notary had so far subsided, that he even suffered the poor horse to walk up hill; but these apprehensions were suddenly revived again with tenfold violence by a sharp pain in the right side, which seemed to pierce him like a needle.
12. “It is upon me at last'!” groaned the fear-stricken man. “ Heaven be merciful to me, the greatest of, sinners ! , Ana must I die in a ditch after all? He! get up'!-get up'!” And away went horse and rider at full speed", -hurry-scurry', up hill and down',-panting and blowing like a whirlwind. At every leap the pain in the rider's side seemed to increase: At first it was a little point like the prick of a needle'; then it spread to the size of a half-franc piece', then covered a place as large as the palm of your hand.
13. It gained upon him fast. The poor man groaned aloud in agony'; faster and faster sped the horse over the frozen ground"; farther and farther spread the pain over his side'. To complete the dismal picture, the storm commenced,-snow mingled with rain. But snow', and rain', and cold' were naught to him'; for, though his arms and legs were frozen to icicles', he felt it not': the fatal symptom was upon him'; he was doomed to die', —not of cold', but of scarlet fever'!
14. At length, he knew not how, more dead than alive', he reached the gate of the city'. It was now late at night, and only here and there a solitary lamp twinkled from an upper story. But on went the notary -ďown this street and up that'till at last he reached his own door! There was a light in his wife's bedchamber. The good woman came to the window, alarmed at such a knocking, and howling, and clattering at her door so late at night. "Let me in'! let me in'! Quick'! quick'!” he exclaimed, almost breathless from terror and fatigue. “Who are you, that come to disturb a lone woman at this hour of the night ? cried a sharp voice from above. “ Begone about your business', and let quiet people sleep."
15. “Oh, come down and let me in'! I am your husband. Don't you know my voice? Quick, I beseech you; for I am dying here in the street !” After a few moments of delay and a few more words of parley', the door was opened'; and the notary stalked into his domicil', pale and haggard in aspect, and as stiff and straight as a ghost. Cased from hr.d to heel in an armor of ice, as the glare of the lamp fell v un him he looked like a knight-errant mailed in steel. But, one place his armor was broken. On his right side was a rcular spot, as large as the crown of your hat, and about as brack!
16 “My dear wife'!” he exelaimed, with more tenderness
than he had exhibited for many years, “reach me a chair! My hours are numbered'. I am a dead man'!" Alarmed at the exclamations, his wife stripped off his overcoat. Something fell from beneath it and was dashed to pieces on the hearth. the notary's pipe! He placed his hand upon his side, and, lo! it was bare to the skin ! Coat', waistcoat', and linen' were burnt through and through'; and there was a blister on his side as large over as your head | The mystery was soon explained, synıptom and all. The notary had put his pipe into his pocket without knocking out the ashes!
PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE.
1. VOYAGER upon life's sea',
To yourself be true';
“ Paddle your own canoe'!”
Falter nor look back;
the darkest wave
Stem the hardest gale';
You will never fail'.
Keep an aim in view,
“Paddle your own canoe'!"
To the silent shore
To return no more'.
Cheat you of your due';
• Paddle your own canoe !"
4 If your birth denied you wealth',
Lofty state and power',
Are a better dower!
Golden gain pursue;
“Paddle your own canoe !"
From the hand of fate ?
With the good and great ?
“Paddle your own canoe!”
In the world's free fight?
Battle for the right.
The many to the few,
“ Paddle your own canoe!”.
Nothing won is lost';
All you will to do;
“Paddle your own canoe !”
EULOGY ON LA FAYETTE,
BY CHARLES SPRAGUE.
1. While we bring our offerings for the mighty of our own land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of other
shores, who shared with them he hour of weakness and woe? Pile to the clouds the majestic column of glory'; let the lips of those who can speak well hallow each spot where the bones of your bold repose': but forget not those who, with your bold, went out to battle.
2. Among those men of noble daring, there was one, a young and gallant stranger', who left the blushing vine-hills of his delightful France' The people whom he came to succor were not his people'; he knew them only in the story of their wrongs'. He was no mercenary adventurer, striving for the spoil of the vanquished'; the palace acknowledged him for its lord', and the valley yielded him its increase'.
no nameless man, staking life for reputation'; he ranked among nobles', and looked unawed upon kings'. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide a broken heart'; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood'; his kinsmen were about him'; his wife was before him'.
3. Yet from all these he turned away. Like a lofty tree, that shakes down its green glories', to battle with the winter storm', he flung aside the trappings of place and pride, to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He came'; but not in the day of successful rebellion'; not when the new-risen sur of Independence had burst the cloud of time', and careered to its place in the heavens'. He came when darkness curtained the hills', and the tempest was abroad in its anger'; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of beauty'; when fathers were dying', and mothers were weeping over them'; when the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband', and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of her lover'. He came when the brave began to fear the power of man', and the pious began to doubt the favor of God'.
4. It was then that this one joined the ranks of a revolted people. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them', he courted the battle's rage'; with theirs', was lifted'; with theirs', his blood was shed'. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, kind Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and at her pure shrine the pilgrimwarrior, with his adored commander, knelt and worshiped. Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at length rose up, and, crowned with benedictions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home, 5. After nearly fifty years,
come again. Can mortal tongue tell, can mortal heart.
the sublimity of that 10
*coming? Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long, transporting shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undying, to Freedom's farthest mountains. A congregated nation comes around him. Old men bless him', and children reverence him! The lovely come out to look upon him'; the learned deck their halls to greet him'; the rulers of the land rise up to do him homage! How his full heart labors'! He views the rusting trophies of departed days'; he treads upon the high places where his brethren molder'; he bends before the tomb of his “Father';" his words are tears', -the speech of sad remembrance'. But he looks round upon a ransomed land and a joyous race'; he beholds the blessings these trophies secured', for which these brethren died', for which that “Father” lived'; and again his words are tears',--the eloquence of gratitude and joy.
6. Spread forth creation like a map'; bid earth's dread multitude revive'; and of all the pageant splendors that ever glittered to the sun, when looked his burning eye on a sight like this? Of all the myriads that have come and gone, what cherished minion ever ruled an hour like this? Many have struck the redeeming blow for their own freedom; but who, like this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers ? Others have lived in the love of their own people; but who, like this man, has drank his sweet cup of welcome with another? Matchlese chief! of glory's immortal tablets there is one for him, for him alone! Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame of liberty shall guard it, that the generations of men may repeat the name recorded there,—the beloved name of La Fayette.
THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.
BY ALBERT G. GREENE.
1. O’ER a low couch a setting sun
Had thrown its latest ray,
A dying warrior lay,
Whose frame had ne'er been bent
Its iron strength had spent.