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The Flood of England, Scotland, Ireland, flowed in the same stream, drenched the same field. When the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together; in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited; the green corn of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust; the dew falls from heaven upon their union in the grave! Partakers in every peril; in the glory shall we not be permitted to participate?-and shall we be told, as a requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life-blood was poured out? R. L. Shiel.

CLERICAL WIT.

A PARSON, who a missionary had been,
And hardships and privations oft had seen,
While wandering far on lone and desert strands,
A weary traveller in benighted lands,
Would often picture to his little flock
The terrors of the gibbet and the block;
How martyrs suffer'd in the ancient times,
And what men suffer now in other climes;
And though his words were eloquent and deep,
His hearers oft indulged themselves in sleep.
He marked with sorrow each unconscious nod,
Within the portals of the house of God,
And once this new expedient thought he'd take
In his discourse, to keep the rogues awake—
Said he, "While travelling in a distant state,
I witness'd scenes which I will here relate:
'Twas in a deep, uncultivated wild,

Where noontide glory scarely ever smiled;

Where wolves in hours of midnight darkness howl'd-
Where bears frequented, and where panthers prowl'd;
And, on my word, mosquitoes there were found,
Many of which, I think, would weigh a pound!
More fierce and ravenous than the hungry shark-
They oft were known to climb the trees and bark!"
The audience seem'd taken by surprise-

All started up and rubb'd their wondering eyes;
At such a tale they all were much amazed,
Each drooping lid was in an instant raised,
And we must say, in keeping heads erect,
It had its destinel and desired effect.

But tales like this credulity appall'd;

Next day, the deacons on the pastor call'd,
And begg'd to know how he could ever tell

The foolish falsehoods from his lips that fell.

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Why, sir, "said one, "think what a monstrous weight! Were they as large as you were pleased to state?

You said they'd weigh a pound! It can't be true; We'll not believe it, though 'tis told by you!" "Ah, but it is!" the parson quick replied; "In what I stated you may well confide; Many, I said, sir-and the story's goodIndeed I think that many of them would !"' The deacon saw at once that he was caught, Yet deem'd himself relieved, on second thought. "But then the barking-think of that, good mau ! Such monstrous lies! Explain it if you can!" "Why, that my friend, I can explain with easeThey climbed the bark, sir, when they climbed the trees!"

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.

GREAT King William spread before him
All his stores of wealth untold,-
Diamonds, emeralds, and rubies,
Heaps on heaps of minted gold.
Mournfully he gazed upon it
As it glittered in the sun,
Sighing to himself "Oh! treasure,
Held in care, by sorrow won!
Millions think me rich and happy;
But, alas! before me piled,
I would give thee ten times over
For the slumbers of a child!"

Great King William from his turret
Heard the martial trumpets blow;
Saw the crimson banners floating
Of a countless host below;
Saw their weapons flash in sunlight,
As the squadrons trod the sward;
And he sighed, "Oh, mighty army,
Hear thy miserable lord:
At my word thy legions gather,
At my nod thy captains bend;
But, with all thy power and splendor,
I would give thee for a friend!"

Great King William stood on Windsor,
Looking, from its castled height,
O'er his wide-spread realm of England
Glittering in the morning light;
Looking on the tranquil river
And the forest waving free e;

And he sighed, "Oh! land of beauty,
Fondled by the circling sea,

Mine thou art, but I would yield thee
And be happy, could I gain,

In exchange, a peasant's garden,

And a conscience free from stain !"

Charles Mackay.

THE NIGHT BEFORE EXECUTION.

I SNEERED When I heard the old priest complain
That the doomed seemed voiceless and dull of brain;
For why should the felon be other than dumb
As he stands at the gate of the world to come?
Let them lock up his Reverence here in the cell,
Waiting the sound of the morning bell

That heralds his dying and tolls his knell,
And the tick-tock

Of the great jail clock

Will attract him more than the holiest prayer
That ever was mingled with dungeon air.

Will it never be morning-never arise
The great red sun in the cold gray skies,
Thrusting its rays in my iron-barred cell,
And lighting the city I know so well?
Is this horrible night forever to be-
The phantom I feel, though I cannot see-
Is that to be ever alone with me?

Will the tick-tock

Of the ceaseless clock

Beat forever through brain and heart,
Till the tortured soul from the body part?

And now in the darkness surrounding me
A hundred figures I plainly see;

And there are my mother's pitying eyes-
Why does she from her grave arise?

And there, on the crowd's extremest rim-

Gashed of throat and supple of limb-
Why, what do I want to-day with him?
To the tick-tock

Of the ceaseless clock

His body is swaying, slowly and free,
While his shadowy finger points at me.

Will it never be here-the dawn of the day,
When the law is to carry my life away;
And the gaping crowd, with their pitiless eyes,
Stand eager to see how the doomed one dies?
Nothing to scatter the terrible gloom
That fills up the arched and grated room;
Nothing to herald the hour of doom
But the tick-tock

Of the weariless clock,

And the tread of the tired policeman's feet
As he steadily paces the echoing street.

At last the deep darkness is melting away
At the corpse-like light on the face of the day;
I hear the prisoners in their cells,

I hear the chiming of morning bells,

The rattle of carts in the streets once more,
The careful tread on the stony floor

Of the sheriff, who comes to the grated door,
And the tick-tock

Of the great jail clock,

And the whispered words of the keepers around,
And every whisper a thunder sound.

What mocking is this in the formal demand,
In the mighty name of the law of the land,
For the body of him who is doomed to die
In the face of men, and beneath the sky?
I am safe in your thrall, but pinion me well,—
I might be desperate-who can tell?—

As I march to the sound of the clanging bell,
The tick-tock

Of the great jail clock,

And the voice of the priest as he mumbles a prayer, And the voices that murmur around me there.

THE DEATH PENALTY.

I REGRET, gentlemen, that this question of the abolition of capital punishment-the most important question, perhaps, of all before this body,-comes up at a time when we are little prepared for its discussion. For myself, I have but few words to say on the subject, but they will proceed from convictions profound and long entertained. You have established the inviolability of the domicil: we ask you to establish an inviolability higher and more sacred the inviolability of human life! Gentlemen, a constitution, and above all, a constitution made by France and for France, is necessarily an important step in civilization. If it is not that, it is nothing. Consider, then, this penalty of death. What is it but the special and eternal type of barbarism? Wherever the penalty of death is most in vogue, barbarism prevails. Wherever it is rare, civilization reigns. Gentlemen, these are in disputable facts.

The modification of the penalty was a great forward step. The eighteenth century, to its honor, abolished the torture. The nineteenth century will abolish the death penalty! You may not abolish it to-day. But, doubt not, you will abolish it to-morrow; or else your successors will abolish it. You have inscribed at the head of the preamble of your constitution the words, "IN PRESENCE OF GOD;" and would you begin by depriving that God of the right which to Him only belongs the right of life and death?

Gentlemen, there are three things which are God's, not man's: the irrevocable, the irreparable, the indissoluble. Woe to man if he introduces them into his laws! Sooner or later they will force society to give way under their weight; they derange the equilibrium essential to the security of laws and of morals; they take from human justice its proportions; and then it happens,-think of it, gentlemen!-it happens that the law revolts the conscience!

I have ascended this tribune to say but a word, a decisive word, and it is this: After the Revolution of Feb

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