n' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?
So John P.
Robinson he
Sez he shall vote for Gineral C.--LOWELL.

WOMAN

Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung,
Not she denied him with unholy tongue;
She, while apostles shrank, could dangers brave,
Last at the cross and earliest at the grave.--BARRETT.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depths of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.--TENNYSON.

No nation which did not contemplate this wonderful universe
with an awe-stricken and reverential belief that there was a
great unknown, omnipotent, and all-wise and all-just Being,
superintending all men in it, and all interests in it--no
nation ever came to very much, nor did any man either, who
forgot that. If a man did forget that, he forgot the most
important part of his mission in this world.--CARLYLE.

GOLDSMITH

Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like--but
merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes
out of our life and goes to render his account beyond it.
Think of the poor pensioners weeping at his grave; think of
the noble spirits that admired and deplored him; think of the
righteous pen that wrote his epitaph--and the wonderful and
unanimous response of affection with which the world has paid
the love he gave it. His humor delighting us still; his song
fresh and beautiful as when he first charmed with it; his
words in all our mouths; his very weaknesses beloved and
familiar--his benevolent spirit seems still to smile upon us;
to do gentle kindnesses; to succor with sweet charity; to
caress, to soothe, and forgive; to plead with the fortunate
for the unhappy and the poor--THACKERAY.

We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our