from the heart to the lips of any one of you, that the greatness of that empire may be imperishable, and that the power, and the affluence, and the glory, and above all, the liberties of England may endure forever.-R. L. Sheil, 1844.

AMENDING THE LAWS.

AFTER a long interval of various fortune, and filled with vast events, we are again called to the grand labor of surveying and amending our laws. For this task, it well becomes us to begird ourselves, as the honest representatives of the people. Dispatch and vigor are imperiously demanded; but that deliberation, too, must not be lost sight of, which so mighty an enterprise requires. When we shall have done the work, we may fairly challenge the utmost approval of our constituents; for in none other have they so deep a stake.

In pursuing the course which I now invite you to enter upon, I avow that I look for the co-operation of the King's Government; and on what are my hopes founded? Men gather not grapes from thorns, nor figs from thistles; but that the vine should no longer yield its wonted fruit-that the fig-tree should refuse its natural increase-required a miracle to strike it with barrenness. But, whether I have the support of the ministers or no, to the House I look, with confident expectation, that it will control them, and assist me; if I go too far, checking my progress; if I go too fast, abating my speed; but heartily and honestly helping me, in the best and greatest work which the hands of the law-giver can undertake. The course is clear before us; the race is glorious to run. You have the power of sending your name down through all times, illustrated by deeds of higher fame and more useful import than ever were done within these walls. You saw the greatest warrior of the age-conqueror of Italy— humbler of Germany-terror of the North-you saw him account all his matchless victories poor, compared with the triumph which you are now in a condition to win!-saw him contemn the fickleness of Fortune, while, in despite of her, he could pronounce his memorable boast-"I shall go down to posterity with my code in my hand!" You have vanquished him in the field; strive now to rival him in the sacred arts of peace! Outstrip him as a law-giver, whom, in arms, you overcame ! The lustre of the Regency will be eclipsed by the more solid and enduring splendor of the Reign. The

praise which false courtiers feigned for our Edwards and Harrys-the Justinians of their day-will be the just tribute of the wise and the good, to that monarch under whose sway so mighty an undertaking shall be accomplished. Of a truth, sceptres are chiefly to be envied for that they bestow the power of thus conquering and ruling. It was the boast of Augustus-it formed part of the glare, in which the perfidies" of his earlier years were lost-that he found Rome of brick, and left it of marble; a praise not unworthy a great prince, and to which the present reign has its claims also. But how much nobler will be our sovereign's boast, when he shall have it to say, that he found law dear, and left it cheap; found it a sealed book-left it an open letter; found it the patrimony of the rich-left it the inheritance of the poor; found it the two-edged sword of craft and oppression-left it the staff of honesty, and the shield of innocence! To me, much reflecting on these things, it has always seemed a worthier honor to be the instrument of making you bestir yourselves in this high matter, than to enjoy all that office can bestow-office, of which the patronage would be irksome incumbrance, the emoluments superfluous, to one content with the rest of his industrious fellow citizens, that his own hands minister to his wants; and as for the power supposed to follow it—I have lived nearly half a century, and I have learned that power and place may be severed. But one power I do prize-that of being the advocate of my countrymen here, and their fellow-laborers elsewhere, in those things which concern the best interests of mankind. That power, I know full well, no government can give no change take away!

Lord Brougham.

III.

POETICAL EXTRACTS.

SCOTT AND THE VETERAN.

AN old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, He sought the chief who led him on many a field of fame— The chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes.

"Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of Eighteen Hundred Twelve, when I was at your side?

Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane? 'Tis true I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again."

"Have I forgotten ?" said the chief; "my brave old soldier, No!

And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray,

And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day."

"But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, "The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now;

They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane-our old red, white, and blue;

And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true.

"I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them, one by

one.

Your Minié rifles, and such arms, it ain't worth while to try; I couldn't get the hang of them, but I'll keep my powder dry!"

"God bless you, comrade!" said the chief; "God bless your loyal heart!

But younger men are in the field, and claim to have their part;

They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town,
And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it

down!"

"But, General,”-still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, "I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide; And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I;

So give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!

"If they should fire on Pickens, let the Colonel in command, Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my hand; No odds how hot the cannon smoke, or how the shells may fly;

I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!

"I'm ready, General, so you let a post to me be given, Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest heaven,

And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne, "There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane!'

"And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly,
When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky,
If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face,
My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's place!"
Bayard Taylor.

DULCE PRO PATRIA MORI.

On! it is great for our country to die, when ranks are contending;

Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for ayeGlory that never is dim, shining on with light never endingGlory that never shall fade, never, O never, away!

Oh! it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love,

Wet by a mother's warm tears; they crown him with garlands of roses,

Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above.

Not to the shades shall the youth descend who for country hath perished;

Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile;

There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished; Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral pile.

Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river;

Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue, rolling sea; But on Olympian heights shall dwell the devoted forever; There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant, and free.

Oh! then how great for our country to die-in the front rank to perish,

Firm with our breast to the foe, victory's shout in our ear! Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory cherish;

We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the sweet music to hear.—Percival.

VERY DARK.

Our boys died game. One was ordered to fall in rank. He answered quietly, "I will if I can." His arm hung shattered by his side, and he was bleeding to death. His last words brought tears to the eyes of all around. He murmured, "It grows very dark, mother-very dark." Poor fellow, his thoughts were far away at his peaceful home in Ohio. Cincinnati Gazette.

THE crimson tide was ebbing, and the pulse grew weak and faint,

But the lips of that brave soldier scorned e'en now to make complaint;

“Fall in rank!” a voice called to him,-calm and low was his reply:

"Yes, if I can, I'll do it-I will do it, though I die."

And he murmured, when the life-light had died out to just a spark,

"It is growing very dark, mother-growing very dark."