GOD IN HISTORY. 111 posterity calls out to us, from the bosom of the future; the world turns hither its solicitous eyes-all, all conjure us to act wisely, and faithfully, in the relations which we sustain. We can never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us; but by virtue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every good principle and every good habit, we may hope to enjoy the blessing through our day, and to leave it unimpaired to our children. Let us feel deeply how much, of what we are and what we possess, we owe to this liberty, and these institutions of government. Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields bounteously to the hands of industry; the mighty and fruitful ocean is before us, and the skies over our heads shed health and vigor. But what are lands, and seas, and skies, to civilized man, without society, without knowledge, without morals, without religious culture? and how can these be enjoyed, in all their extent, and all their excellence, but under the protection of wise institutions and a free government? Fellow-citizens, there is not one of us here present, who does not, at this moment, and at every moment, experience in his own condition, and in the condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence and the benefits of this liberty, and these institutions. Let us then acknowledge the blessing; let us feel it deeply and powerfully; let us cherish a strong affection for it, and resolve to maintain and perpetuate it. The blood of our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain; the great hope of posterity, let it not be blasted. GOD IN HISTORY.-GEORGE BANCROFT. THAT God rules in the affairs of men is as certain as any truth of physical science. On the great moving power which is from the beginning hangs the world of the senses and the world of thought and action. Eternal wisdom marshals the great procession of the nations, working in patient continuity through the ages, never halting and never abrupt, encompassing all events in its oversight, and ever effecting its will, though mortals may slumber in apathy or oppose with madness. Kings are lifted up or thrown down, nations come and go, republics flourish and wither, dynasties pass away like a tale that is told; but nothing is by chance, though men in their ignorance of causes may think So. The deeds of time are governed, as well as judged, by the decrees of eternity. The caprice of fleeting existences bends to the immovable omnipotence which plants its foot on all the centuries, and has neither change of purpose nor repose. Sometimes, like a messenger through the thick darkness of night, it steps along mysterious ways; but when the hour strikes for a people, or for mankind, to pass into a new form of being, unseen hands draw the bolts from the gates of futurity; an all-subduing influence prepares the mind of men for the coming revolution; those who plan resistance find themselves in conflict with the will of Providence, rather than with human devices; and all hearts and all understandings, most of all the opinions and influences of the unwilling, are wonderfily attracted and compelled to bear forward the change, which becomes more an obedience to the law of universal tule than submission to the arbitrament of man. THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE: OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY."-OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it ah, but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits, Have you ever heard of that, I say? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. Left without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, It should be so built that it couldn' break daown: Is only jest T" make that place uz strong uz the rest." So the Deacon inquired of the village folk The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these; The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum," Last of its timber,-they couldn't sell 'em, Never an ax had seen their chips, And the wedges flew from between their lips, Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, Steel of the finest, bright and blue; Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 113 That was the way he "put her through." "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!" Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Children and grandchildren-where were they? EIGHTEEN HUNDRED;-it came and found And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. FIRST OF NOVEMBER,-the Earthquake-day. But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be,-for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And spring and axle and hub encore. First of November, 'Fifty-five! Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 'Huddup!" said the parson.-Off went they. THE BATTLE. The parson was working his Sunday's text,- End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. THE BATTLE. Ar early dawn of purple morn With muffled sound over the ground, TIBRAS OF IL JNIVERSITY OF CALVORS 115 |