THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAR.

She prays for her boy-oh! lonely heart

Be strong in the strife to do thy part,

And know that such blessings around thee shed,
Must be like incense upon thy head.

The mantle of her affection warm,

That would shield thee from the pitiless storm,
May be softly folded around thee there,
By the God who hears thy mother's prayer.

She prays for her boy-and thus it will be,
Till her bark goes down Death's tideless sea;
But an echo will linger, yes, even then,
And seek him out in the haunts of men;

It will whisper low of Heaven's wide joy,

Saying, there thy mother yet prays for her boy!

THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAR.-BAYARD TAYLOR.

GUSTY and raw was the morning,

A fog hung over the seas,
And its gray skirts, rolling inland,

Were torn by the mountain trees;
No sound was heard but the dashing
Of waves on the sandy bar,
When Pablo of San Diego

Rode down to the Paso del Mar.

The pescador, out in his shallop,
Gathering his harvest so wide,
Sees the dim bulk of the headland

Loom over the waste of the tide;
He sees, like a white thread, the pathway
Wind round on the terrible wall,

Where the faint, moving speck of the rider
Seems hovering close to its fall!

Stout Pablo of San Diego

Rode down from the hills behind;
With the bells on his gray mule tinkling,
He sang through the fog and wind.

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Under his thick, mi-ted eyebrows,
Twinkled his eye like a star,

And fiercer he sang, as the sea-winds
Drove cold on Paso del Mar.

Now Bernal, the herdsman of Corral,
Had traveled the shore since dawn,
Leaving the ranches behind him—

Good reason he had to be gone!
The blood was still red on his dagger,
The fury was hot in his brain,

And the chill, driving scud of the breakers
Beat thick on his forehead in vain.

With his blanket wrapped gloomily round him,
He mounted the dizzying road,

And the chasms and steeps of the headland
Were slippery and wet, as he trode;
Wild swept the wind of the ocean,
Rolling the fog from afar,

When near him a mule bell came tinkling,
Midway on the Paso del Mar!

"Back!" shouted Bernal full fiercely,

And "Back!" shouted Pablo, in wrath;
As his mule halted, startled and shrinking,
On the perilous line of the path!
The roar of devouring surges

Came up from the breakers' hoarse war; And "Back, or you perish!" cried Bernal, "I turn not on Paso del Mar!"

The gray mule stood firm as the headland
He clutched at the jingling rein,
When Pablo rose up in his saddle,

And smote till he dropped it again,
A wild oath of passion swore Bernal,
And brandished his dagger, still red,
While fiercely stout Pablo leaned forward,
And fought o'er his trusty mule's head.

They fought, till the black wall below them
Shone red through the misty blast;
Stout Pablo then struck, leaning further,
The broad breast of Bernal at last.

OUR STATE.

And, phrensied with pain, the swart herdsman
Closed round him his terrible grasp,
And jerked him, despite of his struggles,
Down from the mule, in his clasp.

They grappled with desperate madness
On the slippery edge of the wall,
They swayed on the brink, and together
Reeled out to the rush of the fall!
A cry of the wildest death anguish
Rang faint through the mist afar,
And the riderless mule went homeward
From the fight of the Paso del Mar!

OUR STATE.

LONG years ago, a little band

Of Pilgrims, from a distant shore, Found a wild home in that cold land

Where the Atlantic's surges roar; They were strong, iron-hearted men, Oppression's stern, unyielding foes; And in each rugged mountain glen

The village church and school-house rose.

Those Pilgrim sires have passed away,

But still they live in deathless fame;

And Pilgrim mothers of that day

Are crowned with an immortal name.
They have departed-but.have left
A glorious legacy behind,

Of which we cannot be bereft

The freedom of the human mind.

We find a new and pleasant home,

From want, and war, and danger free,
Spanned with warm skies and crystal dome,
Laved by Pacific's calmer sea.

The church and school-house, side by side,
Were nurseries of New England men;

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And may they be our boast and pride-
Adorning every golden glen.

Great God thy kind and bounteous care
Hath cast our lot in goodly lands,
With summer skies and valleys fair,

And rivers paved with golden sands.
God of our Fathers! crown and bless
This gold land of Pacific's shore,
With plenty, peace, and happiness,
And liberty, forevermore.

BABIE BELL.-T. B. ALDRICH.

HAVE you not heard the poet tell,
How came the dainty Babie Bell
Into this world of ours?

The gates of heaven were left ajar
With folded hands and dreamy eyes
She wandered out of Paradise!
She saw this planet, like a star,
Hung in the depths of purple even-
Its bridges, running to and fro,
O'er which the white-winged seraphs go,
Bearing the holy dead to heaven!

She touched a bridge of flowers-those feet
So light they did not bend the bells
Of the celestial asphodels!

They fell like dew upon the flowers!
And all the air grew strangely sweet!
And thus came dainty Babie Bell
Into this world of ours!

It came upon us by degrees;

We saw its shadow ere it fell,

The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Babie Bell!

OUR COUNTRY'S ORIGIN.

We shuddered with unlanguaged pain,
And all our thoughts ran into tears!

And all our hopes were changed to fears-
The sunshine into dismal rain!

Aloud we cried in our belief:

"Oh smite us gently, gently, God!
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod,

And perfect grow through grief!"
Ah, how we loved her, God can tell;
Her little heart was cased in ours-
They're broken caskets-Babie Bell!

At last he came, the messenger,

The messenger from unseen lands:
And what did dainty Babie Bell?
She only crossed her little hands!
She only looked more meek and fair!
We parted back her silken hair;
We laid some buds upon her brow-
Death's bride arrayed in flowers!
And thus went dainty Babie Bell
Out of this world of ours!

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OUR COUNTRY'S ORIGIN.-DANIEL WEBSTER.

OUR fathers came hither to a land from which they were never to return. Hither they had brought, and here they were to fix their hopes, their attachments, and their objects. Some natural tears they shed, as they left the pleasant abodes of their fathers, and some emotions they suppressed when the white cliffs of their native country, now seen for the last time, grew dim to their sight.

A new existence awaited them here; and when they saw these shores, rough, cold, barbarous, and barren, as then they were, they beheld their country. Before they reached the shore, they had established the elements of a social system, and at a much earlier period had settled their forms of religious worship. At