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It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the forest; It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning!

5. Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain reluctance, As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have

guarded,

"I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell

thee;

I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, John Estaugh."

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6. And John Estaugh made answer, surprised by the words she had spoken,

"Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meekness of spirit;

Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immaculate

whiteness,

Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning.

7. "But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct me. When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor completed

He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the stillness
Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his guid-
ance."

8. Then Elizabeth said, not troubled or wounded in spirit,
"So it is best, John Estaugh. We will not speak of it fur-
ther.

It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-morrow
Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know not
When I shall see thee more; but, if the Lord hath de-

creed it,

Thou wilt return again, to seek me here and to find me." And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others.

9. Meanwhile, John Estaugh departed across the sea, and, de

parting,

Carried, hid in his heart, a secret sacred and precious,
Filling its chambers with fragrance, and seeming to him in

its sweetness

Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the house with its odor.

10. Oh, lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and

waiting!

Oh, lost hours and days in which we might have been

happy!

But the light shone at last, and guided his wavering foot

steps,

And, at last, came the voice, imperative, questionless, certain.

11. Then John Estaugh came back o'er the sea for the gift that was offered,

Better than houses and lands,

the gift of a woman's affec

tion.

And, on the First-Day that followed, he rose in the Silent

Assembly,

Holding in his strong hand a hand that trembled a little,
Promising to be kind and true and faithful in all things.
Such were the marriage-rites of John and Elizabeth Es-
taugh.
H. W. LONGfellow.

CXXI. APPEAL TO THE REPUBLIC.

WHEN we reflect on what has been, and is now,

is

it possible not to feel a profound sense of the responsibility of this republic to all future ages? What vast motives press upon us for lofty efforts! What brilliant prospects invite our enthusiasm! What solemn warnings at once demand our vigilance and moderate our confidence!

2. We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning; - simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect.

3. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary than for the people to preserve what they themselves have created?

4. Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the North, and, moving onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days.

5. Can it be that America, under such circumstances, can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the inscription of whose ruins is, They were, but they are not!" Forbid it, my countrymen; forbid it, Heaven!

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6. I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are, and all you hope to be; resist every project of disunion; resist every encroachment upon your liberties; resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction.

7. I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman, — the love of your offspring; teach them, as they climb your knees or lean upon your bosom, the blessing of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her.

8. I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are, whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death can never come too soon, if necessary in defense of the liberties of your country.

9. I call upon you, old men, for your counsel, your prayers, and your benedictions. May your gray hairs not go down in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection that you have lived in vain. May your last sun not sink in the west upon a nation of slaves.

10. No! I read in the destiny of my country far better hopes, far brighter visions. We who are now assembled here must soon be gathered to the congregation of other days. The time for our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theater of life. May God speed them and theirs. May he, who at the distance of another century shall stand here to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous people. May he have reason to exult as we do! May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth, as well as of poetry, exclaim that here is still his country,

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Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms."

Joseph Story.

CXXII.-ROME AND CARTHAGE.

ROME, like the eagle, her formidable symbol, spreads her wings, displays her powerful talons, seizes the lightning, and takes her flight. Carthage is the sun of the world; it is on Carthage that her eyes are fixed. Carthage is mistress of seas. Carthage is mistress of peoples. She is a magnificent city, full of splendor and opulence, glowing at every point with the strange arts of the Orient.

2. Her inhabitants are polished, refined, finished, and lack nothing that labor, men, and time, can command. In a word, she is the metropolis of Africa, and at the height of her culture; she can mount no higher, and every step onward will now be downward. Rome, on the contrary, has nothing. She is half savage, half barbarous. She has her education and her fortune alike to gain. All is before her; nothing, behind.

3. Long, the two nations are face to face. The one, suns

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