remedy the evil as soon as possible. Let the gentleman submit his plan; and, if it is a reasonable one, I doubt not it will be supported by the House.

7. We are next told of the expenses of the war, and that the people will not pay taxes. Why not? Is it a want of capacity? What! with one million tons of shipping, a trade of nearly one hundred million dollars, manufactures of one hundred and fifty million dollars, and agriculture of twice that amount, shall we be told. that the country wants capacity to raise and support ten or fifteen thousand additional regulars?

8. No; it has the ability; that is admitted; but will it have the disposition? Shall we, then, utter this libel on the nation? Where will be found proof of a fact so disgraceful? Is not the course a just and necessary one? If taxes should become necessary, I do not hesitate to say the people will pay cheerfully.

9. I know of only one principle to make a nation great, to produce in this country, not merely the form, but the whole spirit of union; and that is, to protect every citizen in the lawful pursuit of his business. He will then feel that he is backed by his government, that its arm is his arm, and he will rejoice in its increased strength and prosperity. This is the road that all great nations have trod. Protection and patriotism are reciprocal.

10. The gentleman has not failed to touch on the calamity of war, that fruitful source of declamation by which pity becomes the advocate of cowardice; but I know not what we have to do with that subject. If the gentleman desires to repress the gallant ardor of our countrymen by such topics, let me inform him that true courage regards only the cause, that it is just and necessary, and that it despises the pain and danger of war.

11. If he really wishes to promote the cause of humanity, let his eloquence be addressed to Lord Wellesley or

Mr. Percival, and not to the American Congress. Tell them, if they persist in such daring insult and injury to a neutral nation, that, however inclined to peace, it will be bound in honor and interest to resist; that their patience and benevolence, however great, will be exhausted; that the calamity of war will ensue, and that they, in the opinion of wounded humanity, will be answerable for all its devastation and misery. Let melting pity, a regard to the interests of humanity, stay the hand of injustice, and, my life on it, the gentleman will not find it difficult to call off his countrymen from the bloody scenes of war.

12. Again, the gentleman is at a loss to account for what he calls our hatred of England. He asks, "How can we hate the country of Locke, of Newton, Hampden, and Chatham, having the same language and customs as ourselves, and descending from a common ancestry?" Sir, the laws of human affection are uniform. If we have so much to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must be the cause that has overpowered it.

John C. Calhoun.

CXXX.-FLIGHT OF THE FAY.

HE put his acorn helmet on ;

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down:

The corselet-plate that guarded his breast

Was once the wild bee's golden vest;

His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,

Was formed of the wings of butterflies;

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on a ground of green;

And the quivering lance which he brandished bright
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.

2. Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;

He bared his blade of the bent grass blue;
He drove his spurs of the cockle seed,
And away, like a glance of thought, he flew,
To skim the heavens and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

3. The moth-fly, as he shot in air,

Crept under the leaf and hid her there;
The Katy-did forgot its lay,

The prowling gnat fled fast away,
The fell mosquito checked his drone
And folded his wings till the Fay was gone,
And the wily beetle dropped his head,
And fell on the ground as if he were dead;

They crouched them close in the darksome shade,
They quaked all o'er with awe and fear,

For they had felt the blue-bent blade,
And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear.

4. Many a time, on a summer's night,

When the sky was clear and the moon was bright,
They had been roused from the haunted ground
By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound;
They had heard the tiny bugle-horn,

They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string,
When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn
And the nettle shaft through air was borne,
Feathered with down of the hum-bird's wing,
And now they deemed the courier ouphe,
Some hunter sprite of the elfin ground;

And they watched, till they saw him mount the roof

That canopies the world around ;

Then, glad, they left their covert lair,

And freaked about in the midnight air.

5. Up to the vaulted firmament,

His path the fire-fly courser bent,

And, at every gallop, on the wind
He flung a glittering spark behind;
He flies like a feather in the blast,

Till the first light cloud in the heaven is past;
But the shapes of air have begun their work,
And a drizzling mist is round him cast.

6. He cannot see through the mantle murk;
He shivers with cold, but he urges fast,
Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade;
He lashes his steed and spurs amain,

For shadowy hands have twitched the rein,
And flame-shot tongues around him played,
And, near him, many a fiendish eye
Glared with a fell malignity,

And yells of rage and shrieks of fear
Came screaming on his startled ear.

7. His wings are wet around his breast,
The plume hangs dripping from his crest,
His eyes are blurred with the lightning's glare,
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's blare;
But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew,
He thrust before and he struck behind,
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through,
And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind.
Howling, the misty spectres flew ;
They rend the air with frightful cries,
For he has gained the welkin blue,
And the land of clouds beneath him lies.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

"

I

HAD occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston; and, for this purpose, rose at two o'clock in the morning. Everything around was wrapped in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by what seemed, at that hour, the unearthly clank and rush of the train.

2. It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night; the sky was without a cloud, the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral lustre, but little affected by her presence.

3. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day; the Pleiades, just above the horizon, shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the zenith; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovered glories from the naked eye in the south; the steady pointers, far beneath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their sovereign.

4. Such was the glorious spectacle, as I entered the train. As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged.

5. Steadily, the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the east began to kindle.

6. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky;