noblest instincts of our nature? We love the land of our adoption: so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true to both; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrity of the republic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the go'den cord of union! thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shall propose its severance! But no! the Union cannot be dissolved; its fortunes are too brilliant to be marred; its destinies too powerful to be resisted. Here will be their greatest triumph, their most mighty development. And when, a century hence, this Crescent City shall have filled her golden horns;-when within her broad-armed port shall be gathered the products of the industry of a hundred millions of freemen;-when galleries of art and halls of learning shall have made classic this mart of trade;-then may the sons of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the north, stand up on the banks of the Great River, and exclaim, with mingled pride and wonder,-Lo! this is our country;-when did the world ever behold so rich and magnificent a city-so great and glorious a republic! THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.-By Colman. A MEMBER of the Esculapian line lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne: no man could better gild a pill, or make a bdl, or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister; or draw a tooth out of your head; or chatter scandal by your bed; or spread a plaster. His fame full six miles round the country ran; in short, in reputation he was solus: all the old women called him " a fine man!" His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (which oftentimes will genius fetter), read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated thebelles letters." Bolus loved verse; and took so much delight in't, all his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels in dapper couplets, like Gay's Fables, or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras. He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from the town,-it might be four, to whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article-in pharmacy that's called cathartical: and on the label of the stuff he wrote this verse, which one would think was clear enough, and terse, "When taken, To be well shaken." Next morning early Bolus rose, and to the patient's houss he goes, upon his pad, who a vile trick of stumbling had; but he arrived, and gave a tap, between a single and a double rap. The servant lets him in, with dismal face, long as a cour tier's out of place,-portending some disaster. John's counLenance as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked him, and not his master. Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his head, "Indeed!-hum!-ha!-that's very odd!-He took the draught?"-John gave a nod.-"Well? how? what then?-speak out, you dunce!" "Why then," says John, we shook him once.". -"Shook him! how? how?" friend Bolus stammered out.- "We jolted him about." Two "What! shake the patient, man!-why, that won't do." "No, sir," quoth John, "and so we gave him two. shakes! O, luckless verse! 'Twould make the patient worse!" It did so, sir, and so a third we tried."—" Well, and what then?"-"Then, sir, my master-died!” NEW YEAR'S EVE. LITTLE Gretchen, little Gretchen wanders up and down the street; The snow is on her yellow hair, the frost is at her feet. The rows of long, dark houses without look cold and damp, der home is cold and desolate; no smile, no food, no fire, Colder it grows and colder, but she does not feel it now, She could smell the fragrant savor, she could hear what they did say, Then all was darkness once again, the match had burned away. Within the same warm chamber a glorious Christmas tree. When darkness fell around her, for the little match was out. Another, yet another, she has tried-they will not light; And cruel nail-prints in his feet, and in his hands spread wide. And he pointed to the laden board and to the Christmas tree, Then up to the cold sky, and said, "Will Gretchen come with me?" The poor child felt her pulses fail, she felt her eyeballs swim, And a ringing sound was in her ears, like her dead mother's And she folded both her thin white hands, and turned from that bright board, And from the golden gifts, and said, "With thee, with thee, O Lord!" The chilly winter morning breaks up in the dull skies On the city wrapt in vapor, on the spot where Gretchen lies. In her scant and tattered garment, with her back against the wall, She sitteth cold and rigid, she answers to no call. They have lifted her up fearfully, they shuddered as they said, "It was a bitter, bitter night! the child is frozen dead." The angels sang their greeting for one more redeemed from sin; not see How much of happiness there was after that misery. ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. "MOVE my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, Dreaming that again I see Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop, "And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting If that exiled starry banner Should come proudly sailing home, "Massa's berry kind to Pompey; Over yonder Missis sleeping- "Pears like she was watching, Massa, If Pompey should beside him stay; Mebbe she'd remember better How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven While he lived in Tennessee." Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master, In his long-accustomed place. Then a silence fell around them, As they gazed on rock and tree, Pictured in the placid waters Of the rolling Tennessee; Master, dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, Still the south wind fondly lingers Thus he watches cloud-born shadows Softly creeping, aye and ever, To the river's yielding breast. The flag's come back to Tennessee!" "Pompey, hold me on your shoulder, |