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'A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely, in the North!"

Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead,

And turned to soothe the living still, and bind the wounds which bled.

Look forth once more, Ximena: "Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death

behind;

Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive;

Hide your faces, holy angels! O, thou Christ of God, forgive.” Sink, O Night, among thy mountains! let the cool, gray shadows fall;

Dying brothers, fighting demons,-drop thy curtain over all!
Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle
rolled,
In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold.

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn, and faint, and lacking food;

Over weak and suffering brothers with a tender care they hung, And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue.

Not wholly lost, O Father! is this evil world of ours;
Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eder
flowers;

From its smoking hell of battle Love and Pity send their prayer,
And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air.
John G. Whittier.

PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S SECOND INAUGURAL
ADDRESS.-March 4th, 1865.

FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN:-At this second appearing to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. Then, a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued seemed very fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations

bave constantly been called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented.

The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avoid it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war, seeking to dissolve the Union, and divide the effects by negotiation.

Both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish; and the war came.

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but located in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union by war, while government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same bible, and pray to the same God, and each invokes his aid against the other. It may seem strange that any man should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing his bread from the sweat of other men's faces.

But let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayer of both should not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offences, for

it must needs be that offences come; but woe unto that man by whom the offence cometh."

If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of these offences, which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to him?

Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, that the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.

With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on, to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wound, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphans, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Abraham Lincoln.

TIM TUFF.

Did you ever hear tell of old Timothy Tuff,
And the bargain he struck with Sir Peregrine Muff?
If not, give an ear, and you'll very soon smile
At a very sharp trick of a cunning old file.
Our Tim was a very good fellow, they say,
For making a "deal" in his own sort of way;

So placid in manner, so smooth-tongued and civil,
That he seldom fell out with the very old "divil.”
No matter whatever the business or job,
Or whether he cheated a beggar or "nob,"

His father or brother, or "dear cousin John,"
So long as he minded his great number one.

Tim's conscience, you see, seldom knew any twitches,
Since that was as tough as his buff leather breeches.
And now, peradventure, you'd like me to draw
His portrait, as Tim in the market I saw.

First, then, to begin, he had squinting pig's eyes,
A pug turn-up nose, and a mouth of huge size;

Not pleased with one chin, Timmy always showed two;
And the old wig he wore he once bought of a Jew,-
At a very long credit, if rumor be true.

Now Tim was not short, and Tim was not tall,
No giant in girth, and yet not very small;

A very long coat 'neath a very broad hat,

And a waistcoat once black, but now snuffy and fat,
With a pair of old top-boots once worn by the squire,
Was the "rig" of bald Timmy, the puffer and liar.
Just a word about Timothy's trade: 'twas a robber,
Or something much like it, a run-about jobber.
When pigs were in danger of losing their life
Tim saved the poor creatures by using the knife;
And if an old "jibber" e'er fell in his way,

Tim "chopped" an old "kicker," and made his man pay. No sheep, howe'er "cawded," no lean "skentered" cow, ('Tis true, I declare, what I'm telling you now,)

But turned him in cash as good mutton or beef,
And honest men sold all they could to the thief.

Sir Peregrine Muff was out riding one day,

On a sweet little pony, a dark colored bay;

With a sugar-loaf hat, and a vest of bright yellow,

And a pair of "white ducks," when he met with the fellow. Tim saw, by Sir Peregrine's cut of the coat,

And the tuft that he wore on his chin, like a goat,

By the rings on his fingers, his necktie and pin,

That the dandy young swell was a thing to take in.

So, eyeing Sir Peregrine Muff for a while.

"Good mornin', yer honor," said Tim, with a smile. Sir Peregrine made him a very low bow,

And asked him the price of his "nwice-wooking cwow."

"I'm twi'd of this pwony," Sir Peregrine said,

"And I think I sha' kweep a mwilch cwow in his stwead.

What mwilk will she gwive neow, a-day, if I shwop?"

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'Eight quarts," chuckled Tim, "ef he gees orra drop."

Sir Peregrine thought, as he looked at each feature,

That Crumple appeared such a beautiful creature,
He offered to give Tim the pony he strode
If he would but agree then and there on the road.
Tim's eyes, like the stars on a cold frosty night,
Soon twinkled with joy, and quoth he to the knight,

"Tis hardly enu', yet ef off ee wull zlip,

And," greedily eyeing a silver-knobbed whip,
"Let me ha'e the bridle and zaddle to boot,

And the crittur is yours, and as cheap as the 'groot.'
And, zir, as ez want vor tu git alung quick,
Your whip'll du better, ez thinks, than a stick."
The bargain was struck, and away gallopped Tim,
And laughed in his sleeve at Sir Peregrine's whim;
But as for the baronet, he, in his pride,

Was driving his cow when his maid he espied.
Sir Peregrine's brain, ever given to dream,
Was feasting away on rich visions of cream,

When thus to his dairymaid, "Ma-awy," said he,
"Aw vewy fwine cweature indweed, isn't she?

You'll mwilk her each mworn and you'll mwilk her each eve, Take cware of her Ma-awy, for neow I must leave." "Gude lawks!" screamed the dairymaid; "zir, tez a hox." "Dwear me” drawled Sir Peregrine; "hang the old fox." Edward Capern.

DEAD IN THE STREET.

Under the lamp-light, dead in the street,
Delicate, fair, and only twenty,
There she lies,

Face to the skies,

Starved to death in a city of plenty.
Spurned by all that is pure and sweet,
Passed by busy and careless feet;
Hundreds bent upon folly and pleasure,
Hundreds with plenty of time and leisure,-
Leisure to speed Christ's mission below,
To teach the erring and raise the lowly.
Plenty in Charity's name to show

That life has something divine and holy.

Boasted charms, classical brow,
Delicate features, look at them now;
Look at her lips,- -once they could smile;
Eyes,-well, nevermore shall they beguile;
Nevermore, nevermore words of hers

A blush shall bring to the saintliest face.
She had found, let us hope and trust,
Peace in a higher and better place.