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wilderness “where rolls the Oregon,” and but recently heard no sound, “save his own dashings.” Even the wall of Chinese exclusiveness has been broken down, and the Children of the Sun have come forth to view the splendor of her achievements.

But, flattering as has been the past, satisfactory as is the present, it is but a foretaste of the future. It is a trite saying, that we live in an age of great events. Nothing can be more true. But the greatest of all events of the present age is at hand. It needs not the gift of prophecy to predict, that the course of the world's trade is destined soon to be changed. But a few years can elapse before the commerce of Asia and the Islands of the Pacific, instead of pursuing the ocean track, by way of Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope, or even taking the shorter route of the Isthmus of Darien or the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, will enter the Golden Gate of California, and deposit its riches in the lap of our own city. Hence, on bars of iron, and propelled by steam, it will ascend the mountains and traverse the desert; and, having again reached the confines of civilization, will be distributed, through a thousand channels, to every portion of the Union and of Europe. New York will then become what London now is, the great central point of exchange, the heart of trade, the force of whose contraction and expansion will be felt throughout every artery of the commercial world; and San Francisco will then stand the second city of America. Is this visionary 3 Twenty years will determine.

The world is interested in our success; for a fresh field is opened to its commerce, and a new avenue to the civilization and progress of the human race. Let us, then, endeavor to realize the hopes of Americans, and the expectations of the world. Let us not only be united amongst ourselves, for our own local welfare, but let us strive to cement the common bonds of brotherhood of the whole Union. In our relations to the Federal Government, let us know no South, no North, no East, no West. Wherever American liberty flourishes, let that be our common country ! Wherever the American banner waves, let that be our home!

29. THE STANDARD OF THE CONSTITUTION, Feb. 1852. – Webster.

IF classical history has been found to be, is now, and shall continue to be, the concomitant of free institutions, and of popular eloquence, what a field is opening to us for another Herodotus, another Thucydides (only may his theme not be a Peloponnesian war), and another Livy And, let me say, Gentlemen, that if we, and our posterity, shall be true to the Christian religion, —if we and they shall live always in the fear of God, and shall respect His commandments, – if we and they shall maintain just moral sentiments, and such conscientious convictions of duty as shall control the heart and life, – we may have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our country. Aid, if we maintain those institutions of government, and that politiAl Union, — exceeding all praise as much as it exceeds all former examples of political associations,—we may be sure of one thing, that while our country furnishes materials for a thousand masters of the historic art, it will afford no topic for a Gibbon. It will have no Decline and Fall. It will go on, prospering and to prosper. But, if we and our posterity reject religious instruction and authority, violate the rules of eternal justice, trifle with the injunctions of morality, and recklessly destroy the political Constitution which holds us together, no man can tell how suddenly a catastrophe may overwhelm us that shall bury all our glory in profound obscurity. If that catastrophe shall happen, let it have no history! Let the horrible narrative never be written; let its fate be like that of the lost books of Livy, which no human eye shall ever read, or the missing Pleiad, of which no man can ever know more than that it is lost, and lost forever. But, Gentlemen, I will not take my leave of you in a tone of despondency. We may trust that Heaven will not forsake us, so long as we do not forsake ourselves. Are we of this generation so derelict — have we so little of the blood of our Revolutionary fathers coursing through our veins—that we cannot preserve what our ancestors achieved 2 The world will cry out “SHAME!" upon us, if we show ourselves unworthy to be the descendants of those great and illustrious men who fought for their liberty, and secured it to their posterity by the Constitution. The Constitution has enemies, secret and professed; but they cannot disguise the fact that it secures us many benefits. These enemies are unlike in character, but they all have some fault to find. Some of them are enthusiasts, hot-headed, self-sufficient and headstrong. They fancy that they can make out for themselves a better path than that laid down for them. Phaëton, the son of Apollo, thought he could find a better course across the Heavens for the sun. “Thus Phaëton once, amidst the ethereal plains, Leaped on his father's car, and seized the reins; Far from his course impelled the glowing sun, *Till Nature’s laws to wild disorder run.” Other enemies there are, more cool, and with more calculation. These have a deeper and more traitorous purpose. They have spoken of forcible resistance to the provisions of the Constitution; they now speak of Secession | Let me say, Gentlemen, secession from us is accession elsewhere. He who renounces the protection of the Stars and Stripes shelters himself under the shadow of another flag, you may rest assured of that. Now, to counteract the efforts of these malecontents, the friends of the Constitution must rally. ALL its friends, of whatever section, whatever their sectional opinions may be, must unite for its preservation. To that standard we must adhere, and uphold it through evil report and good report. We will sustain it, and meet death itself, if it come; we will ever encounter and defeat error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness—thick darkness— if it come, till “Danger's troubled night is o'er, And the star of Peace return.”

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N A R RATIVE AND L Y RIC A. L.

1. THE CRUCIFIXION.—Rev. George croly.

CITY of God! Jerusalem,
Why rushes out thy living stream
The turbaned priest, the hoary seer,
The Roman in his pride, are there!
And thousands, tens of thousands, still
Cluster round Calvary's wild hill.

Still onward rolls the living tide;
There rush the bridegroom and the bride, –
Prince, beggar, soldier, Pharisee, —
The old, the young, the bond, the free;
The nation's furious multitude,
All maddening with the cry of blood.

Tis glorious morn; from height to height
Shoot the keen arrows of the light;
And glorious, in their central shower,
Palace of holiness and power,
The temple on Moriah's brow
Looks a new-risen sun below.

But woe to hill, and woe to vale ! -
Against them shall come forth a wail;
And woe to bridegroom and to bride!
For death shall on the whirlwind ride;
And woe to thee, resplendent shrine, –
The sword is out for thee and thine!

Hide, hide thee in the Heavens, thou sun,
Before the deed of blood is done !
Upon that temple's haughty steep
Jerusalem's last angels weep;
They see destruction's funeral pall
Blackening o'er Sion's sacred wall.

Still pours along the multitude, —
Still rends the Heavens the shout of blood;
But, in the murderer's furious van,
Who totters on ? A weary man;

A cross upon his shoulder bound, –
His brow, his frame, one gushing wound.

And now he treads on Calvary —
What slave upon that hill must die?
What hand, what heart, in guilt imbrued,
Must be the mountain vulture's food 3
There stand two victims gaunt and bare,
Two culprits, emblems of despair.

Yet who the third The yell of shame
Is frenzied at the sufferer's name.
Hands clenched, teeth gnashing, vestures torn,
The curse, the taunt, the laugh of scorn,
All that the dying hour can sting,
Are round thee now, thou thorn-crowned king!

Yet, cursed and tortured, taunted, spurned,
No wrath is for the wrath returned ;
No vengeance flashes from the eye;
The Sufferer calmly waits to die;
The sceptre-reed, the thorny crown,
Wake on that pallid brow no frown.

At last the word of death is given,
The form is bound, the nails are driven :
Now triumph, Scribe and Pharisee :
Now, Roman, bend the mocking knee!
The cross is reared. The deed is done.
There stands MEssiah's earthly throne!

This was the earth's consummate hour;
For this hath blazed the prophet's power;
For this hath swept the conqueror's sword;
Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored;
Persepúlis, Rome, Babylon,
For this ye sank, for this ye shone!

Yet things to which earth's brightest beam
Were darkness—earth itself a dream,
Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid
Sublime, when sun and star shall fade:
Worlds upon worlds, eternal things,
Hung on thy anguish, King of Kings!

Still from his lip no curse has come,
His lofty eye has looked no doom
No earthquake burst, no angel brand,
Crushes the black, blaspheming band:
What say those lips, by anguish riven 2
“God, be my murderers forgiven "

2. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. – Rev. George croly.

'Twas morn, – the rising splendor rolled
On marble towers and roofs of gold;
Hall, court and gallery, below,
Were crowded with a living flow;
Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there,
The bearers of the bow and spear;
The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage,
The slave, the gemmed and glittering page, —
Helm, turban and tiara, shone,
A dazzling ring, round Pharaoh's Throne.

There came a man, – the human tide
Shrank backward from his stately stride:
His cheek with storm and time was tanned;
A shepherd's staff was in his hand.
A shudder of instinctive fear
Told the dark King what step was near;
On through the host the stranger came,
It parted round his form like flame.

He stooped not at the footstool stone,
He clasped not sandal, kissed not Throne;
Erect he stood amid the ring,
His only words, – “Be just, O king!”
On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed high,
A fire was in his sullen eye;
Yet on the Chief of Israel
No arrow of his thousands fell:
All mute and moveless as the grave,
Stood chilled the satrap and the slave.

“Thou'rt come,” at length the Monarch spoke;
Haughty and high the words outbroke:
44 i. weary of its lair,
The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare!
Take back the answer to your band;
Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand;
Go, vilest of the living vile,
To build the never-ending pile,
Till, darkest of the nameless dead,
The vulture on their flesh is fed :
What better asks the howling slave
Than the base life our bounty gave 2"

Shouted in pride the turbaned peers,
Upclashed to Heaven the golden spears.
“King! thou and thine are doomed !— Behold!”
The prophet spoke, – the thunder rolled!

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