For, nine and eight made seventeen,
And that's St. Patrick's Day, I ween,
In the Emerald Isle, that lies between
Itself and England, as you 've seen.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

Household Words. Altered.

THE drums are all muffled; the bugles are still;
There's a pause in the valley, a halt on the hill;
And the bearers of standards swerve back with a thrill,
Where heaps of the dead bar the way;

For a great field is reaped, the grave's garners to fill,
And Death's harvest-home is to-day.

There's a voice in the ranks, like the wind's lowly cry;
'Tis the muster-roll calling, and who shall reply?
Not those whose wan faces gaze blank on the sky,
With eyes fixed so steadfast and dimly,

As they wait that last trump, which they may not defy,
Whose cold hands the sword clutch so grimly.

The brave heads, late lifted, are solemnly bowed,
And the riderless chargers stand quivering and cowed,
As the burial service is chanted aloud,

The groans of the death-stricken drowning,
While Victory looks on, like a queen, in a shroud,
And o'er the grave waits for her crowning.

Far, tramp on tramp, peals the march of the foe,

Like a storm-wave retreating, spent, moaning, and slow;
They are fled, they are gone; but O, not as they came,
Ere the mists had rolled up to the sky.

Never more shall they boast of a glorious name,
For the hero must conquer or die.

The tumult is silenced, the death lots are cast,

And the heroes of battle are slumbering fast,

Do they dream of the Pale Horse that rode on the blast,
And that trampled both ranks of the brave?

O Jesu, how long shall thy kingdom be passed,
And glory be sought in the grave!

THE TEMPERANCE PLEDGE.

REV. JOHN PIERPONT.

THOU sparkling bowl! thou sparkling bowl! Though lips of bards thy brim may press, And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll,

And song and dance thy power confess,
I will not touch thee; for there clings
A scorpion to thy side, that stings!

Thou crystal glass! like Eden's tree
Thy melted ruby tempts the eye,
And, as from that, there comes from thee
The voice, "Thou shalt not surely die."
I dare not lift thy liquid gem;

A snake is twisted round thy stem!

Thou liquid fire! like that which glowed
For Paul upon Melita's shore,
Thou 'st been upon my guests bestowed;
But thou shalt warm my house no more.
For, wheresoe'er thy radiance falls,
Forth, from thy heat, a viper crawls!

What though of gold the goblet be,

Embossed with branches of the vine,
Beneath whose burnished leaves we see
Such clusters as poured out the wine?
Among those leaves an adder hangs !
I fear him, for I've felt his fangs!

The Hebrew, who the desert trod,
And felt the fiery serpent's bite,
Looked up to that ordained of God,

And found that life was in the sight.
So the WORM-bitten's fiery veins
Cool, when he drinks what God ordains.

Ye gracious clouds! ye deep, cold wells!
Ye gems from mossy rocks that drip!
Springs, that from Earth's mysterious cells
Gush o'er your granite basin's lip!
To you I look; your largess give,
And I will drink of you, and live.

THE LITTLE BOY'S BED-TIME.

MISS LANDON, from the French. Altered.

"SLEEP, little Paul! what! crying? hush! The night is very dark;

The wolves are all around us, and the dogs begin to bark; The clock has struck your bed-time, and your sweet angel

weeps,

When his little Paul, beside the fire, so late a play-time keeps."

"I do not like to go to sleep, I'd rather watch the light Of the fire upon my new tin-sword, so glittering and

bright.

I'll kill the saucy wolves with it, if they come near the door.

And, in his night-gown, naughtily, sat Paul upon the floor.

May God forgive the wilful boy, that mocks his mother's

word,"

She said; the boy looked up at her, but not a step he

stirred.

"The little birds since set of sun, are sunk in slumber

66

deep."

Well, I am not a bird, mamma, and why should I, too,

sleep?"

"The sinking moon is peeping in, her farewell look to

take,

And, pale and angry, asks, who is this child I see awake? See there! into her cloudy bed she 'll be retiring soon." Well, what of that," said wilful Paul, "I don't sleep with the moon."

66

"The little beggar, now alone, is wandering in the street; Poor fellow, he has no mamma, to warm his naked feet; He wanders, for he knows not where to rest his weary

head;

I'll call him in; how thankfully he'll sleep in your soft bed!"

Then little Paul, still holding fast his shining, new, tin

sword,

Took up his clothes, and went to bed without another

word.

There is a moral in this tale, let all apply it, too,
For Paul is but another name, my selfish friend, for you.

THE PENSION LIST.

Extract from a supposed Speech in Congress on the bill to grant a pension to the officers and soldiers who served three months or more in the war of 1812-15.-Wм. B. FOWLE.

MR. SPEAKER: I do not hesitate to declare my conviction that the whole system on which the bill before us is founded, is at war with all my notions of prudence, economy and justice. Why, sir, what are we called upon to do? to bestow an annual reward upon some hundreds, and perhaps thousands of men, who, years ago, entered into a contract with the existing government of the United States, to do the fighting that might be necessary to compel Great Britain to desist from certain alleged encroachments upon our commerce. Sir, I will not enter into the question of the justice or necessity of that war. You know that the country was divided almost to disunion on the subject. We will grant, for the sake of argument, that the war was both necessary and just; but what has this to do with the question before us, the justice or necessity of bestowing the public money upon those who fought in that war? Were these soldiers, let me ask, conscripts, torn from their families, and compelled to fight the battles of their country against their will? No, sir, no. The records of the War Department show that they were all volunteers. Did they volunteer to repel invaders or to defend their country at their own expense? Did they leave profitable trades, and sacrifice valuable employments, to serve their country? No, sir. The same record shows that they received a bounty in money and land, and were paid what must have been more than they could earn in any other pursuit, or they would not have left their home for the camp, comfort

for inconvenience, safety for peril, and, as is too often the case, morality for licentiousness. It was a fair bargain, sir. The state was to feed, clothe, support, and pay them, and they were to make part of the pageant that was to frighten our enemy, or, if need were, to fight in what is called a war between nations, and a duel between individuals; a doubtful method, at least, of settling moral or political questions, and, in my opinion, the most absurd work in which reasonable beings can engage.

I need not go into an elaborate argument to prove that war is the most fruitful source of every evil that can curse a nation. It is not necessary for me to prove this; for, if it be conceded, as it no doubt will be, that war is destructive of domestic happiness, impeding the progress of civilization, and shocking, revolting in its details, enough is conceded to authorize me to declare, that it is not so superior to all other trades and professions, that the soldier should be supported by the government, after he has ceased to render an equivalent, and, monstrous injustice, that he should be supported by citizens more deserving than himself! I know we are accustomed to hear much about the patriotism of the soldier; but, sir, I trust the time is not far distant when men will see that he who makes two blades of grass grow where only one grew before, is a greater patriot than he who lays waste whole districts, and tramples under foot the blessed gifts of a beneficent Providence. I hope the hour impends when men will see that the teacher who educates a generation, or the faithful pastor who directs his flock towards heaven and leads the way, is the true patriot, and far more worthy of a pension than he who labors to defeat every work of love and peace, of improvement and humanity. I need not enlarge. My position is, that it is wrong, in the sight of God and man, to reward the soldier who volunteers, and is paid for his services, in what all must allow to be the least useful and the most objectionable of all occupations, and to neglect the servants of God and humanity, who have fainted in their work and become disabled in the service; and to tax the benefactors of their race, the peaceful, industrious, moral and religious citizen, to support those who have done so much to check the progress of peace, civilization, and good will among men.