In she plunged boldly,-
No matter how coldly

The rough river ran,-
Over the brink of it!
Picture it,--think of it
Dissolute man!

Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Ere her limbs, frigidly,
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,

Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!—
Dreadfully staring

Through muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,

Into her rest!

Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Owning her weakness,

Her evil behavior,

And leaving, with meekness
Her sins to her Saviour!

THE WOOD OF CHANCELLORSVILLE.

DELIA R. GERMAN.

The ripe, red berries of the wintergreen

Lure me to pause awhile

In this deep, tangled wood. I stop and lean

Down where these wild flowers smile,

And rest me in this shade; for many a mile

Through lane and dusty street,

I've walked with weary, weary feet;

And now I tarry mid this woodland scene, 'Mong ferns and mosses sweet.

Here all around me blows

The pale primrose.

I wonder if the gentle blossom knows

The feeling at my heart-the solemn grief
So whelming and so deep

That it disdains relief,

And will not let me weep.

I wonder that the woodbine thrives and grows,

And is indifferent to the nation's woes;

For while these mornings shine, these blossoms bloom, Impious rebellion wraps the land in gloom.

Nature, thou art unkind,
Unsympathizing, blind!'

You lichen, clinging to th' o'erhanging rock,
Is happy, and each blade of grass
O'er which unconsciously I pass,
Smiles in my face and seems to mock

Me with its joy. Alas! I cannot find

One charm in bounteous nature, while the wind

That blows upon my cheek bears on each gust

The groans of my poor country, bleeding in the dust. The air is musical with notes

That gush from wingéd warblers' throats,

And in the leafy trees

I hear the drowsy hum of bees.

Prone from the blinding sky

Dance rainbow-tinted sunbeams, thick with motes,
Daisies are shining, and the butterfly

Wavers from flower to flower; yet in this wood

The ruthless foeman stood,

And every turf is drenched with human blood.

O heartless flowers!

O trees, clad in your robes of glistering sheen,
Put off this canopy of gorgeous green!

These are the hours

For mourning, not for gladness. While this smart
Of treason dire gashes the Nation's heart,

Let birds refuse to sing,

And flowers to bloom upon the lap of spring!

Let Nature's face itself with tears o'erflow,

In deepest anguish for a people's woe.
While rank rebellion stands

With blood of martyrs on his impious hands;
While slavery, and chains,

And cruelty, and direst hate,

Uplift their heads, within th' afflicted state,
And freeze the blood in every patriot's veins,-
Let these old woodlands fair

Grow black with gloom, and from its thunder-lair
Let lightning leap, and scorch the accursed air,

Until the suffering earth,

Of treason sick, shall spew the monster forth,
And each regenerate sod

Be consecrate anew to Freedom and to God!

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.-W. P. PALMER.

A district school, not far away,

'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day,
Was humming with its wonted noise
Of three-score mingled girls and boys.
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent.
The while the master's downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book;
When suddenly, behind his back,
Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack!
As 'twere a battery of bliss

Let off in one tremendous kiss!
"What's that?" the startled master cries;
"That, thir," a little imp replies,

"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe-
I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
With frown to make a statue thrill,
The master thundered, " Hither, Will!"
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,
Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came,—
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun.

With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threatener faltered-" I'm amazed
That you my biggest pupil, should

Be guilty of an act so rude!

Before the whole set school to boot-
What evil genius put you to't?"

""Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad,

*I did not mean to be so bad;

But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered I was 'fraid of girls,
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,

I couldn't stand it, sir, at all,
But up and kissed her on the spot!
I know-boo-hoo-I ought to not,

But, somehow, from her looks-boo-hoo-
I thought she kind o' wished me to!"

EXTRACT FROM HON. DANIEL S. DICKINSON'S SPEECH AT UNION SQUARE, N. Y., April 20, 1861.

We are called upon to act. There is no time for hesitation or indecision-no time for haste or excitement. It is a time when the people should rise in the majesty of their might, stretch forth their strong arm and silence the angry waves of tumult. It is time the people should command peace. It is a question between union and anarchy-between law and disorder. All politics for the time being are and should be committed to the resurrection of the grave. The question should be, "Our country, our whole country, and nothing but the country."

""Tis not the whole of life to live,

Nor all of death to die."

We should go forward in a manner becoming a great people. But six months since, the material elements of our country were never greater. To-day, by the fiat of madness, we are plunged in distress and threatened with political ruin, anarchy and annihilation. It becomes us to stay the hand of this spirit of disunion. While I would prosecute this war in a manner becoming a civilized and a Christian people, I would do so in no vindictive spirit. I would do it as Brutus set the signet to the death-warrant of his son-"Justice is satisfied, and Rome is free." I love my country; I love this Union. It was the first vision of my early years; it is the last ambition of my public life. Upon its altar I have surrendered my choicest hopes. I had fondly hoped that in approaching age it was to beguile my solitary hours, and I will stand by it as long as there is a Union to stand by; and when the ship of the Union shall crack and groan, when the skies lower and threaten, when the lightnings flash, the thunders roar, the storms beat and the waves run mountain-high, if the ship of state goes down, and the Union perishes, I would rather perish with it than survive its destruction.

THE BELLS.-EDGAR A. POE.

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!

While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding bells-
Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells,

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells

On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells-

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

.

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells

Hear the loud alarum bells-

Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells:
In the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,

And a resolute endeavor,
Now-now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!

How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour