Swoop down upon the workingman,
And soon this surplus bear away,
And turn the keys on't, as before?
How would I then this case amend?
What certain remedy commend,
That would a healthy tone impart,
Brisk circulation once more start,
And thus relieve the Nation's heart,
And bring contentment, as of yore?

A precept sure the Master gave —
He that was born in Bethlehem :
"As ye would have men do to you,
So do ye, even unto them!"

This do, and all these ills will flee.
Let Christian grace rule every heart,
And truth and justice have their part;
Let men regard each other's good,
And walking as His followers should,
Build up a Christian brotherhood
For time, and for eternity,

'Tis this alone, can make us FREE!

An early friend, who was a magistrate, and a most agreeable and entertaining man, once told a good story of a remarkable legal decision made by another judicial dignitary, which I took a fancy, one day, to reduce to rhythm, as follows, under the title of

BLIND JUSTICE.

The scales of Justice are, in most,
So nicely poised, that one
Could scarce a cause present, to boast
That neither side had won.

Still less might happen to be weighed
A case where both sides win;
For costs accrue, which must be paid,-
Some one must-"place the tin."

But that such puzzlers may arise,
An instance I append;
And that this land the wit supplies
To meet them,- please attend:

An old Dutch justice tried, one day,
A suit for trespass, which,

In point of precedent, they say,
Was thought exceeding rich.

The evidence was the winning kind,
On both sides, it was said;
But yet, what fixed the judge's mind,
Was what the lawyers plead.

As one his client's cause espoused,
In tones of thunder, which
The shades of Blackstone nigh aroused,
And still arose in pitch,

The old judge listened, till there shone
Conviction on his face;

Then firmly said, in under tone, "De blaintiff win de case!"

But soon in ringing tones, was made,
On the opposing side,

A plea which judgment quickly stayed,
And turned the legal tide :

For as the counsel mounted up,
And yet essayed to climb,

The judge said, (and the table struck,) "De 'fendant win dis time!"

But when a joint appeal was brought,
And both for verdict plead,
The old man rose, with wisdom fraught,
And this is what he said:

"De blaintiff an' defendant, dey
Haf, bot' dem, win de case!
De constable de cost muhst bay,
Or go to jail ten dayss!"

The following article was offered to one of the chief literary journals of Boston, but the editor said that as his paper had a large sale among people who might not feel as I did, on the subject treated, he thought best not to publish it.

I replied: "Call my production crude, inferior, anything you please; but do not leave me to infer that the leading literary journal of Old Boston, the birthplace of American Liberty, the home of the grand old champions of Human Freedom, would consider it impolitic to publish a pen-picture, if well

drawn, of that great transformation scene, wherein the shackles of four million bondmen fall, at touch of the sainted Lincoln."

A REVERIE.

I hold a picture in my hand,-
An artist's dream, yet real:
The central figure posed, as 'twere,
By touch of hands to heal.
Majestic is the lofty brow,

Though furrowed deep with care;
And something, as of high resolve,
Is plainly written there.

Strong is the love for all mankind
Depicted on the face;

Yet sense, as well, of duty stern,
'Tis easy there to trace.
While thoughts politic, of the weal
Of country, have their part;
And over all, a tenderness,-

True tenderness of heart.

Beside the tall, commanding form,
On either hand, there kneels