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one exerts an influence, for good or for evil, and no one is so
humble as not to need the protection of a good government.
Is he called to places of responsibility and trust? Let him
bear his honors meekly, but firmly, yielding nothing to the
blandishments of power or the acclamations of the multitude.
may be hurled from his station by those who placed him in
it, and the voices of praise, which were once sweet music to
his ears, may be changed to execrations. Let him lay down
his power in dignity and silence; as he has filled a high
place without pride, he may fill a low one without humilia-
tion. And if, in the performance of duty, sterner trials
await him; if misrule and lawless faction should select him
as a victim; let him calmly die, remembering that the best
and the bravest earth's noblest children have drunk the
cup of degradation to the dregs, and better men than he have
been sacrificed by popular violence. In whatever position
he may be placed, wherever his lot may be cast, let him
maintain the integrity of his soul.

"This above all: To thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man."

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On the Death of President Harrison.

He is gone and there is nothing left for a bereaved nation but to yield up the hopes that had centred in him, to bow down in submission beneath the chastening hand of Almighty God, to pay its due tribute of honor to the memory of departed worth and greatness, and lay the awful admonition wisely and humbly to heart.

The melancholy event we are contemplating presents a


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striking lesson of the mutability of human affairs, and dull and insensible must that heart be that is not opened to the impression. A few short weeks ago, a private man, called forth by the loud acclaim, and uplifted as on the outspread hands, of a mighty people, was borne along in triumphal procession through the streets of the capital, to be invested with the highest dignities that are in the gift of mankind. He is the centre of a pageant, not perhaps the most dazzling in outward show, but more sublime, in the inner idea and meaning, than all the empires of the elder world can exhibit, — the object of eager gaze to gathered thousands there, and of intense interest to scattered millions elsewhere. The pealing shout of multitudes rends the air, as he seals his high commission with the reverent oath; and he is borne, amid acclamations, to a palace home, and stands there, the chiefest, foremost man of a broad continent - the equal of kings high as the highest on earth. A few days pass by, and the mortal body of that same man is borne along the same track, in the sad and silent pomp of funeral woe, and laid away alone, in the dark tomb, to moulder back to kindred dust and ashes!

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One month ago, and the executive mansion was alive with rejoicings, hospitalities, and congratulations; crowds thronging thither to gratify curiosity or signify their respect, to offer service and seek employment or honor at the fountain of a nation's patronage; officers of state, to give their counsel and receive commands; ambassadors, in robes of office, to tender the felicitations of their royal masters, and renew the pledges of amity and peace between sovereign powers: public and private men from the north and the south the wise, the ambitious, the high, and the low, the gay, curious, and pleasure-seeking are coming and going, crowding the lighted halls, in honor of him who presides there.

But what a change comes over the scene, as striking as it is awful and sad! The doors are closed up, the windows

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are darkened, there is the silent tread of nurses and physicians, the hard breathing of a sick man, anxious consultations, the agonized solicitude of loving kindred, looks of apprehension all around, messengers going forth hour by hour, with tidings to startle and appal more and more a nation's ear; there is the low voice of prayer and Christian consolation over dying bed and a mortal man in the last extremity and then the last effort of sinking nature, to utter a patriot's dying aspiration- and then stillness, the awful stillness of death.

The chief pillar of the state is fallen down; a nation's head lies low in its last rest; and there is no sound there but the cries of women, and the sobbings of children for a fond and beloved father, and the low tones of the last mournful preparation. And yet it is a palace, and the seat of an empire, that is so changed. O, what a shadow and a mockery is all human greatness! How feeble the strength, how deceitful the hope of man! how empty and vain the grandeur and prerogatives of earthly power! How do they all fade away beneath the hand of Him" who bringeth the princes to nothing; who maketh the judges of the earth as vanity; who says they shall not be planted; yea, they shall not be sown; yea, their stock shall not take root in the earth; and he shall blow upon them, and they shall wither, and the whirlwind shall take them away as stubble"!


The Hour of Death. MRS. HEMANS

LEAVES have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer;
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!

The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears; but all are thine!

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,

And smile at thee; but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey!

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

We know when moons shall wane,

When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain;
But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?
They have one season; all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam;

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home;
And the world calls us forth, and thou art there.


Thou art where friend meets friend,, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set; but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!


The Graves of a Household.

THEY grew in beauty, side by side;
They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.


The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight;
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forest of the west,
By a dark stream is laid;
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one;
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

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