And how small they appeared by his side, the common run of politicians, who spend their days with the laying of pipe, and the setting up of pins, and the pulling of wires; who barter an office to secure this vote, and procure a contract to get that; who stand always with their ears to the wind to hear how the Administration sneezes, and what their constituents whisper, in mortal trepidation lest they fail in being all things to everybody! How he stood among them! he whose very presence made you forget the vulgarities of political life, who dared to differ with any man ever so powerful, any multitude ever so numerous; who regarded party as nothing but a means for higher ends, and for those ends defied its power; to whom the arts of demagogism were so contemptible that he would rather have sunk into obscurity and oblivion than descend to them; to whom the dignity of his office was so sacred that he would not even ask for it for fear of darkening its lustre ! Honor to the people of Massachusetts, who, for twentythree years, kept in the Senate, and would have kept him there never so long, had he lived, a man who never, even to them, conceded a single iota of his convictions in order to remain there. And what a life was his! a life so wholly devoted to what was good and noble! There he stood in the midst of the grasping materialism of our times, around him the eager chase for the almighty dollar, no thought of opportunity ever entering the smallest corner of his mind, and disturbing his high endeavors; with a virtue which the possession of power could not even tempt, much less debauch; from whose presence the very thought of corruption instinctively shrank back; a life so unspotted, an integrity so intact, a character so high, that the most daring eagerness of calumny, the most wanton audacity of insinuation, standing on tiptoe, could not touch the soles of his shoes. They say that he indulged in overweening self-appreciation. Ay, he did have a magnificent pride, a lofty selfesteem. Why should he not? Let wretches despise themselves, for they have good reason to do so; not he. But in his self-esteem there was nothing small and mean; no man lived to whose very nature envy and petty jealousy were more foreign. His pride of self was like his pride of country. He was the proudest American; he was the proudest New Englander; and yet he was the most cosmopolitan American we have ever seen. He is at rest now, the stalwart, brave old champion, whose face and bearing were so austere, and whose heart was so full of tenderness; who began his career with a pathetic plea for universal peace and charity, and whose whole life was an arduous, incessant, never-resting struggle, which left him all covered with scars. And we can do nothing for him but remember his lofty ideals of liberty, and equality, and justice, and reconciliation, and purity, and the earnestness, and courage, and touching fidelity with which he fought for them-so genuine in his sincerity, so singleminded in his zeal, so heroic in his devotion. People of Massachusetts! He was the son of your soil, in which he now sleeps; but he is not all your own. He belongs to all of us in the North and in the South-to the blacks he helped to make free, and to the whites he strove to make brothers again. Over the grave of him whom so many thought to be their enemy, and found to be their friend, let the hands be clasped which so bitterly warred against each other. Let the youth of America be taught, by the story of his life, that not only genius, power, and success, but more than these, patriotic devotion and virtue, make the greatness of the citizen. If this lesson be understood, more than Charles Sumner's living word could have done for the glory of America, will be done by the inspiration of his great example. And it will truly be said, that although his body lies moldering in the earth, yet in the assured rights of all, in the brotherhood of a reunited people, and in a purified Republic, he still lives, and will live forever. DIFFIDENCE. "I'm after axin', Biddy dear—” To fringe his words the merest mite A smile that found its image "I've come to ax ye, Biddy dear, And timed the quavers with the eyes That gently rose and fell. "I've come-" and then he took her hands "To ax"-and then he watched the buds That told how love had entered in "Och! don't be tazin' me," said she, "I've sinse enough to see you've come, To ax-" and once again the tongue "To ax-if Mrs. Mulligan Has any pigs to sell." THE LIPS THAT TOUCH LIQUOR MUST NEVER TOUCH MINE.-GEORGE W. YOUNG. You are coming to woo me, but not as of yore, I think of that night in the garden alone, When in whispers you told me your heart was my own, Oh, sweet to my soul is the memory still, Of the lips which met mine, when they murmured “I will;” But now to their pressure no more they incline, For the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine! your face O John! how it crushed me, when first in For the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine. I loved you-Oh, dearer than language can tell, is heart was so true, and his genius so bright- Though the effort to speak it should shatter my heart- If one spark, in your bosom, of virtue remain, And when you have conquered this foe of your soul,- This heart will again beat responsive to thine, SHORT SENSATIONAL STORY. Sophia Saunders searchingly scrutinized Sarah, scowling severely. Stephen Smith-Sarah's suitor-strong, splendidly sinewed, shapely Stephen, slept soundly. Sophia spoke. She said Sarah should sell stale smelling soles. Stephen snored. Sophia spitefully shook Sarah. "Surrender!" said she. Sarah screamed shrilly. Stephen seeing sweet Sarah's situation, stealing stealthily, suddenly squeezed Sophia's side, saying: "Stop such silly squabbles, such stupid strife; stop striking Sarah." She staggered. "So," sneered Sophia, "savage Stephen sneakingly supports Sarah! Seek safety-skedaddle!" Stephen smiling satirically said: "Sarah shall sell stale soles, sweet Sophia, shall she?" "She shall!" shrieked Sophia. So saying, Sophia Saunders strolled seaward stalking stiffly, selecting sloppy shingle spots. Slackening speed, she sat. Straightway she sentimentalized: "See star-spangled sky; see sinking sun; see salt sea; see Sophia Saunders, spinster, Sarah's sister, spurned, slighted, scorned. So Sarah supposes selling stale soles sinful! Sacre! She shall see." She stood still some seconds solemnly sea-surveying. Suddenly she said: "See Stephen so sneaking, so sanctimonious, so supremely stupid; see sister Sarah so sweetly seraphic, sweet Sunday school scholar, sublime sinner, see Sophia swim. Stephen, sister Sarah shall sell sweet solesso shall she starve." Sarah shuddered. Suddenly Sophia sprang screaming, splashing salt spray skyward. 66 Save Sophia, Stephen! see, she sinks!" screamed Sarah. "Scarcely, sweetheart," said Stephen, sullenly. So Sophia Saunders sank. Sophia's suicide saved Sarah selling soles so stale. She systematically sold sweet soles. She survived Sophia several summer seasons. Sometimes she sang sad songs softly, sorrowing Sophia's sad suicide. Still she stayed single, scornfully spurning Stephen Smith's soft speeches. Sole, a fish. |