XI. "Well, sirs, we went; a pair of oars, Just round Old Harry and his Wife'— And we came back.-D'ye want to hear XII. "Ay, ay, we came back, past that point, But then a breeze upsprung; Dick shouted, 'Hoy! down sail!' and pulled With all his might among The white sea-horses that upreared So terrible and strong. XIII. "I pulled too; I was blind with fear But I could hear Dick's breath Coming and going, as he told Dolly to creep beneath His jacket, and not hold him so: We rowed for life or death, XIV. "We almost reached the sheltered bay, We could see father stand Upon the little jetty here, His sickle in his hand The houses white, the yellow fields, The safe and pleasant land. XV. "And Dick, though pale as any ghost, Had only said to me, 'We're all right now, old lad!' when up One lurch-and then I felt the chill IN SWANAGE LAY remember musi bun that— You see I m salt and sound: I have been wrecked four times since then, I think folks sleep beneath the deep. ΣΤΕ "But Dick and Dolly!" "Well, poor Dick! I saw him rise and ding Unto the gunwale of the boat— Floating keel up-and sing Out loud. Where's Doll!-I hear him yet, 223 "Where's Dolly? I no answer made; For she dropped like a stone Down through the deep sea-and it closed: The little thing was gone. • Where's Doll?' three times-then Dick loosed hold, And left me there alone. * XIX. "It's five and forty year since then,” And drew his rough hand o'er his eyes, “Just five and forty year!" and not XX. "But Dolly?" ask the children all, As they about him stand; "Poor Doll! she floated back next tide With seaweed in her hand. She's buried o'er that hill you see In a churchyard on land. XXI. "But where Dick lies, God knows! He'll find Our Dick at judgment day." The boatman fell to mending nets, The boys ran off to play; And the sun shone and the waves danced In quiet Swanage Bay. D. M. MULOCK. CVII. ON THE MEXICAN WAR. FROM A SPEECH DELIVERED IN THE U. S. SENATE, FEBRUARY, WE 1847. E have already ample territory in our hands, and more than sufficient to effect all the objects of the war. If, then, it is for neither one nor the other of these objects, I ask why shall offensive operations be carried on? There is but one answer to that: it is to obtain peace; or, to use the language most commonly employed—to conquer peace. How is peace to be obtained or peace to be conquered? It can only be by treaty. War may be made by one nation-peace is always made by two. 2. The object, then, is to get a treaty. treaty? A treaty that will suit Mexico? at any time. No! You want a treaty to suit us. And what is that? Why, sir, a treaty that we shall dictate, compel Mexico to sign, and which shall secure to us the ends for which this war was declared. What kind of a You can get that 3. And what were these ends? I have already enumerated them. The establishment of the Del Norte as the boundary, and ample acquisition for indemnity. The whole object of the war, then, is this-to compel Mexico to acknowledge that to be ours which we already hold in possession, and which we can hold, despite of her, with almost no sacrifice. 4. That is it, twist it and turn it as you please; neither more nor less can be made of it-that is the whole object of what they call a vigorous war of offence. I repeat it. It is to compel Mexico to acknowledge that to be ours which we now hold, and hold in spite of her. ON THE MEXICAN WAR. 225 5. Now, in this aspect of the question, I put it home to the Senate-is it worth while to pursue a war of that description vigorously? Suppose it a matter of perfect certainty that you could reach the city of Mexico this very campaign, and beat them into a treaty of peace in the city of Mexico, what would be your sacrifice? 6. The army you propose to raise is seventy thousand men; the expense, thirty millions of dollars-much more likely thirty or forty millions. Suppose you have fifty thousand men in the field; suppose the campaign is as successful as possible-what is the state of things at its close? You have sacrificed, in the first place, thirty millions of dollars to get possession of the city of Mexico, in which to dictate this peace, and you have lost how many lives of our people? 7. Sir, based upon the calculation of the last campaign, which was comparatively in a healthy country, one-third is to be put down as falling by the sword, or, worse than the sword, the pestilence of the country. Something like sixteen thousand men are to be set down as sacrificed in this campaign. I put it home to Senators now-is it worth while to sacrifice even thirty millions of dollars, or fifteen thousand men, for the purpose of getting Mexico to acknowledge that to be ours which is already ours? 8. I put a graver question, and I appeal to the conscience of every man here-can we, with any regard to the opinions and judgment of a Christian people, pursue that war which must end in such a result? Is there any man here who will give the lives of sixteen thousand of our people, or thirty millions of dollars? No, sir! there is not one; and yet we propose to pursue a war which, if it terminate in one campaign, will produce that result, in all probability. 9. I hold this war to have been, in the first instance, a great departure from the true line of policy which, as I have again and again said, is peace. It is ours to grow, and not to add by conquest. JOHN C. CALHOUN. CVIII.-EVENING AT THE FARM. I. VER the hill the farm-boy goes, OVER the bir lengthens long the land, A giant staff in a giant hand; In the poplar tree, above the spring, The early dews are falling;— Into the stone-heap darts the mink; "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" |