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establish, although by the material means of a metallic conductor, is miraculously direct and intimate. But what must that uniting attraction of souls be, which requires no corporeal medium, but darts instantaneously through an all-uniting spiritual element from Dne disembodied spirit to another! Even now the director of an electric telegraph, although confined by the burthen of a body to a certain spot, is able at pleasure to converse with a distant friend, and be present with him in thought- and will. What will not be possible when this confinement to the conditions of our planet shall fall away! Schdbkrt


1. Hark! the warning needles click,
Hither — thither — clear and quick.
He who guides their speaking play
Stands a thousand miles away!
Here we feel the electric thrill
Guided by his simple will;

Here the instant message read,
Brought with more than lightning speed

Sing who will of Orphejjn" lyre
Ours the wonder-working wire!

2. Let the sky he dark or clear,
Comes the faithful messenger;
Now it tells of loss and grief,
Now of joy in sentence brief,
Now of safe or sunken ships,
Now the murderer outstrips,
Now of war and fields of blood,
Now of fire, and now of flood.

Sing who will of Orphean lyre,
Ours the wonder-working wire!

3. Think the thought, and speak }he word,
It is caught as soon as heard,

Borne o'er mountains, lakes, and seas,

To the far antipodes

Boston speaks at twelve o'clock,

Natchez reads ere noon the shock

Seems it not a feat sublime?

Intellect has conquered Time!

Sing who will of Orphean lyre,
Ours the wonder-working wire'

1. Marvel — triumph of our day,
Flash all ignorance away!

Flash sincerity of speech,

Noblest aims to all who teach;

Flash till Power shall learn the Right,

Flash till Reason conquer Might;

Flash resolve to every mind;

Manhood flash to all mankind!

Sing who will of Orphean lyre,
Ours the wonder-working wire!


lochiel, a Highland chieftain, while on his march to ioin the Pretender, is met by one of the Highland seers, or prophets, who warns him to return, and not incur the certain ruin which awaits the unfortunate prince and his followers, on the field of Culloden.

Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in flight:
They rally, they bleed, for their country and crown,—
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But, hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'T is thine, 0 Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair!
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
0! weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead!
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave —
Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave!

Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright!

Seer. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth,
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North?
Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad:
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven

Fr:m his eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven.

O, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,

Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,

Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;

Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,

And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood!

Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan;
Their swords are a thousand, — their bosoms are one!
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock!
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws!
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array —

Seer. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal.
'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive King.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path!
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight;
Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! —
'T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors:
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.
But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?
Ah! no; for a darker departure is near;
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling; 0! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims!
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat,
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale —

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale!
For never shall Albin a destiny meet
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat.
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!

And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame!



1. On the second of July, 1776, the resolution of Independence was adopted by the old Congress; and, on the ever-memorable Fourth of July of that year, the Declaration reported by the Committee, with some slight alterations, was agreed to and promul'gated. It is now a nation's creed. Let it not be supposed that the measure was carried without opposition. Assaults it did encounter, resistance it did suffer; not from the enemies only of our country, but from her most sincere friends. The timid were alarmed. The minds of men of ordinary constancy were possessed with doubts and hesitation at this final, this irretrievable step. Heroic courage and patriotism were what the occasion demanded, and what — let us be thankful for it! — the occasion found.

2. It was, indeed, a fearful question. At the last moment, when it was about to be put, a celebrated member of the Congress, a gentleman of undoubted patriotism, rose and spoke against the proposed measure. He stated the consequences of it in alarming colors. Silence and- doubt ensued. It was then that John Adams, the "pillar of its support," as Mr. Jefferson has styled him, rose in reply. His fervid eloquence silenced every doubt. The question was settled, and the vote of the States was unanimous. In what language he made this last and powerful appeal, we may judge from the triumphant burst of patriotic exultation and pious emotion with which he wrote to a friend on the following day.

3. "Yesterday the greatest question was decided that was ever debated in America; and greater, perhaps, never was or will be decided by men. A resolution was passed, without one dissenting colony, 'that these United States are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States.' The day is passed. The Fourth of July, 1776, will be a memorable epoch" in the history of America. I am apt to believe it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It Might to be commemorated as the day of deliverance by solemn »cts of devotion to Almighty God.

4. "It ought to be solemnized with pomp, shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of the continent to the other, from this time forward forever. Yon will think me transported with enthusiasm, but I am not. I am well aware of the toil, and blood, and treasure, that it will cos* to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States; yet, through all the gloom, I can see the rays of light and glory. I can see that the end is worth more than all the means; and that posterity will triumph, although you and I may rue, — which, I hope, we shall not." John. Sergeant.


1. Hoping to reach the camp of the rangers before nightfall, we pushed on until twilight, when we were obliged to halt on the borders of a ravine. The rangers bivouacked" under trees, at the bottom of the dell, while we pitched our tent on a rocky knoll near a running stream. The night came on dark and overcast, with flying clouds, and much appearance of rain. The fires of the rangers burnt brightly in the dell, and threw strong masses of 1 ight upon the robber-looking groups that were cooking, eating, and drinking, around them.

2. To add to the wildness of the scene, several Osage Indians, visitors from the village we had passed, were mingled among the men. Three of them came and seated themselves by our fire. They watched everything that was going on round them, in silence, and looked like figures of monumental bronze. We gave them food, and, what they most relished, coffee; for the Indians partake in the universal fondness for this beverage, which pervades the West. When they had made their supper, fchey stretched themselves, side by side, before the fire, and began a low nasal chant, drumming with their hands upon their breasts by way of accompaniment.

3. Their chant seemed to consist of regular staves, every one terminating, not in a melodious cadence, but in the abrupt interjection, huh! uttered almost like a hiccup. The chant related to ourselves, our appearance, our treatment of them, and all that they knew of our plans. This mode of improvising" is common throughout the savage tribes; and in this way, with a few simple inflections of the voice, they chant all their exploits in war and hunting, and occasionally indulge in a vein of comio humor and dry satire, to which the Indians appear to me much more prone than is generally imagined.

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