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which we are now called upon to regard the last dreadful | carnage, (that of the last year,) we are made acquainted by the returns of the custom house, with the fact that as much grain was exported from the lower parts of Bengal as would have fed the half million who perished, for a whole year!" Yet this awful oppression, and these desolating famines must go on, that England may extort a hundred millions of dollars every year from her hundred millions of Hindoos; and poppies must grow, instead of wheat, that, at her cannon's mouth, she may force her opium upon the three hundred millions of the Chinese; while some one solitary Marshman, perhaps, is translating the Bible of the Christians, to bring these countless millions to accept the religion of a nation that stands ready, at this moment, to destroy one half of them by war, that it may destroy the other half by poison!

then will I hear from Heaven, and will forgive their sins, and will heal their land."

And, while the mother nation has been and is warring thus against the personal, social and moral well-being of the millions of Eastern, the daughter has been, with her poisons, des-propriate causes, as distinctly as any phenomenon in physics olating and demoralizing Western and Central Asia, and the multitude of the isles; consuming, with the burning cup of her intoxication, the poor remnants of once powerful tribes from off the face of her own continent; and investing, as at this moment, more capital in producing, and diffusing these waters of death among her own children for their destruction, temporal and eternal, than all that she invests for their defence, their government, and their education in science, morals, and religion, and thus for the salvation of their souls, for time and for eternity.

While the mother boasts-and may well rejoice-that she has liberated eight hundred thousand of her bondmen, the daughter still holds in chains more than three times that number of hers; and thus, while she dooms two millions and a half of one race to the curse of slavery, dooms more than three millions and a half of another, and that other her own children, to the three-fold curse of indolence, poverty and fear; while, at the same time, the master and the slave unite, at one end of her vast territority, in digging a bottomless pit, into which the earnings of honest and free industry and enterprise, at the other end, are plunged, year after year, and forever lost. Meantime, the government of this young nation, more weakly, as I verily believe, if not more wickedly, administered, than the government of any other civilized nation upon earth, which, but three years ago, had a surplus of forty millions of dollars in its coffers, has expended, within the last five years, another forty millions in attempting to destroy the last remnants of a race which it was bound in honor and by treaties to protect; and now, after having stamped upon itself the indelible disgrace of failing, with the hosts and the wealth of fifteen millions, to conquer a few thousand poor savages, has branded the escutcheon of its country's fame with the still more burning shame of calling in blood-hounds to hunt and tear a foe which it could not conquer by the modes of warfare which are deemed honorable by military men-thus placing itself, as a government, by the side of the sanguinary Spaniard of four centuries ago, and deserving, as it must receive, the execrations or the pity of good men, and the righteous judgments of Almighty God. And, as if, in all this, there were not cause enough for all this people to appear, this day, in deep humiliation before God, we are threatened with what I cannot but think that, as a nation, we deserve, in his sight-another chastisement from his hand, with the scourge of war. Yes, at this moment, the mother nation, with a sturdy and starving family at home, profoundly and hopelessly in debt, and already in a state of moral warfare with half mankind, in one hemisphere; and the daughter nation in the other, bankrupt in cash, if not in character, with more fighting already on her hands than she can get on with, or out of, to her credit -these two nations, thus situated and thus related, are now sharpening their eyes at each other, and, like the mother's bull-dog, and the daughter's blood-hound, stand, each whetting her teeth and preparing to spring at the other's throat, and tear out her inhuman heart.

O God of truth! Is what has now been said-said in deep humiliation and sorrow, and not in anger, of this our guilty land-in accordance with the lines that are written in thy book? If not, forgive the blindness of thy servant, in that he seeth net as thou seest. But if we have spoken only the words of truth and soberness, help us-even us at least-to humble ourselves before thee this day; and, hear thou our prayer that the sins of this people may find forgiveness in thy sight: for, Lord, we remember thy word by thy servant of old-"If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways;

It can be no pleasure, my brethren, to a Christian patriot to be obliged, or to feel himself obliged, thus to look upon the sins of his native land. It cannot gratify him to know that the nations of the earth are looking upon them with disgust, and that his land is becoming a by-word and a hissing among them. And how can he think of them, or speak of them, in the house and in the presence of God, with any other feelings than those of shame and deep humiliation! O, that they might be erased fro.n the page of history! But they can never be. O, that they might be covered over and hidden from the eyes of a merciful and long-suffering God, that he might visit them with no more of his stripes! But the patriot's fears for the future can be little less painful than his shame for the past. The Christian moralist, who, in all these subjects of national reproach and alarm, sees but effects resulting from their apfollows from its antecedent conditions, can have no hope of the redemption of our Israel by any miraculous change, effected by Almighty power, in the course of the great current of events, that has swept our nation, and is still sweeping it down, unhonored and unpited, toward the gulf of perdition. If, indeed, there is hope for us, it is to be found in our repentance, as a people, of the sins of which, as a people, we have been guilty; and in our faithfulness as individuals, to the remnants of power which rulers, as rapacious as they are profligate, have still left in our hands. The sins that have sunk us, as a people, so low as we now are, are not the sins of our rulers altogether. The question of the Samaritan prophet is addressed to us, in the voice of the Ruler of the nations"Are there not with you-even with you-sins against the Lord your God?" If, with our own hands, we commit our destinies, as a nation, to the fully or the wickedness of bad men, will He hear our prayer that He would raise up wise and good men to rule over us? To such a prayer might He not answer, in righteousness as in wrath, "If ye will not lift up your own right hand to raise good men to be your rulers, neither will I lift up mine. If ye will put the rod of oppression into the hands of the cruel, ye shall feel its smart. If ye will bind one end of the yoke of bondage upon a brother's neck, the other end shall be bound upon your own. If, while your glory is like the firstling of your bullock, and your horn is like the horn of the unicorn, you push the people behind you to the ends of the earth, the horn of the unicorn shall push at you, and the hosts of the north shall come against you, with chariots and horsemen, and with many ships, and shall enter into your glorious land, and many States shall be overthrown!"

May He who is the source of all power-who maketh righteousness alone to exalt a nation, and sin to be a reproach to any people-give this people, even this, to know the things that belong to their peace, before they shall be forever hidden from their eyes;-through Jesus Christ our Lord.

See Deut. xxxiii. 17. Dan. xi. 40, 41.

MARIA ROMERO.

Poor Maria will never know that the story of her sorrow is told beyond the little village where she lived, and loved, and learned to weep. Her friends will never learn that an English pen has given a brief record to Maria's story, and that in a far strange land many eyes will glisten with the tear of sympathy for the let of the poor Spanish girl. For in all lands the heart is the same; and that delightful sensation of pity, that sweet pain so near" akin to love," is not fettered by distance, but like the chrystal water that gushes from Maria's native mountains, it roves abroad over the land to gladden all mankind.

Toas is a beautiful, a very beautiful valley. Hemmed in by the mountains, and its carpet of bright green, crossed and divided by the waters from the high hills that ge rippling over the pebbly beds all about the vale. We spent several days in this valley, roving from town to town, delighted equally with the novelty of the strange people we saw, the mountains, those gigantic hills of stone, of which we had so often read

neither to be denied, nor winked out of sight, that boasting is ever justifiable, there is much in each tions to justify it.

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For, observe, what this, even our American done, within only two centuries. See a great p continent conquered from a powerful race, fro: of nations, of brave and formidable men. cleared away by the free woodman's axe, and wide and waving wheat fields and pastures, th selves in green and gold to the traveller, w sweeps through them on roads of iron, dri that sets winds and waters at defiance. Sec

planted by cheerful villages and splendid
streams and waterfalls driving the wheels the
millions of hands, and clothe their million
they have, of themselves, neither backs to e
to feed. See its commerce spreading its wi.
of every zone, and plowing the bosom of eve
ing home its fruits and its treasures from th
isles. Then, see its school-houses, standin
way-side, and inviting to their shelter and
children of the whole community-the po
the richest its tribunals of justice, open,
erally incorruptible; and its churches, fro
tabernacle, built of logs, to the splendid -
or marble, calling the citizen or the villa
bow himself before the High God, with
ing, prayer or humiliation. See its ship
farthest corner of the globe, to claim re
that savage hordes or pirate crews dare
flag. See its academies and colleges pou
upon the hundreds of thousands of qu
homes, where the cultivator of the field,
tisan sits, surrounded by his loved ones,
they are there secure from the hand
voice of praise that its young artists
lands. Read the history of its deeds in
the ocean; and the outpourings of it
Senate hall, the pulpit and the press
myriad children flowing back, wave at
and towering, till it pours over the Alle
the infinite valley of the Mississippi,
the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mount
thropists, like the Howards of her mo
cheering prisons, and laboring to infu
more and more of the Christian spirit
of criminal legislation. See them re..
the Atlantic, and, joining hands wit
Britain, translating the sacred volu
of the globe, making its presses gre
multiplying copies of the Word of
his sons and its daughters, and ser
holy book, in the spirit of self-sacr
shed its blessed light upon the mil
false prophet, or around the alta
in darkness and the shadow of dear
these great nations sounding acr
all their waters, declaring the Afr.
denouncing against it the punishm
of them, at least, sending forth he
fiends in human form who are gui!
the law enforced. Hear her, too,
own slaves, and bidding them be f
off the chains-not of two hund
those before Samaria's gates-but
that had toiled in bondage for her

Have not these nations, then,
these boastful nations, somethi
which-if glory may ever be a
Have not all other nations he
beheld their glory.
der
the daughter 1
marched for

majesty, to not girdle cent pow thropy? Well

moreo us to

poise ple

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Sich spectacles must have had a far great

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the heart of the young prince, than all the Confucian lore could in the way of making

me to the throne; though the following year imperial edict, commanded to stand in the first of his reign. Taou Kwang, though a disciple of the Confucian school, and was, of to feign a wonderful readiness to comply with precepts; but the solicitations of his friends piece of penance and self-denial: and, so cut

thread of his poignant sorrows, he seized the ment in 1820, and ordered the following to be the first of his administration. But hear the ng sufficiency with which he prefaced this declathe Kings [several kingdoms are tributary to tar lords, great statesmen, civil and military offiaffirmed with one voice that heaven's throne must main without an occupant."

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The rage of her soldiers' thirst to cool.

In the cave of Adullam King David lies,
Overcome with the glare of the burning skies,
And the lip is parched, and his tongue is dry,
But none can the grateful draught supply.
Though a crowned king, in that painful hour,
One flowing cup might have bought his power:
What worth in the fire of thirst could be
The purple pomp of his sovereignty?

But no cooling cup from river or spring
To relieve his want can his servants bring,

[pride.

And he cries," Are there none in my train or state?" Will fetch me the water of Bethlehem

gate ?

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Then three of his warriors, the 'mighty three,'
The boast of the monarch's chivalry,
Uprose in their strength, and their bucklers rang,
As with eyes of flame on their steeds they sprang.
On their steeds they sprang, and with spurs of speed
Rushed forth in the strength of a noble deed,
And dashed on the foe like a torrent flood,
Till he floated away in a tide of blood.

To the right to the left-where their blue swords shine,
Like autumn corn falls the Philistine;
And sweeping along with the vengeance of fate,
The mighty' rush onward to Bethlehem gate.
Through a bloody gap in his shattered array
To Bethlehem's well they have hewn their way;
Then backward they turn on the corse-covered plain,
And charge through the foe to their monarch again.
The king looks at the cup, but the crystal draught
At a price too high for his want hath been bought;
hey urge him to drink, but he wets not his iip,
hough great is his need, he refuses to sip.
ut he pours it forth to Heaven's Majesty-
le pours it forth to the Lord of the Sky;

'T is a draught of death-'t is a cup blood-stained'Tis a prize from man's suffering and agony gained. Should he taste of a cup that his 'mighty three' Had obtained by their peril and jeopardy?" Should he drink of their life? 'T was the thought of a And again he returned to his suffering.

ORIGIN OF MINT-JULEPS.

BY CHARLES F. HOFFMAN.

"'T is said that the gods, on Olympus of old,

[king!

(And who, the bright legend profanes with a doubt?) One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told That his last butt of nectar had somewhat run out! But determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid

In composing a draught which, till drinking were o'er, Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,

And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew drops again. Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board, Were scattered profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on

With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy shook, And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole, The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did bewail, But JULEPS the drink of immortals became, When Jove himself added a handful of hail."

WEEPING.

Young women are full of tears. They will weep as bitterly for the loss of a new dress, as for the loss of an old lover.They will weep for anything or for nothing. They will scold you to death for accidentally tearing a new gown, and weep for spite that they cannot be revenged on you. They will play the coquette in your presence, and weep when you are absent. They will weep because they cannot go to a ball or a tea-party, or because their parents will not permit them to run away with a scamp; and they will weep because they cannot have every thing their own way. Married women weep to conquer. Tears are the most potent arms of matrimonial warfare. If a gruff husband has abused his wife, she weeps, and he relents and promises better behavior. How many men have gone to bed in wrath, and risen in the morning, quite subdued by tears and a curtain lecture! Women weep to get at their husband's secrets, and they also weep when their own secrets have been revealed. They weep through pride, through vanity, through folly, through cunning, and through weakness. They will weep for a husband's misfortune, while they scold himself. A woman will weep over the dead body of her husband, while her vanity will ask her neighbors how she is fitted with her mourning. She weeps for one husband, that she The Widow of Ephesus' bedewed the may get another. grave of her spouse with one eye, while she squinted love to

with eager curiosity, and which we now stopped again and again to gaze upon, towering away in enormous black masses high into the clouds above our heads-delighted equally with the novelty of these, and the surpassing loveliness of the green valley through which we were roving. In the morning, we would saunter out to see

"Jocund day

Stand tiptoe on the misty mountain top."

and the sun peep into the valley. We loved to see the barefooted, and sometimes nearly naked children drive their sheep and goats out from the towns, into the rich pastures, before the sunbeams drank away the dew. But to the story. The morning while thus employed, a young female started suddenly up from before a door where she had been sleeping, for in the warm months the inhabitants spread their blankets and mats outside the houses, under

"That majestical roof, fretted with golden fire,"

and sleep in the cool night air. She rolled her blanket hastily,
yet modestly about her, and advancing to where we were, she
twined the fingers of each hand together, and standing before
us in a most plaintive an imploring attitude, she spoke:
"Americanos?"

We told her we were Americans. But it is necessary that we give her other interrogatories in English.

"Where is John?" she asked. Her manner, although singularly wild, had in it such a touching tenderness that our disposition to laugh was instantly checked, and we paused in silent admiration of her sweet, melancholy countenance, and most impressive attitude.

"Where is John?" she continued. "He did not die, you know; that was all a joke, and he means to come back to poor Maria."

We could not understand the poor girl, and knew not what answer to make her. She came nearer, and placing her slender fingers upon the writer's arm, she looked into his face and said.

"Good American, did you not see John in the great United States, and did he not give you a Spanish letter for Maria?"

Had we known her story at the moment, we could have humored her, but as it was, we could but shake our heads and say we knew nothing of John. She turned to each of us alternately, grasping our hands with energy, as if she would force from us the answer she wished. She said we were Americans, from the United States, and that of course we must know John. She described him, and in such tones and terms of glowing affection, that either of us would have given the best horse in the camp to have been Joln for her sake.

"Good Americans," she said, "I am a poor Spanish girl, but John loved me, and he told me that the American ladies are not more beautiful than Maria. Do handsome young Americans ever tell lies? Do you think John deceived me? Are the American ladies handsomer than I am?"

We answered this latter interrogatory sincerely, and told her that we thought she was as beautiful as any American lady; for though it seems strange, even to the story-teller, that beauty could exist linked with madness, rags and ignorance, yet was poor Maria a most lovely creature. Her.complexion was dark, it is true, but she had sprung from a morning slumber, and a strong excitement was working at her heart that sent a kindling color to her cheeks; added to which, the natural lustre of her eye was heightened by that facinating brilliance conveyed by a disordered intellect.

The interview filled us with deep interest, and when we returned to the house of Mr. Branch, the only American resident in the village, and to whom we were greatly indebted for corteous hospitality, we related our adventure. He told us that five years before, a wild dissolute young fellow, after involving himself desperately in fashionable society, had crossed the wilderness to hide himself from the world. He was a young man of very remarkable personal attractions, besides being possessed of an elegant address and fascinating manners. He had but to smile and lift his finger, and poor Maria, the child of nature, and the charmer of the village, flew into his arms.His name need not be told. He is new back among his early friends, and not unlikely his own eye may peruse this sketch. Suffice it to say, that after a time he returned to the States, and Maria was told that he had been killed by the Cumanches, This affliction the poor girl bore only in gloomy melancholy. bending over her infant in silent anguish: but when subse

quently she heard that he had designedly abandoned her, and had gone forever back to the United States, her reason failed, and poor Maria the beauty of Toas, became a lunatic. When traders were leaving the valley for the States, she invariably came and entreated to be taken with them; and when she found her pleadings useless, she would pray that John should be brought back with them when they would return. Poor Maria! Death she had heard of before; she knew that i was an affliction sooner or later to be expected, but the idea of desertion never entered her mind until it came to dethrone her reason. In real life, stories are occurring every day which shame the pen of fiction, and never did the most exquisitely woven romance touch us with so captivating an interest as we experienced in hearing this simple history of the poor Spanish girl Maria.

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Taou Kwang was born in 1781, during the life of his grandfather, Keen Lung, at whose court Lord Macartney and the news of a happy termination of a revolt in Thibet arrived nearly at the same time.

The first fifteen years of Taou Kwang's life were spent at the court of Keen Lung; his grandfather, a whose long reign of sixty years showed that the whole bent of his mind was set upon the subjugation of all the neighboring kingdoms and nations, and the extirpation of not a few of them. Many a captive chief was brought to the Imperial palace, and there made to writhe in all the agonies that ingenious malice could

devise for them. Such spectacles must have had a far greater effect in steeling the heart of the young prince, than all the virtuous lessons of Confucian lore could in the way of making it soft and sensitive.

In 1820 he came to the throne; though the following year 1821, was, by imperial edict, commanded to stand in the calendar as the first of his reign. Taou Kwang, though a Tartar, was a disciple of the Confucian school, and was, of course, obliged to feign a wonderful readiness to comply with the rigor of its precepts; but the solicitations of his friends saved him this piece of penance and self-denial: and, so cutting asunder the thread of his poignant sorrows, he seized the reins of government in 1820, and ordered the following to be considered as the first of his administration. But hear the self-applauding sufficiency with which he prefaced this declaration All the Kings [several kingdoms are tributary to China], Tartar lords, great statesmen, civil and military officers, have affirmed with one voice that heaven's throne must not long remain without an occupant."

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The rage of her soldiers' thirst to cool.

In the cave of Adullam King David lies,
Overcome with the glare of the burning skies,
And the lip is parched, and his tongue is dry,
But none can the grateful draught supply.
Though a crowned king, in that painful hour,
One flowing cup might have bought his power:
What worth in the fire of thirst could be
The purple pomp of his sovereignty?

But no cooling cup from river or spring

To relieve his want can his servants bring,

[pride.

And he cries, "Are there none in my train or state?"
Will fetch me the water of Bethlehem gate ?"

Then three of his warriors, the 'mighty three,'
The boast of the monarch's chivalry,
Uprose in their strength, and their bucklers rang,
As with eyes of flame on their steeds they sprang.
On their steeds they sprang, and with spurs of speed
Rushed forth in the strength of a noble deed,
And dashed on the foe like a torrent flood,
Till he floated away in a tide of blood.

To the right-to the left-where their blue swords shine,
Like autumn corn falls the Philistine;
And sweeping along with the vengeance of fate,
The 'mighty' rush onward to Bethlehem gate.
Through a bloody gap in his shattered array
To Bethlehem's well they have hewn their way;
Then backward they turn on the corse-covered plain,
And charge through the foe to their monarch again.
The king looks at the cup, but the crystal draught
At a price too high for his want hath been bought;
They urge him to drink, but he wets not his iip,
Though great is his need, he refuses to sip.
But he pours it forth to Heaven's Majesty-
He pours it forth to the Lord of the Sky;

'T is a draught of death-'t is a cup blood-stained'Tis a prize from man's suffering and agony gained. Should he taste of a cup that his 'mighty three' Had obtained by their peril and jeopardy? [king! Should he drink of their life? 'T was the thought of a And again he returned to his suffering.

ORIGIN OF MINT-JULEPS.

BY CHARLES F. HOFFMAN.

"'T is said that the gods, on Olympus of old,

(And who, the bright legend profanes with a doubt?) One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told That his last butt of nectar had somewhat run out! But determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid In composing a draught which, till drinking were o'er, Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,

And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew drops again. Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board,

Were scattered profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on

With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy shook, And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole, The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did bewail, But JULEPS the drink of immortals became, When Jove himself added a handful of hail."

WEEPING.

Young women are full of tears. They will weep as bitterly for the loss of a new dress, as for the loss of an old lover.They will weep for anything or for nothing. They will scold you to death for accidentally tearing a new gown, and weep for spite that they cannot be revenged on you. They will play the coquette in your presence, and weep when you are absent. They will weep because they cannot go to a ball or a tea-party, or because their parents will not permit them to run away with a scamp; and they will weep because they cannot have every thing their own way. Married women weep to conquer. Tears are the most potent arms of matrimonial warfare. If a gruff husband has abused his wife, she weeps, and he relents and promises better behavior. How many men have gone to bed in wrath, and risen in the morning, quite subdued by tears and a curtain lecture! Women weep to get at their husband's secrets, and they also weep when their own secrets have been revealed. They weep through pride, through vanity, through folly, through cunning, and through weakness. They will weep for a husband's misfortune, while they scold himself. A woman will weep over the dead body of her husband, while her vanity will ask her neighbors how she is fitted with her mourning. She weeps for one husband, that she may get another. The 'Widow of Ephesus' bedewed the grave of her spouse with one eye, while she squinted love to

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