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A blameless joy afford; and their good works,
Whilst in the grave they sleep, shall still survive. These great men however passed away, and the succeeding race was not worthy the immortality of glory which their progenitors had attained. Luxury with its torpedo touch prevented the exertion of reason. Bigotry paralyzed all human effort, and superstition waved in triumph her unholy banner. Darkness covered the earth, and gross darkness the people. At length the Morning Star of Truth diffused a cheering brilliancy over the nations, those who had hitherto sat in darkness perceived its exhilarating beams, and the Sun of Christian knowledge commenced its majestic circuit through the heavens. Warmed and enlightened by its rays, numbers bowed themselves before the only Lord God Almighty, and thousands of hearts glowed with benevolence to their fellow men. The Gospel went forth conquering and to conquer, uniting all hearts, invigorating every mind. But it was speedily corrupted. False philosophy mingled its abstruse speculations with its simple and pure directions. Power raised it into an engine to curse where it was meant to bless, to destroy where it was intended to save, to pollute the affections its native simplicity would have purified, and to drive to gloom and to despair, instead of lighting up the eye with rapture and filling the heart with gladness. Then followed the sleep of the human intellect, a sleep so profound, an appearance so like unto death, that many an individual of whom the world was not worthy, almost doubted of its power to awaken again even to sensation, much more to activity. But "how great a matter a little fire kindleth!" "There was seen a cloud, in appearance no bigger than a man's hand,” and its diminutive size secured it from the attacks of the priests and tyrants of the earth. Its security was their destruction. From that moment their doom was fixed and irrevocable. ngle corner of the earth in which it might freely exert
its power would be abundantly sufficient to secure the salvation of man. "That palladium of liberty, that giant foe of oppression, the thought of which blanches the cheek of the tyrant, and brightens the eye of the patriot and the philanthropist❞—the Press, that, my friends, is in my judgment, the all in all. Such it has already proved itself to be, and such will continue to be the manifestations of its might. Roused by its voice, the human mind burst its searments, the charnel-house of despotism has been laid open to the view and the contempt of man, the secrets of the prison of superstition have been disclosed, man again walks erect in all the dignity and majesty of his nature. Knowledge on almost every subject has diffused itself with astonishing celerity, the prophetic language of Scripture has literally been fulfilled, "The Gentiles have come to the light, and even kings to the brightness of its rising."
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
Ir was a summer's evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
She saw her brother Peterkin
In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
And then the old man shook his head,
"Tis some poor fellow's scull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory!
"I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about, And often when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory!"
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
With wonder-waiting eyes;
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by;
They burn'd his dwelling to the ground,
So with his wife and child he fled,
"With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide;
And many a childing mother then,
And new-born baby died!—
But things like that, you know, must be
"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory!
THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curl'd
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still
The reeds bent down the stream, the willow leaves
Forgot the lifting winds, and the long stems,
Whose flowers the waters like a gentle nurse
King David's limbs were weary. He had fled
The proud, bright being who had burst away
In all his princely beauty, to defy
The heart that cherish'd him,-for him he pour'd,
The pall was settled. He who slept beneath