trees dropped their leaves, and yet we have received no land. Our houses have been taken away from us. The white man's plough turns up the bones of our fathers. We dare not kindle our fires; and yet you said we might remain and you would give us land.

Brother: Is this truth? But we believe, now our great father knows our condition, he will listen to us. We are as mourning orphans in our country; but our father will take us by the hand. When he fulfills his promise we will answer his talk. He means well. We know it. But we cannot think now. Grief has made children of us. When our business is settled we shall be men again, and talk to our great father about what he has promised.

Brother: You stand in the moccasins of a great chief; you speak the words of a mighty nation, and your talk was long. My people are small; their shadow scarcely reaches to your knee; they are scattered and gone; when I shout, I hear my voice in the depths of the woods, but no answering shout comes back. My words, therefore, are few. I have nothing more to say; but tell what I have said to the tall chief of the pale faces, whose brother stands by our side. COLONEL COBB.

VIII. THE YOUNG AMERICAN.

"SCION of a mighty °stock !

Hands of iron-hearts of oak-
Follow with unflinching tread
Where the noble fathers led!

Craft and subtle treachery,
Gallant youth! are not for thee:
Follow thou in word and deeds

Where the God within thee leads!

Honesty, with steady eye,

Truth and pure simplicity,

Love, that gently winneth hearts,-
These shall be thy only arts.

Prudent in the council train,
Däuntless on the battle plain,
Ready at thy country's need
For her glorious cause to bleed.

Where the dews of night distill
Upon Vernon's holy hill;

NOTHING in man's wonderful nature can be more wonderful or mysterious than his gift of memory. Cicero, after long thinking about it, was driven to the conclusion that it was one of the most striking proofs of the immateriality of the soul, and of the existence of a God.

"Themistocles had a memory so extraordinary, that he never forgot what he had once seen or heard. Seneca could repeat two thousand proper names in the order in which they had been told him, without a mistake; and not only so, but he could recite two hundred verses read to him for the first time, by as many different persons. Bottigella knew by heart whole books, verbatim. Mirandola used to commit the contents of a book to memory after read

ing it thrice; and could then not only repeat the words forward but backward. Thomas Cranwell, in three months, committed to memory, when in Italy, an entire translation of the Bible, as made by Erasmus. Leibnitz know all the old Greek and Latin poets by heart, and could recite the whole of Virgil, word for word, when an old man: the king of England called him a walking dictionary.

"Pascal knew the whole Bible by heart, and could, at any moment, cite chapter and verse of any part of it; his memory was so sure, that he often said that he had never forgotten anything he wished to remember. Besides knowing the Bible by heart, Bossuet knew, verbatim, all Homer, Virgil, and Horace, besides many other works, Buffon knew all his own works by heart. Samuel Johnson had an extraordinary memory, and retained with astonishing accuracy, anything that he had once read, no matter with what rapidity. The Abbé Poule carried all his sermons-the compositions of forty years-in his head. The chancellor D'Aguesseau could repeat correctly what he had only once read. Byron knew by heart nearly all the verses he ever read, together with the criticisms upon them. A little before his death, he feared that his memory was going; and, by way of proof, he proceeded to repeat a number of Latin verses, with the English translations of them, which he had not once called to memory since leaving college; and he succeeded in repeating the whole, with the exception of one word, the last of one of the hexameters.

Cuvier's memory was very extraordinary. He retained the names of all plants, animals, fishes, birds, and reptiles, classified under all the systems of natural science of all ages; but he also remembered, in all their details, the things that had been written about them in books, in all times. His memory was a vast mirror of human knowledge, embracing at once the grandest and minut'est, the sublimest and pettiest facts connected with all subjects in natural science. These he could recall, at any time, without any effort; and however cursorily he had perused any book on the subject, he at once carried away all that had been said, in his memory. His minute knowledge on all other subjects was immense. For instance; once in the course of a conversation, he gave a long genealogy of the minute branches of one of the most obscure princes of Germany, whose name had been mentioned, and given rise to some controversy; and he went on to mention all the arrondissements, cantons, towns, and villages, in France, which bore the same name. In his diary he wrote, when dying-"Three important works to publish; the materials are all ready, prepared in my head; it only remains to write them down." Cuvier's was, perhaps, the most wonderful memory of his age.

ANONYMOUS.

X. THE CRUCIFIXION.

BOUND upon the accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding-who is He?
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood, and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled, burning thirst,
By the drooping, death-dewed brow,
Son of Man! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!

Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful-who is He?
By the sun at noon-day pale,
Shivering rocks, and rending oveil;
By earth that trembles at his doom,
By yonder saints who burst their tomk
By Eden, promised êre he died
To the felon at his side,

Lord! our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!

Bound upon

the accursed tree,

Sad and dying-who is He?
By the last and bitter cry,
The ghost given up in agony;
By the lifeless body laid
In the chambers of the dead;
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep:
Crucified! we know thee now-
Son of Man! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!

Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful-who is He?
By the prayer for them that slew-
"Lord! they know not what they do!"
By the spoiled and empty grave,
By the souls he died to save,
By the conquest he hath won,
By the saints before his throne,
By the rainbow round his brow,
Son of God! 'tis thou, is thou!

HENRY H. MILMAN.

XI. CINCINNATUS.

AN assembly was now appointed for choosing another consul, when the senate fixed upon Quintius Cincinnatus. Cincinnatus had, for some time, given up all views of ambition, and retired to his little farm, where the deputies of the senate found him holding the plough, and dressed in the mean attire of a laboring husbandman.

He appeared but little elevated with the addresses of ceremony, and the pompous habits they brought him: and upon declaring to him the senate's pleasure, he testified rather a concern that his aid should be wanted. He naturally preferred the charms of country retirement to the fatiguing splendors of office, and only said to his wife, as they were leading him away, "I fear, my Attilia, that, for this year, our little fields must remain unsown." Thus, taking a tender leave, he departed for the city, where both parties were strongly inflamed against each other.

The new consul, however, was resolved to side with neither; but, by a strict attention to the interests of his country, instead of gaining confidence of faction, to secure the esteem of all. And having, at length, by his moderation, humanity, and justice, restored that tranquillity to the people, which he so much loved himself, he again gaye up the splendors of ambition, to enjoy his little farm with the greater °relish.

Cincinnatus was not long retired from his office, when a fresh exigency of the state again turned all eyes upon him, whom they resolved to make dictator. Cincinnatus, the only person on whom Rome could now place her whole dependence, was found, as before, by the messengers of the senate, laboring in his little field, with cheerful in'dustry. He was at first astonished at the ensigns of unbounded power, with which the deputies came to invest him; but still more at the approach of the principal of the senate, who came out to meet him upon his approach. A dignity so unlooked for, however, had no effect upon the simplicity or the integrity of his manners: and, being now possessed of absolute power, and called upon to nominate his master of the horse, he chose a poor man, named Tarquilius, one who, like himself, despised riches, when they led to dishonor.

Upon entering the city, the dictator put on a serene look, and by his prompt measures, and the confidence which he inspired, effected the complete deliverance of his country from the imminent peril with which it had been threatened. Having rescued a Roman army from inevitable destruction; having defeated a powerful enemy, having taken their city; and, still more, having refused any part of the spoil, he resigned his dictatorship, after having enjoyed it but fourteen days. The senate would have enriched him, but he declined