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dren! Thou art our refuge and our hope; the pillar of our strength; the wall of our defence, and our unfading glory!

Americans! this God, who raised up Washington, and gave you liberty, exacts from you the duty of cherishing it with a zeal according to knowledge. Never sully, by apathy or by outrage, your fair inheritance. Risk not, for one moment, on visionary theories, the solid blessings of your lot. The freedom of reason and of right, has been handed down to you on the point of the hero's sword. Guard, with veneration, the sacred deposit. The curse of ages will rest upon you, O youth of America! if ever you surrender to foreign ambition, or domestic lawlessness, the precious liberties for which Washington fought, and your fathers bled.

LESSON LVI..

WASHINGTON.-MISS E. COOKE.

The following poem, by an English poetess, would do honor to any American heart. The Cæsar alluded to in the second stanza, is Julius Cæsar, the first Roman Emperor. (See lesson 54.) The Eagle of France was the Emperor Napoleon, who, like Cæsar, usurped the government and put an end to the liberty of the people. Cæsar was assassinated by Brutus and Cassius, and Napoleon died miserably in exile at St. Helena.

Land of the West! though passing brief the record of thine age,

Thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide

page!

Let all the blasts of fame ring out-thine shall be loudest far;

Let others boast their satellites-thou hast the central

star.

Thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne'er

depart,

Tis stamped upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldest heart;

A war cry fit for any land where freedom's to be won. Land of the West! it stands alone-it is thy WASHINGTON!

Rome had its Cæsar, great and brave, but stain was on his wreath:

He lived a heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's death.

France had its eagle; but his wings, though lofty they might soar,

Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in murder's gore.

Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have chained the waves―

Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal, to make a world of slaves

Who, though their kindred barred the path, still fiercely waded on

Oh, where shall be their "glory" by the side of Washington?

He fought, but not with love of strife; he struck but to defend ;

And ere he turned a people's foe, he sought to be à

friend.

He strove to keep his country's right by reason's gentle word,

And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge— sword to sword.

He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot and the sage;

He showed no deep, avenging hate-no burst of despot rage.

He stood for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on, Till shouts of victory gave forth the name of Washington.

No car of triumph bore him through a city filled with grief;

No groaning captives at the wheels proclaimed him victor chief:

1

He broke the gyves of slavery with strong and high

disdain,

And cast no sceptre from the links when he had crushed the chain.

He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trappings

down

To change them for the regal vest, and don a kingly

crown.

Fame was too earnest in her joy—too proud of such a

son

To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington.

LESSON LVII.

WASHINGTON'S TOMB.

Washington was buried at Mount Vernon, his family residence. Monuments have been erected to his memory elsewhere, and probably many more will be raised, as distance magnifies his worth, and selfishness and unrestrained ambition make his example more rare. It is proposed, also, by the government of the United States, to build a Mausole/um at the Capitol, and transport his remains thither, but Mount Vernon has so long been the shrine which the hearts and pilgrimages of his countrymen have consecrated, that it will be difficult to transfer their affectionate devotion from the humble family tomb to any other spot, however magnificently prepared. The piece was written by MRS. SIGOURNEY.

Tomb of the mighty dead!
Sacred be every tree,

That waves above thy head,

Or sheds its bloom on thee.

While full Potomac flows

Bright 'neath Mount Vernon's sun, Honored by friends and foes, Rest here, in blest repose,Washington! Washington!

Sons of our pilgrim sires,
Sons of our boundless west,
Ye, whom the tropic fires,

Or the cold lakes lull to rest,
Meet here, as brothers meet
Round a loved hearth-stone;
Meet in communion sweet,
Here, at your father's feet,
Washington! Washington!

Others on Glory's rock,

Have an enduring name, Echoed in battle-shock,

Sculptured with blood and flame; But when the mother at her knee, Teacheth her cradled son

Lessons of Liberty,

Shall he not lisp of thee?
Washington! Washington!

Should baleful discord steal
Our patriot strength away,
Or fierce invasion's reckless zeal
Restore old Bunker's day,
Or mad disunion smite the tree
That grew 'neath glory's sun,
What shall the watch-word be,
Rousing the true and free?
Washington! Washington!

LESSON LVIII.

NATURE'S GENTLEMAN.

The following poem was written by Miss E. COOKE, an English lady, and though we have no assurance that she thought of this coun try when she penned it, lesson 56 will show that such a supposi tion is highly probable. The piece is probably based upon an old an ecdote of one of the monarchs of England, who, when requested by a commoner to make him a gentleman, replied, "No, I can make knight, or even a duke, but God only can make you a gentleman."

you a

Whom do we dub a gentleman ?—The knave, the fool,

the brute,

If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly

suit!

The parchment scroll of titled line, the ribband at the knee,

Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree: But nature, with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born,

And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to

scorn;

She moulds with care a spirit rare, half human, half

divine,

And cries exulting, "Who can make a gentleman like mine ?"

She may not spend her common skill about the outward part,

But showers beauty, grace, and light, upon the brain and heart!

She may not choose ancestral fame his pathway to

illume,

The sun, that sheds the brightest day, may rise from mist and gloom.

Should fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound,

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