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••It la Mw» gift of FOETRY to hallow every place iu which it move«, to ftreathe round nature an odour more exqniaite than the perfumes of the rofee, 4M to shed It a tint moro magical than the blush of morning/' FOR T3E FOURTH OF JULY. I. Columbia's sons, with loud acclaim, And patriot ardor fired, Your bosoms glowing with the flame Which Washington inspired ; Unite to consecrate this day To Freedom's bold emprise, And annual orisons to pay To Him who rules the skies. This day the great decree was past,. Which gave an empire birth, This day vyas founded Freedom's last Asylum upon earth ; While joy'and gratitude inspires, We'll welcome its return, As long as Freedom's sacred fires On hallowed altars burn. No longer war's dread thunder roars, Nor lowers the tempest nigh ; Through peaceful dimes our Eagle soars, And cleaves a cloudless sky : And we will dedicate this day To Freedom's bold emprise. And annual orisons will pay To Him who rules the skies. II. By the Rev. Mr. Khowlei of Boston. Thou God of our sires, whose counsel and might. Through tempests and foes bore them over the sea ; Whose cloud through the day and whose pillar hy night, Have guarded and gladden'd this home of the free: Our land, in her youth and her weakness, sought A refuge beneath thy sheltering wings ; In battle's fierce onset, her patriots fought, And triumph'd, confiding in thee, King of Kings. On this hallow'd day, when joy's thrilling tone Is wafted o'er plain, and valley, and hill, With gladness and praise we repair to thy throne, And now with thanksgivings thy temple would fill. All praise to the Lord ! the anthem shoukl swell, And peal through Columbia, from sea to sea ; Oh, still be our God ! for if here Tiiou shalt dwell, Our nation will ever be happy and free. From Willis' American Monthly Magazine. THE ABSENT IIUSBANI>. Wife, who in thy deep devotion, Puttest up a prayer for one Sailing on the stormy ocean— Hope no more—his course is done! Bream not, when upon thy pillow, That he slumbers by thy side, For his corse beneath the billow Heaveth with the restless tide. Children, who, as sweet flowers growing, Laugh amid the earrowing rains— Know ye many clouds are throwing Shadows on your sire's remains! Where the hoarse, gray surge is rolling, With a mountain's motion on, Bream ye that its voice is tolling For your father—lost and gone ? *When the sun looked on the water. As a hero on his grave, Tinging with the hue of slaughter. Every blue and leaping wave; Wnder the majestic ocean, Where the giant currents roll'd« Hept tby sire without emotion— by a beam of gold. " fill he his He at the he the the the and it, its had ties ed ten fell the to in bird, And the violet sunbeama slanted, Wavering through the crystal deep, Till their wonted splendors haunted Those shut eyelids in.the sleep. Sands, like crumbled silver gleaming, Sparkled through his raven hair, But the sleep that knows no dreaming Bound him in its silence there. So we left him; and to tell thee Of our sorrow, and thine own, Of the wo that then befel thee, Came we weary and alone— That thine eye is quickly shaded, That thy heart's blood wildly flows, That thy cheek's cleur blood is faded— Are the fruits of these new woes. Children, whose meek eyes inquiring, Linger on your mother's face, Know ye that she is expiring ? That ye are an orphan race ! God be with you on the morrow! Father—mother—both no more! One within a grave of sorrow, One upon the ocean's floor. —. 00 — THE MOURNER. BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE. Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove ." I slood beside the purting bed Of all I ever loved below; I gazed until the soul hud fled From earthly pangs, and earthly woe:— Then the first tears were felt to flow Which thou, sweot angel! did'sl not share; Then, first, my heart was doomed to know The loneliness of cold despair! 'Till then—though many a grief were mine, That well might wring (lie sternest breast— With loveliness and love like thine, 1 was not—could not be—unblest; For when, with causeless wrongs oppreat. From the false world I fled to thee, Thy smiles could sooihe the thought to rest Which—but fur them—were agony! Now I am left to beat alone, A shattered bark on life's rough sea:— To muse on pleasuros fled and gone, On hopes that ne'er can beam for me!— Once to have been—and not to be— This wakes the pang that cannot die; As none, but those who once were free. Feel the full weight of slavery! But oh! I may not thus repine,— Guilt mingles with the vain regret; And, though the gem that once was mine I cannot—save in death—forget, E'en while the mourner's eye is wet. With nature's tears for nature's woe, There is a balm—a solace, yet, For all that wrongs or wounds below. My griefs remain—but thine are o'er! My loss thy endless gain shall be! I weep—but thou can'st mourn no morel I still am bound—but thou art free! My joy was ever bliss to thee, —Then be thy bliss my solace now; Until thy perfect charms I see In happier regions—blest as thou! From the Episcopal Watchman. TO A YOUNG LADY. " The first fruits—shall thou give Him.* Young and happy while thou art, Not a furrow on thy brow, Not a sorrow in thy heart. Seek the Lord, thy Maker, now. In its freshness bring the flower, While the dew upon it lies, In the cool and cloudless hour Of the morning sacrifice. Life will have its evil years, When its skies are overcast; All the present thronged with fear». And with vain regrets the past. Let him tremble, who his heart In an hour like this would bring, Lest Jehovah say—" depart! " 'Tis a worn and worthless thing!" But the first fruits of the year Have been chosen by the Lord; And the first fruits of the heart On His altar should be poured. Thus the blessing from above, On life's harvest shall be given; Sown in tears, perhaps, on earth, Reaped in joyfuinoaa in Heaven. J. 0. R. NATURAL HISTORY. THE ELEPHANT. mg is related in the " Memoirs of John - Lieutenant in the 87th Regiment:" " In the year 1804, .when we wore in pursuit of IIool kah, there was in our encampment a very large ele phant, used for the purpose of carrying tents for some of the European corps. It was the season in which they become most unmanageable, and his legs consequently loaded with huge chains, and he constantly watched by his keepers. By day he pretty passive, save when he saw one of his species, when he roared, and became violent, and during these moments of ungovernable phronzy it was dangerous for his keepers to approach him, or to irritate his feel ings by any epithets that might prove repugnant to him. On the contrary, every endearing expression was used to soothe and appease him, which with prom ises of sweetmeats, sometimes succeeded with the most turbulent to .gain them to obedience, when coer cive measures would have roused them to the mott desperate acts of violence. By night their extreme cunning told them thut their keepers were not so watchful and vigilant. The elephant here alluded to, one dark night, broke from his chains, and ran wild through the encampment, driving men, women, chil dren, camels, horses, cows, and indeed every thing that could move, before him ; and roaring and trumpeting with his trunk, which is with elephants a sure sign of displeasure, and that their usual docility has deserted them. Of course no reasonable beings disputed the road he chose to take ; those that did soon found themselves floored. To record the mischief done hy this infuriated animal in his nocturnal ramble, would fill a much greater space than 1 can afford for such matter. Suffice it that in his flight, followed by swordsmen and spearsmen, shouting and screaming, he pulled down tents, upset every thing that impeded his progress, severely wounded and injured many, and ultimately killed his keeper hy a blow from his trunk. He was speared in some 20 places, which only infuri ated him. Ills roaring was terrific, and he frequently struck the ground in indication of his rage. The in stant he had struck his keeper, and found he did not rise, he suddenly stopped, seemed concerned, looked at him with the eye of pity, and stood rivetted to the spot. He paused for some seconds, then ran towards the place from whence he had broken loose and went quietly into his piquet, in front of which lay an infant, about two years old, the daughter of the keeper whom he had killed. The elephant seized the child round the waist, as gently as its mother would, lifted it from the ground, and caressed and fondled it for some time, every beholder trembling for its safety, and expecting every moment it would share the fate of its unfortu nate father ; but the sagacious animal having turned the child round three times, quietly laid it down again, and drew some clothing over it that had fallen off.— After this it stood over the child with its eyes fixed on it, and if I did not see the penitential tear start from its eye I have never seen it in my life. He then sub mitted to he re-chained by some other keepers, stood motionless and dejected, and seemed sensible that he had done a wrong lie could not repair. His dejection became more and more visible as he stood and gazeu upon the fatherless babe, who from constant familiari ties with this elephant seemed unintimidated and play ed with its trunk. From this moment the animal lie passive and quiet, and always seemed most de lighted when the little orphan was within sight, tu ten have 1 gone, with others of the camp, to see him fondling his little adopted ; but there was a visible al teration in his health, after his keeper's death, and he fell away, and died at Cawnpore six months after wards, people well acquainted with the history of the elephant, and who knew the story, did not scruple to say, from fretting for his before favourite keeper. TIIB MOCKIKG BIKn. _ . Mr Rennie, in an article on American song birds, in the January number of the Magazine of Natural History, has an interesting account of the mocking bird, which he says seems to be the prince of a ^ song-birds, being altogether unrivalled iu the ester., The follow were was came