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with delight that two of the dogs were in close pursuit. The animal, blinded with rage, charged full upon the spear. Held in the sinewy, practiced hands of a hunter it might have pierced him to the heart; as it was, she had pointed it too high, and of course had not held it with sufficient strength, and it made only a slight wound in the monster's tough hide.

But it did her a more useful service in a quite unexpected way. When the rush of the brute pushed aside the point, the shaft caught her on the side and threw her on the ground — somewhat roughly, it is true, but at least out of the direct path of the enemy.

The moment's delay was worth everything. The dogs were now upon him, biting fiercely at his hocks. He turned first upon one assailant, then upon the other, and inflicted rather an ugly wound on Wardour, who was older and less nimble than his comrade. Meanwhile, Rhodium, who had received no worse hurt from her tumble than a little loss of breath, recovered her spear and prepared to resume her attitude of defense.

Happily. it was not needed. Her brother, who was unmatched for speed in all the countryside, had been but a few yards behind the dogs, and now appeared upon the scene. He had, indeed, a dangerous task to do, such as no hunter would venture on save under the pressure of the most urgent need. He had no available weapon but his long hunting knife, and if he

failed to drive that home at the first blow, his own chance of life was small.

Fortunately the boar was busily engaged with the dogs, which were attacking him in front, and did not notice the hunter's approach. He seized the opportunity, and drove the knife with all his might behind the near fore leg. No second stroke was needed, as none could certainly have been given. The fierce brute, with one great shudder, fell dead upon its side.

ALFRED J. CHURCH.

TO-DAY.

To-day's most trivial acts may hold the seed

Of future fruitfulness, or future dearth;
Oh, cherish always every word and deed !

The simplest record of thyself hath worth.

If thou hast ever slighted one old thought,

Beware lest Grief enforce the truth at last;
The time must come wherein thou shalt be taught

The value and the beauty of the Past.

Not merely as a warner and a guide,

"A voice behind thee," sounding to the strife;
But something never to be put aside,
A part and parcel of thy present life.

HENRY TIMROD.

ON CONVICTION OF HIGH TREASON.

ROBERT EMMET was born in Dublin, Ireland, 1780. He studied at Trinity College, and there obtained high rank; but he was expelled for his avowed republicanism. He then engaged in an attempt to gain independence for his country. He was arrested, tried, and condemned to die upon the gallows. The present extract is taken from his speech before the court that sentenced him. He died Sept. 20, 1803. His countryman, Thomas Moore, has celebrated, in an exquisite lyric, the fate of this heroic youth and the woman who was to have been his wife.

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Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor; let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence ; or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen.

The proclamation of the provisional government speaks for our views; no inference can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad; I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the foreign and domestic oppressor ; in the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold

of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse.

Am I, who lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to repel it? No, God forbid !

If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory life, 0 ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son; and see if I have even for a moment deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism which it was your care to instill into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my life.

My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice. The blood which you seek is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim ; it circulates warmly and unruffled, through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to heaven.

Be ye patient! I have but a few more words to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave; my lamp of life is nearly extinguished; my race is run; the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom! I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world, — it is the charity of its silence.

Let no man write my epitaph: for, as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times, and other men, can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.

ROBERT EMMET.

GREAT TRUTHS AND GREAT SOULS.

Great truths are portion of the soul of man;
Great souls are portions of Eternity;
Each drop of blood that e'er through true heart ran
With lofty message, ran for thee and me;
For God's law, since the starry song began,
Hath been, and still forevermore must be,
That every deed which shall outlast Time's span
Must spur the soul to be erect and free;
Slave is no word of deathless lineage sprung;
Too many noble souls have thought and died,
Too many mighty poets lived and sung,
And our good Saxon, from lips purified
With martyr-fire, throughout the world hath rung
Too long, to have God's holy cause denied.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

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