slightest breeze that passed over the inner reservoir of my sentiments, and seemed thence to extend to a similar reservoir within himself. . . .

Leigh Hunt loved dearly to be praised. That is to say, he desired sympathy as a flower seeks sunshine, and perhaps profited by it as much in the richer coloring that it imparted to his ideas. In response to all that we ventured to express about his writings, his face shone, and he manifested great delight, with a perfect, and yet delicate frankness for which I loved him.

He could not tell us, he said, the happiness that such appreciation gave him; it always took him by surprise for, perhaps because he cleaned his own boots, and performed other little ordinary offices for himself he had never been conscious of anything wonderful in his own person. And then he smiled, making himself and the poor little parlor about him beautiful thereby.

A storm had suddenly come up while we were talking; the rain poured, the lightning flashed, and the thunder broke; but I hope it was a sunny hour for Leigh Hunt.

At our leave-taking, he grasped me warmly by both hands, and seemed as much interested in our whole party as if he had known us for years. All this was genuine feeling, a quick, luxuriant growth out of his heart.

[Abridgment.]

NATHANIEL HAWTHORne.

SEVENTY-SIX.

What heroes from the woodland sprung,

When, through the fresh awakened land,
The thrilling cry of freedom rung,
And to the work of warfare strung

The yeoman's iron hand!

Hills flung the cry to hills around,

And ocean-mart replied to mart,

And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, Pealed far away the startling sound

Into the forest's heart.

Then marched the brave from rocky steep,
From mountain river swift and cold;
The borders of the stormy deep,

The vales where gathered waters sleep,
Sent up the strong and bold, —

As if the very earth again

Grew quick with God's creating breath, And, from the sods of grove and glen, Rose ranks of lion-hearted men

To battle to the death.

The wife, whose babe first smiled that day,

The fair, fond bride of yestereve,

And aged sire and matron gray,
Saw the loved warriors haste away,

And deemed it sin to grieve.

Already had the strife begun ;

Already blood, on Concord's plain,

Along the springing grass had run,
And blood had flowed at Lexington,
Like brooks of April rain.

That death-stain on the vernal sward

Hallowed to freedom all the shore; In fragments fell the yoke abhorredThe footsteps of a foreign lord Profaned the soil no more.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well!
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

GRANT AND LEE AT APPOMATTOX.

He

JOHN B. GORDON was born in Upson County, Georgia, Feb. 6, 1832. was educated at the University of Georgia, and in due course was admitted to the practice of the law. He served as lieutenant general of Confederate forces in the Civil War. In January, 1873, he was chosen senator in Congress, and was reëlected in 1879, but soon afterwards he resigned his seat in that body. In 1886 he was chosen governor of Georgia. On completion of that service he was a third time elected to the United States Senate. His fraternal words, eloquently spoken in various parts of the

country, did much to promote harmony of feeling among the citizens of the United States. His published memoirs are deeply interesting.

He died near Miami, Florida, Jan. 9, 1904.

In the little brick house where they met, Lee and Grant presented a contrast as strangely inconsistent with the real situation as it was unprecedented and inconceivable. . . . There stood Lee dressed (as a mark of respect to Grant) in his best uniform, unbent by misfortune, sustaining by his example the spirits of his defeated comrades and illustrating in his calm. and lofty bearing the noble adage which he afterwards announced, that the virtue of humanity ought always to equal its trials."

There, too, was Grant (peace to his ashes, and forever cherished be his memory!), his slouch hat in

hand, his plain blue overcoat upon his shoulders, making with Lee a contrast picturesque and unique. Grave, unassuming, and considerate, there was upon his person no mark of rank; there was about him no air of triumph nor of exultation. Serious and silent, except in kindly answers to questions, he seemed absorbed in thought, and evidently sought to withdraw, if in his power, the bitter sting of defeat from the quivering sensibilities of his great antagonist.

Some of his responses to questions have already gone into history. His replies were marked by a directness, simplicity, force, and generosity in keeping with the character of the magnanimous conqueror who uttered them. They were pregnant with a pathos and a meaning to the defeated Confederates, which can only be understood by a comprehension of the circumstances and of the nobility of spirit and the lofty sentiment which inspired them.

But General Grant rose, if possible, to a still higher plane, by his subsequent threat of self-immolation on the altar of a soldier's honor, and by his heroic declaration of the inviolability and protecting power of Lee's parole, and by invoking with almost his dying lips, the spirit of peace, equality, fraternity, and unity among all his countrymen.

These evidences of Grant's and Lee's great characteristics ought to live in history as an inspiration to future generations. They ought to live on pages at least as bright as those which record their military