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manageable, and apparently more hazardous, by being broken up into I do not know how many confederated and independent democracies,-America, with universal suffrage, and yearly elections with a free and unlicensed press—without an established priesthood, an hereditary nobility, or a permanent executive—with, in short, all that is combustible and pregnant with danger, on the hypothesis . of tyranny, and without one of the checks or safeguards, by which alone they contend, the benefits or the very being of society can be maintained!

There is something at once audacious and ridiculous, in maintaining such doctrines in the face of such experience. Nor can anything be founded on the novelty of these institutions, on the pretence that they have not yet been put fairly on their trial. America has gone on prospering under them for forty years, and has exhibited a picture of uninterrupted, rapid, unprecedented advances in wealth, population, intelligence, and concord; while all the arbitrary governments of the old world have been overrun with bankruptcies, conspiracies, rebellions, and revolutions; and are, at this moment, trembling in the consciousness of their insecurity, and vainly endeavouring to repress irrepressible discontents, by confederated violence and terror.

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.—Mrs. Hemans.

The stately Homes of England,

How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O’er all the pleasant land.
The deer across their greensward bound

Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with a sound

Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry Homes of England!

Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love

Meet, in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
. Or childhood's tale is told,

Or lips move tunefully along

Some glorious page of old.

The blessed Homes of England!

How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness,

That breathes from Sabbath-hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime

Floats through their woods at morn;
All other sounds, in that still time,

Of breeze and leaf are born.

The Cottage Homes of England!

By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,

And round the hamlet-fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,

Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless there they lowly sleep,

As the bird beneath their eaves.

The free, fair Homes of England!

Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared,

To guard each hallowed wall!
And green forever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God!

THE PILGRIM FATHERS.---Pierpont.

The pilgrim fathers—where are they?

The waves that brought them o'er
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray

As they break along the shore: .
Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day,

When the May-flower* moored below, * The May-flower was the name of the vessel in which the pilgrims When the sea around was black with storms,

came.

And white the shore with snow.

The mists, that wrapped the pilgrim's sleep,

Still brood upon the tide;
And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep,

To stay its waves of pride.
But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale,

When the heavens looked dark, is gone;
As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud,

Is seen, and then withdrawn.

The pilgrim exile-sainted name!

The hill, whose icy brow
Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame,

In the morning's flame burns now.
And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night

On the hill-side and the sea,
Still lies where he laid his houseless head;

But the pilgrim—where is he?

The pilgrim fathers are at rest:

When summer 's throned on high, And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed,

Go, stand on the hill where they lie.
The earliest ray of the golden day

On that hallowed spot is cast;
And the evening sun, as he leaves the world,

Looks kindly on that spot last.

The pilgrim spirit has not fled:

It walks in noon's broad light;
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead,

With the holy stars, by night.
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled,

And shall guard this ice-bound shore,
Till the waves of the bay, where the May-flower lay,

Shall foam and freeze no more.

EXTRACT FROM MR. HAYNE'S SPEECH IN THE SENATE OF, THE

UNITED STATES, 1830.

If there be one state in the union, Mr. President, (and I say it not in a boastful spirit) that may challenge comparison with any other for an uniform, zealous, ardent and uncalculating devotion to the union, that state is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement of the revolution up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made; no service she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity; but in your adversity, she has clung to you, with more than filial affection. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs, though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound, every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their common country.

What, Sir, was the conduct of the south during the revolution? Sir, I honour New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle But great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honour is due to the south. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren, with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create commercial rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guarantee that their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all considerations, either of interest or of safety, they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, periled all in the sacred cause of freedom.

Never was there exhibited in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the whigs of Carolina, during the revolution. The whole state, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. The 'plains of Carolina,' drank up the most precious blood of her citizens! Black and smoking ruins marked the places, which had been the habitations of her children! Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumpters and her Marions, proved by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible.

EXTRACT FROM MR. WEBSTER'S SPEECH IN THE SENATE OF THE

UNITED STATES, 1830.

The eulogium, pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina by the honourable gentleman, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge, that the honourable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honour: I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurens, Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions-Americans all—whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits.

In their day and generation, they served and honoured the country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him, whose honoured name the gentleman himself bears—does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright, as to produce envy in my bosom? No, Sir,-increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit, which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down.

When I shall be found, Sir, in my place here in the senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own state

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