* * * * *

COLUMBIA’S SAFETY.

  Where lies thy strength, my Country—­where alone? 
    Let ages past declare—­
  Nay, let thine own brief history make known,
    Thy sure dependence, where.

  ’Tis not in boasting—­that’s the poltroon’s wit,
    The coward’s shield of glass,
  A coin whose surface, silver’s counterfeit,
    With fools alone shall pass.

  ’Tis not in threats—­these are the weapons light
    Of brutes, and not of men: 
  A barking dog’s despised; but if he bite,
    Wo to his clamors then!

  ’Tis not in bargains made to cover wrong! 
    There open weakness lies;
  A righteous cause is in itself most strong,
    And needs no compromise.

  Ten thousand bulwarks which should mock the might
    Of armies compassing,
  Secure not those, who hold one human right
    A secondary thing.

  There are some souls so fearful to offend,
    They lay their courage low;
  And sooner trample o’er a prostrate friend,
    Than fail t’ embrace a foe.

  Safety proceeds from Him alone who lays
    Foundations formed to last: 
  This simple truth concentres all the rays
    Of all the ages past.

  Th’ omnipotence of right, its own shall save,
    Though hell itself oppose;
  One faithful Abdiel may fearless brave
    Unnumbered rebel foes.

  Faith, Freedom, Conscience—­these are words which give
    The true metallic ring! 
  For these to die, were evermore to live—­
    Man’s noblest offering.

  Rise, then!  Columbia’s sacred rights restore! 
    Bid all her foes to flee,
  Or perish!  Then shall Washington once more
    His country’s Father be.

* * * * *

URSA MAJOR.

‘Once, I went with a giant and a dwarf, to see a bear.’

‘Fiddlestick! what a story to tell!’ retorted Aunt Hepsibah, ’and these children, just as like’s not, will believe every word of it.’

‘O cousin Dick!’ chirped those innocents, [strepitu avido, multum nido minuriente], ‘tell us all about it; it sounds just like a fairy-tale!’

’Why, there isn’t much to tell.  Late one evening, not in a great wood, but a great city, I fell in with an old couple, a huge, hulking fellow, nearly eight feet high, with a heavy, loutish air, and the most pitiful little woman you ever saw, hardly taller than his knee.  Her arms were not longer, than a baby’s, and her poor little legs trotted along as fast as they could, to keep up with his sluggish stride.  In a clownish, lubberly sort of way, he seemed to be taking good, kind care of her.  They were on exhibition, it appeared, and (their own show being over for the night) were going, poor things, to see a certain famous performing bear.

’Of course, I went with them.  We found the showroom nearly deserted.  The bear, a monstrous fellow, bigger than Samson by half, lay on his back, his huge, hairy chest heaved up like a bullock’s, and a great paw, holding lazily on to one of his bars.  His owner, quite fatigued, and apparently a trifle in liquor, brightened up when he saw his strange audience, and at once volunteered to repeat the performance.