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pressed by the association with Calhoun, as was the election of Gen. Taylor, and Mr. subsequent events disclosed. Calhoun in '44 Johnson went into his Cabinet at the dictawas very desirous to be an independent can- tion of Calhoun and his confederates, and didate for the Presidency, and an effort was against the wishes of many prominent Whigs. made to effect that result. But Polk was Gen. Rust, then Senator from Texas, an adnominated by a convention of the Democrats, mirer of Mr. Johnson and a disciple of Caland Calhoun dispatched a messenger to his houn, was much exercised from the fear that home in Tennessee, promising him the elec- Mr. Johnson might fail to attain the position toral vote of South Carolina, and desiring to desired by his friends. be Secretary of State, in the event of his When Gen. Taylor died, Mr. Johnson's reelection, which he then foresaw with cer- signation of the Attorney Generalship was tainty. Jackson, however, was then alive, accepted by Mr. Fillmore. He subsequently and the appointment was not rendered. abandoned the Whig party, and the great

Mr. Benton asserted that the mission to principles of the compromises of 1850, and Tennessee related to the establishment of an manifested extraordinary activity and zeal organ at Washington, to supersede Mr. in planning and carrying the Dred Scott deBlair's Globe, but succeeding events gave it cision through the Supreme Court,-a dedeeper significance. Calhoun opposed the cision which has done more to destroy the Mexican war and the administration of Polk, confidence of the American people in the while constrained by the popularity of the judiciary than all other decisions combined. war, with the people and the party to smother It was emphatically the first triumph of the his resentment!

wicked and anarchical doctrine of Calhoun, In '48 Calhoun was in favor of Gen. Tay- in the Supreme Court, and it will ever rank lor for the Presidency, upon the idea of his as the most prominent act in the great drama Buena Vista victory, and because, being a of secession, and form the darkest page in slaveholder, he expected to control him. He American annals ! But for that act, the spoke against popular sovereignty to defeat history of this war need never have been Gen. Cass, whom he knew to be unmanage- written.

ANNA ELLA CARROLL. able, and sent Yancey to the convention to

[The writer of this letter is a granddaughter of disrupt the Democratic party. The result Charles Carroll, of Carrollton.- Living Age.]

CAVOUR.—The form, and figure, and features | ever given, was the great kindliness of look and were such that portrait painters and caricaturists manner. It is Balzac, I believe, who says that could and did seize them easily and truly. The dogs and women have an unfailing instinct which sqıtat—and I know no truer word—pot-bellied teaches them whom they can make up to safely; form; the small, stumpy legs; the short, round and I think that a dog who wanted his head patarms, with the hands stuck constantly in the ted, or a woman who sought for a kind word in trousers pockets ; the thick neck, in which you trouble, would have come to Count Cavour withcould sce thic veins swelling; the scant, thin out doubt or fear. Whether, when the pat was hair; the slurred, blotched face; and the sharp, given and the kind word spoken, there was room gray eyes, covered with the goggle spectacles for a deeper and more personal affection, may these things must be known to all who have perhaps be doubtful.—Macmillan's Magazine. cared enough about Italy to examine the likeness of her greatest statesman. The dress itself seemed a part and property of the man. The Cruel BARBER!— Young Swell (loq.) “I say, snuff-colored tail-coat; the gray, creased, and Thompson, do you think I shall ever have any crumpled trousers; the black silk double tie, whiskers ? sceming, loose as it was, a world too tight for Thompson (after careful examination). “Well, the swollen neck it was bound around; the sir, I really don't think as you ever will, -leastcrumpled shirt; the brown satin, single-breasted ways, not to speak of!”. waistcoat, half unbuttoned, as though the wearer Young Swell. “That's rather hard, for my wanted breath, with the short, massive gold chain Pap-I mean Governor-has plenty ! dangling down its front-seemed all to be in Thompson ( facetiously). "Yes, sir,—but p'r'aps Rtness with that quaint, world-known figure. you take after your Ma!” What, however, no portrait that I have seen has Total collapse of Y. S.

-Punch.

رو

THE BURIAL OF CAVOUR.

Spirits of all, since Thrasimene that died, The deep-mouthed cannon speak, and as each

You'll greet him, you of red Palestro's fray, throb

And you the left wing held Solferino's day, Of the void air the shock concussive owns,

As would a lover's arins a cherished, long-lost From Naples' waves tothe Alps' snowy, zones,

brideAnswers Italia's full heart with convulsive sob.

Arise! Toll the sad bells ! Big heart, that, weak of means, with the maj

esty Gone to the earth the ethereal mind which trained

Of a high cause and mighty aim, dared think Spirits that slept t' aspire, held out the hand The giant to face, save treading ruin's brink; Of union to the severed of one land,

But every man a giant once content to die. Gilding the page once more dulled, gory, and

Fire ! tear-stained. Roll the deep drums. Mid statesmen ranks did higher name e'er al

lure, Oh ! o'er peaked Alps, and Apennine, and sea,

Mid patriot names what loftier

deed was done, Through the young realms late loud with joy

Than kindle Savoy's spark to Italy's sun, and hope,

Guiding such opposite natures, thou deplored The cloud lowers, glooming the bright horo

Cavour.

Farewell ! scope, And all the drooping hearts his skilled hand had Laid in the grave—the salutes' volleys o'er ; set free.

The wreathing smoke hath passed from earth Trumpets sound wail.

on high,

E'en as thy orient fame, no more to die To the resurgent banners' blazonry

Prometheus of to-day, join Romulus of yore ! Add the fourth hue of grief — for he that

Farewell. wrought

-Dublin University Magazine. J. C.F.K. In the mind's strife, no less than those who

fought On sanguined fields of arms, now dies for Italy.

From The Knickerbocker. Captains, lower swords.

ITALIA LIBERA.

AN ODE. To the fragrant earth where Dante, Petrarch,

IESCRIBED TO HON. GEORGE P. MARSH, FIRST rest,

UNITED STATES MINISTER TO ITALY. Whence he, bright sun-flower, rose, lay him once more,

BY HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN. His work done, mapped the chart of Free- An Italian translation of the poem from which dom's shore,

this extract is made, will soon appear at Turin, The wearied child returns to his loved mother's from the pen of an accomplished scholar. breast.

Fire, cacciatori !

With what enchantment glow Thought hath he waked, words spoke may not The mountain in peaks of snow expire,

And the blue waters of that Southern sea, The vivifying finger to the clay

Whose dallying arms inclose Hath placed,

and, quickened to a brighter day, The beauty and the woes The corselike form upsprings on feet that shall That lure our restless hearts to Italy! not tire. Forward, artillery! The mystery of Time,

With interlude sublime, Though the beacon he and his lit far appears,

Steals through the murmur of the passing day: Time conquers distanco; that his wise words Memorials of the Past teach

A pensive challenge cast, Shall win i’ the end. · Howe'er faint, still And from familiar bounds win thought away; gleams reach

While Music's pulses beat
E’en where poor Venice mourns, sob-choked and
blind with tears.

To guide the willing feet
Gunners, charge home!

Where gifted spirits limitless aspire;

And all the muses wait Shall not the cause live his great heart that and bid the soul expand with vast desire ;

Our life to consecrate, broke? Shall not the captive's last bond yet be riven ? Raphacl's angelic child, Shall jailer's hand aye work hell 'neath such Salvator's forest wild, heaven?

The sunset's golden mist Claude's pencil caught, No ! o'er all Italy's land hath an archangel Brave Michael's forms sublime, spoke

That adamantine rhyme
Freemen, stand fast! | The Tuscan bard from love and sorrow wrought:

ITALY

stair;

Petrarch's love-rounded lays,

And now a King benign
And Tasso's tear-gemmed bays,

By Love's own right divine,
The marble wonder of Rome's saintly pile; His father's fallen sceptre takes with awe;
Bellini's plaintive strain,

And wields it to obey
Marengo's storied grain,

The humanizing sway. Kindle the fancy and the heart beguile. That dedicates a race to Liberty and Law: Nor less does Nature woo,

With him a Statesman wise, With ravishment imbue

Whose liberal mind defies The elemental grace her aspect fills;

The narrow feuds that serered states control: What azure seems to brood

And strives, from mount to sea, Above, in tender mood,

Inviolate and free, While glimmering sunshine laughs upon the To wake and harmonize a nation's soul ! hills!

And when the arms of Gaul
The sky, at evening, glows

Unloosed the Austrian thrall,
With amber, pearl, and rose,
As if to pave with gems a seraph's walk;

And Victor's banner cheered the Lombard plain :

It floated wide and free
Twilight's soft breath endears,
And melts in grateful tears

Along the Tuscan sea,
On the flax-blossom and the aloe's stalk:

And bade Val d'Arno's lilies bloom again! Vincyards serenely crest

Then to the Patriot King The hoar volcano's breast,

Castruccio's sword they bring, And orbs of flame through darksome foliage And Faction's ancient trophies all divide : gleam;

And throngs, with festal rife, Umbrageous Apennine,

Seek the far mountain height, And lakes of crystalline

To chant Feruccio's glory where he died. * Invoke the limner's touch, the poet's dream, The chestnut plumes uplift,

DEATH OF A CHILD. And violet odors drift, As winds from vale to upland gently pass, THERE used to be a small foot climbing on onr

The cypress shafts to sway, Sigh through the olives gray,

There used to be a blithe step running here and And almond flowers scatter on the grass. Yet soon our rapture flies,

The mem’ry of a sweet voice lingers on mine

ear; The sweet illusion dies When human scenes call back the pilgrim's It mocks the lonely silence ever reigning here ! glance;

We had a little plaything in our garden bowers; And the degraded land

We loved a little white hand placking garden Beneath oppression's brand

flowers; Reproachful mocks his visionary trance.

Then tree, and shrub, and blossom, well-known The glory of the Past

friends became, A shadow scems to cast,

And welcome were the spring birds coupled with And living charms allegiance to defy;

his name. No beauty can elare, No genius consecrato

I used to feel a soft hand patting on my cheek, The air whose echocs waft the captive's sigh. I used to kiss two soft lips-loved to hear them Through Freedom's long eclipse

speak; Mute are inspired lips,

Then, merry was the playing on our parlor floor; And life a tortured vigil to the brave;

Now, naught is left but silence-silence ever

more! For they who do and dare, The patriot's fate must share

* On the occasion of Victor Emmanuel's visit Scaffold and rack, the dungeon and the grave !

to Tuscany, at the Villa Puccini, in Pistoja, Nic. She is not dead, but sleeps,

colo Puccini, the hereditary representative of the Though slow the life-blood creeps

family, and a brave and liberal cavalier, presented Through veins benumbed with anguish, not de- to the First Soldier of Italian Independence," the

celebrated sword of Castruccio Castracani, long spair; Invaders yet shall fly,

reserved by its owner for such a disposition. At The despot and the spy,

about the same time, a deputation of Genoese re

stored, with great ceremony, to Pisa, the chains of And brutal priestcraft tremble in its lair !”

her Gate, which the once great maritime republic Thus have thy lovers cried

had borne off as a trophy, during the mediæval When skeptics, in their pride,

wars, from her hated rival. In the autumn of

1848, after the successful revolution in Tuscany, a Would own no promise in the baffled zeal

festival was given at Cavinani, a little town nestled That pined in Spielberg's gloom

among the Apennines, in memory of Feruccio, on And braved the martyr's doom,

the very spot where, tradition says, he perished Or patient bore the pangs thy exiles feel. for his country, three centuries ago.

there;

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POETRY.—The Uprising, 450. Summer Lilies, 450. The Rainbow, 450. - Remem-. ber," 476. The Good Ship Europe's Rotten Cable, 512. “Our Banner in the Sky,” 512. A Myth about Nightingales, 512.

SHORT ARTICLES.-Agony Point, or the Groans of Gentility, 472. British Watering Places, 472. Bottled Eloquence, 481. Side-Winds, 488. Aunt Agnes, 488. Subscribing to Books, 488. Daguerreotyping Colors, 492. Books without Indexes, 495.

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON.

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Por Sir Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage.

Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollar 1 volume.

ANI VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a halfin numbers.

ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any brokeu volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.

THE UPRISING. Long has the People's might, Patient in conscious right, Shunning the woful fight,

Brother 'gainst brother, Held back from conflict still, Loth kindred blood to spill, Minding the old good-will

We've borne each other.

But now far through the land,
Kindled by passion's brand,
Fed by the traitor's hand,

Rebellion 's flaming;
Our country's power defied,
Her flag, the nation's pride,
Trampled, and flung aside,

Her glory shaming.
Arm for the conflict, then!
Thank God there yet are men
In every mountain glen,

In every valley,
Men of true hearts, and high,
Ready to do and die,
Prompt at their country's cry

Round her to rally.
Out from the busy mart
The sons of trade up-start,
Claiming a noble part

In this day's story;
And from the half-ploughed field,
Strong arms, by labor steeled,
Come forth, our country's shield,

Our country's glory.
Stay not for work begun;
Before to-morrow's sun,
Home, and each dearest one

With full heart leaving ;-
Give us three hearty cheers!
Mothers, keep back your tears,
No time for idle fears,

No time for grieving.
God! for our country's right
Arm us with holy might,
In all the nations' sight

Our cause sustaining;
Let us unshaken stand,
Give victory to our hand,
Forever to this land

Freedom maintaining !
April, 1861.

Too calm are ye, too saintly pure to share
Our passionate longings and our torturing care,
While battle-tumults haunt the summer air.
Ye are not of these mad, unquiet dily's ;
No Lilies should have bloomed in garden ways,
Beneath this summer's fierce and fervid blaze !
But Lychnis and Lobelias, bloody-red,
And Laurels, for our victor's brows, instead,
And Rosemary, to strew our heroes dead !
And Cresses cool, to slake the battle's thirst;
And Aaming Roses, crimson-stained, that burst
'Mid thorns to pierce the fostering hand that

nursed.
Oh! what have we to do witlı flowery ease,
With roseate visions, or with lilied peace,
In the stern presence of such days as these !
Dear Lilies, not less dear because ye pain
With your sweet quiet, restless heart and brain.
God did make you beautiful in vain.
O blossoms, fair beyond the sculptor's art,
Ye shall not wither in my sight apart,
But blessings bear to many a weary

heart! Go, fairest! watch the sick, till morn arise, And the poor soldier dreams, the while he lies In your sweet care, of his dear mother's eyes. And thou, white Silence ! pure embodied calm! Unfold, this Sabbath noon, thy snowy palm, And chant in poet-ears thy sweetest psalm. Unworthy, I your loveliness resign :Go, messengers of Infinite Peace divine, And minister to holier hearts than mine! By weary sick-beds lift your brows of light, By darkened hearth-stones make the day grow

bright; And fill with dreams of peace the summer night! Albany, July 27.

L. E. P.

THE RAINBOW.
FATHER of all! thou dost not hide thy bond
As one that would disclaim it. On the cloud,
Or springing fount, or torrent's misty shroud
Lord of the waters ! are thy tokens found :
Thy promise lives about the ambient air,
And, ever ready, at a moment's call,
Reports itself in colors fresh and fair :
And, where St. Lawrence rushes to his fall,

All-watchful, thou dost tend his angry breath,
Infusing it with rainbows! One and all
The floods of this green earth attest thy faith,
The cloud, the fount, and torrent's watery wall;
And, badged with sweet remembrancers, they

say, “My word, once given, shall never pass away."

- Macmillan's Magazine.

SUMMER LILIES.

1861. SERENEST Lilies, with your breath of balm ! I shudder in your presence white and calm,I cannot bear your softly-chanted psalm.

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