the elevatory agencies, motionless and chill, shall sleep within their profound depths to awaken no more, and should the sea still continue to impel its currents and to roll its waves, every continent and island would at length disappear, and again, as of old, "when the fountains of the great deep were broken up," "A shoreless ocean tumble round the globe." HUGH MILLER. LXXXI. THE MOUNTAIN WANDERER'S RETURN. I. HE soul cannot survive alone, THE And hate will die, like other things; I felt an ebbing in my rage, I hungered for the sound of one, Just one familiar word,— Yearned but to hear my fellow speak, Or sound of woman's mellow tone, As beats the wild, imprisoned bird, And panting beak Against its iron cage. II. I saw a low-roofed rancho lie, And white cows come at her command, Then worn and torn, and tanned and brown, A wanderer wandering long and late, I stood before the rustic gate. III. Two little girls, with brown feet bare, Were those sweet voices calling there. IV. Though some sweet scenes my eyes have seen, Some melody my soul has heard, No song of any maid or bird, Or splendid wealth of tropic scene, V. The dog at sight of me arose, And nobly stood, with lifted nose, Afront the children, now so still, And staring at me with a will. 66 Come in, come in," the rancher cried, As here and there the housewife hied; And where you from? Be quick, my Kate, The little children close by stood. And watched and gazed inquiringly, VI. "That there's my ma," the eldest said, And laughed and tossed her pretty head; And then, half bating of her joy, "Have you a ma, you stranger boy?—— And there hangs Carlo on the wall As large as life; that mother drew With berry stains upon a shred Of tattered tent; but hardly you Would know the picture his at all, For Carlo's black, and this is red." VII. Again she laughed, and shook her head, VIII. It seemed so sweetly out of place I heard, and drank and drank again, In green to revel and rejoice. I ate with thanks my frugal food, IX. I sought my couch, but not to sleep; New thoughts were coursing strong and deep I could not rest; my heart was moved, And I wept like a child reproved. Knelt lowlier down to saint or shrine, X. I lay and pictured me a life JOAQUIN MILLER. LXXXII.-ENGLAND'S WAR WITH FRANCE AND AMERICA. YOU OU have now two wars before you, of which you must choose one, for both you cannot support. The war against America has hitherto been carried on against her alone, unassisted by any ally; notwithstanding she stood alone, you have been obliged uniformly to increase your exertions, and to push your efforts in the end to the extent of your power, without being able to bring it to any favorable issue. You have exerted all your force hitherto without effect, and you cannot now divide a force found already inadequate to its object. 2. My opinion is for withdrawing your forces from America entirely, for a defensive war you never can think of; a defensive war would ruin this nation at any time and in any circumstances. An offensive war is pointed out as proper for this country; our situation points it out, and the spirit of the nation impels us to attack rather than defense: attack France, then, for she is your object. The nature of the war with her is quite different. The war against America is against your own countrymen-you have stopped me from saying against your fellow-subjects; that against France is against your inveterate enemy and rival. 3. Every blow you strike in America is against yourselves; it is against all ideas of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though you should be able, as you never will, to force them to submit. Every stroke against France is of advantage to you; the more you lower the scale in which France lies in the balance, the more your own rises, and the more the Americans will be detached from her as useless to them. Even your own victories over America are in favor of France, from what they must cost you in men and money. Your victories over France will be felt by her ally. America must be conquered in France; France never can be conquered in America. 4. The war of the Americans is a war of passion; it is of such a nature as to be supported by the most powerful virtues-love of liberty and of country; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human heart which give courage, strength, and perseverance to man-the spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them; of retaliation for the hardships you have inflicted on them; and of opposition to the unjust powers you have exercised over them. 5. Everything combines to animate them to this war and such a war is without end; for, whatever obstinacy enthusiasm ever inspired man with, you will now find it in America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm, |