gives a tone of humility that makes his worth more amiable. His spectators, who enjoy a happier lot, are less prone to detract from it through envy; and are more disposed by compassion to give him the credit he deserves, and perhaps even to magnify it. 10. I speak not of André's conduct in this affair as a philosopher, but as a man of the world. The authorized maxims and practices of war are the satires of human nature. They countenance almost every species of seduction, as well as violence; and the general who can make most traitors in the army of his adversary is frequently most applauded. this scale we acquit André, while we would not but condemn him if we were to examine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude. It is, however, a blemish on his fame, that he once intended to prostitute a flag,about this, a man of nice honor ought to have had a scruple; but the temptation was great. Let his misfortunes cast a veil over his error. LV.-THE PATRIOT SPY. FRANCIS M. FINCH. 1. To drum beat and heart beat There is courage in his eye; 2. By star-light and moon light And the armed sentry's tramp; 3. With slow tread and still tread, By the gaunt and shadowy pine, 4. The dark wave, the plumed wave! 5. A sharp clang, a steel clang! In the camp a spy hath found; 6. With calm brow, steady brow, In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow-trace of gloom; 7. In the long night, the still night, He walks where Christ hath trod. 8. 'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree, And he mourns that he can lose But one life for liberty ; And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, His spirit-wings are free 9. But his last words, his message words, Should read how proud and calm With his last words, his message words, 10. From Fame Leaf and from Angel Leaf, The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, And on Fame Leaf and Angel Leaf LVI-A MOTHER'S LOVE. ALBERT BARNES. 1. Many of us-most of us who are advanced beyond the period of childhood-went out from home to embark on the stormy sea of life. Of the feelings of a father, and of his interest in our welfare, we have never entertained a doubt, and our home was dear because he was there; but there was a peculiarity in the feeling that it was the home of our mother. While she lived there, there was a place that we felt was home. There was one place where we should always be welcome, one place where we should be met with a smile, one place where we should be sure of a friend. 2. The world might be indifferent to us. We might be unsuccessful in our studies or our business. The new friend which we supposed we had made might prove to be false. The honor which we thought we deserved might be withheld from us. We might be chagrined and mortified by seeing a rival outstrip us, and bear away the prize which we sought. But there was a place where no feelings of rivalry were found, and where those whom the world overlooked would be sure of a friendly greeting, whether pale and wan by study, care, or sickness, or flushed with health and flattering suc cess, we were sure we should be welcome there. There was a place to which we might go back from the storm which began to pelt us, where we might rest, and become encouraged and invigorated for a new conflict. 3. So have I seen a bird, in its first efforts to fly, leave its nest, and stretch its wings, and go forth to the wide world. But the wind blew it back, and the rain began to fall, and the darkness of night began to draw on, and there was no shelter abroad, and it sought its way back to its nest, to take shelter beneath its mother's wings, and to be refreshed for the struggles of a new day; but then it flew away to think of its nest and its mother no more. 4. But not thus did we leave our home when we bade adieu to it to go forth alone to the manly duties of life. Even amid the storms that then beat upon us, and the disappointments that we met with, and the coldness of the world, we felt still that there was one there who sympathized in our troubles, as well as rejoiced in our success, and that, whatever might be abroad, when we entered the door of her dwelling we should be met with a smile. We expected that a mother, like the mother of Sisera, as she "looked out at her window," waiting for the coming of her son laden with the spoils of victory, would look out for our coming, and that our return would renew her joy and ours in our earlier days. 5. It makes a sad desolation when from such a place a mother is taken away, and when, whatever may be the sorrows or the successes in life, she is to greet the returning son or daughter no more. The home of our childhood may be still lovely. The old family mansion-the green fieldsthe running stream-the moss-covered well-the trees-the lawn-the rose-the sweet-brier may be there. Perchance, too, there may be an aged father, with venerable locks, sitting in his loneliness, with every thing to command respect and love; but she is not there. Her familiar voice is not heard. The mother has been borne forth to sleep by the side of her children who went before her, and the place is not what it was. 6. There may be those there whom we much love, but she is not there. We may have formed new relations in life, ten der and strong as they can be; we may have another home, dear to us as was the home of our childhood, where there is all in affection, kindness, and religion, to make us happy, but that home is not what it was, and it will never be what it was again. It is a loosening of one of the cords which bound us to earth, designed to prepare us for our eternal flight from every thing dear here below, and to teach us that there is no place here that is to be our permanent home. LVII. PATRICK HENRY. BY WILLIAM WIRT. 1. Mr. Henry was nearly six feet high; spare, and what may be called raw-boned, with a slight stoop of the shoulders. His complexion was dark, sun-burnt, and sallow, without any appearance of blood in his cheeks; his countenance grave, thoughtful, penetrating, and strongly marked with the lineaments of deep reflection. The earnestness of his manner, united with an habitual contraction or knitting of his brows, and those lines of thought with which his face was profusely furrowed, gave to his countenance, at some times, the appearance of severity. Yet such was the power which he had over its expression, that he could shake off from it in an instant all the sternness of winter, and robe it in the brightest smiles of spring. 2. His forehead was high and straight, yet forming a sufficient angle with the lower part of his face; his nose, somewhat of the Roman stamp, though like that which we see in the bust of Cicero, was rather long, than remarkable for its Cæsarean form. Of the color of his eyes, the accounts are almost as various as those which we have of the color of the chameleon; they are said to have been blue gray, which Lavater calls green, hazel, brown, and black. The fact seems to have been, that they were of a bluish grey, not large; and being deeply fixed in his head, overhung by dark, long, and full eye-brows, and further shaded by lashes that were both long and black, their apparent color was as variable as the lights in which they were seen. But all con |