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But every body said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.

My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by-

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly ;

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to lay his head.

With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide:

And many a childing mother then,
And new-born infant died:
But things like that you know must be,
At every famous victory.

They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won :
For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun :

But things like that you know must be,

After a famous victory.

Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won,

And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory.

And every body praised the Duke,

Who such a fight did win."

"What good came of it at the last?"

Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he, "But 'twas a famous victory."

SELF-RELIANCE.

ANTI-SLAVERY has no lesson which it teaches so plainly as the great lesson of self-reliance. I do not, of course, mean by selfreliance, that intense egotism which discovers no wisdom beyond the narrow walls of its own mind, and which is therefore as superficial as it is supercilious, and as intolerable as it is intolerant ;— but, rather, and simply, that unfaltering reliance on one's highest convictions and purest instincts, which is supremely indifferent to the evershifting current of popular feeling, while at the same time it sees beneath the earthy incrustations of every soul some spark of the absolute truth.

"Unstable as water" must that mind be which takes for its pole-star either public opinion, or the opinion of any sect, clique, or individual. It may seem, at first glance, like a becoming humility, to distrust the uncertain light which flickers in one's own soul, and be guided by what seems the fixed ray of some brighter luminary ;-but, depend upon it, such a course pursued continually and implicitly, though it may commence in a healthful diffidence of one's own powers, will soon degenerate into the most debasing servility. By all means call to your mind, in every important matter, all the council and advice which you can command; but, as you value your uprightness of soul, and desire to walk in the path of infinite progress, do not receive one jot or tittle of it as authority. However hallowed by time, or endeared by association, or deified by superstition, listen no one as an authority, and be subject to no rule but the clear utterance of your own reason, and the still small voice of your own soul.

It is the utter want of this self-reliance which keeps many beautiful spirits aloof from the Anti-Slavery movement. They cannot but perceive, and to some extent appreciate, its claims upon their attention; but their moral systems have become so completely unnerved and confused by long, sad years of devotion to sect and authority, that they have no confidence in their own

judgment, and are frightened by their own footfall and shadow. Seeing that the Genius of Reform is superior to those Creeds and Teachers which they have been accustomed to receive and reverence as the exponents and expositors of God's Truth, they feel that every touch of her mighty wand is moral desolation and death. And, in their present servile and abject state, well they may; for the very sight of her makes the walls of their sanctuary tremble, and shrinks their high-priests, who but now bore the seeming of brave and portly men, into pitiful cowards or hideous dwarfs.

Nothing in the history of the world is more striking, or more instructive of good, than the withering effect which this same Genius of Reform has upon the popular religion, and its servile adherents. Her approach is more terrible to them than an "army with banners." To their disordered eyes her white robes are spotted with blood, and her peaceful wand is a flaming sword. They flee from her as from a pestilence, and at the mention of her name the traitorous blood deserts their cheeks, and with livid face, and lurid eye, the poor things appeal piteously to the rude populace to save their priesthood from death, and the ark of their God from desolation!

So strong is the hold which the popular religion-cowardly and ignoble as we have seen it to be-has upon the thoughtless multitude, they dare not take a new step without the consent of its authorities, who have the good sense to perceive that any new step-unless it be a step backward-will prove fatal to its exis

tence.

And so the people hold back, despite their inmost convictions, from every onward movement, and throw all the obstacles in its way which, with their remaining courage, they dare to.

Now it seems to me that it only needs for the great mass of the community to do their own thinking, in order to remedy this state of things, and secure an immense accession to the reform ranks.

And it is equally necessary to continue in this excellent habit (of doing one's own thinking instead of having it, like so much

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sewing, "done out") after you have entered those ranks. To this end-if the reader will pardon a little dogmatic advice-sign no creeds; bind yourself to no constitutions; choose to yourself no Kings or Presidents; submit your judgment to no committees; engage in no political tactics; and submit to no parliamentary, congressional, or (for they are all of a piece) constabular discipline. Touch any of these things and you will be defiled. Engage in any of them, and you will find (if you are a fugitive from church or state) that you have only changed one priesthood for another, and that while you have been congratulating yourself on a happy escape from the meshes of sect and clique, you are more hopelessly entangled in their cunning web than ever. The only hope of your soul-here or "hereafter "-is the preservation of your individuality,—in other words, the maintenance of your own soul as a separate, distinct, entire existence, subject to no authority, and amenable to no discipline,-save the authority and discipline of the divine law as written out and declared by the "oracle within."

SLANDER.

BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.

A whisper woke the air-
A soft light tone and low,

Yet barbed with shame and woe;
Now might it only perish there!

Nor farther go.

Ah me! a quick and eager ear

Caught up the little meaning sound!
Another voice has breathed it clear,

And so it wanders round,

From ear to lip-from lip to ear-
Until it reached a gentle heart,
And that-it broke.

It was the only heart it found,
The only heart 'twas meant to find,

When first its accents woke ;-
It reached that tender heart at last,
And that-it broke.

Low as it seemed to other ears,
It came a thunder-crash to hers,—
That fragile girl so fair and gay,—
That guileless girl so pure and true!

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'Tis said a lovely humming bird

That in a fragrant lily lay,

And dreamed the summer morn away,

Was killed by but a gun's report,

Some idle boy had fired in sport!
The very sound-a death-blow came!

And thus her happy heart, that beat
With love and hope, so fast and sweet,
(Shrined in its Lily too;

For who the maid that knew,

But owned the delicate flower-like grace
Of her young form and face?)
When first that word

Her light heart heard,

It fluttered like the frightened bird,
Then shut its wings and sighed,
And with a silent shudder-died!

BRIDAL WISHES.

BY "BARRY CORNWALL."

Sweet be her dreams, the fair, the young!
Grace, beauty breathe upon her!
Music, haunt thou about her tongue!
Life, fill her path with honor!

All golden thoughts, all wealth of days,
Truth, Friendship, Love, surround her!

So may she smile till life be closed,

An angel hands have crowned her!

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