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BY EDWARD LEE WINSLOW, OF NORTH-CAROLINA. A BEAUTIFUL writer says, “the sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced.” There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living. From the silent and peaceful bosom of the grave spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who would part with these hallowed feelings? Better let us cherish them individually, and, as a community, suffer no longer that stirring evidence of forgetfulness of our departed friends, which meets our eyes, as we pass the public mansion of the dead, in its neglected and dilapidated condition. Let it be rescued from rude assault, strewed with the beauties of nature; and while we thus cultivate our respect and veneration for the dead, endeavour to be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of our duties to the living.


BY JOHN W. ELLIS, OF NORTH-CAROLINA. THEY have reared to themselves a monument that mocks the regal splendour of marble, and the durability of perennial brass. That monument is the soil that gave us birth, and the liberties that surround our lives; the political privileges we enjoy, and this edifice to God, at whose altars we are permitted to bow with freedom of conscience and devotion. It rises from the earth round and about us, till its summit is lost in the heavens; and there it will stand till the reign of reason is debased and overthrown, and the slave grovels where now the freeman stands.

To whom can I appeal with more propriety than the freemen of Mecklenburgh, to know when, if ever, that day shall come? Truly, standing here as I do, at the end of seventy-three years of experience, -when I see rising star after star in rapid succession, and increasing brilliancy, in that sky of my country's glory, where once all was dark, --when I look upon this assembly, advancing in all the virtues that adorn a Christian people, and see them preserving the original gifts of liberty with the freshness of morning, I am prompted to exclaim, Never! never shall that hour come! No! not until the beautiful heavens shall melt from above our heads, and the earth pass from under our feet; till nature gives signs of decay, and the “sun shall slumber in the clouds, forgetful of the voice of the morning."

“When earth's cities have no sound or tread,
And ships are drifting with the dead,

To shores where all is dumb." Till when, ever as our own Yadkin and Catawba roll their currents to the mighty ocean, the rippling song of their waters will be blended with the anthems of freemen, swelling with the praises of the past, the blessings of the present, and the prospects of the future !


BY W. W. AVERY, OF NORTH-CAROLINA. STATE pride is an active desire to see our immediate country prosperous and happy. It has its origin in that love for the land of our birth which is one of the strongest instincts of our nature, and incites nobler actions and induces greater sacrifices than

any other impulse of man's bosom. Love of birth-place and home is developed simultaneously with those warm affections for parents, brothers, friends, that exist around the family hearth, and which, if cultivated, cluster ever after about the human heart. As association expands the scope of affection, this feeling extends to the social system around us, and is gradually enlarged, until it comprises within its devotion the entire government of the country we inhabit. No government has ever retained the allegiance of its citizens where this sentiment has languished; and no country has flourished where it was not taught as a principle, cherished as a passion, and made subordinate only to religion, in the ardour with which it glowed in the bosom of the people. But the force and efficiency of this feeling, in controlling our actions, stimulating high resolves, and securing the sacrifice of individual interest to the public good, depends upon the extent of the area of its operation. And in order to make it active, effective, and self-sacrificing—I speak with reference to the public weal—that area should be circumscribed by fixed and definite boundaries, and must not be too extensive; for each successive enlargement of the circle of its sympathy weakens its intensity, precisely as our affection for family, relative, friend, countryman, becomes less ardent as it diverges from the principal focus of concentration.

The division of the vast territory of our republic into States, with known and fixed boundaries, and having the entire control of their own internal police and government, thereby concentrating the actions, thoughts, and affections of their people, while it constitutes the strength and beauty of our political system, is

likewise the chief element of the prosperity of our Republic. As liberal competition between individuals, in the race for honourable distinction, is the greatest incentive to success, so does the generous rivalry among the members of our family of States, in their contest for pre-eminence in improving and ameliorating the condition of their people, insure to each greater progress in the march of improvement; and the aggregate of character and prosperity thus attained by the several States imparts to the republic the glory and grandeur of its national character.

Much of the well-merited renown acquired by our arms upon the plains of Mexico may be ascribed to the noble emulation which was excited in the bosoms of the several corps of patriotic soldiers, representing the different States of the Union. "Marching under a banner clothed in the emblems and inscribed with the motto of his State, each citizen-soldier approached the field of battle proudly conscious that her honour and character were confided to his keeping; and, as he beheld his brethren from the other States unfurling their respective banners, and marshalling themselves beneath their folds, he resolved, with a hero's spirit, that the flag of his native State should be foremost in the van, while a single hand was left to carry and defend it.

Thus inspirited, the citizen-soldier of America has proved himself invincible. And if the same noble spirit of emulation, existing and operating in the civil departments of life, would animate and direct the people of all the States in this Union, what limit could human prophecy affix to their intellectual, social, political, and moral advancement! Would to God that our beloved State thrilled from centre to circumference with the inspiration of this spirit! Would that I could this day enkindle in your bosoms the regenerating spark'



TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY. My mother! now the gladsome spring

Is smiling o'er the carth;
And butterflies on painted wing,

In sunny light go forth.
Though all spring-days most lovely be,

All fair and full of mirth,
One, one is dearest far to me,

The day that gave thee birth :
It was a day with joyance fraught,
It is a day for deepen'd thought.
My mother! I remember well,

When thou wast not as now,
Remember when time's shadow fell

Less darkly on thy brow.
I can remind me of the time,

When, in life's summer glow,
Thy years had hardly pass'd their prime,

And scarce one flower lay low :
But clouds thy heaven have overcast,
Since those bright days of pleasure past.
Mother! thy step is not so firm

As it was wont to be,
For secret blight and open storm

Have done their work on thee.
Thy hair turns gray, and I can see

Thy hand more tremulous;
And thy dark eye hath lost its glee,

Save when it turns on us,
Thy children--then it hath a joy
And light, that nothing can destroy
Yet, weep not, mother! for the days

Pass'd by, we'll not regret;
The star of hope, with all its rays,

Is only dimm’d, not set.

Fix'd o'er thy path it shall remain,

And never more deceive-
And it shall sparkle out again,

To light thy quiet eve;
Flinging a radiance o'er past years,
And bright'ning all thy fallen tears


TROM THE LADIES' MAGAZINE. The pinions are unfurl'd,

Fair spirit of the spring ! And the earth is blushing now beneath

The shadow of thy wing: The tassels of the birch

And the maple's scarlet tress Are waving in the sunny air,

To meet thy soft caress.
I know that thou art here,

By the budding of the trees,
And by the low and bubbling sound

That cometh with the breeze.
A coronal of beauty

Thou bringest for the hills, And a mantle of the softest blue,

To fling upon the rills. The forests and the vales,

Beneath thy gentle tread, Have all along the springing land

A living carpet spread :
The hill-top and the glen

Both hail thee and rejoice,
And many a merry mountain-stream

Is gladden'd by thy voice.
Thou hast, for fancy's ear,

A wild and thrilling song, As the breathings from thy spirit-harp

Sweep joyously along;
And tones that wander by,

Upon the southern gale,
Bring now to many a lonely heart

A soothing fairy tale.

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