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And they showed no feather, except the white.
And as they ran, the bold placard

That proclaimed them "brave," was their shield and guard.
Their flight had turned it towards the Khan,

Who never perceived they were brave, till they ran.

The Tartar bold pursued their flight,

And cleft them down from crown to heel;

And his eyes gleamed bright with his grim delight,
As then on his cue he wiped the steel.
He bowed to the queen and her ladies fair;
His face was flecked with spirts of gore;
"We'll leave these three to the doctor's care,
And now, sweet queen, I am ready for more!"

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And the empress spake, and said, “O, Khan,
Since

you have shown yourself such a valorous man,
And slain the prime of our warriors thus,
You will not be afraid of a match with us.
So whet your sword on the edge of
your shield,
Till I and my ladies come into the field."

Kublai bowed with infinite grace,
Smiled in a very bewitching way,
Wiped the blood from off his face,
And made reply to the empress gay:
"O, lady bold, O, lady bright,

To slaughter men I have little care;-
Send more of such, if you think it right;—
But I draw not swords on dames so fair,
A match with you and your ladies sweet,
Is what would make my bliss complete;
But that which thus would sweeten life,
Is a match in love, and not in strife."

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So the empress bowed low, with most lady-like ease,
And answered, "Brave Khan, be it just as you please."
Then he danced them by fours, by tens, and by scores,
Over charcoal pots that were set at the doors;

The town of Kinsai was full of delight ;

Oh! a wonderful man was the Tartar Khan,

And he conquered in love whom he could n't in fight.

Ex. CLXXI-THE TRUE REFORMERS.

H. GREELEY.

To the rightly constituted mind, to the truly developed man, there always is, there always must be, opportunityopportunity to be and to learn, nobly to do and to endure; and what matter whether with pomp and eclat, with sound of trumpets and shout of applauding thousands, or in silence and seclusion, beneath the calm, discerning gaze of Heaven? No station can be humble on which that gaze is approvingly bent; no work can be ignoble which is performed uprightly, and not impelled by sordid and selfish aims.

Not from among the children of monarchs, ushered into being with boom of cannon and shouts of reveling_millions, but from amid the sons of obscurity and toil, cradled in peril and ignominy, from the bulrushes and the manger, come forth the benefactors and saviours of mankind. So when all the babble and glare of our age shall have passed into a fitting oblivion, when those who have enjoyed rare opportunities, and swayed vast empires, and been borne through life on the shoulders of shouting multitudes, shall have been laid at last to rest in golden coffins, to molder forgotten, the stately marble their only monuments, it will be found that some humble youth, who neither inherited nor found, but hewed out his opportunities, has uttered the thought which shall render the age memorable, by extending the means of enlightenment and blessing to our race. The great struggle for human progress and elevation proceeds noiselessly, often unnoted, often checked and apparently baffled, amid the clamorous and debasing strifes impelled by greedy selfishness and low ambition. In that struggle, maintained by the wise and good of all parties, all creeds, all climes, bear ye the part of men. Heed the lofty summons, and, with souls serene and constant, prepare to tread boldly in the path of highest duty. So shall life be to you truly exalted and heroic; so shall death be a transition neither sought nor dreaded; so shall your memory, though cherished at first but by a few humble, loving hearts, linger long and gratefully in human remembrance, a watchword to the truthful and an incitement to generous endeavor, freshened by the proud tears of admiring affection, and fragrant with the odors of heaven!

Ex CLXXII-MOTIVES TO INTELLECTUAL ACTION, IN

AMERICA.

GEORGE S. HILLARD.

THE motives to intellectual action press upon us with peculiar force, in our country, because the connection is here so immediate between character and happiness, and because there is nothing between us and ruin, but intelligence which sees the right, and virtue which pursues it. There are such elements of hope and fear, mingled in the great experiment which is here trying, the results are so momentous to humanity, that all the voices of the past and the future seem to blend in one sound of warning and entreaty, addressing itself not only to the general, but to the individual ear. By the wrecks of shattered states, by the quenched lights of promise that once shone upon man, by the long-deferred hopes of humanity, by all that has been done and suffered in the cause of liberty, by the martyrs that died before the sight, by the exiles whose hearts have been crushed in dumb despair, by the memory of our fathers and their blood in our veins,—it calls upon us, each and all, to be faithful to the trust which God has committed to our hands.

That fine natures should here feel their energies palsied by the cold touch of indifference, that they should turn to Westminster Abbey, or the Alps, or the Vatican, to quicken their flagging pulses, is of all mental anomalies the most inexplica ble. The danger would seem to be rather that the spring of a sensitive mind may be broken by the weight of obligation that rests upon it, and that the stimulant, by its very excess, may become a narcotic. The poet must not plead his delicacy of organization as an excuse for dwelling apart in trim gardens of leisure, and looking at the world only through the loopholes of his retreat. Let him fling himself with a gallant heart, upon the stirring life that heaves and foams around him. He must call home his imagination from those spots on which the light of other days has thrown its pensive charm, and be content to dwell among his own people. The future and the present must inspire him, and not the past. He must transfer to his pictures the glow of morning, and not the hues of sunset. He must not go to any foreign Pharphar or Abana, for the sweet influences which he may find in that famillar stream, on whose banks he has played as a child, and mused as a man. Let him dedicate his powers to the best interests of his country. Let him sow the seeds of beauty

along that dusty road, where humanity toils and sweats in the sun. Let him spurn the baseness which ministers food to the passions that blot out in man's soul the image of God. Let not his hands add one seductive charm to the unzoned form of pleasure, nor twine the roses of his genius around the reveler's wine-cup. Let him mingle with his verse those grave and high elements befitting him, around whom the air of freedom blows, and upon whom the light of heaven shines. Let him teach those stern virtues of self-control and self-renunciation, of faith and patience, of abstinence and fortitude, -which constitute the foundations alike of individual happiness, and of national prosperity. Let him help to rear up this great people to the stature and symmetry of a moral manhood. Let him look abroad upon this young world in hope, and not in despondency. Let him not be repelled by the coarse surface of material life. Let him survey it with the piercing insight of genius, and in the reconciling spirit of love. Let him find inspiration wherever man is found; in the sailor singing at the windlass; in the roaring flames of the furnace; in the dizzy spindles of the factory; in the regular beat of the thresher's flail; in the smoke of the steamship; in the whistle of the locomotive. Let the mountain wind blow courage into him. Let him pluck, from the stars of his own wintry sky, thoughts, serene as their own light, lofty as their own place. Let the purity of the majestic heavens flow into his soul. Let his genius soar upon the wings of faith, and charm with the beauty of truth.

Ex. CLXXIII.—CHARACTER OF CLAY.

SEWARD.

HE was indeed eloquent-all the world knows that. He held the keys to the hearts of his countrymen, and he turned the wards within them with a skill attained by no other master. But eloquence was nevertheless only an instrument, and one of many that he used. His conversation, his gestures, his very look, was magisterial, persuasive, seductive, irrisistible. And his appliance of all these was courteous, patient, and indefatigable.

Defeat only inspired him with new resolution. He divided opposition by his assiduity of address, while he rallied and strengthened his own bands of supporters by the confidence

of success which, feeling himself, he easily inspired among his followers. His affections were high, and pure, and generous, and the chiefest among them was that one which the great Italian poet designated as the charity of native land. In him that charity was an enduring and overpowering enthusiasm, and it influenced all his sentiments and conduct, rendering him more impartial between conflicting interests and sections, than any other statesman who has lived since the revolution. Thus with great versatility of talent, and the most catholic equality of favor, he identified every question, whether of domestic administration or foreign policy, with his own great name, and so became a perpetual tribune of the people. He needed only to pronounce in favor of a measure or against it, here, and immediately popular enthusiasm, excited as by a magic wand, was felt overcoming and dissolving all opposition in the senate-chamber.

In this way he wrought a change in our political system, that I think was not foreseen by its founders. He converted this branch of the legislature from a negative position, or one of equilibrium between the executive and the house of representatives, into the active, ruling power of the republic. Only. time can disclose whether this great innovation shall be beneficent, or even permanent.

Certainly, sir, the great lights of the senate have set. The obscuration is no less palpable to the country than to us, who are left to grope our uncertain way here, as in a labyrinth, oppressed with self-distrust. The time, too, presents new embarrassments. We are rising to another and more sublime stage of national progress-that of expanding wealth and rapid territorial aggrandizement.

Our institutions throw a broad shadow across the St. Lawrence, and, stretching beyond the valley of Mexico, reach even to the plains of Central America, while the Sandwich Islands and the shores of China recognize their renovating influence. Wherever that influence is felt, a desire for protection under those institutions is awakend. Expansion seems to be regulated not by any difficulties of resistance, but by the moderation which results from our own internal constitution. No one knows how rapidly that restraint may give way. Who can tell how far or how fast it ought to yield?

Commerce has brought the ancient continents near to us, and created necessities for new positions-perhaps connections or colonies there-and with the trade and friendship of the elder nations their conflicts and collisions are brought to our

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