exclaim: "I am a Roman citizen! I have served under 41 Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and who will attest my innocence!" Deaf to all remonstrance, remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you ordered the savage punishment to be inflicted! While the sacred words, "I am a Roman citizen," were on his lips,-words which, in the remotest regions, are a passport to protection,-you ordered him to death, to a death upon the cross! O liberty! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear! O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship! once sacred, now trampled on! inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole Is it come to this? Shall an power of the Roman People, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an infamous death, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, the tears of pitying specta tors, the majesty of the Roman Commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the merciless monster, who, in the confidence of his riches, strikes at the very root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance? And shall this man escape? Fathers, it must not be! It must not be, unless you would undermine the very foundations of social safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre and ruin on the Commonwealth! Cicero. THE BOYS. This selection is a poem addressed to the class of 1829, in Harvard College, some thirty years after their graduation. The author, who retains, in a high degree, the freshness and joyousness of youth addresses his classmates as "boys." HAs there any old fellow got mixed with the boys? We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more? Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake! We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call "Judge ;" That fellow's the "Speaker," the one on the right; laugh. That boy with the grave mathematical look -a good joke it was too! There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, We called him "The Justice," but now he's the "Squire." And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith; You hear that boy laughing? You think he's all fun ; Yes, we're boys,-always playing with tongue or with per; Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray! O. W. Helmes. THE ANGEL FERRY. Oн, when shall the boatman ferry me o'er I have journeyed for many a weary day, And up misfortune's thorny slope, And my heart beats time to a ceaseless tune :- To the friends who wait on the further shore? Through the wrecks of many a fairy dream And while I faintly call and pray, My wind-swept locks are turning gray. But I know he is true, and will come ere quite And I walk the sands till he bear me o'er To the friends who wait on the further shore. He is fair and beautiful, I know, The shadows deepen one by one, The sun is set, the day is done; And like a star on my growing sight, I can see at last the signal lightHigh over the rocking wave it rides, And swiftly toward the margin glides ; I can hear the rush of that spirit barque, And mellow splendors pierce the dark! Adieu, dim world! ere I'm wafted o'er To the friends who wait on the further shore. II. S. Cornwell, CIVIL WAR. "RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vedette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet !" "Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. "Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!" "Oh captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vedette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. "But I snatched off the trinket,-this locket of gold; "Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!-'tis she, My brother's young bride,-and the fallen dragoon Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon! "But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; Anonymous. THE BATTLE. HEAVY and solemn, Through the green plain they marching came! "Halt!" And fettered they stand at the stark command, Proud in the blush of morning glowing, How they ring through the ranks, which they rouse to the strife! Thrilling they sound, with their glorious tone,- In the life to come that we meet once more! See the smoke, how the lightning is cleaving asun ler! Hark! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunder! From host to host with kindling sound, The shouted signal circles round; The iron death-dice fall! They kneel as one man from flank to flank, Many a gap by the balls is rent; O'er the corpse before springs the hinder man, |