ll knives, and backs broken with flying balls.
Immortal Shakspeare! had thy lines no power to awaken pity for
frightened fawn and flying doe? Did they not see

'The wretched animal heave forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; while the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In Piteous chase?'

Alas, 'poor hairy fool!' why should they seek thee in thy mountain
homes?

We have sat by the side of fair fragile country girls, and heard the
experiences of the stout pioneers of civilization. We have tried to keep
step with city maidens, shorn of ridiculous hoops and trailing trains.
We nave known them trip up the great sides of Tahawus, press through the
trunked and bouldered horrors of Indian Pass, float over Lake Placid,
and scale the long steep slide up the crest of White Face. Lovely as
dreams and light as clouds, no toil stayed them, no danger appalled;
panther, wolf, and bear stories were told in vain by lazy brothers and
reluctant lovers; on they went in their restless search for beauty,
their Turkish dress and scarlet tunics gleaming through the trees, to
the delight of the old mountain guides, who chuckled over their
Camilla-like exploits, and laughed, as they plucked the fragrant boughs
for their spicy couch, over the ignorance and awkwardness of their lazy
city beaux. These fair Dians shoot no deer, nor lure the springing
trout. We blessed them as they went their thymy way.

We have sat in the hut of the farmer, the skiff of the oarsman, the
parlor of the host of the inn; tried wagons, stages, and buck-board
conveyances; we have disputed no bill, been subjected to no extortion,
and, save the death of the 'hairy fools,' known no sorrow. We have sat
by the grave of old John Brown, seen the glorious view from his simple
home, heard his strange generosity extolled by his political enemies,
and think we understand better than of old the sublime madness of his
fanaticism. We have returned to our labor with a new love of country, a
deeper sense of responsibility, of the worth of our institutions, and of
the glory yet to be in 'Our Great America.' What a land to live and die
for! Every drop of martyr blood poured upon it but makes it dearer to
the heart.

PEERLESS COLUMBIA.

_A National Song._

God of our Fathers,
Smile on our land!
Lo, the storm gathers--
Stretch forth Thy