part of the
business-policy of each. And it is only such a people that will dare to
inaugurate, and persevere to sustain it. Nevertheless, as it cannot but
appear problematical to minds that have not given to the subject the
most earnest attention, its adoption will doubtless be most strenuously
opposed, by habits of thought, by modes of action, and by interests, as
ancient, as universal, and apparently as fixed as the race itself. Yet,
as M. Arago justly remarks in one of his biographies addressed to the
French Academy,--"The moral transformations of society are subject to
the laws of continuity; they rise and grow, like the productions of the
earth, by imperceptible gradations. Each century develops, discusses,
and adapts to itself, in some degree, truths--or, if you prefer it,
principles--of which the conception belonged to the preceding century;
this work of the mind usually goes on without being perceived by the
vulgar; but when the day of application arrives, when principles claim
their part in practice, when they aim at penetrating into political
life, the ancient interests, if they have only this same antiquity to
invoke in their favor, become excited, resist, and struggle, and society
is shaken to its foundations. The tableau will be complete, Gentlemen,
when I add, that, in these obstinate conflicts, it is never the
principles that succumb."

IN MEMORY OF

J. W.--R. W.

No mystic charm, no mortal art
Can bid our loved companions stay;
The bands that clasp them to our heart
Snap in death's frost and fall apart;
Like shadows fading with the day,
They pass away.

The young are stricken in their pride,
The old, long tottering, faint and fall;
Master and scholar, side by side,
Through the dark portals silent glide,
That open in life's mouldering wall
And close on all.

Our friend's, our teacher's task was done,
When mercy called him from on high;
A little cloud had dimmed the sun,
The saddening hours had just begun,
And darker days were drawing nigh:
'Twas time to die.

A whiter soul, a fairer mind,
A life with purer course and aim,
A gentler eye, a voice more kind,
We may not look on earth to find.
The love that lingers o'er his name
Is more than fame.

These blood-red summers ripen fast;
The sons are older than the sires;
Ere