grave;
Let the butterfly and bee all the summer flutter free,
O'er the flowers grown from a heart which no wrongs could ever part,
Nor torture e'er remove from the creatures of its love;
With the wild and feverish brain, and thought's bright but blighted train,
With strong heart, but anguished soul, and pain's weird and heavy dole--
Let the weary, tired form, whose lost life was only storm,
In the shroud's pure snow
Find release from woe,
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love it e'er again would know!

NEGRO TROOPS.

There was a time not long since when the serious consideration of a
question like this would have met with little favor. We remember seeing,
in this city of New York, one genial October day, not very many years
ago, a small company of negro soldiers. They were marching in Canal
street, not in Broadway, and seemed to fear molestation even there. The
writer was a schoolboy then, cadet in a military school (one of the
first established of those excellent institutions), and had, of course,
a particular interest in all military matters. So he stopped to look
upon these black soldiers--marching with all the more pride (as it
seemed to him) because they marched under the floating folds of the
stars and stripes. His boy's heart was stirred by the spectacle, and
full of a big emotion; but the fashion of the times overpowered the
generous impulse, and he treated the negro soldiers with contempt.

This was in the palmy days of the old _regime_. The stifling of that
generous impulse was one of the glories of the old _regime_. Not a
decade of years went by, and the writer stood again in the streets of
New York city, and saw another sight of negro soldiers. It was, indeed,
and in all respects, another sight. This time the black men marched in
Broadway; this time they feared no molestation. It was a balmy day in
spring, and God's sunshine glistened gladly from the bright bayonets of
United States black soldiers. What a spectacle it was! There marched the
retributive justice of the nation--'carrying the flag and keeping step
to the music of the Union.' That march was a march of triumph, and its
sublime watchword was: 'LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND
INSEPARABLE!'

What a marvellous change in public opinion! Now, negro companies are
treated with respect, negro regiments are honored; because we honor the
defenders of our national ensign,