oes who for their country fell;
Heroes for whom our bosoms swell;
Heroes in battle slain.
God of the just! they are not dead,--
Those who have erst for freedom bled;--
Their every deed has boldly said
We all shall rise again.

A patriot's deeds can never die,--
Time's noblest heritage are they,--
Though countless aeons pass them by,
They rise at last to day.
The spirits of our fathers rise
Triumphant through the starry skies;
And we may hear their choral song,--
The firm in faith, the noble throng,--
It bids us crush a deadly wrong,
Wrought by red-handed Cain.
AND WE SHALL CONQUER! for the Right
Goes onward with resistless might:
His hand shall win for us the fight.
WE, too, shall rise again!

* * * * *

AMONG THE PINES.

My last article left the reader in the doorway of the Colonel's mansion.
Before entering, we will linger there awhile and survey the outside of
the premises.

The house stands where two roads meet, and, unlike most planters'
dwellings, is located in full view of the highway. It is a rambling,
disjointed structure, thrown together with no regard to architectural
rules, and yet there is a kind of rude harmony in its very
irregularities that has a pleasing effect. The main edifice, with a
frontage of nearly eighty feet, is only one and a half stories high, and
is overshadowed by a broad projecting roof, which somehow, though in a
very natural way, drops down at the eaves, and forms the covering of a
piazza, twenty-feet in width, and extending across the entire front of
the house. At its south-easterly angle, the roof is truncated, and made
again to form a covering for the piazza, which there extends along a
line of irregular buildings for sixty yards. A portion of the verandah
on this side being enclosed, forms a bowling-alley and smoking-room, two
essential appendages to a planter's residence. The whole structure is
covered with yellow-pine weather boarding, which in some former age was
covered with paint of a grayish brown color. This, in many places, has
peeled off and allowed the sap to ooze from the pine, leaving every here
and there large blotches on the surface, which somewhat resemble the
'warts' I have seen on the trunks of old trees.

The house is encircled by grand, old pines, whose tall, upright stems,
soaring eighty and ninety feet in the air, make the low hamlet seem
lower by