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illfe H§w(jth |!§f#ojij:j JOHN H. SK \LH, Editor and T*roprietor. I- VIRGINIA FRENCH, Literary Kditor. Ivies' department. BY MBS. L. VIRGINIA PBENCH. All letters intended for Mrs. ¥rencti must be addressed to her at McMiunville Tenn. Chains of* Clay. BY t,. VIRGINIA FRENCH. Calm ihy restless wing, proud spirit; Still thy wildly throbbing heart— Cease to dream thm dost inherit Kcefxioai’s high, immortal part tSmfeatlf a hidddh *trtm strong'captivity lmth won tlnie, Spirit ! to thy prison cell t bark and gloomy walls surround tlioo, Closing out the promised day, A nd a mighty arm hath bound theo In the clankless Chains of Clay! Light hath shown thy spirit-bridal All a false and mad'ning mock— Fate bath doomed thy bosom's idol To the vulture and the rock. Chill around thee, dim and slowly Creeps a strange and deadly fear, Whispers dread, and sounds unholy Steal upon thy shrinking oar. Steeped in poison, coldly paining. Wasting heart and life away, Clasping close, and deeply staining. Lie thy fearfnl Chains of Clay. Bow thy haughty heart to mingle With the idlers of the world— Crush “ Excelsior,” tlio single Star within its deeps impended, Freeze thy fire-winged emulation Down to listless apathy; Why should thoughts rapt adoration Shrill thy soul to ecstacy ? Why should’st thou thus strive to number Treasurers snatched from dull decay ? others, round thee calmly slumber ’Neath tlieir galling Chains of Clay. Thou would'st sweep an angel-lyre, Tuned to melodies sublim e. Writing with immortal lire On the sinking sands of time ! Thou would’st nsk the mighty Giver What the souls He gave are— Following on the dream forever, l p through many a distant star. Strive no longer, vainlv breasting Toils and terrors in thy way— Smile —like other slaves, when resting Neath their claukless Chains of Clay. Thou wouldst fathom life, deep tracing Sources utterly Unknown- Gaining no relief, but placing Stronger fetters round thine own. Thou would’st pierce the dark thereafter. Where the disembodied soul FI ics, when spirit-pinions waft her To a for more, eternal good. Strong, and proud, and self-depending, Thou would'st seek the “ perfect day," With a mortal’s power rending i foiling Dungeon—echoes drearily— One above is softly calling, Weary spirit! trust in me ! Lift thine eye so worn and faded, Bounded by its earthloss scope, Lon?, imprisoned, and degraded, \ Waxbin xuticncc—wait in hoj v ?' Wait then! There is a glorious, God-appointed, coming day, When, o’er Life and Death victorious, Thou shaft hurst these Chains of Clay ! .V Daughter of the People, BY It. VIRGINIA FRENCH. How strong, how brave, how Exalted it makes the spirit to dwell upon the history of a lovely, gifted, and h«roio woman ! Madame Roland was all this, and much more. In glancing back over the records of a mighty Past, no namo shines with fairer lus tre than that of this master spirit of the Gir ondists. ♦ Mademoiselle Phlippon was a “daughter of the people”—her father an engraver, and a “ perturbed spirit;” her mother a beautiful, ipiiet, and devout woman. Jane was an only child, her parents were hec playmates, and books her greatest pleasure. She was extra ordinary even as a child. At four years of age she rend, and what is more, understood what she read, and yet that ripeness of intellect which distinguished her could not properly he called precocity, for that conveys the idea of something premature, while maturity of mind in her seems to have been perfectly sound and natural. lu early youth she was educated at a con vent, and imbibing the doctrines of the Church of Romo, became, like her mother, a devout Catholic. At the age of twenty-five she was married lo M. Roland; a scholar, a philosopher, and a most worthy man, but twenty-five years her senior. The livo years immediately subse quent to her marriage were spent at La, Plat - iere, the country-seat of M. Roland, near Ly ons. These were the happiest and brightest days of her eventful life, her husband was proud of her, and loved her most devotedly, and here their only child, Eudora, was born. When the Revolution dawned upon France, M. and Mme. Roland enthusiastically espous ed the cause of the Republic, and removed from La Platierc to Paris. Here he was cho sen Minister of the Interior —he became the bead and his lovely wife the heart of the Gir ondist party. She devoted herself to the cause of Liberty : her saloon was crowded with the noble and the gifted, and she swayed those hold spirits at her will; yet was her influence a quiet, one for she was no Amiion, but. a loving, modest, gifted, and diguified woman. Robespierre was wont to linger abouther for hours, careuflly treasuring up her eloquent words, and bold ideas, which he would afterwards audaciously thunder forth before |he Convention as his own ! About this time too she saved the life of the ingrate, who, af terwards condemned her to the guillotine! When Louis was no longer looked upon as the head of the nation, the letter from his minister, demanding his abdication was dicta ted by Madame Roland ; and the haughty re ply, refusing the demand, and deposing the minister, diotnted by the noble-hearted, but imperious and short-sighted Queen —Marin WOT 10 TO LITERATURE, TEMPERANCE AKO MORAL EXCELLENCE, Atlanta, Ga., Thursday Morning, November 7, 1861. Antoinette. Who will say that the world’s rulers are men ? They may be the th rone, but there is a “ power behind 1 the throne”—wo man. Aud yet, let woman not speak of her power boastfully, or with vain-glorious thoughts but. remember that in exact proportion to her influence, go is her res ponsibility, and let her the more humbly and earnestly strive that ev ery such influence may be exerted for good,— “ Hew many Rolands have we in our own be loved South, ready to speak for the Right, and die for Liborty.” Once again, for a brief space, Madame Bo land, will, her husband, sought the delightful seclusion of La Pla tier e, bflt A; lot» we liyid 'ga'"' :.r*'lhtrl.v‘ r u;id at. the’ head of affairs. Louis and Maria Antoinette were then prisoners, and the Jacobins were in the ascendant. When the Girondist leaders were arrested, Madame Boland assisted her husband to escape, but she herself was torn from her child, and dragged to prison. A few days’subsequent to the celebrated “last ban quet” of the Girondist leaders, aud their exe cution, she underwent a mock trial, when she was condemned as being the wife of her hus band, and the friend of bis friends—and sen enced to the guillotine by Ribespierre—at monster of ingratitude, as well as of cruelty and blood! She bore her imprisomneut cheerfully, she sustained all her misfortunes with a noble for titude, and she met her fate in a spirit of the loftiest heroism. A martyr, bravo and beau tiful, her only crimes were her intellect and her heroism. After her execution her da ugh ter was adopted by a dear friend. But her husband upon hearing of her death, fell upon his own sword ; a paper being pinned to his breast wheron he had written that lie could not exist, now that his wife was no more! In laying down the history of this most no ble woman, we are conscious of one regretful feeling—sorrow that this heroic spirit should have had, iu its last sad hour upon earth, no certain, triumphant, and exultant hope of Heaven. She pauses upon the scaffold to ap ostrophize the genious of Liberty—that grand principle for which she died ; but oh 1 how the heart yearns to hear her utter, in ecstatic hope and joy, as did the martyred La Puccllo amid the flames, “Jesus!” Madame Poland had lived long cnougli to understand the Church of Home, nnd to abandon its faith, but no certain belief in “ Our Father who art in Heaven” supported her in place of the saints she had cast aside Iter noble nature, iu stiuct with hope, veneration, and the love of truth and right, formed for itself a supreme, and merciful Being, whom she could love and ,trust, but vet her belief was only a vague aud ■WlTfrfefl 0?0 ..m piuru "tl an<3B loving faith with which the Christian spirit looks up to Heaven, finding there a Father, a friend, and an eternal home. And yet Lean feel that now her home is bright and blessed for she walked by the lights granted to her, and “find, our God!” is Love! What I Saw. BY MRS. KM IL IE 0. S. CHILTON. Yesterday evening my eyes beheld a sight, which I hope never to seo again. A lady friend had left the warm fireside for a short walk to her own home, and I accompanied her to the steps of my little cottage to bid her good-bye. She called my attention to two wo men who were rapidly nearing us, screaming, crying, and wringing their hands, apparently in deep distress. The foremost one, especial ly, seemed to be in great agony of mind. She tossed her arms around bor head, wrung her hands, and uttered piercing cries and wild ex clamations in German—her native language— with occasionally some broken wail in English. Behind the women came a troop of little chil dren, crying and slowly following the half distracted females. Turning our gaze up street, in the direction they were going, was a picture, the horror of which I fain would paint, that the boys who read this article may take the fearful warning; but no language can draw the scene in the vivid light in whioh I beheld it. Coming towards the weeping women were two boys, tho eldest of whom could not have been more than four teen years years of age. In his arms was the helpless, reeling, and senseless form of n com panion, probably two or three years younger. The foremost woman ran to him, and taking her unconscious son in her arms, bore him ten derly homewards, crying and sobbing aloud, “My boy—my boy—he was a good boy, and now he is ruined!” And then a fresh wail of anguish would burst forth —piercing enough to touch the heart of any one but vender of the demon drink. 0! I never caff forget that scene —the agony of the mother—the reproach ing sobs of his little sisters and brothers—the lifelesß, senseless form of the poor little vie-, tint, pale as if wrapped in the cold embrace of death, the white foam falling from his lips up on his mother’s shoulder—sympathizing gronus of the friend and neighbor—wits a funeral dirge—a scene of moral death—never to be forgotten. Rack to the home which he left innocent and free from the curse, they bore the child-drunkard, there to bewail the degra dation, the misery, the fearful forebodings his fall had brought upon them. Mothers! look on your noble boys, and think what would be your feelings were you to suffer the agony of this poor German women. Boys ! look at your mothers ; they nursed and guarded you in the purity of your infancy ; they soothed yonr pain in sickness; they clothed, and fed, and schooled you; they prayed for you with all the fervency and sweetness of a mother's love; they still cher ish you with an affection, the depth and earn estness of whioh you may never know ; and how will you repay all this f Will yours be the pale, meaningless countenance, the foam ing lips, the reeling form of a child-drunkard ? Will your bright, innocent eyes be closed in the stupor of beastly intoxication-? - If you choose not to degrade yourselves —not to wring with misery the hearts that yearn to see your names enrolled with the good and great—shun the li quor seller as you would a stinging adder, and avoid the drinking-h ousts as you would the very gates of heft In earnestness and prayerful hope that you wil! be warned, I write these words ; and would to Heaven I could trace them in ineffaceable characters of fire: Shun the place not your feet within tlie walls of destruc tion. True, it is no uncommon thing to see boys indulge in drinking in this sin-stained city, where money finds plenty of channels to supply the poison. With shame find deep regret do I write this 1 wfe-witfe otf-c likV you. Once they had a chance to bless the world—now they arc its curse ; and why ? Because they shunned uot the way of evil, and feared not to enter into temptation. Beware, lest you bring a like cry of woo ! woe ! ! from hearts now ready to bless you. For the Cnmiuler. Dreaming. BY MILLIE MAYFIELD. My son is to-night, Nellie, Dreaming under the stars-- And a wondrous strain of delight, Nellie, Floats down thro’ the silver bars. And over the grand sea afar There cometh the solemn calls Os deep unto deep—and the echoes Os musical waterfalls. Ked were the eyes of Day, Nellie, ID*:, as she went to rest; Foi .e laid sweet summer away, Nellie. M• f 1 faded rose on her breast, And folded her up in a fleecey nest— While, his crown of gold to hide. The Kingly sun sank—mourning His beautiful lost young bride. Hut not of that crown of gold, Nellie, And not of the summer gone Do I dream, in the star-light old, Nellie, And catch the monotone Os Rilvory dropping founts and rills. Like thoso enchanted streams That spoke to the fairy—yen, I hear Them whispering in my dreams ! From the mountain's purple heart, Nellie. Cometh a gladsome voice, Whero mighty rivers Rtnrt Neftie, Saying, rejoice! rejoice I * And the pulsing arteries leep and run To the great arms of the sea Singing the song of Life!—so you hear The wonderful melody? You tell me, I but dream, Nellie— And what is life hut a droam ? To some, less tangible, my Nellie. Than yonder Ringing stream. Hut still, ‘tis much to live, tin.’ life May ho not what it seems. And wo be only “ made of such stulV As dreams,” my Nellie, .k cann! r~ - A ~' b Os the real ends of * Woro his tones not drowned in the swell, Nellie, The harsher roar of striw— For every leaf in the forest glade, Each lilado of grass by the stream Holds a psalm, which ho reads by the mystical light That comes to him in a dream. Creation's a beautiful dream, Nellie, Lighting an Infinite mind,, And Love Divine is the theme, Nellie, That its spirit hath enshrined ; And talking waters and whispering trees But echo the holy strain That floats for ay thro’ the wavelfss depth* Os that omniscient brain. Then.leave me to my dreams Nellie, My soul hath a lesson to learn From the wonderftil singing streams, Nellie. That man in his prido would spurn. T love to read great Nature’s book Ry the light of tho shining ntars, And harken the wondrous melody Floating down thro' tho silver bars 1 Xow Orleans. DeHtrnction Railroad. The Directors take pleasure in reassuring their numerous friends and patrons that the Road to Buin is now in good order. Within the last three months it has carried more than three hundred thousand passengers clear through from the town of Temperance to the city of Destruction, while the number of way passen. gers is encouraging. An enormous amount of freight, such as machanic’s tools, household furniture, and oven whole farms, have gone forward ; and the receipts of the year have been so large that the Directors have resolved to declare a dividend of five-hundred per cent. The track lias been much improved, and relaid with Messrs. Diabolus & Co’s patent rail. The grades are reduced to a dead level, and the switches brought to such perfection all along the route, as to jerk the cars in a moment from tho main track, to avoid collision with the Total Abstinence engine and the Temperance trains which have recently occasioned so much trou ble. In short, wc have spared no expense to make it superior to any other Road to Ruin ever established. It gives us great pleasure to call the attention of the public to the im provements iu our engines and cars. The old favorite — Alcohol —has a fire-chamber of dou. ble capacity, and patent driving-wheels' after the fashion of old Juggernaut. Our wine cars are models of luxurious conveyance, after the pattern of tho far-famed London Gin-Palaces, where ladies and children and gentlemen of the first water can have all attention. To keep up with the spirit of the times, our whisky, rum, and brandy cars havo been greatly enlar ged, and fare reduced to half price. Our ci der, porter, and beer cars arc exciting great attention among the ohildrcn. Our experien ced engineer, Mr. Belial, and our polito and gentlemanly conductor, Mr. Mix, havo boentoo long known to the traveling public to need commendation. Indeed, so swift and spark ling are our trains through all our towns and villages, that some have called it “ The flying artillery of hell let loose on the earth.” Tick ets must always be procured of Mr. Mix, at tbc Drinker’s Hotel, where you may see the following extract from our charter from the government: ** Licensed to make a stroug nmn weak ; Licensetf to lay a wise man low; Licensed a wife’s foud heart to break, And make her children’s tears to flow. “ Licensed to do thy neighbor harm; Licensed to liate and strife; . licensed to nerve the robber’s aim; Licensed to whet the murderous knife: [■ Licensed, where peace and quiet dwell. To bring disease and want and woe: Licensed to make tin's world a hell. And fit man for a hell below.*’ Regulation's. —The down ‘rain leaves Cidet- A. M. ; Portertown at 7A. M. ; Beervillo at HA. M.; Wineville at!) A. M. ; Brandy Borough at 10 A. M. ; and Whiskey City at 12 M. The speed of tho train will be greatly increas ed as it proceeds,* stopping, however, to land pn“soj^ars^ | |jf Prisohburg, Gallowsville, etc. On Sunday, cars will be ready as usual, especially for way passengers, until further notice. N. B. All baggage at the risk of the owners and widows and orphans are particularly re quested not to inquire after persons or proper ty at Buin Depot, as in no case will the Direc tore hold themselves liable for accidents to pas sengers. W.n. Wholesale, President. Robert Retail, Vice President. For the Crusader. Our Army. As N. .l\ Willis has described our soldiers as worthless and reckless adventurers, &e., while he says the Northern soldiers are the very op posite, 1 take this opportunity to tell him it is as false as his slander on the Palmetto lady who he prentended asked him to write for her amusement about his Northern army. . i be Northern army is made up of mercenaries aud hirelings taken from the gutters nnd alleys of the streets of their large cities. 'The vol unteer privates of the Southern states are the very flower of the whole land. The Southern soldiers are gentlemen who have taken up arms front the purest sentiments of patriot ism. We honor and admire the volunteer sol diers of the South above all men in this Nine teenth century. We honor and respect tho military chieftains and other officers in the army. ThcJ private volunteers being where they are show what they are—men, true men pure gold—no military pretenders, but true patriots and heroes, to whom you may take off your hat and do homage to sincerity and brave ry in the most perfect shape.. The South has an army on the field tiiat surpasses any the world lias ever seen in aucicnt or modern times. Europe has bad larger armies like that of the. North, made up of mercenaries of the very drugs of the earth while our army—with few exceptions of reckless adventurers—is made up t l . Uj,S cream of intelligence, virtue aud honor - hi ateer ,iuen (jfyeco nor, • ■■c same Age a rfooiw-^, - ,whose names will befimmortal as history. VIOLA. Sultla^alion—Where “ If Lincoln and his supporters really suppose that the Southern people will ever pass under the yoke of his despotism, they are criminally blind, not only to the dictates of reason and the teachings of history, but to current even's and facts, nsTibvious as the sun in tho heavens. But we believe they uow expect no such thing. The purpose and temper of tho Southern pco plo', their sprit, their strenth and their prow ess, have been evidenced on the battle field, and displayed before the world, until Europe has learned the lesson to which Lincoln labors to be but which lie is constrained to understand. The South; rn people have, indeed, never tolerated the bare-idea of being conquered and bound as tho prey of Northern avarice nnd tyrnnny. Men, women and children have vowed the irrevocable vow, and would die be fore they w(iuhl yield. When Kossuth sought refuge in the Turkish dominions from the blood-hounds of tyranni cal power, the Tuvks proposed to him protec tion on condition that he would embrace the Mahommedan religion. The noble Magyar rising to the full dignity of his proportions at onee answered: “ I decline ; between death and dishonor the choico is neither dubious nor difficult.” So answer now the united South ern people to the proffers and the throats op the boasted eighteen millions of John Hichman. Lincoln and Seward cannot now fail to see that a re-union is impossible. The idea on which they commenced the war is forever dis sipated. They press on in their mad work be cause they do not know how to Btop. Wc do not believe that they have a very defiimte un derstanding of their own movements. They aredrifting or driving, they know not whither. They hare missed the port for which they set sail, and arc now on the unknown ocean. By what policy wifi they steer ? Their despotic courses conclusively show that our old Gov ernment was incompatible with tlieir notions of power. Constitutions and laws,judges and law-makers, are mocked and set nt naught by their men of war. In one thing only are they consistent They set out to subjugate a free people, and deprive them of their liberties. They arc likely to succeed, with one qualification. The yoke was prepared for the necks of one people—it is falling on the necks of another. The South escapes ; but the people who lent themselves as the agents of the scheme, and became par ties to the effort to enslave us, are themselves | the victims. The pit which (hey digged for j us, they themselves have fallen into. Hainan is hanged on his own gallows. The South has not been subjugated, and will not.Jbe. But the North has been. They havo passed there un der the yoke of a despotism such as men nev er before groaned under on America’s shmes. They dare not do as the laws allow them.— There is no law— everything is what Lincoln wills. Men dare not speak as they please.— They dare not think as they please. They dare not have a conscience of their own. They must affirm what, perhaps, they do not believe; must swear to that against which tbeir souls revolt; must applaud the tyranny which their souls execrate ; must join in the clamor for in nocent blood. All this they must do, or sc- VOT. XXVI-NEW SERIES VOL. VI. NO. -Jo TERMS ; t>t> i>eie annum, in advance ccpt as their portion, prisons and dungeons in distant States or on gloomy isles, where friends may not sec them, where wives may not hear from them, where trials arc not to be bad, aud where they dwell in such cells as Lincoln may be pleaded to assign, aud until lie shall be pleased to discharge tliSin. This has ended : the free government, the free speech, the free ! press, and the free conscience of the North! ■ Ended in utter, abject subjugation ! The pall of political night has settled over their land, and the silence is unbroken save by the insen sate laugh of such asl ove to rattle their chains. . But the South, still free! t nsubjugated, unawevg xnn (e rr iFi A people have been subjugated, but, a thousand ' times, thank Heaven, it was not by us, nor is it we ! Mat rim oily. “ Shall 1 get Married?” is it questisn which a man often puts to himself in the present day. Nothing can be wiser than to make it a ques tion : but when a man does so, he should ex amine ami weigh the thing fairly and fully and not tonsider that he has found a solution to it the moment he meets with an objection to contravene his wishes. It is not his father or his mother, his friend, or his books, that he should yield to, in a case that is really too great for their decision. Hear them, or read them be may, to gather their opinions ; but if his own conscience proves stronger than their arguments, and that his spirit still cries out “ marry,” why marry he should, with all due deference to so many sapient advisers. Is marriage a desirable state! This' is the fust question. Almost every man and woman will answer in the affirmative. When should it be entered into ? is the next question. To this, the reply is, as soon as a man, having reached the proper age, say twenty-five, is able to support a wife. Then comes the question of children ; a man, by pinching a little here, and a good deal there, can support a wife ; but the poor fellow is afraid of having a family to feed, to bear the additional expense. This is the rub. We believe few young men would be such fools as to remain in a state of single blessedness if the image of coming children did not haunt and bewilder them. But this apprehension is quite as groundless ns the oth er. Children have hands to work with, and may be rendered a source of profit to a pru dent father, who knows how to rear them up. Do not listen, therefore young man, to those ! frivolous objections. Do your friends advise you against marriage ! Look at their own ca-! scs. Voit will find that most of them got niar -th% post their position and beconuT'poor sinen-rwaj; Slaving taken unto themselves a wife, in njpe cases out of ten, you will find, by sifting the matter, that it was not the wife and cEjl dren who brought them down, but their Ayn covetousness, vanity and ambition. For, Jf a man will risk upon a card or a die, or upA a speculation equally hazardous, all ho posK es so's, jn order to double liia fi»rtmu>- r b/b-- i tmars the consequences ; and should serve to deter you agaimn such ventures, but not against matriroon^ t.oovt Night. , There is something sadly sweet in a gcntlo “ good night!” from tho lips of one wc love.— We are pleased and tilled with a quiet joy—a holy feeling of tenderness ; and yet the soul hushed in calm melancholy, wo can almost hear tho breathings of low plaintive melodies, and it may be that tears steal into the move less eyes. Good night ! <£ All, Barely nothing dire tut something mourns.” And when the little one, robetl in wMte, comes with his innocent upturned eyes to kiss your cheek and lisp, in baby tones, “ Good night!” how your voice softens, and your tones are instinctively' modulated to musical whisper as “Good night!” like a holy bene diction follows your gentle kiss on the beam ing forehead ; And then you fall to musing on the uncertain future of the trusting child, and wonder if its life w ! ll linvo as many dark shadows and as few bright spots as yours—and it may not be that you forget the sweet sun shine that the little face has just showered up on your soul, and thus caused it to moodily muse as the light recedes and the darkness gathers over it again, to be dispelled for a mo ment when another “ Good night !” makes low sweet music in your ear. Aud then you think of the last “ Good night to life and love’’ on earth, a slumbering dream of peace steals into your mind, and you seem to hear the poet whisper. The Dentil of friends. There is something very sad in the death of friends. We seem to provide for our own mortality, and to make up our minds to die.— Wc arc warned by sickness—fever and ague, and sleepless nights, nnd a hundred dull in firmities ; but when our friends pass away, we lament them as thougu wc had considered them immortal. It is wise—we suppose it is wise we should attach eurselvcs to things which are transient; eise wc should say that it is a peril ous trust when a man ties his hopes to so frail a thing as woman. They arc so gentle, so af fectionate, so true in sorrow, so unlired and untiring—but the fear withers not sooner, the tropic lights fade not more abruptly into' dark ness. They die and are taken from us ; and we weep ; and our friends tell us that it is not wise to grieve, for that all which is mortal per ishetli. They do not know that W'r grhsvc tho moro because we grieve iu vain ! If our grief could bring back the dead, it would bo stormy and loud—we should disturb ; the quiet of day—wc should startle the dull i night from her repose. But our hearts would not grieve as they grieve now, when hope is dead within us. Nothing remains so long in the memory as I wrong deeds. They nre nettles which cannot j be plowed out of sight, but will spring up with i fresh stings every disturbance. » For the Crusader. [Of tue ‘hree following beautiful lyrics— No 11. was written expressly for the “ Crusa der.” The gifted author has our thanks for the trio, which cannot fail to be appreciated by every true Southron among our readers :j Rallads of tile South. BY JOHN IV. OVERALL. Tile Hcsiau of Liberty. raffy, iaßy,'riiliy ,^ J ” From tho mountain, plain an.l valley— iioa.l tho lesßon hwtory tells; Infidels in Palestine, With Saracenic splendor shine, Flood the land with banner’d lino, From Euphrates and Dardanelles. Down with every emblem cross; Christian’s gain and Moslem’s loss! Drive the Giaour iu the sea.' Wrongly taught tho Nazarino! On these Judean hilla so green, Mosque and minaret must be seen— Prophets, teach by Gallilee ; Such was then the Kosleui song— Kiglit went down before the Wrong. Till Europe heard the strain; Christian warriors, mighty men. Hose from every hill and glen. Fearful was the war cry then. Sounding o'er the main. God defend the glorious Right! God reward tho Christian’s fight! Drivo the Moslem iu the sea ! Justly taught the Na/.arine— On Jiulea’s hills so green, Cross, rise whero the Crescent’s seen ! Christ shall teach by Gallilee! Christ shall rise reglorified, Speak ia spirit at your side— All tho world will bend to hoar ; To arms! to arms 1 each gallaut knighl, G;d will still defend the Right, Make your good swords keen and bright— Ho, for the holy Sepulchre! Where Potomac's waters gleam. Silvery as a poet’s dream, Mount Vernon stauds to-day; Reneath the over-arching skies Our Holy Sepulchre yet li« s, Remembered not when glory dies And earth lias passed away. Each northern hivo pours down its men. To deluge plain, aud hill, and glen, As Moslem to Moriah ; With taunt, and lie, and wild hurrahs. Rase infidels to glory’s cause To honor, justice, sacred laws, And Lihertyis Messiah! Rally, rally, rally, rally ! - every mountain, plain Smite the foo with 11. Seventy-Six anti Sixty-one. Ye spirits of the gloriours dead! Ye watchers in the sky ! Who sought the patriot’s crimson bed With holy trust and high— Come lend your inspiration now, Come lire each southern son, Who nobly fights, for freemen’s lights. And shouts for sixty-one. Come teach them how on hill, in glade, Quick leaping from your side, The lightning flash of sabres made A rod and flowing tide; How well ye fought, how bravely fell, Beneath our burning sun, And let the lyre, in strains of fire, 50 speak of sixty-one. There’s many a grave iu all the land, And many a crucifix, Which tell how that heroic band Stood firm in seveuty-six— Ye heroes of the deathless past, Your glorious race is run, But from your dust, springs freemon's trust. And blows for sixty-one. We build our altars where you lie On many a vordaut sod, With sabres pointing to the sky And sanctified of God— The smoke shall rise from every pile, Till freedom’s fight is done, And every mouth through tout the south, 51 1 all shout for sixty-one. 111. The March. Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp! Go tho southern braves to battle, llow they shine, eaoh gleaming line ! Flashing sabres! how they rattle, Every lip is now compressed, Every heart now yearns for glory, Every eye with patriot fire Burns for battle fierce and gory! Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp ! Death is in each hidden sabre, Reaper of the fitdds of Time, Look ye for a giant's labor! How’ sublime! When patriots foot, ~AII the strength of self-reliance. Marching on to meet the foe With a stern and grim defiance. Sec how proudly floats our flag! White 1 our cause is pure and grand man, Red! a living tide shall flow From every foe now in the land man. Blue! aye, heaven’s stars are thero! Sparkling iu there azure beauty! Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp! Go tho messengers of duty ! A Beautiful ParngrapU. The following lines are taken from Sir Hum phrey Davy’s Salmonia : I euvy no quality of the miud or intelleot in others —but be it genius, power, wit, fano7 —if I could choose what would be most de lightful, and I believe most useful to me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to any other blessing; for it makes life a discipline of goodness; breathes new hopes, varnishes and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence, tho most gorgeous of all light; awa kens life even in death, and from corruption and decay calls up beauty divinity, makes an instrument of torture and shame the ladder of ascent to Taradise; and far above all combin ation of earthly hopes, calls up the most de lightful visions of psalms aud amaranths, the gardens of the blest, and security of overlaat ing joys, where the sensualist and skeptic view only gloom, decay, annihilation and des pair.l’