From hence, to east, and south, and north,
Till, weary of man's guilt and pain,
Thoul't turn thee to _our_ land again.

Farewell sweet day! our songs shall hail
Thine earliest dawn so pure, and pale,--
For shadowy night ere long must, cease
To veil the pleasant Land of Peace.


M.L.B.

(_To be continued._)

* * * * *




SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *


MAJOR ANDRE.

(_Letter in "A Tour in North America," dated Hudson River._)

My dear B.--On my return to the Neptune all was in readiness to set
sail. The wind sprang up, and we were presently wafted into a broad