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which is freely conceded to the obvious fitness of man, but to cherish and instruct infancy, and to be fitly prepared for that duty—to soothe the afflicted, to aid the weak, to ennoble as well as embellish household life, to share in all the inspirations of poetry and art, to raise and expand the mind to the measure destined by God, to study and reflect, to learn and compare all that is wise, good, and true—to become, in one comprehensive sentence, capable guides for the children of the republic, and the competent partners of the heart, home, honor, and happiness of those who are themselves the state ; and to enjoy all this in freedom and respect, is the right of woman. It is already assured to her in this land of freemen, and each day with more liberal distinctness; and as man becomes free everywhere, will woman share his freedom, for a true and enlightened liberty cannot exist while one sex remains in bondage.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

BY R. H. STODDARD.

1.

THE old house lies in ruin and wreck

And the villagers stand in fear aloof; The rafters bend and the roof is black,

But bright green mosses spot the roof;— The window panes are shatter'd out, And the broken glass is lying about; The sashes and shutters creek and groan, And the wind sweeps through with a hollow moan.

II.

The opening door on its hinges swings,

And passengers see, when the sun lies there,
A web stretch'd over it full of wings,

And the spider watching within his lair.
Tapestry hangs on the dusky wall,
Tatter'd and torn and ready to fall;
The floor is cover'd with damp and mould,
And its dust floats up like a mist of gold.

III.

The lawn in front, with its sloping bank,

A garden sweet in its happier hours,
Is cover'd with weeds,—and grasses rank

Usurp the place of its faded flowers :
Adders bask in the summer sun,
And toads and beetles and spiders run,
l'th' box-fringed walks o'er the gravelly floor,
Where children play'd in the days of yore.

IV.

Methinks those beautiful days revive,

And the Past arises, a shadowy train,
The vanish'd return, the Dead are alive,

Filling the lonely house again ;
Floating amid the dusk and gloom,
Sweeping along from room to room,
Leaving a track of light behind,
Like thoughts of youth in an old man's mind.

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Down to the gate where the mutes await,
And the plumed hearse and its sable state.

XI.

The house is quiet and sleeps in gloom,

The mirth and revel of yore are fled;
The widow sits in her silent room,

And dreams of the dear departed Dead;
Fast by the magic of memory bound,
And the busts and books and the flowers around,
Deepen the spell, and more than all,
His portrait hung on the dusky wall.

XII.

The shadows thicken, a gloomy train,

Sorrow and sickness - Death—the pall-
Sorrow and Sickness-Death again,

The shade of his wing is over all ;
And the old house sinks at last in wreck,
The roof bends in and the walls are black,
The sashes creak and the shutters groan,
And the winds sweep through with a hollow moan.

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72

66 THE CARPENTER'S SON.”

BY GEORGE LIPPARD.

THERE was a night, when a band of earnest men, who believed that God might be adored and man be loved, without church or creed, assembled in the solitudes of a mountain cavern, They were but few in number, and yet it seemed as if all the nations of the earth had sent their representatives to this secret Congress of Brotherhood, this obscure Parliament of Love.

History, on that fabric of falsehood, which is promulgated to the world as history, does not record the names of the men who formed the little band, and yet their deliberations went forth from that mountain cavern, over all the world, like the voice of a Regenerating Angel.

The fair-haired German was there, and by his side the Spaniard with his bronzed cheek and eye of fire. There the Italian full of the ancient glory of his land, and the Frenchman, with his story of Protestant and Catholic wars.

The Swede, the Dane, the Hungarian, and the Turk,all were mingled in that band. Even the far land of the New World was represented there, in the person of a Colonist fresh from the witchcraft murders of New England.

These men, grouping round a rock which started from the cavern floor, talked with each other in low earnest tones. A single torch inserted in the crevice of the rock gave its faint light to the scene, and dimly revealed their various costumes, and the passions as various which flitted over each face.

Near that rock, a solitary figure towered erect, his face and form concealed by a dark robe.

While all the others conversed in agitated whispers, he alone was silent.

Not a gesture betrayed his emotion, nor indicated that he was in truth any thing but a dumb image of wood or stone.

There was but one in the little band, who knew his name. Wherefore this assemblage in the mountain cavern of Germany, at dead of night, by the faint ray of a solitary torch?

Wherefore these signs by which the various persons recognised each other, and what meant that pass-word in the ancient Hebrew tongue, which echoed round the place, until the gloomy arches seemed agitated into voice by the sound ?

It will be remembered, that this meeting took place in the seventeenth century—at least two hundred years ago.

The German with fair hair and blue eyes arose

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