fleets; it had called forth its savage allies, all of which were to move upon grand converging lines, not only to crush out the patriotic forces, but to impress Europe with its strength, and to check any alliances with the American Government. It made them witnesses of its defeat when it thought to make them the judges of its triumph. The monarchs of Europe, who watched the progress of the doubtful struggle, who were uncertain if it was more than a popular disturbance, now saw the action in its full proportions, and felt that a new power had sprung into existence-2 new element had entered into the diplomacy of the world.

We are told that during more than twenty centuries of war and bloodshed, only fifteen battles have been decisive of lasting results. The contest of Saratoga is one of these. From the battle of Marathon, to the field of Waterloo, a period of more than two thousand years, there was no martial event which had a greater influence than that which took place on these grounds.

HORATIO SEYMOUR.

SARGEANT PRENTISS' FIRST PLEA.

Ir was noon in the Crescent City. Strolling up the broad walks of the courtyard, among the orange trees, were two men. The one was the State's Attorney, a genial old man : the other a mere boy, the old man's clerk. Suddenly the old man turned to his companion and said: "Prentiss, would you like to make a speech on the case, to-day?" "I, sir! Why?" "Well, I'll tell you. It is a bad thing for a young man to begin life with a success. He is too apt to stop there. This case is beyond doubt lost. We have no evidence against the prisoner; but then, we must not give up the ship' until it sinks, you know. Now here is a splendid chance to win glory, and all that sort of thing. Pay no at

SARGEANT PRENTISS' FIRST PLEA.

127

tention to blunders: I'll see to them. Will you speak?" "Yes, sir," said he, “I will.”

It was a case of murder. A man was missing: no one knew what had become of him. At last suspicion fell upo a man in high position in society, and he was arrested. Th community was astounded. They knew the prisoner was not guilty. That he was seen to go into the forest with the missing man, did not prove anything. This was the public verdict. At the trial, nothing directly proving the prisoner's guilt was produced. Everything positive and direct seemed to point toward his innocence.

There was a smile of contempt on the prisoner's face when young Prentiss rose to speak. What could this stripling do against the giants of the law? It was David going out armed with a sling, the sling of Conscience, that sinks deep the pebbles of truth into the mailed forehead of guilt and crime. Prentiss stammered through a few sentences amid the derisive smiles of his opponents: then it seemed as though a wild spirit had fired his imagination, and he spoke with such power as was never before witnessed within that court-room. He caught up the merest shreds of evidence, and wove them into convicting arguments. He pictured the scene the two men in the dark forest, the attack, the struggle, the death wound, the victim a moment gasping, and in a moment still the hidden grave; and, trembling from head to foot, he pointed to the prisoner, and fairly hissed: "That man is the murderer!"

:

The smile was gone from the prisoner's lips now. His counsel moved uneasily in their places: the thronged courtroom was hushed! "Hold!" cried his opponent. "You have proved no such thing! You speak your piece ex-. tremely well; but we want facts here, my son!" Prentiss turned upon him. "Hold, did you say? Hold? My God! if I should hold my peace the very stones would stand witnesses the walls would cry out' Murder!' Aye, the spirit of the dead would rise up before you; throwing back its crimsoned vesture, it would disclose the cruel wound ·

holding up the bloody dagger before your eyes, it would point to him and whisper, He did this!' Sir, can you go with me out into that forest, and, standing by that grave, known only to you and God, lift up your hand to Heaven and swear you did not the heinous deed? Can you swear away your guilt?”

The prisoner had arisen. "Stop, Prentiss! I had rather endure the pangs of Hell than of Conscience. I killed that

man!"

N. L. F. BACHMAN.

ULTIMATE AMERICA.

Note 52.

EVERY epoch has had its own great nation, one leading all other nations of the globe, Babylon, Persia, Macedonia, Rome, the Empire of Charlemagne. To-day it is the Anglo-Saxon Empire, Great Britain and the United States, mother and daughter, one in all but flag and organization. To every nation this sublime leadership has in turn been intrusted; and as one and another has proven false, from one and another the crown and sceptre has departed.

What more pathetic than to stand where once were the hanging gardens of Babylon, and see there the ruins where the jackal makes his hiding-place: or in Greece with its temples, now but single and isolated pillars pointing skyward, monuments to its own infidelity. Shall the time ever come when some traveller from some remote region beyond the seas shall come to our land, shall see New York harbor choked with soil, our great rivers with no commerce flecking them, shall wander along our railways and wonder what sort of carriages traversed them? There is a better faith and hope for our dear land.

Palestine has given the world religion. Greece has given it art. Rome has given it law. England has given it commerce and manufactures, and America shall give it liberty:

liberty rooted in religion: liberty filling all literature with its fragrance: liberty guarded and defended by law, and redeeming law from despotism.

We stand to-day, and the curtain of the future seems to roll for a time from before our vision. We see our land fair now, but fairer yet than now. We see here one people, one great nation, her church and school-house standing side by side in every village. We see the German, the Italian, the Irishman gathered under one flag, whose white means purity, whose red means self-denial, whose blue means fidelity, and whose stars mean the smile of heaven. From that great congregation, type and figure and symbol of that greater congregation, into which every tribe and nation and tongue shall enter at last, there rises the grand choral chant, "God, even our own God, has blessed us, and all the ends of the earth shall fear Him."

LYMAN ABBOTT.

ALL

THE DUMB MAID.

you that pass along, give ear unto my song, Concerning a youth that was young, young, young: And of a maiden fair, few with her might compare, But alack, and alas! She was dumb, dumb, dumb.

She was beauteous, fresh, and gay, like the pleasant flowers in May,

And her cheeks were as round as a plum, plum, plum; She was neat in every part, and she stole away his heart: But alack, and alas! She was dumb, dumb, dumb.

At length this country blade wedded this pretty maid,
And he kindly conducted her home, home, home.
Thus in her beauty bright lay all his whole delight;
But alack, and alas! She was dumb, dumb, dumb.

Now I will plainly show what work this mid could do,
Which a pattern may be for girls young, young, young;
O she, both day and night, in working took delight,
But aluck, and alas! She was dumb, dumb, dumb.

She could brew and she could bake, she could wash, wring, and shake,

She could sweep the house with a broom, broom, broom : She could knit, and sew, and spin, and do any such like

thing,

But alack, and alas! She was dumb, dumb, dumb.

But at last this man did go the doctor's skill to know, Saying: "Sir, can you cure a woman of the dumb, dumb, dumb?"

"O it is the easiest part that belongs unto my art,

For to cure any woman of the dumb, dumb, dumb."

To the doctor he did her bring, and he cut her chatteringstring,

And he quickly set her tongue on the run, run, run ; In the morning she did rise, and she filled his house with

cries,

And she rattled in his ears like a drum, drum, drum.

To the doctor he did go, with his heart well filled with woe, Crying: "Doctor, I am certainly undone, done, done! Now she's turned a scolding wife, and I'm weary of my life, Nor I cannot make her hold her tongue, tongue, tongue!"

The doctor thus did say: "When she went from me away,
She was perfectly cured of the dumb, dumb, dumb;
But it's beyond the art of man, let him do the best he can,
For to make a scolding woman hold her tongue, tongue,

tongue!"