THE LIVING DEAD.

BY WILLIAM J. PABODIE.

"Dead men have come again, and walk about."-Blair. SLAM bang!-I sprang from my chair,

As springs from her form the startled hare, When the rifle's report wakes the slumbering air. Ghosts, hobgoblins and corpses pale,

Witches and warlocks, Erl-kings and all
Such fancies as make up a German tale,
And hold the soul in a fixed enthral,

Had withdrawn my mind from the world around,
And fast in the realms ideal bound,

When burst on my ear that startling sound.

I rushed to the window with fear aghast !—
'T was the slam of the blind in the nightly blast.

The night was dark, save when the beams
Of the moon burst thro' the jagged clouds,
Hurrying by in flying crowds,

And lit up the landscape with fitful gleams;
Or when the lightning flashed from afar,
Or athwart the gloom shot a blazing star :-
And hark to the moan of the lofty trees,
As they bend their tall tops to the breeze!

The church-yard slept in the fitful light,
And methought-was it true or fancy's flight?-
'Mid the grave-stones glimmering tall and white,

A troop of thin ghosts, like the shapes of a trance,
Were flitting about in a shadowy dance.

I rushed to the streets-the lights burned blue,-
I passed them by and onward flew,

And still I gave speed to my hurrying pace,

For methought those sprites were behind in chase.

A light gleamed forth with a dazzling glare,
From a lofty hall, on the darkened air;

A figure stalked by me- -I followed him in-
He was tall and gaunt and lean and thin—
I gazed around with a wondering stare,
And as I gazed, up rose my hair!

Some three-score shapes were seated around

That ample hall, nor breath, nor sound

Disturbed the silence so profound.

Fleshless they were, those ghastly men,

And the bone shone white thro' the o'erdrawn skin,

And O, 'twas an awful sight, to see

The deathly glare of each stony e'e!

And look! more forms come gliding in,
Those spectral forms so tall and thin—
And the dry bones rattled, as on they passed,
Like leafless boughs in the wintry blast:-
Methought the dead had returned to life,
To revisit the scenes of their former strife.

The last had entered, the door swung to,-
I was alone with that ghostly crew;

And O, 'twas an awful thing, to be
Alone in such fearful company!

On the rostrum now a shape arose,
Whose look my blood with horror froze ;
To his brow he lifted his skinny hand,
And glower'd around on that grisly band,
I looked as pale, I ween, as he,

When he fixed that glassy eye on me.

He comes, he comes, that fearful one!
He has left his rostrum high-
He comes!-each head is slowly turned,
And on me is fixed each eye.

I strove to rush from that haunted place,
But my limbs were smote with fear;
I strove to shriek, but my voice was mute-
That dreadful shape was near.

He comes, he comes, that fearful one!
His breath, it fans my cheek-

'Tis chill as the breeze of the polar seas, When it blows from the icy peak ;—

His shrunken face is close to mine,

His hand is on my arm,

And his lips, those skinny lips, they move-
O God! forfend the charm!

A voice came forth-it said to me,
"Will you join the Graham Society?"

275

HENRY CLAY IN THE SENATE.

BY THE HON. JOHN WHIPPLE.

MR. CLAY had listened, day after day, with the determination to say nothing upon the subject which had been so long under debate. At last his patience became exhausted. His feelings impelled him to take the floor, and though calm, collected and full of dignity, his whole port and bearing heralded the approach of the godlike eloquence which was about to burst upon the American Senate. He rose with a sort of halo around him. Thoughts that breathe and words that burn, issued not from his lips alone, but from every attitude, every gesture, every look. It was not merely a resistless tide, a tide of power and giant strength, but a stream of glowing light, of sparkling beauty, of bewitching charms. You would have felt your hearts swelling within you, as he described the beauty and loveliness of your own, your native land. At one moment he was seen diving down to lowest depths of a clear and convincing logic; at another soaring aloft amidst the highest heaven of pure and patriotic feeling. At one moment piercing his antagonist with the sharp edge of the keenest irony. At another, overwhelming him with the bolt of thundering indignation. Patriotism filled his heart with the warmest emotions,

a clear and crystal head supplied him with the loftiest thoughts, and poetry yielded to his use her whole store of syren words, each one glittering with the rosy touch of her own heavenly pencil. On he moved in his own path of light, his country's welfare in his heart, and her standard in his hand, and he paused not, till the banner of freedom was seen floating aloft upon the ramparts of the constitution.

Let it not be supposed, that I have alluded to the brilliant effort of this distinguished man, for the mere purpose of personal eulogy. I have alluded to it as but one of the many similar efforts, some of them quite its equal, of lofty, commanding and energetic eloquence, which for the last ten years have characterized the friends of constitutional freedom in the American Senate. That little band have earned for themselves a durable and a lasting fame. For years they have stood upon the outward wall, and they have never for a moment, shrunk from the arduous duties of their dangerous position, but through good report and through evil report, they have delivered the whole word of the law, as received by them from the inspired framers of the constitution.

They have received, what to lofty and noble minds is above all rewards, the approbation of their