Oh I never felt so behind before,

Said he, as he turned from the bar-room door;
And memory painted the smiles he wore
Before he had taken to drinking.

Behind-oh! the drink has left nothing behind,
But a breaking heart and a clouded mind,
And a serpent round all life's flowers entwined,
And a horrible shadow o'er me.

But I'll quit the cup, and no more be seen
Where the Rumseller plies his vocation mean,
And blinded no more behind the screen,
Have a sun-bright path before me.

We may wisdom learn from the simplest thing,
If Reason will only expand her wing,

E'en where Error lies coiled with its venomous sting,
And it's not very hard to find it;

A simple contrast like this may teach,
As well as an eloquent Temperance speech;
So before the screen let me beg and beseech
You never to go BEHIND it.

THE MILITIA GENERAL-THOMAS CORWIN.

SIR, we all know the military studies of this military gentleman before he was promoted. I take it to be beyond a reasonable doubt that he had perused with great care the titlepage of "Baron Steuben." Nay, I go further; I venture to assert, without vouching in the least from personal knowledge, that he has prosecuted his researches so far as to be able to know that the rear rank stands right behind the front. This, I think, is fairly inferable from what I understood him to say of the two lines of encampment at Tippecanoe. We all, in fancy, now see the gentleman in that most dangerous and glorious event in the life of a militia general on the peace establishment-a parade day! that day, for which all the other

days of his life seem to have been made. We can see the troops in motion-umbrellas, hoes and axe-handles, and other deadly implements of war, overshadowing all the field—when, lo! the leader of the host approaches! "Far off his coming shines." His plume, which, after the fashion of the great Bourbon, is of awful length, reads its doleful history in the bereaved necks and bosoms of forty neighboring hen-roosts. Like the great Suwaroff, he seems somewhat careless in forms or points of dress; hence his epaulets may be on his shoulders, back, or sides, but still gleaming, gloriously gleaming, in the sun. Mounted he is, too, let it not be forgotten. Need I describe to the colonels and generals of this honorable House the steed which heroes bestride on these occasions? No! I see the memory of other days is with you. You see before you the military gentleman mounted on his crop-eared, bushytailed mare, for height just fourteen hands, "all told;" yes, sir, there you see his "steed that laughs at the shaking of the spear," that is his war-horse, "whose neck is clothed with thunder." Mr. Speaker, we have glowing descriptions in history of Alexander the Great, and his war-horse Bucephalus, at the head of the invincible Macedonian phalanx; but, sir, such are the improvements of modern times, that every one must see that our militia general, with his crop-eared mare, with bushy tail, would totally frighten off a battle-field a hundred Alexanders. The general, thus mounted and equipped, is in the field, and ready for action. On the eve of some desperate enterprize, such as giving order to shoulder arms, it may be, there occurs a crisis, one of those accidents of war which no sagacity could foresee nor prevent. A cloud rises and passes over the sun. Here is an occasion for the display of that greatest of all traits in the history of a commander-the tact which enables him to seize upon and turn to good account unlooked-for events as they arise. Now for the caution wherewith the Roman Fabius foiled the skill and courage of Hannibal. A retreat is ordered, and troops and general, in a twinkling, are found safely bivouacked in a neighboring grocery. But even here, the general still has room for the execution of

heroic deeds.

Hot from the field, and chafed with the heroic events of the day, your general unsheaths his trenchant blade, eighteen inches in length, as you will remember, and with energy and remorseless fury. he slices the water-melons.that lie in heaps around him, and shares them with his surviving friends. Others of the sinews of war are not wanting here. Whiskey, Mr. Speaker, that great leveller of modern times, is here also, and the shells of the water-melons are filled to the brim. Here again, Mr. Speaker, is shown how the extremes of barbarism and civilization meet. As the Scandinavian heroes of old, after the fatigues of war, drank wine from the skulls of their slaughtered enemies, in Odin's halls, so now our militia general and his forces, from the skulls of the melons thus vanquished, in copious draughts of whiskey assuage the beroic fires of their souls, after a parade day.

THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL.-RosCOE.

COME, take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the butterfly's ball and the grasshopper's feast;
The trumpeter, gadfly, has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you.

On the smooth-shaven grass by the side of the wood,
Beneath a broad oak that for ages has stood,
See the children of earth and the tenants of air,
For an evening's amusement together repair.

And there came the beetle so blind and so black,
Who carried the emmet, his friend, on his back;
And there was the gnat, and the dragonfly too,
With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.

And there came the moth in his plumage of down,
And the hornet with jacket of yellow and brown,
Who with him the wasp, his companion, did bring;
But they promised that evening to lay by their sting.

And the sly little dormouse crept out of his hole,

And led to the feast his blind brother the mole;
And the snail, with his horns peeping out from his shell,
Came from a great distance, the length of an ell

A mushroom their table, and on it was laid
A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made;
The viands were various, to each of their taste,
And the bee brought his honey to crown the repast.

There close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,
The frog from a corner looked up to the skies;
And the squirrel, well pleased such diversion to see,
Sat cracking his nuts overhead in the tree.

Then out came the spider, with fingers so fine,
To show his dexterity on the tight line;

From one branch to another his cobwebs he slung,
Then as quick as an arrow he darted along.

But just in the middle, oh! shocking to tell!
From his rope in an instant poor Harlequin fell;
Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread,
Hung suspended in air at the end of a thread.

Then a grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring,
Very long was his leg, though but short was his wing:
He took but three leaps and was soon out of sight,
Then chirped his own praises the rest of the night.

With step so majestic the snail did advance,
And promised the gazers a minuet to dance;

But they all laughed so loud that he pulled in his head,
And went to his own little chamber to bed.

Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the glow-worm, came out with his light
Then home let us hasten while yet we can see,
For no watchman is waiting for you and for me.

EPITAPH ON AN OLD HORSE-DR. LADU.

LET no facetious mortal laugh,
To see a horse's epitaph:

Lest some old steed, with saucy phiz,
Should have the sense to laugh at his ;
As well he might; for prove we can,
The courser equal to the man.

This horse was of supreme degree, At least no common steed was he. He scorn'd the tricks of sly trepanners, And never horse had better manners. He scorn'd to tell a lie, or mince His words, by clipping half their sense But if he meant to show you why, He'd out with't, let who would be by. And (how can man the blush restrain ?) Ne'er took his Maker's name in vain! A better servant horse was never, His master own'd, that he was clever. Then to his equals all obliging, To his inferiors quite engaging; A better Christian, too, I trow, Than some denominated so. In him we the good father find, The duteous son, the husband kind : The friend sincere-tho' not to brag,The honest and well-meaning nag.

Then let those fools who vainly laugh,

To see a horse's epitaph,
Go, grope among the human dust,
And find an epitaph more just.