hold the onward march of Genius, and you find him there a great man who puts life and truth and magic into every touch of his wonderful brush. This is Homer Davenport, the greatest cartoonist of America. THE MOTHERS OF MEN. The bravest battle that ever was fought! On the map of the world you will find it not- Nay, not with cannon or battle shot, With sword or nobler pen! Nay, not with eloquent words or though, But deep in the walled-up woman's heart Of woman that would not yield, Lo, there is that battle field! No marshalling troup, no bivouac song, No banner to gleam or wave; Yet faithful still as a bridge of stars, Fights on and on in the endless wars, Then silent, unseen, goes down. Oh, spotless woman in a world of shame; Go back to God as white as you came The kingliest warrior born! -Joaquin Miller. AN EVENING ON THE PLAINS. But time passes; the watch is set for the night, the council of the old men has broken up, and each has returned to his own quarter. The flute has whispered its last lament to the deepening night. The violin is silent, and the dancers have dispersed. Enamored youth have whispered a tender "good night" in the ear of blushing maidens, or stolen a kiss from the lips of some future bride -for Cupid here as elsewhere has been busy bringing together congenial hearts, and among these simple people he alone is consulted in forming the marriage tie. Even the doctor and the pilot have finished their confidential interview and have separated for the night. All is hushed and repose from the fatigues of the day, save the vigilant guard, and the wakeful leader who still has cares upon his mind that forbid sleep. He hears the ten o'clock relief taking post and the "all well" report of the returning guard; the night deepens, yet he seeks not the needed repose. At length a sentinel hurries to him with the welcome report that a party is approaching—as yet too far away for its character to be determined, and he instantly hurries out in the direction seen. This he does both from inclination and duty, for in times past the camp had been unnecessarily alarmed by timid or inexperienced sentinels, causing much confusion and fright amongst women and children, and it had been made a rule, that all extraordinary incidents of the night should be reported directly to the pilot, who alone had the authority to call out the military strength of the column, or so much of it as was in his judgment necessary to prevent a stampede or repel an enemy. To-night he is at no loss to determine that the approaching party are our missing hunters, and that they have met with success, and he only waits until by some further signal he can know that no ill has happened to them. This is not long wanting. He does not even await their arrival, but the last care of the day being removed, and the last duty performed, he too seeks the rest that will enable him to go through the same routine to-morrow. But here I leave him, for my task is also done, and, unlike his, it is to be repeated -Jesse Applegate. no more. A GRAVE IN THE WILDERNESS. A humble grave was dug under the spreading boughs of a venerable oak, and there the remains were followed by a silent, thoughtful and solemn company of emigrants, thus so forcibly reminded that they too were travelers to that land "from whose bourne there is no return." The minister improved the occasion to deliver to us an impressive sermon as we sat around that new made grave in the wilderness, so well calculated to impress upon the mind the incalculable importance of seeking another and better country, where there is no sickness and no death. I had often witnessed the approach of death; sometimes, marking his progress by the insidious work of consumption; and, at others, assailing his victim in a less doubtful manner. I had seen the guileless infant, with the light of love and innocence upon its face, gradually fade away, like a beautiful cloud upon the sky melting into the dews of heaven, until it disappeared in the blue ethereal. I had beheld the strong man, who had made this world all his trust, struggling violently with death, and had heard him exclaim in agony, "I will not die." And yet death relinquished not his tenacious grasp upon his victim. The sound of the hammer and the plane have ceased for a brief space; the ploughman has paused in the furrow, and even the school boy with his books and satchel has stood still, and the very atmosphere has seemed to assume a sort of melancholy tinge, as the tones of the tolling bell have come slowly, sol emnly, and at measured intervals upon the moveless air, and hushing the mind to breathless thoughts that fain would know the whither of the departed. But death in the wilderness-in the solitude of nature, and far from the fixed abodes of busy men, seemed to have in it solemnity that far surpassed all this. —Hon. J. Quinn Thornton, A. M., D. C. L., LL. D. THE OREGON REPUBLIC. Penetrating the veil and looking behind, what do we realize? Our fellow countrymen and women, few in numbers, but steadfast in purpose, who had been forgotten by their government, yet neglect could not weaken their loyalty and love. Submitting patiently to that injustice, always true to birthright and origin, they carried with them love of republican institutions, had established, and upon that very day were successfully administering a government of the people, by the people. Oregon already contained within it an infant republic. Here was a thriving, loyal American commonwealth, started by children of the great republican household, who, though for a time discarded, had ever been animated with unabated zeal for the glory and grandeur of their parent government. When I contemplate this history, this undying devotion to fatherland, this patriotic love of their native institutions, I know not which most to com |