Ivry. Two of its stanzas impressed me then, and there are other reasons why they impress me now:

The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest;

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest;

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high;
Right graciously he smiled on us, as ran from wing to wing,

Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the King!"
And if my standard-bearer fall, and fall full well he may,

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day, the helmet of Navarre.

Hurrah! the foes are moving; hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin.
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andrew's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Gueldres and Almagne;
"Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge! for the golden lilies: now upon them with the lance!"
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

He was an orator-not an orator trained to the model of the Greek or Roman school, but one far better suited to our age and people. He was a master of dialectics, and possessed a skill and power in words which would have confounded the rhetoric of Gorgias, and demanded of the great master of dialects himself, the exact use of all his materials of wordy warfare. He was deeply versed in all that belongs to the relations and conduct of all forms of societies, from families to States, and the laws which have and do govern them. He was not a man of authorities, simply because he used authorities only as the rounds whereby to ascend to principles. Having learned much, he was a remarkable master of all he knew, whether it was to analyze, generalize, or combine his vast materials. It was true to him, as it is true of most remarkable minds, that he did not always appear to be all he was. The occasion made the measure of the exhibition of his strength. When the occasion challenged the effort, he could discourse as cunningly as the sage of Ithaca, and as wisely as the king of Pylus.

He was a soldier. He was a leader; 66 'a man of war," fit, like the Tachmite, "to sit in the seat, chief among the captains." Like all men who possess hero blood, he loved fame, glory, honorable renown. He thirsted for it with an ardent thirst, as did Cicero and Cæsar: and what was that nectar in which the gods delighted on high Olympus but the wine of praise for the great deeds accomplished? Would that he might have lived, so that his great sacrifice might have been offered, and his great soul gone up from some great field, his lips bathed with the nectar that he loved! None ever felt more than he

Since all must life resign,

Those sweet delights that decorate the brave

"Tis folly to decline,

And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

But it was something more than the fierce thirst for glory that carried the late Senator to the field of sacrifice. No one felt more than he the majestic dignity of the great cause for which our nation now makes war. He loved freedom, if you please; Anglo-Saxon freedom; 'or he was one of that great old race. He loved this land, this whole land. He had done much to conquer it from the wilderness; and by his own acts he had made it his land. Hero blood is patriot blood. When he witnessed the storm of anarchy with which the madness of depraved ambition sought to overwhelm the land of his choice and love; when he heard the battle-call,

Lay down the ax, fling by the spade,
Leave in its track the toiling plow;
The rifle and the bayonet blade,

For arms like yours are fitter now:

And let the hands that ply the pen,
Quit the light task, and learn to wield
The horseman's crooked brand, and rein
The charger on the battle-field,

Our country calls; away, away!

To where the blood-streams blot the green;

Strike to defend the gentlest sway

That time in all its course has seen.

It was in the spirit of the patriot hero that the gallant soldier, the grave Senator, the white-haired man of counsel, yet full of youth as full of years, gave answer, as does the war-horse, to the trumpet's sound.

The wisdom of his conduct has been questioned. Many have thought that he should have remained for counsel in this hall. Mr. President, the propriety of a Senator taking upon himself the duties of a soldier, depends, like many other things, on circumstances; and certainly such conduct has the sanction of the example of great names. Socrates-who was not of the councils of Athens simply because he deemed his office as a teacher of wisdom a higher and nobler one-did not think it unworthy of himself to serve as a common soldier in battle; and when Plato seeks best to describe and most to dignify his great master, he causes Alcibiades, among other things, to say of him:

I ought not to omit what Socrates was in battle; for in that battle after which the Generals decreed to me the prize of courage, Socrates alone, of all men, was the saviour of my life, standing by me when I had fallen and was wounded, and preserving both myself and my arms from the enemy. But to see Socrates when our army was defeated and scattered in flight at Delias, was a spectacle worthy to behold. On that occasion I was among the cavalry, and he on foot heavily armed. After the total rout of our troops he and Laches retreated together. I came up by chance; and seeing them, bade them be of good cheer, for that I would not leave them. As I was on horseback, and therefore less occupied by a regard of my own situation, I could better observe than at Potidea the beautiful spectacle exhibited by Socrates on this emergency. He walked and darted his regards around with a majestic composure, looking tranquilly both on his friends and enemies; so that it was evident to every one, even from afar, that whoever should venture to attack him would encounter a desperate resistance. He and his companion thus

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departed in safety; for those who are scattered in flight are pursued and killed, whilst men hesitate to touch those who exhibit such a countenance as that of Socrates, even in defeat.

This is the picture of a sage painted by a sage; and why may not great wisdom be the strongest element of a great war? In the days when the States of Greece were free, when Rome was free, when Venice was free, who but their great statesmen, counselors, and senators, led their armies to victorious battle? In the best days of all the great and free States, civil place and distinction was never held inconsistent with military authority and conduct. So far from it, all history teaches the fact that those who have proved themselves most competent to direct and administer the affairs of government, in times of peace, were not only trusted, but were best trusted with the conduct of armies in times of war. In these teachings of history there may be some lessons we have yet to learn; and that we have such lessons to learn I know was the strong conviction of the late Senator. It is with no sense of satisfaction that I feel it my duty to say that I have been led to the opinion that there is much soundness in the opinion he entertained.

It is but a brief time since the late Senator was among us, maintaining our country's cause, with wise counsel, clothed in eloquent words. When, in August last, his duties here as a Senator for the time ceased, he devoted himself exclusively to the duties of a soldier. Occupyin a subordinate position, commanded where he was most fit to command, he received his orders. He saw and knew the nature of the enterprise he was required to undertake; he saw and knew that he was required to move underneath the shadow of the wings of Azrael. He did not, he would not, question the requirement made of him. His motto on that day was: "A good heart and no hope. " He knew, as was known at Balaklava, that some one had blundered; yet he said: "Forward, my Brigade, although some one has blundered." Was this reckless rashness? No! It may be called sacrifice, self-sacrifice; but I, who know the man who was the late Senator-the calm, self-possessed perfectness of his valor-and who have studied all the details of the field of his last offering with a sad earnestness, say to you, sir, to this Senate, to the country, and particularly to the people of the land of the West, where most and best he is known and loved, that no rash, reckless regardlessness of danger can be attributed to him. It is but just to say of him that his conduct sprung from a stern, hero, patriot, martyr spirit, that enabled him to dare, unflinchingly, with a smile to the green earth, and with a smile to the bright heavens, and a cheer to his brave companions, ascend the altar of sacrifice.

A poet of the middle ages, speaking of Carthage as then a dead city, the grave of which was scarcely discernible, says:

For cities die, kingdoms die;
A little sand and grass covers all
That was once lofty in them, and
Glorious; and yet man, forsooth,
Disdains that he is mortal! Oh,
Mind of ours, inordinate and proud!

on.

It is true cities and kingdoms die, but the eternal thought lives Great thought, incorporate with great action, does not die, but lives a universal life, and its power is felt vibrating through all spirit and throughout all the ages. I doubt whether or not we should mourn for any of the dead. I am confident that there should be no mourning for those who render themselves up as sacrifices in any great, just, and holy cause. It better becomes us to praise and dignify them. It was the faith of an ancient people that the souls of heroes did not rest until their great deeds had been hymned by bards, to the sounds of martial music. Bards worthy of the ancient time have hymned the praise of the great citizen, Senator, and soldier, who has left us. They have showered on his memory

Those leaves, which for the eternal few

Who wander o'er the paradise of fame.
In sacred dedication ever grew.

I would that I were able to add a single leaf to the eternal amaranth. In long future years, when our nights of horror shall have passed, and there shall have come again "the welcome morning with its rays of peace," young seekers after fame and young lovers of freedom, throughout all this land, yea, and other and distant lands, will recognize, honor, and imitate our late associate as one of the undying dead.

Remarks of Gen. J. A. McDougall,

On the Resolution to Prohibit the Sale of Spirituous Liquors in the National Capitol Building, delivered in the United States Senate, April 11th, 1866.

Mr. President: It was once said that there were as many minds as men, and there is no end of wrangling. I had occasion some years since to discourse with a reverend doctor of divinity from the State which has the honor to be the birthplace, I think, of the present President of this body. While I was discoursing with him, a lot of vile rapscallions invited me to join them at the bar. I declined, out of respect to the reverend gentleman in whose presence I then was. As soon as the occasion had passed, I remarked to the reverend doctor, "Do not understand that I declined to go and join those young men at the bar because I have any objection to that thing, for it is my habit to drink always in the front and not behind the door." He looked at me with a certain degree of interrogation. I then asked him, "Doctor, what was the first miracle worked by our great Master?" He hesitated, and I said to him, "Was it not at Cana in Galilee, where he converted the water into wine, at a marriage-feast?" He assented. I asked him then, "After the ark had floated on the tempestuous seas for forty days and nights, and

as it descended upon the dry lands, what was the first thing done by father Noah?" He did not know that exactly. "Well," said I, "did he not plant a vine?" Yes; he remembered it then.

I asked him, "Do you remember any great poet that ever illustrated the higher fields of humanity that did not dignify the use of wine, from old Homer down?" He did not. I asked, "Do you know any great philosopher that did not use it for the exaltation of his intelligence? Do you think, doctor, that a man who lived upon pork and beef and corn-bread could get up into the superior regions-into the ethereal? No; he must

"Take nectar on high Olympus,

And mighty mead in Valhalla.'"

I said to him again, "Doctor, you are a scholarly man, of course a doctor of divinity-a graduate of Yale: do you remember Plato's Symposium?" Yes, he remembered that. I referred him to the occasion when Agatho, having won the prize of Tragedy at the Olympic Games at Corinth, on coming back to Athens, was feted by the nobility and aristocracy of that city; for it was a proud triumph to Athens to win the prize of Tragedy. They got together at the house of Phædrus, and they said, "Now, we have been every night for these last six nights drunk: let us be sober to-night, and we will start a theme;" which they passed around the table, as the sun goes round, or as they drank their wine, or as men tell a story. They started a theme, and the theme was love-not love in the vulgar sense, but in its high sense-love of all that is beautiful. After they had gone through, and after Socrates had pronounced his judgment about the true and beautiful, in came Alcibiades with a drunken body of Athenian boys, with garlands around their heads to crown Agatho and to crown old Socrates; and they said to those assembled, "This will not do; we have been drinking, and you have not." And after Alcibiades had made his talk in pursuance of the argument, which he undertook to dignify Socrates, as I remember it, they required (after the party had agreed to drink, it being quite late in the evening, and they had finished their business in the way of discussion) that Socrates should drink two measures for every other man's one, because he was better able to stand it. And so one after another they were laid down on the lounges in the Athenian style, all except an old physician named Aristodemus, and Plato makes him the hardest-headed fellow except Socrates. He and Socrates stuck at it until the grey of the morning, and then Socrates took his bath and went down to the groves and talked academic knowledge.

in

After citing this incident, I said to this divine, "Do you remember that Lord Bacon said that a man should get drunk at least once a month, and that Montaigne, the French philosopher, endorsed the proposition?"

I said to him further, "These exaltants that bring us up above the common measure of the brute, wine and oil, elevate us, enable us to seize great facts, inspirations, which, once possessed, are ours forever. And those who never go beyond the mere beastly means