pressed by the association with Calhoun, as subsequent events disclosed. Calhoun in '44 was very desirous to be an independent candidate for the Presidency, and an effort was made to effect that result. But Polk was nominated by a convention of the Democrats, and Calhoun dispatched a messenger to his home in Tennessee, promising him the electoral vote of South Carolina, and desiring to be Secretary of State, in the event of his election, which he then foresaw with certainty. Jackson, however, was then alive, and the appointment was not rendered. Mr. Benton asserted that the mission to Tennessee related to the establishment of an organ at Washington, to supersede Mr. Blair's Globe, but succeeding events gave it deeper significance. Calhoun opposed the Mexican war and the administration of Polk, while constrained by the popularity of the war, with the people and the party to smother his resentment! In '48 Calhoun was in favor of Gen. Taylor for the Presidency, upon the idea of his Buena Vista victory, and because, being a slaveholder, he expected to control him. He spoke against popular sovereignty to defeat Gen. Cass, whom he knew to be unmanageable, and sent Yancey to the convention to disrupt the Democratic party. The result was the election of Gen. Taylor, and Mr. Johnson went into his Cabinet at the dictation of Calhoun and his confederates, and against the wishes of many prominent Whigs. Gen. Rust, then Senator from Texas, an admirer of Mr. Johnson and a disciple of Calhoun, was much exercised from the fear that Mr. Johnson might fail to attain the position desired by his friends. When Gen. Taylor died, Mr. Johnson's resignation of the Attorney Generalship was accepted by Mr. Fillmore. He subsequently abandoned the Whig party, and the great principles of the compromises of 1850, and manifested extraordinary activity and zeal in planning and carrying the Dred Scott decision through the Supreme Court,—a decision which has done more to destroy the confidence of the American people in the judiciary than all other decisions combined. It was emphatically the first triumph of the wicked and anarchical doctrine of Calhoun, in the Supreme Court, and it will ever rank as the most prominent act in the great drama of secession, and form the darkest page in American annals! But for that act, the history of this war need never have been written. ANNA ELLA CARROLL. [The writer of this letter is a granddaughter of Charles Carroll, of Carrollton.- Living Age.] teaches them whom they can make up to safely; and I think that a dog who wanted his head patted, or a woman who sought for a kind word in trouble, would have come to Count Cavour without doubt or fear. Whether, when the pat was given and the kind word spoken, there was room for a deeper and more personal affection, may perhaps be doubtful.-Macmillan's Magazine. CAVOUR.-The form, and figure, and features | ever given, was the great kindliness of look and were such that portrait painters and caricaturists manner. It is Balzac, I believe, who says that could and did seize them easily and truly. The dogs and women have an unfailing instinct which squat and I know no truer word-pot-bellied form; the small, stumpy legs; the short, round arms, with the hands stuck constantly in the trousers pockets; the thick neck, in which you could see the veins swelling; the scant, thin hair; the slurred, blotched face; and the sharp, gray eyes, covered with the goggle spectacles these things must be known to all who have cared enough about Italy to examine the likeness of her greatest statesman. The dress itself seemed a part and property of the man. The snuff-colored tail-coat; the gray, creased, and crumpled trousers; the black silk double tie, seeming, loose as it was, a world too tight for the swollen neck it was bound around; the crumpled shirt; the brown satin, single-breasted waistcoat, half unbuttoned, as though the wearer wanted breath, with the short, massive gold chain dangling down its front-seemed all to be in fitness with that quaint, world-known figure. What, however, no portrait that I have seen has CRUEL BARBER!-Young Swell (loq.) "I say, Thompson, do you think I shall ever have any whiskers?" Thompson (after careful examination). “Well, sir, I really don't think as you ever will,-leastways, not to speak of!" Young Swell. "That's rather hard, for my -Punch. With what enchantment glow The mystery of Time, With interlude sublime, Steals through the murmur of the passing day: Memorials of the Past A pensive challenge cast, And from familiar bounds win thought away; While Music's pulses beat And all the muses wait Our life to consecrate, And bid the soul expand with vast desire; Raphael's angelic child, The sunset's golden mist Claude's pencil caught, Brave Michael's forms sublime, That adamantine rhyme The Tuscan bard from love and sorrow wrought: Petrarch's love-rounded lays, And Tasso's tear-gemmed bays, The marble wonder of Rome's saintly pile; Kindle the fancy and the heart beguile. Nor less does Nature woo, With ravishment imbue The elemental grace her aspect fills; What azure seems to brood Above, in tender mood, And now a King benign His father's fallen sceptre takes with awe; The humanizing sway That dedicates a race to Liberty and Law: With him a Statesman wise, Whose liberal mind defies The narrow feuds that severed states control: And strives, from mount to sea, Inviolate and free, While glimmering sunshine laughs upon the To wake and harmonize a nation's soul ! hills! The sky, at evening, glows As if to pave with gems a seraph's walk; On the flax-blossom and the aloe's stalk: Vineyards serenely crest The hoar volcano's breast, And when the arms of Gaul And Victor's banner cheered the Lombard plain: Along the Tuscan sea, And bade Val d'Arno's lilies bloom again! Then to the Patriot King And orbs of flame through darksome foliage And Faction's ancient trophies all divide : gleam; Umbrageous Apennine, And lakes of crystalline Invoke the limner's touch, the poet's dream. The chestnut plumes uplift, As winds from vale to upland gently pass, And almond flowers scatter on the grass. Yet soon our rapture flies, The sweet illusion dies And throngs, with festal rife, Seek the far mountain height, To chant Feruccio's glory where he died.* The mem'ry of a sweet voice lingers on mine ear; When human scenes call back the pilgrim's It mocks the lonely silence ever reigning here! glance; And the degraded land Beneath oppression's brand Reproachful mocks his visionary trance. The glory of the Past A shadow seems to cast, And living charms allegiance to defy; No beauty can elate, No genius consecrate The air whose echoes waft the captive's sigh. Through Freedom's long eclipse Mute are inspired lips, And life a tortured vigil to the brave; For they who do and dare, The patriot's fate must share Scaffold and rack, the dungeon and the grave! "She is not dead, but sleeps, Though slow the life-blood creeps * On the occasion of Victor Emmanuel's visit to Tuscany, at the Villa Puccini, in Pistoja, Niccolo Puccini, the hereditary representative of the family, and a brave and liberal cavalier, presented Through veins benumbed with anguish, not de- to the "First Soldier of Italian Independence," the spair; Invaders yet shall fly, The despot and the spy, And brutal priestcraft tremble in its lair!" Thus have thy lovers cried When skeptics, in their pride, Would own no promise in the baffled zeal That pined in Spielberg's gloom And braved the martyr's doom, Or patient bore the pangs thy exiles feel. celebrated sword of Castruccio Castracani, long reserved by its owner for such a disposition. At about the same time, a deputation of Genoese restored, with great ceremony, to Pisa, the chains of her Gate, which the once great maritime republic had borne off as a trophy, during the medieval wars, from her hated rival. In the autumn of 1848, after the successful revolution in Tuscany, a festival was given at Cavinani, a little town nestled among the Apennines, in memory of Feruccio, on the very spot where, tradition says, he perished for his country, three centuries ago. SHORT ARTICLES.-Agony Point, or the Groans of Gentility, 472. British Watering Places, 472. Bottled Eloquence, 481. Side-Winds, 488. Aunt Agnes, 488. Subscribing to Books, 488. Daguerreotyping Colors, 492. Books without Indexes, 495. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. THE UPRISING. Brother 'gainst brother, We've borne each other. But now far through the land, Rebellion 's flaming; Arm for the conflict, then! In every valley, Out from the busy mart In this day's story; And from the half-ploughed field, Stay not for work begun; With full heart leaving;- No time for grieving. God! for our country's right Our cause sustaining; SUMMER LILIES. 1861. SERENEST Lilies, with your breath of balm! I shudder in your presence white and calm,— I cannot bear your softly-chanted psalm. Too calm are ye, too saintly pure to share Ye are not of these mad, unquiet days; Oh! what have we to do with flowery ease, heart! Go, fairest! watch the sick, till morn arise, By weary sick-beds lift your brows of light, And fill with dreams of peace the summer night! L. E. P. Albany, July 27. THE RAINBOW. FATHER of all! thou dost not hide thy bond |