temperature experienced during the Indian Summer, it may still be a powerful auxiliary with other causes in producing that pheno

menon.

Other causes doubtless exist; but those to which we have adverted in this paper are the most probable that we are yet acquainted with. The subject does not admit of demonstration, and in this case, perhaps, he is the most scientific who can give the keenest guess. The true origin of the season which we have attempted to describe, like that of the aboriginal race whose name it bears, will, in all likelihood, ever remain in obscurity.

INSCRIPTION

ON THE DOOR OF A GAMING HOUSE.

Il est trois portes à cet autre,

L'Espoir, l' Infamie, et la Mort.

Par la première on y entre,

Par les deux autres on en sort.

IMITATION.

Here fickle Fortune holds her court,
And to the mansion crowds resort,
Her golden smile to win;
One gate admits the eager bands,

And Hope, the portress, smiling stands,
To let the strangers in.

To lead them forth two gates appear,
But say! what forms are stationed there,

The purpose to attend!

At one Dishonor still abides,

And at the other Death presides,

The gamester's only friend.

I stood beneath a humblest hovel's roof,

Though scarce a shelter from the sudden storm,—
Wretched and cold and frail, and far aloof

From human dwelling; nor did other form
Of life appear, save one old withered crone,
Childless and friendless there who dwelt alone,-
Alone with Squalor and pale Misery,

While Hunger gaunt looked forth from her dim eye. "Good mother, fate hath hardly dealt with thee!" "OH, NO!"-and pointing to a sheltered nook, Before unnoticed,—“I HAVE STILL THAT BOOK!" Upon my cheek then might that old crone see A blush and tear of penitence and shame,— -I went a humbler man, and wiser, than I came.

II.

то MY MOTHER.

Purest and loveliest of earthly mould

Again to that dear bosom am I press'd

That gave me life! Blessed be thou, thrice-bless'd! While thus thy shielding arms thy child enfold,

I feel as in some sanctuary shrine,

Where nought of ill or sorrow may have power
To vex this passion-wasted heart of mine,

Or mar the holy peace of this sweet hour.

Nor life alone to thee my being owes,

For thou hast been an angel-guide from heaven

To my weak spirit,-and whate'er it knows

Of beauty, truth, or good, from thine was given! Oh, let the sacred tears these lines that blot

Speak the deep language which my feeble words may not!

* A recent incident.

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

RIVERSIDE

Felix Grundy

POLITICAL PORTRAITS WITH PEN AND PENCIL.

(No. X.)

FELIX GRUNDY.

THOUGH the recent appointment of Mr. GRUNDY to the eminent post of Attorney General of the United States, has brought him prominently before the country, as a high executive officer, and a distinguished professional man, yet he needed not that to place him in the series of our Political Portraits. A life now advanced beyond three-score years, with a reputation never sullieda consistency so marked as to secure the constant confidence of those with whom he has acted, and to make him an honored guide as well as trusted champion of the Democratic cause-an unflinching support, while war was raging, of the honor of his country, a never tiring exertion to procure and sustain the success of her arms, and a ready and cordial eloquence to cheer on the patriot-in peace, constantly turning the opportunities of public place to the introduction and promotion of laws distinguished by a spirit of wise philanthropy, or calculated to extend, diffuse, and equalize, the benefit of our institutions in every part of our vast confederacythese acts, and such conduct, long observed and known, would entitle him, without any distinction of place, to be included among those men on the incidents of whose lives their fellow-citizens love to dwell. A regard for consistent and faithful public servants is one of the most striking traits of American Democracy. Of the fickleness attributed to popular approbation in other countries, we have assuredly experienced but little, and the occasion is scarcely to be found, in which the Democratic party of the United States has deserted those who have been true to its principles. In most instances-perhaps without an exception, in every instance-where those have lost its support who at one time stood high in its confidence, the change is to be traced to the recantation of declared opinions, to the ardor of ill-timed and importunate ambition, to the false calculations of vanity unwisely over-rating individual importance, or to the foolish freaks of personal rivalry and jealousy. Such causes have too often separated from the Democratic party some of its ablest members, and justly deprived them of the honors they coveted. These would have been easily won by consistent and disinterested exertion for the public welfare, and a forbearing and quiet reliance on that popular approval, which is sure