"The reporters are coming in. If you will accompany me to my reception-room, you will have an opportunity, shared by no other foreigner, to become acquainted with the mainsprings of this revolution; for such I am determined it shall become. Alas! would that it were of a nature to be the last one! But their haste prevents that altogether. Come, they are waiting for me."
(To be continued.)
THE MOURNER'S LAMENT.
BY PARK BENJAMIN.
The night-breeze fans my faded cheek,
And lifts my damp and flowing hair—
And lo! methinks sweet voices speak,
Like harp-strings to the viewless air;
While in the sky's unmeasured scroll,