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bee did but venture to mention to them such a thing as the desirableness of setting all their brown bees free, they grew quite furious, and sharpened their stings in a most alarming manner. And so they go on to this day. And yet they are the independent bees; and whenever the day is mentioned, the great day when their own independence was settled, they throw up their honey and wax into the air, and flutter their wings, and hum, and buz, and cry, "We are the bees, and there are none like us! we understand what belongs to bee-liberty and bee-rights !" and then they cry "equality! equality !” as loud and as long as they can. But as to setting their brown brethren free, they will not hear of that.

Yet very beautiful is the garden in which these oppressed and pitiable members of the community are toiling in such multitudes, that, did they but know how, they might soon make themselves free. Beautiful and fair is that rich garden, watered by swelling streams, and crowned by the richest of ancient woods. Beautiful are the noble habitations built on the banks of its broad rivers, and beautiful the wise and benevolent institutions starting into life on every hand. Beautiful is the industry, the action, the quick spirit of enterprise, which hoists the sail and plies the ready oar, and the swift transit of merchandise across its great waters, from fruitful shore to shore. A proud and a boastful community they have right to be, for all

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this greatness and prosperity is but as the work of yesterday. Long may it last, and much honey may they gain ! but of one thing we would venture to remind themthere can be no real sweetness in the produce of cruelty and oppression.


A MERRY boy and idle girl

Sate one day in a bower; They laugh'd and play'd till, strange to say,

They talk'd of kingly power. Then voices loud, in angry tones,

Rang through each garden walk; One might have thought them bitter foes,

To hear those children talk.

“I love a man-not born a prince,

But kingly in his mind;
And such a man,” the youth exclaim'd,

“ In Cromwell bold we find. I love a man who wins his way

By greatness of his own; And such a man was Oliver,

And fit to fill a throne."

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