The Hushed Winds Their Sabbath Keep.

Lo! While We Are Gazing, In Swifter Haste Stream Down The Snows, Till The Air Is White, As, Myriads By Myriads Madly Chased, They Fling Themselves From Their Shadowy Height. The Fair, Frail Creatures Of Middle Sky, What Speed They Make, With Their Grave So Nigh; Flake After Flake, To Lie In The Dark And Silent Lake!

The Right To Discuss Freely And Openly, By Speech, By The Pen, By The Press, All Political Questions, And To Examine The Animadvert Upon All Political Institutions Is A Right So Clear And Certain, So Interwoven With Our Other Liberties, So Necessary, In Fact, To Their Existence, That Without It We Must Fall Into Despotism And Anarchy.

The Blacks Of This Region Are A Cheerful, Careless, Dirty, Race, Not Hard Worked, And In Many Respects Indulgently Treated. It Is Of Course The Desire Of The Master That His Slaves Shall Be Laborious; On The Other Hand It Is The Determination Of The Slave To Lead As Easy A Life As He Can. The Master Has The Power Of Punishment On His Side; The Slave, On His, Has Invincible Inclination, And A Thousand Expedients Learned By Long Practice... Good Natured Though Imperfect And Slovenly Obedience On One Side, Is Purchased By Good Treatment On The Other.

Fairest Of All That Earth Beholds, The Hues That Live Among The Clouds, And Flush The Air, Lingering, And Deepening At The Hour Of Dews.

These Struggling Tides Of Life That Seem In Wayward, Aimless Course To Tend, Are Eddies Of The Mighty Stream That Rolls To Its Appointed End.