Ponderous projectiles, hurled by heavy hands, Fell on our Liberty’s poor infant head, Ere she a stadium had well advanced On the great path that to her greatness led; Her temple’s propylon was shattered; Yet thanks to saving Grace and Washington, Her incubus was from her bosom hurled; And, rising like a cloud-dispelling sun, She took the oil, with which her hair was curled, To grease the “Hub” round which revolves the world. This fine production is rather heavy for an “anthem,” and contains too much of Boston to be considered strictly national. To set such an “anthem” to music would require a Wagner; and even were it really accommodated to a tune, it could only be whistled by the populace. We now come to a NATIONAL ANTHEM BY JOHN GREENLEAF W――――. My native land, thy Puritanic stock Still finds its roots firm-bound in Plymouth Rock, And all thy sons unite in one grand wish―― To keep the virtues of Preserv-ed Fish. Preserv-ed Fish, the Deacon stern and true, Told our New England what her sons should do, And should they swerve from loyalty and right, Then the whole land were lost indeed in night. The sectional bias of this “anthem” renders it unsuitable for use in that small margin of the world situated outside of New England. Hence the above must be rejected. Here we have a very curious NATIONAL ANTHEM BY DR. OLIVER WENDELL H――――. A diagnosis of our hist’ry proves Our native land a land its native loves; Its birth a deed obstetric without peer, Its growth a source of wonder far and near. To love it more behold how foreign shores Sink into nothingness beside its stores; Hyde Park at best――though counted ultra-grand―― The “Boston Common” of Victoria’s land―― The committee must not be blamed for rejecting the above, after reading thus far; for such an “anthem” could only be sung by a college of surgeons, or a Beacon-street tea-party. Turn we now to a NATIONAL ANTHEM BY RALPH WALDO E――――. Source immaterial of material naught, Focus of light infinitesimal, Sum of all things by sleepless Nature wrought, Of which abnormal man is decimal. Refract, in prism immortal, from thy stars To the stars blent incipient on our flag, The beam translucent, neutrifying death; And raise to immortality the rag. This “anthem” was greatly praised by a celebrated German scholar; but the committee felt obliged to reject it on account of its too childish simplicity.