the modern politician is much the same as his predecessor of two centuries ago. But in fact there has been a steady improvement in political methods. What appears to have been common in New Jersey in the early days of the eighteenth century—such as turning a Legislative minority into a majority—is so exceptional to-day as to excite general surprise, and more or less genuine indignation. In that State ten years ago it caused a political revolution. The golden age of American politics does not lie in the past. It looms up brightly in the future. All the patriots, all the statesmen who have ever lived in our land, are by no means dead. To-day there are more with us than ever. Perhaps when they have left this sublunary sphere as long as have Washington, Hamilton, Jefferson, Marshall, Webster, Calhoun, Clay and Benton—nomina clara et venerabilia!—future generations looking back upon the eminent men of this day, through the haze of a century, may see our contemporaries surrounded by as effulgent a glamour as that which to our eyes enshrines the worthies who guided the first steps of the Nation along the paths of sure and permanent progress. Let us have faith in the Republic, and in our present leaders, following where they lead aright, and leaving them when they go astray; remembering the golden rule in government, embodied in those matchless words: “That all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” When the time comes that our people shall fully live up to that immortal Declaration we shall see before us and within reach the iridescent rainbow of our hopes, the harbinger of tranquility after the storms of past conflicts; then we shall have attained indeed in our political system and practices to the “golden age.” WILLIAM NELSON. PATERSON, N. J. HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED POEM BY EDGAR ALLAN POE [The MS. was recently sold at auction in New York.] Elizabeth it is in vain you say “Love not”—thou say’st it in so sweet a way: In vain those words from thee or L. E. L. Xantippe’s talents had enforced so well: Ah! if that language from thy heart arise, Breathe it less gently forth and veil thine eyes. Endymion, recollect, when Luna tried To cure his love—was cured of all beside— His folly—pride—and passion—for he died. _E. A. P._ WHEN WASHINGTON CAME TO SPRINGFIELD