There are holy places in the mosque of the Moslems where only the “faithful” can tread with unsandaled feet, and there are some human lives so purified and exalted that only the pen of the Recording Angel is worthy to transfix their fleeting lights and shadows, their struggles in their upward flight. Ah! reader, would you know why Senator Wilson lies so close to the heart of cold, haughty Massachusetts; why he has the least of this world’s goods of any man in Congress; why he fights so manfully for the poor and down-trodden; why he is one of the most popular and best-beloved men in the land? It is because he is strengthened and solaced and the armor for life’s battle is girded on at home. OLIVIA. HON. BENJAMIN F. WADE. CONSIDERED THE PROPER SIZE FOR PRESIDENTIAL TIMBER. WASHINGTON, _April 21, 1868_. The dying throes of the rebellion end with the impeachment trial. Whilst Grant crushed the head of the reptile in Virginia, and Sherman’s swarming legions cut the monster in twain, it is left for a loyal Congress to deal with that part of the serpent which it is said “never dies till the sun goes down.” The death-dealing rattle of the Ku Klux Klan is borne to us on the breath of the soft south wind; the lonely cane-brake still echoes the hunted fugitive’s cry; the hand of palsy grasps our Southern sister States; and the nation is heart-sick, well nigh unto death. But the warm glow of another sunrise is upon us. A new day already dawns in the East, and the coming man stands before the people, whom destiny has called to be the leader, and to guide the ship of state into a peaceful sea. All hail! Benjamin F. Wade, of Ohio. Massachusetts spared him room to be born, but the great West nourished him upon her broad bosom, and there his mind drank in the grand landscape of dimpled lake and sunny, dew-kissed prairie, and there he learned, irrespective of color or sex, devotion to his race.