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688. TRIBUTE.O WASHINGTON. Hard, | hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the struggle for independence. The golden sun of liberty-had nearly set, in the gloom of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams illumined our western horizon. Had not the tutelar saint of Columbia-hovered around the American camp, and presided over her destinies, freedom must have met with an antimely grave. Never, can we sufficiently admire the wisdom of those statesmen, and the skill, and bravery, of those unconquerable veterans, who, by their unwearied exertions in the cabinet, and in the field, achieved for us the glorious revolution. Never, can we duly appreciate the merits of a Washington; who, with but a handfull of undisciplined yeomanry, triumphed over a royal army, and prostrated the lion of England at the feet of the American eagle. His name,-so terrible to his foes, so welcome to his friends,--shall live forever upon the brightest page of the historian, and be remembered, with the warmest emotions of gratitude, and pleasure, by those, whom he had contributed to make happy, and by all mankind, when kings, and princes, and nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their merited oblivion. Unlike them, he needs not the assistance of the sculptor, or the architect, to perpetuate his memory: he needs no princely dome, no monumental pile, no stately pyramid, whose towering height shall pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty head to heaven, to tell posterity his fame. His deeds, his worthy deeds, alone have rendered him immortal! When oblivion shall have swept away thrones, kingdoms, and principalities--when human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have mouldered into dust,--eternity itself shall catch the glowing theme, and dwell with increasing rapture -on his name!--Gen. Harrison.

689. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. (tra low couch -the setting sun-had thrown its latest ray, Where, in his last-strong agony-a dying warrior lay,

The stern-old Baron Rudiger, whose frame-had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time, and toil-its iron strength had spent. "They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, It.at I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more; frey come, and to my beard-they dare to tell me now, that I, Their own liege lord, and master born,-that I, ha! ha! must die.

And what is death? I've dared him oft-before the Paynim spear, I're met him, faced hiin, scorn'd him, when the fight was raging

Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here?

hot,

I try his might-I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not.
H: sound the tocsin from my tower,-and fire the culverin,—
But each retainer-arm with speed,-call every vassal in,
Up with my banner on the wall,-the banquet board prepare,-
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

An hundred hands were busy then,--the banquet forth was spread,

And rung-the heavy oaken floor, with many a martial tread;
While from the rich, lark tracery-along the vaulted wall,

Lights gleamed on larness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old

Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate-the mailed retainers pour'd, Ou thro' the portal's frowning arch, and throng'd around the board.

While, at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. "Fill every breaker up, my men, pour forth the cheering wine, There's life, and strength-in every drop,-thanksgiving to the vine! Are ye all there, my vassals true ?-mine eyes are waxing dim;— Fill round, my tried and tearless ones, each goblet to the brim. fo're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword, And let me hear your faithful steel clash, once around my board: I hear it faintly:-Louder yet!-What clogs my heavy breath? nal, and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto Death!"

Bowl-rang to bowl,-stel-clanged to steel, and rose a deafen

ing cry,

That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on higt:
"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?-Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!
But I defy him:-let him come!" Down rang the massy cup,
While, from its sheath, the ready blade came flashing half-way ip;
And, with the black, and heavy plumes-scarce trembling on ba
There-in his dark, carved, oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat, decl

head,

690. QUEEN MAB.

O then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you
She is the fairy's midwife, and she comes
In shape, no bigger than an agate-stone,
On the forefinger of an alderman;
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep:
Her wagon spokes-made of long spinner's legs
The cover-of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces-of the smallest spiders web;
The collars-of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip-of cricket's bone; her lash-of film;
Her wagoner-a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big-as a round-little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot-is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner-squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind, the fairies' coach-maker£.
And in this state she gallops, night by night,
Thro' lovers' brains, and then they dream of love
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strait;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream!
Sometimes, she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then, dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she, with a tithe-pig's ta".,
Tickling the parson, as he lies asleep;

Then dreams he-of another benefice.
Sometimes, she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathoms deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts, and wakes;
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again.-Shakspeare.

YOUTH AND AGE. When the summer day of youth--is slowly wasting away into the nightfall of age, and the shadows of past years grow deeper and deeper, as life wears to its close, it is pleasant to look back, through the vista of time, upon the sorrows and felicities of our earlier years. If we have a home to shelter, and hearts to rejoice with us, and friends have been gathered together around our firesides, then, the rough places of our wayfaring will have been worn and smoothed away, in the twilight of life, while the sunny spots we have passed through, will grow brighter and more beautiful. Happy, indeed, are they, whose interference with the world has not changed the tone of their holier feelings, or broken those musical chords of the heart, whose vibrations are so melodious, so tender and touching, in the evening of age. When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose. Each change of many-color'd life he drew; Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new: Existence-saw him spurn her bounded regn; And panting Time-toil'd after him in vain.

BRONSON.

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691. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. A gentleman, Mr.President, speaking of Cesar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? Howdared he cross that river. Oh! but he paused up. on the brink! He should have perished upon the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause?

Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed! Whydoes the verymurderer,his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon! Compassion! What compassion! The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut! Cesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cesar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? No: it was cultivated and fertile; rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius,spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely,susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhab. itant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon. What was Cesar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country! No wonder that he paused-no wonder if,his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld bloodinstead of water; and heard groans instead of murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had then turned him into stone! But, no! -he cried, "The die is cast!". He plunged!he crossed!-and Rome was free no more! 692. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A chieftain-to the Highlands bound,
Cries," Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

But still, as wilder grew the wind,

And as the night-grew drearer,
Adown the glen-rode armed men,
Their trampling-sounded nearer.
"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries
"Though tempests round us gather
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

I boat-has left the stormy land,
A stormy sea-before her-
When, oh! too strong for human hani,
The tempest-gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed, amidst the roar
Of waters, fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin-reached that fatal shore,
His wrath-was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, through storm, and sha
His child-he did discover;

One lovely hand-she stretched for aid,
And one-was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief
"Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief:
My daughter! oh, my daughter!"
'Twas vain: the loud waves-lashed the shore,
Return, or aid-preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left-lamenting.-Campbell. 693. PROGRESS OF GOVERNMENT. In government, as in science, it is useful, often to review its progress, and to revert, even to its simplest elements. It will be salutary, fre quently to ascertain, how far society, and laws, in their present condition, accord with those, which we have been accustomed to consider, as their first and purest principles; deviated from their original form and struchow far, in the lapse of time, they may have

ture.

merely speculative, to imaginary" social con Even when we recur to inquiries, tracts," to abstract rights, we may often gath er instruction, and detect some concealed, or neglected truth, applicable to our own times and to our own immediate condition.

But when a government is derived, not from fictitious assumptions, not from ancient or obscure sources, or traditions, but, from actual, and specific agreement; when many, and various interests have been combined and compromised, and a written covenant has assured to many parties, rights, and powers, and privileges, it becomes a duty to revise this compact frequently and strictly, that no one entitled to its protection may be de

"Now, who be ye-would cross Loch-Gyle, prived, through inadvertence on the one part,

This dark-and stormy water?" "O! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this-lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men, Three days-we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,

My blood-would stain the heather. "His horsemen-hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief-I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady: "And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger, shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this, the storm grew loud-apace, The water-wraith-was shrieking; And, in the scowl of heaven, each face Grew dark--as they were speaking.

or encroachment on the other, of his vested rights; and that no changes may be introdu ced into the compact, but by the actual con sent of those, who are parties to the covenant -Every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light So it the fairer body doth procure

To habit in, and it more fairly dight With cheerful grace, and amiable sight; For of the soul, the body form doth take, For soul is form, and doth the body make. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, ling`ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires : Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted firea.

695. VICTIM BRIDE AND MISER.

I saw her-in her summer bower, and oh! upon my sight,
Methought there never beam'd a form more beautiful, and bright
So young, so fair, she seemed like one of those aerial things,
That dwell-but in the poet's high, and wild imaginings;
Or, like one of those forms, we meet in dreams, from which wi
wake and weep,

That earth-has no creations, like the figments of our sleep.

prayer,)

694. ADVANTAGES OF KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge, in general, expands the mind, exalts the faculties, refines the taste of pleasure, and opens innumerable sources of intellectual enjoyment. By means of it, we become less dependent for satisfaction upon the sensitive appetites; the gross pleasures of sense are more easily despised, and we are made to feel the superiority of the spiri- Her father-lov'd he not his child-above all earthly things' tual to the material part of our nature. In-As traders love the merchandize, from which their profit apt a: stead of being continually solicited by the in- Old age came by, with tottering step, and, for sordid gold, fluence, and irritation of sensible objects, the with which the dotard urged his suit, the maiden's peace was wold; mind can retire within herself, and expatiate And thus, (for oh! her sire's stern heart-was steel'd against her in the cool and quiet walks of contemplation. The poor man, who can read, and who The hand he ne'er had gain'd from love, he won from her despair. possesses a taste for reading, can find enter-I saw them through the church-yard pass, and such a nuptial train, tainment at home, without being tempted to I would not for the wealth of worlds, should greet my sight repair to the public house for that purpose. The bridemaids, each as beautiful as Eve-in Eden's bowers, His mind can find him employment, when his Shed bitter tears-upon the path they should have strown w ✰ body is at rest; he does not lie prostrate, and afloat, on the current of incidents, liable to be carried, whithersoever the impulse of appetite may direct. There is, in the mind of such a man, an intellectual spring, urging him to the pursuit of mental good; and if the minds of his family, also, are a little cultivated, conversation becomes the more interesting, and the sphere of domestic enjoyment enlarged.

The calm satisfaction, which books afford, puts him into a disposi ion to relish, more exquisitely, the tranquil delight, inseparable from the indulgence of conjugal, and parental affection: and as he will be more respectable, in the eyes of his family, than he, who can teach them nothing, he will be naturally induced to cultivate, whatever may preserve, and shun whatever would impair that respect. He, who is inured to reflection, will carry his views beyond the present hour; he will extend his prospect a little into futurity, and be disposed to make some provision for his approaching wants; whence will result, an increased motive to industry, together with a care to husband his earnings, and to avoid unnecessary expense.

The poor man who has gained a taste for good books, will, in all likelihood, become thoughtful, and when you have given the poor a habit of thinking, you have conferred on them a much greater favor, than by the gift of a large sum of money; since you have put them in possession of the principle of all legitimate prosperity.-R. Hall.

TIME'S SOFTENING POWER.

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
Awes not so deeply in its morning hour,
As when the shades of time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivied wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal froin each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand;
As the heart opens in a foreign land,
And with a brother's warmth, a brother's sme,
The stranger greets each native of his isle;
So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely viewed,
However trivial and however rude,

But wins the heart and wakes the social sigh,
With every claim of close affinity.

Hope and fear, alternate, swayed his breast,
Like light-and shade-upon a waving field,
Coursing each other, when the flying clouds
Now tide and now reveal-the sun.

Sowers;

Who had not thought, that white-rob'd band—the funeral array
of one-an early doom had call'd-from life's gay scene away?
The priest-beheld the bridal pair before the altar stand,
And sigh'd, as he drew forth his book, with slow, reluctant hand;
He saw the bride's flow'r-wreath'd hair, he mark'd her streaming

eyes,

And deem'd it less a christian rite, than a pagan sacrifice ;
And when he called on Abraham's God to bless the wedded pair,
It seem'd a very mockery-to breath so vain a prayer.
I saw the palsy'd bridegroom too, in youth's gay ensign dress'd,
A shroud-were fitter garment far-for him, than bridal vest;
I marked him, when the ring was claim'd, 'twas hard to loose F
hold,
He held it-with a miser's clutch; it was his darling gold;
His shrivell'd hand-was wet with tears, she shed, alas! in vain,
And trembled like an autumn leaf-beneath the beating rain.
I've seen her since that fatal morn: her golden fetters rest-
As e'en the weight of incubus-upon her aching breast;
And when the victor (death,) shall come, to aea, the welenme
blow,
[brow;

He will not find one rose-to swell the wreath, that decks his
For oh! her cheek is blanched with grief, that time-may not

assuage;

age.

Thus early-beauty-sheds her bloom-on the wintry breast on

696. THE DEW-DROP IN SPRING.

How pure! how bright is the tiny thing!
It beams where the birds of the morning sing;
It looks like the tear from an angel's eye,
Or a pearl that has dropped from the vernal sky
To deck the silvery robe of the dawn,
As it weds the flowers on the grassy lawn.
In the silver cup of the daisy it lies;

It smiles on the lark as he upward flies;
In a chariot of cloud it shall glide to the sun;
On a pathway of incense its course shall be run;
It returns again on a sunset ray,

And forgets in its slumber the sports of the day.
The emblem of virtue unsullied, it seems-
The emblem of beauty we see in our dreams;
"Tis a pledge of faith, by the breeze to be given,
With amorous sighs to the clouds of heaven.
Oh, who can tell, but the fairies keep
Their nightly watch where the dew-drops sleep
When the rose unfolds its voluptuous charm,
When the sun is high, and the earth grows warm
'Tis then that the dew-drop shines most bright,
'Tis then that it rivals the diamond's light,
As it bids farewell to the fairy scene,
And melts into air where its bower has been.
All men-thirk all men mortal, but themselves,
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate,
Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread

697. SPECIMEN OF INDIAN LANGUAGE. We are happy, in having buried, under ground, the red axe, that has so often been ayed with the blood of our brethren. Now, in this fort, we inter the axe, and plant the tree of Peace. We plant a tree, whose top will reach the sun, and its branches spread abroad, so that it shall be seen afar off. May its growth never be stifled and choked; but may it shade both your country and ours with its leaves. Let us make fast its roots, and extend them to the uttermost of your colonies. If the French should come to shake this tree, we should know it by the motion of its roots reaching into our country. May the Great Spirit-allow us to rest, in tranquillity, upon our mats, and never again dig up the axe, to cut down the tree of Peace! Let the earth be trod hard over it, where it lies buried. Let a strong stream run under the pit, to wash the evil away, out of our sight and remembrance. The fire, that had long burned in Albany, is extinguished. The bloody bed is washed clean, and the tears are wiped from our eyes. We now renew the Covenant-chain of friendship. Let it be kept b.ight and clean as silver, and not suffered to contract any rust. Let not any one pull away his arm from it.

MARSEILLES HYMN OF LIBERTY.
Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires, hoary,
Behold their tears-and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty-lie bleeding?
To arms to ARMS! ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolv'd,
On VICTORY-or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities-blaze,
And shall we basely-view the ruin,

While lawless force with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation-far and wide,
With crimes and blood, his hands imbruing?
To arms to ARMS! ye brave, &c.
With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile-insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded,
To mete, and vend-the light-and air.
Like beasts of burden-would they load us,
Like gods--would bid their slaves adore,
But man-is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us 1
To arms to ARMS! ye brave, &c.
Oh, LIBERTY, can man resign thee,
Once-having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee;
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long--the world has wept, bewailing,
That falsehood's dagger-tyrants wield,
But FREEDOM-is our sword, and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms to ARMS! ye brave, &c.

698. OTHELLO S APOLOGY. Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors: My very noble, and approv'd good masters: That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent; no more.

Rude am I in speech, And little blessed with the set phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, [us'd

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore, little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking of myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will, a round, unvarnish'd tale deliver,
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what
charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceedings I am charg'd withal)
I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me; oft invited me ;
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunos
That I bad past.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To the very moment, that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances:
Of moving accidents by flood, and field:
Of hairbreath 'scapes, in the imminent dead!
Of being taken by the insolent foe, [breach
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history.

All these to hear,
Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her the noe.
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear,
Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels, she had something heard,
But not distinctly.

I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke,
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains, a world of sighs.
She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing
"Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful; [strange;
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wich'd
That heaven-had made her such a man.
She thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake i
She lov'd me, for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This is the only witchcraft, which I've used.
Some, light of heart, may scorn, ir later years,
Those dear memorials-of a calmer time;
While others-water them with life's last tears,
And bear their faded charins from clime to clime

699. MAJESTY OF THE LAW. How imposing-is the majesty of the law! how calm her dignity; how vast-her power; how firm, and tranquil, in her reign! It is not by fleets, and arms, by devastation, and wrong, by op pression, and blood-she maintains her sway, and executes her decrees. Sustained by justice, reason, and the great interests of man, she but speaks, and is obeyed. Even those, who do not approve, hesitate not-to support her; and the individual, upon whom her judgment falls, knows, that submission-is not only a duty, he must perform, but, that the security, and enjoyment, of all that is dear to him, depend upon it.

A mind-accustomed to acknowledge no power, but physical force, no obedience, but personal fear, must view, with astonishment, a feeble individual, sitting, with no parade of strength, surrounded by no visible agents of power, issuing his decrees with oracular authority; while the rich, and the great, the first and the meanest-await, alike, to perform his will. Still more wonderful is it--to behold the co-ordinate officers of the same government, yielding their pretensions to his higher influence: the executive, the usual depository and instrument of power; the legislature even the representative of the people, yield a respectful acquiescence-to the judgments of the tribunals of the law, pronounced by the minister, and expounder of the law. Is it enough for him to say-"It is the opinion of the court-" and the farthest corner of our republic-feels, and obeys the mandate. What a sublime spectacle! This is indeed, the empire of the law; and safe, and happy-are all they, who dwell within it.-Hopkinson.

700. SPEECH OF CATILINE, BEFORE THE ROMAN
SENATE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT.
"Banish'd-from Rome!"-what's banish'd, but set
From daily contact-of the things I loathe! [free
Tried-and convicted traitor!"-Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? [chain!
Banished!"-I thank you for 't. It breaks my
held some slack allegiance till this hour-
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords;
I scorn-to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you-in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you:-here I fling
Hatred, and full defiance in your face.
Your consul's merciful. For this-all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.
"Traitor!" I go-but I return. This-trial!
Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs,
To sti: a fever in the blood of age,

Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrows!-This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions.-Look to your hearths,
my lords,

For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gode,
Shapes hot from Tartarus! all shames, and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisonirg his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch, and axe,
Making his wild sport-of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy-comes down on you, like Night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.-Croly.

701. DOCTOR AND PUFIL.

A pupil of the Esculapian schoo.,
Was just prepared to quit his master's rule:
Not that he knew his trade, as it appears,
But that he then had learnt it seven years
One morn, he thus addressed his master:
"Dear sir, my honored father bids me say,
If I could now and then a visit pay,
He thinks, with you.-to notice how you do,
My business I might learn a little faster."
"The thought is happy," the preceptor cries:
"A better method he could scarce device;
So Bob," (his pupil's name) "it shall be 30;
And when I next pay visits, you shall go."
To bring that hour, alas! time briskly fled:
with dire intent away they went,
And now, behold them at a patient's bed
The master-doctor solemnly perused
His victim's face, and o'er his symptoms mused;
Looked wise, said nothing—an unerring way,
When people nothing have to say:
Then felt his pulse, and smelt his cane,
And paused, and blinked, and smelt again,

And briefly of his corps performed each motion
Manoeuvres that for Death's platoon are meant:
A kind of a Make-ready-and-Present,

Before the fell discharge of pill and potion.
At length, the patient's wife he thus addressed:
"Madam, your husband's danger's great,
And (what will never his complaint abate,)
The man's been eating oysters, I perceive "-
"Dear! you're a witch, I verily believe,"
Madam replied, and to the truth confessed.
Skill so prodigious, Bobby, too, admired;
And home returning, of the sage inquired

How these same oysters came into his head? "Psha! my dear Bob, the thing was plainSure that can ne'er distress thy brain;

I saw the shells lie underneath the bed."
So wise, by such a lesson grown,
Next day, Bob ventured out alone,

And to the self-same sufferer paid his court-
But soon, with haste and wonder out of breath,
Returned the stripling minister of death,

And to his master made this dread report:
"Why, sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under
Zounds! such a man I never came across!
The fellow must be dying, and no wonder,

For ne'er believe me if he has n't eat a horse."
"A horse!" the elder man of physic cried,
As if he meant his pupil to deride-
"How got so wild a notion in your head?"
"How! think not in my duty I was idle;
Like you, I took a peep beneath the bed,
And there I saw a saddle and a bridle!"
Mr. Locke-
trived to accumulate a mine of knowledge
-was asked, how he had con-
so rich, yet so extensive and so deep. He
replied, that he attributed what little he
knew-to the not having been ashamed
to ask for information, and to the rule ne
scriptions of men, on those topics chiefly,
had laid down, of conversing with all de
or pursuits.
that formed their own peculiar professions

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