injured as Ireland, will be satisfied with nothing less than liberty.

I might, as a constituent, come to your bar and demand my liberty. I do call upon you, by the laws of the land and their violation, by the instruction of eighteen centuries, by the arms, inspiration, and providence of the present moment, tell us the rule by which we shall go; assert the law of Ireland; declare the liberty of the land. I will not be answered by a public lie in the shape of an amendment; neither, speaking for the subject's freedom, am I to hear of faction.

I wish for nothing but to breathe, in this our island, in common with my fellow-subjects, the air of liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be the ambition to break your chain, and contemplate your glory. I never will be satisfied so long as the meanest cottager in Ireland has a link of the British chain clanking to his rags. He may be naked, -he shall not be in iron.

And I do see the time is at hand, the spirit is gone forth, the declaration is planted; and though great men should apostatize, yet the cause will live; and though the public speaker should die, yet the immortal fire shall outlast the organ which conveyed it, and the breath of liberty, like the word of the holy man, will not die with the prophet, but survive him.

HENRY GRATTAN.

Spell and pronounce: - Parliament, emancipate, amendment, dispersed, balance, plausibly, deference, honorable, abdicate, attendance, and fundamentally.

Henry Grattan (1746-1820) was one of Ireland's most eminent orators and statesmen.

bŭmp’kin, a rustic.

LESSON CII.

| elown, a rustic.

THE RAZOR-SELLER.

A fellow in a market-town,

Most musical, cried “Razors!" up and down,
And offered twelve for eighteen pence;
Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,

As every man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard,-
Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard,
That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose:
With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid,
And proudly to himself in whispers said,
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

"No matter if the fellow be a knave, Provided that the razors shave;

It certainly will be a most enormous prize.” So home the clown with his good fortune went, Smiling, in heart and soul content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze.

"Twas a vile razor! Then the rest he tried:
All were impostors. "Ah!" Hodge sighed,

"I wish my eighteen pence were in my purse."

Hodge sought the fellow, found him, and begun : "P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun

That people flay themselves out of their lives. You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing, Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing With razors just like oyster-knives.

Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,

To cry up razors that can't shave!"

"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave.

As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my word, I never thought

That they would shave.”

"Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes,

And voice not much unlike an Indian yell: "What were they made for, then, you scamp?" he

cries.

"Made!" quoth the fellow with a smile, "To SELL!"

The train from out the castle drew;

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu.

"Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone:
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall, in friendly grasp,
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire;
And "This to me?" he said;
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head.

And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate.

66

And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
I tell thee thou'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer

To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied."

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!—
Up drawbridge, grooms!-what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need,—
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung;
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim.

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenchèd hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase," But soon he reined his fury's pace.

A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed?

At first, in heart, it liked me ill,
When the king praised his clerkly skill.

WALTER SCOTT.