BOOK FOURTH.

STANDARD SELECTIONS OF DIALOGUES.

BOOK FOURTH.

STANDARD DIALOGUES.

CCCLXXII.

PRINCE ARTHUR OF BRETAGNE.

PRINCE ARTHUR—HUBERT—ATTENDANTS.

HUB. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand Within the arras; when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground rush forth, And bind the boy which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. 1 Att. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you: look to it. [Exeunt Attendants.] Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. [Enter Arth.] Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be.—You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks nobody should be sad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practices more harm to me. He is afraid of me, and I of him. Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? No, indeed, is 't not; and I would to Heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate, He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside.] Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day. In sooth, I would you were a little sick, That I might, sit all night, and watch with you. I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, foolish rheum. [Aside.] Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.— Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must. Arth. And will you? Hub. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again; And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheered up the heavy time; Saying, What lack you? and Where lies your grief? Or, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you: But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was a crafty love, And call it cunning: do, and if you will: If Heaven be pleased that you should use me ill, Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?— These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Hub. I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench its fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron? An if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him; no tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth. [Stamps.—Reënter Attendants.] Do as I bid you. Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the irons angrily. Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 1 Att. I am best pleased to be away from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants.] Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend: He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart. Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O, Heaven! that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a meandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes. Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes, Though to no use, but still to look on you! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief— Being create for comfort,—to be used In undeserved extremes. See else yourself: There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert; Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes, And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight, Snatch at his master that does tarre him on. All things that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,— Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owes. Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised. Hub. Peace; no more: Adieu!— Your uncle must not know but you are dead; I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Arth. O, Heaven!—I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence: no more. Go closely in with me: Much danger do I undergo for thee. Shakespeare.

CCCLXXIII.

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.

Cassius. That you have wronged me, doth appear in this: You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off. Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in such a case. Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment. Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers. Cas. I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last! Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. Cas. Chastisement! Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice?—What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers,—shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honors For so much trash as may be graspéd thus?— I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman! Cas. Brutus, bay not me! I'll not endure it. You forget yourself, To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions. Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius. Cas. I am. Bru. I say you are not. Cas. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health; tempt me no farther! Bru. Away, slight man! Cas. Is 't possible? Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? Cas O ye gods! ye gods! Must I endure all this? Bru. All this? ay, more! Fret till your proud heart break; Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble! Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth,—yea for my laughter, When you are waspish! Cas. Is it come to this? Bru. You say, you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus: I said, an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say, better? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him! Cas. I durst not? Bru. No. Cas. What? durst not tempt him? Bru. For your life, you durst not! Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; For I am armed so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;— For I can raise no money by vile means: By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection! I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces! Can. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not;—he was but a fool That brought my answer back.—Brutus hath rived my heart; A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. Cas. You love me not. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus. Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world; Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed, Set in a note-book, learned, and conned by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes!—There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine,—richer than gold; If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; I that denied thee gold, will give my heart: Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know, When thou didst hate him worst, then lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius! Brat. Sheathe your dagger; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. O Cassius, you are yokéd with a lamb That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforcéd, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Cas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered, vexeth him? Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Bru. And my heart too. Cas. O, Brutus! Bru. What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humor, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. Shakespeare.

CCCXXLXIV.

DOGBERRY'S CHARGE.

DOGBERRY—VERGES—THE WATCH.

Dog. Are you good men and true? Ver. Yea, or else it were a pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Ver. Well, give them their charge, neighbor Dogberry. Dog. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable? 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read. Dog. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable,— Dog. You have; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore, bear you the lantern. This is your charge;—you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watch. How, if he will not stand? Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. Ver. If he will not stand when he is bidden he is none of the prince's subjects. Dog. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects.—You shall also make no noise in the streets: for, for the watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable, and not to be endured. 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch. Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only, have a care that your bills be not stolen.—Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 2 Watch. How, if they will not? Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they are sober; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say, they are not the men you took them for. 2 Watch. Well, sir. Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Dog. Truly, by your office, you may; but, I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. Ver. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog, by my will; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Ver. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us. Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when it bleats. Ver. 'T is very true. Dog. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to present the prince's own person: if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Ver. Nay, by 'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. Dog. Five shillings to one on 't, with any man that knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not without the prince be willing: for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Ver. By 'r lady, I think, it be so. Dog. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good-night.—Come, neighbor. 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. Dog. One word more, honest neighbors: I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the wedding being there tomorrow there is a great coil to-night.—Adieu; be vigilant, I beseech you. Shakespeare.

CCCLXXV.

INDIGESTION.

DR. GREGORY—PATIENT.

[SCENE.——DR. GREGORY'S STUDY. ENTER A PLUMP GLASGOW MERCHANT.]

Pa. Good morning, Dr. Gregory! I'm just come into Edinburg about some law business, and I thought when I was here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, about my trouble. Dr. Pray, sir, sit down. And now, my good sir, what may your trouble be? Pa. Indeed, Doctor, I'm not very sure; but I'm thinking it's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of pickling about my stomachs;—I'm just na right. Dr. You are from the West country, I should suppose, sir? Pa. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. Dr. Ay; pray, sir, are you a glutton? Pa. God forbid, sir; I'm one of the plainest men living in all the West country. Dr. Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard? Pa. No, Dr. Gregory; thank God, no one can accuse me of that. I'm of the Dissenting persuasion, Doctor, and an Elder; so you may suppose I'm na drunkard. Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of life. I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I would wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you breakfast, and what do you take at it? Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock; take a cup of coffee, and one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kipper salmon, or, may be, both, if they're good, and two or three rolls and butter. Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast? Pa. Oh, yes, sir! but I don't count that as anything. Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind of a dinner do you make? Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed; some soup, and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled; for I dinna care for made dishes; I think, some way, they never satisfy the appetite. Dr. You take a little pudding, teens and afterwards some cheese. Pa. Oh, yes! though I don't care much about them. Dr. You take a glass of ale and porter with your cheese? Pa. Yes, one or the other; but seldom both. Dr. You West-country people generally take a glass of Highland whiskey after dinner. Pa. Yes, we do; it as good for digestion. Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner? Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry; but I'm indifferent as to wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer Dr. What quantity of port do you drink? Pa. Oh, very little; not above half a dozen glasses or so. Dr. In the West country it is impossible, I hear to dine without punch? Pa. Yes, sir, indeed, 't is punch we drink chiefly; but for myself unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that's moderate. Dr. Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed! You then, after this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter? Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the evening letters. Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose. Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to take supper; just something before going to bed;—a rizzard haddock, or a bit of toasted cheese, or a half-hundred of oysters: or the like o' that and may be, two thirds of a bottle of ale; but I take no regular supper. Dr. But you take a little more punch after that? Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I take a tumbler of warm whiskey-toddy at night; it is lighter to sleep on. Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your every day life; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little? Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often happen. Dr. Not above twice a week? Pa. No; not oftener. Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite? Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have; indeed, any ill-health that I have is about meal-time. Dr. [Assuming a severe look, knitting his brow, and lowering his eyebrows.] Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow indeed. You come here and tell me you are a moderate man; but upon examination, I find by your own showing that you are a most voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man; yet, by your own showing, you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what human stomach can stand this? Go home, sir, and leave your present [course of ] riotous living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. Pa. I'm sure, Doctor, I 'm very much obliged to you [taking out a bundle of bank-notes], I shall endeavor to. Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me:—put up your money, sir. Do you think I 'll take a fee for telling you what you know as well as myself? Though you 're no physician, sir, you are not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase.

CCCLXXVI.

THE TWO ROBBERS.

[Alexander THE great, in his tent. A man with a fierce countenance, chained and fettered, brought before him.] Alex. What! art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I have heard so much? Rob. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. Alex. A soldier!—a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the country! I could honor thy courage; but I must detest and punish thy crimes. Rob. What have I done of which you can complain? Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and the properties of thy fellow-subjects? Rob. Alexander, I am your captive I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. Alex. Speak freely. Far be it for me take the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse. Rob. I must; then, answer your question by another. How have you passed your life? Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest; among sovereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, the mightiest. Rob. And does not Fame speak of me, too? Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there ever— but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not been easily subdued. Alex. Still, what are you, but a robber—a base dishonest robber? Rob. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too gone about the earth like an evil genius: blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion? All that I have done to a single district, with a hundred followers you have done to whole nations, with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the earth. What is then the difference, but that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. Rob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I took from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind; and I have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, little of the philosphy you talk of; but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for the mischief we have done it. Alex. Leave me.—Take off his chains, and use him well. Are we, then, so much alike? Alexander to a robber?—Let me reflect. Dr. Aiken.

CCCLXXVII.

THE MISER.

LOVEGOLD—JAMES.

Love. Where have you been? I have wanted you above an hour. James. Whom do you want, sir,—your coachman or your cook? for I am both one and t' other. Love. I want my cook. James. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman; for you have had no great occasion for him since your last pair of horses were starved; but your cook, sir, shall wait upon you in an instant. [ Puts off his coachman's great-coat and appears as a cook.] Now sir, I am ready for your commands. Love. I am engaged this evening to give a supper. James. A supper, sir! I have not heard the word this half-year; a dinner, indeed, now and then; but, for a supper, I'm almost afraid, for want of practice, my hand is out. Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, and see that you provide a good supper. James. That may be done with a good deal of money, sir. Love. Is the mischief in you? Always money! Can you say nothing else but money, money, money? My children, my servants, my relations, can pronounce nothing but money. James. Well, sir; but how many will there be at table? love. About eight or ten; but I will have supper dressed but for eight; for if there be enough for eight, there is enough for ten. James. Suppose, sir, at one end, a handsome soup; at the other, a fine Westphalia ham and chickens; on one side, a fillet of veal; on the other, a turkey, or rather a bustard, which may be had for about a guinea— Love. Zounds! is the fellow providing an entertainment for my lord mayor and the court of aldermen? James. Then a ragout— Love. I'll have no ragout. Would you burst the good people you dog? James. Then pray, sir, what will you have? Love. Why, see and provide something to cloy their stomachs: let there be two good dishes of soup-maigre; a large suet pudding; some dainty, fat pork-pie, very fat; a fine, small lean breast of mutton, and a large dish with two artichokes. There; that's plenty and variety. James. O, dear— Love. Plenty and variety. James. But, sir, you must have some poultry. Love. No; I'll have none. James. Indeed, sir, you should. Love. Well, then,—kill the old hen, for she has done laying. James. Mercy! sir, how the folks will talk of it; indeed, people say enough of you already. Love. Eh! why, what do the people say, pray? James. Oh, sir, if I could be assured you would not be angry. Love. Not at all; for I'm always glad to hear what the world says of me. James. Why, sir, since you will have it, then, they make a jest of you everywhere; nay, of your servants, on your account. One says, you pick a quarrel with them quarterly, in order to find an excuse to pay them no wages. Love. Poh! poh! James. Another says, you were taken one night stealing your own oats from your own horses. Love. That must be a lie; for I never allow them any. James. In a word, you are the bye-word everywhere; and you are never mentioned, but by the names of covetous, stingy, scraping, old— Love. Get along, you impudent villain! James. Nay, sir, you said you would n't be angry. Love. Get out, you dog! you— Fielding.

CCCLXXVIII.

THE LETTER.

SQUIRE EGAN AND HIS NEW IRISH SERVANT, ANDY. Squire. Well, Andy, you went to the postoffice, as I ordered you? Andy. Yis, sir. Squire. Well, what did you find? Andy. A most impertinent fellow indade, sir. Squire. How so? Andy Says I, as decent like as a gentleman, "I want a letther, sir, if you plase." "Who do you want it for?" said the posth-masther, as ye call him. "I want a letter, sir, if you plase," said I "And whom do you want it for?" said he again. "And what 's that to you?" said I. Squire. You blockhead, what did he say to that? Andy. He laughed at me, sir, and said he could not tell what leather to give me, unless I told him the direction. Squire. Well, you told him then, did you? Andy. "The directions I got," said I "was to get a leather here,—that 's the directions." "Who gave you the directions?" says he. "The masther" said I. "And who 's your masther?" said he. "What consarn is that of yours?" said I. Squire. Did he break your head, then? Andy. No sir. "Why you stupid rascal," said he, "if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you his leather?" "You could give it, if you liked," said I; "only you are fond of axing impudent questions, because you think I'm simple." "Get out o' this!" said he. "Your masther must be as great a goose as yourself, to send such a missenger." Squire. Well, how did you save my honor, Andy? Andy. "Bad luck to your impudence!" said I. "Is it Squire Egan you dare say goose to?" "O Squire Egan's your masther?" said he. "Yes," says I; "Have you anything to say agin it?" Squire. You got the letter, then, did you? Andy. "Here 's a leather for the squire," says he. "You are to pay me eleven pence posthage." "What 'ud I pay 'levenpence for?" said I "For posthage," said he. "Did n't I see you give that gentlewoman a leather for four-pence, this blessed minit?" said I; "and a bigger letther than this? Do you think I 'm a fool?" says I? "Here 's a four-pence for you, and give me the letther." Squire. I wonder he did n't break your skull, and let some light into it. Andy. "Go along, you stupid thafe!" says he, because I would n't let him chate your honor. Square. Well, well; give me the letter. Andy. I have n't it, sir. He would n't give it to me, sir. Squire. Who would n't give it to you? Andy. That old chate beyant in the town. Square. Did n't you pay what he asked? Andy. Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated, when he was selling them before my face for four-pence a-piece? Squire. Go back, you scoundrel, or I'll horsewhip you. Andy. He'll murther me, if I say another word to him about the leather; he swore he would. Squire. I'll do it, if he don't, if you are not back in less than an hour. [Exit] Andy. O, that the like of me should be murthered for defending the charrackter of my masther! It's not I'll go to dale with that bloody chate again. I'll off to Dublin, and let the leather rot on his dirty hands, bad luck to him! Anonymous.

CCCLXXIX.

THE FRENCHMAN'S LESSON.

Frenchman. Ha! my friend! I have met one very strange name in my lesson. Vat you call H-o-u-g-h,—eh? Tutor. "Huff." Fr. Très bien, "huff;" and snuff you spell s-n-o-u-p-h? Tut. Oh! no, no! "Snuff" is spelled s-n-u-f-f. In fact, words in o-u-g-h are a little irregular. Fr. Ah, very good!—'t is beautiful language! H-o-u-g-h is "huff." I will remember; and of course, c-o-u-g-h is "cuff." I have a bad "cuff,"—eh? Tut. No, that is wrong; we say "kauff,"—not "cuff" Fr. "Kauff," eh? "Huff," and "kauff;" and, pardonnez-moi, how you call d-o-u-g-h—"duff,"—eh? is it "duff?" Tut. No, not "duff." Fr. Not "duff!" Ah oui; I understand, it is "dauff," —eh? Tut. No; d-o-u-g-h spells "doe." Fr. "Doe!" It 's ver' fine! Wonderful language! It is "doe;" and t-o-u-g-h is "toe," certainement. My beefsteak is very "toe." Tut. Oh! no, no! You should say "tuff." Fr. "Tuff!" And the thing the farmer uses, how you call him, p-l-o-u-g-h,—"pluff," is it? Ha! you smile. I see that I am wrong; it must be "plaff." No? then it is "ploe," like "doe?" It is one beautiful language! ver' fine! "ploe!" Tut. You are still wrong, my friend; it is "plow." Fr. "Plow!" Wonderful language! I shall understand ver' soon. "Plow" "doe" "kauff;" and one more r-o-u-g-h —what you call General Taylor,—"Rauff and Ready?" No? then "Row and Ready?" Tut. No; r-o-u-g-h spells "ruff." Fr. "Ruff," ha? Let me not forget. R-o-u-g-h is "ruff," and b-o-u-g-h is "buff,"—ha? Tut. No; "bow." Fr. Ah! 't is ver' simple! Wonderful language! But I have had vat you call e-n-o-u-g-h,—ha? Vat you call him?—Ha! ha! ha! Anonymous.

CCCLXXX.

HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS.

Mr. H.—Steward.

Mr. H. Ha! Steward, How are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home? Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the magpie's dead. Mr. H. Poor mag! so he's gone. How came he to die? Stew. Over-ate himself sir. Mr. H. Did he, faith? a greedy dog; why, what did he get he liked so well? Stew. Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horse-flesh. Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse-flesh? Stew. All your father's horses, sir. Mr. H. What! Are they dead, too? Stew. Ay, sir; they died of over-work. Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, pray? Stew. To carry water, sir. Mr. H. To carry water! and what were they carrying water for? Stew. Sure, sir, to put out the fire. Mr. H. Fire! what fire? Stew. Oh, sir, your father's house is burned down to the ground. Mr. H. My father's house burned down! and how came it set on fire? Stew. I think, sir, it must have been the torches. Mr. H. Torches! what torches? Stew. At your mother's funeral. Mr. H. My mother dead! Stem. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it. Mr. H. After what? Stew. The loss of your father. Mr. H. My father gone too? Stew. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it. Mr. H. Heard of what? Stew. The bad news, sir, and please your Honor. Mr. H. What! more miseries! more bad news? Stew. Yes, sir, your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. Anonymous.

CCCLXXXI.

THE CHOLERIC father.

CAPT. ABSOLUTE—SIR ANTHONY

Capt. A. Sir, I am delighted to see you here and looking so well! Your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your health. Sir A. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, are you recruiting here, eh? Capt. A. Yes, sir; I am on duty. Sir A. Well, Jack! I am glad to see you, though I did not expect it; for I was going to write to you on a little matter of business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trouble you long. Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong and hearty; and I pray fervently that you may continue so. Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been considering that as I am so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. Capt. A. Sir, you are very good. Sir A. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy make some figure in the world. I have resolved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. Capt. A Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Such generosity makes the gratitude of reason more lively than the sensation even of filial affection. Sir A. I am glad you are so sensible of my attention; and you shall be master of a large estate in a few weeks. Capt. A. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude. I cannot express the sense I have of your munificence. Yet, sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the army? Sir A. O, that shall be as your wife chooses. Capt. A. My wife, sir? Sir A. Ay, ay, settle that between you—settle that between you. Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say? Sir A. Ay, a wife—why did I not mention her before? Capt A. Not a word of her, sir. Sir A. Upon my word, I must n't forget her, though! Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by a marriage—the fortune is saddled with a wife; but I suppose that makes no difference? Capt. A. Sir! sir, you amaze me! Sir A. What 's the matter? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. Capt. A. I was, sir; you talked to me of independence and a fortune, but not one word of a wife. Sir A. Why, what difference does that make? Sir, if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it stands. Capt. A. If my happiness is to be the price, I must beg leave to decline the purchase. Pray, sir, who is the lady? Sir A. What 's that to you, sir? Come, give me your promise to love, and to marry her directly. Capt. A. Sure, sir, that 's not very reasonable, to summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of! Sir A. I am sure, sir, 't is more unreasonable in you to object to a lady you know nothing of. Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, that on this point I cannot obey you. Sir A. Hark you, Jack! I have heard you for some time with patience; I have been cool,—quite cool; but take care; you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted; no one more easily led—when I have my own way; but don't put me in a frenzy. Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it; in this I cannot obey you. Sir A. Now, shoot me, if ever I call you Jack again while I live! Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me. Sir A. Sir, U won't hear a word—not a word!—not one word!—So, give me your promise by a nod; and I 'll tell you what, Jack,—I mean, you dog,—if you don't— Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness; to— Sir A. Sir, the lady shall be as ugly as I choose; she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull's in Cox's Museum; she shall leave a skin like a mumps and the beard of a Jew; he shall be all this, sir! Yet, I'll make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty! Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed! Sir A. None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes! Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for mirth in my life. Sir A. 'T is false, sir! I know you are laughing in your sleeve. I know you'll grin when I am gone, sir! Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. Sir A. None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if, you please! It won't do with me, I promise you. Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. Sir A. I know you are in a passion in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog! But it won't do! Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word Sir A. So you will fly out! Can't you be cool like me? What good can passion do? Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate! There, you sneer again! Don't provoke me! But you rely upon the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog! You play upon the meekness of my disposition! Yet, take care; the patience of a saint may be overcome at last! But, mark: I give you six hours and a half to consider of this: if you then agree without any condition, to do everything on earth that I choose, why, I may, in time, forgive you. lf not, don't enter the same hemisphere with me; don't care to breathe the same air, or use the same light, with me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I'll strip you of your commission; I'll lodge a five-and-three-pence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest! I'll disown you. I'll disinherit you! I'll never call you Jack again. [Exit.] Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father! I kiss your hand. R. B. Sheridan.

CCCLXXXII.

ROLLA AND ALONZO.

[ENTER ROLLA DISGUISED AS A MONK.]

Rolla. Inform me, friend, is Alonzo, the Peruvian, confined in this dungeon? Sentinel. He is. Rolla. I must speak with him. Sentinel. You must not. Rolla. He is my friend. Sentinel. Not if he were your brother. Rolla. What is to be his fate? Sentinel. He dies at sunrise. Rolla. Ha! then I am come in time, Sentinel. Just to witness his death. Rolla. [Advancing toward the door.] Soldier, I must speak with him. Sentinel. [Pushing him back with his gun.] Back! Back! it is impossible. Rolla. I do entreat you, but for one moment. Sentinel. You entreat in vain, my orders are most strict. Rolla. Look on this massive wedge of gold! look on these precious gems! In thy land they will be wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope or wish. Take them; they are thine; let me but pass one moment with Alonzo. Sentinel. Away! Wouldest thou corrupt me?—me, an old Castilian! I know my duty better. Rolla. Soldier, hast thou a wife? Sentinel. I have. Rolla. Hast thou children? Sentinel. Four honest, lovely boys. Rolla. Where didst thou leave them? Sentinel. In my native village, in the very cot where I was born. Rolla. Dost thou love thy wife and children? Rolla. Do I love them? God knows my heart,—I do. Rolla. Soldier, imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death, in a strange land,—what would be thy last request? Sentinel. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children. Rolla. What if that comrade was at thy prison door, and should there be told, "Thy fellow-soldier dies at sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children, or his wretched wife!"— What would'st thou think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from the door? Sentinel. How! Rolla. Alonzo has a wife and child; and I am come but to receive for her, and for her poor babes the last blessing of my friend. Sentinel. Go in. [Exit sentinel.] Rolla. [ Calls] Alonzo! Alonzo! [Enter Alonzo, speaking as he comes in.] Alonzo. How! is my hour elapsed? Well, I am ready. Rolla Alonzo—Know me! Alonzo. Rolla! Heavens! how didst thou pass the guard? Rolla. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle. It has gained me entrance to thy dungeon; now take it thou, and fly. Alonzo And Rolla,— Rolla. Will remain here in thy place. Alonzo. And die for me! No! Rather eternal torture rack me. Rolla. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and thy arm may soon deliver me from prison. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted tree in the desert; nothing lives beneath my shelter. Thou art a husband and a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant depend upon thy life. Go, go, along, not to save thyself but Cora and thy child. Alonzo. Urge me not thus, my friend. I am prepared to die in peace. Rolla. To die in peace! devoting her you have sworn to live for to madness, misery, and death! Alonzo. Merciful Heavens! Rolla. If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo,—now mark me well. Thou knowest that Rolla never pledged his word, and shrank from its fulfilment. And here I swear, if thou art proudly obstinate, thou shalt have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side. Alonzo. O, Rolla! you distract me! Wear you the robe and though dreadful the necessity we will strike down the guard and force our passage. Rolla. What, the soldier on duty here? Alonzo Yes,—else, seeing two, the alarm will be instant death. Rolla. For my nation's safety, I would not harm him. That soldier, mark me, is a man! All are not men that wear the human form. He refused my prayers, refused my gold, refused to admit, till his own feelings bribed him. I will not risk a hair of that man's head, to save my heartstrings from consuming fire But haste! A moment's further pause, and all is lost. Alonzo Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honor and from right.. Rolla. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonor to his friend? [ Throwing the friar's garment over his shoulder.] There! conceal thy face. Now, God be with thee! Kotzebue.

CCCLXXXIII.

THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER.

Traveller. Do you belong to this house, friend? Landlord. No, it belongs to me, I guess. [ The Traveller takes out his memorandum-book, and in a low voice reads what he writes.] Trav. "Mem. Yankee landlords do not belong to their house's [Aloud] You seem young for a landlord: may I ask how old you are? Land. Yes, if you'd like to know. Trav. Hem! [Disconcerted.] Are you a native, sir? Land. No, sir; there are no natives hereabouts. Trav. "Mem. None of the inhabitants natives; ergo, all foreigners." [Aloud] Where were you born, sir? Land. Do you know where Marblehead is? Trav. Yes. Land. Well, I was not born there. Trav. Why did you ask the question, then? Land. Because my daddy was. Trav. But you were born somewhere. Land. That 's true; but as father moved up country afore the townships were marked out, my case is somewhat like the Indian's who was born at Nantucket, Cape Cod, and all along shore. Trav. Were you brought up in this place, sir? Land. No; I was raised in Varmount till mother died, and then, as father was good for nothing after that I pulled up stakes and went to sea a bit. Trav. "Mem. Yankees, instead of putting up gravestones, pull up stakes, and go to sea, when a parent dies" [Aloud] You did not follow the sea long, for you have not the air of a mariner. Land. why, you see, I had a leetle knack at the coopering business; and larning that them folks that carry it on in the West Indies die off fast, I calculated I should stand a chance to get a handsome living there. Trav. And so you turned sailor to get there? Land. Not exactly; for I agreed to work my passage by cooking for the crew, and tending the dumb critters. Trav. Dumb critters! Of what was your lading composed? Land. A leetle of everything;—horses, hogs, hoop-poles, and Hingham boxes; boards, ingyons, soap, candles, and ile. Trav. "Mem. Soap, candles, and ile, called dumb critters by the Yankees." [Aloud.] Did you arrive there safely? Land. No, I guess we did n't. Trav. Why not? Land. We had a fair wind, and sailed a pretty piece, I tell you; but jest afore we reached the eend of our vige, some pirates overhauled us, and stole all our molasses, rum, and gingerbread. Trav. Is that all they did to you? Land. No, they ordered us on board their vessel, and promised us some black-strap. Trav. "Mem. Pirates catch Yankees with a black-strap." [Aloud] Did you accept the invitation? Land. No, I guess we did n't. And so they threatened to fire into us. Trav. What did your captain do? Land. "Fire, and be dammed!" says he, "but you'd better not spill the deacon's ile, I tell you." Trav. And so you ran off, did you? Land. No; we sailed off a small piece. But the captain said it was a tarnal shame to let them steal our necessaries; and so he right about, and peppered them, I tell you. Trav. "Mem. Yankees pepper pirates when they meet them." [Aloud.] Did you take them? Land. Yes, and my shear built this house. Trav. "Mem. Yankees build houses with shears." Land. It 's an ill wind that blows nowhere, as the saying is. And now, may I make so bold as to ask whose name I shall enter in my books? Trav. Mine! Land. Hem!—if it 's not an impertinent question, may I ask which way you are travelling? Trav. Home. Land. Faith! have I not as good a right to catechize you, as you had to catechize me? Trav. Yes. "Mem. Yankees the most inquisitive people in the world,—impertinent, and unwilling to communicate information to travellers." [Aloud] Well, sir, if you have accommodations fit for a gentleman, I will put up with you. Land. They have always suited gentlemen, but I can't say how you'll like 'em. Trav. There is a tolerable prospect from this window. What hill is that, yonder? Land. Bunker Hill, sir. Trav. Pretty hill! If I had my instruments here, I should like to take it. Land. You had better not try. It required three thousand instruments to take it in '75. Tram "Mem. A common Yankee hill cannot be drawn without three thousand instruments." [Aloud] Faith, Landlord, your Yankee draughtsmen must be great bunglers. But come, sir, give me breakfast, for I must be going; There is nothing else in the vicinity worthy the notice of a traveller. Anon.

CCCLXXXIV.

THE EMBRYO LAWYER.

OLD FICKLE—TRISTAM FICKLE.

Old F. What reputation, what honor, what profit can accrue to you from such conduct as yours? One moment you tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers. Tri. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir. Old F. Then from a fiddler you are metamorphosed into a philosopher; and for the noise of drums, trumpets, and hautboys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was ever heard at the tower of Babel. Tri. You are right, sir, I have found out that philosophy is folly; so, I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from Plato and Aristotle down to the puzzlers of modern date. Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day, for barreling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live like Diogenes? Tri. You should not have paid him anything, sir, for the tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out. Old F. No jesting, sir; this is no laughing matter. Your follies have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the whole round of arts and science in a month, and have been of fifty different minds in half an hour. Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. Old F. Don't tell me of versatility, sir. Let me see a little steadiness. You have never yet been constant to anything but extravagance. Tri. Yes, sir, one thing more. Old F. What is that, sir. Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wandered, my heart has always been constantly attached to the kindest of parents; and, from this moment, I am resolved to lay my follies aside, and pursue that line of conduct which will be most pleasing to the best of fathers and of friends. Old F. Well said, my boy,—well said! You make me happy indeed. [patting him on the shoulder] Now, then, my dear Tristram, let me know what you really mean to do. Tri. To study the law. Old F. The law! Tri. I am most resolutely bent on following that profession. Old F. No! Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. Old F. Better and better. I am overjoyed. Why, 't is the very thing I wished. Now I am happy. [ Tristram makes gestures as if speaking.] See how his mind is engaged! Tri, Gentlemen of the jury,— Old F. Why Tristram,— Tri. This is a cause,— Old F. O, my dear boy! I forgive you all your tricks. I see something about you, now, that I can depend upon. [ Tristram continues making gestures.] Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause,— Old F. Bravo! bravo! excellent boy! I'll go and order your books directly. Tri. It is done sir. Old F. What, already! Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books when I first thought of embracing the arduous profession of the law. Old F. What, do you mean to read by the foot? Tri. By the foot, sir; that is the only way to become a solid lawyer. Old F. Twelve square feet of learning! Well,— Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber, Old F. What, is he to teach you to shave close? Tri. He is to shave one half of my head, sir. Old F. You will excuse me if I cannot perfectly understand what that has to do with the study of the law. Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, sir, the Athenian orator? He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up in a coal-cellar. Old F. Ah! he was perfectly right to lock himself up after having undergone such an operation as that. He certainly would have made rather an odd figure abroad. Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriotism of his countrymen,—lightning in his eye, and thunder in his voice: he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in its force—the throne of Philip trembles while he speaks; he denounces, and indignation fills the bosom of his hearers; he exposes the impending danger, and every one sees impending ruin; he threatens the tyrant,—they grasp their swords; he calls for vengeance, their thirsty weapons glitter in the air, and thousands reverberate the cry. One soul animates the nation, and that soul is the soul of the orator. Old F. O! what a figure he'll make in the King's Bench! But, come, I will tell you now what my plan is, and then you will see how happily this determination of yours will further it. You have [ Tristram makes extravagant gestures, as if speaking,] often heard me speak of my friend Briefwit, the barrister,— Tri. Who is against me in this cause?— Old F. He is a most learned lawyer,— Tri. But as I have justice on my side,— Old F. Zounds! he does n't hear a word I say! Why, Tristram! Tri. I beg your pardon, sir, I was prosecuting my studies. Old F. Now, attend,— Tri. As my learned friend observes,—Go on, sir, I am all attention. Old F. Well, my friend the counselor,— Tri. Say learned friend, if you please, sir. We gentlemen of the law always,— Old F. Well, well,—my learned friend,— Tri. A black patch! Old F. Will you listen, and be silent? Tri. I am as mute as a judge. Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward, who is very handsome, and who has a very handsome fortune. She would make you a charming wife. Tri. This is an action, Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness and his gravity,— Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant. Old F. But now you are growing serious and steady, and have resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you together; you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest follows of course. Tri. A verdict in my favor. Old F. You marry and sit down, happy for life. Tri. In the King's Bench. Old F. Bravo! Ha, ha, ha! But now run to your study, —run to your study, my dear Tristram, and I'll go and call upon the counsellor. Tri. I remove by habeas corpus. Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste, then. [Hurrying him off.] Tri. Gentlemen of the jury this is a cause. [Exit.] Old F. The inimitable boy! I am now the happiest father living. What genius he has! He'll be Lord Chancellor one day or other, I dare be sworn. I am sure he has talents! O! how I long to see him at the bar! Allingham.

NOTES.

Page No.

3. I. BROUGHAM, (broom,) HENRY, Lord, philosopher, law-reformer, statesman, orator, and critic, was born in 1779, at Edinburgh, where he was educated at the High School and University. He united with Jeffrey and Horner in establishing the "Edinburgh Review," and for nearly twenty years he was one of its most regular contributors. Having for a few years practised law at the Scottish bar, he removed to England in 1807, and entered Parliament in 1810. His long parliamentary career has been characterized as one of desultory warfare. "A great part of his life has been spent in beating down; in detecting false pretensions whether in literature or politics; in searching out the abuses of long-established institutions; in laying open the perversions of public charities; in exposing the cruelties of the criminal code; or in rousing public attention to a world of evils resulting from the irregularities in the administration of municipal law." The character of his eloquence is well suited to the purposes of an assailant. "For fierce, vengeful, and irresistible assault," says John Foster, "Brougham stands the foremost man in all the world." This extract is taken from his Inaugural Discourse as Lord Rector of the university of Glasgow delivered in 1825.

4. II. RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN was born at Dublin, September, 1751. His father was Thomas Sheridan, author of a Pronouncing Dictionary, and a distinguished teacher of elocution. His career was brilliant and successful, both as a dramatist and an orator. He entered Parliament in 1780 where his first speech was a failure; and when told, at its close, by one of his disappointed friends, that he had better have stuck to his former pursuit of writing plays, he rested his head on his hand for some minutes, and then exclaimed with vehemence, "It is in me, and it shall come out of me!" And so it did. Of his speech against Hastings, on the charge of the Begums, Mr. Pitt said, "an abler speech was perhaps never delivered;" and Mr. Fox characterized it as "the greatest that had been delivered within the memory of man." But his convivial habits betrayed him into gross intemperance, and he became bankrupt in character and health, as well as in fortune, and died on the 7th of July, 1816, at the age of sixty-four, a melancholy example of brilliant talents sacrificed to a love of display and sensual indulgence.

4. II. This is a very useful piece for practice, on account of the excellent illustrations of emphasis and inflections which it affords. The third paragraph is a fine example of the circumflex slides.

5. III. From the speech on the Begum Charge, before the House of Lords, sitting as a High Court of Parliament, June, 1788, and, said to be the most graphic and powerful description to be found in the speeches of Sheridan.

—Oude, (ood.): Begums, Hindoo Princesses. —Zenana. (ze-náh-nah): that part of a house in India particularly reserved for women.

6. IV. THOMAS SMITH GRIMKE was born in Charleston S. C., September 26, 1786. He was a descendant of the Huguenots. In the days of Nullification he supported the General Government. He was an eloquent advocate of the Union, and in a Fourth of July Oration at Charleston, in 1809, he graphically depicts the horrors of civil war, which must follow disunion. He died on the 12th of Octobers 1834.

8. V. Lycian (lí-she-an ): Achæan ( a-kee'-an): Hanseatic (han-se-at'-ic), from Hance (hän-seh), a German word signifying "association for mutual support." Hamburg, Lubeck, Bremen, and Frankfort, constitute the present free Hanseatic cities.

12. VIII. CHAUNCEY A. GOODRICH Occupied the chair of Rhetoric and Oratory in Yale College, from 1817 until 1839, when he was transferred to that of Pastoral Theology, which he filled for more than twenty years. His chief literary works are his "Collection of Select British Eloquence," an excellent book, and his revised and enlarged edition of "Webster's Dictionary." Mr. Webster's argument in the Dartmouth College case, was delivered in 1818 and Professor Goodrich says that he went to Washington chiefly for the sake of hearing it.

14. IX. JOSHUA QUINCY was born in 1772 and graduated at Harvard College in 1790. He was in Congress from 1805 until 1813; mayor of Boston for six years, and President of Harvard from 1829 until 1845. He died July 1, 1864. This extract is from his Centennial Address on the Two Hundredth Anniversary of the Settlement of Boston, delivered in 1830.

16 X. Bon Homme Richard: (bo nom ree'-shar'') Guerriére: (ghér-re-air'').

17. XI. WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, grandson of William Ellery, one of the signers of the Declaration, was born at Newport, R. I., April 7, 1780. In 1798, he was graduated at Harvard, with the highest honors. For nearly forty years he was pastor of the Federal Street Church in Boston. The collection of his Works embraces six volumes. He was one of the most eloquent of American divines, and he wrote largely on war, temperance, slavery, and education. He died October 2, 1842.

22. XIV. Tyrol (tyr'-ol): Innspruk (inns'-prook): Scheldt (skelt).

23. XV. THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER, an Irish patriot and orator. At present a general in the United States Army, and a stanch friend of the Union.

25. XVII. HENRY GRATTAN, born at Dublin, July 3, 1746; died May 14, 1820. He was the greatest of Irish patriots, and the greatest of Irish orators. His forte was reasoning, but it was "logic on fire." A distinguished writer described his eloquence as a "combination of cloud, whirlwind, and flame." His style was elaborated with great care. His language is select, and his periods are easy and fluent.

27. XVIII. RUFUS CHOATE was born at Ipswich, Mass., October 1, 1799, graduated at Dartmouth College, with the highest honors, in 1819, and died at Halifax, while on his way to Europe, July 13, 1859. Gifted with the most brilliant intellectual powers, he was ever a hard student. Mr. Everett says of him, "With such gifts, such attainments, and such a spirit, he placed himself, as a matter of course, not merely at the head of the jurists and advocates, but of the public speakers of the country." His most famous oration is his Eulogy on Daniel Webster, delivered at Dartmouth College. Mr. Choate's works have been edited, and an admirable Memoir of his Life written, by Professor Samuel G. Brown, the whole being published in two octavo volumes.

29. XX. Boëthius ( bo-e'-thi-us). —Sibyl (sib' il ).

30 XXI. From a Lecture on the Eloquence of Revolutionary Periods, delivered in Boston, February 1857.

33. XXIII. gobelin (gob'-e-lin): Pericles ( per'-i-cles).

37. XXVII. MRS. LYDIA MARIA CHILD, whose maiden name was FRANCIS, was born in Massachusetts, but passed a portion of her earlier years in Maine. Her literary productions are numerous and are characterized by vigor and originality of thought. She has been very prominent in the anti-slavery movement. A work on the subject of slaverey, published by her in 1833, produced a great sensation. This selection is from The Rebels, a tale of the Revolution, which was published in 1825, when she was quite young.

41. XXX. PATRICK HENRY. This distinguished "orator of nature" was born in Virginia, May 29, 1736. He was a member of the first Congress, which met in Carpenter's Hall, at Philadelphia, on the 4th of September, 1774. For several years he was governor of Virginia and for more than thirty years he stood among the foremost of American patriots and statesmen. He was one of the earliest and most powerful opponents of British power. In 1765, as member of the House of Burgesses, he introduced his famous resolutions against the Stamp Act, which proved the opening of the American Revolution in the colony of Virginia. He died on the 6th of June, 1799. His life has been written by William Wirt. This speech was delivered about one month before the battle of Lexington, so that his prophecy, "The next gale," &c. was almost literally fulfilled.

44. XXXIII, Præsidium ( pre-sid'-i-um): a guard. -Puéblo ( pwa'-blo ): a village. —-ranch: a hut, or collection of huts; a farming establishment. —-Tehuauntepec (ta-huán-te-pec).

46. XXXIV. REV. ROBERT HALL, an eminent Baptist minister, was born at Arnsby, England, August, 1764, and died at Bristols, on the 21st of February, 1831. His writings, which have been published in six volumes, are highly finished in style, and display a remarkable combination of logical precision, metaphysical acuteness, practical sense and sagacity, with a rich luxuriance of imagination, and all the graces of composition. Dr. Parr says of him—"He has, like Jeremy Taylor, the eloquence of an orator, the fancy of a poet the subtlety of a schoolman, the profoundness of a philosopher, and the piety of a saint."

47. XXXV. JOSEPH STORY was born at Marblehead, Mass., September 18, 1779. In 1810 he was appointed by President Madison Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, and in 1829, he was made Professor of the Dane Law School, which office he held until his death, September 10th, 1845. He was an eminent jurist, an eloquent orator, and a finished scholar.

—Siloa: the metre here requires the accent on the first syllable (sil'-o-a, ) though most authorities make it (sil-ó'-a.).

52. XXXIX. REV. ELIJAH KELLOGG, a clergyman in Boston. He wrote this piece especially for declamation. This copy is a recent revision by the author for Hillard's Reader.

54. XL. From a speech delivered in the House of Representatives of the United States, January 8, 1847.

56. XLI. From an oration delivered at the seat of Government, on the occasion of laying the corner-stone of the National Monument to Washington, July 4, 1848.

70. LIII. FISHER AMES was born at Dedham, Mass., April 9th, 1758, where he died, July 4th, 1808 He was a member of the first Congress under the Constitution, in which body he remained eight years. In 1804, he was tendered the Presidency of Harvard College, which he declined.. He was an excellent classical scholar and an accumplished orator. His speech on Jay's Treaty, from which this extract is taken is a production of the deepest pathos and richest eloquence. Webster is said to have committed the whole speech to memory in early life.

92. LXIX. Brougham's career, though brilliant, has been marked by the most extraordinary inconsistencies and contradictions, and now, at the age of eighty-five, forgetting his brave denunciation of slavery, he takes sides with a wicked rebellion, which was set on foot for the establishment of an empire based on slavery.

97. LXXIII. RICHARD LALOR SHIEL was born in Ireland, August 17, 1791 and died in Italy, May 23, 1857. He entered Parliament in 1830, and at the time of his death, he was Minister at the Court of Tuscany. For bold, impassioned declamation, this extract has seldom been equalled.

—STRAFFORD, EARL, whose family name was Wentworth. Rene gade, because having at first resisted the arbitrary power of Charles the First, he afterwards became so obnoxious to the people by his own exercise of arbitrary power that he was impeached of high treason and executed.

—one man of great abilities: LORD LYNDHURST, who was born in Boston, Mass., May 21, 1772. He was the son of the eminent portrait and historical painter, John Singleton Copley.

68.—Assaye (as-si'), a small town in Hindostan, where the Duke of Wellington commenced his career of victory in a battle fought September 23, 1803.

98. LXXIII. Waterloo: (waw'-ter-loo,) battle of, June 18, 1815.

—Vimeira: (ve-ma-e-rah,) a town in Portugal, where the Duke of Wellington defeated the French, August 21, 1808.

—Badajos: (bad-ah-hoce') a town in Spain, taken from the French by the Duke of Wellington, April 6, 1812.

—Salamanca: (sah-lah-mang'-kah) a city in Spain near which the English, under Wellington totally defeated the French, under Marmont and Clusel, July 22, 1812,

—Albuera: (al-boo-a'-rah ) a town in Spain where the British and allies gained a victory over the French, May 16, 1811.

—Toulouse: (too-looz') a city in France, where Wellington defeated the French under Soult, April 10, 1814.

99. LXXIV. FRANCIS WAYLAND, President of Brown University from 1827 until 1856, was born at New York, March 11. 1796. 111. LXXXIII. Edward Everett was born at Dorchester Mass., April 11, 1794, took his degree at Harvard College in 1811, and was settled over the church in Brattle Street, Boston, in 1813. In 1815, he was appointed Professor of Greek Literature in Harvard College, and he devoted the four succeeding years to study and travel in Europe, with the view to further qualify himself for its duties, which he assumed in 1819, with those of editor of the "North American Review." Both these positions he held till 1825 when his took his seat in Congress as Representative from Middlesex County, which he held for ten years. He was Governor of Massachusetts from 1836 until 1840. In 1841 he was appointed Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of St. James and on his return home in 1846, was elected President of Harvard College, which position he resigned in 1849. He succeeded Mr. Webster as Secretary of State, in 1852, and in 1853 was chosen to the Senate of the United States, but soon resigned on account of ill health. Edward Everett is the most accomplished orator in this country, and he may justly be styled the Cicero of America. His splendid oration pronounced August 26, 1824, at Cambridge, before the Society of Phi Beta Kappa, closing with the beautiful apostrophe to Lafayette, who was present, placed him before the public as one of the greatest and most accomplished orators who had ever appeared in America. The reputation then achieved by him has been steadily advancing for forty years. On the breaking out of the rebellion, he at once came out boldly in support of the Government and the constitution, and during the struggle thus far, his matchless pen, his eloquent voice, and his great personal influence have been employed, on all proper occasions, in maintaining the cause of his country. Three large octavo volumes of his orations and occasional speeches have been published constituting a body of eloquence and learning, which has been surpassed by no other orator in the language.

111—From an oration delivered at Plymouth, on the anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims: 22d of December, 1824.

114. LXXXVI. From an oration delivered at Bloody Brook, in South Deerfield, Mass., September 30, 1835, in commemoration of the fall of the "Flower of Essex," at that spot, in King Philip's war, September 18, ( O. S.) 1675.

114. LXXXVI. Mount Hope: a beautiful eminence of Bristol County, R. I., on the west shore of Mount Hope Bay.

118. LXXXVIII. Nevada, (na-vah'-dah): Antilles, (an-teel'): Archipelagoes, (ar-ke-pel'-a-goze).

120 XC. From a eulogy delivered at Boston, September 17, 1850, on the occasion of the inauguration of the statue of Daniel Webster which stands in front of the State House.

121.—Condé (con-da'): Rocroi, (ro-kroi'): Arbela, (ar-bee'-lah).

123. XCII. JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN was born at Nermarket, in the county of Cork, Ireland, July 24, 1750, and died at London, October 14, 1817. His voice was naturally bad, and his articulation so hasty and confused that he went among his school fellows by the name of "Stuttering Jack Curran." His manner was awkward his gesture constrained and meaningless and his whole appearance calculated only to produce laughter, notwithstanding the evidence he gave of superior abilities. All these faults he overcame by severe and patient labor. One of his biographers says,—"His oratorical training was as severe as any Greek ever underwent." Constantly on the watch against bad habits, he practised daily before a glass, reciting passages from Shakespeare, Junius, and the best English orators. He became the most eloquent of all irish advocates, and for more than twenty years he had an unrivalled mastery of the Irish bar. He was member of the Irish House of Commons from 1783 to 1797. In 1806, he was made Master of the Rolls, which office he resigned in 1814.

127 XCV. CHARLES JAMES FOX was born on the 24 th of January, 1749; was educated at Eton College and Oxford University. He was fond of the classics and took up Demosthenes as he did the speeches of Lord Chatham. As an orator he was much indebted to the study of the Greek writers, for the simplicity of his tastes, his entire abstinence from everthing like mere ornament, the terseness of his style, the point and stringency of his reasonings, and the all-pervading cast of intellect which distinguishes his speeches even in the most vehement bursts of impassioned feeling. But his tastes were too exclusively literary. He could discuss Greek metres with Porson, but he had little acquaintance with the foundations of jurisprudence, or the laws of trade; and he always felt the want of an early training in scientific investigation, correspondent to that he re ceived in classical literature. He took his seat in Parliament in 1768. He was the first man in the House of Commons, who took the ground of denying the right of Parliament to tax the colonies without their consent, and he went on identifying himself more and more to the end of life with the popular part of the Constitution, and with the cause of free principles throughout the world, aiming always amid all the conflicts of party "to widen the base of freedom,—to infuse and circulate the spirit of liberty." He made it a point to speak on every question that came up, whether interested in it or not, as a means of exercising and training his faculties, for he was bent on making himself a powerful debater. His love of argument was perhaps the most striking trait of his character, and "he rose," said Mr. Burke, "by slow degrees to be the most brilliant and accomplished debater the world ever saw." There was nothing strained or unnatural in his most vehement bursts of passion, "his feeling," says Coleridge, "was all intellect, and his intellect was all feeling." In his language, Mr. Fox studied simplicity, strength, and boldness. "Give me an elegant Latin and a homely Saxon word," says he, "and I will always choose the latter." He died on the 13th September, 1806, and was buried with the highest honors of the nation, in Westminster Abbey.

127. XCV. This extract is from his speech on the rejection of Bonaparte's overtures for peace which was delivered February 3d, 1800 and was considered by most who heard it as the ablest speech he ever made. This selection is a fine illustration of the use of the circumflex slides.

—-Suwarrow: a Russian general. Praga: (prah'-gah).

129. XCVI. Utrecht, (yoo'-trekt): Blenheim, (blen'-hime).

131. XCVIII. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, son of John Adams, the second President, was born at Braintree, Mass., on the 11th of July, 1767. He took his degree at Harvard College in 1787, a year after his admission, having been prepared for an advanced class, in Europe, where he had previously resided for several years. He studied law with Theophilus Parsons. at Newburyport, and commenced practice in 1790. He was a member of the Senate of the United States from 1803 until 1808. In 1806 he was appointed Boylston Professor of Rhetoric in Harvard College, which office he held for three years. In 1810 he was appointed Minister to Russia, where he remained until 1815, when with other Commissioners he negotiated the treaty of peace with England at Ghent, and was appointed Minister to that country in the same year, a post which his father had occupied before him, and which is now so ably filled by his son, Charles Francis. He served as Secretary of State during the administration of Monroe, whom he succeeded in the Presidency. On his retirement from the Chief Magistracy, he was elected to represent his native district in the House of Representatives, until his death, which occurred the 23d of February, 1848. His career as a member of the House was distinguished for his fearless and uncompromising defence of the right of petition, and for his bold and effective opposition to the usurpation of the slave power.

133. XCIX. Gracchi: (grak'-ki) two distinguished Romans, sons of Cornelia.

135. CI. JOSEPH WARREN, the first great martyr in the cause of independence, was born at Roxbury, Mass., June 11th, 1741, and was killed at the battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775. General Warren acted as a volunteer at the battle of Bunker Hill, serving as a private in the ranks in the redoubt having borrowed a musket from a sergeant. When urged against hazarding his life on that day, be replied enthusiastically,—"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori."

141. CV. WILLIAM PITT, the younger, was born on the 28th of May, 1759, and was the second son of Lord Chatham. He was educated at Cambridge university, where he continued nearly seven years, devoting his attention mainly to three things; namely, the classics, mathematics and the logic of Aristotle applied to the purposes of debate. In early life his whole soul seems to have been absorbed by one idea—that of becoming a distinguished orator. "Multum haud multa," was his motto in most of his studies for life. This language gave direction to most of his reading in English Literature; he had the finest parts of Shakspeare by heart; he read the best historians with great care; he entered Parliament in 1781, and at a single bound when only twenty-two years of age, he placed himself in the foremost rank of English statesmen and orators, at the proudest era of English eloquence. He was made Prime Minis ter at the age of twenty-four, and he continued to fill the first place in the councils of his country during most of the remaining period of his life, which terminated on the 23d of January, 1806, in the 47th year of his age. As a debater in the House, his speeches were logical and argumentative. The strength of his oratory was intrinsic, and his speeches were stamped with the inimitable marks of originality. This extract was taken from a. speech of the abolition of the slavetrade, in the House of Commons, 1792, which is regarded as one of the most brilliant displays of his eloquence.

143. CVI. HORACE MANN was born at Franklin, Mass. May 1796, and gradu ated at, Brown University, in 1819, with the highest honors. After a successful career as a politician having served in both branches of the Legislature, on the organization of the Board of Education in Massachusetts, on the 29th of June, 1837 Mr. Mann was elected its Secretary, which office he continued to fill with great ability, for twelve years. His twelve Annual Reports to the Board of Education probably constitute the most readable and instructive series of educational documents which has been produced by one mind in any language. On his retirement from the Secretaryship, he was elected Representative to Congress to fill the vacancy caused by the death of John Quincy Adams. Having served in Congress two terms, he again returned to the educational field by accepting the Presidency of Antioch College, at Yellow Springs, Ohio, where he died.

144. CVII. DANIEL WEBSTER was born at Salisbury, N. H., on the 18th of January, 1782, and graduated at Dartmouth College, in 1801. His college life was distinguished by assiduous and various studies. He was admitted to the bar in 1805, and commenced the practice of law in his native town, but soon after removed to Portsmouth. He removed to Boston in 1816, and died at Marshfield, Mass., October, 1852. He was the first orator, the first Jurist, and the first statesman of his generations in America. His most famous forensic per formance, was his argument in the Dartmouth College case. His greatest parliamentary effort was his second speech on Foote's resolution; and his most important diplomatic service was his negotiation of the treaty of Washington, in 1842. His speeches and orations have been published in six volumes, with an admirable memoir, by Mr. Everett.

157. CXVI. This Will: of Stephen Girard, of Philadelphia, providing for the founding of a college for orphans.

160. CXVIII. This selection is the peroration to Mr. Webster's second speech on Foote's resolution.

165. CXXII. This extract is taken from the address delivered by Mr. Webster on the occasion of laying the corner-stone of the extension of the National Capitol.

168. CXXIV. From the address on the laying of the corner-stone of Bunker Hill Monument, at Charleston, Mass., the 17th of June, 1825.

170. CXXV. WILLIAM PITT, first Earl of Chatham, was born at London, on the 15th of November, 1708. He became a member of Parliament in 1735, at the age of twenty-six, and was made Secretary of State in December, 1756, which office he continued to hold, with a brief interval, until October, 1761. He was appointed to the office of Lord Privy Seal in 1766, and elevated to the peerage with the title of Earl Chatham. He died at Hayes, in Kent, on the 11th of May, 1778 in the seventieth year of his age. His devotion to the interest of the great body, especially the middling classes, of the English nation, won for him the title of "the Great commoner." He consecrated his great talents and commanding eloquence to the defense of the popular part of the Constitution. In the latter part of his life, though suffering much from bodily infirmities, he was the champion of the American cause, standing forth, in presence of the whole British empire, to arraign, as a breach of the Constitution every attempt to tax a people who had no representative in Parliament. This was the era of his noblest efforts in oratory. He has been generally regarded as the most powerful orator of modern times. His success, no doubt was owing in part to his extraordinary personal advantages. In his best days before he was crippled by the gout, his figure was tall and erect; his attitude imposing; his gestures energetic even to vehemence, yet tempered with dignity and grace. His voice was full and clear; his loudest whisper was distinctly heard; his middle notes were sweet and beautifully varied; and, when he elevated his voice to its highest pitch, the House was completely filled with the volume of sound. The effect was awful, except when he wished to cheer or animate; then he had spiritstirring notes which were perfectly irresistible. But although gifted by nature with a fine voice and person, he spared, no effort to add everything that art could confer, for his improvement as an orator.

174 CXXVIII. HENRY CLAY was born in Virginia, April 12, 1777, and died at Washington, June 29, 1852. In early life his advantages of education were limited. He commenced the practice of the law in 1797. His political career began in 1803, and ended in 1852. He was twice Speaker of the National House of Representatives. In 1814, he was one of the commissioners to negotiate the Treaty of Ghent. He represented the State of Kentucky in the United States Senate at various periods from 1806 till 1852. He was Secretary of State during the administration of John Quincy Adams, and he was three times the unsuccessful Whig candidate for the Presidency. He was a man of the warmest sympathies, and he captivated the hearts of all who came in contact with him. He was a patriot, and willingly sacrificed private preference to public good. He said truly in his valedictory address to the Senate,—"In all my public acts, I have had a single eye directed and a warm and devoted heart dedicated to what, in my best judgment, I believed the true interest, the honor, the union, and the happiness of my country required." He was a consummate orator. In his manner he united the gentleness of woman with the pride and dignity of the haughtiest manhood. His style was full flowing, and manly; and his voice was sonorous, sweet, and powerful.

183. CXXXVI. ELIPHALET NOTT was born in Connecticut, in 1773 and is now upwards of ninety years of age. He has occupied the office of President of Union College for about sixty years. The eloquent discourse on the death of Hamilton was delivered at Albany, in 1804.

190. CXL. JOHN HANCOCK, President of the American Congress in 1776, and Signer of the Declaration, was born in Massachusetts in 1739, and died in 1793. This extract is from an oration delivered March 5th on the anniversary of the massacre of Boston citizens by British soldiers, which took place four years before.

191. CXLI. EDMUND BURKE, who was preëminently the great philosophical orator of our language, was born at Dublin January 1. 1730, and died at Beaconsfield, near London, July 9th, 1797. His political career commenced in the House of Commons, of which body he was a member during the greater part of his subsequent life. He wrote out six of his great speeches, the last of which was that on the Nabob of Arcot's debts. He was strenuously opposed to the American war, and two of his greatest speeches that on the Stamp Act, and that on Conciliation with America, supported the cause of the colonies. Of the latter, Mr. Everett says,—"It was less than a month before the commencement of hostilities, that Burke pronounced that truly divine oration on 'Conciliation with America,' which in my poor judgment, excels everything, in the form of eloquence, that has come down to us from Greece or Rome." And he said further,—"Certainly, no compositions in the English tongue can take precedence of those of Burke, in depth of thought, reach of forecast, or magnificence of style. . . . . In political disquisition elaborated in the closet, the palm must perhaps be awarded to Burke over all others, ancient or modern."

203. CL. Platæa, ( pla-te'-a): Artmisium (ar-te-me'-ze-um).

220. CLXII. SIR WALTER SCOTT was born at Edinburgh, Scotland, August 15, 1711, and died at; Abbotsford, his country seat, on the banks of the Tweed, September 21, 1832. He passed through the High School and University of his native city without attaining any marked distinction as a scholar. He made some proficiency in Latin, ethics and history, but he had no taste for Greek. He acquired a general, though not a critical knowledge, of the German, French, Italian, and Spanish languages. But from early youth he was an insatiable reader, and he stored his mind with a vast fund of miscellaneous knowledge. Romances were among his chief favorites, and he had great facility in inventing and telling stories. He became greatly distinguished as a poet before he commenced his career as a novelist. His first great poem, the Lay of the Last Minstrel, published in 1805, was received with enthusiastic admiration, and at once stamped him as a poetical genius. The appearance of Marmion, in 1808 greatly enhanced his reputation as a poet, and the Lady of the Lake, which came out two years later, was still more popular. Here he touched his highest point in poetical composition. His subsequent poems certainly added nothing to his reputation, if, indeed they sustained it. But, "as the old mine gave symptoms of exhaustion," says Bulwer, the new mine, ten times more affluent at least in the precious metals, was discovered. In 1814 he commenced that long and magnificent series of prose fictions which for seventeen years were poured out with an unprecedented prodigality, and which can onlv be compared with the dramas of Shakspeare, as presenting an endless variety of original characters scenes historical situations and adventures. In 1826, he became bankrupt, in consequence of a partnership with a printer and publisher, and, although fifty-five years old, he undertook the heroic task of discharging his heavy pecuniary liabilities by the productions of his pen. In six years of intense literary labor, he nearly accomplished his noble object, but before he reached the goal, he sank exhausted on the course. "In the portion of his life, from his bankruptcy to his death," says Mr. Hillard, "Scott's character shines with a moral grandeur far above mere literary fame."

222. CLXIV. From the poem Marmion.—-Tantallon's towers: the ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting into the German Ocean about two miles east of North Berwick, in the southeastern part of Scotland.

223.—DOUGLAS, ARCHIBALD, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for strength of body and mind, who died broken-hearted at calamities which befell his house and country at Flooden.

224. CLXV. Pibroch, (pi'-brok). In Scotland, a Highland air played on the bagpipe before the Highlanders when they go out to battle.—-Doneuil Dhu, (donnil du): MacDonald the Black.

230. CLXIX. Parrhasius, (par-ra'-zhius): Prometheus, (pro-me'-thuse): Caucasus, (caw'-ca'-sus): lame Lemnian: Vulcan, the artisan of the Olympian gods.

232. CLXX. MRS. FELICIA HEMANS, an admirable woman and sweet hostess, was born at Liverpool, England. September 25, 1793 and died May 16, 1835. Her maiden name was Browne. She was married to Captain Hemans an officer in the British Army, but the union was not a happy one. Her imagination was chivalrous and romantic, and she delighted in picturing the ancient martial glory of England. The purity of her mind is seen in all her works. Though popular, and in many respects excellent, her poetry is calculated to please the fancy rather than to make a deep and lasting impression.

232. CLXX. A true story. Young Casabianca, a boy thirteen years old, son of the commander of the Orient, remained at his post, in the battle of the Nile after the ship bad taken fire and all the guns had been abandoned, and was blown up with the vessel when the flames reached the magazine.

259. CLXXXVI. The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial ca reening in Portsmouth Harbor, England, was overset about 10, A. M. August 29, 1782. The total loss was believed to be near 1000 souls.

263. CXC. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY was born in the county of Leicester, England, October 25, 1800, and died December, 28, 1859. He was educated at Cambridge University. He was several times elected member of Parliament and for several years he served the government in India as member of the Supreme Council. But his fame rests mainly on his literary productions, the principal of which is his History of England whose popularity has never been exceeded by any other historical work in the language. His essays, which have been collected and published in six volumes, are remarkable for brilliancy of style and richness of matter. As a descriptive poet he has ex-hibited high genius in his "Lays of Ancient Rome." His "Battle of Ivry" has the true trumpet-ring which kindles the soul and stirs the blood.—Ivry (ee'-vree): a town in France where Henry IV. gained a decisive victory over Mayenne, 1590.—oriflamme, (or'-e-flam): the ancient royal standard of France.—-Mayenne, Duke: commander of the army of the League.—-Remember Saint Bartholomew: the massacre on Saint Bartholomew's Eve, August 23, 1572.

265. CXCI. Bingen,(been'-ghen).

274. CXCVII. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, a man remarkable for his rich poetical imagination his unrivalled colloquial eloquence, and his superior critical powers was born in Devonshire, England, October 20, 1772, and died July 25, 1834. He was educated at Christ's Hospital, London, where he had Charles Lamb for a school-fellow, and at Jesus' College, Cambridge. He afterwards acquired a knowledge of the German language and literature at Ratzburg and Gottingen, In early life he was a Unitarian and a Jacobin, but he subsequently became a Trinitarian and a Royalist. Those who knew him thought him equal to any task; he planned great works in prose and verse which he never executed. His poetical works, of which his Ancient Mariner is the most striking and original, have been collected and published in three volumes. His language is often rich and musical, highly figurative and ornate. His Ode on France was considered by Shelley to be the finest English ode of modern times. His Hymn on Chamouni is equally lofty and brilliant.

274. CXCVII. Chamouni, (sha-moo'-ne): a valley in the Sardinian States, bounded on the south by Mont Blanc, the most remarkable for its picturesque sites and the wild grandeur of its glaciers.—-Arve, (arve); a rapid river flowing into the Rhone.

277.—Hierarch, (hi'-e-rark ).

283. CCII. WILLIAM COLLINS, whose poems though small in number are rich in vivid imagery and beautiful description, was born in Chichester, England, December 25, 1720, and died in 1756. His odes are acknowledged to be the best of their kind in the language. His finest lyric is his Ode on the Passions, which has been called "a magnificent gallery of allegorical paintings."