Elocution, Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy

679. A CURE FOR HARD TIMES. We are too fond of showing out in our families; and, in this way, our expenses far exceed our incomes. Our daughters-must be dressed off in their silks and crapes, instead of their insey-woolsey. Our young folks--are too proud to be seen in a coarse dress, and their extravagance is bringing ruin on our families. When you can induce your sons to prefer young women, for their real worth, rather than for their show; when you can get them to choose a wife, who can make a good loaf of bread, and a good pound of butter, in preference to a girl, who does nothing but dance about in her silks, and her laces; then, gentiemen, you may expect to see a change for the better. We must get back to the good old simplicity of former times, if we expect to see more prosperous days. The time was, even since memory, when a simple note was good for any amount of money, but now bonds and mortgages are thought almost no security; and this owing to the want of confidence.

And what has caused this want of confidence? Why, it is occasioned by the extravagant manner of living; by your families going in debt beyond your ability to pay. Examine this matter, gentlemen, and you will find this to be the real cause. Teach your sons to be too proud to ride a hackney, which their father cannot pay for. Let them be above being seen sporting in a gig, or a carriage, which their father is in debt for. Let them have this sort of independent pride, and I venture to say, that you will soon perceive a reformation. But, until the change commences in this way in our families; until we begin the work ourselves, it is in vain to expect better times.

Now, gentlemen, if you think as I do on this subject, there is a way of showing that you do think so, and but one way; when you return to your homes, have independence enough to put these principles in practice; and I am sure you will not be disappointed.

680. THE FIRE-SIDE.

Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;
Tho' singularity, and pride,

Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world, w'ell oft retire,
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs;
No noisy neighbor-enters here,
No intermeddling stranger-near
To spoil our heart-felt joys.
If solid happiness-we prize,
Within our breast-this jewel lies,
And they are fools, who roam:
The world-has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves-our joys must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.
Of rest, was Noah's dove bereft,
When, with impatient wing she left
That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird, once more
Explor'd the sacred bark.

Tho' fools-spurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs, We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender, and the good,

A paradise below.

Our babes, shall richest comfort bring;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise:
We'll form their minds, with studious care;
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.
While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs:
They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day,
And thus, our fondest loves repay,

And recompense our cares.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While, to the world, we live unknown,
Or, by the world forgot;
Monarchs we envy not your state;
We look with pity-on the great,

And bless our humbler lot.

Our portion is not large, indeed!
But then, how little do we need!

For nature's calls are few:
In this, the art of living lies,
To want no more, that may suffice,

And make that little do.

We'll therefore relish, with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
For if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd, when, ills betide,
Patient, when favors are denied,
And pleas'd, with favors giv'n:
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part;
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance-smells to heav'n
We'll ask no long protracted treat,
Since winter-life is seldom sweet;
But, when our feast is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes
The relics of our store.

Thus, hand in hand, thro' life we'll go;
Its checker'd paths of joy and wo,

With cautious steps, we'll tread;
Quit its vain scenes, without a tea,
Without a trouble, or a fear,
And mingle with the dead.
While conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall, thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel, whisper-peace,

And smooth the bed of death.-Coon. Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd;

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale: For me your tributary stores combine: Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.

681. THE NATURE OF ELOQUENCE. When public bodies are to be addressed, on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, farther than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain.

Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, but cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original,

native force.

The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory, contemptible. Even genius itself then feels repuked, and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities.

Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, selfdevotion is eloquent. The clear conception, out-running the deductions of logic, the high purpose, of firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object,-this-is eloquence.-Webster.

682. THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE.

I said to Sorrow's awful storm,
That beat against my breast,
"Rage on! thou may'st destroy this form,
And lay it low-at rest;

But still the spirit that now brooks

Thy tempest, raging high,

Undaunted, on its fury looks

With steadfast eye."

I said to Penury's meagre train,
"Come on! your threats I brave;
My last, poor fife-drop-you may drain,
And crush ine-to the grave;
Yet still, the spirit, that endures,
Shall mark your force-the while,
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours,
With bitter smile."

I said to cold Neglect, and Scorn,
"Pass on! I heed you not;
Ye may pursue me, till my form,
And being-are forgot;
Yet, still-the spirit, which you see
Undaunted by your wiles,
Draws from its own nobility

Its high-born smiles."

I said to Friendship's menaced blow,
"Strike deep! my heart shall bear;
Thoi canst but add-one bitter wo
T› those already there;
Yet sull-the spirit, that sustains
This last severe distress,

Shall smile-upon its keenest pains,
And scorn redress."

I said to Death's uplifted dart,
"Aim sure! oh, why delay?
Thou wilt not find a fearful heart,

A weak, reluctant prey;
For still-the spirit, firm, and free,
Triumphant-in the last dismay,
Wrapt-in its own eternity,

Shall, smiling, pass away."
683. PASSAGE OF THE REI SEA.
"Mid the light spray, their snorting camels stood,
Nor bath'd a fetlock, in the nauseous flood:
He comes their leader comes! the man of God,
o'er the wide waters, lifts his mighty rod,
And onward treads. The circling waves retreat,
In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy feet;
And the chas'd surges, inly roaring, show
The hard wet sand, and coral hills below.
With limbs, that falter, and with hearts, that swell
Down, down they pass—a steep, and slippery de L.
Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurl'd,
The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world;
And flowers, that blush beneath the ocean green,
And caves, the sea-calves' low-roof'd haunts, are
Down,safelydown the narrow pass they tread;[seen
The beetling waters-storm above their head;
While far behind, retires the sinking day,
And fades on Edom's hills, its latest ray.
Yet not from Israel-fled the friendly light,
Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night;
Still, in their van, along that dreadful road, [God.
Blaz'd broad and fierce, the brandish'd torch of
Its meteor glare-a tenfold lustre gave,
On the long mirror-of the rosy wave:
While its blest beams-a sunlike heat supply,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye.
To them alone-for Misraim's wizard train
Invoke, for light, their monster-gods in vain:
Clouds heap'd on clouds, their struggling sight con
And tenfold darkness broods above their line. [fine,
Yet on they press, by reckless vengeance led,
And range, unconscious, through the ocean's bed.
Till midway now-that strange, and fiery form,
Show'd his dread visage, lightning through the

coursers' flight.

"Fly, Misraim, fly!" The ravenous floods they see,
And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity.
"Fly, Misraim, fly!" From Edom's coral strand,
Again the prophet stretch'd his dreadful wand:
With one wild crash, the thundering waters sweep,
And all-is waves-a dark, and lonely deep-
Yet, o'er these lonely waves, such murmurs past,
As mortal wailing swell'd the nightly blast:
And strange, and sad, the whispering breezes bore
The groans of Egypt-to Arabia's shore.-IIeber.

CONCEALED LOVE.

She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought. And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

READINGS AND RECITATIONS.

To be a brother-to th' insensible rock,

684. GREEK LITERATURE. It is impos- And, lost each human trace, surrendering up aible to contemplate the annals of Greek lit-Thine individual being, shalt thou go, erature, and art, without being struck with To mix forever with the elements, them, as by far the most extraordinary, and brilliant phenomenon, in the history of the human mind. The very language, even in its primitive simplicity, as it came down from the rhapsodists, who celebrated the exploits of Hercules, and Theseus, was as great a won-Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mcd Yet not, to thy eternal resting place, der, as any it records.

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon.

The oak

All the other tongues, that civilized men have spoken, are poor, and feeble, and bar-Shalt thou retire, alone-nor could'st thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down Its compass, barous, in comparison of it. and flexibility, its riches, and its powers, are With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, altogether unlimited. It not only expresses, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, with precision, all that is thought, or known, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, at any given period, but it enlarges itself na- All-in one-mighty sepulchre. turally, with the progress of science, and affords, as if without an effort, a new phrase, or a systematic nomenclature, whenever one is called for.

The hills,

[all,

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between; It is equally adapted to every variety of The venerable woods; rivers, that move style, and subject, to the most shadowy sub-In majesty, and the complaining brooks tlety of distinction, and the utmost exactness of definition, as well as to the energy, and the pathos of popular eloquence, to the majesty, the elevation, the variety of the Epic, and the boldest license of the Dithyrambic, no less than to the sweetness of the Elegy, the simplicity of the Pastoral, or the heedless gayety, and delicate characterization of Comedy.

Above all, what is an unspeakable charm, a sort of naivete is peculiar to it, and appears in all those various styles, and is quite as becoming, and agreeable, in an historian, or a philosopher, Xenophon for instance, as in the fight and jocund numbers of Anacreon.

Indeed, were there no other object, in learning Greek, but to see-to what perfection language is capable of being carried, not only as a medium of communication, but as an instrument of thought, we see not why the time of a young man would not be just as well bestowed, in acquiring a knowledge of it, for all the purposes, at least of a liberal, or elementary education, as in learning algebra, another specimen of a language, or arrangement of signs perfect in its kind.-Legare.

685. OUR EXIT: THANATOPSIS.
To him, who, in the love of nature, holds
Cominunion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours,
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile,
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his dark musings, with a mild,
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.

When thoughts

Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;
Go forth into the open sky, and list
To na:ure's teaching, while, from all around,
Comes a still voice-

"Yet a few days, and thee,
The al.-beholding sun shall see no more,
In all his course; nor yet, in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;

That make the meadows green; and, poured round
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all-
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages.

All that tread

The globe, are but a handfull, to the tribes,
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or, lose thyself in the continuous woods,
where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save its own dashings-yet-the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep: the dead-reign there-alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what, if thou shalt fall,
Unnoticed by the living; and no friend-
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh,
When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care
Plod on; and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet, all these shall leave
Their mirth, and their enjoyments, and shall come,
As the long train
And make their bed with thee.
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth, in life's green spring, and he, who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant, in the siniles
And beauty of its innocent age, cut off,-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes, to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber, in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, [ed
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained, and sooth-
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one, who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down-to pleasan dreams"
It is jealousy's-peculiar nature,

To swell small things-to great; nay, out of nought.
To conjure much, and then, lose its reason-
Amis, the bideous phantoms,-it has formed.

686. BENEFITS OF AGRICULTURE. Agriculture-is the greatest among the arts; for it is first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother, and nurse-of all other arts. It favors and strengthens population; it creates and maintains manufactures; gives employment to navigation, and materials to commerce. It animates every species of industry, and opens-to nations the surest channels of opulence. It is also the strongest bond of well regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the natural association of good morals.

We ought to count, among the benefits of agriculture, the charm, which the practice of it communicates to a country life. That charm, which has made the country, in our view, the retreat of the hero, the asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic muse. The strong desire, the longing after the country, with which we find the bulk of mankind to be penetrated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss. The sweet occupations of culture, with her varied products and attendant enjoyments, are, at least, a relief from the stifling atmosphere of the city, the monotony of subdivided employments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so often mortified, of factitious pleasures, and unsubstantial vanities.

Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, is preserved and fortified by the practice of agriculture. That state of well-being, which we feel and cannot define; that selfsatisfied disposition, which depends, perhaps, on the perfect equilibrium, and easy play of vital forces, turns the slightest acts to pleasure, and makes every exertion of our faculties a source of enjoyment; this inestimable state of our bodily functions is most vigorous in the country, and if lost elsewhere, it is in the country we expect to recover it.

The very theater of agricultural avocations, gives them a value that is peculiar; for who can contemplate,without emotion, the magnif icent spectacle of nature, when, arrayed in ver nal hues, she renews the scenery of the world! All things revive her powerful voice - the meadow resumes its freshness and verdure; a living sap circulates through every budding tree; flowers spring up to meet the warm caresses of Zephyr, and from their opening petals pour forth rich perfume. The songsters of the forest once more awake, and in tones of melody, again salute the coming dawn; and again they deliver to the evening echo-their strains of tenderness and love. Can manrational, sensitive man-can he remain unmoved by the surrounding presence! and where else, than in the country, can he behold, where else can he feel--this jubilee of nature, this universal joy!-MacNeven. Let me lead you from this place of sorrow, To one where young delights attend; and joys, Yet new, unborn, and blooming in the bud, Which want to be full-blown at your approach, And spread like roses, to the morning sun; Where ev'ry hour shall roll in circling joys, And love shall wing the tedious-wasting day. Life without love, is load; and time stands still; What we refuse to him, to death we give; An' then, then only, when we love we live.

687. THE AMERICAN FLAG.
When Freedom-from her mountain neight
Unfurl'd her standard-to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory-there.
She mingled, with its gorgeous dye?
The milky baldric-of the skies,
And striped its pure-celestial white,
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion—in the sun
She called her eagle-bearer-down,
And gave-into his mighty hand,
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch-of the cloud,

Who rear'st aloft-thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive-the warriors of the storm, And rolls-the thunder-drum of heaven,~ Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given,

To guard the banner of the free,
To hover-in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings-shine, afar,
Like rainbows-on the cloud of war,
The harbingers--of victory!
Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope-and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
And the long line-comes gleaming on.
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye-shall brightly turn
To where thy meteor glories burn;
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war, and vengeance-from the glance
And when the cannon-mouthings loud,
Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise, and fall,
Like shoots of flame-on midnight's pall;
There shall thy victor glances glow,

And cowering foes-shall fall beneath
Each gallant arm, that strikes below-
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave,
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave:
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly-round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves-rush wildly back-
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea,
Shall look, at once, to heaven-and thee,
And smile-to see thy splendors fly,
In triumph-o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's only home!

By angel hands-to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues--were born in heaven.
Forever float-that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe-but falls before de
With Freedom's soil--beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner-streaming o'er is!
His being was in her alone,
And he not being, she was none.
They joy'd one joy, one griet they griov d,
One love they lov'd, one life they liv'd.

ing cry,

That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on higt:

"Ho! cravem, do ye fear him ?-Slaves, traitors! have ye flown?

Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!
But I defy him:-let him come!" Down rang the massy cup,
While, from its sheath, the ready blade came flashing half-way ip;
And, with the black, and heavy plumes-scarce trembling cn bis
head,
There—in his dark, carved, oaken chair, Old Rudiger sat, died
690. QUEEN MAB.

O then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you
She is the fairy's midwife, and she comes
In shape, no bigger than an agate-stone,
On the forefinger of an alderman;
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep:
Her wagon spokes-made of long spinner's legs
The cover-of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces of the smallest spiders web;
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip-of cricket's bone; her lash-of film;
Her wagoner-a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big-as a round-little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot-is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner-squirrel, or old grub,

688. TRIBUTE.O WASHINGTON. Hard, | Bowl-rang to bowl,-sterl-clanged to steel, -and rose a deafen hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the struggle for independence. The golden sun of liberty-had nearly set, in the gloom of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams illumined our western horizon. Had not the tutelar saint of Columbia-hovered around the American camp, and presided over her destinies, freedom must have met with an antimely grave. Never, can we sufficiently admire the wisdom of those statesmen, and the skill, and bravery, of those unconquerable veterans, who, by their unwearied exertions in the cabinet, and in the field, achieved for us the glorious revolution. Never, can we duly appreciate the merits of a Washington; who, with but a handfull of undisciplined yeomanry, triumphed over a royal army, and prostrated the lion of England at the feet of the American eagle. His name,-so terrible to his foes, so welcome to his friends,--shall live forever upon the brightest page of the historian, and be remembered, with the warmest emotions of gratitude, and pleasure, by those, whom he had contributed to make happy, and by all mankind, when kings, and princes, and nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their merited oblivion. Unlike them, he needs not the assistance of the sculptor, or the architect, to perpetuate his memory: he needs no princely dome, no monumental pile, no state-Time out of mind, the fairies' coach-makers. ly pyramid, whose towering height shall And in this state she gallops, night by night, pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty Thro' lovers' brains, and then they dream of love head to heaven, to tell posterity his fame. On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies strait; His deeds, his worthy deeds, alone have ren- O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees: dered him immortal! When oblivion sha!! O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream have swept away thrones, kingdoms, and Sometimes, she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, principalities--when human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have mouldered in- And then, dreams he of smelling out a suit: to dust,--eternity itself shall catch the glow- And sometimes comes she, with a tithe-pig's ta, ing theme, and dwell with increasing rapture Tickling the parson, as he lies asleep; on his name!--Gen: Harrison.

689. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. Uer a low couch-the setting sun-had thrown its latest ray, Where, in his last-strong agony-a dying warrior lay, The stern-old Baron Rudiger, whose frame-had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time, and toil-its iron strength had spent. "They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, 11 at I shall mount my neble steed, and lead my band no more; Irey come, and to my beard-they dare to tell me now, that I, Their own liege lord, and master born,—that 1, ha! ha! must die.

And what is death? I've dared him oft-before the Paynim spear,

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

I've met him, faced him, scora'd him, when the fight was raging

hot,

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

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

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

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

Gothic hall.

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

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

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

BRONSON

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Elocution, Or, Mental and Vocal Philosophy: Involving the Principles of ...