페이지 이미지

Now, here's another :-When you paint to me
"That charming woman" you are sure to see,
Don't, when you praise the virtues she has got,
Name only those you think your wife has not!
And here's a rule I hope you won't forget,-
The most important I have mentioned yet-
Pray mind it well:-Whenever you incline
To bring your queer companions home to dine,
Suppose, my dear,-Good gracious! he's asleep.
Ah! well-'tis lucky good advice will keep;
And he shall have it! or, upon my life,
I've not the proper spirit of a wife!


KING BRUCE Of Scotland flung himself down in a lonely mood

to think!

'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, but his heart was beginning to sink.

For he had been trying to do a great deed to make his people glad;

He had tried and tried, but couldn't succeed, and so he became quite sad.

He flung himself down in low despair, as grieved as man could be;

And after a while, as he pondered there, "I'll give it all up,"

said he.

Now just at that moment a spider dropped, with its silken cobweb clue;

And the king, in the midst of his thinking stopped-to see what the spider would do!

'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome; and it hung by a rope so fine,

That how it would get to its cobweb home, King Bruce could

not divine.

It soon began to cling and crawl straight up with strong


But down it came with a slipping sprawl, as near to the ground

as ever.

Again the spider swung below, but again it quickly mounted; Till up and down, now fast, now slow, nine brave attempts were counted.

[ocr errors]

Sure," cried the king, "that foolish thing will strive no more to climb,

When it toils so hard to reach and cling, and tumbles every time."

Up again it went, inch by inch, higher and higher he got; And a bold little run at the very last pinch, put him into his native spot.

"Bravo, bravo!" the king cried out, "all honour to those who try:

The spider up there defied despair; he conquered-and why shouldn't I?”

Again King Robert roused his soul; and history tells the tale, That he tried once more,-'twas at Bannockburn,—and that time he did not fail!


hard! and so it is, to live in such a row,
And witness this,—that every miss, but me, has got a beau!
For Love goes calling up and down, but here he seems to shun
I'm sure he has been asked enough to call at Number One!
I'm sick of all the double-knocks that come to Number Four!
At Number Three, I often see a lover at the door;
And one in blue, at Number Two, calls daily, like a dun—
very hard they come so near, and not to Number One!
Miss Bell, I hear, has got a dear, exactly to her mind,
By sitting at the window pane without a bit of blind;
But I go in the balcony, which she has never done,
Yet arts that thrive at Number Five, don't take at Number One!
'Tis hard, with plenty in the street, and plenty passing by-
There's nice young men at Number Ten, but only rather shy;
And Mrs. Smith, across the way, has got a grown-up son;
But, la! he hardly seems to know there is a Number One!
There's Mr. Wick, at Number Nine, but he's intent on pelf,
And, though he's pious, will not "love his neighbour as

At Number Seven there was a sale-the goods had quite a run!
And here I've got my single lot on hand at Number One!
My mother often sits at work, and talks of props and stays,
And what a comfort I shall be in her declining days;


very maids about the house have set me down a nun; The sweethearts all belong to them that call at Number One! Once only when the flue took fire, one Friday afternoon, Young Mr. Long came kindly in, and told me not to swoon

Why can't he come again without the "Phoenix" and the "Sun"?

We cannot always have a flue on fire at Number One.

I am not old! I am not plain, nor awkward in my gait!
I am not crooked, like the bride that went from Number Eight.
I'm sure white satin made her look as brown as any bun;
But even beauty has no chance, I think, at Number One!
At Number Six, they say Miss Rose has slain a score of hearts;
And Cupid, for her sake, has been quite prodigal of darts.
The imp they show with bended bow-I wish he had a gun!
But if he had, he'd never deign to shoot with Number One.
It's very hard! and so it is, to live in such a row!
And here's a ballad-singer come, to aggravate my woe:
Oh, take away your foolish song, and tones enough to stun;
There is "Nae luck about the house," I know, at Number One.


O WOMAN of Three Cows, agragh! don't let your tongue thus rattle! Oh, don't be saucy-don't be stiff, because you may have cattle! I have seen and here's my hand to you, I only say what's true-a many a one with TWICE your stock, not half so proud as you.

Good luck to you! don't scorn the poor, and don't be their despiser; for, worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser; and death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows: then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman of Three Cows!

See where Momonia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants! 'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants! If they were forced to bow to fate, as every mortal bows, can you be proud-can you be stiff--my Woman of Three Cows?

Your neighbour's poor-and you, it seems, are big with vain ideas-because, inagh! you've got three cows-one more, I see, than she has that tongue of yours wags more, at times, than charity allows;-but, if you're strong, be merciful!GREAT Woman of Three Cows!


Ah! there you go!-You still, of course, keep up your scornful bearing! and I'm too poor to hinder you! but, by the cloak I'm wearing, if I had but FOUR cows myself, even though you were my spouse, I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows!




To assist students in the attainment of Expression,-(the proper management of the voice and of the organs of speech, in combination with articulative distinctness, being familiarized by the first part of the Introduction, pages 18 to 78,)-marginal directions are inserted to suggest the proper spirit with which the various passages should be read. The poetical extracts are placed first; because experience has proved that the initiatory study of rhythmical reading has a most beneficial effect in imparting melody and variety to the irregular structure of the prosaic form.

The mode of printing these introductory poetical extracts will be found useful in tending to destroy that measured monotony and unmeaning chant with which the unskilful reader associates the delivery of verse. A large portion of the poetry is, however, printed in the ordinary mode.

I.—A PLEA FOR MERCY.-Shakspeare.


THE quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth, Exhortation as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice bless'd; it blesseth him that Pleasure gives, and him that takes; 'tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes the throned monarch better than his crown; his sceptre shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings: but, mercy is above this sceptred sway; it is enthroned in the hearts of kings, it is an attribute to God him- Reverence self; and earthly power doth then show likest God's, when mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Man, though Earnest advice justice be thy plea, consider this,-that, in the course


of justice, none of us should see salvation. We do Solemn reflecpray for mercy; and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.

II. THE SEVEN AGES.-Shakspeare.



ALL the world's a stage, and all the men and women Serious narmerely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man, in his time, plays many

Slight mimicry




Mock gravity

parts; his acts being-Seven Ages. At first, the Infant,mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then, the whining School-boy, with his satchel and shining morning face; 'creeping, like snail, unwillingly to school. And then, the Lover, sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a Soldier, full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard; jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel; seeking the bubble, reputation, even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the Justice, in fair round belly with good capon lined, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances;-and so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered Pantaloon, with spectacles on nose and pouch on side; his youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide for his Slightly imita shrunk shank; and his big, manly voice, turning again to childish treble, pipes and whistles in the sound. Last scene of all, that ends this strange, eventful history, is-second childishness and mere oblivion; sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste,-sans every thing!














WHEREFORE rejoice? That Cæsar comes in tri-
umph ?—What conquests brings he home? what
tributaries follow him to Rome, to grace, in captive
bonds, his chariot wheels? You blocks! you stones!
you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts!
you cruel men of Rome!-Knew you not Pompey?
Many a time and oft have climbed
to walls
and battlements, to towers and windows, yea, to
chimney tops, your infants in your arms; and there
have sat the livelong day, with patient expectation,
to see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. And
when you saw his chariot but appear, have you not
made a universal shout, that Tiber trembled under-
neath her banks, to hear the replication of your
sounds made in her concave shores? And do you
now put on your best attire? And do
you now cull
out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in

« 이전계속 »