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his philosophy is calculated to influence and improve the life, do we not find that the effect of his works has been to plunge Europe in skepticism, if not infidelity? in doubt, if not darkness? To it are clearly owing the disbelief of Hume, the atheistic philosophism of the last century, and the mean, ignoble, calculating utilitarianism of the present day. It fills the mind without touching the heart, and makes a. man wise without leading him to be good.

But who can estimate the vast benefit that Shakspeare did and is doing to his country? Who can sufficiently point out the effect of his chivalrous patriotism, his pure benevolence, his high philosophy, his sound morality, his universal sympathies, his glorious aspirations to nobler and to better worlds than this? The warrior, as we have seen, links man to man by the word of command the word of authority. The statesman, as we have seen, links man to man by the principle of mutual dependence and of selfinterest. But the poet links man to man by the holy tie of sympathy and brotherhood-a tie which no authority. no force can break. Place, then, these three men side by sideCromwell, Bacon, Shakspeare-and let your choice point out to you the answer you should give to the question now before us. You will not hesitate, for you cannot doubt. While you will perceive that the warrior and the statesman are but the creatures of the day that produces them, and perish with that day, you will also find that the poet engraves his glory so deeply on the heart of man, that, till the heart of man perishes forever in the grave of time, that glory shall be fresh and ineffaceable.

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Proteus. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu.
Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply see'st

Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel.

Two Gentlemen of Verona.

COMIC AND AMUSING

I.-FROM THE ELECTION.-Baillie.

BALTIMORE-PETER-DAVID-NAT.

Baltimore. Ho, Peter! you laughing at there, Peter?

[Enter Peter.] What were

Peter. [With a broad grin.] Only, sir, at your rival, Squire Freeman,-he! he! he! who was riding up the black lane, a little while ago, on his new crop-eared hunter, as fast as he could canter, with all the skirts of his coat flapping about him. for all the world like a clucking hen upon a sow's back-he! he! he!

Balt. [His face brightening.] Thou art pleasant, Peter; and what then?

Pet. When just turning the corner, your honor, as it might be so, my mother's brown calf-bless its snout! I shall love it for it, as long as I live-set its face through the hedge and said Mow"

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Balt. [Eagerly.] And he fell: did he?

Pet. O yes, your honor! to be sure, yes, into a good soft bed of all the rotten garbage of the village.

Balt. And you saw this: did you?

Pet. O yes, your honor! certainly, as plain as the nose on my face.

Balt. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! and you really saw it? David. [Aside.] I wonder my master can demean himself so as to listen to that knave's tales: I'm sure he was proud enough once.

Balt. Still laughing.] You really saw it?

Pet. Ay, your honor! and many more than me saw it. Didn't they, Nat?

Nat. Oh, yes, your honor, I saw it; what a plumper it was he he! he!

Balt. And there were a number of people to look at him too?

Pet. Oh! your honor! all the rag-tag of the parish were grinning at him. Wan't they, Nat?

Nat. Yes certainly, all on 'em-he! he he!

Balt. Ha ha ha! ha! ha! this is excellent! ha! ha! ha! He would shake himself but ruefully before them! [Still laughing violently.]

Pet. Ay, sir: he shook the wet straws and the withered turnip-tops from his back. It would have done your heart good to have seen him.

Dav. Nay, you know well enough, you do, that there is nothing but a bank of dry sand in that corner. [Indignantly to Peter.]

Balt. [Impatiently to David.] Poo! silly fellow! it is the dirtiest nook in the village. And he rose and shook himself: ha! ha! ha! I did not know that thou wert such a humorous fellow, Peter: here is money for thee to drink the brown calf's health, ha! ha! ha!

Pet. Ay, your honor! for certain he shall have a noggen. Dav. [Aside, scratching his head.] To think now master should demean himself so!

IL-FROM SPEED THE PLOUGH.-Anonymous.

FARMER ASHFIELD-DAME ASHFIELD.

Scene. In the foreground a Farm House--a view of a Castle, at a distance. Farmer Ashfield discovered, with his jug and pipe.

[Enter Dame Ashfield, in a riding-dress, and a basket un

der her arm.]

Ashfield. Well, Dame, welcome whoam.

does thee bring from market?

Dame. What news, husband?

What news

What I always told

you; that Farmer Grundy's wheat brought five shillings a

quarter more than ours did.

Ash. All the better vor he.

Dame. Ah! the sun seems to shine on purpose for him. Ash. Come, coine, Missus, as thee has not the grace to

thank God for prosperous times, dant thee grumble when they be unkindly a bit.

Dame. And I assure you, that Dame Grundy's butter was quite the crack of the market.

Ash. Pe quiet, woolye? Always ding, dinging, Dame Grundy into my ears. What will Mrs. Grundy say? What will Mrs. Grundy think? Canst thee be quiet, let ur alone and behave thyself pratty?

Dame. Certainly I can-I'll tell thee, Tummas, what she said at church, last Sunday.

Ash. Canst thee tell what parson zaid? Noa.-Then I'll tell thee-A'zaid that envy were as foul a weed as grows, and cankers all wholesome plants that be near it— that's what a'zaid.

Dame. And do you think I envy Mrs. Grundy, indeed? Ash. What dant thee letten her alone, then ?—I do verily think, when thee goest to t'other world, the vurst question thee'lt ax, il be, if Mrs. Grundy's there. Zoa, be quiet, and behave pratty, do'ye.-Has thee brought whoam the Salisbury news?

Ďame. No, Tummas; but I have brought a rare wadget of news with me. First and foremost, I saw such a mort of coaches, servants, and wagons all belonging to Sir Abel Handy, and all coming to the castle-and a handsome young man, dressed all in lace, pulled off his hat to me, and said Mrs. Ashfield do me the honor of presenting that letter to your husband."-So, there he stood without his hat ---oh, Tummas, had you seen how Mrs. Grundy looked.

Ash. Dom Mrs. Grundy-be quiet, and let I read, woolye? [Reads.] "My dear Farmer"-[Taking off his hat.] Thank ye, zur-zame to you, wi' all my heart and soul." My dear Farmer"

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Dame. Farmer-why. you are blind, Tummas; it isMy dear Father"-'tis from our own dear Susan.

Ash. Odds dickens and disies! zoo it be, zure enow! "My dear Father you will be surprised"-zoo I be. he, he! What pretty writing, beant it? all as straight as thof it were plowed- Surprised to hear, that in a few hours I shall embrace you---Nelly, who was formerly our servant, has fortunately married Sir Abel Handy, Bart."

Dame Handy Bart-Pugh! Bart. stands for baronight, mun

Ash. Likely, likely.-Drabbit it, only to think of the zwaps and changes of this world.

Dame. Our Nelly married to a great baronet! I wonder, Tummas, what Mrs. Grundy will say?

Ash. Now, woolye be quiet, and let I read?" And she has proposed bringing me to see you; an offer, I hope, as acceptable to my dear feyther"—

Dame. "And mother."

Ash. Bless her, how prettily she do write feyther, dant she?

Dame. And mother.

Ash. Ees, but feyther first, though-" Acceptable to my dear feyther and mother, as to their affectionate daughter, Susan Ashfield." Now beant that a pratty letter?

Dame. And, Tummas, is not she a pretty girl?

Ash. Ees, and as good as she be pratty. Drabbit it, I do feel zoo happy, and zoo warm,- for all the world like the zun in harvest.

Dame. And what will Mrs. Grundy say? [Exeunt.]

III-FROM THE MOUNTAINEERS.-Colman.

SADI OCTAVIAN-AGNES.

Sadi. Here is one, who, by the costliness of his robes, must be the lord of this mansion.—What would you? Octavian I would pass

Deep in yon cave, to hide me from the sun:
His rising beams have tipt the trees with gold—
He gladdens men—but I do bask in sorrow.

Give way 1

Sadi. Mark you—I do respect sorrow too much to do it willful injury. I am a Moor, 'tis true-that is, I am not quite a Christian-but I never yet saw man bending under Inisfortune, that I did not think it pleasure to lighten his load. Strive to pass here, however, and I must add blows to your burden and that might haply break your back ;for to say truth, I have now a treasure in this cave, that, while I can hinder it, sorrow shall never come nigh.

Oct. Death! must I burrow here with brutes, and find My haunts broke in upon! my cares disturb'd! Reptile! I'll dash thy body o'er the rocks,

And leave thee to the vultures.

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