thrust it forth as if for sale; and she might have an innocent heart, but she was not forever talking of it. Of courage she did not boast much; and as to universal liberty, Mary de Courcy, like the knife-grinder, "seldom loved to meddle With politics, sir." 7. Of her feelings she never spoke at all, and on the subject of virtue she could not compete in eloquence with Miss M'Orient. Still it was a riddle, that while everybody liked Miss de Courcy, the M'Orients seemed to be but little esteemed or loved by those who knew them well and long. Indeed, some looked upon them as of that class of individuals who in our times have overrun society, enfeebling literature with false sentiment, poisoning all wholesome feeling, turning virtue into ostentation, annulling modesty, corrupting the very springs of piety itself by affectation and parade, and selfishly seeking to engross the world's admiration by wearing their virtues (false as they are) like their jewels, all outside. 8. Thus, while Miss M'Orient and her brother were rhyming and romancing about "green fields," and "groves," and "lang syne," and "negroes," and "birds in cages," and "sympathy," and "universal freedom," they were such a pair of arrant scolds and tyrants in their own house, that no servant could stay two months in their employment. While Miss M'Orient would weep by the hour to hear a blackbird whistle Paddy Carey outside a farmer's cottage, she would see whole families, nay whole nations, reduced to beggary, without shedding a tear, nor think of depriving herself of a morocco album to save a starving fellow-creature's life. 9. It was during one of those seasons of distress, which so frequently afflict the peasantry of Ireland, that Mary de Courcy happened one morning to be watering some flowers that graced the small inclosure in front of Mount Orient House, when a female cottager, accompanied by a group o helpless children, presented themselves before her. Courcy and Mimosa both had known the woman in better times, and the former was surprised at her present destitution. 10 Ah! Miss Mary!" said she, "'tis all over with a now, since the house and the man that kept it up are gone to gether. Hush, child! be quiet! You never again will come over to us now, Miss Mary, in the summer days, to sit down inside our door, an' to take the cup of beautiful thick milk from Nelly, and to talk so kindly to the children. That's all over now, miss them times are gone." 11. Moved by the poor woman's sorrow, Miss de Courcy for the first time keenly felt her utter want of fortune. She determined, however, to lay before Miss M'Orient in the course of the day the condition of their old cottage acquaintance, and conceived that she entered the room in happy time, when she found her tender-hearted friend dissolved in tears, and with a book between her hands. Still better, it was a work on Ireland, and Mimosa showed her protégée the page, still moistened from the offerings of her sympathy, in which the writer had drawn a very lively picture of the sufferings of her countrymen during a period of more than usual affliction. "Such writing as this, dear Mary!" she exclaimed, in ecstasy of woe, "would move me were the sketch at the Antipodes; but being taken in Ireland, beloved Ireland! imagine its effect upon my feelings-I, who am not myself—I have nothing for you, my good man, go about your business [to an old beggar-man who presented himself with a low bow at the window]-who am not myself when Ireland is the theme! the heart must be insensible indeed that such a picture could not move to pity. 12. 13. "Ah! if the poor Irish-[I declare there are three more beggars on the avenue! Thomas, did not your master give strict orders that not a single beggar should be allowed to set foot inside the gate?]-ah! if the poor-[let some one go and turn them out this instant- we must certainly have the dogs let loose again]-if the Irish poor had many such advorates, charity would win its burning way at length even into cold recesses-" "There's a poor woman wants a dhrop of milk, ma'am,” said a servant, appearing at the door. 14. "I haven't it for her let me not be disturbed [eria Bervant]-into the cold recesses of even an absentee landlord's heart. The appeal, dear Mary, is perfectly irresistible; nor can I conceive a higher gratification than that of lending a healing hand to such affliction." "I am glad to hear you say so, Mimosa, my dear," said Mary, "for I have it in my power to give you the gratification you desire." 66 How, Miss de Courcy?" said the sentimental lady in an altered tone, and with some secret alarm. 15. Mary de Courcy was not aware how wide a difference there is, between crying over human misery in hot-pressed small octavo, and relieving it in common life; between sentimentalizing over the picture of human woe, and loving and befriending the original. She did not know that there are creatures who will melt like Niobe at an imaginary distress, while the sight of actual suffering will find them callous as a flint. She proceeded, therefore, with a sanguine spirit, to explain the circumstances of their old neighbors, expecting that all her trouble would be in moderating the extent of her enthusiastic auditor's liberality. 16. But she could not get a shilling from the patriotic Miss M'Orient. That young lady had expended the last of her pocket-money on this beautiful book on Irish misery, so that she had not a sixpence left for the miserable Irish. But then she felt for them! She talked, too, a great deal about "her principles." It was not "her principle," that the poor should ever be relieved by money. It was by forwarding "the march of intellect," those evils should be remedied. As the world became enlightened, men would find it was their interest that human misery should be alleviated in the persons of their fellow-creatures, a regenerative spirit would pervade society, and peace and abundance would shed their light on every land, not even excepting dear, neglected, and down-trodden Ireland. 17. But, as for the widow, she hadn't a sixpence for her. Besides, who knew but she might drink it? Misfortune drives so many to the dram-shop. Well, if Miss de Courcy would provide against that, still, who could say that she was not an impostor! Oh, true, Miss M'Orient knew the woman well. But she had a great many other older and nearer acquaintances; and it was "her principle," that charity was nothing without order. In vulgar language, it should always begin at home. At all events, she could and would do nothing. "Ah, Mimosa," said Mary, "do you think that vulgar rule has never an exception ?" "Never-Mary-never. Send in luncheon" [ts a serv ant]. 92. THE CRUSADES. WORDSWORTH. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH was born in England in 1770, and died in 1850; ne belonged to what is called the "Lake-School" of poets. He has left no poem of any length worthy of admiration throughout; but many of his shorter pieces are unsurpassed in the English language. 1. FURL we the sails, and pass with tardy oars Through these bright regions, casting many a glance Of many-color'd life that fortune pours Requiem which earth takes up with voice undaunted, 2 As faith thus sanctified the warrior's crest, What feebler means had fail'd to give, one aim By works of art, that shed on the outward frame Of worship, glory and grace, which who shall blame Pinions of high and higher sweep, and make THE VIRGIN. 8 MOTHER! whose virgin bosom was uncross'd Our tainted nature's solitary boast; Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn 93. DUTIES OF THE AMERICAN CITIZEN. WEBSTER. HON. DANIEL WEBSTER-born at Salisbury, New Hampshire, in 1789; lied, 1852. As an orator and a statesman, the New World has as yet proluced no man greater than he. His works are published in six octavo volumes, and his name shall live as long as the American nation lasts. 1. LET us cherish, fellow-citizens, a deep and solemn conviction of the duties which have devolved upon us. This Lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign institutions, the |