fyxmW Wimmxi^^xhxMi THE GIFT OF S^ort^, ^.-J:YV. HocrdC, .r^to-0-T:vj:»rv5ASl. ^^AjxvLjO.... A- 5^\ni. ^^ ^ ::..---.-....M^V^V ct.a,... %(l!lffi„.?Peaker. Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031287992 THE MODEL SPEAKER. CONSISTING OF EXERCISES IN PROSE 'AND POETRY, POE THE USE 01? klxosih, %tRAm'm, mn\ (Kolle^cs. BY PHILIP LAWRENCE, PROFESSOR^F ELOCUTION. PHILADELPHIA : ELDREDGE & BROTHER, No. 17 North Seventh Street. 1872. K 5\ 1^7 Entered according to Act of Congresa, in the year 1869, by ELDREDGE & BROTHER, in the Clerk'a Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. K^ nw *^ FAGAN & SON, 1^ EtECTEOTTPBRS, PHILAD'A. «^- «^a^ VA ^3S CAXtON PMaB OF ASeSmAN k 00. PEEFACE. TT is not our purpose to apologize for adding another -*- to the numerous " Speakers '' extant, so many of which possess undoubted merit. The subject presents a wide field ; and we believe that there is room for them, and for this in which are collated standard selections that have acquired a reputation either for their intrinsic worth or for their fitness to exemplify the principles forming the basis of true elocution. Arguments are not now needed to show that .great advantages may — rather must — result from the thorough mastery of an art which has done so much to perpetuate the virtues of individuals, to establish the renown of nations, and to extend the blessings of civilization and Christianity. Such knowledge is absolutely essential to ensure success in those professions that involve public speaking ; and especially is it important in this favored land of ours, in which almost every one is, at some period of life, called upon to take part in public affairs, or to discuss questions of great local or national interest, and IV PREFACE. in which the man possessed of the power of eloquence, has open before him almost numberless avenues to influ- ence, distinction, and fame. In the hope that the selections here presented may subserve the purposes for which they have been arranged, and, at the same time, tend to instruct the mind, improve the taste, and cultivate the heart, we submit them to the student, the teacher, and the amateur, asking a full ap- preciation of aught that is good in them, and a chari- table criticism of all that is faulty. P. L. Philadelphia, Nov. 25, 1869. INTEODUCTION. "TTTHILE the best instructors agree that Nature furnishes the V Y basis of all true eloquence, and that they are the most accom- plished and most effective speakers who observe her laws, yet it must be conceded that Art can do much to guide and control the faculties which she has conferred on man: hence, although we do not present, or attempt to present a system of elocution, yet we believe that a few concise, practical suggestions upon the subject may be of importance to the pupil, in preventing erroneous modes of utterance, and in assisting him to acquire a proper and natural style of delivery. We would, however, warn him at the outset not to commit the grave error of supposing that any directions, or any set of rules, can supply the place either of careful, constant drill, in accordance with fixed principles, or the instructions of the living teacher, whose example is iieeded to influence the imitative powers of the learner. In order to simplify the subject as much as possible, attention is asked to but four particulars, upon which all elocutionary rules depend — Articulation, Emphasis, Modulation, Delivery. Articulation is the distinct utterance of the elements of spoken or vocal language. It is effected by the proper action of the vocal organs, which, with the muscles of the mouth, not only secure distinctness of enunciation, but also add very materially to the expressiveness of the face. It is impossible to give too much attention to this particular ; for words or phrases not clearly and fully received by the ear, can not affect the judgment or influence the feelings. A public 1* v VI INTRODUCTION. speaker, with but a moderate volume of voice, is better under- stood and is more effective, if he articulates correctly, than one who vociferates without knowledge or discretion. Distinctness of articulation may be acquired by drill ; 1. Upon separate vowel and consonant sounds. 2. Upon combined vowel and consonant sounds. 3. Upon words: the elementary sounds separately, and then the whole word. 4. Upon words in sentences, avoiding the union of the sound of one word with that of another. Examples. Simple Elements. WELS or TONICS. SUB-VOWELS or SUB- TONICS. ASPIKATES or ATOS k as in ale b as in bove p as in pit k " arm d " day gay Tile i " tin 1 " all am g " f " kite fame i " eve th " then th " thin i " end Z " zone s " sin 1 " ile z " azure sh " shade 1 " in 1 " light h " hush 6 " old r " roll wh " what 6 " lose (r " car) 6 " on m " mind A " tube n " no & " up ng " song A " full w " woe )U " out y " Compound yoke Elements, oi as in oil j as in job tch as in etch ai " air gz " tugs ks " oaks Vowels and Difficult Consonant Combinations. 1. Clime, club; glad, glen; spleen, split; crew, crow; drop, drub; three, threw; shred, shrub; scrip, scroll; squaw, squib; twang, twig. 2. Reefs, fifes; pelf, wolf; whelm, film; yolk, sulk; false, else; quilt, bolt ; valve, shelve ; cask, frisk ; chasm, schism ; hives, loves. ISTTKODTJCTIOIT. VU 3. Maddened, deadened; beckoned, likened; gulped, scalped; orbed, barbed; arched, searched; forked, worked; hustles, measles ; drivels, grovels ; giv'st, serv'st ; dazzled, frizzled. 4. Sobb'dst, digg'dst, wedg'dst, shav'dst, buckl'st, puzzl'st, sift'st, darken'st, poison'at, drunk'st, storm'st, breath'st, humbl'dst, battl'dst, buru'dst, seasou'dst, catch'dst, gulp'dst, strengthen'st. Words in Sentences. 1. He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. 2. He could speak upon either side of the question ; he could speak upon neither side. 3. Masses of immense magnitude move majestically through the vast extent of the solar system. 4. That morning, thou, that slumber'dst not before. Nor sleptst, — great ocean, — laiJst thy waves at rest, And hush'dst thy mighty minstrelsy. 6. The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, — Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve. And like this unsubstantial pageant, faded, — Leave not a rack behind. Note. — Correct pronunciation and accent can be obtained only by following the rules laid down in some standard dictionary. Emphasis is a stress of voice laid upon a word or a phrase, in order to bring out its meaning, and the meaning of the sentence, in the most impressive and forcible manner. Upon the proper placing of emphasis depends not only the meaning of a sentence, but also the life and spirit of all dis- course; as, otherwise, the speaker cannot convey what he under- stands and feels, and, consequently, he will fail utterly to make any impression upon his hearers. As emphasis is determined solely by the sentiment to be ex- pressed, no rule can be given which will regulate its place, kind, or degree, except the general one — that the speaker must thor- VUl INTRODUCTION. oughly comprehend the idea to be uttered, and be guided by a just conception of its force and spirit. In delivery, he should pause before and after ekch emphatic word, and let his voice dwell upon it for a greater or less length of time, as the sense requires. / Examples. 1. I do not aik, I demand your attention. 2. The war is inevitable, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, LET IT COME! 3. The wicked flee when no Tna,n pursueih ; but the righteous are bold as a lion. 4. The young are slaves to novelty ; the old, to custom; the middle- aged, to both; the dead, to neither. 5. But yesterday, the word of Csesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none * poor to do him reverence. 6. But this very day, An honest man, my neighbor, — there he stands, Was struck, — struck like a dog, because, forsooth, He tossed not high his ready cap in air, Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not The stain away in blood ? Modulation is the varying of the voice so as to ex- press the feelings and the emotions inspired by the subject of discourse. It refers to the right management of the voice as regards loud- ness and volume, and includes infleoiion, pitch, force, and quality; and, therefore, it produces that variety of expression so esseiitial to eloquence. Correct modulation can be obtained by strict attention to the natural variations of tone in ordinary conversation or in earnest speech, by drill, by judgment in determining the idea to be ex- INTRODUCTION. IX pressed, by accommodating the sound to the sense, and by identi- fication with the person to be represented. Inflections are turns or slides of the voice in uttering a letter, a syllable, or a word. The Rising Inflection is the upward slide of the voice. It is usually indicated by the acute accent ('): thus, Is he truthful?' The Falling Inflection is the downward slide of the voice. It is usually indicated by the grave accent (^) : thus, Would you make men truthful ?' Believe them.'' The Circumflex Inflection is the union of the rising and the falling inflection. It is usually indicated by the union of the acute and the grave accent ('^ or ^') : thus, And this man is nuw become a god ! .Examples. 1. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. 2. What men could do Is done already ; heaven and earth will witness If Rome must fali, that we are innocent. Pitch is the degree of the elevation of vocal sound. Middle Pitch is that which is, or should be employed in ordinary conversation, and expresses moderate emotion. Low Pitch is that which is below the usual speaking key, and ex- presses deep feeling; as. Silence, how dread! darkness, how pro- found ! High Pilch is that which is above the usual speaking key, and ex- presses pity, and joyous feeling; as, Ring, happy bells, across the snow. Examples. 1. Education, when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are never &ble to make their appearance. 2. There was silence, and I heard a voice saying, "Shall mortal man be more just than God — Shall a man be more pure than his Maker ? " 3. On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. X INTRODUCTIOHr. Force is the degree of loudness and energy of vocal sound. Moderate Force is tliat which is used in ordinary narration or de- scription. Soft or Weak Force is that which is used to express caution, fear, secrecy, solemnity, and tender emotions ; as. Softly, peacefully, lay her to rest. Loud or Strong Force is that which is used to express violent pas- sion, or strong emotions of joy, hate, revenge, grief, and dignity; as, Strike — till the last armed foe expires! Examples. 1. In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility. 2. He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, uncofEned, and unknown. 3. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge Cry — God for Harry! England^ and St. George ! Quality is the kind of tone used in speaking or reading. The Pure Quality is a clear, smooth, flowing tone, uttered in the middle pitch, and is used when not much feeling or emotion is ex- pressed. The Orotund Quality is the pure tone deepened, and is used to express pathetic, grand, and sublime emotions ; as. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll! The Guttural Quality is a deep undertone, and is used to express hatred, contempt, aversion, and loathing ; as. Thou slave, thou cow- ard, thou wretch ! Th'! Aspirated Quality is not properly a vocal sound, but a whis- pered utterance used to express secrecy, fear, terror, and remorse ; as, "Silence!" in undertones they cry. Examples. 1. AVe live in deeds, not years, in thoughts, not breaths, In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 2. thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide. INTRODUCTION. xi You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. And all for that which is mine own. Hush I lightly tread ; still tranquilly she sleeps. I've watched, suspending e'en my breath, in fear To break the heavenly spell. Move silently. Delivery is tlie expression of thouglit by means of words and actions. Perfect delivery, then, is the result of a mastery of every principle and art of elocution: — enunciation, emphasis, tone, earnestness, expression, action. Gestures must depend mainly upon the earnest- ness of the spealter's conception of what he is to utter. No one can portray character unless he can realize it, and he can realize it only by making it his own for the time, and by expressing himself exactly as a person would do in the supposed situation, and so "suit the action to the word, the word to the action." Action has been defined as the beginning, the middle, and the end of oratorjr. It is shown chiefly by the expression and the manage- ment of the eye, and by the motions of the hand, although thought may be expressed or enforced by various movements of the body. " When all the powers of elocution are brought into requisition, — the voice, with all its thrilling tones ; the eye, through which, as a window, the soul darts forth its light; the whole glowing countenance; the whole breathing frame: — when every motion speaks, every muscle swells with the inspiration of high thoughts: — what instrument of music, what glories of the canvas can equal it 7 It is beauty, genius, power, sublimity, in their most glorious exercise." " So they read in the book in the law of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the reading," Nehemiah vili. 8. FAOE AbouBen Adhem Leigh Hunt. 26 A Defence of Poetry Rev. Charles Wolfe. 198 After the Battle 846 — America's Contributions to the World G. C. Verplanck. 192 American Laborers C. C. Naylor. 165 An Appeal for our Country Judge Story. 335 Antony's Address to the Romans ShaJcspeare. 151 ■^ Apostrophe to Water Jno, B. Gough. Ill A Psalm of Life H. W.Longfellow. 234 Arnold Winkelried James Montgomery. 187 Battle Hymn Theodore Earner. 202 Beautiful Snow Jamea W. Watson. 53 Bernardo Del Carpio Mrs. F. Semans. 159 Bill and Joe 0. W. Holmes. 246 Bingen on the Rhine Mrs. Norton. 58 Bright Water E. Johnson. 184 Bring Flowers Mrs. Remans. 76 Brutus on the Death of Csesar Shakspeare. 199 Catiline's Defiance Rev. Geo. Croly. 217 Gate's Soliloquy on Immortality Addison. 375 Chamouni S. T. Coleridge. 207 ■^Characteristics of the Age Judge Story. 397 Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennyson. 22 Charity Bible. 236 Chills and Fever Rev. T. Be Wilt Talmage. 392 Christ in the Tempest Jno. G. Whittier. 77 Count Caudespina's Standard Geo. IT. Boker. 29 David's Lament over Absalom N. P. Willis. 148 Daniel Webster and Henry Clay Wm. H. AUen. 176 Death of Little Nell Charles Dickens. 289 Death of Paul Dombey " " 352 2 xiii XIV CONTENTS. FA<3B Dieslrse Thomas De Celano. 253 Dirge Charles G. Eastman. 287 Dirge for a Sailor Geo. H. Boker. 345 Drifting T. Buchanan Read. 112 Emmett's Reply Robert Emmett. 126 E Pluribus Unum Geo. W. Cutter. 185 Esto Perpetua Geo. W. Toung. 369 Eugene Aram's Dream Thomas Hood. 134 Evangeline H. W. Longfellow. 263 Evening Prayer at a Girls' School Mrs. Hemans. 349 Excelsior H. W. Longfellow. 65 Extract from Sermon on Death of Abraham Lincoln Rev. Eenry Ward Beecher. 145 Extract from Thanatopsis W. C. Bryant. 70 Farmer John J. T. Trowbridge. 129 Farm-Yard Song J. T. Trowbridge. 860 Field Lilies 363 Fitz James and Roderio Dhu Sir Walter Scott. 272 God Derzhavin. 259 God Everywhere Hugh Button. 239 Grandeur of the Trackless Sea 182 —Green Apples , J. T. Trowbridge. 321 Guilt cannot Keep its own Secret Daniel Webster. 164 Hagar in the Wilderness N. P. Willis. 230 Hamlet's Instructions to the Players Shakspeare. 161 Hamlet's Soliloquy " 154 He giveth his Beloved Sleep Robl. Browning. 285 Heroes and Martyrs Rev. E. H. Chapin. 278 Horatius at the Bridge Macaulay, 119 How Mother Did It „ 386 How the Money Goes ■ John G. Saxe. 172 How they Brought the Good News ^frs. Browning. 110 It Snows Hfrs. S. J. Hale. 281 Justice to the Whole Country Daniel Webster. 373 Keep it Before the People A. J. H. Duganne. 330 Labor is Worship F. S. Osgood. 190 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers ^frs. Hemans. 241 Laus Deo Jno. G Whittier. 312 Liberty and Union Daniel Webster. 124 Lincoln at Springtield Miss Anna Bache. 245 Lint 833 Little Jim 157 COKTENTS. SV PAGE Look Aloft J.Lawrence. 213 Loss of the Arctic...- Um. Henry Ward Beecher. 8!) Marco Bozzaris Fnz- Greene Halkck. 28 Miltod on the Losa of hia Sight E. Lloyd. 227 Mount Vernon Joel B. Sutherland, 181 Mra. Caudle'a Lectures Douglas Jerrold. " On having been Made a Mason" " " 887 "On having Lent Five Pounds to a Friend" " " 885 " On Shirt Buttons " '• " 889 " Urging the Need of Spring Clothing " " 890 My Mother's Bible Geo. P Morris. 296 Napoleon Bonaparte Charles Phillips. 68 New England's Dead Isaac McLellan. 80 Nobility of Labor Rev. Orville Dewey. 189 Oh I why should the Spirit of Mortal bo Proud ]Vm. Knox. 49 Old EnljjhHoyl. 249 Old Ironsides 0. W. Holmes. 58 Old Tubal Cain Charles Mackay. 229 Omnipotence of Jehov.ah Bible. 238 Oration against Catiline Cicero. 202 Our Defenders T. Buchanan Read. 32 Our Duty to our Cfluntry Judge Story. 193 Our Heroes shall Live Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. 311 Outward Bound Mrs. Emily C. Judson. 305 Over the River ^'"S Priest. 158 Parson Turell's Legacy 0. W. Holmes. 381 Passing under the Rod Mrs. S. B. Dana. 265 Praise ye the Lord I^ible. 237 Putting up Stoves ^^'' Rienzi's Address Miss Mit/ord. 95 Ring Out, Wild Bells Alfred Tennyson. 248 Robespierre's Last Speech Robespierre. 204 Robert Bruce and the Spider Bernard Barton. 150 Scenes of Childhood -~ 293 Shamus O'Brien ^^ -^'a™- ^^ Sheridan's Ride ^- Buchanan Read. 47 Shylock to Antonio Shakspeare. 267 Sorrow for the Dead Washington Irving. 288 South Carolina and Massachusetts Daniel Webster. 168 Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua E. Kellogg. 101 Spartacus to the Roman Envoys in Etruria " " 142 Speech in Defence of America... .. •• -Lord Chatham. 205 XVI CONTENTS. Speech of Patrick Henry ..Patrick Bmry. 121 Speech of Sergeant Buzfuz Charles Dickens. 73 St. Pierre to Ferrardo James S. Knowles. 379 Strive, Wait, and Pray John Mason Neule. 314 Stuart Holland Wallace. 88 "^Supposed Speech of John Adams Daniel Webster. 178 Tell among the Mountains James S. Knowles. 162 Thanlssgiving Day Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 173 The American Flag J. Rodman Drake. 19 The Angela of Buena Vista Jno. G. Whitlier. 131 The Banner of the Cross 844 The Baron's Last Banquet A. 0. Greene. 147 The'Battle ; Translation from Schiller. 277 The Battle of Ivry Macaulay. 90 The Battle of Waterloo Lord Byron. 155 The Bells Edgar A. Foe. 357 The Bell at Greenwood Arthur Morrell. 299 The Bell of Liberty 242 The Bell of the Atlantic Mrs. L. II. Sigourney. 284 The Best Sewing Machine 170 The Boy and his Angel Caroline M. Sam/cr. 831 The Boys Ethel Lynn. 268 The Bridge of Sighs Thomas Hood. 44 The Bright Side M. A. Kidder. 21 The Bugle Song Alfred Tennyson. 225 The Burial of Moses Mrs. C. F. Alexander. 255 The Celestial Country John Mason Neale. 314 The Charge at Valley Maloy 877 The Charge at Waterloo Sir Walter Scott. 803 The Charnel Ship Mrs. Dinnies. 115 The Children Charles M. Dickinson. 800 The Common Lot James Montgomery. 194 The Curse of Cain Knox. 874 The Curse of Regulus 104 The Drowned Child Caroline A. Soulhey. 851 The Death of Virginia Macaulay. 376 The Drunkard's Daughter 86 The Dying Christian to his Soul Alexander Pope. 163 The Famine Henry W. Longfellow. 60 The Fireman Robert T. Conrad. 71 The Gambler's Wife Coatet. 107 CONTENTS. Xvii PAGE The Glove and the Lion Leigh Hunt. 85 The Hardest Time of All 319 The Hour of Prayer Mrs. F. Hemans. 228 The Indians Judge Story. 140 The Inquiry Charles Mackay. 226 The Isle of Long Ago B- F. Taylor. 370 The Jolly Old Pedagogue ....George Arnold. 371 The Knight's Toast , 143 The Launching of the Ship Henry W Longfellow. 328 The Leap for Life Geo. P. Morris. 33 The Lesson Jeanette J. Bliss. 70 The Life-Boat 364 The Light at Home 366 The Little Fair Soul 317 The Lives of Literary Men E. W. Longfellow. 399 The Lord, the King of Glory Bible. 235 The Maniac Lewis. 83 The Mountain and the Squirrel R. W.Emerson. 320 The May Queen Alfred Tennyson, 51 The National Banner Edward Everett. 305 The I^Toblest Public Virtue Henry Clay. 169 The Old Arm-Chair Eliza Cook. 296 The Old Clock on the Stairs H. W. Longfellow. 81 The Order of Nature Alexander Pope. 191 The Patriot's Elysium James Mmttgomery. 109 The Pauper's Death-Bod Caroline A. Southey. 302 The Polish Boy Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 220 The Preb E. Elliott. 197 The Ra4en Edgar A. Poe. 41 The Rising, 1776 T. Buchanan Head. 54 The Removal Anonymous. 216 The Responsibilities of Young Men Bishop Clark. 339 The Retort Anonymous. 103 The Romance of Nick Van Stann John G. Saxe. 174 The Sailor-Boy's Dream Dimond. 117 The Sailor's Funeral Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 78 The Seminole's Reply G. W. Patten. 106 The Seven Ages of Man Shakspeare. 309 The Ship of State Peu. Wm. P. Lunt. 195 The Sleeping Sentinel Francis De Haes Janvier. 35 A XVUl CONTENTS. PAOB The Snow of Age .■— • 365 The Soldier's Dream .' Thomas Campbell. 200 The Soldier's Funeral 354 The Bong of the Shirt Thomas Hood. 92 The South during the Eevolution Hayne. 166 The Strength of the American Government John Bright. 275 The Two Maidens Mrs. S. J. Hale. 269 The Unbeliever Chalmers. 280 The Union Francis He Haes Janvier. 244 The University and the State ...Wm. H. Stephens. 395 The Village Preacher Oliver Goldsmith. 261 The Village School-Master " " 26S The Visit of St. Nicholas C. C. Moore. 224 The Watcher on the Tower Charles Mackay. 355 Three Words of Strength... Translation from Schiller. 349 Thy Will be Done Jno. G Whiitier. 316 To Save and to Slay Theodore Winthrop. 66 Tom Brown's Visit to the Tomb of Dr. Arnold....^rtA«r Hughes, 257 Trial Scene in the Mercliant of Venice Shakspeare. 323 Tribute to Webster •. Sufus Clwaie. 211 True Eloquence Daniel Webster. 133 Truth and Honor T. H. Bayly. 219 Twenty Years Ago 361 Voices of the Dead Rev. Jno. Oumminy. 341 Warren's Address Rev. Jno. Pierpont. 294 •Washington C. Phillips. 212 Washington to the Present Generation Daniel Webster. 214 Wat Tyler's Address to the King Robert Southey. 200 Webster's Plea for Dartmouth College C. A. Goodrich. 209 We'll all Meet again in the Morning //. C. Preuss. 367 We've all our Angel Side 808 Where are the Dead 270 Why does your Hair turn White? W. Hunis. 297 Wolsey's Address to Cromwell Shakspeare. 310 Wolsey's Soliloquy after his Downfall : " 310 Woman's Influence on Character Thatcher. 282 Wounded Rev. Wm. E. Miller. 27 THE MODEL SPEAKER. THE AMEEICAN FLAG. WHEN Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 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 laud. 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 't is 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 ! 19 20 THE MODEL SPEAKER. 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 dimmed the glistening bayonet. Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born 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, Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below The lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas ! on ocean 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 hope and 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 us. With freedom's soil beneath our feet, And freedom's banner streaming o'er us. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 21 THE BRIGHT SIDE. THERE is many a rest in the road of life, If we only would stop to take it, And many a tone from the better land, If the querulous heart would wake it ! To the sunny soul that is full of hope. And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers are bright, Though the wintry storm prevaileth. Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, And to keep the eyes still lifted; * For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, When the ominous clouds are rifted! There was never a night without a day, Or an evening without a morning ; And the darkest hour, as the proverb goes. Is the hour before the dawning. There is many a gem, in the path of life Which we pass in our idle pleasure. That is richer far than the jewelled crown. Or the miser's hoarded treasure : It may be the love of a little child, Or a mother's, prayers to Heaven; Or only a beggar's grateful thanks For a cup of water given. Better to weave in the web of life A bright and golden filling. And to do God's will with a ready heart And hands that are swift and willing. Than to snap the delicate, slender threads Of our curious lives asunder. And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends, And sit, and grieve, and wonder. 22 THE MODEL. SPEAKER. CHAEGE OF THE LIGHT BEIGADK HALF a league, half a league. Half a league onward. All in the valley of death Eode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade ! " " Charge for the guns 1 " he said ; Into the valley of death Eode the six hundred. "Forward, the light Brigade I" Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldier knew Some one had blandered: Theirs not to make reply. Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of death Bode the sis hundred. Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of death, Into the moutK of hell Eode the six hundred: Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air. Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery smoke. Eight through the line they broke ; Cossack and Euasian THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 23 Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not — Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them. Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell. They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of death Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them — Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? Oh, the wild charge they made I All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made 1 Honor the Light Brigade — Noble six hundred! MARCO BOZZAEIS. AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent. Should tremble at his power; In dreams, through camp and court he bore The trophies of a conqueror; In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's signet ring; Then press'd that monarch's throne — a king: As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. As Eden's garden-bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band. 24 THE MODEL SPEAKER. True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood. On old Plataja's day ; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquer'd there. With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far, as they. An hour pass'd on : the Turk awoke ; That bright dream was his last; He woke to hear his sentries shriek: " To arms ! they come I the Greek ! the Greek ! " He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke. And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain-cloud. And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: "Strike! — till the last arm' d foe expires; Strike I — for your altars and your fires ; Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires ; God, and your native land ! " They fought like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquer'd ; — but Bozzaris fell. Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their loud hurrah And the red field was won. Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night's repose — Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother, when she feels. For the first time, her first-born's breath; Come when the blessed seals THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 25 That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song and dance, and -wine ; And thou art terrible: — the tear. The groan, thp knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word. And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of 'millions yet to be. Come, when his task of fame is wrought ; Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought; Come, in her crowning hour — and then Thy sunken eye's unearthly light To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and stars to prison'd men ; Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land ; Thy summons welcome as the cry That told the Indian isles were nigh To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land-wind, from woods of palm, And orange-groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytien seas. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time. Best thee: there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree. In sorrow's pomp and pageantry. The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 26 THE MODEL SPEAKER. But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed; For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; For thine her evening prayer is said, At palace couch and cottage bed; Her soldier, closing with the foe. Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years. Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded cheek ■ Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys — And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth. Talk of thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's. One of the few, the immortal names That were not born to die. ABOU BEN ADHEM. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !) Awoke one night from a sweet dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room. Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom. An angel, writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. And to the Presence in the room he said : " What writest thou ? " The vision raised its head. And, with a look made all of sweet accord, Answered : " The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one? " said Abou. " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, THE MODEL SPEAKER. 27 But cheerily still ; and said : " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had bless'd— And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. WOUNDED. LET me lie down Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree, Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see The surge of the combat, and where I may hear The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer : Let me lie down. Oh, it was grand ! Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share ; 'The tempest — its fury and thunder were there: On, on, o'er intrenchments, o'er living and dead. With the foe under foot, and our flag overhead : Oh, it was grand 1 Weary and faint. Prone on the soldier's couch, ah ! how can I rest. With this shot-shatter' d head and sabre-pierced breast? Comrades, at roll-call, when I shall be sought. Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought. Wounded and faint. Oh, that last charge ! Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell. Through without faltering — clear through with a yell I Eight in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom. Like heroes we dashed, at the mandate of doom I Oh, that last charge I 28 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. It was duty ! Some things are worthless, and some others so good That nations who buy them pay only in blood. For Freedom and Union each man owes his part ; And here I pay my share, all warm from my heart : It is duty. Dying at last I My mother, dear mother I with meek, tearful eye, Farewell I and God bless you, forever and aye ! Oh, that I now lay on your pillowing breast. To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest I Dying at last ! I am no saint ; But, boys, say a prayer. There 's one that begins, " Our Father," and then says, " Forgive us our sins : " Don't forget that part, say that strongly, and then I '11 try to repeat it, and you '11 say, " Amen I " Ah ! I 'm no saint ! Hark ! there 's a shout ! Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquer'd, I know I - Up on my feet, with my face to the foe ! Ah ! there flies the iiag, with its star-spangles bright, The promise of glory, the symbol of right 1 Well may they shout 1 I 'm muster'd out. O God of our fathers, our freedom prolong. And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong ! land of earth's hope, on thy blood-redden'd sod, 1 die for the nation, the Union, and God! I 'm muster'd out. THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 29 COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD. " The King of Aragon now entered Castile, by way of Soria and Osma, with a power- ful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, both parties encamped near Sepulvoda, and prepared to give battle. "This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, de la JUspina, is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the issue ; but the brave Count of Candeepina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killedunder him, and both hands cut off by sabre-strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms, and repeating his war-cry of ' Olea I ' " —AnnaU of tlie Quc-CTis oft Spain. SCARCE were the splinter'd lances dropp'd, Scarce were the swords drawn out, Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, Had wheel'd his steed about: His courser rear'd, and plunged, and neigh'd. Loathing the fight to yield; But the coward spurr'd him to the bone. And drove him from the iield. Gonzalez in his stirrups rose: " Turn, turn, thou traitor knight ! Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower. Thou dastard in a fight ! " But vainly valiant Gomez cried Across the waning fray : Pale Lara and his craven band To Burgos scour' d away. " Now, by the God above me, sirs, Better we all were dead. Than a single knight among ye all Should ride where Lara led I 3* 30 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. "Yet ye who fear to follow me, As yon traitor turn and fly; For I lead ye not to win a field: I lead ye forth to die. "Olea, plant my standard here — Here on this little mound; Here raise the war-cry of thy house, Make this our rallying ground. "Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, The last care I shall have Will be to hear thy battle-cry, And see that standard wave.'' Down on the ranks of Aragon The bold Gonzalez drove. And Olea raised his battle-cry. And waved the flag above. Slowly Gonzalez' little band Gave ground before the foe; But not an inch of the field was won Without a deadly blow ; And not an inch of the field was won That did not draw a tear From the widow'd wives of Aragon, That fatal news to hear. Backward and backward Gomez fought, And high o'er the clashing steel. Plainer and plainer rose the cry, " Olea for Castile ! " Backward fought Gomez, step by step, Till the cry was close at hand. Till his dauntless standard shadow'd him; And there he made his stand. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 31 Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, Yet he moved not where he stood, Though each gaping joint of armor ran A stream of purple blood. As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, The standard caught his eye. And he smiled, like an infant hush'd asleep, To hear the battle-cry. Now one by one the wearied knights Have fallen, or basely flown ; And on the mound where his post was fix'd Olea stood alone. " Yield up thy banner, gallant knight 1 Thy lord lies on the plain ; Thy duty has been nobly done; I would not see thee slain." " Spare pity, King of Aragon ; I would not hear thee lie: My lord is looking down from heaven To see his standard fly.'' " Yield, madman, yield ! thy horse is down. Thou hast nor lance nor shield; Fly I — I will grant thee time." "This flag Can neither fly nor yield ! " They girt the standard round about, A wall of flashing steel; But still they heard the battle-cry, "Olea for Castile!" And there, against all Aragon, FuU-arm'd with lance and brand, Olea fought until the sword Snapp'd in his sturdy hand. 32 ! THE MODEL SPEAKEK. Among the foe, with that high scorn Which laughs at earthly fears. He hurl'd the broken hilt, and drew His dagger on the spears. They hew'd the hauberk from his breast, The helmet from his head; They hew'd the hands from off his limbs; From every vein he bled. Clasping the standard to his heart. He raised one dying peal, That rang as if a trumpet blew — " Olea for Castile ! " OUR DEFENDEES. OUR flag on the land, and our flag on the ocean, An angel of peace wheresoever it goes : Nobly sustain'd by Columbia's devotion. The angel of death it shall be to our foes ! True to its native sky. Still shall our eagle fly. Casting his sentinel glances afar ; Though bearing the olive-branch, Still in his talons staunch Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! Hark to the sound I There 's a foe on our border - A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom ; Freemen are rising and marching in order, Leaving the plough, and the anvil, and loom. Rust dims the harvest-sheen Of scythe and of sickle keen ; The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar ; Veteran and youth are out, ' Swelling the battle-shout. Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 33 Our brave mauntain eagles swoop from their eyrie, Our lithe panthers leap from forest and plain ; Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main. Down from their Northern shores, Swift as Niagara pours, They march, and their tread wakes the earth with, its jar; Under the Stripes and Stars, Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto. While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave. The oak of the North, or the Southern palmetto. Shall shelter no foe except in the grave ! While the Gulf billow breaks. Echoing the Northern lakes, And ocean replies unto ocean afar. Yield we no inch of land While there 's a patriot hand Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! THE LEAP FOR LIFE. OLD Ironsides at anchor lay, In the harbor of Mahon ; A dead calm rested on the bay — The waves to sleep had gone; When little Hal, the captain's son, A lad both brave and good, In sport, up shroud and rigging ran, And on the main-truck stood I A shudder shot through every vein — All eyes were turned on high ! There stood the boy, with dizzy brain. Between the sea and sky; B 34 THE MODEL SPEAKER. No hold had he above, below — Alone he stood in air: To that far height none dared to go — No aid could reach him there. We gazed, but not a man could speak! With horror all aghast — In groups, with pallid brow and cheek. We watched the quivering mast. The atmosphere grew thick and hot. And of a lurid hue — As riveted unto the spot Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck : he gasped, " O God, thy will be done!" Then suddenly a rifle grasped. And aimed it at his son. "Jump, far out, boy, into the wave! .lump, or I fire," he said ; "That only chance your life can save: Jump, jump, boy I " He-obeyed. He sank — he rose — he lived — he moved - And for the ship struck out: On board we hailed the lad beloved. With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy. Those wet arms round his neck. And folded to his heart his boy — Then fainted on the deck. THE MODEL SPSAKEE. 35 THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. The incidents here woven into verse relate to William Scott, a young soldier from the State of Vermont, vrho, while on duty as a sentinel at night, fell asleep, and, having been condemned to die, was pardoned by the President, They form a brief record of bis humble life at home and in the field, and of his glorious death. J rT\ WAS in the sultry summer-time, as War's red records show, _l. When patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe — When, from the North and East and West, like the upheaving sea. Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free. Within a prison's dismal walls, where shadows veil'd decay. In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay: Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish breath, He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death. Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care, He roam'd at will, and freely drew his native mountain air — Where sparkling' streams leap mossy rocks, from many a wood- land font. And waving elms and grassy slopes give beauty to Vermont I Where, dwelling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil. Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil — Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's cry Fired his young heart with fervent zeal for her to live or die. Then left he all: a few fond tears, by firmness half conceal'd, A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field — The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes War's hot breath, Whose fruits are garner'd in the grave, whose husbandman is Death! Without a murmur, he endured a service new and hard ; But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on guard, 36 THE MODEL SPEAKEH. He sank exhausted at his post, and the gray morning found, His prostrate form — a sentinel, asleep, upon the ground ! So, in the silence of the night, aweary, on the sod Sank the disciples, watching near the suffering Son of God ; Yet, Jesus, with compassion moved, beheld their heavy eyes. And, though betray'd to ruthless foes, forgiving, bade them rise I But God is love — and finite minds can faintly comprehend How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend ; And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify. While War's inexorable law decreed that he must die. 'Twas night. In a secluded room, with measured tread, and slow, A statesman of commanding mien paced gravely to and fro : Oppress'd, he pondered on a land by civil discord rent; On brothers arm'd in deadly strife : it was the President ! The woes of thirty millions fill'd his burden'd heart with grief; Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their chief; And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doom'd to die ! 'T was morning. On a tented field, and through the heated haze, Flash'd back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's effulgent blaze ; While, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to emerge, A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a muffled dirge. And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious face. In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place : A youth — led out to die ; and yet, it was not death, but shame, That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly frame ! Still on, before the marshall'd ranks, the train pursued its way Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay — THE MODEL SPEAKER, 37 Hia coffin ! And, with reeling brain, despairing — desolate — He took his station by its side, abandon'd to his fate I Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the air: He saw his distant mountain home ; he saw his mother there ; He saw his father bow'd with grief, through fast-declining years ; He saw a nameless grave ; and then, the vision closed — in tears ! Yet, once again : In double file, advancing, then, he saw Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law ; But saw no more : his senses swam — deep darkness settled round — And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound ! Then suddenly was heard the noise of steeds and wheels ap- proach — And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately coach : On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was bent, Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's President ! ■He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair ; And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air ! The pardon'd soldier understood the tones of jubilee. And, bounding from his fetters, bless'd the hand that made him free! 'T was spring. Within a verdant vale, where Warwick's crystal tide Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either side — Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude — Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood ! Two threatening armies ! —one invoked by injured Liberty, Which bore above its patriot ranks the Symbol of the Free ; And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars, A fragment, torn by traitorous hands, from Freedom's Stripes and Stars ! 4 38 THE MODEL SPEAKER. A sudden shock whicli shook the earth, 'mid vapor dense and dun, Proclaim'd, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun ; "While shot and shell athwart the stream with fiendish fury sped, To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead ! Then, louder than the roaring storm, peal'd forth the stern com- mand, " Charge ! soldiers, charge ! " and, at the word, with shouts, a fearless band. Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rush'd onward, through the flood, And upward o'er the rising ground they mark'd their way in blood! The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post — While, unsustained, two hundred stood, to battle with a host ! Then, turning, as the rallying ranks with murderous fire, replied. They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple tide ! The fallen I And the first who fell in that unequal strife Was he whom Mercy sped to save when Justice claim'd his life — The pardon'd soldier ! And, while yet the conflict raged around — , While yet his life-blood ebb'd away through every gaping wound — While yet his voice grew tremulous, and death bedimm'd his eye — He call'd hia comrades to attest he had not fear'd to die 1 And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to Heaven was sent — That God, with His unfailing grace, would bless our President 1 THE MODEL 8PEAKEE. 39 LOSS OF THE AECTIC. IT was autumn. Hundreds had wended their way from pil- grimages ; — from Eome and its treasures of dead art, and its glory of living nature ; from the sides of the Switzer's mountains, and from the capitals of various nations, — all of them saying in their hearts, we will wait for the September gales to have done with their equinoctial fury, and then we will embark ; we will slide across the appeased ocean, and in the gorgeous month of October we will greet our longed-for native land, and our heart- loved homes. And so the throng streamed along from Berlin, from Paris, from the Orient, converging upon London, still hastening toward the welcome ship, and narrowing every day the circle of engagements and preparations. They crowded aboard. Never had the Arctic borne such a host of passengers, nor passengers so nearly related to so many of us. The hour was come. The signal-ball fell at Greenwich. It was noon also at Liverpool. The anchors were weighed; the great hull swayed to the current; the national colors streamed abroad, as if themselves instinct with life and national sympathy. The bell strikes; the wheels revolve; the ■ signal-gun beats its echoes in upon every structure along the shore, and the Arctic glides joyfully forth from the Mersey, and turns her prow to the winding channel, and begins her homeward run. The pilot stood at the wheel, and men saw him. Death sat upon the prow, and no eye beheld him. Whoever stood at the wheel in all the voyage, Death was the pilot that steered the craft, and none knew it. He neither revealed his presence nor whis- pered his errand. And so hope was effulgent, and lithe gayety disported itself, and joy was with every guest. Amid all the inconveniences of the voyage, there was still that which hushed every murmur, — " Home was not far away." And every morning it was still one night nearer home ! Eight days had passed. They beheld that distant bank of mist that forever haunts the vast shallows of Newfoundland. Boldly they made it ; and plunging in, its pliant wreaths wrapped them about. They shall never emerge. The last sunlight has flashed from that deck. The last voyage is done to ship and passengers. At noon there came noiselessly stealing 40 THE MODEL SPEAKER, from the north that fated instrument of destruction. In that mysterious shroud, that vast atmosphere of mist, both steamers were holding their way with rushing prow and roaring wheels, but invisible. At a league's distance, unconscious ; and at nearer approach, unwarned ; within hail, and bearing right toward each other, unseen, unfelt, till in a moment more, emerging from the gray mists, the ill-omened Vesta dealt her deadly stroke to the Arctic. The death-blow was scarcely felt along the mighty hull. She neither reeled nor shivered. Neither commander nor officers deemed that they had suffered harm. Prompt upon humanity, the brave Luce (let his name be ever spolcen with admiration and respect) ordered awa,y his boat, with the iirst officer, to inquire if the stranger had suffered harm. As Gourley went over the ship's side, oh, that some good angel had called to the brave commander in the words of Paul on a like occasion, " Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved." They departed, and -with them the hope of the ship, for now the waters gaining upon the hold, and rising upon the fires, re- vealed the mortal blow. Oh, had now that stern, brave mate, Gour- ley, been on deck, whom the sailors were wont to mind, — had he stood to execute sufficiently the commander's will, — we may believe that we should not have had to blush for the cowardice and recreancy of the crew, nor weep for the untimely dead. But, apparently, each subordinate officer lost all presence of mind, then courage, and so honor. In a wild scramble, that ignoble mob of fii-emen, engineere, waiters, and crew, rushed for the boats, and abandoned the helpless women, children, and men to the mercy of the deep 1 Four hours there were from the catastrophe of collision to the catastrophe of sinking ! Oh, what a burial was here ! Not as when one is borne from his home, among weeping throngs, and gently carried to the green fields, and laid peacefully beneath the tnrf and flowers. No priest stood to pronounce a burial-service. It was an ocean grave. The mists alone shrouded the burial-place. No spade prepared the grave, nor sexton filled up the hollowed earth. Down, down they sank, and the quick returning waters smoothed out every ripple, and left the sea as if it had not been. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 41 THE EAVEN. NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. " ' Tis some visitor,'' I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber-door — Only this, and nothing more." Ah ! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wish'd the morrow : vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — . Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrill'd me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- door : That it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no longer, " Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door. That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I open'd wide the door : Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word, "Lenore!" Thi^ I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word, "Lenoee ! " Merely this, and nothing more. 4* 42 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. " Surely," said I, "surely there is something at my window-lattice ; Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore : 'T is the wind, and nothing more.'' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter. In there stepp'd a, stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopp'd or stay'd he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber-door — Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door — Perched and sat, and nothing more. Then, this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven ; Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore? " Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" Much I marvell'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber-door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, With such name as " Nevermore ! " But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he utter'd — not a feather then he flutter'd — Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, " Other friends have flown before: On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, " Doubtless,'' said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store, THE MODEL SPEAKER. 43 Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore — Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, Of — Never — nevermore ! " But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I vvheel'd a cushion'd seat in front of bird, and bust, and door. Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore ! " This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my bosom's core — This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er. But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press — ah, nevermore! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. " Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent tbee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! —prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore. Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead ?— tell me — tell me, I implore ! " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we bath adore. Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, 44 THE MODEL SPEAKER. It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ; Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore I " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I, shriek'd, upstarting — " Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore I Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore I " And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door ; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevekmore 1 THE BEIDGE OF SIGHS. ONE more unfortunate. Weary of breath, Rashly importunate,. Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care — Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair 1 Look at her garments. Clinging like cerements. Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 45 Touch her not scornfully, Think of her mournfully. Gently, and humanly ; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Eash and undutiful; Past all dishonor. Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers. One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily; Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; , Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh, it was pitiful I Near a whole city full. Home she had none. 46 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings were changed; Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence, Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river. With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement. She stood, with amazement. Houseless by night. The bleak winds of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch. Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mj'stery Swift to be hurl'd — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly. No matter how coldly The rough river ran: Over the brink of it. Picture it — think of it, Dissolute man! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care — Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen so rigidly. THE MODEL, SPEAKEE. 47 Decently — kindly — Smooth and compose them ; And her eyes, close them, Staring so hlindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when, with the daring Last look of despairing, Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast! Owning her weakness. Her, evil behavior, And leaving with meekness Her sins to her Saviour 1 SHERIDAN'S EIDE. UP from the South, at break of day. Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay. The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar. Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar ; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled. Making the blood of the listener cold, 48 THE MODEL SPEAKER. As lie thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down ; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need ; He stretched away with his utmost speed ; Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay. With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth ; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls. Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind ; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; What was done? what to do? a glance told him both. Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath. He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas. And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 49 "With foam and with dust the blact charger was gray ; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play. He seemed to the whole great army to say, , " I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day." Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! And when their statues are placed on high. Under the dome of the Union sky, The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, There with the glorious General's name • Be it said, in letters both bold and bright: " Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester — twenty miles away ! " OHl WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? OH ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be laid ; And the young and the old, and the low and the high Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. The infant a mother attended and loved ; The mother that infant's afiection who proved; The husband that mother and infant who bless'd. Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by ; And the memory of those who loved her and praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 6 D 50 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn ; The eye oJ the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap ; The herdsman, who climbed with hLs goats up the steep ; The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread. Have faded away like the grass that we tread. The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven ; The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven ; The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed That withers away to let others succeed ; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told. For we are the same our fathers have been ; We see the same sights our fathers have seen ; We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, And run the same course our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink ; To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold ; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come ; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. They died, aye ! they died ; and we things that are now. Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow. Who make in their dwelling a transient abode. Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 51 Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 'T is the wink of an eye, 't is the draught of a breath ; From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud — Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? THE MAY QUEEN. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the glad New- Year ; Of all the glad New-Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day ; For I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. There 's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright aa mine; There 's Margaret and Mary, there 's Kate and Caroline ; But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say : So I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake. If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break : But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay, For I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see, But Eobin, leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday : But I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white. And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light. 52 THE MODEL SPEAKER. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, For I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. They say he is dying all for love, but that can never be : They say his heart is breaking, mother — what is that to me? There 's many a bolder lad '11 woo me any summer day ; And I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green. And you '11 be there too, mother, to see me made the Queen : For the shepherd lads on every side '11 come from far away; And I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers ; And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers ; And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray ; And I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass ; There will not be a drop of rain the whole o^ the livelong day ; And I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. All the valley, mother, '11 be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill ; And the rivulet in the flowery dale '11 merrily glance and play ; For I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the May. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year : To-morrow '11 be, of all the year, the maddest, merriest day, For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May. THE MODEL SPEAKER, 53 BEAUTIFUL SNOW, OH, the snow, the beaut\ful snow ! Filling the sky and the earth below ; Over the house-tops, over the street. Over the heads of the people you meet ; Dancing, flirting, sl^imming along. Beautiful snow ! it can do nothing wrong ; Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak — Beautiful snow, from the heavens above, Pure as an angel, and fickle as love I Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow I How the flakes gather and laugh as they go I Whirling about in its maddening fun. It plays in its glee with every one. Chasing, laughing, hurrying by, It lights up the face, and it sparkles the eye ; And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals that eddy around. The town is alive, and its heart in a glow To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. How the wild crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humor and song I How the gay sledges like meteors flash by, Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye I Einging, swinging, dashing they go, Over the crest of the beautiful snow ; Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by — To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet, Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! How strange it would be, when the night comes again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain.' 5* 54 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Fainting, freezing, dying — alone 1 Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan To be heard in tiie crasli of tlie crazy town. Gone mad in their joy at the snow's coming down; To lie and to die in my terrible woe. With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow I Helpless and foul as the trampled snow, Sinner, despair not I Christ stoopeth low To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin. And raise it to life and enjoyment again, Groaning, bleeding, dying for thee, The crucified hung on the accursed tree, His accents of mercy fell soft on thine ear. Is there mercy for me? Will He heed my prayer? O God ! in the stream that for sinners did flow Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. THE RISING, 1776. OUT of the North the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies. And there was tumult in the air. The iife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet ; While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington ; And Concord roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name. Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swell'd the discord of the hour. Within its shade of elm and oak The church of Berkley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk. And some esteem'd of gentle blood. THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 55 In vain their feet with loitering tread Pags'd 'mid the graves where rank is nought; All could not read the lesson taught In that republic of the dead. How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk. The vale with peace and sunshine full, Where all the happy people walk, Deck'd in their homespun flax and wool! Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom ; And every maid, with simple art, Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume; While every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender. There, veil'd in all the sweets that are Blown from the violet's purple bosom. The scent of lilacs from afar, Touch'd with the sweet shrub's spicy blossom, Walk'd Esther; and the rustic ranks Stood on each side, like flowery banks, To let her pass — a blooming aisle, Made brighter by her summer smile ; On her fether's arm she seem'd to be The last green bough of that haughty tree. The pastor came: his snowy locks Hallow'd his brow of thought and care ; And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, He led into the house of prayer. Forgive the student Edgar there If his enchanted eyes would roam, And if his thoughts soar'd not beyond, And if his heart glow'd warmly fond Beneath his hope's terrestrial dome. To him the maiden seem'd to stand, Veil'd in the glory of the morn, At the bar of the heavenly bourn, A guide to the golden holy land. 56 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. When came the service low response. Hers seem'd an angel's answering tongue; When with the singing choir she sung, ..O'er all the rest her sweet notes rung. As if a silver bell were swung 'Mid bells of iron and of bronze. At times, perchance — • oh, happy chance I — Their lifting eyes together met. Like -violet to violet, Casting a dewy greeting glance. For once be Love, young Love, foi^iven. That here, in a bewilder'd trance, He brought the blossoms of romance, And waved them at the gates of heaven. The pastor rose; the prayer was strong; The psalm was warrior David's song ; The text, a few short words of might — "The Lord of hosts shall arm the right t" He spoke of wrongs too long endured. Of sacred rights to be secured; Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Campeird the heart to glow or quake. And, rising on his theme's broad wing. And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle-brand, In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant king. Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed. In eloquence of attitude, Eose, as it seem'd, a shoulder higher; Then swept his kindling glance of fir© From startled pew to breathless choir; When suddenly his mantle wide His hands impatient flung aside. And, lo! he met their wondering eyes Complete in all a warrior's guise. THE MODEL SPEAKER, 5T A moment there was awful pause — When Berkley cried, " Cease, traitor I cease 1 God's temple is the house of peace 1 " The other shouted, " Nay, not so, When God is with our righteous cause; His holiest places then are ours. His temples are our forts and towers That frown upon the tyrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, There is a time to fight and pray ! " And now before the open door — The warrior priest had order'd so — The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow. So loud and clear, it seem'd the ear Of dusty death must wake and hear. And there the startling drum and fife Fired the living with fiercer life; While overhead, with wild increase, Forgetting its ancient toll of peace. The great bell swung as never before. It seem'd as it would never cease; And every word its ardor flung From off its jubilant iron tongue Was, "War! warl war!" "Who dares?"— this was the patriot's cry, As striding from the desk he came — " Come out with me, in Freedom's name, For her to live, for her to die ? " A hundred hands flung up reply, A hundred voices answer'd, " I ! " 58 THE MODEL SPEAKER. OLD lEONSIDES. Written when it was proposed to break up tlao frigate Constitution, or to ■ into a recei\ ing-ship, as unfit for service. AY, tear her tatter'd ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky ; Beneath it rang the battle shout And burst the cannon's roar: The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with hero's blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe. When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquer'd knee : The harpies of the sliore shall pluck The eagle of the sea I Oh, better that her shatter'd hulk Should sink beneath the wave I Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave. Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail. And give her to the god of storms, The lightning, and the gale I A BINGEN ON THE EHINE. SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was deart! woman's tears; THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 59 But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebb'd away, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier falter'd, as he took that comrade's hand, And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my native land : Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the -Rhine 1 "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, Full many a corpse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars. The death -wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars: But some were young — and suddenly beheld life's morn decline; And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Ehine I " Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage: For my father was a soldier, and even as a child My heart leap'd forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild : And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the 'cottage- wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Ehine 1 " Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread ; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. And if a comrade seek her Jove, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine) For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Ehine ! " There 's another — not a sister : in the happy days gone by. You 'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; 60 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Too innocent for coquetry — too fond for idle scorning — Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning ; Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison,) I dream'd I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Ehine ! " I saw the blue Rhine sweep along — I heard, or seem'd to hear, The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; And her glad blue eyes were on nie as we pass'd with friendly talk Down many a path beloved of ycre, and well remember'd walk, And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : But we 'll meet no more at Bingen — loved Bingen on the Ehine ! " His voice grew faint and hoarser — his grasp was childish weak — His eyes put on a dying look — he sigh'd and ceased to speak : His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land — was dead ! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she look'd down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown ; Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seem'd to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine 1 THE FAMINE. OH, the long and dreary winter I Oh, the cold and cruel winter 1 Ever thicker, thicker, thicker. Froze the ice on lake and river; Ever deeper, deeper, deeper. Fell the snow o'er all the landscape. Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village. Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage; THE MODEL SPEAKBE. 61 With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he through the forest, Sought for bird or beast, and found none; Saw no track of deer or rabbit. In the snow beheld no footprints, In the ghastly, gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from weakness, Perish'd there from cold and hunger. Oh, the famine and the fever ! Oh, the wasting of the famine I Oh, the blasting of the fever 1 Oh, the wailing of the children I Oh, the anguish of the women 1 All the earth was sick and famished; Hungry was the air around them. Hungry was the sky above them. And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at theml Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway. Sat there without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water ; Looked with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water. And the foremost said, "Behold mel I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " And the other said, " Behold me I I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her. Shuddered at the words they uttered. Lay down on her bed in silence. Hid her face, but made no answer; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her. At the fearful words they uttered. 6 62 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. Forth into the empty forest Eushed the maddened Hiawatha; In his heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness, On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not. Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting. With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward. "Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" Cried he, with his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, "Give your children food, O Father 1 Give us food, or we must perish ! Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha ! " Through the far-resounding forest. Through the forest vast and vacant Eang that cry of desolation; But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying. Than the echo of the woodlands, "Minnehaha! Minnehaha!" All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thickets. In the pleasant days of summer, Of that ne'er- forgotten summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dakotahs ; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened. And the air was full of fragrance. And the lovely Laughing Water Said with voice that did not tremble, " I will follow you, my husband I " THE MODEL SPEAKER. 63 In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests that watched her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the belovfed, She the dying Minnehaha. "Hark I" she said, "I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance ! " " No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, " 'T is the night-wind in the pine-trees ! " " Look ! " she said ; " I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dakotahs ! " " No, my child ! " said old Nokomis, '"Tis the smoke that waves and beckons!" " Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness ; I can feel his icy fingers Clasping mine amid the darkness 1 Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains. Heard that sudden cry of anguish, Heard the voice of Minnehaha Calling to him in the darkness, " Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " Over snow-fields waste and pathless. Under snow-encumhered branches. Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing, " Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! Would that I had perished for you, Would that I were dead as you are! Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 64 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him, And his bursting heart within him. Uttered such a cry of anguish, That the forest moan'd and shuddered. That the very ^tars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish. Then he sat down still and speechless. On the bed of Minnehaha, At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never More would lightly run to meet him. Never more would lightly follow. With both hands his face he covered. Seven long days and nights he sat there, As if in a swoon he sat there Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the daylight or the darkness. Thin they buried Minnehahp, ; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; Clothed her in her richest garments; Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine : Thus they buried Minnehaha. And at night a fire was lighted. On her grave four times was kindled, For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of -the Blessed. From his doorway Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; From his sleepless bed uprising. From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the doorway. a* THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 65 That it might not be extinguished, Might not leave her in the darkness. " Farewell ! " said he, " Minnehaha ! Farewell, my Laughing Water I All my heart is buried with you, All my thoughts go onward with you I Come not back again to labor, Come not back again to suffer. Where the Famine and the Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter 1 " EXCELSIOR. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village pass'd A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device. Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye, beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior ! . In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior ! "Try not the Pass!" the old man said; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; E 66 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. The roaring torrent is deep and wide I " And loud that clarion voice replied Excelsior 1 " Oh I stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast ! " A tear stood in his bright blue eye: But still he answer'd, with a sigh. Excelsior 1 " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch I Beware the awful avalanche 1 " This was the peasant's last good-night; A voice replied, far up the height. Excelsior I At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air. Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound. Half buried in the snow, was found. Still grasping, in his hand of ice. That banner with the strange device. Excelsior ! There, in the twilight cold and gray. Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star — Excelsior ! TO SAVE AND TO SLAY. An extract from " John Brent." E galloped abreast, — Armstrong at the right. His weird gaunt White held his own with the best of us. No whip no spur, for that deathly creature. He went as if his master's purpose w THE MODEL SPEAKER. 67 were stirring him through and through. That stern intent made his sinews steel, and put an agony of power into every stride. The man never stirred, save sometimes to put a hand to that hloody blanket bandage across his head and temple. He had told his story ; he had spoken his errand ; he breathed not a word ; but with his lean, pallid face set hard, his gentle blue eyes scourged of their kindliness, and fixed upon, those distant mountains where his vengeance lay, he rode on like a relentless fate. Next in the line I galloped. O my glorious black I The great, killing pace seemed mere playful canter to him, — such as one might ride beside a timid girl, thrilling with her first free dash over a flowery common, or a golden beach between sea and shore. But from time to time he surged a little forward with his great shoulders, and gave a mighty writhe of his body, while his hind legs cam^e lifting his flanks under me, and telling of the giant reserve of speed and power he kept easily controlled. Then his ear would go back, and his large brown eye, with its purple-black pupil, would look round at my bridle-hand and then into my eye, say- ing, as well as wOrds could have said it, " This is mere sport, my friend and master. You do not know me. I have stufi" in me that you do not dream. Say the word, and I can double this, treble it. Say the word ! let me show you how I can spurn the earth." Then, with the lightest pressure on the snaffle, I would say, " Not yetlnotyetl Patience, my noble friend I Your time will come." At the left rode Brent, our leader. He knew t^ie region ; he made the plan; he had the hope; his was the ruling passion, — stronger than brotherhood, than revenge. Love made him leader of that galloping three. His iron-gray went grandly, with white mane flapping the air like a signal-flag of reprieve. Eager hope and kindling purpose made the rider's face more beautiful than ever. He seemed to behold Sidney's motto written on the golden haze before him, " Viam aut inveniam aut feciam." I felt ray heart grow great, when I looked at his calm features, and caught his assuring smile, — a gay smile but for the dark, fateful resolve beneath it. And when he launched some stirring word of cheer, and shook another ten of seconds out of the gray's mile, even Armstrong's countenance grew less deathly as he turned to our leader in silent response. So we galloped three abreast, neck and neck, hoof with hoof, steadily quickening our pace over the sere width of desert. We must make the most of the levels. Rougher work, cruel obstacles, were before. All the wild, triumphant music I had ever heard 68 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. came and sang in my ears to the flinging cadence of the resonant feet, tramping on hollow arches of the volcanic rook, over great, vacant chasms underneath. Sweet and soft around us melted the hazy air of October, and its warm, flickering currents shook like a. veil of gauzy gold between us and the blue bloom of the mountains far away, but nearing now, and lifting step by step. On we galloped, the avenger, the "friend, the lover, on our errand to save and to slay. NAPOLEON BONAPAETE. HE is fallen ! We may now pause before that splendid pro- digy, which towered among us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptred hermit, wrapt in the solitude of his own originality. A mind, bold, independent, and decisive — a will, despotic in its dictates — an energy that distanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordi- nary character — the most extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life in the midst of a revolution that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledge no superior, he com- menced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity I With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed into the lists where rank and wealth and genius had arrayed themselves, and competition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest — he acknowl- edged no criterion but success — he worshipped no God but am- bition, and, with an Eastern devotion, he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there was no opinion that he did not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the Crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed before the Cross ; the orphan Qf St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the Republic; and, with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the throne and tribune, he reared the throne of his despotism. A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country ; and, in the THE MODEL, SPEAKEB. 69 name of Brutus, he grasped without remorse and wore without shame the diadem of the Csesars ! Through this pantomime of policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the color of his whim, aiiii all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny — ruin itself only ele- vated him to empire. But, if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision flashed upon his counsels; and it was the same to decide and to perform. To inferior intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable; but, in his hands, simplicity marked their devel- opment, and success vindicated their adoption. His person par- took the character of his mind — if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no obsta- cle that he did not surmount — space no opposition that he did not, spurn ; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity ! The whole continent trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Skepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romance assumed the air of history ; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fan- ciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquity became commonplaces in his contemplation; kings were his people — nations were his outposts ; and he dis- posed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabi- nets, as if they were titular dignitaries of the chess-board 1 Amid all these changes, he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or in the drawing-room — with the mob or the levee — wearing the Jacobin bonnet or the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Haps- burg — dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Russia, or con- templating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was still the same military despot ! In this wonderful combination, his affectations of literature 70 THE MODEL SPEAKER. must not be omitted. The jailer of the press, he affected the patronage of letters — the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy — the persecutor of authors and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning ! Such a medley of contradictions, and, at the same time, such an indi- vidual consistency, were never united in the same character. A royalist — a republican and an emperor — a Mohammedan — a Catholic and a patron of the synagogue — a subaltern and a sove- reign' — a traitor and a tyrant — a Christian and an infidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original — the same mysterious, incomprehensible self — the man without a model, and without a shadow. EXTEACT FEOM TPIANATOPSIS. SO live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death. Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night Scourged to bis dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one that draws the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. THE LESSON. A TEACHER sat in a pleasant room, In the waning light alone ; Her head was bowed in anxious thought : With the work and care the day had brought, She had faint and weary grown. And the task wbicli seemed light in morning's ray, As she thought of it now, at the close of the day, When weary with toil and faint with care, Seemed more than human strength could bear. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 71 Since the scholars had left her, one by one. Nearly an hour had flown ; She had given them each a kind good-night, And while they lingered her eyes were bright, But they dimmed with tears when alone. She had borne the burden the day had brought, The daily task she had faithfully wrought. And now, to solace her weary mind, A lesson of life she sought to find. The work and cares of the day she scans. But no lesson from them receives. The day has no lesson for me ; she said, A lesson, I'll read, in the Book instead, And she opened her Bible leaves. When lo ! the lesson she had sought in vain. To draw from her fainting and weary brain, At onee from the holy page she drew, Though always the same, yet ever new. " Establish Thou the work of our hands ; " 'T was this that met her gaze. The words went up from her lips like prayer; And as she read, she treasured there A lesson for many days. Not alone for her let the lesson be. May it come as well to you and me. Let our prayer be the words of holy writ, " Yea, the work of our hands establish Thou it." THE FIREMAN. THE city slumbers. O'er its mighty walls Night's dusky mantle, soft and silent, falls ; Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead. And ready torpors wrap each sinking head. 72 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Stilled is the stir of labor and of life; Hushed is the hum, and tranquillized the strife. Man is at rest, with all his hopes and fears; The young forget their sports, the old their cares; The grave are careless, those who joy or weep All rest contented on the arm of sleep. Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now, And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow ; Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit tide, Her heart's own partner wandering by her side. 'T is summer's eve : the soft gales scarcely rouse The low- voiced ripple and the rustling boughs: And, faint and far, some minstrel's melting tone Breathes to her heart a music like its own. When, hark! Oh, horror! what a crash is there! What shriek is that which fills the midnight air? — 'Tis lire! 'tis fire! She wakes to dream no more! The hot blast rushes through the blazing door! The dun smoke eddies round; and, hark! that cry! "Help! help! Will no one aid? I die — I die!" She seeks the casement: shuddering at its height, She turns again ; the fierce flames mock her flight : Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play, And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey. " Help ! help ! Will no one come ! " She can no more, But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor. Will no one save thee? Yes, there yet is one Remains to save, when hope itself is gone; When all have fled, when all but he would fly, The Fireman comes, to rescue or to die ! He mounts the stair — it wavers ']ieath his tread; He seeks the room — flames flashing round his head ; He bursts the door; he lifts her prostrate frame, And turns again to brave the raging flame. The fire-blast smites him with his stifling breath; The falling timbers menace him with death ;. The sinking floors his hurried step betray; And ruin crashes round his desperate way. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 73 Hot smoke obscures — ten thousand cinders rise — Yet still he staggers forward with his prize. He leaps from burning stair to stair. On ! on 1 Courage! One eifort more, and all is won! The stair is passed — the blazing hall is braved! Still on ! yet on ! once more ! Thank Heaven, she's saved. SPEECH OF SEEGEANT BUZFUZ. YOU heard from my learned friend, Gentlemen of the Jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The plaintiff, gentlemen, is a widow; yes, genDlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, some time before his death, became the father, gentleman, of a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world and courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell street ; and here sh'e placed in her front-parlor window a written placard, bearing this inscription — "Apartments puenished toe a SINGLE GENTLEMAN. InQDIEE WITHIN." Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear — she had no distrust — all was confidence and reliance. " Mr. Bardell," said the widow, "was a man of honor — Mr. Bardell was a man of his word — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman him- self ; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for' assistance, for comfort, and consolation ; in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections ; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." ■^ Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen,) the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent waS' on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was pre- paring, the sapper and miner was at work. Before the bill had been in the parlor window three days, gentlemen — a being, 7 74 THE. MODEL SPEAKER. erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a, man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house ! He inquired within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. This man ■was Pickwick — Pickwick the deiendant ! Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gen- tlemen, the men to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic villany. I say systematic vil- lany, gentlemen ; and when I say systematic villany, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, further, that a coun- sel, in the discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down ; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Nokes, or Stoaks, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick con- tinued to reside constantly, and without interruption or inter- mission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the •washer-woman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that on many occasions he gave half-pence, and on some occasions even sixpence, to her little boy. I shall prove to you that on one occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her marriage — previously, however, taking special care that there should be no witnesses to their solemn contract ; and I am in a position to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends — most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen, most unwill- ing witnesses — that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and endearments. And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between these parties — letters that must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eve — letters that were evidently in- tended at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third ■ THE MODEL SPEAKER. 75 parties into whpse hands they might fall. Let me read the first: " G.irraway's, twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B. — Chops and to- mato sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this mean ? Chops and tomato sauce ! Yours, Pickwick ! Chops ! Gracious heavens ! And tomato sauce. Gentlemen, is the hap- piness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such hhallow artifices as these? The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious : " Dear Mrs. 3., I shall not be at home to-morrow. Blow coach." And then follows this very remarkable expression: " Don't trouble yourself about the warming-pan." The warming- pan ! Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warm- ing-pan ! Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the ca,se) it is a mere cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion? And what does this allu- sion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this trans- action, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accele- rated, and whoie wlieels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by you ! But enough of this, gentlemen. It is difficult to smile with an achinc heart. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no fi"-urc of speech to say that her occupation is gone in- deed. The bill is down ; but there is no tenant ! Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass ; but there is no invitation for^ them to inquire within or without. All is gl<|)m and silence in the house ; even the voice of the child is hushed ; his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell street — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward — Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming-pans — Pickwick still rears his head with unblusliing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has m.ade! Damages, gentlemen, heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit him — the only recom- 76 THE MODEL SPEAKBE. pense you can award to my client ! And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen ! BEING FLOWERS. BEING flowers, young flowers, for the festal board, To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured ; Bring flowers 1 they are springing in wood and vale, Their breath floats out on the Southern gale. And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, To deck the hall where the bright wine flows. Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path — He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath I He comes with the spoils of nations back. The vines lie crushed in his chariot's track. The turf looks red where he won the day — Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way ! Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell, They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ; Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky, And the bright world shut from his languid eye ; They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours, And a dream of his youth — bring him flowers, wild flowers 1 Bring flowers, fresh /flowers, for the bride to wear ! They were born to blush in her shining hair. She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth. She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth. Her place is now by another's side — Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride ! Bring fiowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead ! For this through its leaves hath the white-rose burst,. For this in the woods was the violet nursed. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 77 Though. they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale flowers! Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer — They are nature's off'ering, their pliice is there! They speak of hope to the fainting heart, Witli a voice of promise they come and part, They sleep in dust through the wintry hours. They break forth in glory — bring flowers, bright flowers ! CHEIST IN THE TEMPEST. STORM on the midnight waters ! The vast sky Is stooping with the thunder. Cloud on cloud Rolls heavily in the darkness, like a shroud Shook by some warning spirit from the high And terrible wall of heaven. . The mighty wave Tosses beneath its shadow, like the bold Upheavings of a giant from the grave. Which bound him prematurely to its cold And desolate bosom. Lo — they mingle now — • Tempest and heaving wave, along whose brow Trembles the lightning from its thick cloud fold. And it is very terrible ! The roar Ascendeth unto heaven, and thunders back Like a response of demons, from the black Rifts of the hanging tempests — yawning o'er The wild waves in their torment. Hark ! the cry Of the strong man in peril, piercing through The uproar of the waters and the sky ; As the rent bark one moment rides to view. On the tall billows, with the thunder-cloud Closing afound, above her, like a shroud I He stood upon the reeling deck — His form Made visible by the lightning, and His brow, Uncovered to the visiting of the storm. Told of a triumph man may never know — 7* 78 THE MODEL SPBAKEE. Power underived and mighty. — 'Peace, be still!' The great waves heard Him, and the storm's loud tone Went moaning into silence fit His will : And the thick clouds, where yet the lightning shone, And slept the latent thunder, rolled away Until no trace of tempest lurked behind, Changing upon the pinions of the wind To stormless wanderers, beautiful and gay. Dread Ruler of the tempest ! Thou, before Whose presence boweth the uprisen storm — To whom the waves do homage, round the shore Of many an island empire! — if the form Of the frail dust beneath thine eye may claim Thy infinite regard — oh, breathe upon The storm and darkness of man's soul, the same Quiet, and peace, and humbleness, which came O'er the roused waters, where Thy voice had gone, A minister of power — to conquer in Thy name! THE SAILOE'S FUNERAL. THE ship's bell tolled! and slowly o'er the deck Came forth the summoned crew. Bold, hardy men, Far from their native skies, stood silent there With melancholy brow. From a low cloud That o'er the horizon hover'd, came the threat Of distant muttered thunder. Broken waves Heaved up their sharp white helmets o'er the expanse Of ocean, which in brooding stillness lay Like some vindictive king, who meditates On hoarded wrongs, or wakes the wrathful war. The ship's bell tolled ! and, lo ! a youthful form Which oft had boldly dared the slippery shrouds At midnight's watch, was as a burden laid Down at his comrades' feet. Mournful they gazed Upon his sunken cheek, and some there were Who in that bitter hour remembered well THE MODEL SPEAKER. 79 The parting blessing of his hoary sire, And the big tears that o'er his mother's cheek Went coursing down, when his beloved voice Breathed its farewell. But one who nearest stood To that pale, shrouded corse, remembered more; Of a white cottage with its shaven lawn. And blossomed hedge, and of a iair-haired girl Who, at her lattice veiled with woodbine, watched His last, far step, and then turned back to weep. And close that comrade in his faithful breast Hid a bright chestnut lock, which the dead youth Had severed with a cold and trembling hand In life's extremity, and bade him bear. With broken words of love's last eloquence. To his blest Mary. Now that chosen friend Bowed low his sun-bronzed face, and, like a child, Sobbed in deep sorrow. But there came a tone. Clear as the breaking moon o'er -stormy seas, '/ am the resurrection.' Every heart Suppressed its grief, and every eye was raised. There stood the chaplain — his uncovered brow Unmarked by earthly passion, while his voice. Rich as the balm from plants of Paradise, Poured the Eternal's message o'er the souls Of dying men. It was a holy hour! There lay the wreck of youthful beauty — here Bent mourning manhood, while supporting Faith Cast her strong anchor 'neath the troubled wave. There was a plunge! The riven sea complained I Death from his briny bosom took her own. The awful fountains of the deep did lift Their subterranean portals, and he went Down to the floor of ocean, 'mid the beds Of brave and beautiful ones. Yet to my soul, In all the funeral pomp, the guise of woe. The monumental grandeur, with which earth Indulgeth her dead sons, was nought so sad. Sublime, or sorrowful, as the mute sea Opening her mouth to whelm that sailor youth. 80 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD. "I shall enter on no encomium upon Massacliusetts; she needs none. There she is; behold her, and judge t'oi- yourselves. There ia her history. Tlie world knows it by heart. The past, Qt least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexiu{j;ton, and Bunker Hill ; and thei-e they will remain forever The bones ot ber sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie niinsited with the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia ; and there they will remain forever." — Webster's iipetck. NEW England's dead I New England's dead I On every hill they lie; On every field of strife, made red By Woody victory. Each valley, where the battle poured Its red and awful tide, Beheld the brave New England sword With slaughter deeply dyed. Their bones are on the Northern hill, And on the Southern plain, By brook and river, lake and rill, And by the roaring main. The land is holy where they fought, And holy where they fell ; For by their blood that land was bought, The land they loved so well. Then glory to that valiant band. The honored saviors of the land ! Oh, few and weak their numbers were — A handful of brave men ; But to their God they gave their prayer, And rushed to battle then. The God of battles heard their cry, And sent to them the victory. They left the ploughshare in the mould, Their flocks and herds without a fold, The sickle in the unshorn grain. The corn, half-garnered, on the plain. And mustered, in their simple dress. For wrongs to seek a stern redress, THE MODEL SPEAKER. 81 To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe, To perish, or o'ercome their foe. And where are ye, O fearless men? And where are ye to-day? I call : the hills reply again That ye have passed away'; That on old Bunker's lonely height, In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, The grass grows green, the harvest bright, Above each soldier's mound. The bugle's wild and warlike blast Shall muster them no more; An army now might thunder past, And they heed not its roar. The starry flag, 'neath which they fought In many a bloody day, From their old graves shall rouse them not, For they have passed away. THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. SOMEWHAT back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat; Across its antique portico Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; And from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all, " Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " Halfway up the stairs it stands. And points and beckons with its hands, From its case of massive oak. Like a monk, who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! With sorrowful voice to all who pass, " Forever — never*! Never — forever I " F 82 THE MODEL SPEAKER. By day its voice is low and light ; But in the silent dead of night. Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. It echoes along the vacant hall, Along the ceiling, along the floor, And seems to say at each chamber door, " Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth. Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood. And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe, " Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " In that mansion used to be Free-hearted Hospitality : His great fires up the chimney roared ; The stranger feasted at his board; But like the skeleton at the feast, That warning timepiece never ceased — " Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " There groups of merry children played. There youths and maidens dreaming strayed; Oh, precious hours ! oh, golden prime, And affluence of love and time ! Even as a miser counts his gold. Those hours the ancient timepiece told — " Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " From that chamber, clothed in white, The bride came forth on her wedding night; There, in that silent room below. The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 83 And in the hush that followed the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair — " Forever — never ! Never — forever ! " All are scattered now and fled, Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, " Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? " As in the days long since gone by, The ancient timepiece makes reply, " Forever — never ! Never — forever 1 " Never here, forever there. Where all parting, pain, and care. And death, and time shall disappear — Forever there, but never herel The horologe of eternity Sayeth this incessantly, " Forever — never I Never — forever I " THE MANIAC. CJ TAY, jailer, stay, and hear my woe I O She is not mad who kneels to thee; For what I 'm now, too well I know. And what I was, and what should he. I'll rave no more in proud despair; My language shall be mild, though sad : But yet I '11 firmly, truly swear, I am not mad; I am not mad. My tyrant husband forged the tale Which chains me in this dismal cell; My fate unknown my friends bewail ; Oh, jailer, haste that fate to tell I 84 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Oh ! haste my father's heart to cheer : His heart at once 't will grieve and glad To know, though kept a captive here, I am not mad; I am not mad. He smiles in scorn, and turns the key; He quits the grate; I knelt in vain; His glimmering lamp, still, still I see ; 'Tis gone, and all is gloom again. Cold ! bitter cold ! no warmth ! no light ! Life, all thy comforts once I had ; Yet here I 'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad ; no, no, not mad. 'Tis sure some dream,' some vision vain; What! I — the child of rank and wealth? Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled. Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my lieart, how burns my head I But 't is not mad ; no, 't is not mad. Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, A mother's face, a mother's tongue? , She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss. Nor round her neck how fast you clung; Nor how with me you sued to stay; Nor how that suit your sire forbade; Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away; They'll make me mad; they'll make me mad. His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! His mild, blue eyes, how bright they shone I None ever bore a lovelier child: And art thou now forever gone? And must I never see thee more, My pretty, pretty, pretty lad ? I will be free! unbar the door! I am not mad; I am not mad. THE MODEL SPEAKER, 85 Oh, hark 1 what mean those yells and cries ? His chain some furious madman breaks; He comes ; I see his glaring eyes ; Now, now my dungeon grate he shakes. Help ! help ! He 's gone ! Oh, fearful Such screams to hear, such sights to My brain, my brain — I know, I know _ I am not mad, but soon shall be. Yes, soon ; — for, lo you ! — while I speak — Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare! He sees me ; now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air. Horror ! — the reptile strikes his tooth Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad; Ay, laugh, ye fiends; — I feel the truth'; Your task is done ! — I'm mad ! I'm mad 1 THE GLOVE AND THE LION. KING FEANCIS was, a hearty king, and loved a royal sport. And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court ; The nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their side. And 'mong them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed : And truly 't was a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws ; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws ; With wallowing might and stifled roar, they rolled on one another; Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous smother ; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air : Said Francis, then, " Faith, gentlemen, we 're better here than there." De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame. With smiling lips, and sharp, bright eyes, which always seemed the same ; 8 86 THE MODEL SPEAKER. She thought, " The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be ; He surely would do wondrous things to show his love for me : King, ladies, lovers, all look on ; the occasion is divine ; I '11 drop my glove, to prove his love ; great glory will be mine." She droppeHPer glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled j^ He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild : The leap was quick, return was quick, he soon regained the place, Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face. " In faith," cried Francis, " rightly done ! " and he rose from where he sat ; " Not love,'' quoth he, " but vanity, sets love a task like that." THE DEUNKARD'S DAUGHTER. Written by a young lady, who had been accused of bfeing a maniac on the subject of Temperance, because her writings .were so full of pathos. GO, feel what I have felt; Go, bear what I have borne — Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt. And the cold world's proud scorn; Then suffer on from year to year — Thy sole relief the scorching tear. Go, kneel as I have knelt ; Implore, beseech, and pray — Strive the besotted heart to melt. The downward course to stay ; Be dashed, with bitter curse, aside ; Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. Go, weep as I have wept, O'er a loved father's fall — See every promised blessing swept, Youth's sweetness turned to gall; Life's fading flowers strewed all the way, That brought me up to woman's day. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 87 Go, see what I have seen, Behold the strong man bow, With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood. And cold and livid brow; Go catch his withering glance, and see There mirrored his soul's misery. Go, to thy mother's side, And her crushed bosom cheer; Thy own deep anguish hide ; Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear; Mark her worn frame and withered brow, The gray that streaks her dark hair now ; With fading frame and trembling limb. And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith, in early youth. Promised eternal love and truth; But who, forsworn, hath yielded up That promise to the cursed cup, And led her down through love and light. And all that made her promise bright. And chained her there, 'mid want and strife. That lowly thing — a drunkard's wife! And stamped on childhood's brow so mild That withering blight, the drunkard's child. Go, hear, and feel, and see, and know All that my soul hath felt and known. Then look upon the wine-cup's glow. See if its beauty can atone ; Think if its flavor you will try, When all proclaim, '"Tis drink, and die." Tell me I hate the bowl — Hate is a feeble word: I loathe — abhor — my very soul With strong disgust is stirred, Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell Of the dark beverage of hell. 88 THE MODEL SPEAKER. STUAET HOLLAND. "Amidst alJ the ten-ible incidents attendant upon tlie destruction of the Arctic, there is one wliich impresses us with a feeling of awe and admiration, and shows all the world that the age of heroes is not altogether gone liy. We refer to the young man, Stuart Holland, whoso post of duty, throughout the trying scene, was the firing of a signal gun, at intervale, in the hope of attracting the attention of vessels in the distance to the' scene of the disaster. He was in the v,ery act of firing, as the ve&sel disappeared below the waters." « DEATH on the waters ! hark ! the cry Of hundreds in their agony, Who, helpless, crowd the deck ; There manhood sternly marks his tomb, And woman wails amid the gloom. As slowly sinks the wreck. But who is he that calmly stands. The lighted brand within his hands. Beside the minute gun? What quiet grandeur in his air — His right arm raised — his forehead bare. Amid the cannon's quivering glare, And mist-wreaths rolling dun! "Save, save thyself!" the captain cried — "The craven crew have left onr side: I go where goes my glorious bride. My own majestic bark. But thou art free — thy mother waits Her son, beside the cottage gates ! " How answered Holland — hark ! His minute-gun again — and by The flash that lights the sea and sky. Behold the hero's form, Grand as a young Greek god who smiles When shake the proud Olympian piles. And quiver all the misty isles Beneath the bolted storm! In vain, in vain the loud gun roars — No more for him the calm green shores — For him no more the home: THE MODEL, SPEAKER. But still undaunted there he stands, The lighted brand within his hands, Above the wild, white loam. Seel see! the vessel reels — a cry Of shivering horror rends the sky — O God ! can no one save ? The proud ship sinks — and sinks: again The cannon thunders to the main — Then nought but mist and wave. Where, but a few brief hours ago. The rider of the billows bore, In pride, four hundred joyous souls To an expectant shore! Soul of the brave ! when sounds the trump 'Mid red-browed battle's glorious pomp. And rolling drum and thrilling fife Lead on the dark and desperate strife. While gorgeous banners rise and fall Majestic o'er the soldier's pall, And eager nations turn their eyes Upon the heroes' sacrifice — Oh, 'tis not then, it is not there, With gory blade and vengeful air. The grandest wreath is thine : 'T is when with calm, untrembling breath, The hero, smiling, faces Death Upon the land or brine, And knowing not if e'er his name Shall murmur from the harp of fame. But looking from a troubled zone To God, and to his God alone ! Brave Holland ! such a wreath is thine. And millions shall rejoice that they May build to thee a glorious shrine. And round it deathless laurel twine. Nor let thy memory fade away — For still, despite the reeling deck. The yawning wave, the sinking wreck. The record of thy deed remains, 8* 90 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Stamped on the pyramid that Time For hero-souls of every clime Has reared on glory's plains. Oh, dweller of the crag and cloud, Wave wider, wider yet thy wing ! Roll back, roll back the tempest's shroud. And brood above the thunder's spring : A newer splendor lights thy plume. And fresher vigor nerves thy flight Amid the South's soft sunny bloom. Or through the Northland's wintry night : 'T was not in vain our martyrs sighed — And not in vain our heroes cried 'T is sweet for one's own land to die ! The soul of yore, the soul that gave Their glory to our soil and wave, From Vernon's mount and Ashland's grave, Still lightens through the sky ! THE BATTLE OF IVRY. NOW glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance. Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! . And thou, Eochelle, our own Eochelle, proud city of the waters. Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiif, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre. Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers. And Appenzell's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. Tftere rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; THE MODEL SPBAKEE, 91 And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war. To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The King has come to marshal us, all in his armor drest ; And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Eight graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our lord the Kin^!" " And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — ■ Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." Hurrah ! the foes are moving I Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin/ The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andr6's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance ! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his rein, D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — the Flemish Count is slain; Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van " Remember St. Bartholomew " was passed from man to man ; But out spake gentle Henry, then : " No Frenchman is my foe ; Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." 92 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Oil ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war. As our sovereign lord. King Henry, the soldier of Navarre 1 Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! ho 1 matrons of Lucerne I ^Veep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return I Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles. That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls ! Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ! Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave. And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor^of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre. THE SONG OF THE SHIET. WITH fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt. And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!" "Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work — work — work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It 's oh ! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work. " Work — work — work Till the brain begins to swim ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 93 Work — work — work Till the eyes are heavy and dim I Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, ■Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream 1 "O men, with sisters dearl O men, with mothers and wives I It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives 1 Stitch — stitch — stitch — In poverty, hunger, and dirt. Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt. "But why do I talk of death? That phantom of grizzly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape. It seems so like my own — It seems so like my own. Because of the fasts I keep. O God! that bread should be so dear. And flesh and blood so cheap! " Work — work — work ! My labor never flags ; And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, A crust of bread — and lafes. This shattered roof— and this naked floor— A table — a broken chair — And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there! " Work — work — work I From weary chime to chime. Work — work — work, . As prisoners work for crime I Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and guftet, and band. 94 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand. " Work — work — work, In the dull December light. And work — work — work, When the weather is warm and bright — While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring. "Oh, but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — With the sky above my head. And the grass beneath my feet ! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel. Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal! " Oh, but for one short hour I A respite, however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart. But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread ! " With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags. Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt. And still with a voice of dolorous pitch — Would that its tone could reach the rich! She sang thjs "Song of the Shirt." THE MODEL SPEAKEK. 95 EIENZI'S ADDEESS. FRIENDS : I come not here to talk. Ye know too well The story of our thraldom ; — we are slaves ! The bright sun rises to his course, and lights A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave ! — not such as, swept along By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads To crimson glory, and undying fame ; But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, Eich in some dozen paltry villages — Strong in some hundred spearsmen — only great In that strange .spell — a name ! Each hour, dark fraud, Or open rapine, or protected murder, Cries out against them. But this very day. An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth. He tossed not high his ready cap in air. Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not The stain away in blood? Such shames are common. I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you — I had a brother once — a gracious boy, Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look Of heaven upon his face, which limners give To the beloved disciple. How I loved That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, Brother at once and son ! He left my side, A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour. The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried For vengeance ! Eouse, ye Eomans ! rouse, ye slaves I Have ye brave sons? Look, in the next fierce brawl, To see them die! Have ye daughters fair? Look 96 THE MODEL SPEAKER, To see them live, torn from your arms, distained. Dishonored ! and if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Eome, That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are EomansI Why, in that elder day, to be a Eoman Was greater than a king ! — and once again — Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread Of either Brutus! — once again I swear. The eternal city shall be free ! her sons Shall walk with princes ! SHAMUS O'BRIEN. J 1ST afther the war, in the year '98, As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 'T was the custom, whenever a pisant was got. To hang them by thrial — barrin' sich as was shot. There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, And the martial law liangin' the lavins by night. It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon : If he missed in the judges, he 'd meet a dragoon ; An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence. The divil a much time they allowed for repentance. An' it '■? many the fine boy was then on his keepin' Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin' ; An' because they loved Erin, and scorned to sell it, A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — Unsheltered by night, and unrested by flay. With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay ; An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Glingall. His limbs were well set, an' his body was light. An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white; But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red ; An' for all that he was n't an ugly young b'y. For the divil himself could n't blaze with his eye THE MODEL SPEAKEK. 97 So droll an' so wicked, so dark an' so bright. Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night ! An' he was the best mower that ever has been. An' the illegantest hurler that ever was seen, An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare, An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare ; An', by gorra, the whole world gev in to him there. An' it 's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, An' it 's often he run, an' it 's often he fought. An' it 's many the one can remember right well •The quare things he done : an' it's often I heerd tell How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin four, An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest. An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best ; Afther many a brave act of power and pride. An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side, An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast, In the darkness of night he was taken at last. Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon, For the door of the prison must close on you soon, An' take your last look at her dim, lovely light. That falls on the mountain and valley this night ; One look at the village, one look at the flood. An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood ; Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill. An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake, And farewell to the girl who would die for your sake. An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail, An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail ; The fleet limbs wor chained, and the sthrong limbs wor bound, An' he laid down his length on the cowld prison-ground, An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air ; An' happy remembrances crowding on ever. As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river. Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. 9 G 98 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. But the tears did n't fall, for the pride of his heart Would not suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start ; An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave, An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave. By the hopes of the good, and the cause of the brave. That when he was mouldering in the cold grave His enemies never should have it to boast His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost ; His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, For, undaunted he lived, and undaunted he'd die. Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone. The terrible day iv the thrial kem on : There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand, An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword in hand ; An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered. An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered ; An' counsellors almost gev over for dead. An' the jury sitting up in their box overhead ; An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big, With his gown on his back, and an illegant new wig ; An' silence was called, an' the minute 't was said The court was as still as the heart of the dead. An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock, An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong, An' he saw that he had not a liope nor a friend, A chance to escape, nor a word to defend ; An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone. As calm and as cold as a statue of stone ; And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, An' Jim did n't understand it, nor mind it a taste. An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says, "Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase? " An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread, An' Shamus O'Brien made answer and said : " My lord, if you ask me, if in my lifetime I thought any treason, or did any crime That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 99 Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow, Before God and the world I would answer you, no ! But if you would ask me, as I think it like, If in the rebellion 1 carried a pike, An'. fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close, An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, I answer you, yes ; and I tell you again, Though I stand here to perish, it 's my glory that then In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry, . An' that now for her sake I am ready to die.'' Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright. And the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light; By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap! In a twiuklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. Then Shamus's mother, in the crowd standin' by, Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry : " Oh, judge ! darlin', don't, oh, don't say the word ! The crathur is young have mercy, my lord ; He was foolish, he did n't know what he was doin' ; You don't know him, my lord — oh, don't give him to ruinl drie 's the kindliest crathur, the tejidherest-hearted ; Don't part us forever, we that's so long parted. Judge, raavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord. An God will forgive you — oh, don't say the word ! " That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken, When lie saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken ; An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother. The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other ; An' two or three times he endeavored to spake. But the sthrong, manly voice 'twould falther and break; But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride. He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide, "An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart. For, sooner or later, the dearest must part; And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer, To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast, From fliought, labor, and sorrow, forever shall rest. Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour ; 100 THE MODEL SPEAKER. For I wish, when my head 's lyin' under the raven, No thrue man can say that I died like a craven ! " Then toward the judge Shamus bent down his head. An' that minute the solemn death-sentinoe was said. The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky ; But why are the men standin' idle so late? An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street? What come they to talk of? what come they to see? An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree? Oh, Shamus O'Brien ! pray fervent and fast ; May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last ; Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh. When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die. An' fasther an' fasther the crowd gathered there — Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair ; An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too. An' ould men and young women enjoying the view. An' ould Tim I\Iulvany, he med the remark There was n't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark ; An' be gorry, 't was thrue for bim, for divil sich a scruge, Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge, For thousands were gathered there, if there was one, Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'd come on. At last they threw open the big prison-gate, An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state, An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it. Not paler, but prouder than ever that minute. An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin', A wild, wailin' sound kem on by degrees. Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone. An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on ; An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand. An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 101 An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground, An' Shainus O'Brien throws one last look around. Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still, Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turned chill ; An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare, For the gripe iv the life-strangling chord to prepare ; An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound. And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground ; Bang I bang ! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres ; He 's not down ! he 's alive still ! now stand to him, neighbora I Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd — By the heavens, he 's free ! — than thunder more loud. By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken — One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. The sodgers ran this way, the sheriff's ran that. An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat ; To-night he '11 be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin, An' the divil 's in the dice if you catch him ag'in. Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, But if you want hangin', it 's yourself you must hang. He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be In America, darlint, the land of the free. SPAETACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. YE call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus — ■ a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep be- 9* 102 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. neatli the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra ; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the moun- tains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was ; but my cheeks burned, I know not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerably man, until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and sav- age wars. That very night the Komans landed on our coast. I saw the brecst that had noijrished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse — the bleeding body of my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling ! To-day I killed a man in the arena ; and, when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in ad-, ventdrous boyhood, we scaled the lofty clifi' to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph I I told the praetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave ; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Eome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! And the prffitor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, " Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Eomans." And so, fellow-gla- diators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay ! thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron, and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe ; — to gaze in^o the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lian, even as a boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, until the THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 103 yellow Tiber is red as frotMng wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled. Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are. The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews, but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'T is three days since he has tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal for him ye shall be! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, follow me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and then do bloody work, as did your sires at old Thermopylae I Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades I warriors ! Thracians ! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our op- pressors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle I THE EETOKT. ASUPEECILIOUS nabob of the East — Haughty, being great — purse-proud, being rich - A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which — Had in his family an humble youth. Who went from England in his patron's suite, An unassuming boy, and in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute. This youth had sense and spirit; But yet, w'ith all his sense, Excessive difiidence Obscured his merit. t One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, His ■ honor, proudly free, severely merry. 104 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary. " Young man," lie said, " by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father gain a livelihood?" " He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, " And in his time was reckoned good." " A saddler, eh ! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew ! Pray, why did not your father make A saddler, sir, of you ? " Each parasite, then, as in duty bound. The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, Said, (craving pardon, if too free he made,) " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade ? " " My father's trade ! by heaven, that 's too bad ! My father's trade ? Why, blockhead, are you mad ? My father, sir, did never stoop so low — He was a gentleman, I 'd have you know." " Excuse the liberty I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, " Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you ? " THE CUESE OF-EEGULUS. THE palaces and domes of Carthage were burning with the splendors of noon, and the blue waves of her harbor were rolling and gleaming in the gorgeous sunlight. An attentive ear could catch a low murmur, sounding from the centre of the city, which seemed like the moaning of the wind before the tempest. And well it might. The whole people of Carthage, startled, as- tounded by the report that Eegulus had returned, were pouring, THE MODEL SPEAKER, 105 a mighty tide, into the great square before the Senate House. There were mothers in that throng, whose captive sons were groaning in Eoman fetters ; maidens, whose lovers were dying in the distant dungeons of Rome ; gray-haired men and matrons, whom Eoman steel had made childness ; men, who were seeing their country's life crushed out by Eoman power ; and with wild voices, cursing and groaning, the vast throng gave vent to the rage, the hate, the anguish of long years. Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around him, stood Eegulus, the Eoman ! He stretched his arm over the surging crowd with a gesture as proudly imperious, as though he stood at the head of his own gleaming cohorts. Before that silent com- mand the tumult ceased — the half-uttered execration died upon the lip — so intense was the silence that the clank of the captive's brazen manacles smote sharp on every ear, as he thus addressed them: " Ye doubtless thought, judging of Eoman virtue by your own, that I would break my plighted faith, rather than by returning, and leaving your sons and brothers to rot in Eoman dungeons, to meet your vengeance. Well, I could give reasons for this re- turn, foolish and inexplicable as it seems to you ; I could speak of yearnings after immortality — of those eternal principles in whose pure light a patriot's death is glorious, a thing to be de- sired ; but, by great Jove I I should debase myself to dwell on such high themes to you. If the bright blood which feeds my heart were like the slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins, I should have remained at Rome, saved my life, and broken my oath. If, then, you ask why I have come back, to let you work your will on this poor body, which I esteem but as the rags that cover it — enough reply for you, it is because lam a Soman ! As such, here in your very capital I defy yon ! What I have done, ye can never undo ; what ye may do, I care not. Since first my young arm knew how to wield a Eoman sword, have I not routed your armies, burned your towns, and dragged your gen- erals at my chariot wheels ? And do ye now expect to see me cower and whine with dread of Carthaginian vengeance? Com- pared to that fierce mental strife which my heart has just passed through at Eome, the piercing of this flesh, the rending of these sinews, would be but sport to me. " Venerable senators, with trembling voices and outstretched hands, besought me to return no more to Carthage. The gen- 106 THE MODEL SPEAKER. erous people, with loud wailing, and wild-tossed gestures, bade me stay. The voice of a beloved mother — her withered hands beating her breast, her gray hairs streaming in the wind, tears flowing down her furrowed cheeks — praying me not to leave her in her lonely and helpless old age, is still sounding in my ears. Com- pared to anguish like this, the paltry torments you have in store is as the murmur of the meadow brook to the wild tumult of the mountain storm. Go ! bring your threatened tortures ! The woes I see impending over this fated city will be enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should tingle with its agony. I die — but mine shall be the triumph; yours the untold desolation. For every drop of blood that falls from my veins, your own shall pour in torrents ! Woe, unto thee, O Carthage ! I see thy homes and temples all in flames, thy citizens in terror, thy women wail- ing for the dead. Proud city ! thou art doomed ! the curse of Jove, a living, lasting curse is on thee ! The hungry waves shall lick the- golden gates of thy rich palaces, and every brook run crimson to the sea. Eome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy heart- strings, and all thy homes shall howl in wild response of anguish to her touch. Proud mistress of the sea, disrobed, uncrowned and scourged — thus again do I devote thee to the infernal gods ! "Now, bring forth your tortures! Slaves! while ye tear this quivering flesh, remember how often Eegulus has beaten your armies, and humbled your pride. Cut as he would have carved you 1 Burn deep as his curse I " THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY. BLAZE, with your serried columns I I will not bend the kneel The shackles ne'er again shall bind The arm which now is free. I've mailed it with the thunder. When the tempest muttered low; And where it falls, ye well may dread The lightning of its blow ! I've scared ye in the city, I've scalped ye on the plain; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 107 Go, count your chosen, where they fell Beneath my leaden rain I I scorn your proffered treaty I The pale-face I defy I Eevenge is stamped upon my spear, And blood my battle-cry ! Some strike for hope of booty, Some to defend their all — I battle for the joy I have To see the white man fall : I love, among the -wounded, To liear his dying moan. And catch, while chanting at his side. The music of his groan. Ye 've trailed me through the forest, Ye've tracked me o'er the stream; And struggling through the everglade, Your bristling bayonets gleam; But I stand as should the warrior, With his riile and his spear; The scalp of vengeance still is red, And warns ye — Come not here I I loathe ye in my bosom, I scorn ye with mine eye. And I '11 taunt ye with my latest breath. And fight ye till I die I I ne'er will ask ye quarter, And I ne'er will be your slave; But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter. Till I sink beneath its wave! THE GAMBLER'S "WIFE. DARK is the night ! How dark ! No light : no fire I Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire ! Shivering, she watolies, by the cradle aide, F6r him, who pledged her love — last year a bride/ 108 THE MODEL SPEAEEE. " Hark I 't is his footstep 1 No ! — 't is past ! — 't is gone I " Tick 1 — tick ! ^ " How wearily the time crawls on ! Why should he leave me thus? — He once was kind! And I believed 't would last ! — How mad ! — How hlind ! " Best thee, my bahe ! — Best on ! — 'T is hunger's cry I Sleep ! — for there is no food ! — The font is dry ! Famine and cold their wearying work have done. My heart must break ! And thou ! " The clock strikes one. " Hush ! 't is the dice-box I Yes ! he 's there ! he 's there ! For this ! — for this he leaves me to despair ! Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! liU child! for what? The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot I " Yet I '11 not curse him. No ! 't is all in vain ! 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again 1 And I could starve, and bless him, but fur you, My child! — his child! Oh, fiend!" The clock strikes two. " Hark ! how the sign-board creaks ! The blast howls by. Moan ! moan ! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky ! Ha! 'tis his knock! he comes! — he comes once more!" 'T is but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er ! " Can he desert us thus? He knows I stay, Night after night, in loneliness, to pray For his return — and yet he sees no tear! No ! no ! It cannot be ! He will be here I "Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! Thou 'rt cold ! thou 'rt freezing ! But we will not part ! Husband ! — I die ! — Father ! — It is not he ! God ! protect my child ! " The clock strikes three. They 're gone, they 're gone ! the glimmering spark hath fled I The wife and child are number'd with the dead. On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest, The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast : The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — Dread silence reigned around : — the clock struck four ! THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 109 THE PATEIOT'S ELYSIUM. THERE is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons imparadise the night; A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth. Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. Views not a realm so bountiful and fair. Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; In every clime, the magnet of his soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace. The heritage of nature's noblest race. There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride ; While, in his softened looks, benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend. Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife. Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life. In the clear heaven of her delightful eye. An angel guard of loves and graces lie; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? Art thou a man? — a patriot? — look around! Oh ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam. That land thy countey, and that spot thy home. 10 110 THE MODEL SPEAKER. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he : I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; " Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-l^lts undrew ; "Speed! " echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the light%sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace — Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit; Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 'T was moonset at starting ; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mechlen church-steeple we heard the half-chime — So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time I " At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun. And against him the cattle stood, black every on.e. To stare through the mist at us galloping past; And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, AVith resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me> his own master, askance; And the thick, heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon flis fierce lips shock upward in galloping on. By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur I Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. Ill We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. And " Gallop I " gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight 1 " How they '11 greet us I " — and all in a moment his roan EoUed neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; And there was my Eoland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my bufiF-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. Called my Eoland his pet-name, my horse without peer ; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Eoland galloped and stood. And all I remember is friends flocking round, , As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; And no voice but was praising this Eoland of mine. As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. APOSTEOPHE TO WATEE. LOOK at that ! Behold it ! See its purity ! See how it glit- ters like a crown of liquid gems ! It is a beverage that was brewed by the hand of the Almighty himself. Not in the sim- mering still or smoking fires, choked with poisonous gases, and 112 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. surrounded by the stench of sickening odors and rank corrup- tions, doth, our Father in heaven prepare the precious essence of life, the pure cold water ; but in the green glade and glassy dell, where the wild deer wanders and the child loves to play — there God brews it ; and down, down in the deepest valleys, where the fountains murmur and the rills sing ; and high up on the moun- tain-tops, where the naked granite glitters like gold in the sun- light, where the storm-clouds brood and the thunder-storms crash — there He brews it; and away, far out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music, and the mighty waves roar the chorus, sweeping the march of God — there He brews it — that beverage of life — health-giving water! And everywhere it is a thing of beauty ; whether gleaming in the dewdrop, pattering in the summer rain, shining in the ice- gem till the trees all seem turned into living jewels, spreading a golden veil over the setting sun, or a bright halo around the midnight moon, roaring in the cataract, sleeping in the glaciers, dancing in the hail-storm, folding its pearly white mantle gently about the wintry world, or weavipg the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone of the sky, whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial flowers by the mystic hand of radiation — still always it is beautiful, that blessed life-water! There are no poison -bubbles on its brink! Its foam brings no sadness or sorrow! There are no blood-stains in its limpid glass! Broken-hearted wives, pale widows, and starving orphans shed no tears in its depths ! No drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave cursjs it in words of eternal despair ! But it is beautiful, pure, blest, and glorious. Give me forever the sparkling, pure, heavenly water I DEIFTING. ■jl /TY soul to-day Is far away, * Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My wingfed boat, A bird afloat. Swims round the purple peaks remote: THE MODEL, SPEAKEE. 113 Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, • The mountains swim; While on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands. The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles ; And yonder, bluest of the isles. Calm Capri waits. Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. ^ I heed not, if My rippling skiflf Float swift or slow from cliff to cliflf; With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and fells The Bay's deep breast at intervals At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day, so mild. Is heaven's own child, With earth and ocean reconciled The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 10* H 114 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail ; A joy intense, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where summer sings and never dies — O'erveiled with vines, She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid. Are gambolling with the gambolling kid; Or down the walls. With tipsy calls. Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as she skips. Or gazes at the far-off ships. Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blows, From lands of sun to lands of snows ; This happier one. Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy ship, To rise and dip. With the blue crystal at your lip! happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew ! THE MODEL SPEAKER. 115 No more, no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar! With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise ! THE CHAENEL SHIP. THE night, the long, dark night, at last Passed fearfully away; 'Mid crashing ice, and howling blast, They hailed the dawning day. Which broke to cheer the whaler's crew, And wide around its gray light threw. The storm had ceased ; its wrath had rent The icy wall asunder ; And many a piercing glance they sent Around in awe and wonder ; And sailor hearts their rude praise gave To God, that morn, from o'er the wave. The breeze blew freshly, and the sun Poured his full radiance far On heaps of icy fragments, won. Sad trophies, in the past night's war Of winds and waters, and in piles Now drifted by bright shining isles. But lo ! still farther oif appears A form more dim and dark; And anxious eyes, and hopes, and fears Its slow, strange progress mark. It hastens to them, by the breeze Borne onward from more Northern seas. Near, and more near; and can it be, (More venturous than their own,) 116 THE MODEL SPEAKER. A ship, wliose seeming ghost they see Among the icebergs thrown ? With brolven masts, dismantled all, And dark sails like a funeral pall? God of the mariner ! protect Her inmates as she moves along, Through perils, which ere now had wrecked, But that Thine arm is strong! Ha ! she has struck ! she grounds I she stands Still, as if held by giant hands 1 " Quick, man the boat ! " Away Ihey sprang. The stranger ship to aid. And loud their hailing voices rang, And rapid speed they made ; But all in silence, deep, unbroke, The vessel stood ; none answering spoke. 'T was fearful ! not a sound arose. No moving thing was there, To interrupt the dread repose Which filled each heart with fear. On deck they silent stepped, and sou2:ht. Till one, a man, their sad sight caugUt. He was alone, the damp-chill mould Of years hung on his cheek ; While the pen within his hand had told The tale no voice might speak: "Seventy days," the record stood, " We have been in the ice, and wanted food ! " They took his book, and turned away, But soon discovered where The wife, in her death-sleep, gently lay Near him in life most dear, Who, seated beside his young heart's pride, Long years before had calmly died. THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 117 Oh, wedded love ! how beautiful, How pure a thing thou art, Whose influence e'en in death can rule, And triumph o'er the heart; Can cheer life's roughest walk, and shed A holy light around the dead ! There was a solemn, sacred feeling Kindled in every breast, And, softly from the cabin stealing, They left them to their rest ; ' The fair, the young, the constant pair. They left them, with a blessing, there. And to their boat returning, each With thoughtful brow, and haste. And o'ercharged heart, too full for speech, They left amid that waste The charnel ship, which, years before, Had sailed from distant Albion's shore. They left her in the icebergs, where Few venture to intrude, A monument of death and fear, 'Mid Ocean's solitude; And, grateful for their own release. Thanked God, and sought their homes in peace. THE SAILOB-BOY'S DEEAM. IN slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away. And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; While memory stood sidewise, half-covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 118 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight. His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear ; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest, "O God! thou hast blessed me — I ask for no more." Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye? Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear? 'T is the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky ! 'T is the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere I He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him with images dire; Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck. The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire I Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell ; In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell. And the death-angel flaps his darks wings o'er the wave. O sailor-boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? O sailor-boy I sailor-boy! never again Shall love, home, or kindred thy wishes repay ; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee. Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge; THE MODBI^ SPEAKEE. 119 But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet he, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. On heds of green sea-flower thy limhs shall be laid, Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away. And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye : sailor-boy 1 sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul I HOEATIUS AT THE BEIDGE. THE consurs brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. " Their van will he upon us before the bridge goes down ; And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?" Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate : " To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. Hew down the bridge. Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may ; I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. " In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?" Then out spake Spurius Lartius — a Eamnian proud was he — " Lo ! I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee." And out spake strong Herminius — of Titian blood was he — " I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." " Horatius," quoth the consul, " as thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless three. 120 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three. And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Eomans stood, The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied, And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. " Come back, come back, Horatius ! " loud cried the fathers all : " Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! back, ere the ruin fall ! " Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back ; And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack ; But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more. But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam. And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream. And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. And, like a horse unbroken, when first he feels the rein, The fiirious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, And battlement, and plank, and pier whirled headlong to the Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. " Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face. " Now yield thee ! " cried Lars Porsena, " now yield thee to our grace ! " Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see ; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home, And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome : THE MODEL SPEAKER. 121 " Tiber ! Father Tiber ! to wbom the Eomans pray, A Roman's life, a Eoman's arms, take thou in charge this day ! " So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side. And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank ; But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank. And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, Rome shouted, and e'jen Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: And fast his blood was flowing ; and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows : And oft they thought him sinking — but still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case. Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place : But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, And our good Father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. " Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus; "willnot the villain drown? But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town ! " " Heaven help him I " quoth Lars Porsena, " and bring him safe to shore ; For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom ; — now on dry earth he stands ; Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands. And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd. SPSECH OF PATRICK HENRY. MR. PRESIDENT : — It is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that syren till she trans- forms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? Are we disposed to be 11 122 THE MODEL SPEAKER. of the number of those, who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth — to know the worst, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided ; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past: and, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes .with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the house? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir — it will prove a snare to your feet: suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwill- ing to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love ? Let ua not deceive ourselves, sir : these are the imple- ments of war and subjugation — the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its pur- pose be not to force us to submission ? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us : they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them ? Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? AVhat terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned ; we have remon- strated; we have supplicated ; we have prostrated ourselves before THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 123 the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those in- estimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged our- selves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us. They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week — or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed; and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and in- action? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible under any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone: there is a just God, who presides over the destinies of nations ; and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged — their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is in- evitable ; and let it come ! I repeat it, sir — let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace ! peace ! but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears 124 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is liie so dear, or peuce so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, gi.ve me liberty, or give me death I LIBERTY AND UNION. I PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal union. It is to that union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of ad- versity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influ- ences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. .Every year of its dura- tion has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; and, although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not out- run its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be .broken asunder. I have not ac- customed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the union should be preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying pros- pects spread out before us for us and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant, that in my day at THE MODEL SPEAKER. 125 least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be tamed to behold, lor the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on tlie broken and dishonored tragments of a once glorious union ; on States dissevered, discordant, beiliger- eiic ; on u laud rent with civil ieuds, or drenched, it may be, in iruierual blood I Let their last leeble and lingering glance, ratiier, beliold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre; not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured; bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as. What is all this worth ? nor those other words of delusion and folly : Liberty first, and union afterwards ; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart: Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable! EMMETT'S EEPLY. On the "JSd of June, ISO'j, a rebellion against the government brolco out in Dublin, in ■wliicii KiiLt^'iL ummutt, at the time only twenty-iliree years of at^e, was a principal at;tor. J.c pruved .i lailure. Kiiuultc whs anx'dtwii, liaving uiiBdL'd ilie upporcuniLy of e=iGiipu, It Id da.d, by liuguring to take leave of a da,ugliter of Uurran, tiie };ifted orator, to wiioiii lie bore an iiLiauhment, whioh was rct;iprucated. On the iytli of fcjepti^iuljer, IdU , iJniuitict was iriud lor high treason at the bebsioua liouae, Dublin, beiom Lord Norbury, one of the Cliief Judges of tlie King ts liench, and others ; was louud guilty, and executed Llie next day. Through his counsel, he had aaked, at the trial, that the jiulgincnt of the Court might be postponed until the next morning. This request Mas not giantcd. The (.Icrlc of the Lrowu read tho indictment, and announced the verdict found, in the U;jual form, lie then concluded thus: " ^\ hat have you, theret'ort;, now to say, why juilgmont of death and execution should not bo awarded against you, ac- cording to law? " Standing forward in tlie dock, in front of the Uencli, iimmett made tiie following impromptu address. At his execution, Jimmett displayed great forti- tude. As he was passing out of hia cell, on his way to tlie gallows, lie met the turn- key, wlio had' become much attached to him. Being fettered, Jiimraett could not give Iiis liaiid; so he kissed the poor fellow on the cheek, who, overcome by the mingled coiidesceiision and tenderness of the act, fell st'nseleas at the feet of the youthful vic- tim, and did not recover till the latter was no longer among the living. WHAT have I to say, why sentence of death should not he pronounced on nie according to law? I have nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that will become me to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and which I must abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which 11* 126 THE MODEL SPEAKER. you have labored (as was necessarily your office to do, in the present circumstances of this oppressed country,) to destroy. I have much to say why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity as to receive the least impression from what | am going to utter. I have no hopes that I can anchor my char- acter in the breast of a court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your lord- ships may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more hospitable harbor to shelter it from the storms by which it is at present buffeted. "Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur ; but the sentence of the law, which delivers my body to the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindication, to consign m J' character to obloquy — for there must be guilt somewhere; whether in the sentence of the court, or in the catastrophe, pos- terity must determine. My lord, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind by humiliation to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold; but worse to me than the purposed shame, or the scaf- fold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations as have been laid against me in this court. You, my lord, are a judge; I am the supposed culprit — I am a man; you are a man also. By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change^ characters. If I stand at the bar of this court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice ! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vin- dicate my character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts, upon my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence ; but, while I exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions ; and, as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and THE MODEL, SPEAKEE. 127 love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, we must appear, on the great day, at one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who was engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actu- ated by the purest motives — my country's oppressors, or myself. I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France! And for what end? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my country! And for what end? Was this the object of my ambition ! And is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions ? No ; I am no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country — not in power, not in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country's independence to France! and for what? A change of masters? No ; but for ambition. Oh, my country ! had it been personal ambition that influenced me — had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my edu- cation and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself amongst the proudest of your oppressors? My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my life. No, my lord, I acted as an Irishman, determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and per- petrator in parricide, whose rewards are the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station of the world which Providence has destined her to fill. I have been charged with so great importance, in the efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship expressed it, " the life and blood of the conspiracy." You do me honor overmuch — you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord — men before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think them- selves dishonored to be called your friends — who would not dis- 128 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. grace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand — [Here he was interrupted by the judge.] What, my lord, shall you tell me on the passage to that scaffold which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediary exe- cutioner, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been, and will be, shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor — shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it ? ^ — I, who fear not to approach the omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life — am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality here ? — by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it? — [Here the judge again interfered.] Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor: let no man attaint my memory, by believing that I could engage in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence ; or that I could become the pliant minion of power in the oppres- sion or the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional government speaks my views ; from which no infer- ence can be tortured to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, or humiliation, or treachery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign invader, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic oppressor. In the dig- nity of freedom, I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country, who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent and repel it? No; God forbid! My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim : it circulates warmly and unruffled through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Beyctpatient. I have but a few words more to say. lamgoingto my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of life is nearly extinguished ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 129 my race is run ; the grave opens to receive me ; and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world : it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for, as no man who knows my motives, dares now vin- dicate them, let not prejudice nor ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity, and my tomb remain unin- scribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations , of the earth, then, and not tiU then, let my epitaph be written. I have done. FARMER JOHN. HOME from his journey Farmer John Arrived this morning, safe and sound; His black coat off and his old clothes on : " Now I 'm myself," said Farmer John ; And he thinks, " I '11 look around." Up leaps the dog : " Get down, you pup ! Are you so glad you could eat me up?" The old cow lows at the gate to greet him ; ' The horses prick up their ears to meet him; " Well, ^el\, old Bay 1 Ha, ha, old Gray ! Do you get good feed when I'm away? " You have n't a rib I " says Farmer John. "The cattle are looking round and sleek; The colt is going to be a roan. And a beauty, too ; how he has grown ! We'll wean the calf next week," Says Farmer John. "When I've been off, To call you again about the trough. And watch you, and pet you, while you drink, Is a greater comfort than you can think I " And he pats old Bay, And he slaps old Gray. "Ah, this is the comfort of going away! I 130 THE MODEL, SPEAKEE. " For, after all," said Farmer John, " The best of a journey is getting home 1 I've seen great sights, but would not give This spot, and the peaceful life I live. For all their Paris and Rome! These hills, for the city's stifled air. And big hotels, all bustle and glare; Land all houses, and roads all stones, That deafen your ears, and batter your bones ! Would you, old Bay ? Would you, old Gray ? That's what one gets by going away I " There Money is king," says Farmer John ; " And Fashion is queen ; and it 's mighty queer To see how, sometimes, while the man Is raking and scraping all he can. The wife spends, every year, Enough, you would think, for a score of wives, To keep them in luxury all their lives I The town is a perfect Babylon To a quiet chap," says Farmer John. " You see, old Bay, You see, old Gray, I'm wiser than when I went away. "I've found out this," says Farmer John — "That happiness is not bought and sold, And clutched in a life of waste and hurry, In nights of pleasure, and days of worry; And wealth isn't all in gold. Mortgages and stocks, and ten per cent.. But in simple ways and sweet content, Few wants, pure hopes, and noble ends. Some land to till and a few good friends, Like you, old Bay, And you, old Gray: That's what I've learned by going away." THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 131 And a happy man is Farmer John — Oh, a rich and happy man is he ! He sees the peas and pumpkins growing, The corn in tassel, the buckwheat blowing, And fruit on vine and tree; The large, kind oxen look their thanks As he- rubs their foreheads and strokes their flanks ; The doves light round him, and strut and coo ; Says Farmer John, " I '11 take you, too ; And you, old Bay, And you, old Gray, Next time I travel so far away.'' THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA. At the terrible fight of Buena Vista, Mexican women were seen hovering near the field of death, for the purpose of givinj^ aid and succor to the wounded. One poor woman was found surrounded by the maimed and suffering of both armies, Xainisteriug to the wants of Aiuericaus as well as Mexicaua with impartial tenderitess. SPEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array. Who is losing? who is winning? are they far, or come they near? Look abroad and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear. " Jesu, pity ! how it thickens ! now retreats and now advances ! Eight against the blazing cannon shiver Puebla's charging lances I Down they go, the brave young riders : horse and foot together fall; Like the ploughshare in its furrow, through them ploughs the northern ball." " Oh, my heart's love ! oh, my dear one I lay thy poor head on my knee ; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me, canst thou see ? Oh, my husband, brave and gentle ! Oh, my Bernal, look once more On the blessed Cross before thee ! Mercy ! mercy ! all is o'er 1 " 132 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena ; lay thy dear one down to rest ; Let his hands be meekly folded; lay the Cross upon his breast; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said; To-day, thou poor, bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding, slow his life away ; But, as tenderly before him then the lorn Ximena knelt. She saw the northern hostile eagle shining on his pistol-belt. With a stifled cry of horror, straight she turned away her head ; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead ; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain. And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. "A bitter curse upon them, boy, who to battle led thee forth. From some gentle, saddened mother, weeping lonely in the North ! " Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead. And turned to soothe the living still, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena ! " Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind : Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive ; Hide your faces, holy angels ! Oh, thou Christ of God, forgive! " Sink, night, among thy mountains ! let the cool, gray shadows fall; Dying brothers, fighting demons — drop thy curtain over all! Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled, In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold. But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued. Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint, and lacking food; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 133 Over weak and suffering brothers with a tender care they hung, And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and northern tongue. Not wholly lost, O Father ! is this evil world of ours ; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh its Eden flowers ; From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their prayer, And still Thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air. TRUE ELOQUENCE. WHEN public bodies are to be addressed on momentous oc- casions, when great interests are at stake, and strong pas- sions excited, nothing is valuable in speech further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clear- ness, 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 marshalled 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; they 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 rebuked and sub- dued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent ; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and 12 134 THE MODEL 8PEAKEE. urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object — this, this is eloquence ; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. EUGENE ARAM'S DEEAM. )rpWAS in the prime of summer-time, J_ An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school : There were some that ran, and some that leapt. Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped, with gamesome minds. And souls untouch'd by sin ; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran — Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can ; But the usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man ! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow. And his bosom ill at ease: So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees. Leaf after leaf he tum'd it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside, For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide: Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 135 At last he shut the ponderous tome, With a fast and fervent grasp He strain'd the dusky covers close, And fix'd the brazen hasp: " O God I could I so close my mind. And clasp it with a clasp!" Then leaping on his feet upright. Some moody turns he took — Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook — And, lo I he saw a little boy That pored upon a book. "My gentle lad, what is't you read — Eomance or fairy fable ? Or is it some historic page. Of kings and crowns unstable ? " The young boy gave an upward glance— "It is 'The Death of Abel?'" The usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain — Six hasty strides beyond "the place. Then slowly back again ; And down he sat beside the lad. And talk'd with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen. And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn. And murders done in caves; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod — Ay, how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod; And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God; 136 THE MODEL SPEAKER. He told how murderers walked the earth Beneath the curse of Cain — With crimson clouds before their eyes. And flames about their brain: For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain. " And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme — Woe, woe, unutterable woe — Who spill life's sacred stream! For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream! "One that had never done me wrong — A feeble man, and old; I led him to a lonely field — The moon shone clear and cold: ' Now here,' said I, ' this man shall die. And I will have his gold ! ' "Two sudden blows with ragged stick. And one with a heavy stone. One hurried gash with a hasty knife — ■ And then the deed was done: There was nothing lying at my foot But lifeless flesh and bone! "Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I fear'd him all the more, For lying there so still: There was a manhood in his look. That murder could not kill! "And, lo ! the universal air Seem'd lit with ghastly flame : Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame: I took the dead man by his hand, And call'd upon his name. THE MODEL SPEAKEB. 137 "O Godl it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain! But when I touch'd the lifeless clay, The blood gush'd out amain I For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain I " My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice ; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew. Was at the devil's price: A dozen times I groan'd; the dead Had never groan'd but twice! "And now, from forth the frowning sky. From the heaven's topmost height, I heard a voice — the awful voice Of the blood-avenging Sprite : ' Thou guilty man I take up thy dead And hide it from my sight ! ' " I took the dreary body up. And cast it in a stream — A sluggish water black as ink. The depth was so extreme: My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream! "Down went the corpse with hollow plunge, And vanish'd in the pool; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands. And wash'd my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young. That evening in the school. " O heaven ! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer. Nor join in evening hymn : Like a devil of the pit I seem'd, 'Mid holy cherubim ! 12* 138 THE MODEL SPEAKEK, "And peace went with, them, one and all, And each calm pillow spread; But guilt was my grim chamberlain That lighted me to bed; And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red I "All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep. My feyer'd eyes I dared not close, But stared aghast at Sleep: For Sin has render'd unto her The keys of hell to keep 1 " All night I lay in agony. From weary chime to chime. With one besetting, horrid hint, That rack'd me all the time: A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime 1 "One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave; Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave — Still urging me to go and see The Dead Man in his gravel " Heavily I rose up, as soon As light was in the sky, And sought the' black, accursed pool With a wild misgiving eye ; And I saw the Dead in the river bed, For the faithless stream was dry. " Merrily rose the lark, and shooTj The dewdrop from its wing ; But I never mark'd its morning flight, I never heard it sing : For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 139 " With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran; There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began: In £0 lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murder' d man 1 " And all that day I read in school, But my thought was otherwhere ; As soon as the midday task was done, In secret I was there : And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corpse was bare I " Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep — Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. " So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones 1 Ay, though -he's buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off bis flesh. The world shall see his bones I " O God ! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake 1 Again — again, with dizzy brain. The human life I take; And my right red hand grows raging hot. Like Cranmer's at the stake. "And still no peace for the restless clay, Will wave or mould allow; The horrid thing pursues my soul — It stands before me now ! " The fearful boy look'd up, and saw Huge drops upon his brow. 140 THE MODEL SPEAKEB. That very nigtit, while gentle sleep The urchin eyelids kiss'd, Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walk'd between, With gyves upon his wrist. THE INDIANS. THERE is, in the fate of these unfortunate beings, much to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment ; much which may be urged to excuse their own atrocities; much in their characters, which betrays us into an involuntary admiration. What can be more melancholy than their history? By a law of their nature, they seem destined to a slow, but sure extinction. Everywhere, at the approach of the white man, they fade away. We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves of autumn, and they are gone forever. (They pass mournfully by us, and they return no more. > Two centuries ago the smoke of their wigwams and the fires of their councils rose in every valley, from Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the mountains and the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk whistled through the forests ; and the hunter's trace and dark encampment startled the wild beasts in their lairsi The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young listened to the songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants, and gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The aged sat down ; but they wept not. They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home prepared for the brave, beyond the western skies, i Braver men never lived ; truer men never drew the bow. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance, beyond most of the human race. They shrank from no dangers, and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their country, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were uncon- THE MODEL SPEAKER. 141 querable also." Their love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave. But where are they ? Where are the villagers, and warriors, and youth ; 'the sachems and the tribes |) the hunters and their families? They have perished. They are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No, — nor famine, nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which has eaten into their heart-cores — a plague, which the touch of the white man communicated — a poison, which be- trayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which they may now call their own. Already the last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miserable homes, — the aged, the helpless, the women, and the war- riors, — " few and faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for terror or despatch ; but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look at their deserted villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter no cries ; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both; which chokes all utterance; which has no aim nor method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them, — no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an impas- sable gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still one remove farther, not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general burial- ground of their race. Reason as we may, it is impossible not to read in such a fate much that we know not how to interpret ; much of provocation to cruel deeds and deep resentments ; much of apology for wrong and perfidy ; much of pity mingling with indignation ; much of doubt and misgiving as to the past ; much of painful recollections ; much of dark forebodings. 142 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. SPARTACU8 TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS IN ETEUEIA. ENVOYS of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honored by your presence. And does Rome stoop to parley with the escaped gladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom here- tofore no slight has been too scornful ? You have come with steel in your right hand, and with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask Cossinius; ask Claudius; ask Varinius ; ask the bones of your legions that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye know what we do with that — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on our route; ask all whom Roman tyranny had crushed, or Roman avarice plundered. Ye have seen me before ; but ye did not then shun my glance as now. Ye have seen me in the arena, when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeared with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever ? — ye were present — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was, your munerator, your lord of the games, bethought him it were an equal match to set against me a new man, younger and lighter than I, but fresh and valiant. With Thracian sword and buckler, forth he came, a beautiful defiance on his brow! £loody and brief the fight. " He has it ! " cried the People ; " habet ! habet ! " But still he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, in my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat your Senators and men of State, to catch the signal of release, of mercy. But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your sport, the vanquished man must die ! Obedient brute that 1 was, I was about to slay him, when a few hurried words — rather a welcome to death than a plea for life — told me he was a Thi-acian. I stood transfixed. The arena vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my native hills ! The sword dropped from my hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my arms. Oh, the magnanimity of Rome I Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappointment, and shouted, " Kill I " I heeded them as I would heed the howl of wolves. Kill him. f — They might better have asked the mother to kill the babe, smiling in her face. Ah ! he was already wounded unto death ; and, amid the angry yells of the spectators, he died. That night I was scourged for disobedience. I shall not forget it. Should memory fail, there are scars here to quicken it. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 143 Well : do not gro# impatient. Some hours after, finding myself, witli seventy fellow-gladiators, alone in the amphitheatre, the laboring thought broke forth in words. I said — I know not what. I only know that when I ceased, my comrades looked each other in the face, and then burst forth the simultaneous cry — " Lead on ! lead on, O Spartacus 1 " Forth we rushed — seized what rude weapons chance threw in our way, and to the moun- tains speeded. There day by day our little band increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us a handful of her troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. Their weapons soon were ours. She sent an army ; and down from old Vesuvius we poured, and slew three thousand. Now it was Spartacus the dreaded rebel ! A larger army, headed by the Praetor, was sent, and routed ; then another still. And always I remembered that fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to " kill ! " In three pitched battles, have 1 not obeyed it ? And now affrighted Rome sends her two Consuls, and puts forth all her strength by land and sea, as if a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal were on her borders I Envoys of Rome I To Lentulus and Gellius bear this message : " Their graves are measured ! " Look on that narrow stream, a silver thread, high on the mountain's side ! Slenderly it winds, but soon is swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss, where all is ruin. So Spar- tacus comes on 1 So swells ftd« force — small and despised at first, but now resistless 1 On, on to Rome we come! The gladiators come ! Let Opulence tremble in all his palaces ! Let Oppression shudder to think the oppressed may have their turn I Let Cruelty turn pale at thought of redder hands than his ! Oh, we shall not forget Rome's many lessons ! She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile pupils. Now begone I Prepare the Eternal City for our games I THE KNIGHT'S TOAST. THE feast is o'er! Now brimming wine In lordly cup is seen to shine Before each eager guest; And silence fills the crowded hall. As deep as when the herald's call Thrills in the loyal breast. 144 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Then up arose the noble hosj, And, smiling, cried: "A toast I a toast I To all our ladies fair I Here, before all, I pledge the name Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame- The Ladye Gundamerel" Then to his feet each gallant sprung, And joyous was the shout that rung. As Stanley gave the word ; And every cup was raised on high, Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry, Till Stanley's voice was heard. "Enough, enough," he smiling said. And lowly bent his haughty head ; " That all may have their due, Now each, in turn, must play his part, And pledge the lady of his heart. Like gallant knight and true I " Then, one by one, each guest sprang up, And drained in turn the brimming cup. And named the loved one's name; And each, as hand on high he raised, His lady's grace or beauty praised, Her constancy and fame. 'Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise; On him are fixed those countless eyes: A gallant knight is he; Envied by some, admired by all. Far famed in lady's bower, and hall — The flower of chivalry. St. Leon raised his kindling eye. And lifts the sparkling cup on high: " I drink to one" he said, " Whose image never may depart, Deep graven on this grateful heart. Till memory be dead. THE MODEL SPEAKEK. 145 "To one whose love for me shall last When lighter passions long have past — So holy 't is and true ; To one whose love hath longer dwelt, More deeply fixed, more keenly felt, Than any pledged by you." Each guest upstarted at the word, And laid a hand upon his sword, With fury-flashing eye; And Stanley said : " We crave the name. Proud knight, of this most peerless dame. Whose love you count so high." St. Leon paused, as if he would Not breathe her name in careless mood, Thus lightly, to another ; Then bent his noble head, as though To give that word the reverence due. And gently said, " My Mother ! " EXTRACT FEOM A SERMON ON THE DEATH OP ABRAHAM LINCOLN. REPUBLICAN institutions have been vindicated in this ex- perience as they never were before ; and the whole history of the last four years, rounded up by this cruel stroke, seems, in the providence of God, to have been clothed, now, with an illus- tration, with a sympathy, with an aptness, and with a signifi- cance, such as we never could have expected nor imagined. God, I think, has said, by the voice of this event, to all nations of the earth, " Republican liberty, based upon true Christianity, is firm as the foundation of the globe." Even he who now sleeps has, by this event, been clothed with new influence. Dead, he speaks to men who now willingly hear what before they refused to listen to. Now his simple and weighty words will be gathered like those of Washington, and your children, and your children's children, shall be taught to ponder the simplicity and deep wisdom of utterances, which, in 13 K 146 THE MODEL SPEAKER. their time, passed, in party heat, as idle words. Men will receive a new impulse of patriotism for his sake, and will guard with zeal the whole country which he loved so well. I swear you, on the altar of his memory, to be more faithful to the country for which he has perished. They will, as they follow his hearse, swear a new hatred to that slavery against which he warred, and which, in vanquishing him, has made him a martyr and a conqueror. I swear you, by the memory of this martyr, to hate slavery with an unappeasable hatred. They will admire and imitate the firmness of this man, his inflexible conscience for the right ; and yet his gentleness, as tender as a woman's, his mode- ration of spirit, which not all the heat of party could inflame, nor all the jars and disturbances of this country shake out of its place. I swear you to an emulation of his justice, his modera- tion, and his mercy. You I can comfort ; but how can I speak to that twilight mil- lion to whom his name was as the name of an angel of God ? There will be wailing in places which no minister shall be able to reach. When, in hovel and in cot, in wood and in wilderness, in the field throughout the South, the dusky children, who looked upon him as that Moses whom God sent before them to lead them out of the land of bondage, learn that he has fallen, who shall comfort them? O thou Shepherd of Israel, that didst comfort thy people of old, to thy care we commit the helpless, the long- wronged, and grieved ! And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, mightier than when alive. The nation rises up at every stage of his com- ing. Cities and States are his pall-bearers, and the cannon beats the hours with solemn progression. Dead, dead, dead, he yet speaketh! Is Washington dead ? Is Hampden dead? Is David dead? Is any man that ever was fit to live dead? Disenthralled of flesh, and risen in the unobstructed sphere where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. His life now is grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be. I*ass on, thou that hast overcome ! Your sorrows, O people, are his peace! Your bells, and bands, and muffled drums sound triumph in his ear. Wail and weep here ; God makes its echo joy and triumph there. Pass on ! Four years ago, O Illinois ! we took from your midst an un- tried man, and from among the people. We return him to you THE MODEL SPEAKER. 147 a mighty conqueror. Not thine any more, hut the nation's ; not ours, but the world's. Give him place, O ye prairies ! In the midst of this great continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. Ye winds that move over the mighty places of the West, chant his requiem ! Ye people, be- hold a martyr whose blood, as so many articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty I THE BAEON'S LAST BANQUET. O'EE 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 fiudiger, 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 — That I shall mount my noble steed, and lead my band no more ; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I — 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 7 I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot: I '11 try his might, I '11 brave his power ! — defy, and fear him not I " Ho I sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin ; Bid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in : Up 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 oaken floor with many a martial tread; While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall. 148 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured, On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board ; While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, Armed cap-k-pie, stern Eudiger, with girded falchion, sate. " Fill every beaker up, my men ! — pour forth the cheering wine ! There's life and strength in every drop — thanksgiving to the vine ! Are ye all there, my vassals true? — mine eyes are waxing dim: Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim I " Ye 're there, but yet I see you not ! — forth draw each trusty sword. And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board I I hear it faintly ! — louder yet ! What clogs my heavy breath ? Up, all I — and shout for Eudiger, ' Defiance unto death ! ' " Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry, That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high : "Ho! cravens! 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 halfway up ; And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head. There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Eudiger sat — dead! DAVID'S LAMENT OVEE ABSALOM. THE king stood still Till the last echo died: then, throwing ofi" The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe: THE MODEL SPEAKER, 149 " Alas ! my noble boy 1 that thou shouldst die / Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair I How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom 1 " Cold is thy brow, my son 1 and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee : How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill. Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee. And hear thy sweet ' My father ' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom 1 "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young ; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung; But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom ! " And, oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart. Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken. How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token I It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom ! " And now, farewell ! 'T is hard to give thee up. With death so like a gentle slumber on thee : And thy dark sin ! — Oh ! I could drink the cup. If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom I " He covered up his face, and bowed himself A moment on his child : then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasped His hands convulsively, as if in prayer ; 13* 150 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And, as if strength -were given him of God, He rose up calmly, and composed the pall Firmly and decently, and left him there, As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. EGBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. FGR Scotland's and for Freedom's right The Bruce his part had play'd : In five successive fields of fight Been conquered and dismay'd; Once more against the English host His band he led, and once more lost The meed for which he fought ; And now, from battle faint and worn. The homeless fugitive forlorn A hut's lone shelter sought. And cheerless was that resting-place For him who claim'd a throne; His canopy, devoid of grace. The rude rough beams alone; The heather couch his only bed — Yet well I know had slumber fled From couch of eider-down ; Through darksome night to dawn of day. Immersed in wakeful thoughts he lay Gf Scotland and her crown. The sun rose brightly, and its gleam Fell on that hapless bed. And tinged with light each shapeless beam Whicn roof 'd the lowly shed ; When, looking up with wistful eye, The Bruce beheld a spider try His filmy thread to fling From beam to beam of that rude cot; And well the insect's toilsome lot Taught Scotland's future king. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 151 Six times his gossamery thread The wary spider threw : In vain the filmy line was sped; For powerless or untrue Each aim appear' d, and back recoil'd . The patient insect, six times foil'd, And yet unconquer'd stiR; And soon the Bruce, with eager eye, Saw him prepare once more to try His courage, strength, and skill. One effort more, the seventh and last ; The hero hail'd the sign! And on the wish'd-for beam hung fast The slender, silky line. Slight as it was, his spirit caught The more than omen, for his thought The lesson well could trace, Which even " he who runs may read," That perseverance gains its meed, And patience wins the race. ANTONY'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears : I come to bury Csesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones: So let it be with Csesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Csesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man: So are they all, all honorable men,) Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious. 152 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And Brutus is an tonorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Eome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Csesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And, sure, he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. And men have lost their reason! Bear with me: My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world: now lies he there. And none so poor to do him reverence. masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong: I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men: But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar — I found it in his closet; 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Cassar's wounds. And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. And, dying, mention it within their wills. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 153 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent — That day he overcame the Nervii. Look ! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through : See what a rent the envious Casca made : Through this, the well -beloved Brutus stabbed; And as he plucked his cursfed steel away, Mark, how the blood of Caesar followed it ! This was the most unkindest cut of all 1 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. Quite vanquished him ! Then burst his mighty heart ; And, in his mantle muffling up his face. Even at the base of Pompey'S statue. Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar feU. Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen 1 Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down. Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. Oh, now you weep I and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; — these are gracious drops. Kind souls I what, weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here! Here is himself — marred, as you see, by traitors. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny! They that have done this deed are honorable 1 What private griefe they have, alas, I know not. That made them do it! They are wise and honorable, And will, no Soubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : I am no orator, as Brutus is; But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man. That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 154 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : — I only speak right on ; I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; Show you sweet Csesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Eome to rise and mutiny ! HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. TO be — or not to be; — that is the question: — Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune ; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. And, by opposing, end them? — To die — to sleep — No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to — 't is a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die — to sleep ; — To sleep ! perchance to dream ; • — ay, there 's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life ; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despisfed love, the law's delay. The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? Who would fafdels bear. To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns — puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? 155 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. THE BATTLE OF WATEELOO. THERE was a sound of revelry by night ; And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. And all went merry as a marriage bell ; — But hush ! hark I a deep sound strikes like a rising knell 1 Did ye not hear it ? No : 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — But hark ! — • that heavy sound breaks in once more. As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar I Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs "Which ne'er might be repeated. Who could guess If evermore should meet those mutual eyes. Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? 156 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And there was mounting in liot haste : the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar — And near, the beat of the alarming drum. Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; — While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips — "The foe! they cornel they And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose I The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard — ■ and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : — How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring, which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years : And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears ! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. Grieving — if aught inanimate e'er grieves — Over the unreturning brave — alas I Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow, In its next verdure; when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low 1 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life ; Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay ; The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife; The morn, the marshalling in arms ; the day. Battle's magnificently-stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent. The earth is covered thick with other clay. Which her own clay shall cover — heaped and pent, Eider and horse — friend, foe — in one red burial blent 1 THE MODEL SPEAKER. 157 LITTLE JIM. THE cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and clean : The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, A patient mother watched beside the death-bed of her child — A little worn-out creature — his once bright eyes grown dim ; It was the collier's wife and child — they called him " Little Jim." And oh I to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up a prayer of thought — she was afraid to speak, Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life, For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife : With hands uplifted, see ! she kneels beside the sufferer's bed. And prays that He will spare her boy, and take herself instead. She gets her answer from her child — soft fall these words from him: " Mother, the angels they do smile, and beckon ' Little Jim.' I have no pain, dear mother, now ; but oh ! I am so dry — Just moisten poor Jim's lips again — and, mother, don't ye cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held a tea-cup to his lips ; He smiled to thank her as he took three little tiny sips — "Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him; And, mother, now I '11 go to sleep." Alas ! poor " Little Jim." She saw that he was dying — the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words that she might ever hope to hear ; The cottage door is opened — the collier's step is heard — The father and the mother meet, but neither spake a Vi'ord. He felt that all was over — he knew his child was dead; He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed ; His quivering lips give token of the grief he'd fain conceal — And see! his wife has joined him — the stricken couple kneel; With hearts bowed down with sadness they humbly ask of Him, In heaven once more to meet again their own poor "Little Jim." 11 158 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. OVER THE EIVER. OVER the river they beckon to me, Loved ones who crossed to the other side ; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There 's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue ; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels that met him there — The gate of the city we could not see ; Over the river, over the river. My brother stands, waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet ; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — Darling Minnie ! I see her yet! She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We watched it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side. Where all the ransomed and angels be ; Over the river, the mystic river. My childhood's idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores. Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; We hear the dip of the golden oars, A nd catch a glimpse of the snowy sail ; And lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts - They cross the stream and are gone for aye. We may not sunder the vail apart That hides from our vision the gates of day ; We only know that their barks no more Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. THE MODEL 8PEAKEK. 159 And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold Is flashing on river, and hill, and shore, I shall one day stand by the waters cold, And list to the sound of the boatman's oar. I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail ; I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand ; I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale To the better shore of the spirit-land. I shall know the loved who have gone before, And joyfully sweet will the meeting be. When over the river, the peaceful river, The angel of death shall carry me. BEENAEDO DEL CAEPIO. THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire : " I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord 1 — Oh ! break my father's chain 1 " "Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day: Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. And lo I from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band. With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land : " Now haste, Bernardo, haste I for there, in very truth, is he. The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." His dark eye flashed — his proud breast heaved ^ — his cheek's hue came and went— - He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismount- ing bent, 160 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. A lowly knee to earth lie bent, his father's hand he took — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it dropped from his like lead — He looked up to the face above — the face was of the dead. A plume waved o'er the noble brow — the brow was fixed and white ; — He met at last his father's eyes — but in -them was no sight I Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; — but who could paint that gaze ! They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : — They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood ; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. " Father I " at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then — Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of war-like men I He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown — He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. Then, covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, " No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for now — • My king is false, my hope betrayed I My father — oh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth ! " I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire I beside thee yet! — I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! — Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then; — for thee my fields were won ; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son ! " THE MODEL SPEAKER. 161 Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the mon- arch's rein, Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face — the king before the dead: — " Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ? — Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought — give answer, where are they ? — If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay ! "Into these glassy eyes put light — be still! keep down thine ire — Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my sire : — Give rae back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed — Thou canst not ? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy head!" He loosed the steed — his slack hand fell ; — upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place : His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain: His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain. HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE PLAYERS. CJPEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, O trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor, do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus : but use all gently ; for, in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirl- wind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters 14* ^' 162 THE MODEL SPEAKER. — to very rags, — to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er- doing Termagant; it out-Herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor ; suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of na- ture; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing — whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 't were, the mii'ror up to Nature ; to show virtue her own feature ; scorn, her own image ; and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though* it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh ! there be players that I have seen play — and heard others praise, and that highly — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably 1 TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. YE crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again ! I hold to you the hands you first beheld. To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me. And bid your tenant welcome to his home Again ! — O sacred forms, how proud you look ! How high you lift your heads into the sky ! How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! Ye are the things that tower, that shine — whose smile Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again! — I call to you With all my voice ! — I hold my hands to you, To show they still are free. I rush to you As though I could embrace youl THE MODEI^ SPEAKER. 163 .... Scaling yonder peak, I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow O'er the abyss: — his broad-expanded wings Lay calm and motionless upon the air, As if he floated there without their aid. By the sole act of his unlorded will, That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still His airy circle, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath And round about; absorbed, he heeded not The death that threatened him. I could not shoot — 'T was liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, And let him soar away I THE DYING CHEISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. YITAL spark of heavenly flame, Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame I Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying. Oh, the pain, the bliss, of dying ! Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life! Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, Sister Spirit, come away; What is this absorbs me quite — Steals my senses, shuts my sight. Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? Tell me, my soul! can this^be death? The world recedes — it disappears ! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring. Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death! where is thy sting? 164 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. GUILT CANNOT KEEP ITS OWN SECRET. Speech of Daniel "VVebater, on a trial for murder. AN aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own , house, and in his own bed, is made the rictim of a butcherly murder, for mere pay. The fatal blow is given, and the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work. He explores the wrist for the pulse. He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer. It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder — no eye has seeu-him, nor ear has heard him. The secret is his own — and it is safe. Ah, gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake ! Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out." True it is, that" Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or,.rather, it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either from heaven or THE MODEL SPEAKER. 165 earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it over- comes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding dis- closure. He thinka the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discre- tion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles, with still greater violence, to burst forth. It rmist be confessed — it will be confessed — there is no refuge from confession but suicide -^ and suicide is confession ! AMEEICAN LABORERS. THE gentleman, sir, has misconceived the spirit and tendency of Northern institutions. He is ignorant of Northern char- acter. He has forgotten the history of his country. Preach in- surrection to the Northern laborers! Who are the Northern laborers? The history of your country is their history. The renown of your country is their renown. The brightness of their doings is emblazoned on its every page. Blot from your annals the words and the doings of Northern laborers, and the history of your country presents but a universal blank. Sir, who was he that disarmed the Thunderer ; wrested from his grasp the bolts of Jove ; calmed the troubled ocean ; became the central sun of the philosophical system of his age, shedding his brightness and effulgence on the whole civilized world; whom the great and mighty of the earth delighted to honor ; who participated in the achievement of your independence, prominently assisted in moulding your free institutions, and the beneiici^ effects of whose wisdom will be felt to the last moment of "recorded time?" Who, sir, I ask, was he? A Northern laborer — a Yankee tallow-chandler's son — a printer's runaway boy ? And who, let me ask the honorable gentleman, who was he that, in the days of our Revolution, led forth a Northern army — yes, an army of Northern laborers — and aided the chivalry of South Carolina in their defence against British aggression, drove 166 THE MODEL SPEAKER, fhe spoilers from their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invaders ? Who was he? A Northern laborer, a Ehode Island blacksmith — the gallant General Greene — who left his hammer and his forge, and went forth conquering and to conquer in the battle for our independence ! And will you preach insur- rection to men like these? Sir, our country is full of the achievements of Northern labor- ers ! Where is Concord, and Lexington, and Princeton, and Trenton, and Saratoga, and Bunker Hill, but in the North? And what, sir, has shed an imperishable renown on the never- dying names of those hallowed spots, but the blood and the struggles, the high daring, and patriotism, and sublime courage of Northern laborers? The whole North is an everlasting monu- ment of the freedom, virtue, intelligence, and indomitable inde- pendence of Northern laborers ! Go, sir, go preach insurrection to men like these! The fortitude of the men of the North, under intense suffering for liberty's sake, has been almost god-like ! History has so re- corded it. Who comprised that gallant army, without food, without pay, shelterless, shoeless, penniless, and almost naked, in that dreadful winter — the midnight of our Revolution — whose wanderings could be traced by their blood-tracks in the snow; whom no arts could seduce, no appeal lead astray, no suf- ferings disaffect ; but who, true to their country and its holy cause, continued to fight the good fight of liberty, until it finally triumphed? Who, sir, were these men? Why, Northern labor- ers ! — yes, sir, Northern laborers! Who, sir, were Roger Sher- man, and ? But it is idle to enumerate. To name the Northern laborers who have distinguished themselves, and illus- trated the history of their country, would require days of the time of this house. Nor is it necessary. Posterity will do them justice. Their deeds have been recorded in characters of fire ! THE SOUTH DURING THE REVOLUTION. IF there be one State in the Union, Jlr. President, (and I say it not in a boastful spirit,) that may challenge comparison with any other, for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that State is South Carolina. Sir, from THE MODEL SPEAKER. 167 the very commencement of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made — no service she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity ; but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than filial affection. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs — though deprived of her re- sources, divided by parties, or surrounded with difficulties — the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound ; every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their common country. What, sir, was the conduct of the South during the Revolu- tion ? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But, great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honor is due to the South. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create a commercial rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guarantee that their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all considera- tions either of interest or of safety, they rushed into the conflict, and fighting for principle, perilled all in the sacred cause of freedom. Never was there exhibited, in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endur- ance, than by the Whigs of Carolina, during the Revolution. The whole State, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry per- ished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. The " plains of Carolina " drank up the most pre- cious blood of her citizens. Black and smoking ruins marked the places which had been the habitations of her children ! Driven from their homes, into the gloomy and almost impene- trable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived; and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumters and her Marions, proved, by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible. 168 THE MODEL SPEAKER. SOUTH CAEOLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS. THE eulogium pronounced on the character of the State of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Revo- lutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Eutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumters, the Marions — Americans, all — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State lines, than their tal- ents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and honored the country, and the whole country; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name the gentleman himself bears — does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom ? No, sir — increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here, in the Sen- ate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own State or neigh- borhood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; or, if I see an uncommon endowment of Heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and vir- tue in any son of the South — and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past; let me remind you that, in early times, no States cherished THE MODEL SPEAKER. 169 greater harmony, both, of principle and feeling, than Massachu- setts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return I Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Rev- olution hand in hand they stood round the Administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist- — alienation and distrust — are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachu- setts; she needs none. There she is — behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history — the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill — and there they will remain for- ever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for In- dependence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State from New England to Georgia — and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it — if party strife and blind ambi- tion shall hawk at and tear it — if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure — it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monu- ments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin I THE NOBLEST PUBLIC VIRTUE. THERE is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do not possess — a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That I cannot — I have not the coitrage to do. I cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested-^ a power conferred, not for my per- sonal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but for my country's 16 170 THE MODEL SPEAKER. good — to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a threat, lie down, and place my body across the path that leads my country to prosper- ity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is totally dis- tinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good. Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness some- times impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes, in the conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his consistency, his firm- ness, himself! The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism, which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-trans- porting thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism, which, catching its inspirations from the immortal God, and, leaving at an immeasurable distance below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sac- rifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itself — that is public virtue ; that is the noblest, the sublimest of all public virtues I THE BEST SEWING-MACHINE. GOT one? Don't say so ! Which did you get? One of the kind to open and shut? Own it or hire it? How much did j'ou pay? Does it go with a, crank or a treadle ? S-a-y. I 'm a single man, and somewhat green ; Tell me about your sewing-machine." THE MODEL SPEAKER. 171 "Listen, my boy, and hear all about it — I don't know what I could do without it; I 've owned one now for more than a year. And like it so well that I call it " my dear ; ' 'T is the cleverest thing that ever was seen, This wonderful family sewing-machine. " It 's none of your angular Wheeler things, ■W ith steel-shod back and cast-iron wings ; Its work would bother a hundred of his, And worth a thousand ! Indeed it is ; And has a way — you need not stare — Of combing and braiding its own back hair 1 " Mine is not one of those stupid affairs That stands in a corner with what-nots and chairs, And makes that dismal, headachy noise, Which all the comfort of sewing destroys ; No rigid contrivance of lumber and steel, But one with a na»tural spring in the heel. " Mine is one of the kind to love, And wears a shawl and a soft kid glove ; Has the merriest eyes and the daintiest foot, And sports the charmingest gaiter-boot. And a bonnet with feathers, and ribbons, and loops, With an indefinite number of hoops. " None of your patent machines for me, Unless Dame Nature is the patentee ; I like the sort that can laugh and talk, And take ray arm for an evening walk ; That will do whatever the owner may choose. With the slightest perceptible turn of the screws ! "One that can dance, and — possibly — flirt; And make a pudding as well as a shirt — One that can sing without dropping a stitch, And play the housewife, lady, or witch — Ready to give the sagest advice, Or to do up your collars and things so nice. 172 THE MODEL, SPEAKBE. " What do you think of my machine ? ^jJt(^ ___^_ Jis/'t it the best that ever was seen ? 'Tis n't a clumsy, mechanical toy, But flesh and blood ! Hear that, my boy ? With a turn for gossip, and household afiairs, Which include, you know, the sewing of tears. " Tut, tut, don't talk. I see it all — You need n't keep winking so hard at the wall : I know what your fidgety fumblings mean : You would like, yourself, a sewing-machine ! Well, get one, then — of the same design — There were plenty left where I got mine ! " HOW THE MONEY GOES. HOW goes the money? Well, I 'm sure it is n't liar4 to tell ; It goes for rent and water-rates. For bread and butter, coal and grates. Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and hose- And that 's the way the money goes I How goes the mohey? Nay, Don't everybody know the way ? It goes for bonnets, coats, and capes. Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, crapes, Shawls, ribbons, furs, and furbelows — And that 's the way the- money goes I How goes the money? Sure, I wish the many ways were fewer ; It goes for wages, taxes, debts. It goes for presents, goes for bets, For paints, pomade, and eau-de-rose — And that's the way the money goesl How goes the money? Now, I've scarce begun the mention how; THE MODEL SPEAKEB. 173 It goes for laces, feathers, rings, Toys, dolls, and other baby-things, Whips, whistles, candies, bells, and bows I And that 's the way the money goes ! How goes the money? Come, I know it didn't go for rum; It goes for schools and Sabbath chimes, It goes for charity sometimes. For missions and such things as those — And that 's the way the money goes I How goes the money? There, I 'm out of patience, I declare ; It goes for plays and diamond pins, For public alms and private sins, For hollow shams and silly shows — And that 's the way the money goes 1 THANKSGIVING DAY. A BRIGHT little damsel, dressed plainly and neat, Came tripping along o'er the wet, miry street, For November s first snow-gift was passing away In the chemical change of a red-featured clay ; So she guarded her clothes with a housewifely care, Still gliding ahead like a creature of air. While every brisk nerve in her feet seem'd to say, Going home, going home to keep Thanksgiving Day. On her well-rounded arm a nice basket she bore. With a present, perchance, of some delicate store ; For she poised it precisely, and peep'd now and then Beneath its snug lid with a critical ken.; All was right, and 't would seem that her movements kept time With the inward response of a musical chime. For nothing that song of her spirit could stay, Hoitie, father and mother, and Thanksgiving Day. 15* 174 THE MODEL SPEAKER, Then on came the cars, with a whistle and din, And light as a lark the young damsel leap'd in, And I saw her no more, save a glimpse through the pane Of a face that no evil had ventured to stain. Surrounded by travellers, on business intent, Some anxious, some weary, some feeble and bent. Though mingled with others vociferous and gay, In anticipation of Thanksgiving Day. So Fancy her limning took up, and behold A village sprang forth from her pencil of gold, And a quaint, rural house 'mid its roof-trees arose, Where a man and a woman, in Sabbath-day clothes. Gazed forth from their gate o'er the hill-top so brown. For their daughter to come from her work in the town, And, lo ! there she hastens, all smiling and gay. To gladden their souls on this Thanksgiving Day. O land of my birth ! dear New England, the clime Of pilgrims, and heroes, and sages sublime. Whatever of change o'er thine annals may sweep When we in thine elm-girdled bosom shall sleep, To a love-lighted home, where the virtues preside. And God is acknowledged as Ruler and Guide, Still gather thine own, from their work or their play, To this feast of the heart, old Thanksgiving Day. THE EOMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN. I CANNOT vouch my tale is true. Nor say, indeed, 't is wholly new ; But true or false, or new or old, I think you '11 find it fairly told. A Frenchman, who had ne'er before Set foot upon a foreign shore. Weary of home, resolved to go And see what Holland had to show. He didn't know a word of Dutch, But that could hardly grieve him much ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 175 He thought — as Frenchmen always do — That all the world could " parley-voo 1 " At length our eager tourist stands Within the famous Netherlands, And, strolling gayly here and there In search of something rich or rare, A lordly mansion greets his eyes : " How beautiful ! " the Frenchman cries. And, bowing to the man who sate In livery at the garden-gate, " Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please, Whose very charming grounds are these? And — pardon me — be pleased to tell Who in this splendid house may dwell?" To which, in Dutch, the puzzled man Replied what seemed like " Nick Van Stann." * " Thanks ! " said the Gaul ; " the owner's taste Is equally superb and chaste ; So fine a house, upon my word. Not even Paris can afibrd. With statues, too, in every niche ; Of course. Monsieur Van Stann is rich. And lives, I warrant, like a king — Ah I wealth must be a charming thing ! " In Amsterdam, the Frenchman meets A thousand wonders in the streets. But most he marvels to behold A lady dressed in silk and gold : Gazing with rapture at the dame, He begs to know the lady's name. And hears — to raise his wonder more — The very words he heard before ! - "Mercie!" he cries; "well, on my life, Milord has got a charming wife ; 'T is plain to see, this Nick Van Stann Must be a very happy man ! " Next day, our tourist chanced to pop His head within a lottery-shop, ♦Nicht Terstann — I don't understand. 176 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And there he saw, with staring eyes, The drawing of the Mammoth Prize. " Ten Miliions ! — 't is a pretty sum ; I wish I had as much at home I I'd like to know, as I'm a sinner, What lucky fellow is the winner ? " Conceive our traveller's amaze To hear again the hackneyed phrase I "What? noi — not Nick Van Stann again? Faith I he 's the luckiest of men ! You may be sure we don't advance So rapidly as that in France : A house, the finest in the land; A lovely garden, nicely planned; A perfect angel of a wife ; And gold enough to last a life; There never yet was mortal man So blest as Monsieur Nick Van Stann I Next day the Frenchman chanced to meet A pompous funeral in the street; And, asking one who stood near by What nobleman had pleased to die, Was stunned to hear the old reply ! The Frenchman sighed and shook his head, "Hon Dieu! poor Nick Van Stann is dead I With such a house, and such a wife. It must be hard to part with life; And then, to lose that Mammoth Prize — He wins, and — pop — the winner dies ! Ah ! well — his blessings came so fast, I greatly feared they could not last ; And thus, we see, the sword of Fate- Cuts down alike the small and great ! " DANIEL WEBSTER AND HENRY CLAY. THERE was a striking contrast between Daniel Webster and hia illustrious contemporary, Henry Clay. Webster was usually distant and reserved; Clay always cordial and sympa- THE MODEL SPEAKER. 177 thizing. Webster conversed brilliantly, but he required to be drawn out; Clay would take the initiative, and he always se- lected the subject with tact and a true discernment of the tastes and intelligence of his companions. In fashionable society at Washington, Webster stood in proud repose, with icy brow like Mont Blanc among the lesser Alps, its summit covered with per- petual snow. He was among them, but not of them. Clay on the contrary, had the facility to adapt himself to every situation. He could shine as brilliantly in the saloon as in the Senate. Webster would enter the party of a secretary or minister, move slowly to one side of the room, and sit down, silent and abstracted. After a while a few friends would gather around him, and the conversation, at first sluggish and cold, would gradually become instructive, sometimes warm into eloquence, but seldom grow light and lively. Clay would address himself to the ladies, engage in their conversation or amusement, and vie with the lightest of them in gayety, with the liveliest in vivacity, and with the bright- est in wit. Thus Clay was always the most popular man in Washington society ; a distinction which Webster never attained and never sought. Similar differences between the two were observable in their public and official intercourse with men. Webster made firm friends of the few, but held the many at a distance. He was courteous to all, but cordial only to those who had the key to his heart, and knew how to turn it. Clay made friends of all who approached him. Many who voted against him as a politician, loved him as a man. Webster inspired respect, but he was in- scrutable. When you grasped the warm hand of Clay, you could look through the windows of his eyes right down into his heart and see it beat. Webster awed men — Clay attracted them. They admired Webster — -they loved Clay. In their treatment of great questions, the difference between Clay and Webster was as striking as in their manners. It re- minds us of the contrast drawn by a writer some years since, in a style somewhat exaggerated, between Canning and Brougham. Clay swept lightly over the surface, seized the obvious points, and ^dorned his subject with all the graces of wit and rhetoric. Webster toiled in deep mines, grasped the strongest points, and addressed himself to the understanding rather than the sympa- thies of his hearers. Clay was the more persuasive — Webster M 178 THE MODEL SPEAKER. the more convincing. Clay constructed his edifice of the materials which lay nearest at hand, and it rose up light, airy, and grace- ful. Webster brought up from below the everlasting granite, and made his structure as solid as a pyramid. In personal controversy, Clay used a rapier; Webster, a broadsword. But both were adepts in the use of their peculiar weapons, and fortunate was the man who escaped alive from an encounter with either. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS IN FAVOR OF THE DECLAEATION OF INDEPENDENCE. SINK or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning we aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity that shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why then should we defer the Declaration ? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honor? Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague, near you; are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punish- ment and vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England re- mains, but outlaws ? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up the war? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever en- tered into by men, that plighting before God of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our THE MODEL SPEAKER. 179 lives ? I know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the whole land, or an. earthquake sink, it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George Washington he appointed commander of the forces raised, or to he raised, for the defence of American liberty, may " my right hand forget its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth," if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. The war, then, must go' on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the Declaration of Independence? Th^t measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. The nations will then treat with us, which they never can do while we acknowledge ourselves sub- jects in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that Eng- land herself will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowl- edge that her whole conduct to us has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will he' less wounded, by submitting to that course of things which now predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard as the result of fortune : the latter she would feel as her own disgrace. Why, then, why then, sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a national war? And since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the vic- tory? If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people of these colonies, and I know that resistance to Brit- ish aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead. Sir, the Declaration will in- spire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held u-nder a British king, set hefol« 180 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. them the glorious objects of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this Declaration at tl.e head of the army ; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious lib- erty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; first proclaim it there; let them hear it who first heard the roar of the enemy's cannon ; let them see it who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this Declaration shall be made good. We may die; die colonists; die slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so — be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me have a countrj', or at least the hope of a country, and that a free country. But, whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured that this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood : but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festiv- ity, with bonfires and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of grati- tude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe that the hour has come. My judg- ment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and nil that I am, and all that I hope in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off' as I begun, th.at, live or die, .survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is nu- living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment — Independence now, and Independence FOREVER I THE MODEL SPEAKEK. 181 MOUNT VEKNON. A deeply interesting and highly eloquent address, delivered by the lion. Joel B. Siitherlimd.in the prusuncu of two thousanLl veteniu suldiera of the W.ir onsi-, iiatimii- hli'd around the tomb of Wiishioiitou, Janutiry luth, lb5tS, ryprtisenting nineteen Stutea of the United Stiitea oi' America. W may we Americans cannot discover a spot so Iiallowed as this sacred slirine, where are garnered up tbe ashes of our beloved Washington. Around this sepulchre we therefore assem- ble, and most reverently bow the knee in token of our admira- tion of his spotless character. He was a soldier, a statesman, and a Christian. The Almighty gave him to America to make us free. This is manifested in the watchings of Providence over him, as well when the Indian levelled his rifle at his heart, and firing, failed to kill him, as during the after-scenes in the bloody drama of the Revolution, when he was shielded from every harm. And, still further to indie ite that our future existence as a people was largely to depend upon the father of our country, we find the course of events so moulded as that, after leading our army to victory, he was chosen to preside over the deliberations of the convention that framed our Constitution. With his unequalled name to that glorious instrument that binds the States together, we may confidently trust that they will never be sundered. Who can witness the holy reverence and deep emotions of this assemblage of the descendants of the men of 76, at this resting- place of the great and the good, without believing that every other American, though not present with us, bears just as ardent a love for our country as we do ourselves? These States will never break the links of holy concord that hold them together, as long as this tomb can be found by those who shall succeed us. The lesson to be gathered from our pilgrimage here will be long remembered. Thousands will annually follow our example, and treading in our footsteps, will come up hither. Every father throughout the whole land will, at least once, repair to the re- pository of the mighty dead. Nay, more, he will bring with him his children when of proper aa;e, and here, in the face of heaven and these venerated relics, pledge them to stand by the hoJy bro- therhood of States. 16 182 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Our mission is a progressive wonder. Tlie voice of the first pilgrim who had landed upon our shores, breathing liberty in its sweet tones, has been echoing from that time till now over the hills and valleys, lakes and rivers, mountains and plains of this our almost boundless country. It has reached from the Atlantic far, far away, even climbing that vast rocky barrier betwixt us and the wide-spreading Pacific. Our language, too, is the language of freedom. The nations that use it are either free, or on the high-road tov/ard the full enjoyment of freedom. What may we, therefore, not expect in the advancing march of our America, the very Eden of the world ? We see at a glance, in our brilliant and happy career, the most marked demonstrations that we have a heavenly star to light up our onward course. God in his providence has reared his Chris- tian standard of liberty in all parts of our territory, has given us school-houses, and religious temples devoted to his service, mak- ing our people a, terror to evil-doers, and a praise to them that do well. With such a wealth of promises surrounding us. on all sides, we will not permit ourselves to be disturbed about our national destiny, for we are satisfied that "our Union " is in the safe-keep- ing of a Power that will preserve it sure and steadfast, even as " the everlasting hills." GEANDEUE OF THE TEACKLESS SEA. "The sea ia His, and He made it." ITS majesty is God. What is there more sublime than the trackless, desert, all-surrounding, unfathomable sea? What is there more peacefully sublime than the calm, gently-heaving, silent sea? What is there more tewibly sublime than the angry, dashing, foaming sea ? Power resistless, overwhelming power, is its attribute and its expression, whether in the careless, conscious grandeur of its deep rest, or the wild tumult of its excited wrath. It is awful where its crested waves rise up to make a compact with the black clouds, and the howling winds, and the thunder, and the thunderbolt; and they sweep on, in the joy of their dread THE MODEL SPEAKER. 183 alliance, to do tlie Almighty's bidding. And it is awful, too, when it stretches its broad level out to meet in quiet union the bended sky, and show in the line of meeting the vast rotundity of the world. There is majesty in its wild expanse, separating and enclosing the great continents of the earth, occupying two- thirds of the whole surface of the globe, penetrating the land with its bays and secondary seas, and receiving the constantly pouring tribute of every river, of every shore. There is majesty in its fulness, never diminishing, and never increasing. There is majesty in its integrity, fo^ the whole vast surface is uniform ; in its local unity, for there is but one ocean, and the inhabitants of any one meridian spot may visit the inhabitants of any other in the wide world. Its depth is sublime — who can sound it ? Its strength is sublime — what fabric of man can resist it? Its voice is sublime, whether in the prolonged song of its ripple, or the stern music of its roar; whether it utters its hollow and mel- ancholy tones within a labyrinth of wave-worn caves, or thunders at the base of some huge promontory; or beats against some toil- ing vessel's side, lulling the voyager to rest with its wild mono- tony ; or dies away with the calm and dying twilight, in gentle murmurs, on some sheltered shore. What sight is there more magnificent than the quiet or the stormy sea? What music is there, however artful, which can be compared with the natural and changeful melodies of the resounding sea ? Its beauty is of God. It possesses it, in richness of its own ; it borrows it from earth, and air, and heaven. The clouds lend it the various dyes of their wardrobe, and throw down upon it the broad masses of their shadows as they go sailing and sweeping by. The rainbow laves in it its many-colored feet. The sun loves to visit it, and the moon, and the glittering brotherhood of planets and stars; for they delight themselves in its beauty. The sunbeams return from it in showers of diamonds and glances of fire; the moonbeams find in it a pathway of silver, when they dance to and fro with the breeze and the waves through the live- long night. It has a light, too, of its own, soft and streaming, behind a milky-way of dim and uncertain lustre, like that which is shining dimly above. It harmonizes in its forms and sounds both with the night and the day. It cheerfully refl'ects the light, and unites solemnly with the darkness. It imparts sweetness to the music of men, and grandeur to the thunder of heaven. 184 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. HEIGHT WATEE. OH, water for me ! bright water for me, And wine for the tremulous debauchee. Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain, And maketh the faint one strong again ; It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea^ All freshness, like infant purity ; Oh, water, bright water for me, for me : Give wine, give wine to the debauchee 1 Fill to the brim, fill to the brim ; Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim ! For my hand is steady, my eye is true, For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew. Oh, water, bright water's a mine of wealth. And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and health. So water, pure water, for me, for me ! And wine for the tremulous debauchee ! Fill again to the brim — again to the brim! For water strengtheneth life and limb ! To the days of the aged it addeth length. To the might of the strong it addeth strength ; It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 'T is like quaffing a goblet of morning light I So, water, I will drink nothing but thee. Thou parent of health and energy I When over the hills, like a gladsome bride, Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride, And, leading a band of laughing Hours, Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers, Oh ! cheerily then my voice is heard Mingling with that of the soaring bird. Who flingeth abroad his matin loud. As he freshens his wing in the cold, gray cloud. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 185 But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew, Drowsily flying, and weaving anew Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea. How gently, sleep, fall thy poppies on me I For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright, And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night. So hurrah for thee, water ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star: Hurrah for bright water ! hurrah ! hurrah ! E PLUEIBUS UNUM. THOUGH many and bright are the stars that appear In that flag by our country unfurl'd. And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there Like a rainbow adorning the world — Their light is unsullied as those in the sky, By a deed that our fathers have done. And they 're linked in as true and as holy a tie, In their motto of " Many in One." From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung That banner of starlight abroad. Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung As they clung to the promise of God ; By the bayonet traced in the midnight of war. On the fields where our glory was won — Oh ! perish the heart or the hand that would mar Our motto of " Many in One." 'Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar, How oft it has gathered renown ! While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore. Where the cross and the lion went down ; And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour. Yet the hearts that were striking below Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power, And they stoppied not to number the foe. 16* 186 THE MODEL SPEAKER. From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky, And the giant St. Lawri^nce is rolled, To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie, Like the dream of some prophet of old, They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care Not this boundless dominion alone, But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air, And their motto of " Many in One." We are many in one, while there glitters a star In the blue of the heavens above, And tyrants shall quail, 'mid their dungeons afar, When they gaze on that motto of love. It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm — Over tempest, and battle, and wreck — ■ And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm, 'Neath the blood on the slippery deck. The oppress'd of the earth to that standard shall fly. Wherever its folds shall be spread, And the exile shall feel 't is his own native sky. Where its stars shall wave over his head ; And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time Its millions of cycles have run — ■ Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime. And the nations of earth shall be one. Though the old Allegheny may tower to heaven. And the Father of Waters divide, The links of our destiny cannot be riven While the truth of those words shall abide. Then, oh I let them glow on each helmet and brand, Though our blood like our rivers should run ; Divide as we may in our own native land, To the rest of the world we are one. Then up with our flag ! — let it stream on the air ; Thouo;h our fathers are cold in their graves, They had hands that could strike — they had souls that could dare — And their sons were not born to be slaves. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 187 Up, up with that banner! — where'er it may call, Our millions shall rally around. And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall, When its stars shall be trailed on the ground. AENOLD WINKELRIED. The nnbte voluntary dfath of the Switzer, ■Vt'inliplriecl, is nccurately described in the ft)Ilos\ in;;' Vi-r.-sps. In tlu' bnttie nf ghmipMch. in the .unittH-ntli cpntur.v, tliis martyr- pa^riiit, perceiving; liint there wjis no othtr tneans of breiiking the heavy-armed ]ineB of tlie Au.strian-4 than hy gathcTih;^; ns many of their spear-s as be conld grrasp togcthi^r, opened, by this nit'ans, a passfige lor his ffllow-conibatanta, who, with hammers and hatchets, hewed down the ni.uied men-at-arnia, and won the victory. "11 /FAKE way for liberty I" he cried — JjX Made way for liberty, and died ! In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood ; Impregnable their front appears. All horrent with projected spears. Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their fatherland. Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke ; Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, They came to conquer or to fall. And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath ; The fire of conflict burned within; The battle trembled to begin ; Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for assault was nowhere found; Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed. The unbroken line of lances blazed; That line 'twere suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet. How could they rest within their graves. To leave their homes the haunts of slaves? Would they not feel their children tread. With clanking chains, above their head? 188 THE MODEL SPEAKER. It must not be; this day, this hour, Annihilates the invader's power! All Switzerland is in the field — She will not fly ; she cannot yield ; She must not fall ; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boast. But every freeman was a host, And felt as 't were a secret known That one should turn the scale alone, While each unto himself was he On whose sole arm hung victory. It did depend on one, indeed ; Behold him — Arnold Winkelried ! There sounds not to the trump of Fame The echo of a nobler name. Unmarked, he stood amid the throng, In rumination deep and long, Till you might see, with sudden grace, The very thought come o'er his face ; And, by the motion of his form, Anticipate the bursting storm ; And, by the uplifting of his brow. Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. But 't was no sooner thought than done — The field was in a moment won ! " Make way for liberty ! " he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide. As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten spears he swept within his grasp. " Make, way for liberty ! " he cried ; Their keen points crossed from side to side; He bowed among them, like a. tree. And thus made way for liberty. Swift to the breach his comrades fly — " Make way for liberty ! " they cry. And through the Austrian phalanx dart. As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart, THE MODEL SPEAKER. 189 While, instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic seized thera all. An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow. Thus Switzerland again was free — Thus death made way for liberty 1 NOBILITY OF LABOR. I CALL upon those whom I address to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improve- ment. Let not that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down, for ages. Let it, then, be built up again ; here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new world — of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do, indeed, toil ; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit to it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing so much on earth as to escape from it. They fulfil the great law of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit ; fulfil it with the muscle, but break it with the mind. To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theatre of improvement. But so is he not impelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civiliza- tion. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in his idleness. This way of thinking is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil, art thou ? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and dusty labor- field ; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than that of war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which mother nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity? It is treason to Nature — it is impiety to Heaven — it is breaking Heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true man- hood, the only true nobility ! 190 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. LABOR IS WORSHIP. Laborare est orare — To labor is to pray. PAUSE not to dream of the future before us ; Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us ; Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus, Unintermitting, goes up into heaven ! Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; Never the little seed stops in its growing ; More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. "Labor is worship!" — the robin is singing; " Labor is worship ! " — the wild bee is ringing : Listen ! that eloquent whisper upspringing . Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower; From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower; From the small insect, the rich coral bower; Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. Labor is life ! 'T is the still water faileth ; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory ! — the flying cloud ligbtens ; Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune! Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us. Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us. Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill. Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow! Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow! Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willow I Work with a stout heart and resolute will 1 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. 191 Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee i Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee I Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee; Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod. Work for some good, be it ever so slowly; Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; Labor! all labor is noble and holy; Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God I THE OEDER OF NATURE. ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame. Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze. Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees. Lives through all life', extends through all extent. Spreads undivided, operates unspent; Breathes in Our soul, informs our mortal part. As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : To Him, no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. Cease, then, nor Order, Imperfection name — Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point ; this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. Submit ; — in this, or any other sphere. Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear — Safe ill the hand of one disposing Power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good : And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite. One truth is clear : Whatever is, is right. 192 THE MODEL, SPEAKER. AMERICA'S CONTEIBUTIONS TO THE WOELD. WHAT, it is asked, has this nation done to repay the world for the benefits we have received from others ? Is it no- thing for the universal good of mankind to have carried into suc- cessful operation a system of self-government • — uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of rights, with national power and dignity — such as had before existed only in the Uto- pian dreams of philosophers ? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated, in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil and criminal jurisprudence, which are but now received as plausible theories by the politicians and economists of Europe? Is it nothing to have been able to call forth, on every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents always equal to the difficulty? Is it nothing to have, in less than half a century, exceedingly improved the sciences of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches; to have en- riched human knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful facts and observations, and to have augmented the power and the comforts of civilized man by miracles of mechanical in- vention ? Is it nothing to have given the world examples of dis- interested patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learning, eloquence, and valor, never exerted save for some praise- worthy end? It is sufficient to have briefly suggested these consid- erations ; every mind would anticipate me in filling up the details. No, land of liberty ! — thy children have no cause to blush for thee. What, though the arts have reared few monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's footstep is found in the paths of our forests, or along the banks of our rivers — yet our soil has been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple and hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations. Land of refuge — land of benedictions! — those prayers still arise, and they still are heard : " May peace be within thy walls, and plen- teousness within thy palaces ! " " May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no complaining in thy streets 1 " " May truth flourish out of the earth, and righteousness look down from heaven ! " THE MODEL SPEAKER. 193 OUR DUTY TO OUE COUNTRY. THE Old World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the beginning and end of all its own marvellous strug- gles in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, "The land of scholars and the nurse of arms," where sister republics, in fair procession, chanted the praises of liberty and the gods — where and what is she? For two thou- sand years the oppressor has ground her to the earth. Her arts are no more. Tlie last sad relics of her temples are but the bar- racks of a ruthless soldiery. The fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, yet beautiful in ruins. She fell not when the mighty were upon her. Her sons were united at Ther- mopylsB and Marathon, and tho, tide of her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She was conquered by her own factions. She fell by the hands of her own people. The man of Macedonia did not the work of destruction. It was already done by her own corruptions, banishments, and dissensions. Rome, republican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising and setting sun — where and what is she? The eternal city yet remains, proud even in her desolation, noble in her decline, venerable in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of death. The malaria has but travelled in the paths worn by her destroyers. More than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her empire. A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Caesar had crossed the Rubicon ; and Brutus did not restore her health by the deep probings of the senate chamber. The Goths, and Van- dals, and Huns, the swarms of the North, completed only what was already begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The legions were bought and sold; but the people offered the tribute- money. We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experi- ment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the op- pressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfee- bled by the vices or luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning — simple, hardy, intelligent, 17 N 194 THE MODEL SPEAKER. accustomed to self-government, and to self-respect. The Atlan- tic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longi- tude, we have the choice -of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Ee- ligion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary than for the people to preserve what they have themselves created? Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life- blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France and the low lands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the North ; and, moving onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days. Can it be that America, under such circumstartces, can betray herself? Can it be that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the in- scription upon whose ruins is: They were, but they are not? Forbid it, my countrymen ! Forbid it. Heaven I THE COMMON LOT. ONCE, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man; and who was he? Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast. That man resembled thee. Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown: His name has perished from the earth; This truth survives alone: — That joy and grief, and hope and fear, Alternate triumphed in his breast; His bliss and woe — a smile, a tear ! — Oblivion hides the rest. The bounding pulse, the languid limb. The changing spirit's rise and fall; We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all. THE MODEL SPEAKEK, 195 He suiFered — but his pangs are o'er; Enjoyed — but his delights are fled; Had friends — his friends are now no more; And foes — his foes are dead. He loved — but whom he loved the grave Plath lost in its unconscious womb: Oh, she was fairl — but nought could save Her beauty from the tomb. He saw whatever thou hast seen; Encountered all that troubles thee: He was — whatever thou hast been; He is — what thou shalt be. The rolling seasons, day and night. Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, Erewhile his portion, life and light, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That .once their shades and glory threw. Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew : The annals of the human race. Their ruins, since the world began, Of him afford no other trace Than this — There lived a man I THE SHIP OF STATE. BREAK up the Union of these States, because there are ac- knowledged evils in our system ? Is it so easy a matter, then, to make every thing in the actual world conform exactly to the ideal pattern we have conceived, in our minds, of absolute right? Suppose the fatal blow were struck, and the bonds which fasten together these States were severed, would the evils and mischiefs that would be experienced by those who are actually members of this vast Republican Community be all that would ensue? Cer- tainly not. We are connected with the several nations and races of the world aa no other people has ever been connected. We 196 THE MODEL SPEAKER. have opened our doors, and invited emigration to our soil from all lands. Our invitation has been accepted. Thousands have ^onie at our bidding. Thousands more are on the way. Other thousands still are standing a-tiptoe on the shores of the Old World, eager to find a passage to the land where bread may be had for labor, and where man is treated as man. In our political family almost all nations are represented. The several varieties of the race are here subjected to a social fusion, out of which Providence designs to form a " new man." We are in this way teaching the world a great lesson — namely, that men of different languages, habits, manners, and creeds, can live together, and vote together, and, if not pray and worship together, yet. in near vicinity, and do all in peace, and be, for certain purposes at least, one people. And is not this lesson of some value to the world, especially if we can teach it, not by theory merely, but through a successful example? Has not this lesson, thus conveyed, some connection with the world's progress toward that far-off period to which the human mind looks for the fulfilment of its vision of a perfect social state? It may safely be asserted that this Union could not be dissolved without disar- ranging and convulsing every part of the globe. Not in the in- dulgence of a vain confidence did our fathers build the Ship of State, and launch it upon the waters. We will exclaim, in the noble words of one of our poets : " Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State I Sail on, Union, strong and great I Humanity "vvitli all its feavs, With all the hopes of future years. Is hanging hreathless on thy fate I We know "what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, "Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope 1 Pear not eacli sudden sound and shock — 'T is of the wave, and not the rock ; 'T ia but the flapping of the sail. And not a rent made by the gale I In spite of rock and tempest-roar. In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the Baa! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. Our hearts, our hopes, our prayere, our tears. Our folth triumphant o'er our fears. Are all with thoo — are ail with thtie!" THE MODEL SPEAKER. 197 THE PRESS. p OD said — "Let there be light!" Vjr Grim darkness felt His might, And fled away: Then startled seas and mountains cold Shone forth, sill bright in blue and gold. And cried — '"T is day! 'tis day!" " Hail, holy light ! " exclaimed The thunderous cloud that flamed O'er daisies white ; And lo ! the rose, in crimson dressed, Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast. And, blushing, murmured — "Light." Then was the skylark born ; Then rose the embattled corn; Then floods of praise Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon : And then, in stillest night, the moon Poured forth her pensive rays. Lo, heaven's bright bow is glad I Lo, trees and flowers, all clad In glory, bloom ! And shall the immortal sons of God Be senseless as the trodden clod. And darker than the tomb? No, by the mind of man ! By the swart artisan ! We will aspire! Our souls have holy light within, And every form of grief and sin Shall see and feel its. fire. By all we hope of Heaven, The shroud of souls is riven I 17* 198 THE MODEL, SPBAKEE. Mind, mind alone Is light, and hope, and life, and power ! Earth's deepest night, from this blessed hour- The night of mind — is gone! "The Press!" all lands shall sing; The Press, the Press we bring, All lands to bless. O pallid want ! O labor stark ! Behold ! we bring the second ark ! The Press, the Press, the Press I A DEFENCE OF POETEY. BELIEVE not those who tell you that Poetry will seduce the youthful mind from severe occupations. Didactic Poetry not only admits, but refiuires, the co-operation of Philosophy and Science. And true Poetry must be always reverent. Would not an universal cloud settle upon all the beauties of Creation, if it were supposed that they had not emanated from Almighty energy ? In works of art, we are not content with the accuracy of feature, and the glow of coloring, until we have traced them to the mind that guided the chisel, and gave the pencil its delicacies and its animation. Nor can we look with delight on the features of Nature, without hailing the celestial Intelligence that gave them birth. Tlie Deity is too sublime for Poetry to doubt His exist- ence. Creation has tocJmuoh of the Divinity insinuated into her beauties to allow Poetry to hesitate in her creed. She demands no proof She waits for no demonstration. She looks, and she believes. She admires, and she adores. Nor is it alone with natural religion that she maintains this intimate connection ; for what is the Christian's hope, but Poetry in her purest and most ethereal essence? From the beginning she was one of the ministering spirits that stand round the throne of God, to issue forth at His word, and do His errands upon the earth. .Sometimes she has been the herald of an offending nation's downfall. Often has she been sent com- missioned to offending man, with prophecy and warning upon her lips. At other times she has been intrusted with " glad THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 199 tidingSjOf great joy.'' Poetry was the anticipating apostle, the prophetic evangelist, whose feet " were heautiful upon the moun- tains;" who published salvation; who said unto Zion, "Thy God reigneth 1 " BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF C^SAE. ROMANS, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly — any dear friend of Csesar's — to him I say, that Bsutus' love to Caesar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer : Not that I loved Cajsar less, but that I loved Kome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Caesar loved ine, I weep for him ; as he was fortu- nate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his' ambition ! Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Eoman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None? Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth: as which of you shall not? With this I depart : That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. 200 THE MODEL SPEAKER. THE SOLDIEE'S DKEAM. OUE bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered. The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; 'T was autumn — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. " Stay, stay with us — rest ; thou art weary and worn ! " And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay — But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. WAT TYLEK'S ADDEESS TO THE KING. KING of England, Petitioning for pity is most weak — ■ The sovereign people ought to demand justice. I lead them here against the Lord's anointed. Because his ministers have made him odious ! His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 201 Why do ye carry on this fatal war, To force upon the French a king they hate ; Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes, Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest peasant, Distressing us to desolate our neighbors? Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed. But to support your court's extravagance. And your mad title to the crown of France? Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils, Petitioning for pity ? King of England, Why are we sold like cattle in your markets, Deprived of every privilege of man ? Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet, And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us? You sit at ease in your gay palaces : The costly banquet courts your appetite ; Sweet music soothes your slumbers: we, the while, Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food. And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night-wind. Whilst your wild projects wrest the little from us Which might have cheered the wintry hours of age ! The Parliament forever asks more money ; We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ; Where is the benefit — what good reap we From all the counsels of your government? Think you that we should quarrel with the French? What boots to us your victories, your glory ? We pay, we fight — you profit at your ease ; Do you not claim the country as your own ? Do you not call the venison of the forest. The birds of heaven, your own ? — prohibiting us, Even though in want of food, to seize the prey Which nature oifers? King! is all this just? Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer? The hour of retribution is at hand, And tyrants tremble — mark me. King of England I 202 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. BATTLE HYMN. FATHER of earth acd heaven ! I call thy name! Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll ; My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame ; Father ! sustain an untried soldier's soul. Or life, or death, whatever be the goal That crowns or closes round the struggling hour. Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole One deeper prayer, 'twas that no cloud might lower On my young fame ! Oh, hear ! God of eternal power ! Now for the fight ! Now for the cannon-peal ! Forward — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fire! Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel, The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire ! They shake ! like broken waves their squares retire I On them, hussars ! Now give them rein and heel; Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire: Earth cries for blood ! In thunder on them wheel ! This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal ! ORATION AGAINST CATILINE. Cicero, the greatest of Roman orators, was 'born at Arpinum, 106 B. C, two hundred and sixteen ye.ii-s iifter the deatli of Deiiiostliynes. Ilavjug talten part against Antony, after thd aaaassintitiuii of Coisar, Cicero was proscribed. He was murdered by a party of fioldiors, headed by Popilina LEenas, whose life lae had formerly saved by his elo- qni-nce; und his bead and hnnds were publicly exhibited on the rostrum at Rome. He pnished in )iis sixly-finirth year, 40 ]J. G. Ilia writings are vohiniinons. As an orator, Cicero ranks next to Delllo^tllPnes ; and his orations against Catiline andVerres are masterpieces of denunciatory eloquence. [OW far, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience. How long shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career? To what extreme wilt thou carry thy audacity? Art thou nothing daunted by the nightly watch posted to secure the Palatium ? Nothing, by the city guards? Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens? Nothing, by the assembling of the Senate in this fortified place? Nothing, by the averted looks of all here present? Seest thou not that all thy plots are exposed ? — that thy wretched conspir- THE MODEL SPEAKER. 203 acy is laid bare to every man's knowledge here in the Senate? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of last night ; of the night before; — the place of meeting, the company convoked, the moasures concerted? Alas, the times 1 Alas, the public in orals! The Senate understands all this. The consul sees it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives? Ay, truly, and confronts us here in coun- cil — takes part in our deliberations — and, with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter 1 And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the state, if we but shun this madman's sword and fury ! Long since, O Catiline, ought the consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in Eome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless because forbearing.' We have a decree — though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scab- bard — a decree by .which thy Ijfe would be made to pay the for- feit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to deatli, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. I3ut, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since de- served. Then will I doom thee, when no man is found so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one man that dares defend thee, live! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the republic without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The dark- ness of night shall not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noonday, what canst thou now have in view ? Proceed, plot, conspire as thou wilt; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear, and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in provid- ing for the preservation of the state than thou in plotting its destruction ! 204 THE MODEL 8PEAKBE. EOBESPIEEKE'S LAST SPEECH. The diiy after llijs speech — delivered July IZSth, 1794, and adnreFBed to an nspentTly bent un "his di-stnicUuii — liohespiel-re wa.s exei illed. jit the caily i.^e oj' ihiity-five, uiidt-r eirLiiiii:,tnne s of aeeiiiim..iti-il Imriur. llis tiiie m a Aviiriiiii;; lo rtilirti wlio ^vtiiild cement c\eii ihe best oJ guvcrniiielila Willi bluud. I.dljc&itiel I'c's characler is BtiU an eni^ni.i; some re^ui-iling Uuii as an honest fanalic, and otheis as a ci'afl\ dema- gogue. L'erliapa the traits of either predominated at tunes. '•Destitute,'' savs Laliiar- tine, "of e.xteiior graces, and of that gilt of e.xteinpuraneoii.s sjieaking which pours forth the unpremeditated inspirations of natural eloquence, KoLe^pieire had taken so much pains with hilnself — he had meditated so much, written and erased so much — he had so often braved the inattention and the sarcasms of his audiences — that, in the end, he succeeded in giving warmth and supjileness to his style, and in transloniiing his whrde person, despite his stitf and meagre figure, his shrill voice, and abrupt gestic- ulation, into an engine of eloquence, of conviction, and of passion." THE enemies of the republic call me tyrant I Were I such, they would grovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold — I should grant them impunity for their crimes — and they would be grateful. Were I such, the kings we have vanquished, far from denouncing Kobespierre, would lend me their guilty support. There would be a covenant between them and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the enemies of tyranny — whither does their path tend? To the tomb, and to immortality ! What tyrant is my protector? To what faction do I belong? Your- selves ! What faction, since the beginning of the Eevolution, has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors ? You — the people — our principles — are that faction ! A faction to which I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the day is banded ! The confirmation of the republic has been my object; and I know that the republic can be established only on the eternal basis of morality. Against me, and against those who hold kin- dred principles, the league is formed. My life ? oh ! my life, I abandon without a regret ! I have seen the past ; and I foresee the future. What friend of his country would wish to survive the moment when he could no longer serve it — when he could no longer defend innocence against oppression ? Wherefore should I continue in an order of things where intrigue eternally triumphs over truth ; where justice is mocked ; where passions the most abject, or fears the most absurd, override the sacred interests of humanity ? In witnessing the multitude of vices which the torrent of the Eevolution has rolled in turbid communion with its civic virtues, I confess that I have sometimes feared that I THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 205 should be sullied in the eyes of posterity, by the impure neigh- borhood of unprincipled men, who had thrust themselves into association witli the sincere friends of humanity ; and I rejoice that these conspirators against my country have now, by their reckless rage, traced deep the line of demarcation between them- selves and all true men. Question history, and learn how all the defenders of liberty, in all times, have been overwhelmed by calumny. But their tra- ducers died also. The good and the bad disappear alike from the earth; but in very different conditions. O Frenchmen! O my countrymen I let not your enemies, with their desolat- ing doctrines, degrade your souls, and enervate your virtues I No, Chaumette, no ! Death is not " an eternal sleep ! " Citizens ! efface from the tomb that motto, graven by sacrilegious hands,, which spreads over all nature a funeral crape, takes from op- pressed innocence its support, and affronts the beneficent dis- pensation of death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : " Death is the commencement of immortality ! " I leave to the oppressors of the people a terrible testament, which I proclaim with the independence befitting one whose career is so nearly ended; it is the awful truth — " Thou shalt die I " LORD CHATHAM'S SPEECH IN DEFENCE OF AMERICA. In regard to this speech, wo find in the diary of Josinh Quincy. Jr., the following memmMiKliini : " Attendud the cU-biites in tlie House of Lords. Godrt foitunc jrave nio one of th« be-it plucas for hearinj;. Lord Cliathiim rose like Marcellus. His lanpnatie, voice, and scstiiro were more pathetic than I ever saw or heard bufore. at the Bar ur Senate. He seemod lilc an old Uoman senator, riainff with tlie dignity of aire, yet speaking with the firo of youth." Br. Franklin, who was also pn-sent at thn debate, said of this speech that "he luid seen, in the course of his liff, sometimes eloquence without wisdom, and often M'isdom without eloqiienco; in the present ioEtance, he Baw both united, and both, as he thought, in the highest degree possible." AMERICA, my Lords, cannot be reconciled to this country — she ought not to be reconciled — till the troops of Britain are withdrawn. How can America trust you, with the bayonet at her breast? How can she suppose that you mean less than bondage or death? I therefore move that an address be pre- sented to his Majesty, advising that immediate orders be despatched to General Gage, for removing his Majesty's forces from the town 18 206 THE MODEL SPEAKER. of Boston. The way must be immediately opened for reconcilia- tion. It will soon be too late. An hour now lost in allaying ferments in America may produce years of calamity. Never will I desert, for a moment, the conduct of this weighty business. Unless nailed to my bed by the extremity of sickness, I will pur- sue it to the end. I will knock at the door of this sleeping and confounded Ministry, and will, if it be possible, rouse them to a sense of their danger. I contend not for indulgence, but for justice, to America. What is our right to persist in such cruel and vindictive acts against a loyal, respectable people ? They say you have no right to tax them without their consent. They say truly. Eepresentation and taxation must go together ; they are inseparable. 1 therefore urge and conjure your lordships immediately to adopt this con- ciliating measure. If illegal violences have been, as it is said, committed in America, prepare the way — open the door of pos- sibility — for acknowledgment and satisfaction; but proceed not to such coercion — such proscription: cease your indiscriminate inflictions ; amerce not thirty thousand ; oppress not three mil- lions ; irritate them not to unappeasable rancor, for the fault of , forty or fifty. Such severity of injustice must forever render incurable the wounds you have inflicted. What though you march from town to town, from province to province? What though you enforce a temporary and local submission; — how shall you secure the obedience of the country you leave behind you in your progress? — how grasp the dominion of eighteen hundred miles of continent, populous in numbers, strong in valor, liberty, and the means of resistance ? The spirit which now resists your taxation in America, is the same which formerly opposed loans, benevolences, and ship- money, in England; — the same spirit which called all England on its legs, and, by the Bill of Rights, vindicated the English Constitution ; — the same spirit which established the great fun- damental essential maxim of your liberties, that no mbject of England skall be taxed but by his own consent. This glorious Whig spirit animates three millions in America, who prefer pov- erty, with liberty, to gilded chains and sordid affluence; and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as freemen. What shall oppose this spirit, aided by the congenial flame glowing in the breast of every Whig in England? " 'Tia liberty to liberty THE MODEL SPEAKER. 207 engaged," that they will defend themselves, their families, and their country. In this great cause they are immovably allied : it is the alliance of God and nature — immutable, eternal — fixed as the firmament of heaven. CHAMOUNI. HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? — so long he seems to pause On thy bald, awful front, sovereign Blanc I The Arv6 and Arveiron at thy base Eave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form, Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines How silently I Around thee and above, Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it. As with a wedge I But, when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine. Thy habitation from eternity. dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody. So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought - Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy — Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused. Into the mighty vision passing ^ there, As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. Awake, my soul ! Not only passive praise Thou owest ; not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake, Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake. Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 208 THE MODEL SPEAKER, Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale 1 Oh I struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars. Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink — Companion of the morning star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald, wake ! oh, wake ! and utter praise I Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jaggfed rocks, Forever shattered, and the same forever ? Who gave you your invulnerable life. Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ? And who commanded — and the silence caine — " Here let the billows stifien, and have rest? " Ye ice-falls ! ye, that from the mountain's brow, Adown enormous ravines slope amain — Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice. And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with IS^ig flowers Of loveliest blue spread garlands at your feet? " God ! " let the torrents, like a shout of nations. Answer: and let the ice-plains echo, " God I " " God ! " sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice, Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds 1 And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow. And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder, " God ! " Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! Utter forth " God I " and fill the hills with praise. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 209 Thou, too, hoar mount, with thy sky-pointing peaks. Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain I thou That — as I raise my head, a while bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears — Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me — rise, oh, ever rise ! Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! Thou, kingly spirit, throned among the hills. Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, " Earth with her thousand voices, praises God." WEBSTER'S PLEA FOR DARTMOUTH COLLEGE. THE Supreme Court of the United States held its session that winter in a mean apartment of moderate size — the Capitol not having been built after its destruction in 1814. The audi- ence, when the case came on, was therefore small, consisting chiefly of legal men, the Uite of the profession throughout the country. Mr. Webster entered upon his argument in the calm tone of easy and dignified conversation. His matter was so completely at his command that he scarcely looked at his brief, but went on for more than four hours with a statement so lumi- nous, and a chain of reasoning so easy to be understood, and yet approaching so nearly to absolute demonstration, that he seemed to carry with him every man of his audience without the slight- est effort or weariness on either side. It was hardly eloquence, in the strict sense of the term ; it was pure reason. Now and then, for a sentence or two, his eye flashed and his voice swelled into a bolder note, as he uttered some emphatic thought ; but he instantly fell back into the tone of earnest conversation, which ran throughput the great body of his speech. The argument ended. Mr. Webster stood for some moments 18* 210 THE MODEL SPEAKER. silent before the court, while every eye was fixed intently upon him. At length, addressing the Chief Justice, Marshall, he pro- ceeded thus : " This, sir, is my case ! It is the case, not merely of that humble institution, it is the case of every college in our land. It is more. It is the case of every eleemosynary institution throughout the country — of all those great charities founded by the piety of our ancestors to alleviate human misery, and scatter blessings along the pathway of life. It is more I It is, in some sense, the case of every man among us who has property of which he may be stripped ; for the question is simply this : Shall our State legislatures be allowed to take that which is not their own, to turn it from its original use, and apply it to such ends or purposes as they, in their discretion, shall see fit? " Sir, you may destroy this little institution ; — it is weak ; it is in your hands ! I know it is one of the lesser lights in the literary horizon of our country. You may put it out. But if you do so, you must carry through your work ! You must ex- tinguish, one after another, all those great lights of science which, for more than a century, have thrown their radiance over our land I " It is, sir, as I have said, a small college. And yet, there ure those who love it " Here the feelings which he had thus far succeeded in keeping down, broke forth. His lips quivered ; his firm cheeks trembled with emotion ; his eyes were filled with tears, his voice choked, and he seemed struggling to the utmost simply to gain that mastery over himself which might save him from an unmanly burst of feeling. I will not attempt to give you the few broken words of tenderness in which he went on to speak of his attach- ment to the college. The whole seemed to be mingled through- out with the recollections of father, mother, brother, and all the trials and privations through which he had made liis way into life. Every one saw that it was wholly unpremeditated, a press- ure on his heart, which sought relief in words and tears. The court-room during these two or three minutes presented an extraordinary spectacle. Chief-Justice Marshall, with his tall and gaunt figure, bent over as if to catch the slightest whisper, the deep furrows of his cheek expanded with emotion, and eyes suffused with tears. Mr. Justice Washington at his side with THE MODEL SPEAKER. 211 his small and emaciated frame, and countenance more like mar- ble than I ever saw on any other human being — leaning forward with an eager, troubled looli ; and the remainder of the court, at the two extremities, pressing, as it were, toward a single point, while the audience below were wrapping themselves round in closer folds beneath the bench to catch each look and every movement of the speaker's face. If a painter could give us the scene on canvas — those forms and countenances, and Daniel Webster as he then stood in the midst — it would be one of the most touching pictures in the history of eloquence. One thing it taught me, that the pathetic depends not merely on the words utlered, but still more on the estimate we put upon him who uttcra them. There was not one among the strong-minded men of that assembly who could think it unmanly to weep, when he saw standing before him the man who had made such an argu- ment, melted into the tenderness of a child. Mr. Webster had now recovered his composure, and fixing his keen eye on the Chief Justice, said in that deep tone with which he sometimes thrilled the heart of an audience : " Sir, I know not how others feel, (glancing at the opponents of the college before him,) but, for myself, when I see my Alma Mater surrounded, like CsEsar in the senate-house, by those who are reiterating stab upon stab, I would not, for my right hand, have her turn to me, and say, £i tu quoque, mi fili ! And thou, too, my son ! " He sat down. There was a deathlike stillness throughout the room for some moments ; every one seemed to be slowly recov- ering himself, and coming gradually back to his ordinary range of thought and feeling. TEIBTJTE TO WEBSTEK. THEY say he was ambitious ! Yes, as Ames said of Hamilton, " There is no doubt that he desired glory ; and that, feeling his own force, he longed to deck his brow with the wreath of iramoriality." But I.believe he would have yielded his arm, his frame to be burned, before he would have sought to grasp the highest prize of earth by any means, by any organization, by any 212 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. tactics, by any speech, wtidi in tlie least degree endangered the harmony of the system. They say, too, he loved New England! He did love New Hampshire — that old granite world — the crystal hills, gray and cloud-topped; the river, whose murmur lulled his cradle; the old hearthstone ; the grave of father and. mother. He loved Massa- chusetts, which adopted and honored him — that sounding sea- shore, that charmed elm-tree seat, that reclaimed farm, that choice herd, that smell of earth, that dear library, those dearer friends; but the "sphere of his duties was his true country." Dearly he loved you, for he was grateful for the open arms with which you welcomed the stranger, and sent him onward and upward. But when the crisis came, and the winds were let loose, and that sea of March " wrought and was tempestuous," then you saw that he knew even you only as you were, American citizens; then you saw him Jise to the true nature and stature of Ameri- can citizenship ; then you read on his brow only what he thought of the whole republic ; then you saw him fold the robes of his habitual patriotism around him, and counsel for all — for all. So, then, he served you — " to be pleased with his service was your affair, not his." And now what would he do, what would he be, if he were here to-day? I. do not presume to know. But what a, loss we have in him ! I have read that in some hard battle, when the tide was run- ning against him, and his ranks were breaking, some one in the agony of a need of generalship exclaimed, "Oh, for an hour of Dundee ! " So say I, Oh, for an hour of Webster now ! Oh, for one more roll of that thunder inimitable! One more peal of that clarion! One more grave and bold counsel of moderation ! One more throb of American feeling ! One more Farewell Address ! And then might he ascend unhindered to the bosom of his Father and his God. WASHINGTON. IT matters very little what immediate spot may have been the bh-thplace of such a man as Washington. No people can claim, no country appropriate him. The boon of Providence to THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 213 the human race — his fame is eternity, arid his residence crea- tion. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost hless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared! How bright in the brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us ! In the production of Washing- ton, it does really appear as if nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of .the new. Individual instances, no doubt there were — splendid exempli- fications of some single qualification. Ccesar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely mas- terpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in one glow of a.ssoci- ated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy' of the cabinet into the most comprehen- sive system of general advantage ; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost added the character of the sage I A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood ; a revo- lutionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the com- mand. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him ; whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and pre- ferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created ! Happy, proud Amer- ica! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism. 214 THE MODEL SPEAKEB. "WASHINGTON TO THE PEESENT GENERATION. FELLOW-CITIZENS : — What contemplations are awakened in our minds, as we assemble here to re-enact a scene like that performed by Washington ! Methinks I see his venerable form now before me, as presented in the glorious statue by Hou- don, now in the capital of Virginia. He is dignified and grave ; but his concern and anxiety seem to soften the lineaments of his countenance. The government over which he presides is yet in the crisis of experiment. Not free from troubles at home, he sees the world in commotion and arms all around him. He sees that imposing foreign powers are half-disposed to try the strength of the recently established American government. We perceive that mighty thoughts, mingled with fears as well as hopes, are struggling within him. He heads a short procession over these then naked fields ; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree ; he ascends to the top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest stand as thick around him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and here lie performs the appointed duty of the day. And now, fellow-citizens, if this vision were a reality — if Washington actually were now among us — and if he could draw around him the shades of the great public men of his own days — patriots and warriors, orators and statesmen — and were to address us, in their presence, would he not say to us: "Ye men of this generation, I rejoice, and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, and sacrifices were not in vain. You are prosperous — you are happy — you are gratefiil. The fire of liberty burns brightly and steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from bursting forth in wild and de- structive conflagration. Cherish liberty, as you love it ; cherish its securities, as you wish to preserve it. Maintain the. Constitu- tion which we labored so painfully to establish, and which has been to you such a source of inestimable blessings. Preserve the Union of the States, cemented as it was by our prayers, our tears, and our blood. Be true to God, to your country, and to your duty. So shall the whole Eastern world follow the morning sun, to contemplate you as a nation ; so shall all succeeding genera- tions honor you as they honor us ; and so shall that Almighty THE MODEL SPEAKER. 215 Power which so graciously protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting blessings upon you and your poster- ity." Great father of your country I we heed your words ; we feel their force as if you uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your example teaches us ; your affectionate addresses teach us ; your public life teaches us your sense of the value of the blessings of the Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, and still taste. Nor do we intend that those who come after us shall be denied the same high fruition. Our honor as well as our happiness is concerned. We cannot, we dare not, we will not betray our sacred trust. We will not iilch from pos- terity the treasure placed in our hands to be transmitted to other generations. The bow that gilds the clouds in the heavens, the pillars that uphold the firmament, may disappear and fall away in the hour appointed by the will of God; but, until that day comes, or so long as our lives may last, no ruthless hand shall undermine that bright arch of Union and Liberty which spans the continent from Washington to California. LOOK ALOFT. IN the tempest of life, when the waves and the gale Are around and above, if thy footing should fail. If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, " Look aloft," and be firm, and be fearless of heart. If thy friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow. With a smile for each joy, and a tear for each woe. Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed, " Look aloft " to the friendship which never shall fade. Should the visions which hope spreads in light to the eye, Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, Then turn, and, through tears of repentant regret, "Look aloft" to the sun that is never to set. Should they who are dearest — the son of thy heart. The wife of thy bosom — in sorrow depart, 216 THE MODEL, SPEAKEE. "Look aloft," from the darkness and dust of tlie tomb, To that soil where affection is ever to bloom. And oh ! when Death comes in his terror to cast His fears on the future, his pall on the past. In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart, And a smile in thine eye, " look aloft," — and depart. THE REMOVAL. A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade — By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made — Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy, and pull down. This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate ; But, alas/ when he entered he found it too late; For in each dwelt a smith ; — a more hard-working two Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe. At six in the morning, their anvils, at work. Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk. "These fellows," he cried, "such a clattering keep. That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." From morning till night they keep thumping away — No sound but the anvil the whole of the day ; His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong. He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop ; But, no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop ; At length, (both his spirits and health to improve,) He cried, " I '11 give each fifty guineas to move." " Agreed ! " said the pair ; " that will make us amends." " Then come to my house, and let us part friends ; You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion That each may live long in his new habitation." THE MODEL, SPEAKER, 217 He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale; He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale; So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise, aud restore him to rest. "And now,'' said he, "tell me, where mean you to move? I hope to some spot where your trade will improve." " Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, " Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his I " CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. The Rcene, in Croly's tragedy of "Cutiline," from which the following is taken, repre- lents the Roinnu Senute in sessioD, lictui'fl prfsunt, a consul in the chidr, and Cicero on the floor as the proaecntor of Catiline and liis fol low-conspirators. Catiline eutera, and takes his seat on tlie senatorial bench, wliereupoii the senatora go over to the other side. Cicero repeats hia charges in Catiline's presence; and the latter rises and replies, "Conscript fathers, I do not rise," etc. Cicero, in bis rejoinder, produces proofs, and exclaims : "Tried and conTicted traitor I Go from Rome!" Catiline hanchtily tells the Senate to make the mnrder as they make the law. Cicero directs an ofBcer to give Tip the r^tord of Catiline's banishment. Catiline then uttera those words: '* Banished from Rome," etc. ; hut when he tells tbe consul " Ho dares not touch a hair of Catiline," the consul reads the decree of his banishment, and orders tlie lictora to drive the "traitor" from the temple. Catiline, furious at being thus baffled, catches at the word "traitor," and terminatt^s the scene with his anihicinus denunciation, "Here I devote your Senate," etc. At the close, he rushes through the portal, as the lictora and sen^ tors crowd upon him. pONSCEIPT fathers I V^ I do not rise to waste the night in words ; Let that plebeian talk ; 't is not my trade ; But here I stand for right — let him show proofs — For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves! His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs. You have my answer. Let my actions speak I But this I will avow, that I have scorned. And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ! Who brands me pn the forehead, breaks my sword, 19 218 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts The gates of honor on me — turning out The Roman from his birthright; and, for what? [LooMng round him. To fling your offices to every slave ! Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, And, having wound their loathsome track to the top Of this huge, mouldering monument of Eome, Hang hissing at the nobler man below I Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones ; [To the Senate. Fling down your sceptres ; take the rod and axe. And make the murder as you make the law I Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? " Tried and convicted traitor ! " Who says this ? Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? Banished ! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords ! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes. Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up. To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you! here, I fling Hatred and full defiance in your face ! Your consul 's merciful. For this, all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline ! " Traitor ! " I go ; but I return. This — trial 1 Here I devote your Senate ! I 've had wrongs To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day 's the birth of sorrow I This hour's work Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my lords I For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods. Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes : Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 219 Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; NakpJ rebellion, with the torch and uxe, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones; Till anarchy comes down on you like night, And massacre seals Kome'a eternal grave. I go ; but not to leap the gulf alone. I go ; but, when I come, 'twill be the burst Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling hack In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ; You build my funeral-pile ; biit your best blood Shall quench its flame ! Back, slaves ! [ To the lictors. I will return. TEUTH AND HONOR. IF wealth thou art wooing, or title and fame, There is that in the doing brings honor or shame ; There is more in the running than winning the race; This marks thee as worthy, that brands thee as base. Oh, then, be a man, and whatever betide. Keep truth thy companion, and honor thy guide I If a king, be thy kingship right royally shown, And trust to thy subjects to shelter thy throne ; Eely not on weapons or armies of might, But on that which endureth — laws loving and right ; Though a king, be a man, and whatever betide. Keep truth thy companion, and honor thy guide. If a prince, or a noble, depend not on on blood — The heart truly noble is that which is good ; If the stain of dishonor encrimson thy brow, Thou art slave to the peasant that sweats at the plough. Be noble as men ; and whatever betide. Keep truth your companion, and honor your guide. If a lover, be constant, confiding, and kind, For doubting is death to the sensitive mind; 220 THE MODEL SPEAKEE, Love's exqiiiaite passion a breath, may destroy — Who soweth in faith expects harvests of joy. In loving, be men, and wliatever betide, Keep truth your companion, and honor your guide. If a parent, be firm, yet forgiving and true; If a child, honor him to whom honor is due ; If rich, or if poor, or whatever thou be, Bemember the truthful alone are the free. Be ever a man,- and whatever betide. Keep truth thy companion, and honor thy guide. Then, though sickness may come and misfortune may fall, The trust in thy bosom surviveth them all; Truth — Honor — Love — Friendship, no tempest can pale: They're flowers breathing balm in adversity's gale. Oh, the manlike is godlike, and so shall betide, While truth 's thy companion, and honor thy guide. THE POLISH BOY. WHENCE come those shrieks so wild and shrill, That out, like blades of steel, the air, Causing the creeping blood to chill With the sharp cadence of despair? Again they come, as if a heart Were cleft in twain by one quick blow. And every string had voice apart To utter its peculiar woe. Whence came they ? from yon temple, where An altar, raised for private prayer. Now forms the warrior's marble bed, Who Warsaw's gallant armies led ? The dim funereal tapers throw A holy lustre o'er his brow. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 221 And burnish with, their rays of light The mass of curls that gather bright Above the haughty brow and eye Of a young boy that 's kneeling by. What hand is that, whose icy press Clings to the dead with death's own grasp, But meets no answering caress ? No thrilling fingers seek jts clasp ; It is the hand of her whose cry Ean wildly late upon the air, When the dead warrior met her eye Outstretched upon the altar there. With pallid lip and stony brow, She murmurs forth her anguish now. But hark ! the tramp of heavy feet Is heard along the bloody street I Nearer and nearer yet they come. With clanking arpis and noiseless drum. Now whispered curses, low and deep. Around the holy temple creep ; — The gate is burst ! a ruffian band Rush in, and savagely demand. With brutal voice and oath profane. The startled boy for exile's chain ! The mother sprang with gesture wild. And to her bosom clasped her child ; Then, with pale cheek and flashing eye, Shouted, with fearful energy, " Back, ruffians, back ! nor dare to tread Too near the body of my dead ! Nor touch the living boy ; I stand Between him and your lawless band! Take m.e, and bind these arms, these hands, With Russia's heaviest iron bands. And drag me to Siberia's wild. To perish, if 't will save my child I " 19* 222 THE MODEL SPEAKER. " Peace, woman, peace ! " the leader cried, Tearing the pale boy from her side, And in his ruffian grasp he bore His victim to the temple door. " One moment ! " shrieked the mother ; " one! Will land or gold redeem my son? Take heritage, take name, take all, But leave him free from Russian thrall! Take these 1 " and her white arms and hands She stripped of rings and diamond bands, And tore from braids of long black hair The gems that gleamed like starlight there. Her cross of blazing rubies, last Down at the Russian's feet she cast. He stooped to seize the glittering store ; — Up springing from the marble floor. The mother, with a cry of joy, Snatched to her leaping heart the boy ! But no ! the Russian's iron grasp Again undid the mother's clasp. Forward she fell, with one long cry Of more than mortal agony. But the brave child is roused at length, And, breaking from the Russian's hold. He stands, a giant in the strength Of his young spirit iierce and bold ! Proudly he towers ; his flashing eye. So blue, and yet so bright, Seems kindled from the eternal sky. So brilliant is its light. His curling lips and crimson cheeks Foretell the thought before he speaks; With a full voice of proud command He turns upon the wondering band : " Ye hold me not ! no, no, nor can I This hour has made the boy a man. I knelt beside my slaughtered sire. Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire. I wept upon his marble brow — Yes, wept ! I was a child ; but now — THE MODEL SPEAKER. 223 My noble mother on her knee Has done the work of years for me ! " He drew aside his broidered vest, And there, like slumbering serpent's crest, The jewelled haft of poniard bright Glittered a moment on the sight. "Hal start ye back? Fool! coward! knave I Think ye my noble father's glaive Would drink the life-blood of a slave? The pearls that on the handle flame Would blush to rubies in their shame ; The blade would quiver in thy breast. Ashamed of such ignoble rest. No I thus I rend the tyrant's chain, And iling him back a boy's disdain ! '' A moment, and the funeral light Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright ; Another, and his young heart's blood Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood ! Quick to his mother's side he sprang, And on the air his clear voice rang : " Up, mother, up ! I'm free ! I 'm free I The choice was death or slavery ! Up, mother, up ! Look on thy son ! His freedom is forever won I And now he waits one holy kiss To bear his father home in bliss, One last embrace, one blessing — one ! To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son ! What! silent yet? Canst thou not feel My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal ? Speak, mother, speak! lift up thy headi' What ! silent still ? Then art thou dead ! Great God ! I thank thee ! Mother, I Rejoice with thee — and thus — to die I " One long, deep breath, and his pale head Lay on his mother's bosom — dead ! 224 THE MODEL SPEAKER. THE VISIT OF ST. NICHOLAS. ) rp WAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house X Not a creature was stirring — not even a mouse : The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds. While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see wljat was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below ; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick ! More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name : " Now, Dasher ! now. Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now, Vixen ! On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Dunder and Blixen ! To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall ! Now, dash away ! dash away ! dash away, all ! " As dry leaves, that before the wild hurricane fly, Whe^ they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas, too; And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot. And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; A bundle of toys was flung on his back. And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack ; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 225 His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples, how merry I His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a, broad face, and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf — And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings ; then turned with a jerk, And, laying his finger aside of his nose. And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, " Merry Christmas to' all, and to all a good-night I " THE BUGLE SONG. rf^HE splendor falls on castle walls _\_ And snowy summits old and hoary; The long light shakes across the lakes. And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow ; set the wild echoes flying : Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh, hark ! oh, hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ; Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar. The horns of Elfland faintly blowing: Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle I answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh, love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river : P 226 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. THE INQUIEY. TELL me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar. Do ye not know some spot where mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west. Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low. And sighed for pity as it answered -r- " No.'' Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away, Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs ; Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer — " No." And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face, Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace ; Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not seen some spot, Where miserable man might find a happier lot? Behind a cloud the moop withdrew in woe. And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded — " No." Tell me, my secret soul — oh I tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death? Is there no happy spot, where mortals may be blessed, AVhere grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest? Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whispered — " Y'ES, in HEAVEN." (r5>^25C<;^^x^~3 THE MODEL SPEAKEE, 227 MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT. I AM old and blind 1 Men point at me as smitten by God's frown ; Afflicted and deserted of my kind, Yet 1 am not cast down. I am weat, yet strong ; I murmur not that I no longer see; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father Supreme! to thee. merciful One I When men are farthest, then Thou art most near; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun. Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorious face Is leaning toward me, and its holy light Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place — And there is no more night. On my bended knee, I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown ; My vision Thou hast dimmed, that I may see Thyself, Thyself alone. 1 have nought to fear; This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing ; Beneath it I am almost sacred — here Can come no evil thing. Oh ! I seem to stand Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been. Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land. Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go, Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; From angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song. 228 THE MODEL SPEAKER. It is nothing now, When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes — When airs from Paradise refresh my brow — That earth in darkness lies. In a purer clime, My being fills with rapture — waves of thought EoU in upon my spirit — strains sui)lime Break over me unsought. Give me now my lyre I I feel the stirrings of a gift divine ; Within my bosom glows unearthly fire Lit by no skill of mine. THE HOUE OF PRAYER. CHILD, amid the flowers at play, While the red light fades away; Mother, with thine earnest eye. Ever following silently; Father, by the breeze at eve Call'd thy harvest-work to leave ; — Pray! Ere yet the dark hours be. Lift the heart, and bend the knee. Traveller, in the stranger's land. Far from thine own household band; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell; Sailor, on the darkening sea ; — Lift the heart, and bend the knee. Warrior, that, from battle won, Breathest now at set of sun ; Woman, o'er the lowly slain, Weeping on his burial plain; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 229 Ye that triumph, ye that sigh. Kindred by one holy tie ; Heaven's first star alike ye see — Lift the heart, and bend the knee. OLD TUBAL CAIN. OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might In the days when the earth was young ; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung ; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear : And he sang, " Hurrah for my handiwork I Hurrah for the spear and sword ! Hurrah for the hand that wields them well. For he shall be king and lord ! " To Tubal Cain came many a one. As he wrought by his roaring iire ; And each one prayed for a strong steel blade. As the crown of his heart's desire. And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearl and gold. And spoils of the forest-tree ; And they sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who has given us strength anew ! Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire. And hurrah for the metal true ! " But a sudden change came o'er his heart Ere the setting of the sun ; And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done. He saw that men, with rage and hate. Made war upon their kind — 20 230 THE MODEL SPEAKER, That the land was fed with the blood they shed. And their lust for carnage blind ; And he said, " Alas ! that ever I made, Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and sword for man, whose joy ^ Is to slay his fellow-man." And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe ; And his hand forbore to smite the ore. And his furnace smouldered low ; But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright, courageous eye. And he bared his strong arm for the work. While the quick ilames mounted high ; And he said, " Hurrah for my handiwork ! " And the fire-sparks lit the air ; " Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made ! " And he fashioned the first ploughshare ! And men, taught wisdom from the past. In friendship joined their hands ; Hung the sword in the hall, and the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands ; And sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain ! Our staunch good friend is he; And for the ploughshare and the plough To him our prize shall be ! But when oppression lifts its hand. Or a tyrant would be lord. Though we may thank him for the plough, We '11 not forget the sword ! " HAGAE IN THE WILDEENESS. THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dyes ; and leaves. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 231 And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And everything that bendeth to the dew And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. •AH things are dark to sorrow ; and tte light And loveliness and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth Was pouring odors from its spicy pores, And the young birds were singing as if life Were a new thing to them ; but music came Upon her ear like discord, and she felt That pang of the unreasonable heart„ That, bleeding amid things it loved so well, Would have some sign of sadness as they pass. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed Till the blood started ; and the wandering veins Of her transparent forehead were swelled out. As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven, Which made its language legible, shot back From her long lashes as it had been flame. Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet. Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor, Sandalled for journeying. He had looked up Into his mother's face, until he caught The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Beneath his dimpled bosom, and his form Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath, As if his light proportions would have swelled, Had they but matched his spirit, to the man. Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now Upon his staff so wearily ? His beard Is low upon his breast, and high his brow, So written with the converse of his God, Beareth the swollen vein of agony. His lip is quivering, and his wonted step 232 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Of vigor is not there ; and, though the morn Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes Its freshness as if it were a pestilence. He gave to her the .water and the bread. But spoke no word, and trusted not himself To look upon her face, but laid his hand, In silent blessing, on the fair-haired boy. And left her to her lot of loneliness. Should Hagar weep ? May slighted woman turn. And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off. Bend lightly to her leaning trust again ? Oh, no ! by all her loveliness — by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no ! Make her a slave ; steal from her cheek the rose By needless jealousies ; let the last star Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain ; Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all That makes her cup a bitterness — yet give One evidence of love, and earth has not An emblem of devotedness like hers. But, oh ! estrange her once — it boots not how — By wrong or silence — anything that tells A change has come upon your tenderness — And there is not a feeling out of heaven Her pride o'ermastereth not. She went her way with a strong step and slow — Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed As if it were a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed His hand till it was pained ; for he had read The dark look of his mother, and the seed Of a stern nature had been breathed upon. The morning passed, and Asia's snn rode up In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat. The cattle of the hills were in the shade, And the bright plumage of the Orient lay THE MODEL SPEAKEK. 233 On beating bosoms in her spicy trees. It was an hour of rest ! but Hagar found No shelter in the wilderness, and on She kept her weary way, until the boy Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips For water ; but she could not give it him. She laid him down beneath the sultry sky — For it was better than the close, hot breath Of the thick pines — and tried to *omfort him ; But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes Were dim and blood-shot, and he could not know Why God denied him water in the wild. She sat a little longer, and he grew Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. It was too much for her. She lifted him. And bore him farther on, and laid his head Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub ; And, shrouding up her face, she went away, And sat to watch, where he could see her not. Till he should die ; and, watching him, she mourned : " God stay thee in thine agony, my boy I I cannot see thee die ; I cannot brook Upon thy brow to look. And see death settle on my cradle joy. How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye I And could I see thee die? " I did not dream of this when thou wast straying, Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers ; Or wiling the soft hours. By the rich gush of water-sources playing, Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, So beautiful and deep. " Oh, no ! and when I watched by thee the while, And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile, 20* 234 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. How prayed I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee I " And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee I And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press ; And, oh ! my last caress Must feel thee cold ; for a chill hand is on thee. How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there Upon his clustering hair I " * She stood beside the well her God had given To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed The forehead of her child until he laughed In his reviving happiness, and lisped His infant thought of gladness at the sight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. A PSALM OF LIFE. 1">ELL me not, in mournful numbers, " Life is but an empty dream ! " For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things ^re not what they seem I Life is real ! life is earnest ! ' And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like mufiled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 235 In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle I Be a hero in the strife! Trust no F.uture, howe'er pleasant I Let the dead Past bury its dead I Act — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erheadi Lives of- great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime. And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time : Footprints, that perhaps another. Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing. With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing. Learn to labor and to wait. THE LORD, THE KING OF GLORY. rriHE earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; X The world and they that dwell therein. For he hath founded it upon the seas. And established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in his holy place ? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity. Nor sworn deceitfully, 236 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. He shall receive the hlessing from the Lord, And rigjj(teousness from the God of his salvation. This is the generation of them that seek Him — That seek thy face, O Jacob ! Selah. Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; And be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors ; And the King of glory shall come in. Who is the King of glory? The Lord, strong and mighty, The Lord, mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, ye gates! Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; And the King of glory shall come in. Who is the King of glory? The Lord of hosts, He is the King of glory. CHARITY. Without charity, all gifts are as nothing. THOUGH I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tink- ling cymbal. And, though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and, though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And, though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and, though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not: char- ity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endur- eth all things. Charity gever faileth : but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, THE MODEL SPEAKER. 237 and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child ; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly ; but then face to face : now I know in part ; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three ; but the greatest of these is charity. PEAISE YE THE LOED. PRAISE ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens ; praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels ; praise ye him, all his hosts. Praise yc him, sun and moon : praise him, all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of hea- vens, and ye waters that be above the heavens. Let them praise the name of the Lord : for he commanded, and they were created. He hath also established them forever and ever : he hath made a decree which shall not pass. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps : fire, and hail ; snow, and vapors ; stormy wind fulfilling his word ; mountains, and all hills ; fruitful trees, and all cedars ; beasts, and all cattle ; creeping things, and flying fowl ; kings of the earth, and all people ; princes, and all judges of the earth ; both young men, and maidens ; old men, and chil- dren ; let them praise the name of the Lord : for his name alone is excellent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven. Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary : praise him in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts : praise him according to his excellent greatness. Praise him with the sound of the trumpet; praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise him with the timbrel and dance : praise him with stringed instruments and organs. Praise him upon the loud cym- bals : praise him upon the high-sounding cymbals. Let every- thing that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye .the Lord. 238 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. OMNIPOTENCE OF JEHOVAH. Translated by Rev. G. R. Noyea. THEN spake Jehovah to Job out of the whirlwind, and said: Who is this that darkeneth my counsels by words without knowledge ? Gird up thy loins like a man ! I will ask thee, and answer thou me ! Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, since thou hast such knowledge ! Who fixed its dimensions? since thou knowest! Or who stretched out the line upon it? Upon what were its foundations fixed? And who laid its corner-stc-?e, When the morning-stars sang together. And all the sons of God shouted for joy? Hast thou penetrated to the springs of the sea, And walked through the recesses of the deep? Have the gates of death been disclosed to thee. And hast thou seen the gates of the shadow of death? Hast thou surveyed the breadth of the earth? Declare, since thou knowest it all! Where is the way by which light is distributed. And the east wind let loose upon the earth? Who hath prepared channels for the rain, And a path for the glittering thunderbolt; To give rain to the land without an inhabitant; To the wilderness, where is no man; To satisfy the desolate and waste ground, And cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth? Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades, Or loosen the bands of Orion? Canst thou lead forth Mazzaroth in its season, Or guide Arcturus with his sons? Knowest thou the ordinances of the heavens? Hast thou appointed their dominion over the earth? Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, So that abundance of waters will cover thee? THE MODEL SPEAKER. 239 Canst thou send forth lightnings, so that they will go, And say to thee, " Here we are " ? Who hath imparted understanding to thy reins, And given intelligence to thy mind? Who numbereth the clouds in wisdom? Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust? How majestic his snorting ! how terrible ! He paweth in the valley ; he exulteth in his strength. And rusheth into the midst of arms. He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not, And turneth not back from the sword. Against him rattleth the quiver, The flaming spear, and the lance. With rage and fury he devoureth the ground, He standeth not still when the trumpet soundeth. He saith among the trumpets. Aha! aha! And snuffeth the battle afar off; The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout. 0" GOD EVERYWHERE.' ^H ! show me where is He, The high and holy One, To whom thou bend'st the knee. And pray'st — "Thy will be done!" I hear thy song of praise. And, lo ! no form is near : Thine eyes I see thee raise, But where doth God appear? Oh ! teach me who is God, and where His glories shine-. That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine. Gaze on that arch above; The glittering vault admire. Who taught those orbs to move? Who lit their ceaseless fire? 240 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Who guides the moon to run In silence through the skies? Who bids that dawning sun In strength and beauty rise? There view immensity 1 behold! my God is there; The sun, the moon, the stars His majesty declare. See where the mountains rise; Where thundering torrents foam; Where, veiled in towering skies, The eagle makes his home; Where savage Nature dwells, My God is present too ; Through all her wildest dells His footsteps I pursue; He reared those giant cliffs, supplies that dashing stream, Provides the daily food which stills the wild bird's screami Look on that world of waves. Where finny nations glide; Within whose deep, dark caves The ocean-monsters hide : His power is sovereign there, To raise, to quell the storm ; The depths his bounties share. Where sport the scaly swarm: Tempest and calms obey the same almighty voice Which rules the earth and skies, and bids far worlds rejoice. No human thought can soar Beyond her boundless might; He swells the thunder's roar, He spreads the wings of night. Oh, praise his works divine! i Bow down thy soul in prayer; Nor ask for other sign That God is everywhere: The viewless Spirit, He! — immortal, holy, blest: Oh, worship Him in faith, and find eternal rest 1 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 241 LANDING OF THE PILGEIM FATHEES. 1AHE breaking waves dashed high On the stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New-England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums. And the trumpet that sings of fame: Not as the flying come. In silence and in fear; They shook the depth of the desert's gloom With their hymus of lofty cheer. Amid the storm they sang. And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared: This was their welcome home. There were men with hoary hair Amid that pilgrim band, Why have they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; ai Q 242 THE MODEL SPEAKER. There was manhood's brow, serenely high. And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus, afar ? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine 1 Ay, call it holy ground. The soil where first they trod ! They have left unstained what there they found - Freedom to worship God! THE BELL OF LIBERTY. When the Declaration of Independence was adopted by Congress, the eyent wjw an- nounced by ringing the old Statt'-IIouse bell, ivhicli bnre the inscriiJtion, " Proclaim liberty throughout the land, to iill the inliabftjints thereof!" The old bellman sta- tioned his little grandson at the door of the hull, to await the instructions of the door- keeper when to ring. At the word, the yonng patriot rushed out, and, clapping Mb bauds, shouted : — ^^ Sing I Uihg! KING 1 " THERE was a tumult in the city,* In the quaint old Quakers' town, And the streets were rife with people Pacing restless up and down — People gathering at corners. Where they whispered each to each. And the sweat stood on their temples With the earnestness of speech. As the bleat Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore. So they beat against the State House, So they surged against the door; And the mingling of their voices Made a harmony profound, Till the quiet street of Chestnut Was all turbulent with sound. * Philadelphia. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 243 "Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" "Who is speaking?" "What's the news?" " What of Adams ? " " What of Sherman ? " " Oh, God grant they won't refuse ! " " Make some way there I " " Let me nearer ! " " I am stifling I " " Stifle, then ! When a nation's life 's at hazard, We 've no time to think of men ! " So they beat against the portal, Man and woman, maid and child; And the July sun in heaven On the. scene looked down and smiled — The same sun that saw the Spartan Shed his patriot blood in vain, • Now beheld the soul of freedom, All unconquered, rise again. See I See I The dense crowd quivers Through all its lengthy line, As the boy beside the portal Looks forth to give the sign ! With his little hands uplifted, Breezes dallying with his hair, Hark ! with deep, clear intonation, Breaks his young voice on the air: Hushed the people's swelling murmur. List the boy's exultant cry I " Ring I " he shouts, " King ! grandpa, Eing ! oh, ring for Liberty ! " Quickly at the given signal The old bellman lifts his hand. Forth he sends the good news, making Iron music through the land. How they shouted I What rejoicing! How the old bell shook the air, Till the clang of freedom rufiled The calmly gliding Delaware I 244 THE MODEL SPEAKER. How the bonfires and the torches Lighted up the night's repose, And, from the flames, like fabled Phoenix, Our glorious Liberty arose! That old State-House bell is silent, Hush'd is now its clamorous tongue; But the spirit it awaken'd Still is living — ever young ; And when we greet the smiling sunlight On the fourth of each July, We will ne'er forget the bellman Who, betwixt the earth and sky, Eung out, loudly, " Independence ; " Which, please God, shall never die I THE UNION. "Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable I " — Webster. I'AHE Union I The Union ! The hope of the free ! Howsoe'er we may differ, in this we agree : Our glorious bahner no traitor shall mar By effacing a stripe, or destroying a star ! Division ! No, never ! The Union forever I And cursed be the hand that our country would sever I The Union I The Union ! 'T was purchased with blood ! Side by side, to secure it, our forefathers stood : From the North to the South, through the length of the land, Ran the war-cry which suramon'd that patriot band ! Division ! No, never I The Union forever ! And cursed be the hand that our country would sever I The Union ! The Union ! At Lexington first. Through the clouds of oppression, its radiance burst : But at Yorktown roU'd back the last vapory crest. And, a bright constellation, it blazed in the West ! Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! And cursed be the hand that our country would sever [ THE MODEL SPEAKBE. 245 The Union I The Union ! Its heavenly light Cheers the hearts of the nations who grope in the night — And, athwart the wide ocean, falls, gilding the tides, A path to the country where Freedom ahides ! Division I No, never ! The Union forever ! And cursed be the hand that our country would sever ! The Union I The Union I In God we repose ! We confide in the Power that vanquish'd our foes I The God of our fathers — oh, still may He be The strength of the Union, the hope of the free ! Division ! No, never ! The Union forever I And cursed he the hand that our country would sever I LINCOLN AT SPRINGFIELD. " The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." THERE stood a man in the West Countrie, Slender and tall, and gaunt was he; His form was not cast in a courtier's mould, But his eye was bright, and his bearing bold. A crowd had gather'd to hear him speak. And the blood surged up in his sunburn'd cheek; Familiar with toil was his outstretch'd hand, For a man of the people was he. Who had learn'd to obey ere call'd to command : Such men are the pride of the West Countrie. " My friends — elected by your choice, From the long- cherish' d home I go, Endear'd by heaven-permitted joys, Sacred by heaven-permitted woe. I go, to take the helm of state. While loud the waves of faction roar, And by His aid, supremely great, Upon whose will all tempests wait, I hope to steer the bark to shore. 21* 246 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Not since the days when Washington To battle led our patriots on, Have clouds so dark above us met, Have dangers dire so close beset. "And he had never saved the land By deeds in human wisdom plann'd. But that with Christian faith he sought Guidance and blessing where he ought. Like him, I seek for aid divine — His faith, his hope, his trust, are mine. Pray for me, friends, that God may make My judgment clear, my duty plain ; For if the Lord no wardship take. The watchmen mount the towers in vain." He ceased ; and many a manly breast Panted with strong emotion's swell, And many a lip the sob suppress'd. And tears from manly eyelids fell. And hats came off, and heads were bow'd, As Lincoln slowly moved away ; And then, heart-spoken, from the crowd. In accents earnest, clear, and loud. Came one brief sentence : " We will pray I " BILL AND JOE. COME, dear old comrade, you and I Will steal an hour from days gone by- The shining days when life was new, And all was bright as morning dew, The lusty days of long ago, When you were Bill and I was Joe. Your name may flaunt a titled trail, Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail; And mine as brief appendix wear As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare; THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 247 To-day, old friend, remember still That I am Joe and you are Bill. You've won the great world's envied prize, And grand you look in people's eyes. With HON. and L L. D., In big brave letters, fair to see — Your fist, old fellow ! oif they go ! — How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe? You've worn the judge's ermine robe; You've taught your name to half the globe; You've sung mankind a deathless strain; You've made the dead past live again: The world may call you what it will, But you and I are Joe and Bill. The chaffing young folks stare and say, "See those old buffers, bent and gray; They talk like fellows in their teens ! Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means" — And shake their heads; they little know The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe — How Bill forgets his hour of pride. While Joe sits smiling at his side; How Joe, in spite of time's disguise, Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes — Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame? A fitful tongue of leaping flame; A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust, That lifts a pinch of mortal dust: A few swift years, and who can show Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe? The weary idol takes his stand. Holds out his bruised and aching hand, 248 THE MODEL SPEAKER. While gaping thousands come and go — How vain it seems, this empty show I — Till all at once his pulses thrill: 'T is poor old Joe"s " God bless you, Bill ! " And shall we breathe in happier spheres The names that pleased our mortal ears. In some sweet lull of harp and song, For earth-born spirits none too long. Just whispering of the world below. Where this was Bill, and that was Joe? No matter; while our home is here No sounding name is half so dear; When fades at length our lingering day, Who cares what pompous tombstones say? Eead on the hearts that love us still. Hie jaeef Joe. Hie. jaeet Bill. EING OUT, WILD BELLS I Ab Invocation to the New Year. RING out, wild bells, to the. wild sky. The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night; Eing out, wild bells, and let him die. Eing out the old, ring in the new, Eing, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going, let him go ; Eing out the false, ring in the true. Eing out the grief that saps the mind. For those that he?e we see no more; Eing out the feud of rich and poor, Eing in redress to all mankind. Eing out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife ; THE MODEL 8PEAKEE. 249 Eing in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Eing out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times ; Eing out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Eing. out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Eing in the love of truth and right, Eing in the common love of good. Eing out old shapes of foul disease, Eing out the narrowing lust of gold; Eing out the thousand wars of old, Eing in the thousand years of peace. Eing in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Eing out the darkness of the land, Eing in the Christ that is to be. OLD. BY the wayside, on a mossy stone. Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly musing ; Oft I marked him sitting there alone. All the landscape like a page perusing; Poor, unknown — By the wayside, on a mossy stone. Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed hat, Coat as ancient as the form 'twas folding. Silver buttons, queue, and crimped cravat. Oaken staff, his feeble hand upholding. There he sat! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed bat. 250 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. It was summer, and we went to school, Dapper country lads and little maidens, Taught the motto of the "Dunce's Stool" — Its grave import still my fancy ladens — "Here's a fool!" It was summer, and we went to school. When the stranger seemed to mark our play — Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted — I remember well, too well, that day ! Oftentimes the tears unbidden started, Would not stay. When the stranger seemed to mark our play. One sweet spirit broke the silent spell; Ah I to me her name was always heaven I She besought him all his grief to tell : (I was then thirteen, and she eleven,) Isabel 1 One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. " Angel," said he sadly, " I am old ; Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow ; Yet, why I sit here thou shalt be told ; Then his eye betrayed a pearl of sorrow : Down it rolled 1 " Angel," said he sadly, " I am old. "I have tottered here to look once more On the pleasant scene where I delighted, In the careless, happy days of yore. Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core ! I have tottered here to look once more. "All the picture now to me how dear! E'en this gray old rock, where I am seated, Is a jewel worth my journey here ; Ah! that such a scene must be completed With a tear! All the picture now to me how dear I THE MODEL SPEAKER. 261 "Old stone school-house I — it is still the samel There's the very step I so oft mounted; There's the window creaking in its frame, And the notches that I cut and counted For the game ; Old stone school-house I — it is still the samel " In the cottage, yonder, I was born ; Long my happy home — that humble dwelling : There are the fields of clover, wheat, and corn. There the spring, with limpid nectar swelling; Ah, forlorn 1 In the cottage, yonder, I was born. "There's the orchard where we used to climb, When my mates and I were boys together, Thinking nothing of the flight of time. Fearing nought but work and rainy weather ; Past its prime! There 's the or. hard where we used to climb ! " There 's the mill that ground our yellow grain, Pond, and river still serenely flowing; Cot, there nestling in the shaded lane. Where the lily of my heart was blowing, Mary Jane! There's the niill that ground our yellow grain! " There 's the gate on which I used to swing. Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable; But, alas ! no more the morn shall bring That dear group around my father's table; Taken wing ! There 's the gate on which I used to swing. "I am fleeing! — all I loved are fled! Yon green meadow was our place for playing: That old tree can tell of sweet things said, When around it Jane and I were straying: She is dead! I am fleeing! — all I loved are fled! 252 THE MODEL SPBAKEE. " Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, Tracing silently life's changeful story, So familiar to my dim old eye. Points me to seven that are now in glory, There on high ! Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky 1 "Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, Guided thither by an angel mother; Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod. Sire and sisters, and my little brother; Gone to God I Oft the aisle of that old church we trod 1 "There I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways — Bless the holy lesson I but, ah 1 never Shall I hear again those songs of praise, Those sweet voices — silent now forever! Peaceful days ! There I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways 1 "There my Mary blessed me with her hand, When our souls drank in the nuptial blessing, Ere she hastened to the spirit-land; Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing; Broken band I There my Mary blessed me with her hand ! "I have come to see that grave once more, And the sacred place where we delighted, Where we worshipped in the days of yore, Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core! I have come to see that grave once more. "Angel," said he sadly, "I am old! Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow ; Now, why I sit here thou hast been told : " In his eye another pearl of sorrow, Down it rolled! "Angel," said he sadly, "I am old!" THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 253 By the wayside, on a mossy stone, Sat the hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; Still I marked him, sitting there alone, All the landscape like a page perusing, Poor, unknown — By the wayside, on a mossy stone I DIES lE^. Translated by General Dix. That day, a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and deso- lation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of the trumpet and alarm against the fenced cities, and against the high towers! — Zefh- AHUH i. 15, 16. DAY of vengeance, without morrow ! Earth shall end in flame and sorrow, As from saint and seer we borrow. Ah! what terror is impending. When the Judge is seen descending, And each secret veil is rending. To the throne, the trumpet sounding, Through the sepulchres resounding, Summons all, with voice astounding. Death and nature, mazed, are quaking. When, the grave's long slumber breaking, Man to judgment is awaking. On the written volume's pages Life is shown in all its stages — Judgment-record of past ages ! Sits the Judge, the raised arraigning. Darkest mysteries explaining. Nothing unavenged remaining. 22 2oi THE MODEL SPEAKER. What shall I then say, unfriended. By no advocate attended, When the just are scarce defended? King of majesty tremendous, By thy saving grace defend us I Fount of pity, safety send us ! Holy Jesus, meet, forbearing, For my sins the death-crown wearing, Save me, in that day, despairing. Worn and weary, thou hast sought me; By thy cross and passion bought me — Spare the hope thy labors brought me. Righteous Judge of retribution, Give, oh ! give me absolution Ere the day of dissolution. As a guilty culprit groaning. Flushed my face, my errors owning, Hear, God, my spirit's moaning ! Thou to Mary gav'st remission, Heard'st the dying thief's petition, Bad'st me hope in my contrition. In my prayers no grace discerning. Yet on me thy favor turning, Save my soul from endless burning. Give me, when thy sheep confiding Thou art from the goats dividing. On thy right a place abiding 1 When the wicked are confounded, And by bitter flames surrounded, Be my joyful pardon sounded I THE MODEL SPEAKER. 255 Prostrate, all my guilt discerning. Heart as though to ashes turning; Save, oh, save me from the burning 1 Day of weeping, when from ashes Man shall rise 'mid lightning flashes, Guilty, trembling with contrition. Save him, Father, from perdition I THE BURIAL OF MOSES. "And he burieil him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knowctb of his sepulchre unto this day." BY Nebo'a lonely mountain. On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave. And no man dug that sepulchre. And no man saw it e'er; For the angels of God upturned the sod. And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth ; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth. Noiselessly as the daylight Comes when night is done. And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun — Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves — So, without sound of music Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain crown The great procession swept. 256 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Perchance the bald old eagle, On gray Beth-peor's height. Out of his rocky eyry Looked on the wondrous sight. Perchance the lion stalking, Still shuns the hallowed spot. For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war. With arms reversed and muffled drum. Follow the funeral car They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute-gun. Amid the noblest of the land Men lay the sage to rest, And give the bard an honored place With costly marble dressed, In the great minster transept. Where lights like glories fall. And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings. Along the emblazoned wall. This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword ; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word ; And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen. On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men. And had he not high honor? The hillside for his pall ; To lie in state while angels wait With stars for tapers tall ; THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 257 And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave; And God's own hand, in that lonely land, To lay him in the grave; In that deep grave, without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again — most wondrous thought! Before the judgment day, And stand with glory wrapped around On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life With the Incarnate Son of God. lonely tomb in Moab's land, O dark Beth-peor's hill,. Speak to these curious hearts of ours. And teach them to be still. God hath his mysteries of grace — Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him he loved so well. TOM BROWN'S VISIT TO THE TOMB OF DE. ARNOLD. THERE was no flag flying on the round tower; the school- house windows were all shuttered up; and when the flag went up again, and the shutters came down, it would be to wel- come a stranger. All that was left on earth of him whom he had honored, was lying cold and still under the chapel-floor. He would go in and see the place once more, and then leave it once for all. New men and new methods might do for other people : let those who would, worship the rising star ; he at least would be faithful to the sun which had set. And so he got up, and walked to the chapel-door and unlocked it, fancying himself the only mourner in all the broad land, and feeding on his own selfish sorrow. He passed through the vestibule, and then paused for a moment •22* R 258 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. to glance over the empty benches. His heart was still proud and high, and he walked up to the seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat himself down there to collect his thoughts. And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting in order not a little. The memories of eight years were all dancing through his brain and carrying him about whither they would ; while be- neath them all, his heart was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could never be made up to him. The rays of the even- ing sun came solemnly through the painted windows above his head, and fell in gorgeous colors on the opposite wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by little and little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, and then leaning forward with his head on his hands, groaned aloud. If he could only have seen the Doctor again for one five minutes ; have told him all that was in his heart, what he owed to him, how he loved and reverenced him, and would, by God's help, follow his steps in life and death, he could have borne it all without a murmur. But that he should have gone away forever without knowing it all, was too much to bear. " But am I sure that he does not know it all ? " — the thought made him start — " May he not even now be near me, in this very chapel? If he be, am I sorrowing as he would have me sorrow : as I should wish to have sorrowed when I shall meet him again ? " He raised himself up and looked around ; and after a minute rose and walked humbly down to the lowest bench, and sat down on the very seat which he had occupied on his first Sunday at Kugby. And then the old memories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing him as he let himself be car- ried away by them. And he looked up at the great painted win- dow above the altar, and remembered how when a little boy he used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees and the rooks, be- fore the painted glass came. And the subscription for the painted glass, and the letter he wrote home for money to give to it. And there, down below, was the very name of the boy who sat on his right hand on that first day, scratched rudely in the oak panelling. And then came the thought of all bis old school-fellows ; and form after form of boys, nobler and braver and purer than he, rose up and seemed to rebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and were feeling, they who had honored THE MODEL SPEAKER, 259 and loved from the first the man whom he had taken years to know and love ? Could he not think of those yet dearer to him who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, and were now without a husband or a father ? Then the grief which he began to share with others became gentle and holy, and he rose up once more, and walked up the steps to the altar, and, while the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down there his share of a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him to bear in his own strength. Here let us leave him — where better Cduld we leave l)im than at the altar, before which he had first caught a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the drawing of the bond which links all living souls together in one brotherhood — at the grave, beneath the altar, of him who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened his heart till it could feel that bond ? And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment his soul is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there, than of the altar and Him of whom it speaks. Such stages have to be gone through, I believe, by all young and brave souls who must win their way, through hero-worship, to the worship of Him who is the King and Lord of heroes. For it is only through our mysterious hu- man relationships, through the love and tenderness and purity of mothers and sisters and wives, through the strength and cour- age and wisdom of fathers and brothers and teachers, that we can come to the knowledge of Him, in whom alone the love, and the tenderness, and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, and the wisdom of all these dwell for ever and ever in perfect fulness. GOD. OTHOU eternal One I whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; Thou only God ! There is no God beside I Being above all beings! Mighty One! Whom none can comprehend, and none explore; Who fill'st existence with thyself alone ; Embracing all — supporting — ruling o'er — Being whom we call God — and know no more ! 260 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround : Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath I Thou the beginning with the end hath bound, And beautifully mingled life and death 1 As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze, So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee ; And as the spangles in the sunny rays Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise. A million torches lighted by thy hand Wander unwearied through the blue abyss: They own thy power, accomplish thy command All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light — A glorious company of golden streams — Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But thou to these art as the noon to night. Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in thee is lost: What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee? And what am I then ? Heaven's unnumbered host. Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance weighed Against tny greatness, is cipher brought Against infinity 1 What am 1 then ? Nought I Nought ! but the eiBuence of thy light divine, Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bosom too ; "Xes! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Nought I but I live, and on hope's pinions fly Eager toward thy presence ; for in thee I live and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high, Even to the throne of thy divinity. I am, God ! and surely thou must be 1 THE MODEL, 8PEAKEE. 261 Thou art! directing, guiding all, thou artl Direct my understanding then to thee ; Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart : Though but an atom 'midst immensity. Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand ! I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth. On the last verge of mortal being stand. Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land 1 Oh, thoughts ineffable! oh, visions blest! Though worthless our conceptions all of thee, Yet shall thy hallowed image fill our breast. And waft its homage to thy deity. God ! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar ; Thus seek thy presence — being wise and good I 'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; And when the tongue is eloquent no more. The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. THE VILLAGE PEEACHEE. NEAE yonder copse, where once the garden smiled. And still where many a garden-flower grows wild. There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's -modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear. And passing rich with forty pounds a year : Remote from towns he ran his godly race. Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power. By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain : The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 262 THE MODEL SPEAKER. The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away, AVept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe: Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere chaffty began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call. He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life veas laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. At his control. Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace. His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from liis lips prevail'd vvfith double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man. With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; E'en children follow'd, with endearing wile. And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile; His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd ; Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd; To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thouffhts had rest in heaven. As some tall clifi' that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 263 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. BESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way. With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There ia his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule. The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught. The love he bore to learning was hLs fault. The village all declared how much he knew; 'T was certain he could write and cipher too ; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran — that he could gauge: In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumph'd is forgot. EVANGELINE. THUS on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent. Wending her quiet way, she entered the alms-house. Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden ; And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty, 264 THE JIODEL SPEAKER. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east wind, Distant and soft on lier ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their Church at Wicaco. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit ; Something within her said, " At length thy trials are ended ; " And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sick- ness. Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants. Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the road- side. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered. Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time ; Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder. Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morn- ing. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish. That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples; But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood; So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever. As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its por- THE MODEL SPEAKER. 265 That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and hia spirit exhausted Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the dark- ness. Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. Tlien through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations. Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, " Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his child- hood; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them. Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under their shadow. As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision, v Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him. Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into dark- ness. As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing. All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience I And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom. Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, " Father, I thank thee ! " PASSING UNDEE THE EOD. "Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth." I SAW the young bride, in her beauty and pride, Bedeck'd in her snowy array ; And the bright flush of joy mantled high on her cheek, And the future looked blooming and gay: 23 266 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And with, woman's devotion she laid her fond heart At the shrine of idolatrous love, And she anohor'd her hopes to this perishing earth, By the chain which her tenderness wove. But I saw when those heartstrings were bleeding and torn. And the chain had been sever'd in two, She had changed her white robes for the sables of grief. And her bloom for the paleness of woe ! But the Healer was there, pouring balm on her heart. And wiping the tears from her eyes, And he strengthen'd the chain he had broken in twain, And fasten'd it firm to the skies ! There had whisper'd a voice — 'twas the voice of her God, "I love thee — I love thee — pass under the rod!" I saw the young mother in tenderness bend O'er the couch of her slumbering boy, And she kiss'd the soft lips as they murmur'd her name. While the dreamer lay smiling in joy. Oh, sweet as a rose-bud encircled with dew, AVhen its fragrance is flung on the air, So fresh and so bright to the mother he seem'd. As he lay in his innocence there. But I saw when she gazed on the same lovely form. Pale as marble, and silent, and cold, But paler and colder her beautiful boy, And the tale of her sorrow was told ! But the Healer was there who had stricken her heart. And taken her treasure away. To allure her to heaven he has placed it on high. And the mourner will sweetly obey : There had whisper'd a voice — 't was the voice of her God, "I love thee — I love thee — pass under the rod!" I saw too a father and mother who lean'd On the arms of a dear gifted son, And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze. As they saw the proud place he had won : And the fast-coming evening of life promised fair, And its pathway grew smooth to their feet, THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 267 And the starlight of love gliminered bright at the end, And the whispers of fancy weve sweet. And I saw them again, bending low o'er the grave. Where their heart's dearest hope had been laid, And the star had gone down in the darkness of night. And the joy from their bosoms had fled. But the Healer was there, and his arms were around. And he led them with tenderest care : And he showed them a star in the bright upper world, 'T was their star shining brilliantly there ! They had each heard a voice — 'twas the voice of their God, "I love thee — I love thee — pass under the rod J" SHYLOCK TO ANTONIO. SIGNIOE Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys, and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat, dog. And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help ! Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say, Shylock, we would have moneys: you say so. You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say. Hath a dog money? is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key. With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this? Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurned me such a day ; another time You called me — dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys. 268 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. THE BOYS. " rpHE boys are coming home to-morrow ! " JL Thus our rural hostess said: Whilst Lou and I shot flitting glances, Full of vague, unspoken dread. Had we hither come for quiet, Hither fled the city's noise. But to change it for the tumult Of those horrid country-boys? Waking one with wild hallooing Early every summer day ; Shooting robins, tossing kittens. Frightening the wrens away : Stumbling over trailing flounces, Thumbing volumes gold and blue; Clamoring for sugared dainties. Tracking earth the passage through. These and other kindred trials Fancied we with woful sigh : " Those boys, those horrid boys, to-morrow 1 " Sadly whispered Lou and I. I wrote those lines one happy summer ; To-day I smile to read them o'er. Remembering how full of terror We watched all day the opening door. They came — " the boys ! " Six feet in stature. Graceful, easy, polished men ; I vowed to Lou, behind my knitting, To trust no mother's words again. For boyhood is a thing immortal To every mother's heart and eye; And sons are boys to her forever. Change as they may to you and L THE MODEL SPEAKER. 269 To her, no line comes sharply marking Whither or when their childhood went; Nor when the eyeglass upward turning, Levelled at last their downward bent. Now by the window, still and sunny, Warmed by the rich October glow. The dear old lady waits and watches, Just as she waited years ago. For Lou and I are now her daughters — We married " those two country-boys," In spite of all our sad forebodings About their awkward ways, and noise. Lou springs up to meet a footfall; I list no more for coming feet: Mother and I are waiting longer For steps on Beulah's golden street. But when she blesses Lou's beloved, And seals it with a tender kiss, I know that loving words go upward, Words to another world than this. Alway she speaks in gentle fashion About "my boys " — ■ she always will ; Though one is gray, and one has vanished Beyond the touch of time or ill. THE TWO MAIDENS. ONE came — with light and laughing air, And cheek like opening blossom; Bright gems were twined amid her hair. And glittered on her bosom; And pearls and costly bracelets deck Her round, white arms, and lovely neck. 23* 270 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Like summer's sky, with stars bedight, The jewelled robe around her, And dazzling as the noontide light The radiant zone that bound her; And pride and joy were in her eye, And mortals bowed as she passed by. Another came — o'er her mild face A pensive shade was stealing; Yet there no grief of earth we trace, But that deep, holy feeling, Which mourns the heart should ever stray From the pure fount of Truth away. Arpund her brow, as snowdrop fair, The glossy tresses cluster, Nor pearl nor ornament was there. Save the meek spirit's lustre; And faith and hope beamed from her eye, And angels bowed as she passed by. WHEEE AEE THE DEAD? WHERE are the mighty ones of ages past. Who o'er the world their inspiration cast — Whose memories stir our spirits like a blast? Where are the dead? Where are old empire's sinews snapped and gone ? Where is the Persian? Mede? Assyrian? Where are the kings of Egypt? Babylon? Where are the dead ? Where are the mighty ones of Greece ? Where be The men of Sparta and Thermopylaa? The conquering Macedonian, where is he? Where are the dead ? THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 271 Where are Eome's founders? Where her ohiefest son, Before whose name the whole known world bowed down — Whose conquering arm chased the retreating sun ? Where are the dead '? Where 's the bard-warrior king of Albion's state, A pattern for earth's sons to emulate — The truly, nobly, wisely, goodly great? Where are .the dead ? Where is Gaul's hero, who aspired to be A second Csesar in his mastery — To whom earth's crowned ones trembling bent the knee? Where are the dead ? Where is Columbia's son, her darling child, Upon whose birth virtue and freedom smiled — • The Western star, bright, pure, and undefiled? Where are the dead? Where are the sons of song, the soul-inspired — The bard of Greece, whose muse (of heaven acquired) With admiration ages past has fired — The classic dead ? Greater than all — an earthly sun enshrined — Where is the king of bards ? where shall we find The Swan of Jiton — monarch of the mind — The mighty dead ? Did they all die when did their bodies die, Like the brute dead passing forever by? Then, wherefore was their intellect so high — The mighty dead ? Why was it not confined to earthly sphere — To earthly wants? If it must perish here, Why did they languish for a bliss more dear — The blessfed dead? 272 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. There are no dead ! The forms, indeed, did die, That cased the ethereal beings now on high : 'T is but the outward covering is thrown by : This is the dead ! The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing. Have perished not ; they have but taken wing — Changing an earthly for a heavenly spring : There are the dead I Thus is all nature perfect. Harmony Pervades the whole, by His all-wise decree With whom are those, to vast infinity. We misname dead. FITZ-JAMES AND EODEEICK: DHU. THE chief in silence strode before. And reached that torrent's sounding shoro. And here his course the chieftain stayed, Threw down his target and his plaid. And to the lowland warrior said: " Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, Vich Alpine has discharged his trust. This murderous chief, this ruthless man, This head of a rebellious clan. Hath led thee safe through watch^nd ward, Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. Now, man to man, and steel to steel, A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. See, here all vantageless I stand. Armed like thyself, with single brand; For this is Coilantogle ford, And thou must keep thee with thy sword." The Saxon paused: "I ne'er delayed. When foeman bade me draw my blade ; Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death : Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, THE MODEL SPEAKER. 273 And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved; Can nought but blood our feud atone? Are there no means ? " " No, stranger, none ! And hear — to fire thy flagging zeal — The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; For thus spoke fate by prophet bred Between the living and the dead; ' Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party conquers in the strife.' " " Then, by my word," the Saxon said, " The riddle is already read : Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff — There lies Eed Murdoch, stark and stiff; Thus fate has solved her prophecy, Then yield to fate, and not to me." Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye — "Soars thy jircsumption then so high, Because a wretched kern ye .slew. Homage to name to Roderick Dhu? He yields not, he, to man nor fatel Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : My clansman's blood demands revenge. Not yet prepared? By heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valor light As that of some vain carpet-knight, Who ill deserved mj' courteous care,* ' And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair." " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word I It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone 1 Yet think not that by thee alone. Proud chief! can courtesy be shown. Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, S 274 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt- We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain. As what he ne'er might see again ; Then, foot and point and eye opposed. In dubious strife they darkly closed. Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw. Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside ; For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward. To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; While, less expert, though stronger far. The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood. And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide. The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Eoderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like winti-y rain ; And as firm rock, or castle roof. Against the winter shower is proof. The foe, invulnerable still, Foiled his wild rage by steady skill. Till at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand ; And, backward borne upon the lea,. Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. " Now, yield thee, or, by him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade I " Thy threats, thy mercy I defy ! Let recreant yield, who fears to die." THE MODEL SPEAKER. 275 Like adder darting from his coil, Lilce wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; Received, but recked not of a wound. And locked his arms his foeman round. . Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel. Through bars ot brass and triple steel! They tug, they strain ! — down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below. The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed, His knee was planted in his breast; His clotted locks he backward threw. Across his brow his hand he drew. From blood and mist to clear his sight, Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright! But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came. To turn the odds of deadly game ; For, while the dagger gleamed on high. Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. Down came the blow ! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting chief's relaxing grasp : TJnwounded from the dreadful close. But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. THE STRENGTH OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT. THE enemies of popular right and power have been pointing to the dreadful proof which is afforded in America, that an extended suffrage is a thing to be shunned as the most calamitous thing possible to a country. I will not refer to the speeches that have dealt with this question in this manner, or to the news' 276 THE MODEL SPEAKER. papers which have so treated it. I believe now that a great many people in this country are beginning to see that those who have been misleading them for the last two or three years have been profoundly dishonest or profoundly ignorant. If I am to give my opinion upon it, I should say that that which has taken place in America within the last three years affords the most tri- umphant answer to charges of this kind. Let us see the Govern- ment of the United States. I might say a good deal in favor of it in the South even, but we will speak of the Free States. In the North they have a suffrage which is almost what would here be called a manhood suffrage. There are frequent elections, vote by ballot, and ten thousand, twenty thousand, and one hundred thousand persons vote at an election. Will anybody deny that the Government at Washington, as regards its own people, is the strongest government in the world at this hour ? And for this simple reason: because it is based on the will, and the good will, of an instructed people. Look at its power ! I am not now dis- cussing why it is, or the cause which is developing this power; but power is the thing which men regard"'in these old countries, and which they ascribe mainly to European institutions ; but look at the power which the United States have developed! They have brought more men into the field, they have built more ships for their navy, they have shown greater resources than any nation in Europe at this moment is capable of. Look at the order which has prevailed at their elections, at which, as you see by the papers, fifty thousand, or one hundred thousand, or two hundred and fifty thousand persons voting in a given State, with less disorder than you have seen lately in three of the smallest boroughs in England. Look at their industry. Notwithstanding this terrific struggle, their agriculture, their manufactures and commerce proceed with an uninterrupted success. They are ruled by a President, chosen, it is true, not from some worn-out royal or noble blood, but from the people, and the one whose truthfulness and spotless honor have claimed him universal praise ; and now the country that has been vilified through half the organs of the press in England during the last three years, and was pointed out, too, as an example to be shunned by many of your" statesmen — that country, now in mortal strife, affords a haven and a home for multitudes flying from the burdens and the neglect of the old Governments of Europe ; and, when this mortal strife is over — THE MODEL SPEAKER. 277 when peace is restored, when slavery is destroyed, when the Union is cemented afresh — for I would say, in the language of one of our own poets addressing his country, "The grave's not dug where tniitor hands shall lay, In fearful haste, thy murdered corpse away" — then Europe and England may learn that an instructed democ- racy is the surest foundation of government, and that education and freedom are the only sources of true greatness and true hap- piness among any people. THE BATTLE. HEAVY and solemn, A cloudy column. Through the green plain they marching came 1 Measureless spread, like a table dread. For the wild grim di* of the iron game. Looks are bent on the shaking ground. Hearts beat low with a knelling sound ; Swift by the breast that must bear the brunt. Gallops the major along the front: "Halt!" And fettered they stand at the stark command. And the warriors, silent, halt ! See the smoke, how the lightning is cleaving asunder! Hark ! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunderJ From host to host, with kindling sound, The shouting signal circles round : Ay, shout it forth to life or death. Freer already breathes the breath ! The war is waging, slaughter is raging, And heavy through the reeking pall The iron death-dice fall ! Nearer they close — foes upon foes; " Eeady ! " — from square to square it goes. The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood; And the living are blent in the slippery flood, :>4 278 THE MODEL SPEAKER. And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, Stumble still on the corpses that sleep below. " What ! Francis ! " — " Give Charlotte my last farewell." As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell: "I'll give — God! are their guns so near? Hoi comrades! — yon volley I — Look sharp to the rearl I '11 give thy Charlotte thy last farewell ; Sleep soft! where death thickest descendeth in rain, The friend thou forsakest thy side may regain I" Hitherward, thitherward reels the iight ; Dark and more darkly day glooms into night. Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er. In the life to come that we meet once morel Hark to the hoofs that galloping go 1 The adjutants flying — The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, Their thunder booms, in dying — Victory 1 Terror has seized on the dastards all. And their colors fall ! Victory 1 Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight 1 And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night. Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, The triumph already sweeps marching in song. Farewell, fallen brothers; though this life be o'er, There's another, in which we shall meet you once morel HEEOES AND MAETYK8. HEROES and martyrs I they are the men of the hour.' They are identified with the names that live upon the lips of , millions. It is of these, more than all others, that the people talk, around their firesides and in their assemblies. It is of these that we may freely speak, even in the sanctuary. Our heroes and martyrs I a cloud of witnesses for the spirit and worth of the nation. Our heroes! named in the homes of all who have left home and occupation, comfort and kindred, and stood in th© THE MODEL SPEAKER. 279 midst of the battle ; — presented to ub in glorious clusters on many a deck and field. An entire discourse might be made up of instances, /Our memories run backward and forward through this war, collecting files of illustrious deeds, j We remember the man who covered the threatened powder with his body — the gunner who, bleeding to death, seized the lanyard, fired his cannon, and fell back dead — the gallant captain, who, when his artillerymen were killed and himself left alone, sat calmly down upon his piece, and, with revolver in hand, refu.sing to fly, fought to the end, and died the last man at his gun — ^the old Massachusetts 2d at Gettysburg, who, in the fierce fighting on the right, on the morning of the third of July, had their commanding officer killed at the head of the regiment, and five standard-bearers shot down in succession ; but the colors dropped by one were grasped by another, and never touched the ground. These are instances, hastily gathered from glorious sheaves — not exceptional, but representative instances. These are the men of the hour, who illustrate the value of our country by the richest crop that has ever sprung from her goil. But where the hero stands, there also the martyr dies. With the chorus of victory blends the dirge — mournful, and yet majestic too. The burden of that dirge, as it falls from the lips of wives and mothers, of fathers and children, is sad and tender, like the strain of David weeping for those who fell upon Gilboa. That burden is still mournful ; but as it passes on and reissues from a nation's lips, it swells also into exultation and honor — that same burden — " How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle ! " Some of us, perhaps, have read of that company whom their brave officer had so often conducted to victory, and who would never part with their dead hero's name. Still day by day, at the head of the regimental roll, it is called aloud: the generation that loved him have passed away ; but their sons and their sons' sons will ever and always love the honored name. "Cornet Latour D'Auvergne" still first of the bravo band is summoned; and ever and always a brave soldier steps from the ranks to reply : " Dead on the field of honor ! " "Dead on the field of honor!" This, too, is the record of thousands of unnamed men, whose influence upon other genera- tions is associated with no personal distinction, but whose sacri- 280 THE MODEL SPEAKER. fices will lend undying lustre to the nation's archives and richer capacity to the nation's life. And yet these martyrs are remem- bered by name. Go visit the mourning homes of the land — homes of wealth and plenty, some of them, but richer now by the consecration of sacrifice. Many are homes of toil and obscurity, from which the right hand of support has been taken, or the youthful prop. Poor and obscure ; but these, the unknown fallen, have names, and riches of solemn, tender memory. And what heralding on palatial wall more glorious than the torn cap and soiled uniforms that hang in those homes where the dead soldier comes no more? What aristocratic legend refers to a prouder fact than that which shall often be recited in the still summer field where he labored, and by the winter fireside where his place is vacant : " He fell in the great war for Union and for Freedom ! " Sleep, sleep, in quiet grassy graves, where the symbols that ye loved so well shall cover and spread over you — by day the flowers of red, white, and blue, and by night the constellated stars — while out of those graves there grows the better harvest of the nation and of times to come ! THE UNBELIEVER. I PITY the unbeliever — one who can gaze upon the grandeur, and glory, and beauty of the natural universe, and behold not the touches of His finger, who is over, and with, and above all ; from my very heart I do commiserate his condition. The unbeliever! one whose intellect the light of revelation never penetrated ; who can gaze upon the sun, and moon, and stars, and upon the unfading and imperishable sky, spread out so magnificently above him, and say all this is the work of chance. The heart of such a being is a drear and cheerless void. In him, mind — the god-like gift of intellect, is debased — destroyed; all is dark — a fearful chaotic labyrinth — ray less — cheerless — hopeless ! No gleam of light from heaven penetrates the blackness of the horrible delusion; no voice from the Eternal bidsthe desponding heart rejoice. No fancied tones from the harps of seraphim THE MODEL SPEAKER, 281 arouse the dull spirit from its lethargy, or allay the consuming fever of the brain. The wreck of mind is utterly remediless ; reason is prostrate; and passion, prejudice, and superstition have reared their temple on the ruins of his intellect. I pity the unbeliever. What to him is the revelation from on high but a sealed book ? He sees nothing above, or around, or beneath him that evinces the existence of a God ; and he denies — yea, while standing on the footstool of Omnipotence, and gaz- ing upon the dazzling throne of Jehovah, he shuts his intellect to the light of reason, and denies there is a God. IT SNOWS. IT snows!" cries the school-boy, "hurrah I" and his shout Is ringing through parlor and hall, While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out, And his playmates have answered his call: It makes the heart leap but to witness their joy; Proud wealth has no pleasure, I trow. Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy. As he gathers his treasures of snow : Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs. While health and the riches of nature are theirs. "It snows!" sighs the invalid, "ah!" and his breath Comes heavy, as clogged with a weight; While from the pale aspect of nature in death, He turns to the blaze of his grate; And nearer and nearer his soft-cushioned chair Is wheeled toward the life-giving flame; He dreads a chill puif of the snow-burdened air, Lest it wither his delicate frame : Oh ! small is the pleasure existence can give. When the fear we shall die only proves that we live ! " It snows ! " cries the traveller, " ho ! " and the word Has quickened his steed's lagging pace; The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard, Unfelt the sharp drift in his face; 24* 282 TEE MODEL SPEAKER. For bright through the tempest his own home appeared, Ay, through leagues intervened he can see; There 's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table prepared, And bis wife with her babes at her knee; Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour, That those we love dearest are safe from its power 1 " It snows ! " cries the belle, " dear, how lucky 1 " and turns From her mirror to watch the flakes fall; Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek burns. While musing on sleigh-ride and ball: ' There are visions of conquests, of splendor, and mirth. Floating over each drear winter's day ; But the tintings of hope, on this storm-beaten earth. Will melt like the snow-flakes away: Turn, turn thee to heaven, fair maiden, for bliss ; That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this. " It snows ! " cries the widow, " God ! " and her sighs Have stifled the voice of her prayer ; Its burden ye '11 read in her tear-swollen eyes, On her cheek sunk with fasting and care. 'Tis night, and her fatherless ask her for bread. But " He gives the young ravens their food," And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to dread, And she lays on her last chip of wood. Poor sufferer ! that sorrow thy God only knows ; 'Tis a most bitter lot to be poor when it snows! WOMAN'S INFLUENCE ON CHAEACTER. THE domestic fireside is the great guardian of society against the excesses of human passions. When man, after his inter- course with the world ^ where, alas! he finds so much to inflame him with a feverish anxiety for wealth and distinction — retires, at evening, to the bosom of his family, he finds there a repose for his tormenting cares. He finds something to bring him back to human sympathies. The tenderness of his wife, and the caresses THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 283 of his children, introduce a new train of softer thoughts and gen- tler feelings, t He is reminded of what constitutes the real felicity of man ; and, while his heart expands itself to the influence of the simple and intimate delights of the domestic circle, the denions of avarice and ambition, if not exorcised from his breast, at least for a time relax their grasp. How deplorable would be the consequence if all these were reversed; and woman, instead of checking "the violence of these passions, were to employ her blaudishmeuts and charms to add fuel to their rage! How much wider would become the empire of guilt! What a portentous and intolerable amount would be added to the sum of the crimes and miseries of the human race I But thg influence of the female character on the virtue of man is not seen merely in restraining and softening the violence of human passions. To her is mainly committed the task of pour- ing into the opening mind of infancy its first impressions of duty, and of stamping on its susceptible heart the first image of its God. Who will not confess the influence of a mother in forming the heart of a child? What man is there who cannot trace the origin of many of the besi maxims of his life to the lips of her who gave him birth? liow wide, how lasting, how sacred is that part of woman's influence! Who that thinks of it, who that ascribes any moral eflfect to education, who that believes that any good may be produced, or any evil prevented by it, can need any arguments to prove the importance of the character and capacity of her who gives its earliest bias to the infant mind? Again ; the Gospel reveals to us a Saviour, invested with little of that brilliant and dazzling glory with which conquest and success would array him in the eyes of proud and aspiring man ; but rather as a meek and magnanimous sufferer, clothed in all the mild and passive graces, all the sympathy with human woe, all the compassion for human frailty, all the benevolent interest in human welfare, which the heart of woman is formed to love; together with all that solemn and supernatural dignity which the heart of woman is formed peculiarly to feel and to reverence. To obey the commands, and aspire to imitate the peculiar virtues of such a being, must always be more natural and easy for her than for man. So, too, it is with that future life which the Gospel unveils, where all that is dark and doubtful in this shall be explained ; 284 THE MODEL SPEAKEB. where penitence, and faith, and virtue shall be accepted ; where the tear of sorrow shall be dried, the wounded bosann of bereave- ment be healed; where love and joy shall be unclouded and im- mortal. To these high and holy visions of faith, I trust that man is not always insensible; but the superior sensibility of woman, as it makes her feel more deeply the emptiness and wants of human existence here, so it makes her welcome, with more deep and ardent emotions, the glad tidings of salvation, the thought of communion with God, the hope of the purity, happi- ness, and peace of another and a better world. In this peculiar susceptibility of religion in the female charac- ter, who does not discern a proof of Heaven's benignant care of the best interest of man? How wise it is that she, whose in- structions and example must have so powerful an influence on the infant mind, should be formed to own and cherish the most sublime and important of truths ! The vestal flame of piety, lighted up by Heaven in the breast of woman, diffuses its light and warmth over the world ; and dark would be the world if it should ever be extiugui^ed and lost. THE BELL OF THE ATLANTIC. The stpamboat Atlantic, plyins between Norwich, in Connecticnt, and New York, was wrfcltcd on an island near Ximv London. Many of the p:i8sene:era were on their ■way to join in the celcbiation of the annual Tlianksfi'iving in New England. The bell of tliis ho»t, supported by a portion of the wreck, continued for many days and nights to toll us if in mournful requiem of the lost. TOLL, toll, toll, thou bell by billows swung ; And, night and day, thy warning words repeat with mourn- ful tongue ! Toll for the queenly boat, wrecked on yon rocky shore ! Sea-weed is in her palace-halls : she rides the surge no more. Toll for the master bold, the high-souled and the brave. Who ruled her like a thing of life amid the crested wave ! Toll for the hardy crew, sons of the storm and blast. Who long the tyrant ocean dared; but it vanquished them at last. Toll for the man of God, whose hallowed voice of prayer Hose calm above the stifled groan of that intense despair ! THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 285 How precious were those tones on tliat sad verge of life, Amid the fierce and freezing storm, and the mountain billows' strife I Toll for the lover lost to the summoned bridal-train ! Bright glows a picture on his breast beneath th' unfathomed main. One from her casement gazeth long o'er the misty sea : He cometh not, pale maiden — his heart is cold to thee. Toll for the absent sire, who to his home drew near, To bless a glad expecting group — fond wife and children dear ! They heap the blazing hearth ; the festal board is spread; But a fearful guest is at the gate : room for the pallid dead ! Toll for the loved and fair, the whelmed beneath the tide — The broken harps around whose strings the dull sea-monsters glide ! Mother and nursling sweet, reft from their household throng; There 's bitter weeping in the nest where breathed their soul of song. Toll for the hearts that bleed 'neath misery's furrowing trace! Toll for the hapless orphan left, the last of all his race ! Yea, with thy heaviest knell, from surge to rocky shore. Toll for the living — not the dead, whose mortal woes are o'er I Toll, toll, toll, o'er breeze and billow free. And with thy startling lore instruct each rover of the sea : Tell how o'er proudest joys may swift destruction sweep. And bid him build his hopes on high — lone teacher of the deep. HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. Tlxcept the Lord Iniild the house, thpy labor in vain tliat bniUl it : except the Lord keep the city, the wiitcliman wnketli Imt in vain. It is vain for yon to rise np early, til sit up late, to eat tlie bread of sorrows : for so Ha givtth Bis hdoved sleep. — Psalm cxxvii. 1, 2. * OF all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar. Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is. For gift or grace, surpassing this — " He giveth His beloved, sleep ? " 286 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Wliat would we give to our beloved ? The hero's heart, to be unmoved; The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep ; The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse ; The monarch's crown, to light the brows? " lie giveth His beloved, sleep." What do we give to our beloved? A little faith, all undisproved; A little dust, to over weep; And bitter memories, to make The whole earth blasted for our sake? " He giveth His beloved, sleep." " Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when " He giveth His beloved, sleep." O Earth, so full of dreary noises ! O men, with wailing in your voices ! O delved gold ! the wailer's heap ! strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! God makes a silence through you all, "And giveth His beloved, sleep." His dews drop mutely on the hill; Plis cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap. More softly than the dew is shed. Or cloud is floated overhead, "He giveth His beloved, sleep." Ay, men may wonder when they scan A living, thinking, feeling man. Confirmed in such a rest to keep; But angels say — and through the word 1 think their happy smile is heard — " He giveth His beloved, sleep." THE MODEL SPEAKER. 287 For me, my heart, that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummer's leap, Would now its wearied vision close. Would childlike on His love repose, " Who giveth His beloved, sleep." And friends! — dear friends! — when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me. And round my bier ye come to weep — Let one, most loving of you all. Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall — He giveth His beloved, sleep." DIRGE. QOFTEY! O She is lying With her lips apart. Softly! She is dying Of a broken heart. Whisper I She is going To her final rest. Whisper ! Life is growing Dim within her breast. Gently ! She is sleeping; She has breathed her last. Oently ! While you are weeping, She to heaven has passed. 288 THE MODEL SPEAKER. SOEEOW FOE THE DEAD. THE sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal, every other affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open ; this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang ? "Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns ? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved — when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portals — would accept of con- solation that must be bought by forgetfulness? Ko, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread. a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry ? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment ! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down, even upon the grave of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb that he should ever have wari-ed with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him I But the grave of those we loved, what a place for meditation ! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished THE MODEL SPEAKER. 280 upon us, almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy : there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene ; the hed of death, with all its sti- fled griefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring love! the feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh ! how thrilling ! pressure of the hand ! The faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection ! The last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence ! Ay, go to the grave of buriid love and meditate. There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited, every past endear- ment unregarded, of that departed being who can never, never, never return to be soothed by thy contrition. If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an afiectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth ; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee ; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet; — then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knock dolefully at thy soul; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant in the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear, more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave ; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile tributes of regret ; but take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite afiliction over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living. DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. SHE was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life: i;.3 T 290 THE MODEL SPEAKEK. not one who had lived and suffered death. Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter-berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. " When I die, put me near something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her words. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird — a poor, slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless for- ever. Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues ? All gone. Sorrow was dead, indeed, in her ; but peace and perfect happiness were born — imaged — in her tran- quil beauty and profound repose. And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The old fireside h^d smiled upon that same sweet face ; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery and care ; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild and lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death. The old man held one languid arm in his, and the small, tight hand folded to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had stretcEed out to him with her last smile — the hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips ; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now ; and, as he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her. She was dead, and past all help, or need of help. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast — the garden she had tended — the eyes she had gladdened — the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour — the paths she had trodden, as it were, but yesterday — could know her no more. " It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, " it is not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what earth is, compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, expressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her back to life, which of us would utter it ! " She had been dead two days. They were all about her at the THE MODEL SPEAKER. 291 time, knowing that the end was drawing on. She died soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night ; but as the hours crept on, she sank to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with the old man : they were of no painful scenes, but of those who had helped them and used them kindly ; for she often said " God bless youl " with great fervor. Waking, she never wandered in her mind but once, and that was at beautiful music, which she said, was in the air. God knows. It may have been. Opening her eyes at last, from a very quiet sleep, she begged that they would kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man with a lovely smile upon her face — such, they said, as they had never seen, and never could forget — and clung, with both her arms, about his neck. She had never murmured or complained; but, with a quiet mind, and manner quite unaltered — save that she every day be- came more earnest and more grateful to them — faded like the light upon the summer's evening. The child who had been her little friend, came there, almost as soon as it was day, with an offering of dried flowers, which he begged them to lay upon her breast. He told them of his dream again, and that it was of her being restored to them, just as she used to be. He begged hard to see her, saying that he would be very quiet, and that they need not fear his being alarmed, for he had sat alone by his younger brother all day long when he was dead, and had felt glad to be so near him. They let him have his wish ; and, indeed, he kept his word, and was, in his childish way, a lesson to them all. Up to that time, the old man had not spoken once — except to her — or stirred from the bedside. But when he saw her little favorite, he was moved as they had not seen him yet, and made as though he would have him come nearer. Then, pointing to the bed, be burst into tears for the first time ; and they who stood by, knowing that the sight of this child had done him good, left them alone together. Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child persuaded him to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do almost as he desired him. And, when the day came on which they must remove her, in her earthly shape, from earthly eyes forever, he led him away. 292 THE MODEL SPEAKER. that lie might not know when she was taken from him. They were to gather fresh leaves and berries for her bed. And now the bell — the bell she had so often heard by night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure, almost as a living voice — rang its remorseless toll for her, so young, so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, and vigorous life, and blooming youth, and helpless infancy, poured forth — on crutches, in the pride of health and strength, in the full blush of promise, in the mere dawn of life — to gather round her tomb. Old men were there, whose eyes were dim and senses failing; grandmothers, who might have died ten years ago, and still been old ; the deaf, the blind, the lame, the palsied — the living dead, in many shapes and forms — to see the. closing of that early grave. Along the crowded path they bore her now, pure as the newly- fallen snow that covered it — whose day on earth had been as ileetiug. Under that porch where she had sat when Heaven in its mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, she passed again, and the old church received her in its quiet shade. They carried her to one old nook, where she had many and many a time sat musing, and laid their burden softly on the pavement. The light streamed on it through the colored window — a window where the boughs of trees were ever rustling in the summer, and where the birds sang sweetly all day long. With every breath of air that stirred among those branches in the sun- shine, some trembling, changing light would fall upon her grave. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Many a young hand dropped in its little wreath, many a stifled sob was heard. Some — and they were not few — knelt down. All were sincere and truthful in their sorrow. The service done, the mourners stood apart, and the villagers closed round to look into the grave before the stone should be replaced. One called to mind how he had seen her sitting on that very «pot, and how her book had fallen on her lap, and she was gaz- ing, with a pensive face, upon the sky. Another told how he had wondered much that one so delicate as she should be so bold, how she had never feared to enter the church alone at night, but had loved to linger there when all was quiet, and even to climb the tower-stair, with no more light than that of the moon-rays stealing through the loop-holes in the thick old walls. A whis- per went about among the oldest there that she had seen and THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 293 talked with angels ; and when they called to mind how she had looked and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might he so indeed. Thus coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whispering groups of three or four, the church was cleared in time of all but the sexton and the mourning friends. Then, when the dusk of even- ing had come on, and not a sound disturbed the sacred stillness of the place : when the bright moon poured in her light on tomb and monument, on pillar, wall, and arch, and, most of all, it seemed to them, upon her quiet grave; in that calm time, when all outward things and inward thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them, then, with tranquil and submissive hearts, they turned away, and left the child with God. SCENES OF CHILDHOOD. LONG years had elapsed since I gazed on the scene. Which my fancy still robed in its freshness of green — The spot where, a schoolboy, all thoughtless, I stray'd, By the side of the stream, in the gloom of the shade. I thought of the friends who had roam'd with me there, When the sky was so blue, and the flowers were so fair — All scatter'd ! — all sunder'd by mountain and wave. And some in the silent embrace of the grave! I thought of the green banks that circled around. With wild flowers, and sweetbrier, and eglantine crown'd; I thought of the river, all quiet and bright As the face of the sky on a blue summer night. And I thought of the trees under which we had stray'd, Of the broad leafy boughs, with their coolness of shade ; And I hoped, though disfigured, some token to find Of the names and the carvings impress'd on the rind. 25* 294 THE MODEL SPEAKER. All eager, I liasten"d the scene to behold, Eender'd sacred and dear by the feelings of old ; And I deem'd that, unalter'd, my eye should explore This refuge, this haunt, this Ely si am of yore. 'T was a dream ! — not a token or trace could I view Of the names that I loved, of the trees that I knew: Like the shadows of night at the dawning of day, " Like a tale that is told," they had vanish'd away. And methought the lone river that murmur'd along Was more dull in its motion, more.sad in its song, Since the birds that had nestled and warbled above, Had all fled from its banks at the fall of the grove. I paused — and the moral came home to my heart: Behold how of earth all the glories depart ! Our visions are baseless ; our hopes but a gleam ; Our staff but a reed ; and our life but a dream. Then, oh ! let us look — let our prospects allure — To scenes that can fade not, to realms that endure. To glories, to blessings that triumph sublime O'er the blightings of change, and the ruins of time. WAEEEN'S ADDEESS. STAND ! the ground 's your own, my braves : Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle-peal ! Eead it on yon bristling steel! Ask it, ye who will. Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to your homes retire? Look behind you! they're afire! THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 295 And before you, see Who have done it! From the vale On they come! and will ye quail? Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be! In the God of battles trust ! Die we may — and die we must; But, oh ! where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, As where heaven its dews shall shed On the martyr'd patriot's bed. And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell? MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. I'MIIS book is all that's left me now! — Tears will unbidden start: With faltering lip and throbbing brow, I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree ; My mother's hands this Bible clasped ; She, dying, gave it me. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear. Who round the hearth-stone used to close After the evening prayer. And speak of what these .pages said, In tones my heart would thrill 1 Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still! My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear ; How calm was my poor mother's look, Who leaned God's word to hear! 296 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Her angel face — I see it yet ! What thronging memories come ! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home ! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I 've tried ; Where all were false I found thee true. My counsellor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give That could this volume buy: In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. THE OLD AEM-CHAIE. I LOVE it, I love it, and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm-chair? I've treasured it long as a sainted prize, I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs; 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell? a mother sat there. And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. In childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear ; And gentle words that mother would give. To fit me to die and teach me to live. She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and God for my guide ; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray; And I almost worshipped her when she smiled And turned from her Bible to bless her child. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 297 Years rolled on, but the' last one sped — My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled : I learnt how much the heart can bear. When I saw her die in that old arm-chair. 'Tis past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died; And memory flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak. While the scalding drops start down my cheek; But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old arm-chair. WHY DOES YOUR HAIR TURN WHITE? The following curious piece, found in an old English collection, waa written in answer to the question once put to the author : " Why turns your hair white? " It is a good example of labored alliteration, that is, the style in which tiie same sound is made fre- quently to recur in the same line. WHERE seething sighs and sorrow sobs Hath slain the slips that nature set; And scalding showers with stony throbs, The kindly sap from them hath fet,* What wonder, then, though that you see, Upon my head^ white hairs to be ? Where thought hath thrilled, and thrown his spears. To hurt the heart that harmeth him not; And groaning grief hath ground forth tears, Mine eye to stain, my face to spot : What wonder, then, though that you see, Upon my head, white hairs to be ? Where pinching pain himself has placed, There peace with pleasures were possessed: And, where the walls of wealth lie waste, And poverty in them is pressed ; * FRtch, or bring out. The word is obsolete. 29» THE MODEL SPEAKER. What wonder, then, though that you see, Upon my head, white hairs to be ? Where wretched woe will weave her web, Where care the clue can catch, and dust; And floods of joy are fallen to ebb, So low, that life may not long last ; What wonder, then, though that you see. Upon my head, white hairs to be? These hairs of age are messengers Which hid me fast, repent, and pray; They be of death the harbingers, That doth prepare and dress the way; Wherefore I joy that you may see, Upon my head, such hairs to be. They be the lines that lead the length. How far my race is yet to run : They show my youth is fled with strength. And how old age is weak begun : The which I feel, and you may see, Upon my head, such lines to be. They be the strings of sober sound, Whose music is harmonical: Their tunes declare what time from ground I came, and how thereto I shall : Wherefore I joy that you may see. Upon my head, such strings to be. God grant to those that white hairs have. No worse them take than I have meant: That, after they be laid in grave. Their souls may joy their lives well spent : God grant likewise that you may see, Upon your head, such hairs to be. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 299 THE BELL AT GEEENWOOD* A MOURNFUL office is thine, old Bell, _ To ring forth nought but the last sad knell Of the coffined worm, as he passeth by ; And thou seein'st to say, " Ye all must die ! " No joyful peal dost thou ever ring; But ever and aye, as hither they bring The dead to sleep 'neath the greenwood tree, Thy sound is heard, pealing mournfully. No glad occasion dost thou proclaim ; Thy mournful tone is ever the same — The slow-measured peal that tells of woe. Such as hearts that feel it, may only know. Hadst thou the power of speech, old Bell, Methinks strange stories thou 'dst often tell ; How some are brought here with tear and moan, While others pass by unmourned, alone; How strangers are hither brought to sleep, Whose home, perhaps, was beyond the deep; Who, seeking our shores, come but to die. And here, in this hallowed spot, to lie; How a wife hath followed a husband's bier — How a husband hath followed a wife most dear — How brother and sister have come in turn. To shed their tears o'er a parent's urn; How father and mother, in accents wild. Have bewailed the loss of a darling child; How a friend o'er a friend hath shed the tear, As he laid him down to slumber here; * A be.iutiful cemetery in Brooklyn, New York. 300 THE MODEL SPEAKER. How the victim of sorrow's ceaseless smart Hath given up life with a willing heart, And thought of this spot with a smiling face, Glad, at last, to find him a resting-place. I wonder if thou dost ring, old Bell, For the rich man, a louder, longer knell. Than thou dost for the poor who enter here, Or the humble and unpretending bier: And dost thou ring forth a peal less sad For the pure and the good, than for the bad? Or dost thou toll the same knell for all — The rich and the poor, the great and the small? Oh, a mournful office is thine, old Bell! To ring forth nought but the last sad knell Of the coffined worm, as he passeth by ; And thou seem'st to say, " Ye all must die ! " THE CHILDREN. WHEN the lessons and tasks are all ended. And the school for the day is dismissed, And the little ones gather around me. To bid me good-night and be kissed: Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in a tender embrace ! Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine of love on my face 1 And when they are gone I sit dreaming Of my childhood, too lovely to last : Of love that my heart will remember When it wakes to the pulse of the past. Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin ; When the glory of God was about me, And the glory of gladness within. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 301 Oh 1 my heart grows weak as a woman's, And the fountains of feeling will flow, When I think of jjaths steep and stony. Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the tempest of fate blowing wild; Oh I there is nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child. They are idols of hearts and of households : They arfe angels of God in disguise ; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses. His glory still beams in their eyes. Ohl those truants from home and from heaven. They have made me more manly and mild. And I know how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child. I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun : I would pray God to guard them from evil, But my prayer would bound back to myself; Ah I a seraph may pray for a sinner. But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge. They have taught me the goodness of God ; My heart is a dungeon of darkness. Where I shut them from breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction ; My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old home in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more; Ah I how shall I sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door I 26 302 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. I shall miss the "good-nights" and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee, The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning to me. I shall miss them at morn and at eve. Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low hum of their voices. And the tramp of their delicate feet. When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And death says, " The school is dismissed 1 " May the little ones gather around me, To bid me good-night and be kissed! THE PAUPEE'S DEATH-BED. TEE AD softly — bow the head- In reverent silence bow; No passing-bell doth toll — Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. Stranger, however great, With holy reverence bow ; There's one in that poor shed — One by that paltry bed — Greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo ! Death doth keep his state : Enter — no crowds attend; Enter — -no guards defend This palace gate. That pavement, damp and cold. No smiling courtiers tread; One silent woman stands, Lifting, with meagre hands, A dying head. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 303 No mingling voices sound — An infant wail alone; A sob suppressed — again Tliat short, deep gasp, and then The parting groan. Oh, change! — oh, wondrous change I Burst are the prison bars — This moment, there, so low, So agonized, and now Beyond the stars! Oh, change ! — stupendous change I There lies the soulless clod; The Sun eternal breaks — • The new immortal wakes — Wakes with his God I THE CHAEGE AT WATERLOO. ON came the whirlwind — like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast ; On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke; The war was waked anew. Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud; And from their throats, with flash and cloud. Their showers of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in full career. Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, The lancer couched his ruthless spear. And hurrying as to havoc near, The cohorts' eagles fiew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong, The advancing onset rolled along. Forth harbingered b« fierce acclaim, That from the shroud of smoke and flame, Pealed wjldly the imperial name. 304 THE MODEL SPEAKER. But on the British heart were lost The terrors of tlie charging host; For not an eye the storm that viewed Changed its proud glance of fortitude; Nor was one forward footstep stayed. As dropped the dying and the dead. Fast as their ranlcs the thunder tare, Fast they renewed each serried square I And on the wounded and the slain Closed their diminished files again; Till from the lines scarce spears'-lengths three, Emerging from their smoke they see Helmet and plume, and panoply — ■ Then waked their fire at oncel Each musketeer's revolving knell As fast, as regularly fell, As when they practise to display Their discipline on festal day. Then down went helm and lance, Down went the eagle-banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went, Corselets were pierced and pennons rent ; And, to augment the fray, Wheeled full against their staggering flanks. The English horsemen's foaming ranks Forced their resistless way. Then to the musket-knell succeeds The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds; As plies the smith his clanging trade, Against the cuirass rang the blade; And while amid their close array The well-served cannon rent their way, And while amid their scattered band Raged the fierce riders' bloody brand, Eecoiled in common rout and fear Lancer and guard s^d cuirassier. Horsemen and foot — a mingled host — Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 305 THE NATIONAL BANNER. ALL hail to our glorious ensign ! courage to the heart, and strength to the hand, to which, in all time, it shall he in- trusted ! May it ever wave in honor, in unsullied glory, and patriotic hope, on the dome of the capitol, on the country's stronghold, on the entented plain, on the wave-rocked topmast 1 Wherever, on the earth's surface, the eye of the American shall behold it, may he have reason to bless it ! On whatsoever spot it is planted, there may freedom have a foothold, humanity a brave champion, and religion an altar ! Though stained with blood in a righteous cause, may it never, in any cause, be stained with shame I Alike, when its gorgeous folds shall wanton in lazy holiday triumphs on the summer breeze, and its tattered fragments be dimly seen through the clouds of war, may it be the joy and pride of the American heart ! First raised in the cause of right and liberty, in that cause alone may it forever spread out its streaming blazonry to the battle and the storm ! Having been borne victoriously across the continent and on every sea, may virtue and freedom and peace forever follow where it leads the way! OUTWARD BOUND! HURRAH, hurrah, how gayly we ride ! How the ship careers ! How she leaps ! How gracefully she bends ! How fair her white wings 1 How trim her hull 1 How slim her tall, taper masts ! What a beautiful dancing fairy ! Up from my narrow shelf in the close cabin, have I crept for the first time since we Jioosed cable and swung out upon the tide, and every drop of blood in my veins jostles its neighbor drop exultingly ; for here is sublimity unrivalled. The wild, shifting, restless sea, with its playful waves, chasing one another laughingly, ever and anon leaping up, shivering themselves by the force of their own mad impulse, and descend- ing again in a shower of pearls — the soft, azure curvature of the sky, shutting down upon its outer rim, as though we were fairly 26* D '306 THE MODEL, SPEAKEK. caged between blue and blue — and the ship, the gallant ship, ploughing her own path in the midst, bearing human souls upon her tremulous breast, with her white wings high in air, and her feet in the grave. And then tlie tumult, the creaking of cordage, the dash of waters, and the howling of winds — " the wind and the sea roar- ing." I have felt my heart swell and my blood tingle in my veins, when I stood in the silent forests of Alderbrook,* and I have looked up at the solemn old trees in awe, mingled with strange delight ; the awe and delight have both deepened at the blaze of the lightning and bellowing of the thunder amid the wild, echoing rocks of Astonroga; and now, in this strange uproar, they come upon my heart, and make it bound like the arrow from the bended bow. The tree* were the temples built by the Almighty for His wor- ship, and there is something awfully beautiful in their shadows; the lightnings "go and say unto Him, here we are!" and "He shut up tlie sea with doors, and made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness the swaddling-band for it." And here, as I stand poised up by the wild elements, I feel myself near, very near to the only Protector who has a hand to save, and, in the hollow of that all-powerful hand, I rest in perfect security. God, my God, I go forth at thy bidding, and, in the words of thine own inspired poet, " Thou art my buckler, the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.'' The sea cannot separate thee from me, the darkness of midnight cannot hide thy face, nor can the raging of the storm drown thy still small voice. My heart leaps joyfulljr as I trust in thee. On, brave little wrestler with the elements ! On, right gal- lantly ! I love the bounding, the dashing, and the roaring, and my heart shall know no faltering" while "my Father is at the helm," Hurrah ! Gallantly ride we in this skeleton ship, while the sunlight glints gayly on white bare mast and slender spar? Gallantly ride we over wave and hollow, over foam and rainbow ; now perched upon the white ridge, poising doubtfully, and trem- bling like a frighted steed ; now plunging down, down into the measureless trough, which seems yawning to ingulf us forever. Wildly blows the gale, more and more wildly bound the mighty * The name given by the ■writer to her own rustic home. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 307 billows, with a roaring as thougli all tlie monsters of the deep were swarming around us. But not so. Neither the wide mouth of the shark, the brown back of the porpoise, nor the spouting nostril of the whale is visible ; the brilliant dolphin, in his opal jacket, has retreated to his own haunts below the storm, and the little " Portuguese man-of-war " has drawn in the pink and pur- ple fringes of his silver sail, and rolls, like a cunning beetle, from ■wave to wave, as light as the bubble from which he cannot be distinguished. Even the albatross flapped his strong pinion, and wheeled away when he saw the winds gathering dark in the heavens ; the Cape pigeon lingered a little, as though caring lightly for the ruffling of his mottled plumage, and then spread his butterfly embroidered wings, and hurried after ; but the stormy petrel, though small and delicate as the timid wren, (I will take a lesson from thee, busy, daring little spirit that thou art, bright velvet-winged petrel,) scorns to seek safety, but by breasting the gale. And here he remains, carousing amid the foam, as though those liquid pearls, leaping high in air, and scattering themselves upon the wind, had a magic in them to shield him from danger. He dips his wing in the angry tide as daintily as though it were stirred but in silver ripples; then he darts upward, and then plunges and is lost in the enshrouding foam. But, no ; he is again in air, whirling and balancing, wheeling and careering, up and down, as though stark mad with joyousness, and now he vaults upon the back of the nearest foam-bank, and disappears to rise again as before. And still the billows roar and bound, and lash the sides of the trembling ship, and sweep with strange force her decks ; and still we reel and plunge, down, down, down, surely. No ; we are up again, leaping skyward ; we pause a moment — and — what a fearful pitch was that ! Ah, my brain grows giddy, but still I cannot hide myself in my dark cabin. Thank God, that He has •spread the land before our eyes at last, that He has shielded us, when wrath was stirring in the heavens, and darkness was upon the waters ; that He has pinioned the wings of the wind, and said to the waves : " Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther 1 " 308 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE. THE huge rough stones from out the mine, Unsightly and unfair, Have veins of purest metal hid Beneath the surface there. Few rooks so bare but to their heights Some tiny moss-plant clings ; And round the peaks so desolate, The sea-bird sits and sings. Believe me, too, that rugged souls. Beneath their rudeness hide Much that is beautiful and good — We 've all our angel eide. In all there is an inner depth, A far-off secret way, Where, through the windows of the soul, God sends His smiling ray. In every human heart there is A faithful, sounding chord That may be struck, unknown to us, By some sweet, loving word. The wayward will in man may try Its softer thoughts to hide — Some unexpected tone reveals It has an angel aide. Despised, and lone, and trodden down. Dark with the shades of sin, Deciphering not those halo-lights Which God has lit within ! Groping about in endless night. Poor, poisoned souls they are, Who guess not what life's meaning is, Nor dream of heaven afar. Oh, that some gentle hand of love Their stumbling steps would guide. And show them that, amidst it all. Life has its angel side! THE MODEL SPEAKER. 309 Brutal, and mean, and dark enough, God knows some natures are ; But He, compassionate comes near, And shall we stand afar? Our cruse of oil will not grow less If shared with_ hearty hand ; For words of peace and looks of love Few natures can withstand. Love is the mighty conqueror, Love is the beauteous guide. Love, with her beaming eyes, can see We've all our angel side. THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN. ALL the world's a stage. And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances. And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in his nurse's arms : And then the whining schoolboy, 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, the soldier. Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, 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 served, a world too wide For his shrunk shanks; and his big manly voice, Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 310 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. And whistles in liis sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY AFTER HIS DOWNFALL. FAREWELL, a, long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; The third day, oomes a frost, a killing frost; And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening — nips his root. And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. This many summers in a sea of glory j But far beyond my depth : my iiigh-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new open'd : 0, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to — That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. V/OLSEY'S ADDRESS TO CROJIWELL. CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me Out of thy honest truth to, play the woman. Let 's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 311 And sleep in dull cold marble, vhere no mention Of me more must be heard of — say I taught thee; Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd ma Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Tliy Grod's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; And Pr'ythee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have. To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. OUR HEEOES SHALL LIVE. OH, tell me not that they are dead — that generous host, that airy army of invisible heroes. They hover as a cloud of wit- nesses above this nation. Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act ? Are they dead that yet move upon society, and inspire the people with nobler motives, and more heroic patriotism ? Ye that inpurn, let gladness mingle with your tears. He was your son, but now he is the nation's. He made your household bright : now his example inspires a thousand households. Dear to his brothers and sisters, he is now brother to every generous 312 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. youth in the land. Before, he was narrowed, appropriated, shut up to you. Now he is augmented, set free, and given to all. Before, he was yours : he is ours. He has died from the family, that he might live to the nation. Not one name shall be for- gotten or neglected : and it shall by-and-by be confessed of our modern heroes, as it is of an ancient hero, that he did more for his country by his death than by his whole life. LAUS DEO! On beariDg Ihe b&1]s ring on the passage of the Constitutional Amendment abolishing Slavery. IT is done! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel! How the great guns, peal on peal. Fling the joy from town to town I Eing, bells ! Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial hour of crime. Loud and long, that all may hear. Ring for every listening ear Of Eternity and Time! Let us kneel: God's own voice is ic. that peal. And this spot is holy ground. Lord, forgive us ! what are we, That our eyes this glory see, That our ears have heard the sound I For the Lord On the whirlwind is abroad ; In the earthquake he has spoken; He has smitten with His thunder The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken I THE MODEL SPEAKER. 313 Loud and long Lift the old exulting song; Sing with Miriam by the sea, He has cast the mighty down ; Horse and rider sink and drown; "He hath triumphed gloriously!" Did we dare In our agony of prayer, Ask for more than He has done? When was ever His right hand Over any time or land Stretched as now beneath the sun? How they pale, Ancient myth and song and tale. In this wonder of our days. When the cruel rod of war Blossoms white with righteous law, And the wrath of man is pi-aisel Blotted out! All within and all about Shall a fresher life begin; Freer breathe the universe As it rolls its heavy curse On the dead and buried sin I It is done I In the circuit of the sun Shall the sound thereof go forth. It shall bid the sad rejoice. It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth I Eing and swing. Bells of joy ! On morning's wing Sound the song of praise abroad ! With a sound of broken chains Tell the nations that He reigns, Who alone is Lord and God! 27 314 THE MODEL SPEAKER. STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY. QTEIVE; yet I do not promise, O The prize you dream of to-day. Will not fade when you think to grasp it, And melt in your hand away ; But another and holier treasure. You would now perchance disdain, Will come when your toil is over, And pay you for all your pain. AVait; yet I do not tell you. The hour you long for now. Will not come with its radiance vanished, And a shadow upon its hrow; Yet far through the misty future. With a crown of starry light. An hour of joy you know not Is winging her silent flight. Pray; though the gift you ask for May never comfort your fears. May never repay your pleading, Yet pray, and with hopeful tears ; An answer, not that you long for. But diviner, will come one day ; Your eyes are too dim to see it, Yet strive, and wait, and pray. THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY. Translated by John Mason Neale. FOE thee, O dear, dear country 1 Mine eyes their vigils keep ; For very love, beholding Thy happy name, they weep. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 315 The mention of thy glory- Is unction to the breast, And medicine in sicliness, And love, and life, and rest. one, O onely Mansion ! O Paradise of joy I Where tears are ever banished. And smiles have no alloy. Beside thy living waters All plants are, great. a»d small, The cedar of the forest, The hyssop of the wall : With jaspers glow thy bulwarks. Thy streets with emeralds blaze, The sardius and the topaz Unite in thee their rays; Thine ageless walls are bonded With amethyst unpriced : Thy saints build up its fabric, And the corner-stone is Christ. Thou hast no shore, fair Ocean! Thou hast no time, bright day I Dear fountain of refreshment To pilgrims far away ! Upon the Eock of Ages They raise thy holy tower ; Thine is the victor's laurel, And thine the golden dower. Jerusalem the golden, With milk and honey blest. Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice oppressed. 1 know not, oh, I know not What social joys are there! What radiancy of glory, What light beyond compare 1 316 THE MODEL SPEAKER. They stand, those halls of Sion, Conjubilant with song, And bright with many an angel, And all the martyr throng; The Prince is ever in them, The daylight is serene; The pastures of the Blessed Are decked in glorious sheen. Jerusalem the glorious! The glory of the Elect ! O dear and future vision That eager hearts expect! Even now by faith I see thee, Even here thy walls discern ; To thee my thoughts are kindled. And strive, and pant, and yearn. Exult, dust and ashes ! The Lord shall be thy part; His only, His forever. Thou shalt be, and thou art I Exult, O dust and ashes ! The Lord shall be thy part; His only, His forever. Thou shalt be, and thou art I THY WILL BE DONE. WE see not, know not ; all our way Is night — with Thee alone is day: From out the torrent's troubled drift. Above the storm our prayers we lift, Thy will be done ! The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, But who are we to make complaint. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 317 Or dare to plead, in times like these, The weakness of our love of ease? Thy will be done I We take with solemn thankfulness Our burden up, nor ask it less, And count it joy that even we May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, Whose will be donel Though dim as yet in tint and line, We trace Thy picture's wise design, And thank Thee that our age supplies Its dark relief of sacrifice. Thy will be done I And if, in our unworthiness, Thy sacrificial wine we press. If from Thy ordeal's heated bars Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, Thy will be done I If, for the age to come, this hour Of trial hath vicarious power. And, blest by Thee, our present pain Be Liberty's eternal gain, Thy will be done 1 Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys. The anthem of the destinies ! The minor of Thy loftier strain. Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain. Thy will be done 1 THE LITTLE FAIE SOUL. A LITTLE fair soul, that knew not sin. Looked over the edge of Paradise, And saw one striving to come in, With fear and tumult in his eyes. 27* 318 THE MODEL SPE4.KBE. " O brother, is it you ? " he cried, " Your face is as a breath from home. Why do you stay so long outside? I am athirst for you to come. " Tell me, first, how our mother fares, And did she weep too much for me?" " White are her cheeks and white her hairs, But not from gentle tears for thee!" " Tell me, where are our sisters gone ? " " Alas I I left them weary and wan 1 " "And tell me, is the baby grown?" " Alas I he will soon be a man ! " Cannot you break the gathering days. And let the light of Death come through, Ere his feet stumble in the maze Crossed safely by so few, so few ? "For like a cloud upon the sea That darkens till you find no shore, So was the face of Life to me, Until I sank forevermore! " And like an army in the snow. My days went past, a treacherous train. Each silent when he struck his blow. Until I lay among them slain ! " "O brother, there was a path so clear!" "It might be, but I never sought." " brother, there was a sword so near I " " It might be, but I never fought." ( "Yet sweep this needless gloom aside. For you are come to the gate at last!" Then in despair that soul replied, "The gate is fast! The gate is fasti" THE MODEL, SPEAKER. 319 " I cannot move the mighty weight, I cannot find the golden key, But hosts of heaven around us wait. And none have ever said No to me. " Kind saint, put by thy palm arr.d scroll, And come unto the door for me!" " Rest thee still, thou little fair soul. It is not mine to keep the key." " Sweet angel, strike these doors apart ! That outer air is dark and cold." "Rest thee still, thou little pure heart, Not for my word will they unfold." Up all the shining heights he prayed For that poor Shadow in the cold; Still came the word, " Not ours to aid I We cannot make the doors unfold ! " But that poor Shadow, still outside. Wrung all the sacred air with pain. And all the souls went up and cried, Where never cry was heard in vain. No eyes beheld the pitying Face, The answer none' might understand, But dimly through the silent space Was seen the stretching of a hand. THE HARDEST TIME OF ALL, THERE are days of deepest sorrow In the season of our life; There are wild, despairing moments ; There are hours of mental strife. There are hours of stony anguish. When the tears refuse. to fall; 320 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. But the waiting-time, my brothers, Is the hardest time of all. Youth and love are oft impatient, Seeking things beyond their reach; And the heart grows sick with hoping, Ere it learns what life can teach. For, before the fruit be gathered. We must see the blossoms fall; And the waiting-time, my brothers. Is the hardest time of all. We can bear the heat of conflict, Though the sudden, crushing blow. Beating back our gathered forces, For a moment lay us low. We may rise again beneath it. None the weaker for our fall; But the waiting-time, my brothers, Is the hardest time of all. Yet at last we learn the lesson That God knoweth what is best, And a silent resignation Makes the spirit calm and blest; For, perchance, a day is coming For the changes of our fate. When our hearts will 'thank him meekly That He taught us how to wait. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. rT'>HE mountain and the squirrel X Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig.'' Bun replied : " You are doubtless very big ; But all sorts of wind and weather Must be taken in together, THE MODEL SPEAKBE. 321 To make up a year. And a sphere; And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I 'm not so large as you. You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I '11 not deny you make A very pretty squirrel-track. Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut." GEEEN APPLES. PULL down the bough, Bob ! Is n't this fun ? Now give it a shake, and — there goes one! Now put your thumb up to the other, and see If it is n't as mellow as mellow can be ! I know by the stripe It must be ripe! That's one apiece for you and me. Green, are they? Well, no matter for that: Sit down on the grass and we'll have a chat; And I'll tell you what old Parson Bute Said last Sunday of unripe fruit : " Life," says he, "Is a bountiful tree, Heavily laden with beautiful fruit. " For the youth there 's love, just streaked with red. And great joys hanging just over his head ; Happiness, honor, and great estate. For those who patiently work and wait ; " Blessings,'' said he, " Of every degree, Bipening early, and ripening late. V 322 THE MODEL SPEAKER. "Take them in season, pluck and eat. And the fruit is wholesome, the fruit is sweet ; But, oh, my friends ! " Here he gave a rap On his desk, like a regular thunder-clap, And made such a bang. Old Deacon Lang Woke up out of his Sunday nap. Green fruit, he said, God would not bless ; But half life's sorrow and bitterness. Half the evil and ache and crime, ^ Came from tasting before their time The fruits Heaven sent. Then on he went To his fourthly and fifthly — was n't it prime ? But, I say, Bob ! we fellows don't care So much for a mouthful of apple or pear; But what we like is the fun of the thing, When the fresh winds blow, and the hang-birds bring Home grubs, and sing To their young ones, a-swing In their basket-nest, tied up by its string. I like apples in various ways ; They're first-rate roasted before the blaze Of a winter fire ; and, oh, my eyes ! Aren't they nice, though, made into pies? I scarce ever saw One, cooked or raw, That was n't good for a boy of my size ! But shake your fruit from the orchard-tree. And the tune of the brook and the hiim of the bee, And the chipmonks chippering every minute, And the clear sweet note of the gay little linnet. And the grass and the flowers. And the long summer hours. And the flavor of sun and breeze are in it. THE MODEL SPEAKEE. 323 But this is a hard one ! Why did n't we Leave them another week on the tree? Is yours as bitter? Give us a bite! And the taste of it puckers My mouth like a sucker's ! I vow, I believe the old parson was right I THE TRIAL SCENE. Extract from " The Merchant of Venice." DUKE. Antonio and Shylock, both stand forth. PoE. Is your name Shylock? Shy. Shylock is my name. POR. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; Yet in such rule that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. You stand within his danger, do you not? [To Antonio. Ant. Ay, so he says. POE. Do you confess the bond? Ant. I do. PoR. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I? Tell me that. POR. The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed ; It blesseth him that 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 himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this — That, in the course of justice, none of us 324 THE MODEL SPEAKEE. Should see isalvation; we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. PoE. Is he not able to discharge the money? Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court: Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : If this will not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you Wrest once the law to your authority : To do a great right, do a little wrong; And curb this cruel villain of his will. For. It must not be; there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established; 'T will be recorded for a precedent ; And many an error, by the same example, W^ill rush into the state: it cannot be. Shy. a Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel 1 wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! For. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. Foe. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee. Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? No, not for Venice. Foe. Why, this bond is forfeit; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart: — Be merciful; Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. It doth appear, you are a worthy judge; You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound ; I charge you by the law. THE MODEL SPEAKER. 325 Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me : I stay here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily do I beseech the court To give the judgment. POR. Why then, thus it is : You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Shy. O noble judge 1 O excellent young man I PoE. For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Shy. 'T is very true : wise and upright judge 1 How much more elder art thou than thy looks I PoE. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. Shy. Ay, his breast : So says the bond: — Doth it not, noble judge? — Nearest the heart — those are the very words. PoR. It is so. Are there balances here to weigh The flesh? Shy. I have them ready. PoE. tiave by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge. To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? PoE. It is not so expressed ; but what of that ? 'Twere good you do so much for charity. Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. PoR. Come, merchant, have you anything to say? Ant. But little; I am armed, and well prepared. Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well I Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; For herein Fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: it is still her use To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow. An age of poverty : from which lingering penance Of such a misery doth she cut me off. Shy. We trifle time ; I pray thee pursue sentence. PoR. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ; The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 326 THE MODEL SPEAKEE, Shy. Most rightful judge I PoE. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast ; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, prepare. For. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; The words expressly are, a pound of flesh : Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh, But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice. Gea. O upright judge! — Mark, Jew I — learned judge! Shy. Is that the law? PoE. Thyself shalt see the act : For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice more than thou desirest. Gea. learned judge ! — Mark, Jew; — a learned judge 1 Shy. I take this offer then — pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. Bass. Here is the money. PoE. Soft; The Jew shall have all justice; — soft; — no haste; — He shall have nothing but the penalty. Gea. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! PoE. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh; Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less, nor more, But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more. Or less, than a just pound — be it but so much As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance. Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple — nay, if the scales do turn But in the estimation of a hair — Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Gea. a second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! Now infidel, I have thee on the hip. PoE. Why doth the Jew pause ? Take thy forfeiture. Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. PoE. He hath refused it in the open court; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 327 He shall have merely justice, aad his bond. Gea. a Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? PoE. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why then — I '11 stay no longer question. PoR. Tarry, Jew ; The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice — If it be proved against an alien, That by direct, or indirect attempts. He seek the life of any citizen, The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive. Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half Conies to the privy coffer of the state ; And the offender's life lies in the mercy Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice. In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. DtJKE. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; The other half comes ^to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. Shy. Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house ; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live. Akt. So please my lord the Duke, and all the court. To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use, to render it. Upon his death, unto the gentleman That lately stole his daughter. Duke. He shall do this; or else I do recant The pardon that I late pronounced here. POR. Art thou contented, Jew — what dost thou say? Shy. I am content. 328 THE MODEL SPEAKER. I pray you give me leave to go from hence ; I am not well : send the deed after me. And I will sign it. Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. ALL is finished, and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched .' With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched. And o'er the bay, Slowly, in all his splendors dight. The great sun rises to behold the sight. The ocean old. Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as nncontrolled. Paces restless to and fro, Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest; And far and wide With ceaseless flow His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient for his bride. There she stands, With her foot upon the sands, Decked with flags and streamers gay, In honor of her marriage-day, Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, Bound her like a veil descending. Ready to be The bride of the gray old sea. Then the Master, With a gesture of command. Waved his hand; THE MODEL SPEAKER. 329 And at the word, Loud and sudden there was heard, All around them and below. The sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs. And see ! she stirs I She starts — she moves — she seems to feel The thrill of life along her keel. And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound. She leaps into the ocean's arms. And lol from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, That to the ocean seemed to say, "Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray; Take her to thy protecting arms, With all her youth, and all her charms." How beautiful she is I how fair She lies within those arms, that press . Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care I Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! Through wind and wave, right onward steer I The moistened eye, the trembling lip, Are not the signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity. Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be I For gentleness, and love, and trust. Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives I Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State I Sail on, Union, strong and great! 28* 330 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Humanity, with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel. Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. What anvils rang, what hammers beat. In what a forge and what a heat Were shapgd the anchors of thy hope. Fear not each sudden sound and shock; 'T is of the wave, and not the rock ; 'Tis but the ilapping of the sail. And not a rent made by the gale. In spite of rock and tempest roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea. Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee : Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. Are all with thee — are all with thee. KEEP IT BEFOEE THE PEOPLE. KEEP it before the people! That Earth was made for Man I That flowers were strown. And fruits were grown. To bless, and never to ban — That sun and rain, And corn and grain. Are yours and mine, my brother! Free gifts from heaven. And freely given To one as well as another! Keep it before the people! That man is the image of God ! THE MODEL SPEAKEB. 331 His limbs or soul Ye may not control With shackle or shame or rod I We may not be sold For silver or gold, Neither you nor I, my brother I For Freedom was given By God, from heaven, To one as well as another I Keep it before the people I That famine and crime and woe Forever abide, Still side by side With luxury's dazzling show I That Lazurus crawls From Dives' halls, And starves at his gate, my brother I Yet life was given By God, from heaven. To one as well as another! Keep it before the people I That the poor man claims his meed — The right of soil, And the right of toil. From spur and bridle freed! The right to bear. And the right to share, With you and me, my brother ! Whatever is given By God, from heaven. To one as well as another! THE BOY AND HIS ANGEL. MOTHER, I 've been with an angel to-day I I was out, alone, in the forest at play, Chasing after the butterflies, watching the bees, And hearing the woodpecker tapping the trees; 332 THE MODEL SPEAKER. So I played and I played, till, so weary I grew, I sat down to rest in the shade of a yew. While the birds sang so -sweetly high up on its top : I held my breath, mother, for fear they would stop 1 Thus a long while I sat, looking up to the sky. And watching the clouds that went hurrying by. When I heard a voice calling just over my head. That sounded as if ' Come, O brother 1 ' it said ; And there, right over the top of the tree, mother, an angel was beck'ning to me 1 " And, ' Brother ! ' once more, ' come, brother ! ' he cried, And flew on light pinions close down by my side ! And mother, oh ! never was being so brigKt As the one which then beamed on my wondering sight I His face was as fair as the delicate shell. His hair down his shoulders in fair ringlets fell. The eyes resting on me, so melting with love. Were as soft and as mild as the eyes of a dove! And somehow, dear mother, I felt not afraid, As his hand on my brow he caressingly laid, And whispered so softly and gently to me, ' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee ! ' " And then on my forehead he tenderly pressed Such kisses — O mother, they thrilled through my breast, As swiftly as lightning leaps down from on high. When the chariot of God rolls along the black sky I While his breath,' floating round me, was soft as the breeze That played in my tresses, and rustled the trees. At last on my head a deep blessing he poured. Then plumed his bright pinions and upward he soared! And up, up he went, through the blue sky, so far. He seemed to float there like a glittering star : Yet still my eyes followed his radiant flight, Till, lost in the azure, he passed from my sight ! Then, oh ! how I feared, as I caught the last gleam Of his vanishing form, it was only a dream ! When soft voices whispered once more from the tree, ' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee ! ' " THE MODEL SPEAKER. 333 Oh, pale grew that mother, and heavy her heart, For she knew her fair boy from this world must depart ! That his bright locks must fade in the dust of the tomb Ere the autumn winds withered the summer's rich bloom I Oh, how his young footsteps she watched, day by day, As his delicate form wasted slowly away. Till the soft light of heaven seemed shed o'er his face, And he crept up to die in her loving embrace ! " Oh, clasp me, dear mother, close, close to your breast, On that gentle pillow again let me rest! Let me once more gaze up to that dear, loving eye, And then, oh, methinks, I can willingly die ! Now kiss me, dear mother ! oh, quickly ! for see, The bright, blessed angels are waiting for me I " Oh, wild was the anguish that swept through her breast, As the long, frantic kiss on his pale lips she pressed! And felt the vain search of his soft, pleading eye, As it strove to meet hers ere the fair boy could die. " I see you not, mother, for darkness and night Are hiding your dear, loving face from my sight — But I hear your low sobbings — dear mother, good-byl The angels are ready to bear me on high ! I will wait for you there — but, oh, tarry not long. Lest grief at your absence should sadden my song ! " He ceased, and his hands meekly clasped on his breast. While his sweet face sank down on its pillow of rest; Then, closing his eyes, now all rayless and dim. Went up with the angels that waited for him! LINT. FIBRE by fibre, shred by shred. It falls from her delicate hand In feathery films, as soft and slow As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow In the lap of a summer land. 334 THE MODEL SPEAKER. There are jewels of price in her roseate ears, And gold round her white wrist coils; There are costly trifles on every hand, And gems of art from many a land. In the chamber where she toils. A rare bird sings in a gilded cage At the open casement near; A sun ray glints through a swaying bough, And lights with a diamond radiance now The dew of a falling tear I A sob floats out to the summer air With the song-bird's latest trill; The gossamer folds of the drapery Are waved by the swell of a long, low sigh, And the delicate hands are still. " Ah ! beauty of earth is nought, is nought ! And a gilded youth is vain! I have seen a sister's scarred face shine With a youth and beauty all divine By the soldier's couch of pain ! " I have read of another,* whose passing shade On their pillows the mangled kissed In the far Crimea ! " There are no more tears. But she plucks the gems from her delicate ears, And the gold from her slender wrist. The bird still sings in his gilded cage; But the angel in her heart Hath stung her soul with a noble pain; And beauty is nought, and youth is vain. While the patriot's wounds still smart. Fibre by fibre, shred by shred, Still fall from her delicate hand The feathery films, as soft and slow * Florence Nightingale, an English lady, who cared for her country's soldiers in the Crimean War. THE MODEL SPEAEEK. 335 As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow In the lap of a summer land. There are crimson stains on breasts and brows, And fillets in ghastly coils ; The wails are lofty and white and bare, And moaning echoes roll ever there Through the chamber where she toils. No glitter of gold on, her slender wrist, Nor gem in her roseate ears ; But a youth and a beauty all divine In the face of the Christian maiden shine, And her gems are the soldier's tears. AN APPEAL FOE OUE COUNTRY. The following ia an extract from a discourse in coinmemorntion of tlie first settle- ment of Salem, Massachusetts, delivered by Judye Story, Sejiteuiber 18, 1828. I CALL upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are and all you hope to be — resist every project of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties — resist every at- tempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction. I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman — the love of your offspring: teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean upon your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her. I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are, whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of the liberties of your country. I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave with the recollection that you have lived in 336 THE MODEL SPEAKER. vain ! May not your last'sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves I The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs ! May he who, at the distance of another century, shall stand here, to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous people I May he have reason to exult as we do ! May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth, as well as of poetry, exclaim that here is still his country. "ZealoDfl, yet modest; innocent, though free; Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms; Indexible in faith ; invincible in arms." HOW MOTHER DID IT. IF we were to suggest one thing which, above all other things combined, would most contribute to the happiness of the young housekeeper, it would be to learn how to cook as a husband's mother cooked. Mother used to make coffee so and so ! Mother used to have such waffles I and mother knew just how thick or how thin to make a pumpkin-pie I And, oh ! if I could only taste of moth- er's biscuit ! Such are the comments of the husband, and of too many meal-tables. It would be only a little more cruel for the husband to throw his fork across the table, or to dash the contents of his tea-cup in his wife's face. The experience of a contrite husband is good reading for those men whose daily sauce is " How mother did it." He says : " I found fault, some time ago, with Maria Ann's custard-pie, and tried to tell her how my mother made custard-pie. Maria made the pie after my recipe. It lasted longer than any other pie we ever had. Maria set it on the table every day for dinner ; and you see I could not eat it, because I forgot to tell her to put in any eggs or shortening. It was economical ; but in a fit of generosity, I stole it from the pantry and gave it to a poor little boy in the neighborhood. The boy's funeral was largely attend- ed by his former playmates : I did not go myself " Then there were the buckwheat cakes. I told Maria Ann any THE MODEL SPEAKER. 337 one could beat her making those cakes, and she said I had better try it myself. So I did. 1 emptied the batter all out of the pitcher one evening, and set the cakes myself. I got the flour and the salt and water, and, warned by the past, put in a liberal quantity of eggs and shortening. I shortened with tallow from roast beef because I could not find any lard. The batter did not look right, and I lit my pipe and pondered. Yeast, yeast, to be sure ; I had forgotten the yeast. I went and woke up the baker, and got six cents' worth of yeast. I set the pitcher behind the sitting-room stove, and went to bed. " In the morning'! got up early, and prepared to enjoy my tri- umph ; but I did n't. Tliat yeast was strong enough to raise the dead, and the batter was running all over the carpet. I scraped it up and put it into another dish. Then I got a fire in the kitchen, and put on the griddle. The first lot of cakes stuck to the griddle. The second dittoed, only more. Maria came down, and asked me what was burning. She advised me to grease the griddle. I did it. One end of the griddle got too hot, and I dropped the thing on my tenderest corn while trying to turn it around. " Finally the cakes were ready for breakfast, and Maria got the other things ready. We sat down : my cakes did not have exactly the right flavor. I took one mouthful, and it satisfied me. I lost my appetite at once. Maria would not let me put one on her plate. I think those cakes may be reckoned a dead loss. The cat would not eat them. The dog ran off and stayed away three days after one was offered to him. The hens would n't go within ten feet of them. I threw them into the back-yard, and there has not been a pig on the pren>ises since. I eat what is put before me now, and do not allude to my mother's system of cook- ing." PUTTING UP STOVES. ONE who has had considerable experience in the work of put- ting up stoves, says the first step to be taken is to put on a very old and ragged coat, under the impression that when he gets his mouth full of plaster it will keep his shirt-bosom clean. 29 W 338 THE MODEL SPEAKER. Next he gets his hands inside the place where the pipe ought to go, and blacks his fingers, and then he carefully makes a black mark down one side of his nose. It is impossible to make any headway in doing this work, until this mark is made down the side of the nose. Having got his face properly marked, the vic- tim is ready to begin the ceremony. The head of the family — who is the big goose of the sacrifice — grasps one side of the bot- tom of the stove, and his wife and the hired girl take hold of the other side. In this way the load is started from the wood-shed toward the parlor. Going through the door, the head of the family will carefully swing his side of the stove around, and jam his thumb-nail against the door-post. This part of the ceremony is never omitted. Having got the stove comfortably in place, the next thing is to find the legs. Two of these are left inside the stove since the spring before. The other two must be hunted after for twenty-five minutes. They are usually found under the coal. Then the head of the family holds up one side of the stove while his wife puts two of the legs in place, and next, he holds up the other side, while the other two are fixed, and one of the first two falls out. By the time the stove is on its legs he gets reckless, and takes off his old coat, regardless of his linen. Then he goes ofi' for the pipe, and gets a cinder in his eye. It don't make any difference how well the pipe was put up last year, it will be found a little too short, or a little too long. The head of the family jams his hat over his eyes, and, taking a pipe under each arm, goes to the tin-shop to have it fixed. When he gets back he steps upon one of the best parlor-chairs to see if the pipe fits, and his wife makes him get down, for fear he will scratch the varnish off from the chair with the nails in his boot-heel. In getting down, he will surely step on the cat, and may thank his stars if it is not the baby. Then he gets an old chair, and climbs up to the chim- ney again, to find, that in cutting the pipe off, the end has been left too big for the hole in the chimney. So he goes to the wood- shed, and splits one side of the end of the pipe with an old axe, and squeezes it in his hands, to make it smaller. Finally he gets the pipe in shape, and finds that the stove does not stand true. Then himself and wife and the hired girl move the stove to the left, and the legs tall out again. Next it is to move to the right. More difficulty with the legs. Moved to the front a little. Elbow not even with the hole in the chimney, and he goes to the wood- THE MODEL SPEAKER. 339 shed after some little blocks. While putting the blocks under the legs, the pipe comes out of the chimney. That remedied, the elbow keeps tipping over, to the great alarm of the wife. Head of the family gets the dinner-table out, puts the old chair on it, gets his wife to hold the chair, and balances himself on it to drive some nails into the ceiling. Drops the hammer on to his wife's head. At last gets the nails driven, makes a wire-swing to hold the pipe, hammers a little here, pulls a little there, takes a long breath, and announces the ceremony completed. Job never put up any stoves. It would have ruined his repu- tation if he had. THE EESPONSIBILITIES OF YOUNG MEN. THESE are strange times, — full of peril, full of hope. In one quarter there is a blue sky and glorious sunlight, in another quarter there is a black-draped cloud, crossed and cut with red and jagged fires, and hoarse with thunders. It is such a time as this in which you should be able to 'combine strong individual forces with a clear individual discernment. You should never rush heedlessly into the strife, neither should you turn aside from the contest of the cause. You should learn to judge between good and evil, and then be ready to strike manfully for the right. It is indispensable that you should put yourself into a whole.some and thorough discipline in youth. You need, in the first place, to cultivate your intellectual faculties with the greatest care. It is getting to be of comparatively little importance, in all our de- partments of business, how a young man commences life, if he will only cultivate his faculties. The secret of success lies in improving to the best advantage such opportunities as lie around us. It is not by changing their positions that men acquire influence. The good workman on the bench, who determines first that the article which he manufac- tures shall be as perfect as he can make it, and theq, after the toil of the day is over, goes to work with another set of tools, be- ginning to inform himself, cultivating his mind, his moral facul- 340 THE MODEL SPEAKER, ties, in the end will become more influential than the soporific person in the pulpit, or the flaunting advocate at the bar. The time has been when general mental culture would have been impossible and useless, but by the grace of God it is so no longer. Go into the City Councils, the Legislatures, the scientific conventions ; read over the laws, the sayings of popular poets and journalists, all who give tone to popular opinion and control so- ciety. Are they generally such as were born in wealth, born in institutions of honor, and bred in universities? Some inherit distinction, but the great majority of society is composed of men who have struggled against obstructions, and forced their way upward by their own strength. But it is not merely the cultivation of mental powers with a view to high position which is necessary. The young man who cultivates his mental and moral powers thereby elevates himself to a higher circle in society. The world is bound to find out what there is in such a man, what he is capable of doing. Consequently, the young man should develop himself, not for the sake of securing honor or titles, being elected to ofEice, or filling high positions, but from simple regard to what is due to his own nature. He who utters his own thoughts is the one who now awakens the echo. The opinions of most men are at the best only echoes. What we need in this generation is that each voice should have its own signification. One of the great evils of American society is popular opinion, manufactured out of very strange materials, which cannot be resisted without the risk of a social martyrdom. We want men who feel that they are strong enough and intel- ligent enough to sit in judgment upon popular opinion, and if an idol be erected in the land, even though it should be seventy cu- bits in height, and gilded from tip to toe, and labelled with the most sacred name, they should have the courage to declare it an idol, and have the manfulness to stand by the declaration amidst the sound of the dulcimer and mtmy-toned instruments calling upon the people to bow down and worship it. We want men who will tell the proud Nebuchadiie7Model School Pen. These Pens are made with the greatest care, and subjected to the closest scrutiny before being placed in the boxes. In their manufacture, we have endeavored to remedy the defects and combine the desirable qualities of all the School Pens heretofore offered to Teachers. We believe that they will on trial be found to combine more of the elements of a really good steel pen than any other. The point equals that of the " Gillot, 303 ; " while for flexibility and durability they are un- equalled. Price per gross, sent by mail, post-paid, $1.25. B OOK- KEEPING BLANKS. Consisting of six ■blank books, as follows : Day Book, Cash Book, Ledger, Journal, Bill Book, and Book for Miscel- laneous Exercises. Price for each book by mail, post-paid, 15 cents; or the entire set of six books by mail, post-paid, 90 cents. These books have been prepared as a matter of practical con- venience for students in Book-keeping. They can be used with any treatise, and will be sold singly or in sets, as may be desired. 8®- CONSTANTLY ON HAND, a full supply of all the different kinds of School Books published. Special attention paid to miscellaneous ordere for School Books, Stationery, School Merchandise, etc., from Teachei-s, School Di- rectors, Principals of Academies, Trustees, and others who purchase i6 in quantities for Schools and Classes. In such instances a liberal discount will be allowed. Principals of Schools having occasion to order various kinds of books for their classes, are invited to favor us with a trial order. We make a specialty of filling orders of this character, and our facilities are such that we are confident of our ability to render satisfaction. We will be happy to quote our prices for the different kinds of school books that may be required by Teachers for their classes. Books can be ordered by express, the amount of the bill to be collected on delivery, provided that one-half the required amount be sent with the order, as a guarantee that the bdoks Will be promptly taken on their arrival. Teachers corresponding with us are requested to supply us with a copy of the circular or catalogue of the school of which they are the Principal, or with which they are connected. Descriptive circulars of all our publications will be sent to any address on application. Please address, Eldredge & Brother, No. 17 JSortti Seventh Street, PHILADELPHIA, PA.