■r ■ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I I.I 11.25 b£|28 12.5 lis ^^^ m^M Hi Uii 122 Lo 12.0 Nt I' U 11.6 vQ 7. /^ ■ (meaning CONTINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Les images suivantes ont 4t4 reproduites avec le plus grand soln, compte tenu de la condition at de la nettet* de I'exemplaire filmA, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Un des symboles sulvants apparaftra sur la der- nlAre image de cheque microfiche, seion le cas: le symbols — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols V signifie "FIN". The original copy was borrowed from, and filmed with, the kind consent of the following institution: Library of the Public Archives of Canada ly/laps or plates too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: L'exemplaire f ilmA f ut reproduit grAce A ia gAnirositA de i'6tabllssement prAteur suivant : La bibllothAque des Archives publiques du Canada Les csrtes ou les planches trop grandes pour fttre reproduites en un seul clichA sont fiimAes A partir de I'angle supArieure gauche, de gauche A droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la mAthode : 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 6 6 c COJ THE CANADIA]^ SPEAKER AND ELOCUTIONARY READER, COMPRISING A CHOIOB COLLECTION OF ORATIONS. DIALOQUBS AND FOETRT. SUITABLE FOR SCHOOL AND C0LLB6B RECITATIONS. AND PUBLIC AND SOCUL READINGS. WITH INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. BDITBD AWD OOMPILBD BT EDWARD HARTLEY DEWART. TORONTO r PUBLISHED BY ADAM MILLER, 62 KING STREET EAST. ADD FOB RALJS BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 1868 P/V ¥30^1 01^ Entered, according to the Act of the Provincial Parliament, in the year one thousand eight hundred and 8izty*eight, by Adah Millbb, in the Office of the Registrar of the Dominion of Canada. FBiiriJD BT Jambs Loybll. e7 Tobob Stbbbt, Tobobto. W/// PREFACE. This Volume is offered to the Public, with a view to meet a want long felt by Canadian Teach- ers. Most books of exercises in Elocution, us^;d in this country, contain a very small proportion of good pieces, suitable for recitation ; so that it is often necessary to purchase a large book, for the sake of the few good pieces it may contain. Many of the books of this class, published in the United States, are so intensely sectional, and even anti-British, in sentiment, as to render them wholly unsuitable for Canada. It has been the aim of the Compiler of this work to produce a volume, pos- sessing a high standard of literary excellence, and containing a variety of selections, really suitable for exercises in Elocution, and public recitation ; and which should, at the same time, be adapted to promote the growth of a patriotic spirit, among the youth of our country. Although mainly intended for the \ise of our Public Schools, and higher literary institutions, yet at the present time, when public readings are becoming so popular, both in England and Canada, this volume will be found to contain numerous PREFACE. choice pieces, well adapted, either for reading in private social circles, or on more public occasions. Special care has been taken that the language and sentiments of the various exercises selected, should be unexceptionable in moral tone, and in- structive and healthy, in their influence on the mind of the student. The fact that it has been compiled from a Canadian stand-point, to meet a national want, and that it breathes a spirit of love and loyalty to the institutions of our own land, will, we trust, render it increasingly acceptable to the loyal public of this extensive Dominion. A number of Dialogues and Dramatic pieces have been inserted, which will be found suita- ble for School Exhibitions, and other public oc- casions ; but it will be apparent that a book of this kind could not cover the whole ground, so as to supersede all the various books of dialogues now in use, without changing the plan of the work, and lowering its literary character. Many of the pieces in this volume have never before been inserted in books of this character. There are otker pieces, which, though familiar as household words, could not be omitted from any book of exercises in Elocution, without seriously detracting from its value and interest. On account of their national interest, a few pieces have been inserted, which may be found some- what too lengthy for committing to memory. They PREfAC'B. may be used as reading exercises. A few exer- cises in verse have been printed in the form of prose, with a view to aid in correcting the com- mon habit of reading poetry in a sing-song man- ner, without proper regard to the sense. At the same time, the student should remember that poetry has metrical, as well as grammatical pauses, and should not be read simply as prose. The Publisher submits tlie work to the public, with a hope that Teachers, Clergymen, Booksellers, and others, who feel an interest in the growth of a Canadian literature, will, as far as they have opportunity, aid in extending its circulation. Toronto, January 1, 1868. ' i CONTENTS. PAS! Preface , . 3 Contents 7 Remarks on Elocution 11 PART I. PATRIOTIC AND MARTIAL. 1— Home 81 2 — Britannia , 32 3 — Marco Bozzaris 33 4 — Kossuth's Farewell to his Country 35 5— The Battle of Hohenlinden , , 3T 6 — Burial of Sir John Moore 38 1 — Our Native Land 39 8— The Dishonest Politician 40 9 — The Liberty of the British Press 42 10 — Prince Albert 43 11— St. George's Flag 45 12— The Grasp of the Dead 46 13 — Character of Napoleon .• 4T 14 — Liberty and Slavery 60 15— The Field of Waterloo 52 16 — Bingen on the Rhine 54 17 — The Plains of Abraham 57 18 — Irish Aliens and English Victories 58 19 — Alfred the Great to his Men 60 20 — Confederation 62 21 — Charge of the Light Brigade , . 66 22— The Battle of the Baltic 68 23— The Alma 69 24 — Character of Lord Chatham 70 25 — Van Artevelde to the Men of Ghent 72 26— Ode to Canada 74 27— The Englishman 76 28— Tell's Speech 77 29— Highland Emigrant's Farewell 79 I II 8 CONTENTS. \ .[ PIOS so—On the Death of the Duke of Wellington 80 31 — Universal Emancipation 83 32— The Exile of Erin 84 33 — The Irish Emigrant's Lament 86 34 — Garibaldi ! 87 35 — The Picket's Last Watch 88 36 — Fall of Tecumseh 90 37 — Bruce to his Army , 92 38 — Our Connection with Britain 93 39 — Speech of Henry V. before the Battle of Agincourt. 97 40— To the Army of Italy 98 41 — Lament of a Swiss Minstrel 100 42— The War of the Lcai^ue 102 43 — Destruction of Sennacherib 104 44 — The Claims of our Country 106 45— Glory and Fame 109 PART II. SERIOUS AND SENTIMENTAL. 1 — Character of True Eloquence Ill 2 — Christian Warfare 112 3— Under the Snow 113 4— -On War 116 5— Ode to the Almighty 118 e—The Evening Wind 121 7 — An Alpine Hymn 122 8 — Cowper'B Grave 124 9— Sincerity 126 10 — Feudalism extinct 128 11— A Voice for the Times 129 12— -The Death of Absalom 131 13— Old Hannah 134 14 — Immortality , 135 15— Judah's Appeal to Joseph 137 16— The Sublimity of the Bible 138 17— Weep not for her 140 18— What do we live for? 141 19 — Missions , 143 20— The Cause of Temperance 144 21 — ^Apostrophe to Light 147 22->The Twilight Hour 149 23— Salathiel to Titus 150 24— My Child 152 . 111 00NTENT8. 9 VAM 25— Loss of the Arctic 154 26 — Thu Country Clergyman IM 27 — Hagar in tho Wilderness 168 28 — Tho Fall of JcruHalem 161 29 — Ode to the Flowers 164 30— The Utility of tho Beautiful 165 31— The Falls of Niagara 167 32 — Broken Reeds 169 33 — Thanatopsis 171 34 — Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul .... 173 35— The Last Man 174 PART III. MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES IN PROSE AND FOETRY. 1 — Negro Slavery 175 2— The Fall of Marie Antoinette 177 3 — Lady Clara Vero do Vero 178 4— The Raven 180 5 — Alexander's Feast 185 6— The Slave's Dream 187 7 — Ossian's Address to the Sun , . , 189 8— The Bells li 9 — Casablanca 193 10— Colin 194 11 — Invective against Hastings 196 12— Othello's Courtship 198 13 — The True Gentleman • flOO 14— The Bridge of Sighs 202 15— Lord Ullin'8 Daughter 203 16 — Justice 205 17 — Wreck of the Hesperus 20T 18— A Caudle Lecture 210 19— The Modem Belle 213 20— Lochinvar .^ 214 21— The Fisherman 216 32 — The Newcastle Apothecary 218 23 — Lodgings for Single Gentlemen 220 24— A Trip to the Moon 122 25 — Brutus on the Death of Caesar 224 26 — Mark Antony over the dead body of Caesar 225 27— Speech of Robert Walpole 228 28— Mr. Pitt's Reply 229 29— Elegy in a Country Churchyard 231 :fr" I: 10 CONTENTS. PAOl 30 — On tho American War 236 31--Mttud Mull(T 238 32 — Liberty in Strength . 241 33 — The Dignity of Labour 242 34 — Oreut l(lea« 246 36--The Light of Knowhidge 246 36 — Our Canadian Dominion 248 i $ PART IV. DIALOGUES AND DRAMATIC HEADINGS. 1 — Prince Arthur and Hubert 250 2--Lochlel 264 3- -Gil BlaM and the ArehbiHhop , . , . 257 4 — King Edward and Warwick 259 Pf — Shylock Demanding his Bond 263 6— The Martyr 268 7 — Scene from Pizarro 271 8 — Hamlet and Horatio ^ 273 9 — King Saul and the Physician 276 10— Cato and Decius 280 11— Gcsler and Tell 282 12 — Wolsey and Cromwell 286 13 — Scene from Douglas 290 14 — Frampton and Eustace 293 16 — Brutus and Cassius 296 16 — Antony and Ventidius 290 17—Tho Three Warnings 303 18--The King and the Miller 306 19— Eory O'More's Present to the Priest 308 20 — Much Ado about Nothing 314 2i— Modern Education 319 22— Marriage of a Daughter , 323 •H EEMARKS ON ELOCUTION. It will b(j univorsally conceded, that in the public vocal ox- prcHHion of our viewH and convictiouH, it is of the firHt im[)ort- ance, tliat we expresH ouiHclves diHtinctly and iinpreKHively,— And in reading or reciting the Ianguag ries, where learning and civilization have reached the highest perfection. And all persons whose own excellence in the art, and practical acquaintance with the sub- ject, entitle their opinions to special regard, entertain a high estimate of the value of the study of Elocution, as an art, in order to the attainment of a graceful and effective style of gpeaking. The advocates of the most conflicting methods will at least agree in this, that the practice of reciting suitable selections, under the criticism and direction of a judicious teacher, is a valuable preparation for the public duties of the Pulpit, the Senate, or the Bar. Such exercises cannot fail, to greatly aid in preventing the formation of those awkward and ungraceful habits, that so frequently prevent good thoughts and noble sentiments from awakening the interest, that their intrinsic worth could hardly fail to command, if delivered in an attractive and impressive manner. The power and influence of many a public speaker, has been seriously lessened, during a whole life, by a drawling, monotonous, or indistinct deli- very. Doubtless it ir excellent advice, to tell the youn^ orator to be natural. But a very bad style may be natural enough to some. And, as it is absurd to say that all the bad speaking and reading we hear results from imitating bad models, it is evident, that something more than mere naturalness is neces- sary, to secure an attractive and impressive style of speaking. The terms " speaking" and " reading" are used in this essay, as substantially synonymous. What are called " readings" are now generally recitations, the book, if used at all, being merely used to aid the memory. Even Mr. Dickens, in reading his own prose writings, recites from memory. But whether the book be used or not, there can be no question, that it is only by placing ourselves in close sympathy with the author, and expressing his sentiments, as we would if they were the spontaneous thoughts and feelings of our own minds, that we can convey to the minds of those who hear us, the full mean- ing and conception of the author. m REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 13 The most common faults in speaking and reading are, an indistinct articulation, which clips, or slurs over the sound of some of the letters — a drawling or sing-song manner—A monotonous style of expression, without variety of intonativtn — and a carelessness as to the proper emphasis of words, which often obscures the true meaning of the author. To these may be added, awkward or improper gestures, which detract from the force of the sentiments expressed. The following observations, on the principles of Elocution, by Mr. Murray, for which he has acknowledged his indebt- edness to Dr. Blair, and the Encyclopedia Britannica, contain so much valuable instruction, that we give them in full for the benefit of students : — " To read with propriety is a pleasing and important attain- ment, productive of improvement, both to the understanding and the heart. It is essential to a complete reader, that he minutely perceive the ideas, and enter into the feelings of tho author, whose sentiments he professes to repeat : for how is it possible to represent clearly to others, what we have but a faint or inaccurate conception of ourselves ? If there were no other benefits resulting from the art of reading well, than the ne- cessity it lays us under of precisely ascertaining the meaning of what wc read, and the habit thence acquired of doing this with facility, both when reading silently and aloud, thejr would constitute a sufi&cient compensation for all the labonr we can bestow upon the subject. But the pleasure derived to ourselves and others from a cltjar communication of ideas and feelings, and the strong and durable impressions made thereby on the minds of the reader and the audience, are considerations which give additional importance to the study of this necessary and useful art. The perfect attainment of it doubtless re- quires great attention and practice, joined to extraordir.ary natural power ; but as there are many degrees of excellence in the art, the student whose aims fall short of perfection will find himself amply rewarded for every exertion he may think proper to make. To give rules for the management of the voice in reading and speaking by which the necessary pauses, emphasis, and tones, may be discovered and put in practice, is not possible. After all the directions that can be offered on these points, much will remain to be taught by the living instructor : much will be attainable by no other means than the force of exam- •?rr rr 14 REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. !| pie, influencing the imitative powers of the learner. Some rules and principles on these heads will, however, be found useful, to prevent erroneous and vicious modes of utterance ; to give the young reader some taste for the subject ; and to assist him in acquiring a just and accurate mode of delivery. The observations which we have to make, for these purposes, may be comprised under the following heads , Prober Loudness of Voice ; Distinctness ; Slowness ; Propriety of Pronunciation ; Emphasis ; Tones ; Pauses ; and Mode of Reading Verse. !l ^i(i % PROPER LOUDNESS OF VOICE. The first attention of every person who reads to others, doubtless, must be to make himself heard by all those to whom he reads. He must endeavour to fill with his voice the space occupied by the company. Tliis power of voice, it may be thought, is wholly a natural talent. It is, in a good meas- ure, the gift of nature ; but it may receive considerable assist- ance from art. Much depends, for this purpose, on the proper pitch and management of the voice. Every person has three pitches in his voice ; the high, the middle, and the low one. The high, is that which he uses, in calling aloud to some per- son at a distance. The low is when he approaches to a whis- per. The middle is that which he employs in common con- versation, and which he should generally use in reading to others. For it is a great mistake, to imagine t- ^t one must tafte the highest pitch of his voice, m order to be well heard in a large company. This is confounding two things which are different — loudness or strength of sound, with the key or note in which we speak. There is a variety of sound within the compass of each key. A speaker may, therefore, render his voice louder, without altering the key ; and we shall always be able to give most body, most preserving force of sound, to that pitch of voice to which in conversation we are accus- tomed. Whereas, by setting out on our highest pitch or key, we certainly allow ourselves less compass, and are likely to strain our voice before we have done. We shall fatigue ourselves, and read with pain ; and whenever a person speaks with pain to himself, he is always heard with pain by his audience. Let us, therefore, give the voice full trengths and swell of sound ; but always pitch it on our ordinary speak- ing key. It should be a constant rule never to utter a greater quantity of voice than we can afford without pain to ourselves and without any extraordinary effort. As long as we keep within these bounds, the other organs of speech will be at liberty io discharge their several offices with ease ; and we mi REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 1& shall always have our voice under command. But whenever we transgress these bounds, we give up the reins, and have no longer any management of it. It is a useful rule too, in order to be well heard, to cast our eye on some of the most distant persons in the audience, and to consider ourselves as speaking to them. We naturally and mechanically utter our words with such a degree of strength as to make ourselves be heard by the person whom we address, provided he is within the reach of our voice. As this is the case in conversation, it will hold also in reading to others. But let us remember, that in reading, as well as in conversation, it is possible to offend by speaking too loud. This extreme hurts the ear, by making the voice come upon it in rumbling, indistinct masses. By the habit of reading, when young, in a loud and vehe- ment manner, the voice becomes fixed in a strained and unnatural key ; and is rendered incapable of that variety of elevation and depression which constitutes the true harmony of utterance, and affords ease to the reader, and pleasure to the audience. This unnatural pitch of the voice, and disagreeable monotony, are most observable in persons who were taught to read in large rooms ; who were accustomed to stand at too great a distance, when reading to their teachers ; whose in- structors were very imperfect in their hearing ; or who were taught by persons who considered loud expression as the chief requisite in forming a good reader. These are circum- stances which demand the serious attention of every one to whom the education of youth is committed DISTINCT ARTICULATION. In the next place, to being well heard and clearly under- stood, distinctness of articulation contributes more than mere londness of sound. The quantity of sound necessary to fill even a large space, is smaller than is commonly imagined ; and, with distinct articulation, a person with a weak voice will make it reach further than the strongest voice can reach with- out it. To this, therefore, every reader and speaker ought to pay great attention . He must give every sound which he utters its due proportion ; and make every syllable, and even every letter, in the word which he pronounces, be heard distinctly ; without slurring, whispering, or suppressing, any of the pro- per sounds. An accurate knowledge of the simple, elementary sounds of the language, and a facility in expressing them, are so neces- 'W 16 REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. Iiilf ill!: sary to distinctness of expression, that if the learner's attain- ments are, in this respect, imperfect, (and many there are in this situation), it will be incumbent on his teacher to carry him back to these primary articulations ; and to suspend his progress till he become perfectly master of them, i^ wiU be in vain to press him forward, with the hope of forming p good reader or speaker, if he cannot completely articulate every elementary sound in the language. DUE DEGREE OP SLOWNESS. In order to express ourselves distinctly, moderation is re- quisite with regard to the speed of pronouncing. Precipitancy of speech confounds all articulation and all meaning. It is scarcely necessary to observe^ that there may be also an ex- treme on the opposite side. It is obvious that a lifeless, drawling manner of reading, which allows the minds of the hearers to be always outrunning the speaker, must render every such performance insipid and fatiguing. But the ex- treme of speaking too fast is much more common ; and requires the more to be guarded against, because, when it has grown into a habit, few errors are more difficult to be corrected. To pronounce with a proper degree of slowness, and with full and clear articulation, is necessary to be studied by all, who wish to become good readers ; and it cannot be too much recommended to them. Such a pronuncia*'^n gives weight and dignity to the subject. It is a great assistance to the voice, by tho pauses and rests which it allows the reader more easily to make; and it enables the reader to swell -all his sounds, both with more force and more harmony. PROPRIETY OF PRONUNCIATION. After the fundamental attentions to the pitch and manage- ment of the voice, to distinct articulation, and to a proper degree of slowness of speech, what the young reader must, in the next place, study, is propriety of pronunciation ; or, giving to every word which he utters that sound which the best usage of the language appropriates to it; in opposition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronunciation. This is requisite both for reading intelligibly, and for reading with correctness and ease. Instructions concerning th i^ article may be best given by the living teacher. But there, is one observation, which it may not be improper here to make. In the English language, every word which consists of more syllables than cue has one accented syllable. The accents rest sometimes REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 17 on the vowel, sometimes on the consonant. The genius of the language requires the voice to mark that syllable by a stronger percussion, and to pass more slightly over the rest. Now, after we have learned the proper seats of these accents, it is an important rule, to give every word 'ust the same ac- (••^r>t in reading as in common discourse. Many persons err in this respect. When they read to others and with solemnity they pronounce the syllables in a different manner from what they do at other times. They dwell upon them and protract them ; they multiply accents on the same word, from a mis- taken notion, that it gives gravity and importance to their subject, and adds to the energy of their delivery. Whereas, this is one of the greatest faults that can bu committed in pronunciation : it makes what is called a pompous or mouth- ing manner, and gives an artificial, affected air to reading, which detracts greatly both from its agreeableness and its im- pression. For the knowledge of the correct pronunciation of words, some good pronouncing dictionary must be consulted. EMPHASIS. By emphasis is meant a stronger and fuller sound of voice, by which wc distinguish some word, or words, on which we design to lay particular stress, and to show how they affect the rest of the sentence. Sometimes the emphatic words must be distinguished by a particular tone of voice, as well as by a particular stress. On the right management of the emphasis depends the life of pronunciation. If no emphasis be placed on any words, not only is discourse rendered heavy and life- less, but the meaning is often left ambiguous. If the empha- sis be placed wrong, we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. Emphasis may be divided into the Superiour and the Inferiour emphasis. The superior emphasis determines the meaning of a sentence, with reference to something said before, presupposed by the author as general knowledge, or removes an ambiguity where a passage may have more senses than one. The inferior emphasis, enforces^ gracet, and enlivens, but does not fix, the meaning of any passage. The words to which this latter em- phasis is given are, in general, such as seem the most impor- tant in the sentence, or, on other accounts, to merit this dis- tinction. The following passage will serve to exemplify the superiour emphasis. " or man's first disobedience, and the fWiit or that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world and all our woe," Ac. " Sing, beavsnly Muse ! ^ 18 REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. SuppoRing that originally other beings besides men had dis- obeyed the commands of the .\lmighty, and that the circum- stances weie well known to us, there would fall an emphasiH upon the word man^t in the rirst line ; and hence it would read thus: "Of man'$ first disobedience, and the fruit," &c.. But if it were a notorious truth, that mankind had trans- gressed in a peculiar manner more than once, the emphasis would fall on first ; and the line be read thus, ' Of man's fint disobedience,' Ac. Again, admitting death (as was really the case) to have been an unheard-of and dreadful punishment, brought upon man in consequence of his transgression ; on that supposition, the third line would be read, ' Brought death into the world,' kc. But if we were to suppose that mankind knew there was such an evil as death in other regions, though the place they inhabited had been free from it till their transgression, the line would run thus : ' Brought death into the toorld,' Sec. The superior emphasis finds place in the following short sentence, which admits of four distinct meanings, each of which is ascertained by the emphasis only. As, ' Do you ride to town to-day ? ' * Do you ride to town to-day ? ' * Do yon ride to toum to-day ? ' * Do you ride to town to-day f ' The following examples illustrate the nature and use of the inferiour emphasis : Many persons mistake the love^ for the practice of virtue. Shall I reward his services with Falsehood? Shall I forget him whc 'innot forget me f If his principles are false, no apology from himself c&n make them riy/ii .: if founded in truth, no censure from others can make them torong. Though deep, yet dear ; though gentle, yet not dull ; Slrortg without rage ; without overflowing, full. REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 19 to have rht upon poBition, here was >lace they ssion, the irtue. ill I forget f^can make others can A /n>n:': into short, the short into long, according to the importance of the word with regard to meaning. Emphasis also, in par- ticular cases, alters th« scat of the accent. This is demons- trable from the following examples. * He shall increase, but I shall decrease.^ ' There is a difference between giving and /orgiving.' 'In this species of composition, ^)Zaw«ibility is much more essential than pro/lability.^ In these examples, the emphasis requires the accent to be placed on syllables to which it does not commonly belong. In order to acquire the proper management of the em- phasis, the groat rule to be given is, that the reader study to attain a just conception of the force and spirit of the senti- ments wliich lie in to pronounce. For to lay the emphasis witii exact propriety is a constant exercise of good sense and attention. It is far fi-om being an inconsiderable attainment. It is one of the most decisive trials of a true and just taste; and must arise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of what is fittest to strike the feelings of others. There is one error, against which it is particularly proper to caution the learner ; namely, that of multiplying emphati- cal words too much, and using the emphasis indiscriminately. It is only by a prudent reserve and distinction in the use of them, that wo can give them any weight. If they recur too often ; if u reader attempts to render everything he expresses of high importance, by a multitude of strong emphases, we soon learn to pay little regard to them. To crowd every sen- tence with emphatical words, is like crowding all the pages of a book with Italic characters ; which, as to the effect, is just the same as to use no such distinctions at all. TONES. Tones are different both from emphasis and pauses ; con- sisting in the notes or variations of sound which we employ in the expression of our sentiments. Emphasis affects par- ticular words and phrases, with a degree of tone or inflectiou of voice ; but tones, peculiarly so called, affect sentences, paragraphs, and sometimes even the whole of a discourse. To show the use and necessity of tones, we need only observe, that the mind, in communicating its ideas, is in a constant state of activity, emotion, or agitation, from the different effects which those ideas produce in the speaker. Now the end of such communication being not merely to lay open the ideas, but also the different feelings which they ex- »M:| REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 21 cite in him that utters them, there must bo other signs than words to manifest those feelings ; as words uttered in a mono- tonous manner can represent only a similar state of mind perfectly free from all activity and emotion. As the commu- nication of these internal feelings was of much more conse- quence in our social intercourse than the mere conveyance of ideas, the Author of our being did not, as in that convey- ance, leare the invention of the language of emotion to man, but impressed it himself upon our nature, in the same manner as he has done with regard to the rest of the animal world ; all of which express their feelings by various tones. Ours, indeed, from the superiour rank that we hold, are in a high degree more comprehensive ; as there is not an act of the mind, an exertion of the fancy, or an emotion of the heart, vhich has not its peculiar tone or note of the voice, by which it is to be expressed ; and which is suited exactly to the degree of internal feeling. It is chiefly in the proper use of these tones, that the life, spirit, beauty, and harmony of de- livery consist. The limits of this introduction do not admit of examples to illustrate the variety of tones belonging to the different passions and emotions. We shall, however, select one, which is extracted from the beautiful lamentation of David over Saul and Jonathan ; and which will in some degree elucidate what has been said on this subject. ' The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places ; how are the mighty fallen I Tell it not in Qath ; publish it not in the streets of Askelon ; lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice ; lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph. Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew nor rain upon you, nor fields of offerings ; for there the shield of the mighty was vilely cast away ; the shield of Saul, as though he had not been annointed with oil.' The first of these divisions ex- presses sorrow and lamentation ; therefore the note is low. The next contains a spirited command, and should be pro- nounced much higher. The other sentence, in which he makes a pathetic address to the mountains where his friends had been slain, must be expressed in a note quite different from the two former ; not so low as the first, nor so high as the second, but in a manly, firm, yet plaintive tone. The correct and natural language of the emotions is not so diflScult to be attained as most readers seem to imagine. If we enter into the spirit of the author's sentiments, as well as into the meaning of his words, we shall not fail to deliyer the words in properly varied tones. For there are few people IBH 22 REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. I:! •ill kiiii who Bpcfik English without a provincial note, that have not an accurate use of tones, when they utter their sentiments in earnest discourse. And the reason that they have not the same use of them in reciting aloud the sentiments of others may he traced to the very defective and erroneous method in which the art of reading is taught ; whereby all the various, natural, expressive tones of speech are suppressed, and a few artificial, unmeaning reading notes are substituted for them. " But when we recommend to readers an attention to the tone and language of emotions, we must be understood to da it with proper limitation. Moderation is necessary in this point, as in other things. For when the reading becomes strictly imitative, it apsumes a theatrical manner, and must be highly improper, as well as give offense to the hearers, because it is inconsistent with that delicacy and modesty which are indispensable on such occasions. The speaker who delivers his own emotions must be supposed to be more vivid and animated, than would be proper in the person who relates them at second hand. We shall conclude this section with the following rule for the tones that indicate the passions and emotions : ' In reading, let all your tones of expression be borrowed from those of common speech, but, in some degree, more faintly characterized. Let those tones which signify any disagree- able passion of the mind be still more faint, than those which indicate agreeable emotions : and on all occasions preserve yourselves from being so far affected with the subject, as to be unable to proceed through it with that easy and masterly manner, which has its good effects in this, as well as in every other art.' PAUSES. Pauses or rests, in reading or speaking, are a total cessa- tion of the voice, during a perceptible, and, in many cases, a measurable space of time. Pauses are equally necessary to the speaker and the hearer. To the speaker, that he may take breath, without which he cannot proceed far in delivery ; and that he may, by these temporary rests, relieve the organs of speech, which otherwise would be soon tired by coiitinued action ; to the hearer, that the ear also may be relieved from the fatigue, which it would otherwise endure from a continuity of sound ; and that the understanding may have suf&cient time to mark the distinction of sentences, and their several members. REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 23 There arc two kinds of pauses : first, emphatical pauses ; and next, such as mark the distinction of sense. An empha- tical pause is generally made after something has been said of peculiar moment, and on which we desire to fix the hearer's attention. Sometimes, before such a thing is said, we usher it in with a pause of this nature. Such pauses have the same effect as a strong emphasis ; and arc subject to the same rules, especially to the caution of not repeating them too frequently. For as they excite uncomicon attention, and of course raise expectation, if the iraportaiiLC of the matter be not fully answerable to such expectation, they occasion disappoint- ment and disgust. But the most frequent and principal use of pau8<^s is to mark the divisions of the sense, and at the same time to allow the reader to draw his breath ; and the proper and delicate adjustment of such pauses is one of the most nice and difficult articles of delivery. In all speaking, the management of the breath requires a good deal of care, so as not to oblige us to divide words from one another, which have so intimate a con- nection that they ought to be pronounced with the same breath, and without the least separation. Many a sentence is miserably mangled, and the force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is speaking, should be very carefal to provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake to imagine that the breath must be drawn only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be gathered at the intervals of the period, when the voice is suspended only for a moment.; and, by this management, one may always have a sufficient stock for carrying on the longest sentence, without improper interrup- tions. Pauses in reading and speaking must generally be formed upon the manner in which we utter ourselves in ordinary, sensible conversation, and not upon the stiff, artificial manner which is acquired from reading books according to the com- mon punctuation. It will by no meanc be sufficient to attend to the points used in printing, for these are far from marking all the pausas which ought to be made in reading. A mecha- nical attention to these resting places has perhaps been one cause of monotony, by leading the reader to a similar tone at every stop, and a uniform cadence at every period. The pri- mary use of points is to assist the re uler in discerning the I grammatical construction ; and it is onlj' as a secondary object that they regulate his pronunciation. On this head the fol« m X.JJI.JIU1U W ^B mm 24 EEMARKS ON ELOCUTION. m m I -11 i I If I i 1 ■'' • m\ lowing direction may be of use : ' Though in reading great attention should be paid to the stops, yet a greater should be given to the sense, and their correspondent times occasionally lengthened beyond what is usual in common speech.' To render pauses pleasing and oxpressive, they must not only be made in the right place, but also accompanied with a proper tone of voice, by which the nature of these pauses is intimated ; xnuch more than by the length of them, which can seldom be exactly measured. Sometimes it is only a slight and simple suspension of voice that is proper ; sometimes a degree of cadence in the voice is required ; and sometimes that peculiar tone and cadence which denote the sentence to be finished. In all these cases, we are to regulate ourselves by attending to the manner in which nature teaches us to speak when engaged in real and earnest discourse with others. The following sentence exemplifies the sutpending and the closing pauses : — ' Hope, the balm of life, soothes us under every misfortune.' The first and second pauses are accom- panied by an inflection of voice, tha4 gives the hearer an expectation of something further to complete the sense ; the inflection attending the third pause signifies that the sense is completed. The preceding example is an illustration of the suspend- ing pause, in its simple state ; the following instance exhibits that pause with a degree of cadence in the voice ; ' If content cannot remc f e the disquietudes of mankind, it will at least alleviate them.' The suspending pause is often, in the same sentence, ai- tened with both the rising and the falling inflection of voice ; as will be seen in this example : — ' Moderate exercise^ and habitual temperance', strengthen the constitution.' * As the suspending p** use may be thus attended with both the rising and the falling inflection, it is the same with regard to the closing pause : it admits of both, The falling inflection generally accompanies it ; but it is not unfrequently coanected with the rising inflection. Interrogative sentences, for instance, are often terminated in this manner : as, ' Am I ungrateful' ? ' * Is he in earn ist't ' But where a sentence is btgun by an interrogative pro- noun or adverb, it is commonly terminated by the falling In- flection : as, * What has he gained by his ft)lly* ?' ' Who will assist him' T ' ' Where is the messenger' ? ' < When did he arrive'?' * I'ho rising inflection is denoted by the acute, the fUling by the grave acoeofc. REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 2S When two questions are united in one sentence, and con- nected by the conjunction or, the first takes the rising, the second the falling inflection : as, ' Does his conduct support discipline' or destroy it' ? ' The rising and falling inflections must not be confounded with emphasis. Though they may often coincide, they are, in their nature, perfectly distinct. Emphasis sometimes con- trols those inflections. The regular application of the rising and falling inflec- tions confers so much beauty on expression, and is so neces- gary to be studied by the young reader, that we shall insert a few more example" to induce him to pay greater attention to the subjeot. In vaese instances, all the inflections are not marked. Such only are distinguished as are most striking, and will best serve to show the reader their utility and impor- tance. ' Manufactures^ trade\ and agriculture', certainly employ more than nineteen parts in twenty of the human species.' 'He who resigns the world has no temptation to envy', liatred\ malice^ anger'; but is in constant possession of a serene mind : he who follows the pleasures of it, which are in their very nature disappointing, is in constant search of care*, solicitude', remorse', and confuBion\' *To advise the ignorant^ relieve the needy\ comfort the afflicted', are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our lives.' 'Those evil spirits, who, by long custom,. have contracted in the body habits of lust' and sensuality^ ; malice' and revonk \i t '' i i [ 26 REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. wc BO seldom meet with good readers of poetry. There are two kinds of pauses that belong to the melody of verse : one is the pause at the end of the line ; and the other, the cajsural pause in or near the middle of it. With regard to the pause at the end of the line, which marks that strain or verso to be finished, rhyme renders this always sensible, ? id in some measure compels us to observe it in our pronounciation. In respect to blank verse, we ought also to read it so as to make every line sensible to the ear ; for, what is the use of melody, or for what end has the poet composed in verse, if, in reading his lines, we suppress his numbers, by omitting the final pause ; and degrade them, by our pronounciation, into more prose ? At the same time that we attend to this pause, every appearance of sing-song and tone must be carefully guarded against. The close of the line, where it makes no pause in the meaning, ought not to be marked by such a tone as is used in finishing a sentence ; but, without cither fall or eleva- tion of the voice, it should be denoted only by so slight a suspension of sound as may distinguish the passage from one line to another, without injuring the meaning. The other kind of melodious pause is that which falls somewhere about the middle of the verse, and divides it into two hemistichs ; a pause not so great as that which belongs to the close of the line, but still sensible to an ordinary ear. This, which is called the caesural pause, may fall, in English heroic verse, after the fourth, fifth, sixth, or seventh syllable in the line. Where the verse is so constructed that this caesural pause coincides with the slightest pause or division in the sense, the line can be read easily ; as in the two first verses of Pope's Messiah : — 'Ye nymphs of Solytna" I begin the song; To heavenly themes" sublimer strains belong.* But if it should happen that words which have so strict and intimate a connection as not to bear even a momentary separ- ation are divided from one another by this caesural pause, wc then feel a sort of struggle between the sense and the sound, which renders it difficult to read such lines harmoniously. The rule of proper pronounciation in such cases is, to regard only the pause which the sense forms, and to read the line accordingly. The neglect of the caesural paUBfe may make the line sound somewhat unharmoniously ; but the effect would be much worse, if the sense were sacrificed to the sound. For instance, in the following lines of Milton, -' What in me is dark, lUumin, ; what is low, raise and hupport,' REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 27 the sense clearly dictates the pause after illumine, at the end of the third syllable, which, in reading, ought to be made ac- cordingly ; though, if the melody were only to be regarded, illumine should be connected with what follows, and the pause not made till the fourth or sixth syllable. So in the follow- ing line of Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, •I sit, with sad civility I read,' the ear plainly points out the ca3sural pause as falling after md, the fourth syllable. But it would be very bad reading to make any piuse there, so as to separate M^/and civility. The sense admits of no other pause than after the second syllable, nit, which therefore must be tlie only pause made in reading this part of the sentence. There is another mode of dividing some verses, by intro- ducing what may be called demi-cjvsuras, which require very slight pauses; which the reader should manage with judg- ment, or he will be apt to fall into an affected, sing-song mode of pronouncing verses of this kind. The following lines exemplify the demi-cresura. 'Warms' in the sun" refreshes' in the breeze. Glows' in the staj-s" and blossoms' in the trees; Lives' through all life"; extends through all extent, Spreads' undivided", operates' unspent.* Before the conclusion of this introduction, the compiler takes the liberty to recommend to teachers to exercise their pupils in discovering and explaining the emphatic words, and the proper tones and pauses of every portion assigned them to read, previously to their being called oiit to the perform- .ince. These preparatory les3ons, in which they should be regularly examined, will improve their judgment and taste, prevent the practice of reading without attention to the sub- ject, and establish a habi* of readily discovering the meaning, force, and beauty, of eveiy sentence they peruse." ON GESTUKE. To the above judicious observations it may be necessary to add a few words on Gesture. Though the value of appropriate Gesture must be admitted to be very great, there is no branch of Elocution more difficult to master. This arises mainly from the fact, that the attempt to practise, according to any set of directions, produces a de- gree of self-consciousness, which prevents that perfect I' 1 gjBBMgagpi ;«i h il 28 MMH REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. absorption in the subject, essential to an easj and effectire delivery. No speaker can be natural and eflfectivo in the delivery of either his own sentiments, or those of another, if at the same time, his mind is occupied with questions of man- ner, or gesture. Even the awkward gestures of a thoroughly earnest speaker, who thinks of nothing but the thoughts he is uttering, are vastly preferable to the unnatural pantomime, of a self-conscious performer. It is much easier to restrain and correct inappropriate action, than to teach right action by any system of rules. But though graceful and appropriate gesture greatly con- duces to effectiveness, students of Elocution should not forget, that the style of action practised by the best British orators of the present day is less demonstrative and impas- sioned, than formerly prevailed ; and that a strong and well founded prejudice, against showy and extravagant gesture is cherished by most persons of culture and refinement. Nor is it unimportant to keep in mind the distinction that exists be- tween Dramatic recitations, or Dialogues, and Orations. In order to render a Dialogue or Dramatic piece with efifect, it is necessary to personate the character and action of the imagin- ary speaker, which ordinarily requires a degree and variety of gesture, that would be altogether out of place in a simple oration, designed to convince or persuade ; and which supposes no peculiarities of character in the speaker, and requires no action, but such as is naturally prompted by tne sentiments expressed. The following are mentioned by elocutionists as the most important of the significant gestures : THE HEAD AND FACE. The hanging down of the head, denotes shame, or grief. The holding up of the head; pride or courage. To nod forward, implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head, implies bashfulness or languor. The head is averted, in dislike or horror. It leang forward, in attention. f'Mj r ill 'I REMARKS ON ELOCUTION. 29 as the most THE EYES. The eyes, are raised in prayer. They weep, in sorrow. They burn, in anger. They are cast on vacancj , in thought. They are down-cast or averted, in shame or grief. They are turned in different directions, in doubt and anxiety, THE ARMS. The arm is projected forward, in authority. Both arms are extended, in admiration. Stretched forward, imploring help. Fall suddenly, in disappointment. THE HANDS. The placing of the hand on the head, indicates pain or dis- tress. On the eyes, shame or sorrow. On the lips, an injunction of silence. On the breast, an appeal to conscience. The hand is waved or flourished, in joy. Shaken forward, in threatening. Is projected forward, in contempt. Both hands are held supine, applied or clasped, in prayer. Both are held prone, in blessing, They are clasped or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward and received, in friendship. THE BODY. The body held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, condescension or compassion. Bending, reverence or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility or abasement. THE FEET AND LOWER LIMBS. The firm position of the lower limbs, signifies courage or obstinacy. Bended knees, indicate timidity or weakness. The lower limbs advance, in desire and courage. They retire, in aversion or fear. Start, in terror. , Stamp, in authority and anger. Kneel, in submission and prayer. 30 EEMABKS ON ELOCUTION. lu conclusion, let all who desire to excel in this important art remember, — ^that tho principal cause of defective reading and speaking is the carelessness and inattention, which results from the want of a right estimate of the importance of reading and speaking well — that excellence connot be attained with- out attention and application — and, that the great secret of all effective recitation is to grasp correctly the meaning, spirit, and conception of the Author, and then, by appropriate ex- pression, convey this conception to the minds of those who hear us. IT THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. PART I. ?atw0tt^ wd Mmtint I.— HOME. 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 emparadise the ni^lit ; A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, Time-tutor'd 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, . Touch'd 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 soften 'd looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife, Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life f In the clear heaven of her delightful eye. An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet. w^ 32 . THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ? Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ; 0, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, That land thi/ country, and that spot thy Home. Man, through all ages of revolving time, Unchanging man, in every varpng clime, Deems his own land of every land the pride, . Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; His Home the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. — James Montgomerif, i 1 , •■ \ J jUl ■ ■ ¥ -ill H .ill! Et^lM SI MMj >5 II.— BRITANNIA. All hail, my country ! Hail to thee ! Thou birthplace of the brave and free ; Thou ruler upon land and sea : Britannia ! No thing of change, no mushroom state ; In wisdom thou cans't work and wait ; Or wield the thunderbolts of Fate : Britannia ! Oh, nobly hast thou play'd thy part; What struggles of the head and heart Have gone to make thee what thou art, Britannia ! What though thy manners may be-gmff, Thy native virtues rude and rough; Yet is thy heart the sterling stuff, Britannia ! Great mother of the mighty dead ! Sir Walter sang, and Nelson bled, To weave a garland for thy head, Britannia ! THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And Watt, the great magician, wrought, And Shakspeare ranged the realms of thought, And Newton soared, and Cromwell fought, Britannia 1 And Milton's high seraphic art, And Bacon's head and Burns' heart. Are glories that shall ne'er depart, Britannia ! These are the soul of thy renown ; The gems immortal in thy crown ; The suns that never shall go down — Britannia ! Still lie thy path in truth divine. Held sacred by thy seal and sign ; And power and glory shall be thine, Britamud ! 33 -Alex. WLachlan, III.— MARCO BOZZARIS. At midnight, in his guarded tent. The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppUance 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 pressed hat monarch's throne, — a kin As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. As Eden's garden bird. An hour past on — the Turk awoke; That bright dream was his last ; He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, "To arms ! they come: the Greek! the Greek!" Of • w^ ^P»^w I HI 34 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 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 armed foe expires, Strike — 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 the ground with Moslem slain, They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their proud 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 Which close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; — Come in consumption's ghastly form. The earthquake's 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, the 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 CANADIAN SPEAKER. 35 The thanka of millions yet to be. Bozzaris! with the Htoricd brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, Even ni her own proud clime. "We tell 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. —F. G. UaUcck. IV.—KOSSUTH'S FAKEWELL TO HUNGARY. Farewell, my beloved country ! Farewell, land of the Magyar! Farewell, thou land of sorrow ! I shall never more behold the summit of thy mountains. I shall never again give the name of my country to that cherished soil, where I drank from my mother's bosom the love of jus- tice and liberty. Pardon, oh ! pardon him who is hence- forth condemned to wander far from thee, because he combatted for thy happiness. Pardon one who can only call free that spot of thy soil, where he now kneels with a few of the faithful children of conquered Hungary ! My last looks are fixed on my country, and I. see thee over- whelmed with anguish. I look into the future; but that future is overshadowed. Thy plains are covered with blood, the redness of which pitiless destruction will change to black, the emblem of mourning for the victories thy sons have gained over the sacrilegious enemies of thy sacred soil. How many grateful kearts have sent their prayers to the throne of the Almighty! How many tears have gushed from their very depths to implore pity! How much blood has been ihed to testify that the Magyar idolizes Ms country, and that he knows 1 ow to die for it ! And yet, land of my love, thou art in slavery. From thy very bosom will be forged the chains to bind all that is sacred, and to aid all that is sacrilegious. Ok, Almighty Creator, if thou loveet thy people, to whom thou didst give victory under rx 36 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. li i !!iiij :B| , |5!|t illi : 1 1 illilii ' v,.]>i our heroic ancestor, Arapad, I implore thee not to sink them in degradation. I speak to thee, my country, thus from the abyss of my despair, and whilst yet lingering on the threshold of thy soil. Pardon me that a great number of thy sons have shed their blood for thee on my account. I pleaded for thee — I hoped for thee, — even in the dark moment when on thy brow was written the withering word "despair." I lifted my voice in thy behalf when men said, " Be thou a slave." 1 girt the sword about my loins, and I grasped the bloody plume, even when they said, " Thou art no longer a nation on the soil of the Magyar." •Time has written thy destiny on the pages of thy story, in yellow ond black letters — death. The Colossus of the North has tet his seal to the sentence. But the glowing iron of the East shall melt that seal. For thee, my coun- try, that has shed so much blood, there is no pity; for does not the tyrant eat his bread on the hills formed of the bones of thy children ? The ingrate, whom thou hadst fattened with thy abundance, rose against thee; he rose against thee, the traitor to his mother, and destroyed thee utterly. Thou hast endured all ; thou hast not curst thine existence, for in thy bosom, and far above all sorrow, hope has built her nest. %^ «X^ «±^ vL# ^X* S^ ^^ ^^ ^f ^^ *J% ^% ^^ •^ "^ ^* ^% ^% *y» *I* Farewell, beloved companions! Farewell, comrades, countrymen 1 May the thought of God, and may the angels of liberty for ever be with you ! I will proclaim you to the civilized world as heroes ; and the cause of an heroic people will be cherished by the freest nation of the earth — the freest of all free people ! Farewell, thou land dyed with the blood of the brave ! Guard those red marks — they will one day bear testimony on thy behalf. And thou, farewell, youthful monarch of the Hungarians ! Forget not that my nation is not destined for thee. Heaven inspires me with the confidence that the day will dawn, when it shall be proved to thee even on the ruined walls of Buda. May the Almighty bless thee, my beloved country I Believe, hope, and love ! THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. v.— THE BATTLE OP HOHENLINDEN. On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser rolling rapidly : But Linden saw another sisrht When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death, to light The darkness of her scenery ! By torch and trumpet fast arrav'd, Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, To join the dreadful revelry ; Then shook the hills, with thunder riven I Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ! And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flash'd the red artillery ! But redder yet those fires shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser rolling rapidly I 'Tis morn — but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun. Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens : On, ye brave ! Who rush to glory or the grave. Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave. And charge with all thy chivalry I Few, few shall part where many meet ; The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. — Campbell. 37 i i' ,.!' iq| ililii ill! ilili 38 THE CAl/ADLiN SPEAKER. VI.— BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried : Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moon-beam's misty light. And the lantern dimly burning. No useless cofl&n enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud wo wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest — With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead. And we bittc 'ly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed, And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head. And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on. In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring j And we heard the distant and random gun, That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; » We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory I —a Wolfe. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 39 VII.— OUR NATIVE LAND. • What land more beautiful than ours ? What other land more blest ? The South with all its wealth of flowers ? The prairies of the West? no ! there's not a fairer land Beneath heaven's azure dome — Where Peace holds Plenty by the hand, And Freedom finds a home. The slave who but her name hath heard, Repeats it day and night ; — And envies every little bird That takes its northward flight I As to the Polar star they turn Who brave a pathless sea, — So the oppressed in secret yearn. Dear native land for thee ! How many loving memories throng Round Britain's stormy coast ! Renowned in story and in song. Her glory is our boast ! With loyal hearts we still abide Beneath her sheltering wing ; — While with true patriot love and pride To Canada we cling I We wear no haughty tyrant's chain, — We bend no servile knee, Wlien to the mistress of the main We pledge our fealty. She binds us with the cords of love, — All others we disown ; The rights we owe to God above We yield to him alone. "fr ^ Til li ••■ill 40 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. May He our future course direct By his unerring hand ; Our laws and liberties protect, And bless our native land ! — Helen M. Johnson* '. t IP iiilji. • \ i ■ i 1 i i 1 1 il ill :ii i.'^ |»|. VIII.— THE DISHONEST POLITICIAN. If there be a man on earth whose character should be framed of the most sterling honesty, ai ,! ..hose conduct should conform to the most scrupulous morality, it is the man who administers public affairs. The most romantic notions of integrity are here not extravagant. As, under our institutions, public men will be, upon the whole, fair exponents of the character of their constituents, the plain- est way to secure honest public men is to inspire those who make them, with a right understanding of what politi- cal character ought to be. The lowest of politicians is that man who seeks to gratify an invariable selfishness, by pretending to seek the public good. For a profitable popularity, he accommodates himself to all opinions, to all dispositions, to every side, and to each predjudice. He is a mirror, with no face of its own, but a smooth surface from which each man of ten thousand may see himself reflected. He glides from man to man, coinciding with their views, pretending their feel- ings, simulating their tastes; with this one, he hates a man ; with that one, he loves the same man ; he favors a law, and he di^ilikes it; he approves, and opposes; he is on both sides at once, and seemingly wishes that he could be on one side more than both sides. He has associated his ambition, his interests, and his affections, with a party. He prefers, doubtless, that his side should be victorious by the best means, and under the championship of good men ; but rather than lose the .h;; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 41 victory, he will consent to any means, and follow any man. Thus, with a general desire to be upright, the exigency of his party constantly pushes him to dishonorable deeds. He gradually adop' ^ two characters, a personal and politi- cal character. All the requisitions of his conscience he obeys in his private character ; all the requisitions of his party he obeys in his political conduct. In one character he is a man of principle; in the other, a man of mere expedients. As a man, he means to be veracious, honest, moral ; as a politician, he is deceitful, cunning, unscrupu- lous, — any thing for party. As a man, he abhors the slimy demagogue; as a politician, he employs him as a scavenger. As a man, he shrinks from the flagitiousness of slander ; as a politician, he permits it, smiles upon it in others, rejoices in the success gained by it. As a man, he respects no one who is rotten in heart ; as a politician, no man through whom Yictory can be gained can be too bad. For religion he will give up all secular interests; but for politics he will give up even his religion. He adores virtue, and rewards vice. Whilst bolstering up unright- eous measures, and mor£ unrighteous men, he prays for the advancement of religion, and justice, and honour ! I would to God that his prayer might be answered on his own political head ; for never was there a place where such blessings were more needed ! What a heart has that man, who can stand in the very middle of the Bible, with its transcendent traths raising their glowing fronts on every side of him, and feel no inspiration but that of immorality and meanness ! Do not tell me of any excuses ! It is a shame to attempt an excuse ! If there were no religion ; if that vast sphere, out of which glow all the supereminent truths of the Bible were a mere emptiness and void ; yet, methinks, the very idea of Fatherland, the exceeding pre- ciousness of the laws and liberties of a great people, would enkindle such a high and noble enthusiasm, that all baser feelings would be consumed ! But if the love of country, a sense of character, a manly regard for integrity, the example of our most illustrious men, the warnings of ><■,, 42 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. religion and all its solicitations, and the prospect of the future, can not inspire a man to anything higher than a sneaking, truckling, dodging scramble for fraudulent fame and dishonest bread, it is because such a creature has never felt one sensation of manly virtue ; — it is because his heart is a howling wilderness, inhospitable to innocence. — H. W. Beecher. m ::i ; il-i. i^ll • IX.— THE LIBERTY OF THE BRITISH PRESS. Unfortunately for the repose of mankind, great states are compelled to consider the military spirit and martial habits of their people, as one of the main objects of their policy. Frequent hostilities seem almost the necessary condition of greatness ; and, without being great, they cannot remain safe. Smaller states, exempted from this necessity, devoted themselves to the arts of peace, to the cultivation of literature, and the. improvement of reason. They became places of refuge for free and fearless discus- sion ; they were the impartial spectators and judges of the various contests of ambition, which, from time to time, disturbed the quiet of the world. If wars of aggrandize- ment were undertaken, their authors were arraigned in the sight of Europe. If acts of internal tyranny were perpe- trated, they resounded, from a thousand presses, through- out all civilized countries. Princes, on whose will there were no legal checks, thus found a moral restraint, which the most powerful of them could not brave with absolute impunity. No elevation of power, no depravity however consummate, no innocence however spotless, can render man wholly independent of the praise or blame of his fellows. These feeble states, these monuments of the justice of Europe, the asylum of peace, of industry, and of literature, the organs of public reason, the refuge of oppressed innocence and persecuted THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 43 truth, — have perished, with those ancient principles which were their sole guardians and protectors. They have been swallowed up by that fearful convulsion, which has shaken the uttermost corners of the earth. They are destroyed, and gone forever ! One asylum of free discussion is still inviolate. There is still one spot in Europe where man can freely exercise his reason on the most important concerns of society; where he can boldly publish his judgment on the acts of the proudest arfd most powerful tyrants. The press of England is still free. It is guarded by the free constitu- tion of our forefathers ; it is guarded by the hearts and arms of Englishmen ; and I trust I may venture to say, that, if it be to fall, it will fall only under the ruins of the British empire. It is an awful consideration, Gentlemen ! Every other monument of European liberty has perished. That ancient fabric, which has been gradually reared by the wisdom and virtue of our fathers, still stands; — it stands, thaDka be to heaven! solid and entire; but— ;it stands alone, and it stands amid ruins ! — Sir James Mackintosh. X.— PRINCE ALP^IRT. We have lost him ; he is gone I We know him now : all narrow jealousies Are silent ; and we see him as he moved ; How modest, kindly, all-accomplish'd, wise, With what sublime repression of himself, And in what limits, and how tenderly ; Not swaying from this faction, or to that ; Not making his high place the lawless perch Of wing'd ambition, nor a vantage ground For pleasure ; but through all the tract of years Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, 44 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 'I III Hi m ilii Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot : for where is he, Who dares foreshadow for an only son A lovelier life, a more unstain'd than his ? Or how should England, dreaming of his sons, Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life, a heart, a mind, as thine, Thou noble Father of her kings to b^ ! Laborious for her people, and her poor — Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day — Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste To fruitful strifes, and rivalries of peace — Sweet nature, gilded by the gracious gleam Of letters dear to Science, dear to Art, Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, Beyond all titles, and a household name Hereafter, through all time, Albert the Good ! Break not, woman's heart, but still endure ;. Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure. Remembering all the beauty of that star Which shone so close beside thee, that ye made One light together, but has past, and leaves The crown a lonely splendour. May all love, His love unseen but felt, o'ershadow thee, The love of all thy sons encompass thee. The love of all thy daughters cherish thee, The love of all thy people comfort thee. Till God's love set thee at his side again. — Alfred Tennyson.. i'.n THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 45 XI.— ST. GEORGE'S FLAG. St. George for merry England, ho ! up with the pennon brave, It hath streamed o'er many a conquered land, o'er many a distant wave ; Up with the Red-cross banner ! 'tis a glorious sight to see The noblest flag that ever flew, stream out so fair and free. It floated o'er proud Acre's towers in days long passed away, When Lion Richard led his host at the holy tomb to pray ; And still the Crescent paler waned before the hallowed sign, That flew in triumph o'er thy fields, oh ! sacred Palestine. It cheered Old England's stalwart sons through Cressy's hard-won fray, It waved o'er Royal Henry's head on Agincourt's proud day ; The sultry breath of sunny Spain its crimson cross has fanned, And gallant hosts have borne it on through India's burning land. Oh I many a flag of gaudier hue the fanhing breeze may wave. But none that bears a nobler name, more stainless or more brave ; None that hath led more dauntless hearts to battle for the right, None that hath flown more proudly o'er the crimson field of fight. Up with the brave old banner then, the peerless and the bold. True hearts will rally round it yet as in the days of old ; And still on every British lip the thrilling cry shall be, St. George for merry England, ho! God and our own country. — Mrs. Faulkner. fffi?^ 46 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XIL—THE GRASP OF THE DEAD. 'Twas the battle-field, and the cold pale moon Looked down on the dead and dying ; And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail, Where the young and the brave were lying. With his father's sword in his red right hand, And the hostile dead around him, Iiay a youthful chief ; but his bed was the ground, And the grave's icy sleep had bound him. Drawn by the gleam of the warrior's sword, A Soldier paused beside it : He wrenched the hand with a giant's strength, But the grasp of the dead defied it. He loosed his hold, and his swelling heart Took part with the dead before him ; And he honoured the brave who died sword in hand, As with softened brow he leaned o'er him. " A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, A soldier's grave won by it : Before I would take that sword from thine hand, My own life's blood should dye it. " Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow. Or the wolf, to batten o'er thee ; Or the coward insult the gallant dead. Who in life had trembled before thee." Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth, Where his warrior-foe was sleeping ; And he laid him their in honour and rest, With his sword in his own brave keeping I — Mrs. Maclean. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 47 XIII.— CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON. He is FALLEN ! Wc may now pause before that splen- did prodigy, which towered amongst us like some ancient rain, 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 in- terest, marked the outline of this extraordinary 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 quick- ened every energy of a people who acknowledged no su- perior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity ! 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 com- petition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest — he acknowledged no criterion but success — he worshipped no God but ambition, and with an eastern devotion he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. — Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not pro- fess, 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 of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the Republic : and with a paricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune, he reared the fabric of his despo- tism. A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope ; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country ; and in the name of Brutus he grasped without remorse, and wore without shame, the diadem of the Caesars 1 Through this pantomime of his policy, Fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, and the wildest theories took the colour of his whim, and all that was venerable, and ^'W^T^ '^m mm f ,i ;' |i mil 48 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. all that was novel, changed places with the rapid! iy of a drama. Even apparent defeat as.sumed the appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny — ruin itself only elevated him to Empire. But if his fortune was great, his genius was transcen- dant ; decision fllashed upon his councils ; and it was the same to decide and perform. To inferior intellects, his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans per- fectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, simplicity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption. His person partook the character of his mind — if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no obstacles 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 I The whole continent of Europe trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance ; ro- mance assumed the air of history ; nor was their aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of an- tiquity became common places in his contemplation ; kings were his people — nations were his outposts ; and he dis- posed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chesa-board ! Amid all these changes he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing-room — ^with the mob or the levee — wearing the Jacobin bonnet or the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburg — dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Kussia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was still the same military despot ! Cradled in the camp, he was to the last hour the darling of the army ; and whether in the camp or the cabinet, he never forsook a friend or forgot a favour. Of all his sold- iers, not one abandoned him, till affection was useless, and THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 49 the first stipulation was for the safety of their favourite. They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was prodigal of himself ; and that if he exposed them to peril, he repaid them with plunder. For the soldier, he subsi- dized everybody ; to the people he made even pride p ^y tribute. The victorious veteran glittered with his gains ; and the capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of the universe. In this wonderful combination, his affectation of literature must not be omitted. The gaoler of the press, he affected the patron- age of letters — the proscriber of books, he encouraged phi- losophy — the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning 1 — the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the de- nouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the bene- factor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character. A Royalist — a Republican and an Em- peror — a Mahometan — a Catholic and a patron of the Synagogue — a Subaltern and a Sovereign — 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 s. shadow. His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world, and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie. Such is a faint and feeble picture of Napoleon Bonaparte, the first Emperor of the French. That he has done much evil there is little doubt; that he has been the origin of much good, there is just as little. Through his means, intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France have risen to the blessings of a free constitution ; Superstition has found her grave in the ruins of the Inqui- sition ; and the feudal system, with its whole train of ty- rannic satellites, has fled for ever. Kings may learn from fmr^ 1 I ! If I 'I ii' I' ii I! I iia ■^ .'^ _ ■..ill 50 THE CANJJ)IAN SPEAKER. him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people ; the people are taught by him that there is no despotism so stupendous against which they have not a .resource ; and to those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a living lesson that if ambition can raise them from the lowest station, it can also prostrate them from the highest. — Charles P. Philips. XIV.— LIBERTY AND SLAVERY. Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still. Slavery ! still thou art a bitter draught : and though thousands in all ages, have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account. It is thou. Liberty ! — thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in public or private worship, — whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so till Nature herself shall change. No tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chcmic power turn thy sceptre into iron : — with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gra- cious Heaven ! grau *- me but health, thou Great Bestower of it, and give me lis fair goddess as my companion ; and shower dr mitres, — if it seem good unto thy divine provid -upon those heads which are aching for them. Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close by my table, and, leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination. I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow-creat- ures born to no inheritance but slavery ; but finding, how- ever affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it near me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but dis tract me ■'J: THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 61 — I took a single captive, and, having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of liis grated door to take his picture. I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart, it is, which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish : in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood — he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time — nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. His- children But here my heart began to bleed — and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed : a little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there : he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and, with a rusty nail, he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door — then cast it down — shook his head — and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh — I saw the iron enter his soul — I burst into tears — I could not sustain the pic- ture of confinement which my fancy had drawn. — Sterne ^,Wvf m* ,; i h ! ! ,1! lii! ■ >'\\ : M ^ if 52 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XV.— THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. Stop ! — for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so. As the ground was before, * ^is let it be. — How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ? 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 tliousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose, with its voluptuous swell. Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spoke again, Jind all went merry as a marriage-bell ; — But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. Did ye not hear it ? — No ; — 'Twas but the wind. Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : On with the dance ! let joy be unconfin'd ; 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 I — it is ! — the cannon's opening roar ! Within a window 'd niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear That sound the first amid the festival. And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, His heart more truly knew that peal to swell Which stretch' d his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell ; He rush'd into the fields and, foremost fighting fell ! THE CANADIAN SFEAKER. 53 Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, iind tremblings of distress. And cheeks all pale, \7hich but an hour ago Blush' d at the praise of ♦heir own loveliness j Aud 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 ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful mom could rise ? And their was mounting in hot 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 Rous' d up the soldier, ere the morning star ; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb. Or whispering with white lips, " The foe ! they come ! they come !" 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 ! 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 valour, rolling on the foe. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low ! mm ti I !n(i m III 54 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 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 mom, the marshalling in arms ; the day Battle's magnificently-stem array I The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her '^wn clay shall cover, — heap'd and pent, Kider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! ^ — Lord Byron. XVI.—BINGEN ON THE RHINE. A Soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, — There wa« lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of . woman's tears ; But a comrade stood beside him, whilst his life-blood ebbed away, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. The dying soldier faltered, 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 bom at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine. " 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 corse lay gastly 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 ; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 55 But some were young, — and suddenly beheld life's mom decline, — And one had come from Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! '•' 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 leaped forth to heai* him tell of struggles tierce 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 Rhine ! " Tell my sister not to weep forme, 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 For her brother was r soldier, too, and not afraid to die. And, if a comrade seek her love, 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 Rhine ! '•' There's another — not a sister ; — in the happy days ^ gone by, iou'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; Too in-iocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle scorning ; — Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes hea- viest mourning ! Tell her the last night of my life — (for ere this moon be risen ^- 4 Aw 56 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison,) I dreamed 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 seemed to hear. The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk, Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk ; And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine. But we'll meet no more at Bingen, — loved Bingen on the Rhine!" His voice grew faint and hoarser, — his grasp was childish weak, — His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed 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 looked down. On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown ; Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen. — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! — Mrs. Norton. 'I' THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 67 XVII.— THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM. I stood upon the Plain, That had trembled when the slain Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe, When the steed dashed right and left, yf Through the bloody gaps he cleft. When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low. What busy feet had trod Upon the very sod Where I marshalled the batallions of my fancy to my aid 1 And I saw the combat dire, Heard the quick, incessant fire And the cannons' echoes startling the re*erberating glade. I heard the chorus dire, That jarred along the lyre On which the hymn of battle rung, like surgings of the wave, When the storm, at blackest night. Wakes the ocean in affright. As it shouts its mighty pibroch o'er some shiprecked vessel's grave. I saw the broad claymore Flash from its scabbard, o'er The ranks that quailed and shuddered at the close and fierce attack; When Victory gave the word. Then Scotland drew the sword. And with arm that never faltered drove the brave defend- ers back. I saw two grea^ chiefs die, Their last breaths like the sigh Of the zephyr-sprite that wantons on the rosyhps of mom; No envy-poisoned darts, No rancour, in their hearts. To unfit them for their triumph over death's impending scorn. ' I 58 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And as I thought and gazed, My soul, exultant, praised The Power to whom each mighty act and victory are due, ^ For the saint-like Peace that smiled. Like a heaven-gifted child, And for the air of quietude that steeped the distant view. Oh, rare, divinest life Of Peace, compared with Strife ! Yours is the truest splendor, and the most enduring fame ; All the glory ever reaped Where the fiends of battle leaped, Is harsh discord to the music of your undertoned acclaim. — Charles Sangster. ''!! XVIII.—IRISH ALIENS AND ENGLISH VIC- TORIES. I should be surprised, indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, you did not profess your solicitude to do us justice. From the day on which Strongbow set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were never wanting in pro- testations of their deep anxiety- to do us justice ; — even Stafford the deserter of the People's cause, — the renegade Wentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of instinctive tyranny which predominated in his character, — even Stafford whilst he trampled upon our rights, and trod upon the heart of the country, protested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland ! What marvel is it, then, that Gen- tlemen opposite should deal in such vehement protesta- tions ? There is, however, one man, of great abilities, — not a member of this House, but whose talents and whose IdoM- ness have placed him in the topmost place in his party, — who, disdaining all imposture, and thinking it is the best course to appeal directly to the religious and national anti- pathies of the Pe >ple of this country, — abandoning all THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 59 due, view. fame ; cclaim. mgster. L VIC- ioingus J justice, ipon the in pro- 5 • — even renegade spirit of racter, — and trod Lcitude to ihat Gen- protesta- ^^ — not a lose bold- purty,— the best Lonal anti- loning all reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political associates affect to cover, although they cannot hide their motives, — distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish People that they are not entitled to the same privi- leges as Englishmen ; and pronounces them, in any parti- cular which could enter his minute enumeration of the circumstances by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, identity and religion, to be aliens j — to be aliens in race, to be aliens in country, to be aliens in religion ! Aliens ! tell me ! was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords ! — and did he not start up and exclaim, " Hold ! I HAVE SEEN THE ALIENS DO THEIR DUTY I" The Duke of Wellington is not a man of excitable temperament. — His mind is of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwithstanding his habitual inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he heard his Roman Catholic country- men, for we are his countrymen, designated by a phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent con- federate could supply,-— I cannot help thinking, that he ought to have recollected the many fields of fight in which we have been contributors to his renown. " The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, frOm the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassing combat which has made his name imperishable — from Assaye to Waterloo, — the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which his un- paralleled successes have been crowned. Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the pha- lanxes that never reeled in the shock of war before ? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Ba- dajos ? All his victories should have rushed and crowded back upon his memory, — Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and last of all, the greatest . Tell me, — for you were there, — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me [Sir Henry Hardinge], from whose opinions I 60 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. f 1; differ, but who bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, — for you must needs remember, — on that day when the destinies of mankind were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, when the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the most deadly science, — ^when her legions, incited by the voice and inspired by the example of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, — tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the " aliens" blenched ? And when, at length, the moment for the last and decided movement had arrived, and the valor which had so long been wisely checked was, at last, let loose — when, with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain,commanded the great assault, — tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor than the natives of this your own glorious country precipitated herself upon the foe ? The blood of England, Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the same stream, and drenched the same field. When the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together ; — in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the green com of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust ; the dew falls from Heaven upon their union in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be per- mitted to participate ; and shall we be told, as a requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life-blood was poured out? — Shell. XIX.— ALFRED THE GREAT TO HIS MEN. My friends our country must be free ! The land Is never lost that has a son to right her, — And here are troops of sons, and loyal ones ! Strong in her children should a mother be : Shall ours be helpless, that has sons like us ? God save our native land, whoever pays THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 61 trepid nthat in the ery of deadly ispired in and rhen to nched ? decided so long m, with unanded vith less glorious blood of the same the chill Tether ; — the green rled dust ; he grave. )t he per- requital, ■or whose The ransom that redeems her ! Now what wait we ? — For Alfred's word to move upon the foe ? Upon him, then ! Now think ye on the things You most do love ! Husbands and fathers, on Their wives and children ; lovers, on their beloved \ And all, upon their country I When you use Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes, To whet them, could have lent you tears for water ! 0, now be men, or never ! From your hearths Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks Drove forth your aged sires — your wives and babes ! The couches, your fair-handed daughters used To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press. Weary from spoiling you ! Your roofs, that hear The wanton riot of the intruding guest, That mocks their masters, — clear them for the sake Of the manhood to which all that's precious clings. Else perishes. The land that bore you — Do honor to her ! Let her glory in Your breeding ! Rescue her ! Revenge her, — or Ne'er call her mother more ! Come on, my friends And, where you take your stand upon the field, However you advance, resolve on this. That you will ne'er recede, while from the tongues Of age, and womanhood, and infancy. The helplessness, whose safety in you lies. Invokes you to be strong ! Come on ! Come on \ 111 bring you to the foe ! And when you meet him, Strike hard ! Strike home ! Strike while a dying blow Is in an arm ! Strike till you're free, or fall ! ; — Adaptation from Knowles. "■^ •'I 62 THE CANADIAN 8PEAKEH. Hillil XX.— CONFEDERATION. AN EXTi:AnT FilOM TlIK 8PEKCH OF THE HON, GEOIUJK BIIOWN, IN THE CANADIAN PAIIMAMENT, ON THE CONFEDKHATION OF THE rilOVINCES OF BHITISH NORTH AMERICA. * * * >^ One hundred years have passed away since the conquest of Quebec, but here we sit, the children of the victor and the vanquished, all avowing hearty attachment to the British Crown — all earnestly deliberat- ing how we shall test extend the blessings of British institutions — how a great people may be established on this continent, in close and hearty connection with Great Britain. Whore, Sir, in the page of history, shall we find a parallel to this ? Will it not stand as an imperishable monument to the generosity of British rule ? And it is not in Canada alone that this scene has been witnessed. Four other colonies are at this moment occupied as we are — declaring their hearty love for the parent State, and deliberating with us, how they may best discharge the great duty entrusted to their hands, and give their aid in developing the teeming resources of these vast possessions. And, well, Mr. Speaker, may the work we have unitedly proposed rouse the ambition and energy of every true man in British America. Look, Sir, at the map of the conti- nent of America. Newfoundland, commanding the mouth of the noble river that almost cuts our continent in twain, is equal in extent to the Kingdom of Portugal. Cross the straits to the mainland, and you touch the hospitable shores of Nova Scotia, a country as large as the Kingdom of Greece. Then mark the sister province of New Bruns- wick — equal in extent to Denmark and Switzerland com- bined. Pass up the St. Lawrence to Lower Canada — a country as large as France. Pass on to Upper Canada, — twenty thousand square miles larger than Great Britain and Ireland put together. Cross over the continent to the shores of the Pacific, and you are in British Columbia, the land of golden promise — equal in extent to the Austrian Empire. I speak not now of the vast Indian Territories THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 63 that lie between, greater in extent than the whole soil of Kussia — and that will, ere long, I trust, be opened up to civilization, under the auspices of the British American Confederation. Well, sir, the bold scheme in your hands is nothing less than to gather all these countries into one ; to organize them under one government, with the protec- tion of the British flag, and in heartiest sympathy and affection with our fellow-subjects in the land that gave us birth. Our scheme is to establish a government, that will seek to turn the tide of emigration into this northern half of the American continent ; that will strive to develop its great national resources, and that will endeavor to maintain liberty, and justice, and Christianity through- out the land. What we propose now is but to lay the foundations of the structure, to set in motion the governmental machinery that will, one day, we trust, extend from the Atlantic to the Pacific. And we take especial credit to ourselves, that the system we have devised, while admirably adapted to our present situation, is capable of gradual and efficient expansion in future years, to meet all the purposes contem- plated by our scheme. But, if the honorable gentleman will recall to mind, that when the United States seceded from the Mother Country, and for many years afterwards, their population was not nearly e«(iial to ours at the present moment, that their internal improvements did not then approach to what we have already attained ; and, that, their trade and commerce was not a third of what ours has already reached. I think he will see that the fulfilment of our hopes may not be so very remote, as at first sight might be imagined. And he will be strengthened in that conviction, if he remembers that what we propose to do is to be done with the cordial sympathy and assistance of that great Power, of which it is our happiness to form a part. Such, Mr. Speaker, are the objects of attainment to which the British American Confederation pledged itself last October. And, said I not rightly, that such a scheme ijliH!. 64 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. . IS well fitted to fire the ambition and rouse the energy of every member of this House ? Does it not lift us above the petty politics of the past, and present to us high pur- poses and great interests, that may well call forth all the intellectual ability, and all the energy and enterprise to be found amongst us ? I readily admit all the gravity of the ({uestion ; and, that, it ought to bo considered cautiously and thoroughly, before adoption. Far be it from mo to depre- cate the closest criticisms, or to doubt for a moment the sincerity or patriotism of those, who feel it their duty to oppose the measure. But in considering a question on which hangs the future destiny of half a continent, ought not the spirit of mere fault-finding to be hushed ? Ought not the spirit of mere partisanship to be banished from our debates ? Ought we not to sit down and discuss the argu- ments presented, in the earnest and candid spirit of men, bound by the same interest, seeking a common end, and loving the same country ? Some honorable gentlemen seem to imagine, that the members of the governnment have a deeper in- terest in this scheme than others ; but what possible interest can any of us have, except that which we share with every citizen of the land ? What risk does any one run from this measure, in which all of us do not fully participate? What possible inducement could we have to urge this scheme, except our earnest and heartfelt conviction that it will conduce to the solid and lasting advan- tages of our country ? There is one consideration, Mr. Speaker, which cannot be banished from this discussion, and, that ought, I think, to be remembered in every word we utter ; it is that the constitutional system of Canada cannot remain as it is now. Something must be done. We cannot stand still. We cannot go back to chronic sectional hostility and discord — to a state of perpetual ministerial crisis. The events of the last eight months cannot be obliterated ; the solemn admissions of men of all parties can never be erased. The claims of Upper Canada must be met, and met now. I say, then, that every one who it;:' THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 65 raises his voice in hostility to this lucasure is bound to keep before Kim, when he spealcH, all the perilous conse- quences of its rejection. I say, then, that no man who has a true regard for the well-bein«i; of Canada can give a vote against this scheme, unless he is prepared to offer, in amendment, some better remedy for the evils and injustice, that have so long threatened the peace of our country. * %^ »^ K^ ^u «^ ^^ ^^ *^ *j% *^ ^j% w^ Let not honorable gentlemen approach this measure as a sharp critic deals with an abstract question, striving to point out blemishes and display his ingenuity ; but let us approach it as men, having but one consideration before us, the establishment of the future peace and prosperity of our country. Let us look at it in the light of a few months back, in the light of the evils and injustice to which it applies a remedy, in the light of the years we have spent in discord and strife in seeking that remedy, in the light which the people of Canada would regard this measure were it to be lost, and all the evils of past years to be brought back on us again. Let the honorable gentlemen look at the question in this view ; and what one of them .will take the responsibility of casting his vote against the measure ? Sir, the future destiny of these great Provinces may be affected, by the decision we are about to give, to an extent, which at this moment we may be unable to esti- mate. But, assuredly the welfare, for many years, of four millions of people hangs on our decision. Shall we then rise equal to the occasion ? Shall we approach this dis- cussion without partisanship, and free from every personal feeling, but the earnest resolution to discharge, conscien- tiously, the duty which an overruling Providence has placed upon us ? Sir, it may be that some among us may live to see the day, when, as the result of this measure, a great and powerful people shall have grown up in these lands : when the boundless forest all around us shall have given way to smiling fields and thriving towns, and when one united government, under the British flag shall extend 66 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ll ;;n i I '':i .l^lii ' ^:;!! iiilSl! 1 from shore to shore ; but who could desire to see that day, if he could not recall with satisfaction the part he took in this discussion ? Mr. Speaker, I have done. I leave the subject to the conscientious judgment of the House, in the confident expectation and belief, that the decision it will render will be worthy of the Parliament of Canada. a a XXL— CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Forward, the Light Brigade ! Charge for the guns !" he said : Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade !" Was there a man dismay'd ? Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd : Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die — Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them. Cannon in front of them Volley 'd and thunder' d ; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well. Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell, Rode the six hundred. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 67 Flash' d all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air, Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd : Plunged in the battery-smoke, Eight thro' the line they broke ; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke, Shatter'd and sunder'd, Then they rode back, but not — Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd : Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' 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 ? the wild charge they made !• All the world wonder'd. Honor the charge they made ! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred ! — Tennyson. 68 \ . THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XXII.-THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. nf Nelson and the Northj ^ sSe glorious day's renown, All the might of Uenmar ^^^^^ . I„\ bold determined hand And the prince of all the lana Led them on. ^ % f^rU morn by the chime. It was t«n of AP^",^ ,. X T^n+h \9 they drifted on their pa.h, There las silence deep as death , Md the boldest held his breath •"^ Por a time. But the might of England flush' d To anticipate the scene , And her van the fleeter rush d, ^"^.e%e deadly ^P- ^eS-^ten each gun <. Hearts of oak 1" our captains cried Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again! again 1 again! And the havoc did not slacK, Till a feebler cheer tbe ^f^^ . ._ To our cheering sent ^^^''; ' _ Their shots along the ^-P^owly ^ om . Then ceased— and ail i» w . is they strike the sha tered sail, Or, in conflagration pale, ' Light the gloom. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 69 Now joy, old England, raise, For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, While the wine cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep, • Full many a fathom deep. By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride, Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou ; Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave ! .. While the billow mournful rolls. And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing glory to the souls Of the brave. — CampbeU. XXIII.— THE ALMA. Though till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be. Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea; Yesterday, unamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known — Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown. In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless name And a star for ever shining in the firmament of fame. Many a greet and ancient river, crowned with city, tower and shrine. I 70 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ij ■i it '' mil H'fl i'l i 1 .1 ■i III .%' t It Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine, Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head, Cannot lend the lischt thou lendest to the memories of the dead. Yea, nor all unscathed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say — When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away — " He has pass'd from us, the loved one ; but he sleeps with them that died By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side." Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are cold as those Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose. Thou on England's banners blazon'd with the famous fields of old, Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold ; And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done. By that Twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won. Oh ! thou river ; dear for ever to the gallant, to the free ; Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea. — Trench. XXIV.— CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM. The Secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His 'august mind overawed majesty ; and one of his Sovereigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he con- spired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his supe- THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 71 riority. No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, sunk him to the vulgar le\ el of the great ; but, overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he destroyed party ; without corrupting he made a venal age unanimous. France sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the house of Bourbon, and wielded in the other the democracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes were to affect, not England, not the present age only, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which these schemes were accomplished ; always seasonable, always adequate ; the suggestions of an understanding animated by ardoui*, and enlightened by prophecy. The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indo- lent were unknown to him. No domestic difl&culties, no domestic weakness, reached him ; but, aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into our system to counsel and t© decide. A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so autho- ritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the Treasury trem- bled at the name of Pitt through all classes of venality. — Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, and the ruin of his victories ; • but the history of his country, and the calamities of the enemy, answered and refuted her. Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his eloqence was an era in the senate, peculiar and spontaneous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinctive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of TuUy ; it resembled some- times the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. He did not conduct the understanding through the painful subtilty of argumentation, nor was he for ever on the rack of exertion ; but rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, but could not be followed. Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could f 1 s ilii iil '•ill: f ?; it ''■ h 72 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, a spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wildness of free minds with unbounded authority ; something that could establish or overwhelm empires, and strike a blow in the world that should resound through the universe. — Grattan. XXV.— VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT. Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; And ill would it become us to make light Of the great loss we suffer by their fall. They died like heroes ; for no recreant step Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear, No base despair, no cowardly recoil. They had the hearts of freemen to the last, And the free blood that bounded in their veins Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed. The great examples which they died to show Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here. That men should say, " For liberty these died, Wherefore let us be slaves," — had they thought this, 0, then, with what an agony of shame. Their blushing faces buried in the dust, Had their great spirits parted hence for Heaven ! What ! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth To write, that in five bodies were contained The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five defunct, The heartless town, by brainless council led. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 73 Delivered up her keys, stript off her rohes, And so with all humility besought Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her lightly, It shall not be — no, verily ! for now, Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, Mine eye can single out lull many a man, Who lacks but opportunity to shine As great and glorious as the chief's that fell. But, lo! the Earl is "merciful minded! " And,, surely, if we, rather than revenge The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned. Then will my Lord the Earl have mercy on us. And pardon us our strike for liberty ! 0, Sirs, look round you, lest ye be deceived. Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, Forgiveness may be written with the pen, But think not the parchment and mouth pardon Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. There 's that betwixt you been, which men remember Till they Ibrgct themselves, till all 's forgot, — Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. There 's that betwixt you been which yourselves, Should ye forget, would then not bo yourselves ; For must it not be thought some base men's souls Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out, If, in the coldness of a craven heart, Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man, For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ! — Hmry. Taylor, r 74 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ;* •II iiji 51 i I XXVI.— ODE TO CANADA. God bless our noble Canada ! God bless the new Dominion ! Where law and liberty have sway, Not one of all her sons, to-day, Is tyrant's serf, or minion. Give joy a tongue, let peacefurmirth Dispel desponding fears — ^^^ We hail a youthful nation's birth. Who, in the wondering eyes of Earth, Takes rank among her peers. Fling out our banner to the breeze, And proudly greet the world With words of amity and peace, For never on more hopeful seas Was Freedom's flag unfurled. We boast no charms of high degree In wealth, in rank, or blood — No tales of knightly chivalry — Long lines of lordly ancestry — Nor haunted stream or wood. No proud historic names have we. Whose memory thrills the heart — No scenes embalmed by Poesie — No hoary castles grand to see — The pride of ancient art. . But though the Past has records few, In battle, song, or story. The Future rises, fair to view, Glear ing with morning's youthful dew^ . And bright with coming glory. fair and fertile Canada ! Where thought and speech are free,. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Where'er my roaming feet may stray — Whatever fate may come — I pray That God may shelter thee. I love thy forests wet with dew, Where still the Red Men rove — Thy trees, thy flowers of varied hue, I love thy glorious lakes, as blue And vast as heaven above. I love thy green and towering hills — Thy valleys rich and fair, Where wealth in pearly dew distils — Thy cool meandering forest rills. Hid from the Summer's glare. I love thy rivers, broad and free — Thy cataracts sublime, Where God unveils his majesty — Whose hymns make grandest melody, That strikes the ear of Time. I love thy homes, whose light retains Brave sons and daughters fair, Where Liberty with Truth remains, And every loyal heart disdains A servile yoke to wear. And all that' England boasts, we claim By right which none denies — Her valour and undying fame — Each noble deed and kingly name, That o'er oblivion rise. The rich inheritance of thought, Which golden fruitage bears — Achievements hero-hearts have wrought — Freedom by bloody battles bought — Are ours as well as theirs. 75 i 70 Jill THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Our fatljcr.s fought on gory plains, To vnn<|uish Albion's foes : And though between us ocean reigns, We are no aliens — in our veins The blood of Britain flows. If ever foeman's hostile tread Pollutes our sacred strand. Our enemies will learn with dread, How freely shall our blood be shed To guard our native land. — E. II. Deivart. I i XXVII.— THE ENGLISHMAN. There's a land that boars a world-known name, Though it is but a little spot ; I say 'tis first on the scroll of Fame, And who shall say it is not ? Of the deathless ones who shine and live In Arms, in Art, or Song ; The brightest the whole w^ide world can give To that little land bclonu:. 'Tis the star of earth, donv it who can ; The iir-land home of an Englishman. There's a flag that waves over every sea, No matter when or where ; And to treat that flasj as aught but the free Is more than the strongest dare. For the lion spirits that tread the deck Have carried the palm of the brave ; And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck. But never float over a slave. Its honour is stainless, deny it who can ; And this is the flag of an Englishman. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 77 There's a heart that leaps with burning; glow, The wrong'd and the weak to defend ; And strikes as soon for a trampled foe ; As it do( s for a soul-bound friend. It nurtures a deep and honest love ; It glows with faith and pride ; And yearns with ihv fondness of a dove, To the light of it.^ own fireside. 'Tis a rich, rough gem. deny it who can ; And this is the heart of an luiglishnian. The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone And boldly claim his right ; For he calls such a vast domain his own, That the sun never sets on his might. Let the haughty stranger seek to know The place of his home and birth ; ' And a flush will pour from cheek to brow ; While he tells his native earth. For a glorious charter, deny it who can ; Is breathed in the words '-I'm an Englishman." — Eliza Cook. XXVIII.-^TELL'S SPEECH. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! I hold to you the hands you first beheld. To shew they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me. And bid your tenant welcome to his home Again ! — 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 things that tower, that shine — whose smile Makes glad — whose frown is terrible — whose forms, \ I 1 78 TU£ CANADIAN SPEAKER. III ::il I I ••III i \'^ 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 h,;nds to you To shew they still are free. I rush to you As though I could eu)brace you ! 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 flouted there without their aid. By the sole act of his unlordcd will, Thsit buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding st''l His airy circle, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath. And round about absorbed, he heeded not Tlie death that threaten'd him. — I could not shoot !- 'Twas liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, And let him soar away ! Heavens, with what pride I used To walk these hills, and look up to my God, And bless him that it was so ! It was free ! From end to end, from cliflf to lake 'twas free — Free as our torrents are that leap our vocks, And plough our valleys, without asking leave ; Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow, In very presence of the regal sun. How happy was it then ! I loved Its very storms. Yes. ]']mma, I have sat In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake, The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from liis cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master save his own. You know the jutting cliflf round which a track Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow .;:■* » THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 79 To such another one, with scanty room , For two a-breast to pass T O'ertakcn there By the mountains blast, I've laid me flat along, And while gust followed gust more furiously, As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink. And 1 have tlioup:ht of othei lands, whose storms Are suninier flawM to those of mine, and just Iliive wisluMl nic there — the tliouglit that mine was free. Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! — Sheridan Knowles. ICXIX.— HIGHLAND EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL Adieu my native land — adieu The banks of fair Lochfyne, Where the first breath of life I drew, And would my last resign ! Swift sails the bark that wafteth me This night from thy loved strand : must it be my last of thee, My dear, dear Fatherland I Scotland ! o'er the Atlantic roar, Though fated to depart, Nor time nor space can e'er efface Thine image from my heart. Come weal, come woe — till life's last throe,' My Highland home shall seem An Eden bright in Fancy's light, . A Heaven in Memory's dream ! Land of the maids of matchless grace, The bards of matchless song, 80 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Land of the bold heroic race That never brook'd a wrong ! Long in the front of nations free May Scotland proudly stand : Farewell to thee — farewell to thee, My dear, dear Fatherland ! —Evan M'Coll m XXX.— ON THE DEATH OF THE WELLINGTON. DUKE OF The Chancellor of t?ic Exchequer rose, and while the House lent him its deepest attention, spoke as follows : — " The House of Commons is called upon to-night to fulfil a sorrowful, but a noble duty. It has to recognize, in the face of the country, and of the civilized world, the loss of the most illustrious of our citizens, and to offer to the ashes of the great departed the solemn anguish of a bereaved nation. The princely personage who has left us was born in an age more fertile of great events, than any period of recorded time. Of those vast incidents the most conspi- cuous were his own deeds, and these were performed with the smallest means, and in defiance of the greatest obstacles. He was, therefoie, not only a great man, but the greatest man of a great age. Amid the chaos and conflagration which attended the end of the last century, there rose one of those beings who seem born to master mankind. It is not too much to say that Napoleon combined the imperial ardour of Alexander v/ith the strategy of Hannibal. The kings of the earth fell before his fiery and subtile genius, and at the head of all the power of Europe he denounced destruction to the only land which dared to be free. The Providential superintendence of this world seems seldom more manifest than in the dispensation which ordained that the French Emperor and Welleeley should be born in the same year ; i THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 81 that in the same year they sliould have embraced the same profession ; and that, natives of distant islands, they sliould both have sought their military education in that illustrious land which each in his turn was destined to subjugate. — During the long struggle for our freedom, our glory, I may say our existence, Wellesley fought and won fifteen pitched battles, all of the highest class — concluding with one of those crowning victories which give a colour and aspect to history. During this period that can be said of him, which can be said of no other captain — that he captured three thousand cannon from the enemy, and never lost a single gun. The greatness of his exploits was only equalled by the difficulties he over- came, lie had to encounter at the same time a feeble Gov- ernment, a factious opposition, and a distrustful people, scandnlous allies, and the most powerful enemy in the world. He gained victories with starving troops, and carried on sieges without tools ; and, as if to complete the fatality which in this sense always awaited him, when he had succeeded in creating an army worthy of lloman legions, and of himself, this invincible host was broken up on the eve of the greatest conjuncture of his life, and lie entered the field of Waterloo with raw levies, and discomfited allies. " But the star of Wellesley never paled. He has been called fortunate, for fortune is a divinity that ever favours those who are alike sagacious and intrepid, inventive and patient. It was his character that created his career. This alike achieved his exploits and guarded from vicissitudes. It was his sublime self-control thnt regulated his lofty fate. It has been the fashion of late years to disparage the military character. Forty years of peace have hardly qualified us to be aware how considerable and how complex are the qual- ities which are necessary for the formation of a great general. It is not enough tc say that he must be an engineer, a geog* rapher, learned in human nature, adroit in managing mankind ; that he must be able to perform the highest duties of a minister of state, and sink to the humblest offices of a commissary and v. clerk ; but he has to display all this knowledge, and he must do all these things at the 0* 1' ;: ,l-i|: 82 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. same time, and under extraordinary circumstances. At the same moment he must think of the eve and the morrow — of his flanks and of his reserves ; he must carry Avith him ammunition, provisions, hospitals ; he must calcuhite at the same time the state of the weather and the moral qualities of man ; and all these elements, which are perpetually changing, he must combine amid overwhelming cold or overpowering heat ; sometimes amid famine, often amid the thunder of artillery. Behind all this, too, is the ever-present image of his country, and the dreadful alternative whether that country is to receive him with cypress or laurel. But all these conflicting ideas nmst be driven from the mind of the military leader, for he must think — and not only think — he must think with the rapidity of lightning, for on a moment, more or less, depends the fate of the finest combi- nation, and on a moment, more or less, depends glory or shame. Doubtless, all this may be done in an ordinary manner by an ordinary man ; as we see every day of our lives ordinary men making successful Ministers of State, successful speakers, successful authors. — But to do this with genius is sublime. Doubtless, to think deeply and clearly in the recess of a Cabinet is a fine intellectual demonstration, but to think with equal depth and equal clearness amid bullets is the most complete exercise of the human faculties. Although the military career of the Duke of Wellington fills so large a space in history, it was only a comparatively small section of lus prolonged and illustrious life. Only eight years elapsed from Vimiera to Waterloo, and from the date of his first commission to the last cannon-shot on the field of battle scarcely twenty years can be counted. After all his triumphs he was destined for another career, and, if not in the prime, certainly in the perfection of manhood, he commenced a civil career scarcely less eminent than those military achievements which will live for ever in history. Thrice was he the Ambas- ador of his Sovereign to those great historic congresses that settled the affairs of Europe ; twice was he Secretary of State ; twice was he Commander-in-Chief ; and once he was THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 83 Prime Minister of England. His labours for liis country lasted to the end. A lew months ago he favoured the present advisers of the Crown with his thoughts on the Burmese War, expressed in a state paper characterized by all his sag- acity and experience ; and he died the active chieftain of that famous army, to Avhich he has left the tradition of his glory. — Benjamin Disraeli, XXXI.— UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION. I put it to your oaths : — do you think that a blessing of that kind — that a victory obtained by justice, over bigotry and oppression — should have a stigma cast upon it, by an ignominious sentence upon men, bold and honest enough to propose that measure ? — to propose the redeeming of Reli- gion from the abuses of tlie Church, the reclaiming of three millions of men from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had a right to demand it ? — giving, I say, in the so much censured words of this paper, giving " Universal Emancipa- tion !" I speak in the spirit of the British law, which make*, liberty commensurate Avith, and inseperable from, British soil ; — which proclaims, even to the stranger and sojourner the moment he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground upon which he treads is holy, and conse- crated by the genius of Universal Emancipation. No matter in what language his doom may have been pronoun- ced ; — no matter what complexion, incompat'ble with free- dom, an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; no matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down ; — no matter with what solenmities he m :y have been devoted upon the altar of slavery ;— -the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and tiie god sink together in the dust ; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his body swells beyond the measure of ^ 84 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. the chains that burst from around him ; and he stands — redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of " Universal Emancipation." — Curran. XXXII— THE EXILE OF ERIN. There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill ; For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill : But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion ; For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean. Where once, in the fervour of youth's warm emotion, He sang the bold anthem of Ekin go bragii ! '■'■ Sad is my fate !" — said the licurt-brokeii stranger — " The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee ; But I have no refuge from famine and danger : A home and a country remain not to me ! Never again, in the green sunny bowers Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours ; Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh ! u JliltlSiUll'ii'.l liili- Erin ! my country ! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ! But alas ! in a far, foreign land I awaken. And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more ! Oh, cruel Fate ! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me ? Never again shall my brothers embrace me ! — They died to defend me ! — or live to deplore ! u VVhere is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood ? Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall ? THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 85 i Where is the mother that looked on my childhood ? And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ? Ah ! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleasure I Why didst thou dote on a fast-fading treasure ? Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure ; But rapture and beauty they cannot recall 1 Yet — all its sad recollections suppressing — One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw : — Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee — his blessing ! Land of my forefathers ! — Erin go bragii ! Buried and cold, whon my heart stills her motion. Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean ! And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, Erin mavourneen ! Erin go bragii !" — Campbell. Ii XXXIII.~THE IKISII EMIGllANT'S LAMENT. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning, long ago, when first you were my bride. The corn was springing fresh and green, and the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, and the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, the day is bright as then. The lark's loud song is in my ear, and the corn is green again ! But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, and your breath warm on my cheek ; And I still keep listening for the words, you never more may spcj.k ! Tis but a step down yonder lane, and the little church stands near, ii '--iniliji 86 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Hi!! W\ The church where we were wed, Mary — I see the spire from here ; But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, and my step might break your rest ; For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, with your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, for the poor make no new friends ; But, oh, they love the better far, the few our Father sends ! And you were all I had, Mary, my blessing and my pride ; There's nothing left to care for now, since my poor Mary died. Yours was the brave good heart, Mary, that still kept hoping on. When the tioist in God had left my soul, and my arm's young strength was gone : There was comfort ever on your lip, and the kind look on your brow ; I bless you for the same, Mary, though you cannot hear me now ! I thank you for that patient smile, when your heart was like to break, When the hunger-pain was gnawing there, and you hid it for my sake ! I bless you for the pleasant word, when your heart was sad and sore. Oh 1 I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, where grief can sting no more. I'm bidding you a long farewell, my Mary, kind and true. But I'll not forget you, darling, in the land I'm goiiiir: to : They say there's bread and work for all, and the m-. whines always there ; But I'll not forget Old Ireland, were it fifty times as fair !. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 87 pire light baby new sends ' pride ; Mary And often, in tliose grand old woods, I'll sit and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again to the place where Mary lies ; And I'll think I see that little stile where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, when first you were my bride ! — Mrs. Blackwood. \\ kept ^ arm's look on lot hear iart was )U hid it was sad Igrief can land true, nvAvs, to : fvv:. shines jg us fair ' XXXIV.— GARIBALDI ! sons of Italy awake, Your hearths and altars are at stake, — Arise, arise, for Freedom's sake. And strike with Garibaldi ! The Liberator now appears. Foretold by prophets, bards and seers, The hero sprung from blood and tears, All hail to Garibaldi ! Let serfs and cowards fear and quake, — O Venice, Naples, Rome awake. Like lava of your burning lake, Rush on with Garibaldi ! Up and avenge your country's shame, Like iEtna belching forth her flame, Rush on in Freedom's holy name, And strike with Garibaldi ! 'Tis Freedom thunders in your ears ; The weary night of blood and tears. The sorrows of a thousand years. Cry, On with Garibaldi ! 88 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. The shades that hover round your fanes, The blood of heroes in your veins, Keep shouting, Rise and break your chains, • And on with Garibaldi ! And tongues in many a dungeon stone, And prison walls are shouting on, And sweep the madman from his throne, Then on with Garibaldi ! The Roman Eagle is not dead. Her mighty wings again are spread, To swoop upon the tyrant's head, And strike with Garibaldi ! The drum of Bomba's doom does beat. The shadows of the murdered meet, To drag him to the judgment seat. Then on with Garibaldi ! The land wherein the laurel waves, Was never meant to nourish slaves. Then onward to your bloody graves, Or live like Garibaldi ! — A lexan der M'Lachlin , XXX^^— THE PICKET'S LAST WATCH. All quiet along the Potomac they say. Except here and there a stray picket Is shot as he walks to and fro. By a rifleman hid in a thicket : 'Tis nothing ; a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the tale of the battle : Not an ofi&cer lost — only one of the men. Breathing out aU alone the death rattle. TCH. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 89 All quiet along th(? Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ! Their tents in the ray of the clear autumn moon, And the light of the watch-ifires gleaming. A tremulous sigh from the gentle night-winds Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping, And the stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep watch while the army is sleeping. There is not a sound, save the lone sentry's tread, As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. And thinks of the three on the truckle bed Far away in the hut on the mountain. His rifle falls slack, and his face, grim and dark, Grows gentle with memories tender, And he breath's a prayer for the children asleep, For their mother — may Heaven defend her ! The moon seems to smile as serenely as then. The night when the love yet unspoken Broke forth from his lips, and when low murmur'd vows Were pledged never more to be broken ; Then drawing liis sleeve roughly over his eyes. He dashes the tears that are welling, And gathers his g-un closer up to his side, As if to keep down the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree. The footsteps are lagging and weary. Yet onward he glides through the broad belt of light, Toward the shade of the forest so dreary ; Hark ! Was it the night-wind that rustles the leaves ? Was it moouliglit so suddenly flashing ? It looked like a rifle. No — Mary, good-night ; — His life-blood is ebbing and dashing ! All quiet along the Potomac to-night. No sound save the rush of the river ; But the dew falls unseen on the face of the dead, The picket's off duty — for ever ! ii '•iiiiiiii 1 i!«' 90 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XXXVI.— FALL OF TECUMSEH. What heavy-hoofed coursers tlie wilderness roam To the War-blast indij^naiitly tramping ? Their mouths are all white, as if i'rosted with foam, Their steel bits impatiently champinjjj. 'Tis the hand of the mipjhty that jjjrasps the rein, Conductinj]^ the free and the fearless. Ah ! see them rush forward, with wild disdiin, Through paths unfrequented and elieerless. From the mountains hnd echoed the charjro of death, Annonueing tli:it cliivalrous sally ; The savage was heard, with untrembling breath, \ pour his response from the valley. One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard, And nought but the war-whoop given ; The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred, As if by the lightning riven. The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke. The blood-stifled gasp of the dying, Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke. That upward went wildly flying. In the mist that hung over the field of blood, The chief of the horsemen contended ; His rowels were bathed in the purple flood, That fast from his charger descended. That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight, But the rider repressed not his daring. Till met by a savage, whose rank and might Were shown by the plume he was wearing. The moment was fearful ; a mightier foe Had ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him ; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 91 But liopc nerved his arm for a desperate blow, And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him. ne'er may tlie nations again be cursed With conflicts so dark and appallin«^ ! — Foe grappled with foe, till the life-blood burst From their agonized bosoms in falling. Gloom, silence, and solitude, rest on the spot AVhere the hopes of the red man perished ; , But the fame of the hero who fell shall not. By the virtuous, cease to be cherished. He fought, in defence of liis kindred and king, With a spirit most loving and loyal ; And long shall the Indian warrior sing The deeds of Tecumseh the royal. The lightning of intellect flashed from liis eye. In his arm slept the force of the thunder, But the bolt passed the suppliant liarmlessly by. And left the freed captive to wonder. Above, near the pith of the pilgrim, he sleeps, With a rudel3^-built tumulus o'er liim ; And the bright-bosomed Thames, in its majesty, sweeps. By the mound where his followers bore him. — N.Y. Statesman. ght, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ut lU 12.2 ::; ii£ 12.0 11.25 III 1.4 I; I las 1.6 ^ ^^>..> ^w '1 L17 -^ x;^ ■S'J 92 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XXXVII.— BRUCE TO HIS ARMY. Scots ! wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led. Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victory ! Now's the day and now's the hour ! See the front of battle lower ! See, approach proud Edward's power— Edward ! - chains and slavery ! Wha will be a traitor-lvnavc ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sa base as be —a slave ? Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee I Wha, for Scotland's king and law, Freedom's sword will .strongly draw, Freeman stand, or Freeman fa' ? Caledonian ! — on wi' me ! By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins. But they shjill — they shall be free ! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrant's fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow ! Forward— let us do, or die ! — Bums, ill *^ ^^4- THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 93 XXXVIII.- OUR CONNECTION WITH BRITAIN. As Extract fhom the Speech op Sm -Jonx A. Macdoxald, in THE Canadiax Parliament, ox the Confedeilvtiox of the PnoviNCEa OF British North Amkiuca. * * 5i« * Qjjp argument, but not a strong one, has been used against this Confederation, that it is an advance towards independence. Some are apprehensive that the very fact of our forming this Union, shall hasten the time when we shall be severed from the Mother Country. I have no apprehension of that kind. I believe it will have a contrary effect. I believe that as we grow stronger, that as it is felt in England that we have become a people, able from our union, our strength, our population, and the development of our resources, to take our position among the nations of the world, she will be less willing to part with us, than she would be now, when we are broken up into a number of insignificant Colonies, subject to attack piece-meal, without any concerted action, or common organization of defence. I am strongly of opinion, that year by year, as we grow in population and strength, England will see more clearly the advantages of maintaining the alliance between British North America and herself. Does any one imjigine that, when our population, instead of three and a-half, will be seven millions, as it will be ere many years pass, we would be one whit more willing than now, to sever the connection with England ? Would not those seven millions be just as anx- ious to maintain their allegiance to the Queen, and their connection with the Mother Country, as we are now ? I believe the peopls of Canada East and West to be truly loyal. But if they can, by possibility, be exceeded in loy- alty, it is by the inhabitants of the Maritime Provinces. Loyalty, with them, is an overruling passion. In all parts of the Lower Provinces there is a rivalry between the opposing political parties, as to which shall most strongly express, and most effectively carry out the principle of loy- alty to Her Majesty, and to the British Crown. When this union takes place, we will at the outset be fri 94 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. "?; ' no inconsiderable people. We find ourselves with a popu- lation approaching four millions of souls. Such a popula- tion in Europe would makt) a second, or at least, a third- rate, power. And with a rapidly increasing population — for I am satisfied that under this union our population will increase in a still greater ratio than before — with increased credit— with a higher position in the eyes of Europe — with the increased security we can offer to immigrants, who would naturally prefer to seek a new home in what was known to them as a great country, than in one little colony or another— with all this I am satisfied that, great as has been our increase in the last twenty-five years, since the union between Upper and Lower Canada, our future pro- gress, during the next quarter of a century, will be vastly greater. And when, by means of this rapid increase, we become a nation of eight or nine millions of inhabitants, our alliance will be worthy of being sought by the great nations of the earth. I am proud to believe that our de- sire of alliance will be reciprocated in England. I know that there is a party in England — but it is incon- siderable in numbers, though strong in intellect and power— which speaks of the desirability of getting rid of the colonies ; but I believe such is not the feelings of the Statesmen and people of England. I believe it will never be the delibe- rately expressed determination of the Government of Great Britain. The Colonics are now in a transition state, gra- dually a different Colonial system is being developed— and it will become, year by year, less a case of dependence on our part, and of overruling protection on the part of the Mother Country, and more a case of healthy and cordial alliance. Instead of looking on us, as a merely dependent Colony, England will have in us a friendly nation— a sub- ordinate, but still a powerful people— to stand by her in North America, in peace as in- war. The people of Aus- tralia will be such another subordinate nation ; and England will have this advantage, if her Colonies progress under the new Colonial System, as I believe they will, that though at war with all the rest of the world, she will be able to look THE CANADIAN SPEAKEB. 95 popu- jpula- third- i,ion — m will Teased —with 8, who lat was ^ colony as has nee the ire pro- B vastly ease, we ibitants, he great , our dc- to the subordinate nations in alliance with her, and owing allegiance to the same Sovereign, who will assist in enabling her again to meet the whole world in arms, as she has done before. And if in the great Napoleonic War, with every port in Europe closed against her commerce, she was yet able to hold her own, how much more will that be the case, when she has a Colonial Empire increasing in power, in wealth, in influence, and in position. It is true that we stand in danger, as we have stood in danger again and again in Canada, of being plunged into war, and all its conseqences, as the result of causes over which we have no control, by reason of this connec- tion. This, however, did not intimidate us. At the very mention of the prospect of war some time ago, how were the feelings of the people aroused from one extremity of British America to the other, and preparations made for meeting its worst consequences. Although the people of this country are fully aware of the horrors of war, should a war arise, unfortunately, between the United States and England, and we pray it never may — they are still ready to encounter all ills of the kind, for the sake of the connection with England. So long as that Alliance is maintained, we enjoy, under her protection, the privileges of constitutional liberty according to the British system. We will enjoy here that which is the great test of constitutional freedom— we will have the rights of the mino- rity respected. In all countries the rights of the majority take care of themselves, but it is only in countries like England, enjoying constitutional liberty, and safe from the tyranny of a single despot or of an unbridled democracy, that the rights of minorities are regarded. So long, too, as we form a portion of the British Empire, we shall have the example of her free institutions, of the high standard of the character of her statesmen and public men, of the purity of her legislation, and the upright administration of her laws. In this younger country one great advantage of our connection with Great Britain will be, that under her aus- pices, inspired by her example, a portion of her empirr our public men will be actuated by principles similar to those i :96 TH S CANADIAN SPEAKER. ■ii,i' which actuate the statcsuien at home. These although not material physical benefits, of which you can make an arith- metical calculation, are of such overwhelming advantage to our future interests and standing as a nation, that to obtain them is well worthy of any sacrifice we may be called upon 10 make, and the people of lliis country arc ready to make them. We should feel, also, sincerely grateful to beneficent Pro- vidence, that we have had the opportunity vouchsafed to us, of calmly considering this great constitutional change — this peaceful revolution that we have not been hurried into it, like the United States, by the exigencies of war, — that we have not had a violent revolutionary period forced on us, as in other nations, by hostile action from without, or by domestic dissensions within. Here we are in peace and prosperity, under the fostering care of Great Britain — a dependent people — with a government having only a limited and delegated authority, and yet allowed without restriction, and without jealousy on the part of the Mother Country, to legislate for ourselves, and peacefully and deliberately to consider and determine the future of Canada and British North America. It is our happiness to know the expression of the will of our Gracious Sovereign, through Her Min- isters, that we have her full sanction for our deiiberationt*, and her only solicitude is, that we shall adopt a system really for our advantage, and that she promises to sanction whatever conclusion, after full deliberation, we may arrive at, as to the best mode of securing the well-being, — the present and future prosperity of British America. It is our privilege and happiness to be in such a position, and we cannot be too grateful for the blessings thus conferred upon us. In conclusion, I would again implore the House, not to let this opportunity pass. It is an opportunity that may never recur. It was only by a happy concurrence of cir- cumstances, that we were enabled to bring this question to its present position. If we do not take advantage of the time, if we shew oursehes unequal to the occasion, it may THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 97 igh not Li arith- vantage that to )e called •eady to (ent Pro- ■ed to us, jhange — rried into ar,— that ccd on U8, ut, or by peace and 5ritain— 51 \f a limited restriction, :)ountry, to beratcly to iiul British expression Her Min iiberationn, k a system to sanction may arrive [being, — the Irica. It ^^ [osition, and a conferred never return, and we shall, hereafter bitterly and unavail- ingly regret havini; failed to embrace the happy opportu- nity now ojBfered, of founding a great nation under the fos- tering care of Great Britain, and our Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria. XXXIX.— SPEECH OF HENRY V. BEFORE THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT. What's he that wishes more men from England — My cousin Westmoreland ?— No, my fair cousin. If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss ; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour.. No, no, my lord, — wish not a man from England. Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host, That he who hath no stomach to this fight May straight depart ; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse : We would not die in that man's company. This day is call'd the feast of Crispiun ; He that outlives this day and comes safe hoine, Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Orispian. lie that outlives this day and sees old age, Will yearly, on the vigil, feast his friends. And say — To-morrow is St. Crispian ; Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, Old men forget ; yet shall not all forget. But they'll remember with advantages. What feats they did that day. Then sht^ll our names, Familiar in their mouths as household words, Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick, and Talbot, Scdisbury, and Glo'ster, Be, in their flowing ciips, freshly remember'd. t ; k 111! Ir 98 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispian's day shall ne'er go by, From this time to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember'd. AVe few, we happy few, we band of brothers : For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother ; be he e'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition. And gentlemen in England, now a-bed. Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day. — Shaktpeare, m K: .:^: XL.— TO THE ARMY OF ITALY. Soldiers ! You have precipitated yourselves like a torrent from the Apennines. You have overwhelmed or swept before you all that opposed your march. Piedmont, deli- vered from Austrian oppression has returned to her natural sentiments of peace and friendship towards France. Milan is yours ; and over all Lombardy floats the flag of the Republic. To your generosity only, do the Dukes of Parma and of Modena now owe their political existence. The army which proudly threatened you finds no remaining barrier of defence against your courage. The Po, the Tessino, the Adda, could not stop you a single day. Those vaunted ramparts of Italy proved insufficient ; you tra» versed them as rapidly as you did the Apennines. Suc- cesses so numerous and brilliant have carried joy to the heart of your country. Your representatives have decreed a festival, to be celebrated in all the communes of the Re- public, in honour of your victories. There will your fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, all who hold you dear, rejoice over your triumphs, and loast that you belong to them. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 99 speare. I torrent >r swept nt, deli- natural Milan , of the lukes of [xistenoe. smaining Po, the Those you tra- ss. Suc- i)y to the [e decreed f the Bc- LT fathers, loice over Yes, Soldiers, you have done much ; but much still re- mains for you to do. Shall it be said of us that we knew how to conquer, but not to profit by victory ? Shall pos- terity reproach us with having found a Capua in Lombardy ? Nay, fellow soldiers ! I see you already eager to cry " to arms !" Inaction fatigues you ; and days lost to glory are to you days lost to happiness. Let us, then, begone ! We have yet many forced marches to make ; enemies to van- quish ; laurels to gather ; and injuries to avenge ! Let those who have sharpened the poniards of civil war in France, who have pusillanimously assassinated our Minis- ters, who have burned our vessels at Toulon, — let them now tremble ! The hour of vengeance has knolled ! But let not the People be disquieted. "VVe are the friends of every People : and more especially of the descendants of the Brutuses, the Scipios, and other great men to whom we look as bright exemplars. To re-establish the Capitol ; to place there with honour the statues of the heroes who made it memorable ; to rouse the Roman People, unnerved by many centuries of oppression, — such will be some of the fruits of our victories. They will constitute an epoch for posterity. To you. Soldiers, will belong the immortal honour of redeeming the fairest portion of Europe. The French People, free and respected by the whole world, shall give to Europe a glorious peace, which shall indemnify it for all the sacrifices which it has borne, the last six years. Then, by your own firesides you shall repose ; and your fellow-citizens, when they point out any one of you, shall say : " /Te belonged to the Army of Italy !" — Bonaparte. % 100 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. '«-i( J t ,. f ; ^' ■i 'J Ms:t !t XLI. - LAMENT OF A SWISS MINSTREL. SwitzorlinJ, my coimtry, 'tis to thee 1 striko my li:irp in a'^oiiy. My country, nniHC of Liberty, Homo of the gallant, j>,Teat, and free, My sullen harp I strike to thee. ! I have lo.st you all ! I*.'irents, and home, and fricnd.-j : Ye sleep bviacath a mountain pall ; A mountain's plumage o'er you bends. The cliflF-yew of funereal gloom Is now the only mourning plume That nods above a people's tomb. Of the echoes that swim o'er thy bright blue lake, And, deep in its caverns, their merry bells shake, And repeat the young huntsman's cry — That clatter and laugh when the goatherds take Their browzing flocks, at the morning's break, Far over the hills, — not one is awake In the swell of thy peaceable sky. They sit on that wave with a motionless wing, And their cymbals are mute ; and the desert birds sing Their unanswered notes to the wave and the sky, As they stoop their broad wing, and go sluggishly by : For deep, in that blue-bosomed water, is laid As innocent, true, and as lovely a maid As ever in cheerfulness carolled her song, In the blithe mountain air, as she bounded along. The heavens are all blue, and the billow's bright verge Is frothily laved by a whispering surge. That heaves, incessant, a tranquil dirge, To lull the pale forms that sleep below — Forms that rock as the waters flow. That bright lake is still as a liquid sky ; And when o'er its bosom the swift clouds fly, They pass like thoughts o'er a clear blue eye. TUE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 101 BL. .0, )ird8 sing hly ^y • ^ng. tht vorgo The fringe of thin foam tint their sepulchre binds la as light as the clouds that are borne by the winds. Soft over its bosom the dim vapours hover In mornir ;'s first lijj^ht ; and the tnowy-winged plover, That skims o'er the deep, Where my loved ones sleep, No note of joy on tliis i^olitude flings, Nor shakes the mist from his drooping wings. ^u o« ^u ^u %^ ^u ^f> *f* *7> *x* ^^ ^^ No chariots of fire on the clouds careered ; No warrior's ann on the hills was reared ; No death-angel's trump o'er the ocean was blown ; No mantle of wrath over heaven was thrown ; No armies of light, with their banners of flame, On neighing steeds, through tlie sunset came. Or leaping from space appeared ; No earthquake reeled ; no Thunderer stormed : No fetterless dead o'er the bright sky swarmed ; No voices in heaven were heard. But the hour when the sun in its pride went down, While his parting hung rich o'er the world, While abroad o'er the sky his flush mantle was blown, And his streamers of gold were unfurled, An everlasting hill was torn From its primeval base, and borne. In gold and crimson vapors dressed, To where a people are at rest. Slowly it came in its mountain wrath ; And the forest vanished before its path ; And the rude cliffs bowed ; and the waters fled ; And the living were buried, while, over their head, They heard the full march of the foe as he sped : — And the valley of life was the tomb of the dead — The mountain sepulchre of all I loved ! The village sank, and the giant trees Leaned back from the encountering breeze, As this tremendous pageant moved. The mountain forsook liis perpetual throne, I '^'^Dil 102 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And canio down in his pomp ; and his path is shown In barrenness and ruin : — there His ancient mysteries lay bare ; His rocks in nakedness arise ; His desolations mock the skies. Sweet vale, Goldau, farewell ! An alpine monument may dwell Upon thy bosom, my home 1 The mountain— thy pall and thy prison — may keep thee ; I shall see thee no more ; but till death I will weep thee ; Of thy blue dwelling dream wherever I roam. And wish myself wrapped in its peaceful foam. — J. Neal. XLII.-~THE WAR OF THE LEAGUE. Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let their be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, 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 stiflF, and still are they who wrought thy walls ' annoy. Hurrah • hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war. Hurrah I 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, THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 103 ip tbee ; sp thee -, ^cal. ;lories are ! f Navarre! dance, >ti pleasant ^ty of tiie mourning mrjoy, ^ it thy walls I chance of f Navarre. he dawn of long array ; peers, And Appenzcl's stout infantry, and Eginont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land! And dark Maycnne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand 1 And as we look'd 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 is come to marshal us, in all his armour drcst. And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on ux, as ruWd from whig to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our Lord the King !" " And if my standard-bearer fall, as flill 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 oriflame to-day the helmet of Navarre."' Hurrah ! the foes are movinsr. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin ! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre'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. > ' > ,■ if ,, ^, 1 n'^ ■» r- 104 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. i ! i' i 1 '! ■ P i hi 1 kL A thousand kni;j;hls are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest caina'.^j blazed the lielmet of Navarre. Now, Cod be praised, the day is oui's ! Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is shiin. Their ranks are breiiking like thiu clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail ; And then, we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, " Remember St. Bartliolemew," was passed from man to man ; But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frencliman is my foe : Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go-" Oh ! was their ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our Sovereign Lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho ! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spear- man'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 crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 105 miding lavarre. le hath >unt is L Biscay ags, and ; our van, i man to niy foe : . brethren or in war, loldier of acerne i icver shall >les, oor spear- ir arms he and ward liath raised Idour of the Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are ; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre. — Maamlaij. XLIII.— DESTllUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold , And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like t^e leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners, at sunset, waa seen : Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hatii blown. That host, on the morrow, lay weathered and strown, • For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he past ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grow still. And there lay the steed with his nostril aii v.ido. But through it there roilcd not the breath of his pride ; And the foam of his g isping lay white on the lurf, And cold as the spray of the rock- locating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke Iq the temple of Baal ; At»d the might of the G-entile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord ! — Byron. m i i§!! ii« 106 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XLIV.— THE CLAIMS OF OUR COUNTRY. The love of country is a noble and laudable sentiment. It has inspired many of the most heroic deeds, that sparkle in the history of the world. Like attachments to party or sect, it may degenerate into bigotry and exclusiveness ; but a liberal and enlightened patriotism ennobles its possessor. The man who cannot rise above selfish and personal inter- ests, to an intelligent sympathy with the prosperity of his country, is not worthy to share the blessings of citizenship, in a civilized community. This attachment to our country, is not the result of its superiority to other lands. It does not depend on fertility of soil, or salubrity of climate. Countries of stern climate, and unproductive soil, have given some of the highest ex- amples of unselfish patriotism. It is like a mother's love, instinctive and spontaneous. It is planted in the human breast, by the Creator, that it may prompt us to labour for the welfare of our country. All forms of selfishness, are antagonistic to the growth of patriotism. A man may be vei / noisy in his professions of loyalty, yet if his own cha- racter be wanting in integrity and industry, he will, to the extent of his influence, prevent the prosperity of his country. At the present crisis in our history. It i^ of the first im- portance, that we realize our obligations as patriots, and the extent to which the present has the character and interests of the future in its keeping. It is an inspiring spectacle, to behold our beloved Canada rising majestically to assume her place among the nations, which are the vanguard of the world's progress. The light of hope is on her brow. The vigor of youth throbs m her veins. Her undazzled eye is on the future, where the star of a lofty destiny beams before her. We enter upon a race, for au honourable position among the kingdoms of the earth, under circumstances of the highest promise. We possess a country, vast in extent, and rich in agricultural, commercial, and manufacturing re- »;i l!;t :H' , illil THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 107 TRY. entiment. it sparkle ) party or less ; but possessor, jnal int«r- rity of bis itizensbip, suit of its on fertility rn climate, higbest ex- .tber's love, the buman ) labour for isbness, are lan may be lis own cba- will, to the rity of bis sources. We are also profoundly indebted to the past. We eat the fruit of the trees, which past generations have planted. Wliile many of the older countries of Europe, are enslaved by ignorance, and crushed by despotic power, we have a birthright of free constitutional government — of civil and religious liberty — the noblest ever bequeathed to any youthful nation. We are heirs to a heritage of litera- ture, rich in every department of intellectual wealth. A heritage of deathless memories of noble and heroic lives, which should inspire us, to emulate the faith and fortitude, by which they vanquished every foe, and won their impe- rishable renown. And better than all, we inherit the price- less legacy of an unsealed Bible, with its holy lessons of truth and love, teaching us how the life may be redeemed from the slavery of selfishness, and bringing life and immor- tality to light in the gospel. It is not surprising, that Statesmen should regard such a remarkable combination of advantages, as an earnest of a prosperous and glorious future. But we should not forget, that it is not material prosperity, but " righteousness," that " exalteth a nation." No combination of propitious circum- stances — no fertility of soil, extent of dominion, legacies of thought, commercial prosperity, nor bannered armies in their conquering might, can give any sure pledge to futurity of true greatness, without the improvement, and moral elevation of the people. The moral and intellectual con- dition of the population, will reflect itself in every depart- ment of national life, and determine our position in the scale of civilization. Material progress, and intellectual activity will not save us from national degeneracy, unless the foundations of nationhood, be laid in truth and righteous- ness. The history of the past is full of instructive lessons. — Nations, which once ranked high, and swayed the sceptre of imperial power over vast dominions, as the result of internal corruption, have crumbled into decay, and passed away, leaving only their name and fate, as a warning to future ages. And, at the present hour, some of the fairest coun- 108 THE CANADIAN FPEAKER. ' it \f !l. m m tries beneath the sun, fertile in soil, and j>;enial in climate, are the high places of ignorance, tyranny, and moral degra- dation. It becomes us to lay these lessons deeply to lieart. Without that inner moral life, which alone gives a perma- nent and elevating influence, to the social and political institutions of a country, all our advantages may be sacri- ficed on the altar of selfish ambition and sordid gratification, and only accelerate our national decay. We may boast of our freedom and yet be the most abject slaves. We may have the rights and privileges of British freemen, and yet be destitute of the independence, without which they will not be exercised for the true welfare of our country. We may have wise laws, and yet want the incorruptible integrity essential to their just administration. We may have wealth — but it will be the instrument of intemperance, avarice, and vanity. We may have a literature, full of genius, but it will be " of the earth, earthy." We may have in- tellectual energy — but it will leave the spiritual and nobler capacities of our being paralyzed, by low selfish activities. Let us rise to the dignity and responsibility of our posi- tion. We are launching the ship ^f state, on a voyage towards a glorious destiny. We are sowing the seeds of national character, the fruits of which future generations shall reap. We are watching over the infancy of our country. To us it is given, to stamp our moral likeness on its future history. By the lives we live, and the work we do, we shall determine, wiiether posterity shall bless our memory, or whether our selfish indolence and recreancy to our high trust, will bequeath them a heritage of ignorance, lax political morality, and religious indifference, that sha!! darken their history through all coming time. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 109 limate, L tlegra- licart. yerma- political DC sacri- .fication, boast of ^Ve may , and yet :hey will ,ry. We integrity ,ve wealth ^ avarice, jf genius, have in- md nobler ictivities. our posi- a voyage seeds of generations \y of our [likeness on le work we bless our jcreancy to ' ignorance, I that 8ha)l XLV.-GLORY AND FAME. The warrior grasps the battle blade, Seeking the field of fight, And madly lifts his daring hand Against all human right ; He goeth with unholy wrath To scatter death along his path, While nations mourn his might ; And though he win the world's acclaim-^ It is not Glory — 'tis not Fapie ! The roll of the arousing drum, The bugle's startling bray. The thunder of the bursting bomb, The tumult of the fray ; The oft-recurring hour of strife, * The blight of hope, the waste of life, The proud victorious day — All this may be a splendid game. But 'tis not Glory — 'tis not Fame ! Can we subdue the widow's cries, • The orphan's plaintive wail ; Or turn from mute upbraiding eyes, And faces ghastly pale ? Can we restore the mind gone dim. The broken heart ! — the shattered limb ! By war's exulting tale ? This is ambition, lust, and shame, But 'tis not Glory — 'tis not Fame I There are who pour the light of truth Upon the glowing page. To purify the soul of youth. And cheer the heart of age ; There are whom Gt)d hath sent to show The wonders of His power below — ' :;ili Ml 110 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Such is the gifted sage ; And such have learned our love to claim ^ For this is Glory— this is Fame I There are —like Howard— who employ Their healthiest, happiest hours, In shedding love, and hope, and joy Around this world of ours ; Who free the captive — feed the poor, And enter every humble door, Where sin or sorrow lowers. Till nations breathe and bless their name ; And this is Glory — this is Fame ! The poet, whose inspiring muse Waves her ecstatic wing. Clothes thought and language with the hues Of every holy thing — Of beauty in its thousand forms, Of all that cheers, refines, and warms, He loves to dream and sing ; And myriads feel his song o^ flame ; — For this is Glory — this is Fame ! , — John CritcMey Prince^ iT- nil PART n. kxUm M& SmiimmUt I.— CHARACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral en- dowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, in- deed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labour and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, — they can not compass it. . It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occa&ioo. Affected passion, intenso expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it, — they can not reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic tires, with spon- taneous, 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 subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent: then, self- 112 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. •'• 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 urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object, — this, this is elo- quence : or rather it is something greater and higher than aU eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. — Webster, { 11 ■*... . l^ H » II.— CHRISTIAN WARFARE. Soldier, go—but not to claim Mouldering spoils of earth-bom treaaure, Not to build a vaunting name, Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. Dream not that the way is smooth, Hope not that the thorns are roses ; Turn no wishful eye of youth Where the sunny beam reposes ; — Thou hast sterner work to do. Hosts to cut thy passage through : Close behind thee gulfs are burning — Forward I there is no returning. Soldier, rest — ^but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow ; On the rock thy couch must be, While around thee chafes the billow : Thine must be a watchful sleep. Wearier than another's waking; Such a charge as thou dost keep. Brook '. no moment of forsaking. Sleep, as on the battle field. Girded — grasping sword and shield : Those thou canst not name nor number. Steal upon thy broken slumber. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 113 Soldier, rise — the war is done ; Lo! the hosts of hell are flying; 'Twas thy Lord the battle won; Jesus vanquished them by dying. Pass the stream — before thee lies All the conquered land of glory ; Hark, what songs of rapture rise I These proclaim the victor's story. Soldier, lay thy weapons down, Quit the sword, and take the crown ; Triumph ! all thy foes arc banished — Death is slain — and earth has Vanished 1 — Charlotte Elizabeth. III.— UNDER THE SNOW. Over the mountains, under the snow Lieth a valley cold and low, 'Neath a white immovable pall, Desolate, dreary, soulless all. And soundless, save when the wintry blast Sweeps with funeral music past. Yet was that valley not always so, For I trod its summer-paths long ago, And I gathered flower of fairest dyes Where now the snow-drift heaviest lies, And I drank from rills that with murmurous song Wandered in golden light along Through bowers, whose ever-fragrant air Was laden with perfume of flowrets fair — Through cool green meadows, where all day long The wild-bee droned his voluptuous song, While over* all shone the eye of Love In the violet-tinted heavens above. 1 lli > 1 '11' ir 1 M 1 1 1 I f^ 1 1 ^ fp Hfi :| I 1 E, 114 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And through that valley ran veinp of gold, And the rivers o'er beds of amber rolled ; — There were pearls in the white sinds thickly bowb, And rocks that diamond-crusted shone ; — All richest fruitage — all rarest flowers — All sweetest music of summer bowers — All sounds the softest — all sights most fair, Made earth a Paradise everywhere. ♦P H* •T* 'T Over the mountains, under the snow Lieth that vrtllcy cold and low, — There came no slowly consuming blight, But the snow swept silently down at night, And when the morning looked forth again The seal of silence was on the plain ; And fount and forest, and bower and stream Were hidden all from his pallid beam. And there, deep-hidden under the snow, Is buried the wealth of the long ago — Pearls and diamonds — veins of gold. Priceless treasures of worth untold. Harps of wonderful sweetness stilled While yet the air was with music filled — Hands that stirred the resounding string To melodies such as tlie angels sing — Faces radiant with smile and tear That bent enraptured I lie strains to hear — And high calm forO'U' ids, and earnest eyes. That came and went beneath sunset skies. There they are lying under the snow. And the winds moan over them sad and low. Pale still faces that ymile no more, Calm closed eyelids whose light is o'er, Silent lips that will never again Move to music's entrancing strain, THE CANADIAN SPEAKEB. 11& White hands folded o'er marble breasts, — Each under the mantling snow-drift rests, And the wind their requiem sounds o'er and o'er, In the oft repeated * no more — no more.' ' No more — no more I ' — I sliall ever hear That funeral diri^e in its monnings drear ; But I may not linger with faltering tread Anear my treasures — ancar my dead. On through many a thorny maze, Up slippery rocks, and through tangled ways Licth my cloud-mantled path, afar From that buried vale where my treasures are. But there bursts a light through the heavy glooM, From the sunbright towers of my distant home ; Fainter the wail of the sad ' no more ' Is heard as slowly I near that shore ; And sweet home-voices come soft and low, Half-drowning that requiem's dirge-like flow. I know it is Sorrow's baptism stern That has given me thus for my home to yearn — That has quickened my ear to the tender call, Which down from the jasper heights doth fall — And lifted my soul from the songs of earth To music of higher and holier birth, Turning the tide of a yearning love To the beautiful things that are found above ; — And I bless my Father, through blinding tears. For the chastening love of departed years, — For hiding my idols so low — .so low — -Over the mountains, — under the snow. — Miss Vining, p 116 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. . l! f J- l|i!i.!(i:l IV.—ON WAR. Public war is not an evil which stands alone, or has nothing in common with other evils. It belongs to a great family. It may be said that society, through its whole extent, is deformed by war. Even in families, we see jar- ring interests and passions, invasions of right, resistance of authority, violence, force ; and in common life, how con- tinually do we see men struggling with one another for property or distinction — injuring one another in word or deed — exasperated against one another by jealousies, neglects, and mutual reproach ! All this is essentially war, but war restrained, hemmed in, disarmed, by the opinions and institutions of society. To limit its ravages, to guard reputation, property, and life ; society has instituted gov- ernment, erected the tribunal of justice, clothed the legis- lature with the power of enacting equal laws, put the Bword into the bands of the magistrate, and pledged its whole force to its support. Human wisdom has been mani- fested in nothing more conspicuously than in civil institu- tions for repressing war, retaliation, and passionate resort to force, among the citizens of the same state. But here it has stopped. Government, which is ever at work to restrain the citizen at home, often lets him loose, and arms him with fire and sword, against other communities, sends out hosts for desolation and slaughter, and concentrates the whole energies of a people in the work Of spreading misery and death. Government, the peace officer at home, breathes war abroad, organizes it into a science, reduces it to a sys- tem, makes it a trade, and applauds it, as if it were the most honourable work of nations. Strange, that the wis- dom which has so successfully put down the wars of individuals, has never been inspired and emboloened, to engage in the task of bringing to an end the more gigantic crimes and miseries of public warl What gives these miseries pre-eminence among human woes — what should compel us to look on them with peculiar terror — is, not THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 117 or has a great I whole see jar- tancc of ow con- Lher for word or alousies, illy war, opinions to guard ited gov- thc legis- put the edged its sen maui- II institn- 1 resort to it here it work to and arms ties, sends itrates the ng misery 3, breathes t to a sys- t were the the wis- ^ wars of loened, to re gigantic ives these lat should or — is, tiot their awful amount, but their origin, their source. They are miseries inflicted by man on man. They spring from depra\ity of will. They bear the impress of cruelty, of hardness of heart. The distorted features, writhing frames, and shrieks of the wounded and dying — these arc not the chief horrors of war ; they sink into unimportance, com- pared with the infernal passions which work this woe. Death is a light evil, when not Joined with crime. Had the countless millions destroyed by war been swallowed up by floods or yawning earthquakes, we should look baci: awe-struck but submissive, on the mysterious Providence which had thus fulfilled the mortal sentence, originally passed on the human race. But that man, born of woman, bound by ties of brotherhood to man, and commanded — by an inward law and the voice of God — to love and do good, should, through selfishness, pride, or revenge, inflict these agonies, and shed these torrents of human blood ; — here is an evil which combines, with exquisite suffering, fiendish guilt. All other evils fade before it. The idea of honour is associated with war. But to whom does the honour belong ? If to any, certainly not to the mass of the people, but to those who are particularly engaged in it. The mass of a people who stay, at home, and hire others to fight — who sleep in their warm beds, and hire others to sleep on the cold and damp earth — who sit at their well-spread boards, and hire others to take the chance of starving — who nurse the slightest hurt in their own bodies, and hire others to expose themselves to mortal wounds, and to linger in comfortless hospitals — certainly this mass reaps little honour from war. The honour belongs to those who are immediately engaged in it. Let me ask, then, What is the chief business of war ? It is to destroy human life, to mangle the limbs, to gash and hew the body, to plunge the sword into the heart of a fellow-creature, to strew the earth with bleeding frames, and to trample them under foot with horses* hoofs. It is to batter down and bum cities, to turn fruitful fields into deserts, to level the cottage of the peasant, and the magmficent abode of the 118 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. » f '1' ' HHI i:^l|l ^^'^iii'ini M{i The fallacy of Nabal's expectations qpnsisted in this, that he demanded for wealth that reverence which had once been due to men who happened to be wealthy. It is a fal- lacy in which we are perpetually entangled. We expect reverence for that which was once a symbol of what was once reverenced, but is reverenced no longer. Here, in England, it is common to complain that there is no longer any respect of inferiors towards superiors; that servants were once devoted and grateful, tenants submissive, sub- jects enthusiastically loyal. But we forget that servants were once protected by their masters, and tenants safe from wrong, only by the guardianship of their powerful lords; that .thence a personal gratitude grew up: that now they are protected by the law from wrong ; by a dif- ferent social system altogether ; and that the individual bond of gratitude subsists no longer. We expect that to j masters and employers the same reverence and devotedness shall be rendered, which were due to them under other | oircumstances, and for different reasons; as if wealth asdj m THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 129 )tion of his David was that enough •iority ? It he falsehood Table. But it. A social Brahle incon- q's atteiitioD, sted in this, lich had once It is a fal- "We expect of what was Here, in is no longer that servants missive, sul)- that servants tenants safe r. rank had ever been the claim to reverence, and not merely the accidents and accompaniments of the claim ; as if any- thing less sacred than holy tics could purchase sacred feelings ; as if the homage of free manhood could be due to gold and name ; as if to the mere Nt'bal-fool, who is labelled as worth so much, and whose signature carries with it so much coin, the holiest and most ennobling sensations of the soul, reverence and loyalty were duo by God's appointment. No. That patriarchal system has passed forever. No sentimental wailings for the past, no fond regrets for virtues of a bygone age, no melancholy, poetical, retrospective, an- tiquarianism can restore it. In church and state the past is past: and you can no more bring back the blind rev- erence than the rude virtues of those days. The day has come in which, if feudal loyalty or patriarchal reverence are to be commanded, they must be won by patriarchal virtues, or feudal real superiorities. — Rev. F. W. Robertson. leir powe lew up rful a that dif- Ln2*} by he individual! meet that to id devotednesB 1 under other' [if wealth and XI.— A VOICE FOR THE TIMES. Kaise the hammer, strike the anvil, ♦ Let the wide,earth feel the blow ; Let her quake from zone to centre, Tropic, vale, and peak of snow. Right, with sword drawn for the contest, Takes the field against the wrong; — Sound aloud the deep-toned clarion, Let its notes be clear and long. Human hearts with anguish bleeding, Human nature held in thrall. Myriads, waiting for redemption, Marshal at the trumpet's call. Hold aloft your glorious banner, Let it float against the sky, 130 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And with Truth's bright sword uplifted, Vow to conquer though ye die. Let no heart quail in the onset — Froni above, around, beneath, Countless eyes the strife are watching, Through the war-cloud's dusky wreath^ Side by side all firm and valiant. In the God of Battles strong. Grapple with each rampant error, In the serried ranks of Wrong. Though the clouds, with thunder laden, Darken o'er the source of day — Though the fork'd and fiery lightnings Flash and dart around your way ; — Echoed loud above the thunder Let your watchword, ' Victory,' sound ; And, amid the jagged lightnings, Inch by inch maintain your ground. Where intrenched in hoary bulwarks, Error and his chieftains dwell, Scale the rampart, strike the ensign ; Track them to the gates of hell. Not till then the waiting scabbard May receive the glitt'ring steel ; Not till then, earth's groaning millions Freedom's bounding pulse may feel. On the distant, dim horizon. Faintly glim'ring through the night, Shines a star whose noon-tide glory Truth's triumphal march shall light ; And e'en now, in far-off" murm'rings O'er the future's restless sea. Faith may catch a premonition Of the world's great jubilee. — Jennie E, Saight. :;l'--'« THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 131 i%€ E. Baig^^' XII.— THE DEATH OF ABSALOM. The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curl'd Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, Unbroken 'beating of the sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down the stream ; the willow leaves, With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, Forgot the lifting winds ; and the long stems. Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, And lean'd, in graceful attitudes, to rest. How strikingly the course of nature tells, By its light heed of human suflfering. That it waa fashion'd for a happier world ! King David's limbs were weary. He had fled From far Jerusalem ; and now he stood, With his faint people, for a little rest Upon the shores of Jordan. The light wind Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow To its refreshing breath ; for he had worn The mourner's covering, and he had not felt That he could see his people until now. They gathered round him on the fresh green bank, And spoke their kindly words ; and, as the sun Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there. And bow'd his head upon his hands to pray. Oh ! when the heart is full — when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance, And the poor common words of courtesy Are such an empty mockery — how much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer ! He pray'd for Israel — and his voice went up I Strongly and fervently. He pray'd for those Whose love had been his shield — and his deep tones Grew tremulous. But, oh ! for Absalom — Por his estranged, misguided Absalom — Ill Pfll' 132 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ''U The proud, bright being, who had burst away In all his princely beauty, to defy The heart that cherish'd him — for him he pour'd In agony that would not be controird. Strong supplication, and forgave him there, Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. *^^ K^ *^^ ^» %^ ^^ ^^ ^^ *^ *J% ^f* *^ ^^ ^^ The pall was settled. He who slept beneath ' Was straighten'd for the grave ; and, as the folds Sank to the still proportions, they betray'd The matchless symmetry of Absalom. His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls Were floating round the tassels as they sway'd To the « dmitted air, as glossy now As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing The snowy fingers of Judea's daughters. His helm was at his feet ; his banner, soil'd With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, Reversed beside him ; and the jewell'd hilt, Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade, Bested, like mockery, on his cover' d brow. The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, €lad in the garb of battle ; and their chief, Thfi mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, As if he fear'd the slumberer might stir. A slow step startled him. He grasp'd his blade As ':f a trumpet rang ; but the bent form Of David enter'd, and he gave command. In a low tone, to his few followers, And left him with his dead. The king stood still Till the last echo died ; then, throwing off The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bow'd his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe: ** Alas ! my noble boy 1 that thou shouldst die ! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair I THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. !» le still That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this chistering hair ! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb ! My proud boy, Absalom ! " Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill. As to my bosom I have tried to press thee I How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee. And hear thy sweet ' My father I ' from these dumb» And cold lips, Absalom ! " But death is en 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, shait 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 f It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee. Absalom ! • And now, farewell ! 'Tis 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 call'd thee, like a wanderer, home^. My lost boy, Absalom ! " He cover'd up his face, and bow'd himself A moment on his child : then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasp'd His hands convulsively, as if in prayer ; 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. K — iV. P. WHXi^ 134 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XIII.— OLD HANNAH. 'Tis Sabbath morn, and a holy bairn Drops down on the heart like dew, And the sunbeams gleam, Like a blessed dream, Afar on the mountains blue. Old Hannah's by her cottage door In her faded widow's cap ; She is sitting alone On the old grey stone. With the Bible in her lap. An oak is hanging o'er her head, And the burn is wimpling by. The primroses peep From their sylvan keep. And the lark is in the sky. Beneath that shade her children played ; But they 're all away with Death ! And she sits alone On the old grey stone To hear what the Spirit saith. "Her years are o'er three score and ten, -And her eyes are waxing dim, But the page is bright With a living light, And her heart leaps up to him Who pours tlie mystic harmony Which the soul can only hear ; Sh"j is not alone On the old grey stone. Though no earthly friend is near. There's no one left to love her new ; ^ut the eye that never sleeps Looks on her in love From the heavens above. And with quiet joy she weeps. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 135 She feels the bahn of bliss is poured In her worn heart's deepest rut ; And the widow lone On the old grey stone, Has a peace the world knows not. — Alexander M^Lachlin* XIV.— IMMORTALITY. Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love ? And doth Death cancel the great bond, that holds Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts, that know no bounds. But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out The Eternal Mind, — the Father of all thought, — Are they become mere tenanta of a tomb ? — Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? — Lived in the dreadful splendour of that throne, Which One, with gentle hand, the veil of flesh Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed In glory ? — throne, before which, even now. Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down. Rejoicing, yet at their own nature awed ? Souls, that Thee know by a mysterious sense, — Thou awful, unseen Presence, — are they quenched ? Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes. By that bright day which ends not ; as the sun His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ? And with our frames do perish all our loves ? Do those that took their root, and put forth buds, And their soft leaves unfolded, in the warmth Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty. Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers ? Are thoughts and passions, that to the tongue give fspeeeh. And make it send forth winning harmonies, — '■R 136 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. That to the cheek do give its living glow, And vision in the eye the soul intense With that for which there is no utterance, — Are these the body's accidents ? — no more ? — To live in it, and, when that dies, go out, Xike the burnt tuper's flame ? Oh I listen, man ! A voice within us speaks that startling word, ■*' Man, thou shalt never die ! " Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The seng of our great immortality : Thick-clustering orbs, and this our ftiir domain, The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, -Join in this solemn, universal song. Oh ! listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in From all the air. 'Tis in the gentle moonlight; 'Tis floating midst Day's setting glories ; Night, Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step •Co'^ies to our bed, and wreathes it in our ears : JNight, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, As one vast mystic instrument, are touched By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. — The dying hear it ; and, as sounds of earth J^trow dull and distant, wake their passing souls To mingle in this heavenly harmony ! — Dana. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER, VdT eas, It, :ful eve, I'ds lis I. — Dann- XV.— JU DAH'S APPEAL TO JOSEPH. And Juduh and his brethren cime to Joseph's hou.:;;;;- for he was yot there: and they fell before him on the ground. And Joseph said unto tlieni, What deed is this that ye have done ? wot ye not that such a man as I eao certainly divine ? And Judah said, What shall we say unto my lord ? what Bhall we speak ? or how shall we clear ourselves ? God hath found out the iniquity of thy servants : behold, we. are my lord's servants, both we, and he also with whom the cup is found. And he said, God forbid that I should do so : but the man in whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my servant ; and as for you, get you up in peace unto your father ! Then Judah came near unto him, and said, Oh my lord I let thy servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my lord^s ears, and let not thine anger burn against thy servant : for thoii srt even as Pharaoh. My lord asked his servants, saying. Have ye a father, or a brother? And we said unto my lord, We have a father, an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one ; and his brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father loveth him. And thou saidst unto thy servants, Brin^^ him down unto me, that I may set mine eyes upon him. And we said unto my lord, The lad cannot leaA e his father : for if he should leave his father, his father would die. And thou saidst unto thy servants. Except your youngest brother come down with you, ye shall see my face no more. And it came to pass when we came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the words of my lord. And our father said. Go again, and buy us a little food. And we •aid. We cannot go down : if our youngest brother be with us, then will we go down : for we may not see the man^B face, except our youngest brother be with us. And thy servant my father said unto us, Ye know that my wife bare me two sons : and the one went out from me, and I jsaid, Surely he is torn in pieces; and I saw him not since r ■Ml 138 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. aad if ye take this also from me, and mischief befall him, ye shall bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad be not with us ; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life : it shall come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die : and thy ser- vants shall bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to the grave. For thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then I shall bear the blame to my father for ever. Now therefore, I pray thee, let thy servant abide instead of the lad a bondman to my lord ; and let the lad go up with his brethren. For how shall I go up to my father, and the lad be not with me ? lest peradventure I see the evil that shall come on my father. XVr.— THE SUBLIMITY OF THE BIBLE. Another of the Bible's sublime ideas is inunortality. Multiply the sands of the shore by the dews of the morning, and you would have a number which could hardly be enun- ciated in an age, by the united labours of all the tongues of earth. Let that number stand for years, and it were as nothing tq eternity. Yet this interminable duration is the inheritance of the soul ; and through it the soul shall pre- serve its personality, its capacities, its susceptibilities, and may ascend the steeps of light with uninterrupted and accel- erated progress, with wider understanding, deeper emotions, finer sensibilities, nobler principles, higher duties, riper fellowship, and through more elevated ranks of the angelic hosts, and grander demonstrations of infinite power. He who cannot see the sublimity of this thought, cannot have meditated upon it. Let his soul struggle day and night TUE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 139 ill him, to the father, s bound le seeth thy ser- (^ant our i became iring him [ather for le instead lad go up ay father, I see the ;IBLE. with that serpent thought annihilation, till it would seem that it must be strangled by its folds ; then let him lift up the swelled eyeballs of his sufifocating spirit to see the seraph Immortality descend from her native hills to his rescue, and he shall know how the soul can swell at the mention of the word. Deprive a people of the idea of immortality, and you check the noblest aspirations and impulses, you blight their affections, you strengthen their vices, and sweep away the foundation of statuary, painting, eloquence, and song. Grecian genius attained its height when the great Athenian martyr reasoned hid soul into a belief of a pure and invisible world ; and the glory of Eome culminated when her great orator cried out " glorious day when I shall withdraw from this crowd and dust, and go to join the general assembly of glorified spirits ! " The idea of im- mortality may be found in other books than the Bible ; but nowhere else is it presented steadily, distinctly, certainly, and authoritatively. I»> connection with this doctrine, the Bible presents us with the sublime idea of a resurrection — an idea foreign from the suggestions and even dreams of philosophy, but not contradicted by either reason or analogy. Distinctly it is announced by Him who said, " I am the resurrection and the life ; he that believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he live." I have hailed that glorious sun at his rising, and stood entranced in his setting beams ; I have looked up to heaven at midnight, and mused* on the moon and stars when none but God was with me ; I have sat silent and solitary in my closet, and thought over, one by one, my Saviour's miracles ; I have pictured to my mind the Al- mighty moulding the earth of the fresh creation into a human form, and breathing the breath of life into the nos- trils of Adam ; but never has my heart been so agitated, as when I thought of Jehovah coming forth, at the blast of the last trumpet, to summon together the scattered dust of the corpse, and mould it into a body spiritual, incorruptible, immortal, radiant as the sun, and fashioned after the glo rions body of the God-man. Of all miracles, the miracle 140 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. of the resurrection is the most sublime. No wonder that it has inspired some of the noblest strains of song, and the greatest triumphs of art. — Dr. Edward Thomson. XVII.— WEEP NOT FOR HER. Weep not for her ! — Her span war, like the sky Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright ; Like flowers, that know not what it is to die ; Like long-linked, shadeless months of polar light Like music floating o'er a waveless lake. While Echo answers from the flowery brake : — Weep -not for her ! Weep not for her ! — She died in early youth, Ere hope had lost its rich, romantic hues ; When human bosoms seemed the homes of truth, And earth still gleamed with beauty's radiant dewi. Her summer-prime waned not to days that freeze ; Her w^ine of life was not run to the lees : — Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! — By fleet or slow decay. It never grieved her bosom's core to mark The playmates of her childhood wane away ; Her prospects wither; or her hopes grow dark ; — Translated by her God, with spirit shriven. She passed as 'twere in smiles from earth to heaven. — - Weep not for her ! .Weep not for her ! — It v/as not hers to feel The miseries that corrode amassing years, 'Gainst dreams of baflled bliss the heart to steel, To wander sad down Age's vale of tears, As whirl the withered leaves from Friendship's tree, And on earth's wintry wold alone to be : — Weep not for her ! THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. * 141 Weep not for her ! — She is an angel now, And treads the sapphire floor of Paradise ; All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow, — Sin, sorrow, suffering, banished from her eyes j Victorious over death ; to her appear The vistaed joys of Heaven's eternal year : — Weep not for her I Weep not for her ! — her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers. Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, — Pnrc a8 the moonshine of an autumn night : — Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! — there is no cause for woe ; But rather nerve the spirit, that it walk Unshrinking o'er the thorny paths below, And from earth's low defilements keep thee back. So, when a few fleet severing years are flown, She'll meet thee at heaven's gate — and lead thee on ! Weep not for her ! — D M, Moir. XVIIL— WHAT DO WE LIVE I^OR ? What do we live for ? Is labour so lowly, Toil so ignoble, we shrink from its stain ? Think it not — labour Is Godlike and holy ; He that is idle is living in vain. What do we live for ? Creation is groaning, 142 THE OANADIAN SPEAKEB. i Her desolate places are yet to be built ; The voice of the years Swells deeper the moaning, As time rolls along the dark tide of guilt. What do we live for ? The question is sounding Low in the silence, and loud in the din, And to each heart-ear, With warm pulses bounding, Answers come thronging, without and within^ What do we live for ? We live to be waging Battle, unceasing, with indwelling sin ; We live to fight on, In conflict engaging Temptations without, and passions within. What do we live for ? To sow, by all waters. Fruit-bearing seeds of deeds for all years ; To toil in the ranks With earth's sons and daughters. Manfully striving with doubtings and fears. What do we live for ? We live not to rust out, Slothfully standing aloof from the strife ; A thousand times better, More noble, to wear out. Battered and burned in the hot forge of life. — Jennie E. Haight. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 143 life. E. Saight XIX.— MISSIONS. Light for the dreary vales Of ice-bound Labrador ! Where the frost-king breathes on the slippery sails, And the mariner wakes no more ; Lift high the lamp that never fails, To that dark and sterile shore. Light for the forest child ! An outcast though he be. From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled, And the country of the free ; Pour the hope of Heaven o'er his desert wild, For what home on earth has he ? Light for the hills of Greece ! Light for that trampled clime Where' the rage of the spoiler refused to cease Ere it wrecked the boast of time ; If the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace^ Can ye grudge your boon sublime T Light on the Hindoo shed ! On the maddening idol-train, The flame of the suttee is dire and red, And the fakir faints with pain, And the dying moan on their cheerless bed, By the Ganges laved in vain. Light for the Persian sky ! The Sophi's wisdom fades, And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy Armor when Death invades ; Hark 1 hark ! — 'tis the sainted Martyn's sigh From Ararat's mournful shades. Light for the Burman vales ! For the islands of the sea ! .1' ll m 144 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. For the coast where the slave-ship fills her sails I With sighs of agony, And her kidnapped babes the mother wails 'Neath the lone banana-tree ! Light for the ancient race ' Exiled from Zion's rest I Homeless they roam from place to place, Benighted and oppressed ; They shudder at Sinai's fearful base ; Guide them to Calvary's breast. Light for the darkened earth ! Ye blessed, its beams who shed. Shrink not, till the day-spring hath its birth, Till, wherever the footstep of man doth tread, Salvation's banner, spread broadly forth. Shall gild the dream of the cradle-bed, And clear the tomb * From its lingering gloom, For the aged to rest his weary head. — Mrs. Sigownet/. ai THE CAUSE OF TEMPERANCE. enterprise is in advance of the public sentiment, chose who carry it on are glorious iconoclasts, who are going to break down the drunken Dagon worshipped by their fathers. Count me over the chosen heroes of this earth, and I will show you men that stood alone — ay, alone, while those they toiled, and laboured, and agonized for, hurled at them contumely, scorn, and con- tempt. They stood alone; they looked into the future ealmly and with faith ; they saw the golden beam inclic - ing to the side of perfect justice ; and they fought on amidst the storm of persecution. In Great Britain they tell me when I go to see such a prison : — " There is such THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. I4S a, Slgonrney. [CE. a dungeon in which such a one was confined ; " " Here, among the ruins of an old castle we will show you where such a one had his cars cut off, and where another was murdered." Then they will show me monuments tower- ing up to the heavens : — *' There is a monument to such & one : there is a monument to another." And what do I find ? That the one generation persecuted and howled at these men, crying, " Crucify them 1 crucify them ! " and dancing round the blazing faggots that consumed them; and the next generation busied itself in gathering up the scattered ashes of the martyred heroes and depositing them in the golden urn of a nation's history. Oh, yes ! the men that fight for a great enterprise are the men that bear the brunt of the battle, and " He who seeth in secret'*. — seeth the desire of his children, their steady purpose^ their firm self-denial — " will reward them openly," though they may die and see no sign of the triumphs of their- enterprise. Our cause is a progressive one. I read the first con- stitution of the first temperance society formed in the State of New York in 1809, and one of the bye-lawff stated, " Any member of this association who shall be con- victed of intoxication shall be fined a quarter of a dollar, except such act of intoxication shall take place on the 4tlt of July, or any other regularly appointed military muster.'*^ We laugh at that now ; but it was a serious matter in- those days : it was in advance of the public sentimojt of the age. The very men that adopted that principle were persecuted : they were hooted and pelted through the street, the doors of their houses were blackened, their cattle mutilated. The fire of persecution scorched some men so, that they left the work. Others worked on, and* God blessea them. Some are living to-day ; and I should like to stand where they strand now, and see the mighty enterprise as it rises before them. They worked hard. They lifted the first turf — prepared the bed in which to lay the comer-stone. They laid it amid persecution and Btorm. They worked under the surface ; and men almost r'*^. ra |i 146 TEE CANADIAN SPEAKEB. forgot thai there were busy hands laying the solid founda- tion far down beneath. By-and-by they got the founda- tion above the surface, and then commenced another storm of persecution. Now we see the superstructure — pillar after pillar, tower after tower, column after column, with the capitals emblazoned with " Love, truth, sympathy, and good will to men." Old men gaze upon it as it grows up before them. Thc^ tvill not live to see it completed, but they see in faith the crowning copestone set upon it. -Ileek-eyed women weep as it grows in beauty ; children 3^ew the pathway of the workmen with flowers. We do not see its beauty yet — we do not see the magnificence of its superstructure yet — because it is in course of erection. ScajQfolding, ropes, ladders, workmen ascending and descend- ing, mar the beauty of the building ; but by-and-by, when the hosts who have laboured shall come up over a thousand battle-fields waving with bright grain never again to be crushed in the distillery — through vineyards, under trellised Tines, with grapes hanging in all their purple glory never again to be preased into that which can debase and degrade mankind — when they shall come through orchards, under ' trees hanging thick with golden, pulpy fruit, never to be turned into that which can injure and debase — when they i shall come up to the last distillery and destroy it ; to the Mast stream of liquid death and dry it up; to the last "weeping wife and wipe her tears gently away ; to the last little child and lift him up to stand where Qod meant that man should stand ; to the last drunkard and nerve him to burst the burning fetters, and make a glorious accompani- ment to the song of freedom by the clanking of his broken chains — then, ah ! then will the copestone be set upon it, the scaffolding will fall with a crash, and the building will start in its wondrous beauty before an astonished world. The last poor drunkard shall go into it and find a refuge there ; loud shouts of rejoicing shall be heard, and there shall be joy in heaven, when the triumphs of a great enter- prise shali usher in the day of the triumphs of the cross of Christ, I believe it ; on my soul, I believe it. Will you THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 147 junda- bunda- ' storm -pillar n, with by, and ows up ted, but iipon it. children •s. We •nificence erection, descend- by, when thousand aan to be jr trellised lory never id degrade rds, under 3ver to be v^ben they if, to the ,0 the laBt to the last meant that :ve bim to accompani- his broken Iset upon it, tilding will Isbed world, ind a refuge [^ and there great enter- the cross of WiU yott help us ? That is the question. We leave it with you. — J. B. Gough. Oood night. XXI.— APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT. Hail ! holy Light, offspring of Heaven, firpt-bom. Or of the Eternal co-etemal beam. May I express thee unblam'd ? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light, Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee. Bright effluence of bright essence increate ; Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sua, - Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters, dark, and deep, Won from the void, and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detain'd In that obscure sojourn, while in my .Hight, Through utter, and through middle darkness borne. With other notes than to the Orphan lyre, I sung of chaos, and eternal night; Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, Though hard, and /are : thee I revisit safe. And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp ; but thou Bevisit'st not these eyes that roll in vain, To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the muses haunt, Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, trm 148 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee Sion, and the flow'ry brooks beneath, That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling floWy Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget Those other two, equall'd with me in fate, (So were I equall'd with them in renown) [Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides, And Tyresias, and Phineas, prophets old : Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move Harmonius numbers ; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid, Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year, Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even, or mom — Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of meit Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair, Presented with a universal blank Of nature's works, to me expung'd and raz'd, And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate : there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge, and disperse, that I may see, and tell • Of things invisible to mortal sight. "^Milton. Il" ; ! THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 149 iir powers lence U XXII.— THE TWILIGHT HOUR. The day is done, and the darkness, Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain. And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music. Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and struggle ; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart. As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start ; Who, through long days of labour. And nights devoid of ease, iStill heard in his soul the music Of wonderfiil melodies. -Si THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. XXIII.— SALATHIEL TO TITUS. Son of Vespasian, I am at this hour a poor man, as I may in the next be an exile or a slave : I have ties to life as strong as ever were bound round the heart of man : I stand here a suppliant for the life of one whose loss would embitter mine! Yet, not for wealth unlimited, for the safety of my family, for the life of the noble victim that is now standing at the place of torture, dare I abandon, dare I think the impious thought of abandoning the cause of the City of Holiness. Titus ! in the name of that Being, to whom the wisdom of the earth is folly, I adjure you to beware. Jerusalem is sacred. Her crimes have often wrought her misery — often has she been trampled by the armies of the stranger. But she is still the City of the Omnipotent; and never was blow inflicted on her by man, that was not terribly repaid. The Assyrian came, the mightiest power of the world : he plundered her temple, and led her people into captivity. How long was it before his empire was a dream, his THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 151 s. man, as I 5 ties to life of man: I J loss would ted, for the ctim that is andon, dare ihe cause of the wisdom Jerusalem er misery— the stranger. , and never not terribly )f the world: nto captivity, a dream, ^ dynasty extinguished in blood, and an enemy on his throne ? — The Persian came : from her protector, he turned into her oppressor; and his empire was swept away like the dust of the desert! — The Syrian smote her: the smiter died in agonies of remorse ; and where is his kini>-1^om now ? — The Egyptian smote her: and who no , >tg on the throne of the Ptolemies ? Pompey came : the invincible, the conquex ..x of a thou- sand cities, the light of Rome ; the lord of Asia, riding on the very wings of victory. But he profaned her temple ; and from that hour he went down — down, like a millstone plunged into the ocean 1 Blind counsel, rash ambition^ womanish fears, were upon the grr^ statesman and warrior of Rome. Where does he sleep ? What sands were colour- ed with his blood ? The universal conqueror died a slave, by the hand of a slave I Crassus came at the head of the legions : he plundered the sacred vessels of the sanctuary. Vengeance followed him, and he was cursed by the curse of God. Where are the bones of the robber and his host ? Go, tear them from the jaws of the lion and the wolf of Parthia, — their fitting tomb I You, too, son of Vespasian, may be commisioned for the punishment of a stiiF-necked and rebellious people. You may scourge our naked vice by force of arms; and then you may return to your own land exulting in the conquest of the fiercest enemy of Rome. But shall you escape the common fate of the instrument of evil ? Shall you see a peaceful old age ? Shall a son of yours ever sit upon the throne? Shall not rather some monster of your blood efiace the memory of your virtues, and make Rome, in bitterness of soul, curse the Flavian name ? — Croly^ 152 THE CANADIAN SPEAKEB. XXIV.— MY CHILD. I cannot make him dead I His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair j Yet when my eyes, now dim With tears, Itum to him. The vision vanishes — he is not there ! I walk my parlour floor, And through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair ; I'm stepping toward the hall To give the boy a call ; And then bethink me that — he is not there ! I thread the crowded street; A satchel!' d lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colour'd hair ; And, as he's running by. Follow him with my eye. Scarcely believing that — he is not there ! I know his face is hid Under the coffin lid ; Closed are his eyes ; cold is his forehead fair ; My hand that marble felt ; O'er it in prayer I knelt ; Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there ! I cannot make him dead ! When passing by the bed, So long watched over with parental care. My spirit and my eye. Seek it enquiringly, Before the thought comes that— he is not there ! When at the cool, gray break, Of day, from sleep I wake. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 15a fair; With my first breathing of the morning air My soul goes up, with joy, To him who gave my boy, he is not there I Then comes the sad thought that When at the day's calm close, Before we seek repose, I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer, Whate'er I may be saying^ I am, in spirit, praying For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there f Not there ! — Where then is he ? The for^n I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear. The grave, that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress. Is but his wardrobe locked ; — he is not there ! He lives ! — In all the past He lives ; nor, to the last, Of seeing him again will I despair ; In dreams I see him now ; And, on his angel brow, I see it written, " Thou shalt see me there ! " Yes, we all live to God ! Father,> thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, That, in the spirit-land. Meeting at thy right hand, 'Twill be our heaven to find that — he is there ! — John Pierpont. ot there ! L* i't 1 154 TU£ CANADIAN SPEAKER. XXV.— LOSS OF THE ARCTIC. It was autumn. Hundreds had wended their way from pilgrimages ; from Rome and its treasures of dead art, and its glory of living nature ; from the sides of the Switzer's mountains, 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 hasten- ing 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 passen- gers, 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 weigh- ed; the great hull swayed to the current; the national colours streamed abroad, as if themselves instinct with life and national sympathy. The bell strikes; the wheels re- volve ; the signal gun beats its echoes in upon every struc- ture along the shore, and the Arctic glides joyfully forth from the Mersey, and turns her prow to the winding chan- nel, 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 stoo.d 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 whispered his errand. And so hope was effulgent, and lithe gayety disported itself, and joy was with every guest. Amid all the incon- veniencies of the voyage, there was still that which hushed every murmur, — "Home is 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 for ever haunts the vast shaljows of Newfoundland, Boldly ni\ THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 155 j7ay from [ art, and Switzer's 11 of them aber gales 311 we will m, and in longed-for irlin, from till hasten- iry day the y crowded b of paesen- j of us. ^ Greenwich, ivere weigh- he national ict with life 3 wheels re- every struc- yfully forth inding chan- stood at the lg prow, and 3el in all the 3 craft, and »resence nor ;y disported 11 the incon- hich hushed And every Eight days mist that for tnd. 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 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 mist^, 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 suf- fered harm. Prompt upon humanity, the brave Luce (let his name be ever spoken with admiration and respect,) ordered away his boat with the first officer to inquire if the stranger had suffijred 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 can not be saved." They departed, and with them the hope of the ship, for now the waters gaining upon the hold, and rising up upon the fires, revealed the mortal blow. Ohj had now that stem, brave mate, Gourley, been on deck, whom the sailors were wont to mind — had he stood to execute efficiently the com- mander'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 subor- dinate officer lost all presence of mind, then courage, and so honour. In a wild scramble, that ignoble mob of firemen, engineers, waiters and crew, rushed for the boats, and abandoned the helpless women, children, and men to the mercy of the deep i Four hours there were from the catas- trophe of the collision to the catastrophe of sinking I Oh, what a burial was there ! Not as when one is borne from his home, among weeping throngs, and gently carried 156 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. to the green fields, and laid peacefully beneath the turf and the flowers. No priest stood to pronounce a burial service. It was an ocean grave. Tbe 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. — H, W. Beecher^ "U s XXVI.~THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few thorn 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 wished to change, his place ; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learned 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-remembered beggar was his guest. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. Sat by his fire, and talked the night away. Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done. Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 157 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His Pity gave, ere Charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings leaned to Virtue's side ; But, in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all : And, as a bird each fond endearment tries )i To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the hod where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed. 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 whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway ; And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man. With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children followed with endearing wile. And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile : His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff, 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. — Goldsmith. .liilllil'l': 158 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XXVII.—HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS. The morning broke, Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dies ; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. All things are dark to sorrow ; and the light. And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth Was pouring odours from it?! spicy pores, And the young birds were carolling as life Were a new thing to them ; but, oh ! it came Upon her heart like discord, and hIic felt How cruelly it tries a broken heart. To see a mirth in anything it loves. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed Till the blood left them ; and the wandering veins Of her transparent forehe:id 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 snowy 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 staflp so wearily ? His beard THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 159 ling Is low upon his breast, and his high brow, So written with the converse of his God, Bearcth the swollen vein of agony. His lip is quivering, and his wonted step Of vigor is not tlicre ; and, though the mom Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes Its freshness as it were a pestilence. Oh ! man may bear with suifering : his heart Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp Of pain that wrings mortality ; but tear One cord affection clings to, part one tie That binds him to a woman's delicate love. And his great spirit yieldcth like a reed. 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 tendencies again ? no ! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no ! Make her a slave ; steal from her rosy cheek By needless jealousies ; let the last star 1 jeave 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 high thing out of heaven Her pride o'ermastereth not. i?:'u I V'S A- ^#J- 160 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. She went her way wi th a strong step and slow ; Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed^ As it had been a diamond, and her form Borne proudly np, as if her heart beat through. Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed His hand till it was pained ; for he had caught, As I have said, her spirit, and the seed Of a stern nation had been breathed upon him. The morning past, and Asia's sun 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 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 dv)wn beneath the sultry sky, — For it was better than the close, hot breath Of the thick pines, — and tried to comfoft him ; But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes Were dim and bloodshot, 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 forther on, and laid his head Beneath tiie 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 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 ^f thy blue eye I And could I see thee die ? 01 al THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 161 " I did not dream of this when thou wast straying, Like an unbound ga/elle, among the flowers ; Or wearing rosy hours, By the rich gush of water-sources plajring, 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 deep Nile, * How prayed I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee ! "And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press ; And oh I 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 ! " 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 Flight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. — iV, P, Willis. rned : — XXVIII— THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. The fall of our illustrious and happy city was superna- tural. The destruction of ' conquered was against the first principles of the Roman policy ; and, to the last hour of our national existence, Rome held out offers of peace, and lamented our frantic disposition to be undone. But the decree was gone forth from a mightier throne. During I*: J. 1-1 •4.. A, 162 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. the latter days of the seige, a hostility, to which that of man was as a grain of sand to the tempest that drives it on, oveipowered our strength and senses ; fearful shapes and voices in the air — visions starting us from our short and troublesome sleep — lunacy in its hideous forms— sud- den death in the midst of vigour — the fury of the elements let loose upon our heads. We had every terror and evil that could beset human nature, but pestilence ; the most probable of all, in a city crowded with the famishing, the diseased, the wounded and the dead. Yet, though the streets were covered with unburied, though every well and trench was teeming, though six hundred thousand corpses were flung over the ramparts, and lay naked to the sun, pestilence came not ; — for it it had come, the enemy would have been scared away. But " the abomination of desola- tion," the Pagan standard, was fixed where it was to remain until the plough had passed over the ruins of Jerusalem. On this fatal night no man laid his head upon the pil- low. Heaven and earth were in conflict. Meteors burned over UB—the ground shook under our feet — the volcanoes blazed — the wind burst forth in irresistible blasts, and swept the living and the dead in whirlwinds far into the desert. We heard the b llowing of the distant Mediter- ranean, as if its waters were at our sides, swelled by the deluge. The lakes and rivers roared and inundated the land. The fiery sword shot out tenfold fire— showers of blood fell — thunder pealed from every quarter of the heavens — lightning, in immense sheets, of an intensity and duration that turned the darkness into more than day, withering eye and soul, burned from the zenith to the ground, and marked its track by forests of flame, and shat- terou the summits of the hills. Defence was xmthought of, for the mortal enemy had passed from the mind. Our hearts quaked for fear ; but it was to see the powers of heaven shaken. All cast away the shield and spear, and crouched before the descending judgment. We were conscience-smitten. Our cries of remorse, anguish, and horror, were heard through the uproar of the :^ THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 16a I that of drives it il shapes Qur short ms— sud- j elements p and evil the most ishing, the hough the y well and nd corpses JO the snn, lemy would n of desola- is to remain erusalem. pon the pil- teors burned le volcanoes blasts, and far into the int Mediter- [elled by the lundated the showers of trter of the intensity and re than day, ;enith to the ^e, and shatr Lithought of, ; mind. Our Lhe powers of id spear, and of remorse, uproar of the storm. We howled to caverns to hide us. We plunged into the sepulchres, to escape the wrath that consumed the living. We would have buried ourselves under the moun- tains. I knew the cause — the unspeakable cause, and knew that the last hour of crime was at hand. A few fugitives, astonished to see one man amongst them not sunk into the lowest feebleness of fear, came around me, and besought me to lead them to some place of safety, if such were now to be found on earth. I told them openly that they were to die, and counselled them to die in the hallowed ground of the Temple. They followed ; and I led through streets encumbered with every shape of human suflPerings, to the foot of Mount Moriah ; but beyond that, we found advance impossible. Piles of clouds, whose dark- ness was palpable even in the midnight in which we stood, covered the holy hill. Impatient, and not to be daunted by anything that man could overcome, I cheered my dis- heartened band, and attempted to lead the way up the ascents ; but I had scarcely entered the cloud, when I wa» swept down by a gust that tore the rocks in a flinty shower around me. Now came the last and most wonderful sign that marked the fate of rejected Israel. While I lay helpless, I heard the whirlwind roar through the cloudy hill, and vapours began to revolve. A pale light, like that of the rising moon, quivered on the edges of the horizon ; and the clouds rose rapidly, shaping themselves into the forms of battle- ments and towers. The sound of voices was heard within, low and distinct, yet strangely sweet. Still the lustre brightened ; and the airy building rose, tower on tower, and battlement on battlement, in awe that held us mute. We Jcnelt and gazed on this more than mortal architecture, that continued rising and spreading, and glowing with a serener light, still soft and silvery, yet to which the broad- est moonlight was dim. At last, it stood forth to earth and heaven, the colossal image of the first Temple— of the building raised by the wisest of men, and consecrated by the Visible Glory. ;' ! -sil 141 16^ THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. All Jerusalem saw the image ; and the shout that, in the midct of their despair, ascended from the thousands and tens of thousands, told that proud remembrances were there. But a hymn was heard, that might have hushed the world beside. Never fell on my ears, never on the hu- man sense, a sound so majestic, yet so subduing — so full of melancholy, yet of grandeur and command. The vast por- tal opened, and from it marched a host, such as man had never seen before, such as man shall never see but once again — the guardian angels of the city of David. They came forth gloriously, but woe in all their steps — the stars upon their helmets dim— their robes stained — tears flowing down their celestial beauty. " Let us go hence ! " was their song of sorrow. " Let us go hence ! " was answered by sad echoes of the mountains. " Let us go hence I " swelled upon the night to the furthermost ends of the land. The procession lingered long upon the summit of the hill. The thunders pealed, and they rose at the commi nd, diffusing waves of light over the expanse of heaven. The chorus Was heard, still magnificent and melancholy, when their splendour was diminished to the brightness of a star. Then the thunder roared again — the cloudy temple was scattered to the wind — and darkness, the omen of the grave, settled upon Jerusalem. — Croly. XXIX.— ODE TO THE FLOWERS. Day-stars ! that ope your eyes with man to twinkle, From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle As a libation 1 Ye matin worshippers ! who bending lowly Before the uprisen sun, God's lidless eye, Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy Incense on high ! THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 165 hat, iD the Lsands and mces were tve hushed on the hu- — so full of lie vast por- as man had je but once ,vid. They } — the stars bears flowing ence ! was ras answered go hence r* s of the land, immit of the ,he commi nd, leaven. The ncholy, when Less of a star. y temple was omen of the — Croly' Ye bright mosaics ! that with storied beauty The floor of nature's temple tessellate, What numerous emblems of instinctive duty Your forms create ! 'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingetk, And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer, — JJot to the domes, where crumbling arch and colucm Assert the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, Which Grod hath planned, — To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder. Whose quenchless lamp the sun and moon supply; Its choir, the winds and waves; its organ, thunder; Its dome, the sky 1 There, as in solitude and shade I wander Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod, Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The ways of God, Your voiceless lips, flowers ! are living preachers, — Each cup a pulpit, — every leaf a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From lowliest nook. — Uoface Smith, ! I) EKS. svinkle, XXX.— THE UTILITY OF THE BEAUTIFUL, Man's use and function — and let him who will not grant me this follow me no further— is to be the witness of the glory of God, and to advance that glory by his reasonable obedience and resultant happiness. Whatever enables us to fulfil this function is, in the pure and first sense of the word, itse/al to us. And yet people speak, in this working } IfT^-rr^ ,, |,||||pM| f ■ 166 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. age, as if houses, and lands, and food, and raiment, were «,lone useful ; and, as if sight, thought and admiration, were all profitless : so that men insolently call themselves Utili- tarians, who would turn, if they had their way, themselves and their race into vegetables ; men who think, as far as such can be said to think, that the meat is more than the life, and the raiment than the body ; who look to the earth as a stable, and to its fruit as fodder ; vine-dressers and husbandmen, who love the com they grind, and the grapes they crush, better than the gardens of the angels upon the slopes of Eden ; hewers of wood and drawers of water, who think that the wood they hew, and the water they draw, are better than the pine-forests that cover the mountains like the shadow of God, and than the great rivers that move like His eternity. And so comes upon us that woe of the preachers, that though God ^' hath made everything beautiful in his time, also He hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end." This Nebuchadnezzar curse, that sends us to grass like oxen, seems to follow but too closely on the exceso or con- tinuance of national power and peace. In the perplexities of nations, in their struggles for existence, — in their infancy, their impotence, or even their disorganization, — they have higher hopes and nobler passions, Out of the suflFering comes the serious mind ; out of the salvation, the grateful heaut ; out of the endurance, the fortitude ; out of the deliverance, the faith. Deep though the causes of thankfulness must be to every people at peace with others and at unity in itself, there are causes of fear also, — a fear greater than of sword and sedition, — that dependence on God may be forgotten, because the bread is given and the water is sure ; that gratitude to Him may cease, because His constancy of protection has taken the semblance of a natural law ; that heavenly hope may grow faint amidst the full fruition of the world ; that selfishness may take place of undemanded devotion, compassion be lost in vain- glory, and love in dissimulation ; that enervation may sue- III THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 167 Qt, were on, were es Utili- emselves IS far as than the the earth jsers and he grapes upon the rater, who hey draw, mountains ivers that s that woe everything d in their that God , grass like jeso or con- perplexities — in their mization, — Out of the Ivation, the ade ; out of causes of with others [so, — a fear pendence on ven and the ase, because iblance of a faint amidst ss may take lost in vain- ion may suc- ceed to strength apathy to patience, and the noise of jesting words and the foulness of dark thoughts to the earnest purity of the girded loins and the burning lamp. Let us beware that our rest become not the rest of stones, which, so long as they are torrent-tossed and thunder-stricken, maintain their majesty, but, when the stream is silent, and the storm passed, suffer the grass to cover them and the lichen to feed on them, and are ploughed down into dust. — John Raskin. XXXI.— THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. Ere yet I saw the wild magnificence. Which Nature here with peerless pomp unveils, A solemn sound — a stem and sullen roar — By which the earth was tremulously thrilled, Kindled a flush of deep expectant joy, Quickening the pulses of my throbbing heart, And tingling thro' my veins like fire. But now While standing on this rocky ledge, above The vast abyss which yawns beneath my feet — In silent awe and rapture, face to face With this bright vision of unearthly glory. Which dwarfs all human pageantry and power. This spot to me is Nature's holiest temple. The sordid cares, the jarring strifes, and vain Delights of earth are stilled. Tho hopes and joys Which gladden selfish hearts seem nothing here. The massy rocks that sternly tower aloft, And stem the fury of the wrathful tide — Th' impetuous leap of the resistless flood, An avalanche of foaming curbless wrath — The silent hills, God's tireless sentinels — The wild and wondrous beauty of thy face, Which foam and spray enshroud from sight, as if. Like thy Creator, God, thy glorious face 168 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. U'f It • iLii! ^ No mortal eye may see unveiled and livt Are earthly signatures of power divine. Oh ! what are grandest works of mortal art. Column, or arch, or vast cathedral dome, To these majestic foot-prints of our God I Unique in majesty and radiant might, Earth has no emblems to portray thy splendour ; Not loftiest lay of earth-born bard could sing, All that thy grandeur whispers to the heart That feels thy power. No words of mortal lips Can fitly speak the wonder, reverence, joy, — The wild imaginings unfelt before. Which now, like spirits from some higher sphere For whom no earthly tongue has name or type. Sweep through my soul in waves of surging thought My reason wrestles with a vague desire To plunge into thy boiling foam, and blend My being with thy wild sublimity. As thy majestic beauty sublimates My soul, I am ennobled while I gaze. Warm tears of pensive joy gush from my eyes, And grateful praise and worship silent swell Unbidden from my thrilled and ravished breast : Henceforth this glorious vision shall be mine — Daguerreotyped forever on my heart. Stupendous power ! thy thunder's solemn hymn, Whose voice rebukes the shallow unbeliefs Of men, is still immutably the same. Ages ere mortal eyes beheld thy glory, Thy waves made music for the listening stars ; And angels paused in wonder as they passed. To gaze upon thy weird and awful beauty. Amazed to see such grandeur this side heaven. Thousands, who once have here enraptured stood, Forgotten lie in death's lone pulseless sleep ; And when each beating heart on earth is stilled. Thy tide shall roll, unchanged by flight of years. Bright with the beauty of eternal youth. ill I THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 169 Thy face, half-veiled in rainbows, mist and foam, Awakens thoughts of all the beautiful And grand of earth, which stand through time and change As witnesses of God's omnipotence. The hoary mountain, stern in regal pride, The birth-place of the avalanche of death — The grand old forests, through whose solemn aisles The winter winds their mournful requiems chant — The mighty rivers rushing to the sea — The thunder's peal — the lightning's awful glare — The deep, wide sea, whose melancholy dirge. From age to age yields melody divine — The star-lit heavens, magnificent and vast, Where suns and worlds in quenchless splendour blaze — All terrible and beauteous things create Are linked in holy brotherhood with thee. And speak in tones above the din of earth. Of Him unseen, whose word created all. — E. H. Dewart. jn. stood, llled, rears, XXXII.— BROKEN REEDS. "Mine shall be glory," the warrior said, As away to the battle-field he sped, And proudly floated his snowy plume. As he hied him onward to meet his doom. '' Mine shall be glory," at morn he said. And at eve he lay with the nameless dead ; Untold, unsung, is each daring deed, Warrior ! thy hope — was a broken Reed. ^' They shall speak of my fame in a distant age, I shall charm the world with my glowing page, When I am low in the silent dust. They shall rear my trophy, and carve my bust." Minstrel ! thine is a well-sung lay. But the world shall fling it in scorn away ; M 170 THE CANADIAN 8PEAKEE. And the sneer of the critic shall be thy meed^ Thou hast put thy trust in a Broken Keed. " Heap higher, higher, the growing hoard, My barns are full, and my coffers stored ; Ha, ha ! they may call me weak and old, But a mighty power is the power of gold, It shall build a proud and a stately home." Fool ! it shall buy thee a costly tomb ; Vainly the learned leech is fee'd. Thou hast pinned thy faith to a Broken Reed. The proud sire looks on his gallant boy. His manhood's darling, his age's joy. " He shall be the staff of my years' decline, He shall be the first of a noble line." Old man ! thou shalt live to see them spread " Ashes to ashes," upon his head, The fiat is spoken, the doom decreed. Father I weep for thy Broken Reed. The joy-bells ring from the ivied tower, A merry peal for the bridal hour, Fond lips are breathing the marriage vow. Oh I could they be ever as fond as now. But the carking cares of the world will come, And frowns will darken the happiest home ; And each may prove, in their hour of need, That earthly love is a Broken Reed. Yea, Gold, and Glory, and Love, and Fame, The tale that they tell is still the same, The best and brightest must fade and change, And Death will sunder, and Time estrange ; Fix not on earth thy hope or love ; Set thine affections on things above, So, from the world's dark bondage frefed. Thou shalt lean no more on a Broken Reed. — Mrs. Faulkner. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 171 jd, ige; eed. Irs. Faulkner. XXXIII.— THANATOPSIS* To him who, in the love of Nature, -holda communion with her visible forms, she speaks a various language : for his gayer hours, she has a voice of gladness, and a smile, and eloquence of beauty ; and she glides into his darker musings, with a mild and gentle sympathy, that steals away their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts of the last bitter hour come like a blight over thy spirit ; and sad images of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, and breathless darkness, and the narrow house, make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart ; go forth under the opea sky, and list to Nature's teachings ; while from all around — earth, and her waters, and the depths of air — comes a still voice : — " Yet a few days, and thee the all-beholding sun shall see no more in all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, where thy pale form was laid with many tears, nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim thy growth to be resolved to earth again ; and, lost each human trace, surrendering up thine individual being, thou shalt go to mix forever with the elements ; to be a brother to the insensible rock ; and to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain turns with his share and treads upon. The oak shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould. " Yet not to thine eternal resting-place, shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down with patriarchs of the infant world — with kings — the powerful of the earth — the wise — the good — fair forms — and hoary seers of ages past ; — all in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun ; the vales, stretching in pensive quietness between ; the venerable woods; rivers, that move in majesty; and the complaining brooks, that make the meadows green; and, poured round all, old ocean's grey and melancholy ill' tr • A view of death. I'i '\. i-^uppi^ 172 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. waste, — are but the solemn decorations all of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, the planets, all the infinite host of heaven, are shining on the sad abodes of Death, through the still lapse of ages. All that tread the globe are but a handful, to the tribes that slumber in its bosom. Take the wings of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; or lose thyself in the continuous woods where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ; and millions in those solitudes, since first the flight of years began, have laid them down in their last eleep: the dead reign there alone I So shalt thou rest: and what if thou shalt fall unnoticed by the living, and no friend take note of thy departure ? All that breathe will ehars thy destiny. The gay will laugh when thou art gone ; the solemn brc of care plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase his favourite phantom : yet all these shall leave their mirth and their employments, and shall come and make their bed with thee. As the long train of ages glides away, the sons of men, — the youth in life's green spring, and he who goes in the full strength of years; matron and maid ; the bowed with age ; the infant in the smiles and beauty of its innocent life cut ofi", — shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, by those who, in their turn, shall follow them. " So live, that — when thy summons comes to join the innumerable caravans that move to the pale realms of shade, where each shall take his chamber in the silent hfiUs of Death, — thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed bv an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave like one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." — Bryant. tl *■ THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 173 ;reat tomb fiuite host a, through J are but a )in. Take pierce; or he Oregon, it the dead tee ftrst the a their last Ltthou rest: ^ing. and no breathe will en thou art each one, as lU these shall i shall come train of agen n life's green rth of years; 'infant in the ff,— shall, one who, in their !S to join the ale realms of lie silent halls ^ave at night, ,d soothed bv llike one ^vlio and lies down Bryant. XXXIV.— CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMOR- TALITY OF THE SOUL. It must be so — Plat thou reason 'st well ! — Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of fulling into naught ? — Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? — 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within ui; 'Tis Heav'n itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates Eternity to man. Eternity! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass 1 The wide, the unbounded prospect lies befor*^ me ; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a Power above ;is — And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works — He must delight in virtue ; And that which He delights in, must be happy. But when ! — or where ! This world was made for Caesar I I'm weary of conjectures — This must .end them. {Laying his hand upon hi3 sword.) Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death, my life, My bane and antidote are both before me. This — in a moment, brings me to an end; Whilst this informs me I shall never die. The soul secur'd in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds. — Addisoiu 174 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. tn, I . 1' ■ XXXV.— THE LAST MAN. All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, the sun himself* must die, before this mortal shall assume its immortality ! I saw a vision in my sleep, that gave my spirit strength to sweep adown the gulf of Tims ! I saw the last of human mould — that shall Creation's death behold, as Adam saw her prime ! The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, the earth with age was wan ; ,the skeletons of nations were around that lonely man 1 Some had expired in fight, — the brands still rusted in their bony hands; in plague and famine some. Earth's cities had no sound or tread; and. ships were d ''fting with the dead to shores where all was dumb. Yet, prophet-like, that Lone One stood, with dauntless words and high, that shook the sere leaves from the wood as if a storm passed by — saying, — " We are twins in death, proud Sun I thy face is cold, thy race is run, 'tis mercy bids thee go ; for thou ten thousand thousand years hast seen the tide of human tears — that shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee, man put forth his pomp, his pride, his skill ; and arts that made fire flood, and earth, the vassals of his will ? — Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, thou dim discrowned king of day : for, all those trophied arts and triumphs, that beneath thee sprang, healed not a passion or a pang entailed on human hearts. Go ! let oblivion's curtain fall upon the stage of men 1 nor with thy rising beams recall life's tragedy again ! Its piteous pa- geants bring not back, nor waken flesh upon the rack of pain anew to writhe ; stretched in disease's shapes abhorred or mown in battle by the sword like grass beneath the scythe ! Even 1 am weary in yon skies to watch thy fad- ing fire : test of all sumless agonies,behold not me expire ! My lips that speak thy dirge of death — their rounded gasp and gurgling breath to see, thou shalt not boast ; the eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, the majesty of Darkness shall receive my parting ghost ! This spirit shall return to Him who.gave its heavenly spark : yet Chink not. Sun ! it THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 175 himself )rtaUty I ength to p human iam saw ihe earth e around lie brands ,d famine and. ships fas dumb, dauntless the wood IS in death, 'tis mercy years bast jnger flow, pomp, bis •and earth, arted sway, ie tropbied ealed not a Go I let or with thy piteous par he rack of )es abborred .jneath tbe :ch thy fad- nie expire', ounded gasp bofist; the of Darkness .all return to [lot, Sun I it i. 3 shall be dim, when thou thyself art dark ! No ! it shall live again, and shine in bliss unknown to beams of thine : by Him recalled to breath, who captive led Captivity, who robbed the Grave of victory, and took the sting from Death I Go, Sun ! while mercy holds me up, on Nature's awful waste, to drink his last and bitter cup of grief that man shall taste ; — go ! tell the night that hides thy face, thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, on earth's sepulchral clod, the darkening universe defy, to quench his Immortality, or shake his trust in God ! — Campbell. PART III. M. I.— NEGRO SLAVERY. ■ I trust, that, at length, the time is come, when parlia- ment will no longer bear to be told that slave-owners are the best lawgivers on slavery ; no longer suJBfer our voices to roll across the Atlantic, in empty warnings and fruitless orders. Tell me not of rights — talk not of the property of the planter in his slaves. I deny his right — I acknow- ledge not the property. The principles, the feelings of our common nature, rise in rebellion against ii. Be the 176 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. n appeal made to the understanding or to the heart, the sentence is the same — each rejects it ! In vain you tell me of laws that sanction such a claim ! There is a law, above' all the enactments of human codes — the same, throughout the world — the same, in all times : such as it was, before the daring genius of Columbus pierced the night of ages, and opened to one world the sources of power, wealth, and knowledge ; to another, all unutterable woes, — such is it at this day : it is the law written by the finger of God on the heart of man ; and by that law, un- changeable and eternal —while men despise fraud, and loathe rapine, and hate blood — they shall reject, with indig- nation, the wild and guilty fantasy that man can hold property in man ! . In vain you appeal to treaties — to covenants between nations. The covenants of the Almighty, whether the old covenant or the new, denounce such unholy pretensions. To these laws did they of old refer, who maintained the African trade. Such treaties did they cite — and not un- truly ; for, by one shameful compact, you bartered the glories of Blenheim for the traffic in blood. Yet, in despite of law and treaty, that infernal traffic is now destroyed, and its votaries put to death like other pirates. How came this change to pass ? Not, assuredly, by parliament leading the way : but the country at length awoke ; the indignation of the people was kindled ; it descended in thun- der, and smote the traffic, and scattered its guilty profits to the winds. Now, then, let the planters beware — let the government at home beware — let their assemblies be- ware — let the parliament beware ! The same country is once more awake — awake to the condition of Negro slavery ; the same indignation kindles in the bosom of the same peo- ple; the same cloud is gathering, that annihilated the slave trade ; and if it shall descend again, they on whom its crash may fall will not be destroyed before I have warned them : but I pray, that their destruction may turn away from us the more terrible judgments of Grod ! — Lord Brougham. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 177 II.— THE FALL OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she had just begun to move in ; glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendour, and joy. Oh, what a revo- lution ! and what a heart must I have, to contemplate with- out emotion that elevation and that fall! Little did I dream that, when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace con- cealed in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant man, in a nation of men of honour and cavaliers ; I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone : that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has suceeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to rajik and sex, that proud submission that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a stain I'ke a wound, which inspired courage while it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it t( ached, and under which vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness. — Edmund Burke. m 178 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. i- i III.— LADY CLARA VERB DE VERB. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Of me you shall not win renown : You thought to break a country heart For pastime, ere you went to town. At me you smiled, but unbeguiled I saw the snare, and I retired : The daughter of a hundred earls, You are not one to be desired. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake, A heart that dotes on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I behold young Laurence dead. Oh I your sweet eyes, your low replies : A great enchantress you may be ; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly oared to see. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 179* rn Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed, I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear ; Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the cast of Vere de Vere.. Lady Clara Vere de Vere. There stands a spectre in your hall : The guilt of blood is at your door : You changed a wholesome heart to galL You held your course without remorse, To make him trust his modest worth, And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heavens above us bent The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets. And simple faith than Norman blood. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere ; You pine among your halls and towers : The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time. You needs must play such pranks aa these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands? 180 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Oh ! teach the orphan-boy to read, Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, Pray Heaven for a human heart. And let the foolish yeoman go. — Alfred Tennyton. IV.— THE RAVEN. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 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 muttered, "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 wished 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 for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple cur- tain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt be- fore; So that new to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 181 mnyton . veak and ten lore; 3 came a chamber r chamber )ecember, upon the to borrow the lost rrels name ,urple cur- ler felt be- I stood <''Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ; — This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, ''Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I im- plore ; 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 opened wide the door; — Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, won- dering, 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 whispered word, "Lenore!" — This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again 1 heard a tapping, something louder than be- fore ; "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice ; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery ex- plore — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; 'Tin the wind, and nothing more." N f wm mi 1' i i ■ • * > i i W- I 1. iHi'^^l 14! 182 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven, of the saintly days of yore : Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed he ; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched above a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then, this ebony 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, "Never more." Much I marvelled 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 blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door. With such name as "Never more." But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did out- pour; Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered — THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 183 irt and days of pped or jhamber chamber > smiling, enance it " I said, from the Plutonian scourse so y bore ; m being s chamber s chamber )ust, spoke le did out- Ir then he Till. I scarcely more than muttered — "Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Never more." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, Of " Never — never more." But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling. Straight I wheeled a cushioned 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 "Never more." This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclin- ing On the cushion's velvet lining, that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, never more ! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer m^'mmr^ 184 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ,■:■> |. , > ■i l|f^ 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 thee, Eespite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quafl", oh quaff, this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Never more!" "Prophet,"' vsaid I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet ail 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, "Never more." "Prophet," said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aiden, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ! — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?" Quoth the Raven, "Never more." "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting — "G^t thee back into the tempest and the night's Plutonian shore ; Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken. Leave my loneliness unbroken — quit the bust above my door. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 185 .e tufted by these lories of this lost 1, if bird ►ssed thee mchantcd ; I implore ; tell me, I Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from oflfmydoor!" Quoth the Raven, " Never more." * And the Raven, never flitting, still is sittinf;:, still is sitting, On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all tlie seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er liiui streaming, throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted— never more ! —E. A. Foe. v.— ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won by Philip's war- like son : — aloft, in awful state, the god-like hero sate on his imperial throne. His valiant peers were placed around, their brows with roses and with myrtles bound : so should desert in arms be crowned. The lovely Thais, by his side, sat, like a blooming Eastern bride, in flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, none but the brave, none but the brave — deserves the fair. Timotheus — placed on high amid the tuneful choir — with flying fingers touched the lyre ; the trembling notes ascend the sky, and heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, who left his blissful seat above — such is the power of mighty Love! — A dragon's fiery form belied the god : sublime on radiant spheres he rode. The listening crowd admire the lofty sound : " A present deity!" they shout around; "A present deity!" the vaulted rooft rebound ! — With ravished ears, the mon- IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A «// ^ .**> # -^^ ^0 Ij^ ^^||tf 1.0 I.I Li|18 |Z5 us lii |22 2.0 lU BS W I ii L25 114. ||L6 ^% ^ V /A ^ •^ ,\ ^^ ^ ^ 'S)' ^<^ 186 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. arch hears, assumes the god, affects to nod, and seems to shake the spheres.. The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet Musician sung; of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young! — " The jolly god in triumph comes! sound the trumpets! beat the drums! Flushed with a purple grace he shows his honest face! Now, give the hautboys breath! — he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, drinking joys did first or- dain; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure; drinking is the soldier's pleasure: rich the treasure; sweet the pleasure; sweet is pleasure, after pain!" Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain — fought all his battles o'er again — and thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain ! The Master saw the madness rise, his glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; and, while he heaven and earth defied — changed his hand, and checked his pride. He chose a mournful muse, soft pity to infuse: he sang — "Darius, great, and good ! by too severe a fate, fallen ! fallen ! fallen ! fallen! fallen from his high estate — and weltering in his blood ! Deserted, at his utmost need, by those his former bounty fed, on the bare earth, exposed, he lies, with not a friend to close his eyes!" With downcast look the joy- less Victor sat, revolving, in his altered soul, the various turns of fate below ; ^nd, now and then, a sigh he stole, and tears began to flow ! The mighty Master smiled, to see that Love was in the next degree ; 'twas but a kindred sound to move ; for Pity melts the mind to Love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, soon he soothed his soul to j Measures. "War," he sung, "is toil and trouble : honour, but an empty bubble ; never end- ing, still beginning, fighting still, and still destroying. If the world be worth thy winning, think, oh ! think it worth enjoying 1 Lovely Thais sits beside thee, take the good the gods provide thee !" The many rend the skies with loud applause. So Love was crowned; but Music won the cause. *• Now, strike the golden lyre again ! a louder yet, and jet a louder strain ! break his bands of sleep asunder, and THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 187 rouse him, like a rattliDg peal of thunder 1" Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound has raised up his head, as awaked from the dead; and, amazed, he stares around! "Revenge! revenge!" Timotheus cries: — "See the furies arise! see the snakes that they rear, how they hiss in their hair, and the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a ghastly band, each a torch in his hand ! these are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain, and, unburied, remain inglorious on the plain ! Give the vengeance, due to the valiant crew ! behold 1 how they toss their torches on high, how they point to the Persian abodes, and glittering temples of their hostile gods!" The princes applaud, with a furious joy; and the King seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way to light him to his prey; and, like another Helen, — fired another Troy! — Drydefn. VI.— THE SLAVE'S DREAM. Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand ; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried ih the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his native land. Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed ; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain Onoe more a king he strode ; And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain road. He saw once more his dark-eyed qneen Among her children stand ; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand I — ^t" T'*!*- ','i i 188 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. A tear burst from the sleeper's lids, And fell into the sand. And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger's bank ; His bridle reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank, At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank. Before him, like a blood-red flag. The bright flammingoes flew ; From mom till night he followed their flight, O'er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, And the ocean rose to view. At night he heard the lion roar, And the hyaena scream, And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, Through the triumph of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues, Shouted of liberty ; And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, With a voice so wild and free. That he started in his sleep and smiled At their tempestuous glee. He did not feel the driver's whip. Nor the burning heat of day ; For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, And his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away ! THI CANADIAN SPEAKER. 189 VII.-OSSIAN'S ADDKESS TO THE SUN. thou that rollest above^ round as the shield of mj fathers ! Whence are thy beams, Sun ; thy everlastmg light ? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty — the stars hide themselves in the sky ; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest aJone : who can be a companion of thy course ? The oaks of the mountains fall ; the mountains them- selves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again ; the moon herself is lost in heaven : but thou art for ever the same — rejoicing in the • brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests ; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies ; thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain ; for he beholds thy beams no more, whether thy yellow hairs flow on the Eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the West. But thou art perhaps like me — for a season : thy years will have an end ; thou shalt sleep in the clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult then, Sun, in the strength of thy youth I Age is dark, and unlovely : it is like the glimmering light of the moon when it shines through broken clouds : the mist is on the hills ; the blast of the north is on the plain ; the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. «» 190 THB CANADIAN SPEAKZB. VIII.— THE BELLS. Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells ! What a world of merriment their melody foretells I How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. In the icy air of night 1 While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle. With a crystalline delight. Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme. To the tintinabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells, Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells j Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight ! From the molten-golden notes. And all in tune. What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon ! On, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously weUs How it swells ! How it dwelli On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells I THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 191 Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their aflfright I Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune. In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire. And a resolute endeavour, Now — now to sit or never. By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells 1 What a tale their terror tells Of Despair ! How they clang, and clash, and roar I What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air. Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging. And the clanging. How the danger ebbs and flows ; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinki and swells. By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells ; Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. Bells, bells, bells — In the clamour and the clangour of the bell? ! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells I What a world of solemn thought their monody com In the silence of the night, 192 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ; t I How we shiver with aflfright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that mnffled monotone. Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They arc neiticr man nor woman — They are neitlier brute nor human — They are Ghouls : And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls. Rolls A par an from the bells ! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells ! And he dances, and he yells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the pasan of the bells — Of the bells : Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells — Keeping time, time, time, Aa he knells, knells, knells. In a happy Runic rhyme. To the rolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells — To the tolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells — Bells, bells, bells — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. — i7. A, Pot. THE CANADIAN 8PEAKEB. 193 IX.— CASABIANCA. The boy stood on the burning deck^ whenco all but he had fled; The flames, that lit the battle's wreck, shone round him — o'er the dead Yet beautiful and bright he stood, as born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, a proud though childlike form ! The flames rolled on — he would not go without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, his voice no longer heard. He called aloud : — " Say, father, say, if yet my task is done? He knew not that the Chieftain lay unconscious of his son. " Speak, father !" once again he cried, " if I may yet be gone !" But now the booming shots replied, and fast the flames rolled on : Upon his brow he felt their breath, and in his waving hair ; And looked from that lone post of death, in still, but brave despair ; And shouted but once more aloud, '' My father ! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, the wreathing fires made way : They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, they caught the flag on high. And streamed above the gallant child, like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder-sound ; — the boy — ! where was he ? Ask of the winds that far around with fragments strewed the sea ! ;. A. Foe, ♦ 4 ' ■ M'« * ■■; 194 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, that well had borne their part — But the noblest thing that perished there, was that young faithful heart. — Mrs. Hemant. X.— COLIN. Who'll dive for the dead men now, . Since Colin is gone ? Who'll feel for the anguished brow, Since Colin is gone ? True feeling is not confined To the learned or lordly mind ; Nor can it be bought and sold In exchange for an Alp of gold ; For Nature, that never lies, Flings back with indignant scorn The counterfeit deed, still-born, In the face of the seeming wise. In the Janus-face of the huckster race Who barter her truths for lies. Who'll wrestle with danger dire, Since Colin is gone ? Who'll fearlessly brave the maniac wave. Thoughtless of self, human life to save ? Unmoved by the storm-fiend's ire. Who, Shadrach-like, will walk through fire. Since Colin is gone ? Or hang his life on so frail a breath That there's but a step 'twixt life and deatli ? For courage is not the heritage Of the nobly bom ; and many a sage Has climbed to the temple of fame. And written his deathless name jatli ? THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 195 In letters of golden flame, Who on glancing down From his high renown, Saw his unlettered sire Still ] y the old log fire, Saw the unpolished dame — And the hovel from which he came. Ah, ye who judge the dead By the outward lives they led, And not by the hidden worth Which none but God can see ; Ye who would spurn the earth That covers such as he ; Would ye but bear your hearts, Cease to play borrowed parts. And come down from your self-built throne ; How few from their house of glass, As the gibbering secrets pass, Would dare to fling, whether serf or king, The first accusing stone ! Peace, peace to his harmless dust ! Since Colin is gone ; We can but hope and trust j Man judge th, but God is just ; Poor Colin is gone ! Had he faults ? His heart was true. And warm as the summer's sun. Had he failings ? Ay, but few ; 'Twas an honest race he run. Let him rest in the poor man's grave. Ye who grant him no higher goal ; There may be a curse on the hands that gave. But not on his simple soul ! — CharUi Sangtter, i 1 I 1 * < 196 THE CANADIAN SPSAKEB. XI.— INVECTIVE AGAINST HASTINGS. Had a stranger, at this time, gone into the province of Oude, ignorant of what had happened binco the death of Sujah Dowla — that man who, with a ravage heart, had still great lines of character ; and who, with all his ferocity in war, had still, with a cultivating hand, preserved to his country the riches which it derived from benignant skies and a prolific soil ; — if this stranger, ignorant of all that had happened in the short interval, and observing the wide and general devastation, and all the horrors of the scene — of plains unclothed and brown — of vegetables burned up and extinguished — of villages depopulated and in ruins — of temples unroofed and perishing — of reservoirs broken down and dry, — he would naturally inquire. What wai has thus laid waste the fertile fields of this once beautiful and opulent country ? — what civil dissensions have happened, thus to tear asunder and separate the happy societies that once possessed these villages? — what disputed succession, what religious rage, has, with unholy violence, demolished those tcnl{)les, and disturbed fervent, but unobtruding piety, in the exercise of its duties ? — what merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of fire and sword ? — what severe visitation of Providence has dried up the fountain, and taken from the face of the earth every vestige of verdure ? — Or, rather, what monsters have stalked over the country, tainting and poisoning, with pestiferous breath, what the voracious appetite could not devour ? To such questions, what must be the answer ? No wars have ravaged these lands, and depopulated these villages — no civil discords have been felt — no disputed succession — no religious rage, no merciless enemy — no affliction of Pro- vidence, which, while it scourged for the moment, cut off the sources of resuscitation — no voracious and poisoning monsters; — no! — all this has been accomplish d by the friendship, generosity, and ki >.dn "ss of the Enghh nation. They have embraced us with he r protecting arms, and, lo I THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 197 urS. vince of ieath of had BtiU rocity in id to bia ant skies ' all that the wide 5 Bcene — urncd up 1 ruins — rs broken at wai has itiful and happened, ieties that succession, iemolished iding piety, jnemy bas hat severe ntain, and f verdure ? lc country, what the — those arc the fruits of their alliance. What, then ! shall we be told, that, under such circuuistanccs, the exasperated feelings of a whole people, thus goaded and spurred-on to clamour and resistance, were excited by the poor and feeble influence of the Begums ? When we hear the description of the fever — paroxysm — delirium, into which despair had thrown the natives, when, on the banks of the polluted Ganges, panting for death, they tore more widely o[)cn the lips of their gaping wounds to accelerate their dissolution ; and, while their blood was issuing, presented their ghastly eyes to Heaven, — breathing their last and fervent prayer, that the dry earth might not be siuiFered to drink their blood, but that it might rise up to the throne of God, and rouse the eternal Providence to avenge the wrongs of their country. Will it be said that this was brought about by the incantations of those Begums, in their secluded Zenana ? or that they could inspire this enthusiasm and this despair, into the breasts of a people who felt no grievance, and had suffered no torture ? What motive, then, could have such influence in their bosom ? What motive ! That, which Nature — the common parent — plants in the bosom of man ; and whicli, though it may be less active in the Indian than in the Eaglishman, is still congenial with, and makes part of his being — That feeling, which tells him, that man was never made to be the property of man ; but that when, through pride and insolence of power, one human creature dares to tyrannize over another, it is a power usurped, and resistance is a duty — That feeling, which tells him that all powet is delegated for the good, not for the injury, of the people ; and that, when it is converted from the original purpose, the compact is broken, and the right is to be resu- med — That principle, which tells him, that resistance to power usurped is not merely a duty which he owes to him- self and to his neighbour, but a duty which he owes to his God, in asserting and maintaining the rank which He gave him in the creation ! — to that common God, who, where He gives the form of man, whatever may be the complexion, gives also the feelings and the rights of man — That prin- 198 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ciple, which neither the rudeness of ignorance can stifle, nor the enervation of refinement extinguish — That principle, which makes it base for a man to suffer, when he ought to act — which, tending to preserve to the species the original designations of Providence, spurns at the arrogant distinc- tions of man, and vindicates the independent quality of his race ! — Sheridan. XII.— OTHELLO'S COURTSHIP. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors ; My very noble and approv'd good masters — That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter It is most true ; true, I have married her ; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent ; no more. Rude am I in speech, And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace ; For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith. Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field ; And little of this great world can I speak More than pertains to feats of broils and battles, And little, therefore, shall I grace my cause In speaking for myself Yet, by your patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love ; What drugs, what charms. What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceeding I am charged withal,) I won his daughter with. — Her father lov'd me; oft invited me ; Still question'd me the story of my life From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes That I have passed. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he baas me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 199 stifle, nor principle, ought to B original at distinc- ][\jality of Sheridiin. jech, )ith, sed charms, Of moving accidents by flood and field ; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach Of being taken by the insolent foe. And iold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, And, with it, all my travels' history. — All these to hear. Would Desdemona seriously incline : But still the house afiFairs would draw her thence, Which ever »s she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse : Which 1 observing. Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard. But not intentively : I did consent ; And often did beguile her of h^t tears. When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : She said, in truth 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful: She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend thai lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story. And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spoke : She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; And I lov'd her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used. 200 THE CANADIAN SPEAKIB. ■ ft ■■ Ml I A ';;itn ':';1 nil.— THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. Whom do we dub as gentlemen ? The knave, the fooly the brute — If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly suit; The parchment scroll of titled line, the ribbon at the knee; Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree : But Nature with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born, And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn ; She moulds with care, a spirit rare, half human half divine; And cries, exulting, "who can make a Gentleman like mine?" She may not spend her common skill about the outward part. But showers her beauty, grace and light upon the brain and heart; She may not use ancestral fame his pathway to illume — The 8U-1 that sheds the brightest ray may rise from mist and gloom. Should Fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound. He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round. The treasure sent, is rightly spent, and serves the end de- signed. When held by Nature's Gentleman, the good, the just, the kind. He turns not from the cheerless home, where sorrow's off- spring dwell, He'll greet thfi peasant in his hut, the culprit in his cell : He stays to hear the widow's plaint, of deep and mourning love ; He seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 201 faith aboye. The orphan child^ the friendless one, the luckless, or the poor, Will never meet his spuming frown, nor leave his belted door; His kindred circles all mankind, his country all the globe, An honest name his jewell'd star, and truth his ermine robe. He wisely yields his passions i^p to reason's firm control — His pleasures are of crimeless kind, and never taint the 3oul. He may be thrown among the gay and reckless sons of life ; But will not love the revel scene, not head the brawling strife. He wounds no breast with jeer or jest, yet bears nohoney'd tongue; He's social with the grey-haired one and merry with the young : He gravely shares the council speech, or joins the rustic game; And shines as Nature's Grentleman, in every place the same. No haughty gesture marks his gait, no pompous tone his word ; No studied attitude is seen, no ribald gossip heard ; He'll suit his bearing to the hour — ^laugh, listen, learn, or teach With joyous freedom in his mirth and candour in his speech. He worships Grod with inward zeal and serves him in each deed, He would not blame another's faiih nor have one martyr bleed. Justice and Mercy form his code, he puts his trust in Heaven, His prayer is, " If the heart mean well may all else be forgiven." Though few of such may gem the earth, yet such rare ' gems there are. 202 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Each shining in his hallowed sphere as Virtue's polar star» Though human hearts too oft are found all gross, corrupt, and dark, Yet, yet some bosoms breathe and burn lit by Promethean spark : There are some spirits nobly just, unwarpod by pelf or pride, Great in the calm, but grvJater still when dashed by adverse tide — They hold the rank no King can give, no station can disgrace : Nature puts forth her Gentleman and monarchs must give place. — Eliza Cook. litV i *, ■»■; XIV.— THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. One more unfortunate, weary of breath, rashly importu- nate, gone to her death ! Take her u^ 'enderly — lift her with care : fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair I Look at her garments, clinging like cerements ; whilst the wave constantly drips from her clothing : take her up instantly, loving, not loathing. Touch not her 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, rash and undutiful : past all dishonour. Death has left on her only the beautiful. — Still, for all glips 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 cha- rity under the sun 1 Oh I it was pitiful ! near a whole THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 203 lar star^ corrupt, methean pelf or y adverse ttion can must give liza Cook. y importu- r^lift her ir ! Look t the wave ) instantly, ^, think of le stains of ily. Make Ltiful: past >eautiful. — wipe those her tresses es 1 — ^whilst Lo was her had she a nearer one iristian cha- ►ar a whole city full, home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, fatherly, motherly feelings had 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 base- ment, she stood with amazement, houseless by night. The bleak wind of March made her tremble and shiver ; but not the dark arch, or the dark-flowing river : mad from life's history, glad to death's mystery ; swift to be hurled any where, anywhere out of the world I 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 : fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair I Ere her limbs frigidly stiffen too rigidly, decently, kindly, smooth and compose them ; and her eyes — close them, staring so blindly ! Dreadfully staring, through muddy impurity ; as when with the daring last look of despairing fixed on futurity. Perishing gloo- mily ; spurred by contumely, cold inhumanity, burning in- sanity, into her rest. — Cross her hands humbly, as if pray- ing dumbly, over her breast ; owning her weakness, her evil behaviour — and leaving, with meekness, her sins to her Saviour ! . — Hood^ XV.— LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry." " Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, . This dark and stormy water ?" « Oh ! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 204 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ! n ^^:^n n " And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together ; For, should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride ; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover ? " Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, " I'll go, my chief — I'm ready: — It is net for your silver bright ; But for your winsome lady : " And by my word, the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." « By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ; And in the scowl of heaven er ^i face Grew dark as they were speuKing. But still as wilder blew the wind. And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. "Oh! haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, " Though tempests round us gather ; I'll meet the raging of the skies. But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh ! too strong for human hand. The tempest gathered o'er her. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 205 And still tliey row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing ; Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismay'd through storm uad shade, His cliild he did discover : One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. " Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief^ " Across this stormy water ; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter ! — oh ! my daughter ! " 'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing ; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. — Thomai CamphelL XVI.—JUSTICE. Mr. Hastings, in the magnificent paragraph which con oludes this communication, says, " I hope it will not be a departure from official language to say, that the majesty of justice ought not to be approached without solicitation. She ought not to descend to inflame or provoke, but to withhold her judgment, until she is called on to determine.'* But, my lords, do you, the judges of this land, and the expounders of its rightful laws, do you approve of this mockery, and call it the character of justice, which takes the form of right to excite wrong? No, my lords, justice is not this halt and miserable object ; it is not the ineffec- tive bauble of an Indian pagod ; it is not the portentous phan- tom of despair ; it is not like any fabled monster, formed p.! I ' Mi.. 206 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ^^^-^?f ■?— f "M- in the eclipse of reason, and found in some unhallowed grove of superstitious darkness and political dismay ! No, my lords,. In the happy reverse of all this, I turn from the disgusting caricature to the real image! Justice I have now before me, august and pure ! the abstract idea of jail that would be perfect in the spirits and aspirings of men! where the mind rises, where the heart expands; where the countenance is ever placid and benign; whero her favourite attitude is to stoop to the unfortunate ; to hear their cry and to help them ; to rescue and relieve, to succour and save ; majestic from its mercy ; venerable from its utility ; uplifted, without pride ; firm, without obduracy ; beneficent in each preference ; lovely, though in her frown ! On that justice I rely ; deliberate and sure, abstracted from all party purpose and political speculation, not on words, but on facts. You, my lords, who hear me, I con- jure, by thope rights it is your best privilege to preserve ; by that fame it is your best pleasure to inherit; by all those feelings which refer to the first term in the series of existence, the original compact of our nature — our control- ling rank in the creation. This is the call on all, to administer in truth and equity, as they would satisfy the laws and satisfy themselves — with the most exalted bliss possible or perceivable for our nature, the self-approving •consciousness of virtue, when the condemnation we look for will be one of the most ample mercies accomplished for mankind since the creation of the world ! — Sheridan. TEA CANADIAN SPEAKiiR. 20T llowcd i 'No, 1 from sticc I idea of rings of ipands ; ; where late; to ieve, to ole from )duracy ; r frown! )stracted J not on le, I con- preserve ; it; by all 5 series of ir control- n all, to atisfy the Ited bliss approving we look iished for )henda'n. XVII.— WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. It was the schooner Ileiperus That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope*in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm. His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow, The smoke now west, now south. Then up and spake an old sailbr — Had sailed the Spanish Main — " I pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. "Last night the moon had a golden ring. And to-night no moon we see ! " The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the north-east ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused like a frightened steed, Then leaped her cable's length. " Come hither — come hither, my little daughter, . And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." 208 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. rl u m Ki » f ■m i'h HVlli lb ' '"•i-'i-S'' • t; .ill He wrapped her in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast, He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. " Oh ! father ! I hear the church- bells ring — Oh ! say, what may it be ? " " Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " And he steered for the open sea. <' Oh ! father ! I hear the sound of guns; Oh ! say, what may it be ? " " Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea ! " i " Oh ! father ! I see a gleaming light ; Oh ! say, what may it be ? " But the father answered never a word — A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow, On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. BSSS LDg— 3; ming snow, [id prayed the wave THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 209 The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck ; And a wlioopinf>; billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool ; But the cruel rocks, they gored her side, Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank — Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At daybreak, on the black sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair Lashed close to a drifting m^st. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed. On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Ifesperns, In the midnight and the snow ; Christ save us all from a death like this. On the reef of Norman's Woe ! — H. W. Longfelhwt md drear, aw, , 1 ' ]1 ft.. hi ' I i 1 ■■ 1; l! ,! X '^-■1-^- '210 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XVIII.— A CAUDLE LECTURE. "Now, Mr. Caudle — Mr. Caudle, I say: ob! you can't bo asleep already, I know — now, what I mean to say is this; there's no use, none at all, in our having any disturb- ance about the matter; but, at last my mind's made up, Mr. Caudle; I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing to-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the house. No, no; there's an end of the marriage state, I think — an end of all confidence between man and wife — if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em ! Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel; there's a good soul, tell me what's it all about ? A pack of non- sense, I dare say ; still — not that I care much about it — still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh ? Oh, don't tell me there's nothing in it: I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle; just tell me a little bit of it, I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. Well? " Caudle, you're enough to vex a saint ! Now don't you think you're going to sleep ; because you're not. Do you suppose I'd ever suffered you to go and be made a mason, if I did'nt suppose I was to know the secret, too ? Not that it's anything to know, I dare say ; and that's why I'm determined to know it. " But I know what it is ; oh yes, there can be no doubt. The secret is, to ill-use poor women ; to tyrannize over 'em ; to make 'em your slaves ; especially your wives. It must be something of the sort, or you wouldn't be ashamed to have it known. What's right and proper never need to be done in secret. It's an insult to a woman for a man to be a free-mason, and let his wife know nothing of it. But, poor soul ! she's sure to know it somehow — for nice hus- bands they all make. Yes, yes; a part of the secret is to think better of all the world than their own wives and fami- lies. I'm sure jnen have quite enough to care for — that THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 211 you can't to say is y disturb- inado up, all you've quit the 76 state, I td wife — if to himself, can't know ['m sure, if rel; there's ick of non- about it — Eh? Oh, etter. I'm cod deal in .f it, I'm lid. Well? don't you ,t. Do you Q a mason, too? Not t's why I'm 18, if they act properly — to care for them they have at home. They can't have mucli care to spare for the world besides. "And I suppose they call you Brother Caudle! A pretty brother, indeed ! Goinj; and dressing yourself up in an apron like a turnpike man — for that's what you look Hke. And I should like to know what the apron's for? There must be something in it not "very respectable, I'm sure. Well, I only wish I was Queen for a day or two. I'd put an end to free-masonry, and all such trumpery, I know. "Now, come, Caudle; don't let's quarrel. Eh! You're not in pain, dear? What's it all about? What are you lying laughing there at? But I'm a fool to trouble my head about you. " And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh ? You mean to say — you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a passion — not that I care about the secret itself: no, I wouldn't give a button to know it, for it's all nonsense I'm sure. It isn't the secret I care about : it's the slight, Mr. Caudle ; it's the studied insult Ihat a man pays to his wife, when he think of going through the world keeping something to himself which he wont let her know. Man and wife one, indeed ! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a mason — when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha, you men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of 'em to yourselves : otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when a man becomes a masoia: when he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his heart — a secret place in his mind — that his poor wife isn't allowed to rummage 1 " Caddie, you shan't close your eyes for a week — no, you shan't— unless you tell me some of it. Come, there's a good creature; there's a love. I'm sure. Caudle, I wouldn't refuse you anything — and you know it, or ought to know it by this time. I only wish I had a secret ! To whom should I think of confiding it, but to my dear hus- 1 ;'T| i ' f4 ♦ ' ti a-^ 212 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. band? I should be miserable to keep it to myself, and you know it. Now, Caudle ? " Was there ever such a man ? A man, indeed ! A bnite! — yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you wont. I'm sure I don't object to your being a mason ; not at all. Caudle ; I dare say it's a very good thing; I dare say it is — it's only your making a secret of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me — you'll tell your own Margaret ? You wont ! You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle. " But I know why : oh, yes, I can tell. The fact is, you're ashamed to let me know what a fool they have been making of you. That's it. You, at your time of life — the father of a family ! I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle. " And I suppose you'll be going to what you call your Lodge every night, now? Lodge, indeed! Pretty place it must be, where they don't admit women. Nice goings on, I dare say. Then you call one another brethren. Brethren! I'm sure you'd relations enough; you did'nt want any more. "But I know what all this masonry's about. It's only an excuse to get away from your wives and families, that you may feast and drink together, that's all. That's the secret. And to abuse women — as if they were inferior animals, and not +x) be trusted. That's the secret; and nothing else. "Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel. Ye£, I know you're in pain. Still, Caudle, my love; Caudle! Dearest, I say! Caudle!" "I recollect nothin^^ more," says Caudle, "for I had eaten a hearty supper, ajid somehow became oblivious," — Douglas Jerrold. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 213 XIX.— THE MODERN BELLE. She sits in an elegant parlour, And rocks in her easy chair ; She is clad in silks and satins, And jewels are in her hair ; She winks, and giggles, and simpers. And simpers, and giggles, and winks, And though she talks but little, Tis a good deal more than she thinks. She lies a-bed in the morning, Till nearly the hour of noon, Then comes down snapping and snarling, Because she was called so soon ! Her hair is still in papers. Her cheeks still fresh with paint ; Remains of her last night's blushes. Before she intended to faint. She dotes upon men unshaven, And men with "flowing hair," She's eloquent over mustaches. They give such a foreign air ! She talks of Italian music, And falls in love witt the moon, And if a mouse were to meet her, She would sink away in a swoon. Her feet are so very little. Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head 30 very light. Her colour is made of cosmetics, (Though this she will never own,) Her body's made mostly of cotton, Her heart is made wholly of stone. She falls in love with a fellow, Who swells with a foreign air ; 214 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ITe marries her for her money, She marries him for his — hair ! One of the very best matches — Both are well mated in life ; She's got a fool for a husband, He's got a fool for a wife ! '■■m i : T, II -I '"I XX.— LOCHINVAR. Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west ! Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none. He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone ! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar I He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none — But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. Was to wed the fair JSUen of brave Lochinvar ! So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 'Mong bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ! Then spoke the bride's Father, his hand on his sword — For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word — " come ye in peace here, or come ye in war ? — Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" " I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied: Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide I And now I am come, with this lost love of mine. To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine I There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far. Who would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar ! " t V..itl THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 215 best ; none, ivar \ stonCj none — and all I s sword — vord — ?— ?>» lied: tide! le, le! I far, linvarr* The bride kiss'd the goblet ; the knight took it up, He quaffd oflf the wine, and he threw down the cup ! She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh — With a smile on her lips, and a tear on her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — " Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace 1 While ner mother did fret, and father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume. And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach' d the hall door, and the charger stood near. So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! " quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes .of the Netherby clan ; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see ! So daring in love, an^^ so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ! — Sir Walter Scott. 216 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ■ I t'li 1 in I XXI.— THE FISHERMAN. There lived an honest fisherman, I knew him passing well — Who dwelt hard by a little pond, Within a little dell. A grave and quiet man was he, Who loved his hook and rod ; So even ran his line of life, His neighbours thought it odd.. For science and for books, he said, He never had a wish ; No school to him was worth a fig, Except a " school of fish." This single-minded fisherman A double calling had, — To tend his flocks, in winter-time, In summer fish for shad. In short this honest fisherman, All other toils forsook ; And though no vagrant man was he, He lived by " hook and crook." All day that fisherman would sit Upon an ancient log, And gaze into the water, like Some sedentary frog. A cunning fisherman was he ; His angles all were right ; And when he scratched his aged poll. You'd know he'd got a bite. To charm the fish he never spoke, Although his voice was fine ; He found the most convenient way, Was just to " drop a line." THE CAI^ADIAN SPEAKIB. 217 And many a " gudgeon" of the pond, If made to speak to-day, Would own with grief, this angler had A mighty " taking way." One day, while fishing on the log, He mourned his want of luck, — When, suddenly, he felt a bite, And jerking — caught a duck ! Alas ! that day, the fisherman Had taken too much grog ; And being but a landsman, too, He could'nt "keep the log." In vain he strove with all his might, And tried to gain the shore ; Down, down he went to feed the fish He'd baited oft before ! The moral of this mournful tale To all is plain and clear : — A single " drop too much" of rum, May make a watery bier. And he who will not "sign the j^ledge," And keep his promise fast, May be, in spite of fate, a stiflF Cold-water man, at last ! — John G. Saxe. 218 THE CANADUN SPEAKER. ' ft H ■' I m \i •^]'l XXIL— THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. A man, in many a country town, we know, Professing openly with death to wrestle, Ent'ring the field against the foe, Arm'd with a mortar and a pestle. Yet some affirm no enemies they are, But meet, just like prize-fighters in a fair. Who first shake hands before they box, Then give each other plaguy knocks, With all the love and kindness of a brother ; So (many a suflfering patient saith) Though the apothecary fights with death, Still they're sworn friends to one another. A member of the-^sculapian line, Lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne ; No man could better gild a pill, Or make a bill, Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister, Or chatter scandal by your bed, Or draw a tooth out of your head, And with " a twister." His fame full six miles round the country ran — In short, in reputation, he was " solus; " All the old women call'd him a "fine man.' — His name was Bolus. Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (Which often will the genius fetter) Bead works of fancy, it is said. And cultivated the Belles Lettres. And why should this be thought so odd ? Can't men have taste to cure a phthisic Of poetry, though patron-god, Apollo patronises physic. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER 219 Bolus lov'd verse, and took so much delight in't, That his prescriptions he resolv'd to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass Of writing the directions on his labels, In dapper couplets — like Gay's Fables, Or rather like the lines in Hudibras. Apothecary's verse ! — and where's the treason ? 'Tis simply honest dealing — not a crime; When patients swallow physic without reason, It is but fair to give a little rhyme. He had a patient lying at death's door, Some three miles from the town — it might be four j To whom, one evening. Bolus sent an article In pharmacy, that's call'd caihartical ; And, on the label of the stuff, He wrote a verse. Which one would think was clear enough, And terse : — " When taken, to be well shaken.^' Next morning early, Bolus rose, And to the patient's house he goes Upon his pad. Who a vile trick of & tumbling had : It was, indeed, a very sorry hack; But that's of course. For what's expected from a horse, With an apothecary on his back ! Bolus arrived, and gave a loudish tap, Between a single and a double rap — Knocks of this kind Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance, By fiddlers, and by opera singers; One loud, and then a little one behind, As if the knocker fell by chance Out of their fingers. 220 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. f t m f vl , m The servant lets him in with dismal face, Long as a courtier's out of place, Portending some disaster ; John's countenance as rueful look'd and grim, As if th' apothecary had physic'd him, And not his master, ''Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said; — John shook his head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! — that's very odd : He took the draught?" — John gave a nod. "Well, — how? — what then — speak out, you dunce." "Why then," says John, "we shook him once." " Shook him ! — how " — Bolus stammer'd out — "We jolted him about." " What ? shake a patient, man — a shake won't do.' "No, sir — and so we gave him two." " Two shakes — oh ! luckless verse ! 'T would make a patient worse ! " "It did so, sir, — and so a third we tried." "Well! and what then?" — "Then, sir, my master died." — Colman. XXIII.— LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place. Has seen, " lodgings to let," stare him full in the face. Some are good and let dearly ; while some 'tis well known Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. — Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only ; But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun,— . Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one. He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated ; THE CANADIAN 8Pr\KEB. 221 And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep, He was not, by any means, heavy to sloop. Next night 't was the same ! — and the next ! and the next ! He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous, and vexed ; Week after week, till by weekly succession. His weakly condition was past all expression. In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt liim ; For his skin " like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny, *' I've lost many pounds — make me well — there's a guinea." The doctor looked wise — " a slow fever," he said; Prescribed sudorifics — and going to bed. " Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, " are humbugs ! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs !" Will kicked out the doct-^r : — but when ill indeed, E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed ; So, calling his host — he said — " Sir do you know, I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago ? Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin, " That with honest intentions you first took me in : But from the first night — and to say it I'm bold — I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I got cold !" Quoth the Landlord, — " Till now, I ne'er had a dispute, I've let lodgings ten years, — I'm a baker to boot ; In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; And your bed is immediately — over my oven." " The oven ! ! !" — says Will ; — says the host why this pas- sion? In that exce. lent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir !" — " Odds !" cried Will in a taking " Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ?" " Will paid for his rooms ;" — cried the host with a sneer, " Well, I see you've been going away half a year." 222 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. * sf I- •ti- ll J ^■^-m- W " Friend, we can't well agree ; — ^yet no quarrel," — Will said : " But I'd rather not periyh, while you make your bread." — Colman. XXIV.— A TRIP TO THE MOON. There once was a man who contrived a baloon — To carry him whither? — why up to the moon. One fine starlight night he set sail for the sky, And joyfully bid our old planet " Good Bye." He mounted aloft with incredible speed, And saw this green earth every moment recede, " Farewell," he exclaimed, " to thy pride and conceit^ " Oppression and injury, fraud and deceit. " Thy flagrant abuses, thy luxuries too ; " And all thy gay pageants forever adieu ! " Thy festivals, music, thy science and lore, ^' My share in thy pleasures I gladly restore, " Thy kings and thy nobles, lords, ladies, and squireS; *' And all the poor world in its dotage admires. " Farewell ! to thy fields in verdure arrayed, '' Farewell ! to thy merchandize, traffic and trade, " Thy wide swelling rivers, that roll to the seas, " Thy dark waving forests, that wave to the breeze. " From Norway to China, lake, forest, and stream, " All fade from my sight, like a vanishing dream." He spoke, and with pleasure soon darted his eyes on The moon, just appearing above the horizon. And sitting upright, with his hand in his pocket, Shot up the dark sky into space like a rocket. But the swiftness with which the light vehicle sped, Brought such a strange giddiness into his head, That he lay a long time in his boat, without knowing Which way he had been, or how long he was going. At length he aroused from his stupor, and lo 1 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 223 The beautiful satellite Bhining below. Already so near was he come, a« to see The mountains and yalleys as plain as could be. With feelings no language could well represent, He quickly prepared his machine for descent. "A tine open plain much resembling," he said, " Some spots in Old England," before him was spread; Whose smoothness and verdure a visit invited, And here all amazement our traveller alighted. What thrillings of rapture ! what tears of delight, Now waited this signally fortunate wight. And thus, he express'd his astonishment soon, " Dear me ! what a wonder to be in the moon ! " 'Twas now early morning, the firmament clear — For there the sun rises, the same as down here. He took out his pocket-book therefore, and wrote Whatever he saw that was worthy of note. For instaiK3e, — the soil appeared sandy and loose, The pasture much finer than we can produce. 1 ^e picked up a stone, which he wished he could hand, To some learned geologist down in our land. A little blue flower next atttracted our writer. Not unlike to our hare-bell, but hrighter; And looked, as he thought, most decidedly lunar, He wished he had come on this enterprise sooner. But still he was far more impatient to trace What sort of inhabitants lived in the place ; Perhaps they were dragons, or horrible things. Like fishes with feathers, or serpents with wings : — And thus deeply engaged in coigectural thought, His eye by an object was suddenly caught, Which, when he advanced he found, you must know, Very much like a mile-stone of ours here below ; And on it he read, in plain English, this line, — " Twelve miles to Old Sarum, to Andover nine." In short the whole wonder's not hard to explain * The man had alighted in Salisbury plain. i1 I i 1 !*V I tall ft 224 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. IXV.— BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CJESAR. Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers ! — Hear me, for my cause ; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me, for mine honour ; and have respect to mine honour, 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 Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer ; not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead, to live all fre;>men ? — As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he waf» fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him! There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his ambition ! — Who's here so base, that would be a bondman ? if any, speak ! for him have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? if any, speak ! for him have I offended. Who's 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 should do to Brutus. The ques- tion 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 ; — a* 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. — Slhakspeare. u fSSfr THE CANADIAN HPKAKER. 225 XXVI.— MARK ANTn X > %A ("9 l:i ■il^r Wr* Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove, Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn. Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. One mom I missed him on the accustomed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came; nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. The next, with dirges due, in sad array. Slow through the church-way path we say him borne : Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." TBE EPITAPH. Here rests his head, upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own. . Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to misery all he had — a tear ; He gained from Heaven — 'twas all he wished — a friend. No further seek his merits to disclose. Or draw his frailties from their dread abode — There they alike in trembling hope repose — The bosom of his Father and his God. — Thomas Gray, THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 235 J rove, love. ill, 56 ; him borne: J lay, kn." h, }d — a friend, ode — lowrts Gray, XXX.~ON THE AMERICAN WAR. I cannot, my lords, — I will not join in congratulation on misfortune and di5?grace. This, my lords, is a perilous, and tremendous moment : it is not a time for adulation : the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion, and darkness which envelop it ; and display in its full danger, and iieiminc colours, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation ? Can parliament be so dead to its dignity, and duty, as to give its support to measures thus obtruded, and forced upon it ? measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn, and contempt. But yesterday, and England might have stood against tlie world ; now, none so poor as to do her reverence ! The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with every military store, their interest con- sulted, and their ambassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy ; and ministers do not, and dare not interpose with dignity, or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad, is, in part, known. No man more highly esteems, and honours the English troops than I do ; I know their virtues, and their valour ; I know they can achieve any thing but impossi- bilities ; and I know that the conquest of English America is an impossibility : you cannot, my lords, you cannot, conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst ; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot, yet your attempts will be for ever vain and impotent ; doubly so indeed from this mercenary aid on which ypu rely ; for 236 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. i, ■ H ' !ii i :, %iV i: 11. If? fi I • I: i ' < • it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the ni reenary sons of rapine, and plunder, devoting them, «nd their possessions, to fne rapacity of hirelinp^ cruelty. If I were an Ameri- can, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — Never ! Never ! Never ! But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the disgraces, and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize, and associate with our arms the tomahawk, and scalping- knife of the savage — to call into civilized alliance, the wild, and inhuman inhabitant of the woods — to delegate to the merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for re- dress, and punishment. But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been defended, not only on the principles of policy, and necessity, but also on those of morality; "for it is perfectly allov,abi(>," says Lord Suffolk, " to use all the means that God, and nature have put into our hands." I am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed ; to hear them avowed in this house, or in this country ! My lord, I did not intend to encroach so much on your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation : I feel myself impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon as members of this house, as men, as Christians, to protest against such horrible barbarity — " That God, and nature have put into our hands !" What ideas of God, and na- ture that noble lord may end rtain, I know not, but I know that such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to re- ligion, and humanity. What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and na- ture, to the massacres of the Indian scalping knife ! to the cannibal savage, torturing, murderiig, and devouring his unhappy victims ! Such notions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of humanity, every sentiment of honour. These abominable principles, and this more abom- THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 237 inable avowal of them, demand the most decisive iudig- nation. ^ I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their h wn, upon the judges to interpose the purity of their ermine to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honour of your lord- ships to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call upon the spirit, and humanity of my country, to vindicate the national character : I in- voke the genius of the British Constitution. To send forth the merciless Indian, thirsting for blood ! against whom ? your Protestant brethren ! To lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race, and name, by the aid, and instrumentality of these ungovernable savages. Spain can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbarity. She armed herself with blood — hounds to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexico ; we, more ruthless, loose these dogs of war against our country- men in America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanctify humanity. I solemnly call upon your lordships, and upon every order of men in the state, to -stamp upon this infamous procedure, the indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. More particularly, I call upon the venerable prelates of our religion, to do away this iniquity ; let them perform a lustration to purify the country from this deep, and deadly sm. -Lord Chatham. 238 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. '.I, ' i :■, XXXI.— MAUD MULLER. Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hut glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merrj glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But, when she glanced to the far-oflF town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast — A wish, that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid. And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadows across the road. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup, And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. " Thanks! " said the Judge, " a sweeter draught From a ^ hand was never quaffed." He 8*^' ne grass, and flowers, and trees, Of j^iiig birds and the humming bees ; TL diked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown. And her graceful ankles bare and brown ; And listened while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah, me ! That I the Judi^c's bride might be I " He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. " My father should wear a broad-cloth coat ; And my brother should sail a painted boat. " I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. " And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door." The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing gtill. '' A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. *' And her modest answer and graceful air, Show her wise and good as she is fair. " Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her a harvester of hay : " No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, And weary lawyers with endless tongues, " But low of cattle and song of birds. And health of quiet and loving words." But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, And his mother, vain of hei* rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; And the young girl mused bcf^ide the well, Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow. Tie watched a picture come and go : And sweet Maud MuUer's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft when the wine in his glass was red, He loaged for the wayside well instead ; 239 240 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover blooms. And the proud man sighed with a secret pain : " Ah, that I were free again ! " Free as when I rode that day, Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay," She wedded a man mlearned and poor, And many children played round her door. But care and sorrow, and wearing pain. Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spT-ing-brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall. In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein : And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls ; The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o,er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty, and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again. Saying only, " It might have been ! " Alas ! for maiden, alas ! for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge ! God pity them both I and pity us all. Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. ■ For of all sad works of tongue or pen, The saddest are these : " It might have been ! " Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes j THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 241 And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away ! -J. G. WhiUier. )een ! XXXII.— LIBERTY IS STRENGTH. Opinions become dangerous to a State only when perse- cution makes it necessary for the People to communicate their ideas under the bond of secrecy. Publicity makes it impossible for artifice to succeed, «nd designs of a hostile nature lose their danger by the certainty of exposure. But it is said that these bills will expire in a few years ; that they will expire when we shall have peace and tranquility restored to us. What a sentiment to inculcate I You teu the People that, when everything goes well, — then they may meet freely, to recognize their happiness, and pass eulogiums on their government ; but that, in a moment of war and calamity, — of distrust and misconduct, — it is not permitted to meet together ; because then, instead of eulo- gizing, they might think proper to condemn Ministers. What a mockery is this ! What an insult, to say that this is preserving to the People the right of petition ! To tell them that they shall have a right to applaud, a right to re- joice, a right to meet when they are happy ; but not a right to condemn, not a right to deplore their misfortunes, not a right to suggest a remtay ! Liberty is order. Liberty is strength. Look round the worlds and admire, as you must, the instructive spectacle. You will see that liberty not only is power and order, but that it is power and order predominant and invincible, — that it derides all other sources of power and strength. And shall the preposterous imagination be fostered, that men bred in liberty — the first of human kind who asserted the glorious distinction of forming for themselves their social compact — can be condemned to silence upon their it' ' if i i: >'])'" Siin.lll 242 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. rights ? Is it to be conceived that men, who have enjoyed, for such a length of days, the light and happiness of free- dom, can be restrained, and shut up again in the gloom of ignorance and degradation ? As well, Sir, might you try, by a miserable dam, to shut up the flowing of a rapid river! The rolling and impetuous tide would burst through *^very impediment that man might throw in its way ; and the only consequence of the impotent attempt would be, that, having collected new force by its temporary suspension, enforcing itself through new channels, it would spread devastation and ruin on every side. The progress of liberty is like the progress of the stream. Kept within its bounds, it is sure to fertilize the country through which it runs; but no power can arrest it in its passage; and short-sighted, as well as wicked, must be the heart of the projector that would strive to divert its course. —a J. Fox.. XXXIII.— THE DIGNITY OF LABOUR. There is dignity in toil — in toil of the hand as well as toil of the head — in toil to provide for the bodily wants of an individual life, as well as in toil to promote some enterprise of world-wide fame. All labour that tends to supply man's wants, to increase man's happiness, to elevate man's nature — in a word, all labour that is honest, is honourable too. What a concurrent testimony is given by the entire universe to the dignity of toil. Things inanimate and things irrational combine with men and angels to proclaim the law of Him who made them all. The restless atmos- phere, the rolling rivers, and the heaving ocean. Nature's vast laboratory never at rest; countless agencies in the heavens above and the earth beneath, and in the waters under the earth; the unwearied sun coming forth from his chamber, and rejoicing as a strong man to run a race ; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 243 the changeful moon, whose never slumbering influence the never-resting tides obey ; the planets, never pausing in the mighty sweep of their majestic march ; the sparkling stars, never ceasing to show forth the handiwork of Him who bade them shine ; the busy swarms of insect life j the ant providing her meat in the summer, and gathering her food in the harvest ; the birds exuberant in their flight, pouring forth the melody of their song ; the beasts of the forest re- joicing in the gladness of activity ; primeval man amid the bowers of Eden ; paradise untainted by sin, yet honoured by toil ; fallen man, with labour still permitted him, an alleviation of his woe, and an earnest of his recovery ; re- deemed man, divinely instructed, assisted, encouraged, honoured in his toil ; the innumerable company of angels, never resting in their service, never wearied in their wor- ship; the glorious Creator of the universe, who never slumbereth or sleepeth; all, all, bear testimony to the dignity of labour ! The dignity of labour! Consider its achievements! Dismayed by no difficulty, shrinking from no exertion, ex- hausted by no struggle, ever eager for renewed efforts, in its persevering promotion of human happiiess, ''clamorous Labour knocks with its hundred hands at the golden gate of the morning," obtaining each day, through succeeding centuries, fresh benefactions for the world ! Labour clears the forest, and drains the morass, and makes " the wilder- ness rejoice and blossom as the rose." Labour drives the plough and scatters the seed, and reaps the harvest, and grinds the corn, and converts it into bread, the staff" of life. Labour tending the pastures and sweeping the waters, as well as cultivating the soil, provides with daily sustenance the nine hundred millions of the family of man. Labour gathers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the field, and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into raiment soft and warm, and beautiful — the purple robe of the prince, and the grey gown of the peasant, being alike its handiwork. Labour moulds the brick, and splits the slate, and quarries the stone, and shapes the column, 244 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ii- and rears, not only the humble cottage, but the gorgeous palace, and the tapering spire, and the stately dome. Labour, diving deep into the solid earth, brings up its long-hidden stores of coal to feed ten thousand furnaces, and in . millions of habitations to defy the winter's cold. Labour explores the rich veins of deeply buried rocks, ex- tracting the gold and silver, the copper and tin. Labour Bmelts the iron, and moulds it into a thousand shapes for use and ornament, from the massive pillar to the tiniest needle — from the ponderous anchor to the wire gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel of the steam-engine to the polished purse-ring or the glittering bead. Labour hews down the gnarled oak, and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and guides it over the deep, plunging through the billows, and wrestling with the tempest, to bear to our shores the produce of every clime. Labour, laughing at difficulties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over marshy swamps, suspends bridges over deep ravines, pierces the solid moun- tains with its dark tunnel, blasting rocks and filling hol- lows, and while linking together with its iron, but loving grasp all nations of the earth, verifying, in a literal sense, the ancient prophecy, " Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be brought low;" labour draws forth its delicate iron thread, and stretching it from city to city, from province to province, through mountains, and beneath the sea, realizes more than fancy over fabled, while it constructs a chariot on which speech may outstrip the wind, and compete with the lightning ; for the Telegraph flies as rapidly as thought itself. Labour, a mighty magi cian, walks forth into a region uninhabited and waste ; he looks earnestly at the scene, so quiet in its desolation ; then waving his wonder-working wand, those dreary valleys gmile with golden harvests ; those barren mountain slopes are clothed with foliage; the furnace blazes; the anvil rings ; the busy wheel whirls round ; the town appears ; the mart of commerce, the hall of science, the temple of religion, rear high their lofty fronts ; a forest of masts gay with varied pennons, rises from the harbour; representa- THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 245 yorgeous \f dome. s up its furnaces, ir's cold, rocks, ex- Labour ihapes for le tiniest uze, from J polished down tlie the ship, le billows, shores the lifficulties, ly swamps, olid moun- filiing hol- but loving eral sense, alted, and labour ng it from lountains, er fabled, ly outstrip Telegraph ^hty magi waste; he ,tion; then •y valleys tain slopes the anvil appears *, temple of masts gay irepresenta- tives of far off regions make it their resort ; Science enlists the elements of earth and heaven in its service; Art, awakening, clothes its strength with beauty; Civilization smiles ; Liberty is glad ; Humanity rejoices ; Piety exults — for the voice of industry and gladness is heard ' i every side. Working men ! walk worthy of your ' 0C9 . You have a noble escutcheon; disgrace it not! There is nothing really mean and low but sin! Stoop not from your lofty throne to defile yourselves by contamination with intemperance, licentiousness, or any form of evil. Labour allied with virtue, may look up to heaven and not blush, while all worldly dignities, prostituttvi to vice, will leave their owner without a corner of the universe in which to hide his shame. You will most successfully prove the honour of toil, by illustrating in your own persons its alli- ance with a sober, righteous, and godly life. Be ye sure of this, that the man of toil who works in a spirit of obedi- ent, loving homage to God, does no less than Cherubim and Seraphim in their loftiest flights and holiest songs I — Newman Mall. XXXIV.— GREAT IDEAS. What is needed to elevate the soul is, not that a man should know all that has been thought and written in re- gard to the spiritual nature, not that a man should become an Encyclopedia, but that the Great Ideas in which all discoveries terminate, which sum up all sciences which the philosopher extracts from infinite details, may be compre- hended and felt. It is not the quantity, but the qualitj of knowledge, which determines the mind's dignity. A man of immense information may, through the want of large and comprehensive ideas, be far inferior in intellect to a labourer, who, with little knowledge, has yet seized on great truths. For example, I do not expect the labourer 246 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. to study theology in the ancient languages, in the writings of the Fathers, in the history of sects ; nor is this needful. All theology scattered as it is through countless volumes, is summed up in the idea of God ; and let this idea shine bright and clear in the labourer's soul, and he has the es- sence of theological libraries, and a far higher light than has visited thousands of renowned divines. A great mind is formed by a few great ideas, not by an infinity of loose details. I have known very learned men who seemed to me very poor in intellect, because they had no grand thoughts. What avails it that a man has studied ever so minutely the histories of Greece and Rome, if the Great Ideas of Freedom, and Beauty and Valour, and Spiritual Energy, have not been kindled, by those records, into living fires in his soul ? The illumination of an age does not consist in the amount of its knowledge, but in the broad and noble principles of which that knowledge is the foundation and inspirer. The truth is, that the most laborious and suc- cessful student is confined in his researches to a very few of God's works ; but this limited knowledge of things may still suggest universal laws, broad principles, grand ideas ; and these elevate the mind. There are certain thoughts, principles, ideas, which by their nature rule over all know- ledge, which are intrinsically glorious, quickening, all-com- prehending, eternal ! — Dr. Channing. XXXV.— THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge cannot be stolen from you. It can not be bought or sold. You may be poor, and the sheriff come into your house, and sell your furniture at auction, or drive away your cow, or take your lamb, and leave you homeless and penniless ; but he cannot lay the law's hand upon the jewelry of your mind. This can not be taken for debt ; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 247 neither can you give i: away, though you give enough of it to fill a million minds. I will tell you what such giving is like. Suppose, now, that there were no sun nor stars in the heavens, nor any thing that shone in the black brow of night ; and suppose that a lighted lamp were put into your hand, which should bum wasteless and clear amid all the tempests that should brood upon this lower world. Suppose, next, that there were a thousand millions of human beings on the earth with you, each holding in his hand an unlighted lamp, filled with the same oil as yours, and capable of giving as much light. Suppose these mil- lions should come, one by one, to you, and light each his lamp by yours, would they rob you of any light ? Would less of it shine on your own path ? Would your lamp burn more dimly for lighting a thousand millions ? Thus it is, young friends. In getting rich in the things which perish with the using, men have often obeyed to the letter that first commandment of selfishnees : " keep what you can get, and get what you can." In filling your minds with the wealth of knowledge, you must reverse this rule, and obey this law : " Keep what you give, and give what you can." The fountain of knowledge is filled by its outlets, not by its inlets. You can learn nothing which you do not teach, you can acquire nothing of intellectual wealth, except by giving. In the illustration of the lamps, which I have given you, was not the light of the thousands of millions ^hich were lighted at yours, as much your light, as if It all came from your solitary lamp? Did you uot dispel darkness by giving away light ? Remember this parable, and, whenever you fall in with an unlighted mind in your walk of life, drop a kind and glowing thought upon it from yours, and set it a-burning in the world with a light that shall shine in some dark place to beam on the benighted. — Elihu Burritt, ; ■.■: J ■*? is{-. >• '1 ■I :;: 1 I 248 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. XXXVI.— OUR CANADIAN DOMINION. Fair land of peace ! to Britain's rule and throne Adherent still, yet happier than alone, And free as happy, and as brave as free. Proud are thy children, — justly proud, of thee : — Thou hast no streams renowned in classic lore, No vales where fabled heroes moved of yore, No hills where Poesy enraptured stood, No mythic fountains, no enchanted wood ; But unadorned, rough, cold, and often stern. The careless eye to other lands might turn, And seek, where nature's bloom is more intense, Softer delights to charm the eye of sense. But we who know thee, proudly point the hand Where thy broad rivers roll serenely grand — Where, in still beauty 'neath our northern sky, Thy lordly lakes in solemn grandeur lie — Where old Niagara's awful voice has given The floods' deep anthem to the ear of heaven — Through the long ages of the vanished past ; Through Summer's bloom and Winter's angry blasts- Nature's proud utterance of unwearied song, Now, as at first, majestic, solemn, strong. And ne'er to fail, till the archangel's cry Shall still the million tones of earth and sky, And send the shout to ocean's farthest shore : — 'Be hushed ye voices ! — time shall be no more !' «^ %X* ^1* SL* ^Ir* ^J^ ^^ ^^ *|^ ^* ^s ^^ •Y* *|* We cannot boast those skies of milder ray, 'Neath which the orange mellows day by day ; Where the Magnolia spreads her siowy flowers. And Nature revels in perennial bowers; — Here, Winter holds his long and solemn reign, And madly sweeps the desolated plain ; — But Health and Vigour hail the wintry strife. With all the buoyant glow of happy life ; THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 249 And by the blazing chimney's cheerful hearth, Smile at the blast 'mid songs and household mirth. Here, Freedom looks o'er all these broad domains, And hears no heavy clank of servile chains ; Here man, no matter what his colour be. Can stand erect, and proudly say, * I'm free ! ' — No crouching slaves c^ wer in our busy marts, With straining eyes and anguish-riven hearts. The beam that gilds alike the palace walls And lowly hut, with genial radiance falls On peer and peasant, — but the humblest here Walks in the sunshine, free as is the peer. Proudly he stands with muscle strong and free, The serf — the slave of no man, doomed to be. His own, the arm the heavy axe that wields ; His own, the hands that till the summer fields ; His own, tho babes that prattle in the door ; His own, the wife that treads the cottage floor ; All the sweet ties of life to him are sure ; All the proud rights of manhood are secure. Blest land of peace ! — may'st thou ever be Even as now the land of liberty ! Treading serenely thy bright upward road. Honoured of nations, and approved of God ! On thy fair front emblazoned clear and bright — Freedom, Fraternity, and Equal Right! — Miss Vining. V r I 'J. !■ \U i i' V ! lis !4 'H PART IV. §kl0gMW Mi §raMmtit §eiillitt0ji* I.-PRINCE ARTHUR AND HUBERT. Hubert. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand Within the arras ; when I strike rny foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair, Be heedful. Hence, and watch. First Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Jliib. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you ; look to't. [^Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Huh. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Methinks, nobody should be sad but I. Yet I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be sad as night. Only for wantonness. By my Christendom. So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be merry as the day is long ; And so I would be here, but that I doubt Mercy on me ! ft I" THE CANADIAN BPEAKER. 251 My uncle practices more harm to me ; He is afraid of me, and I of him. Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? No, indeed, 'tis not. And I would to heaven I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Iluh. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate, He will awake my mercy, which lies dead ; Therefore, I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside, Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? You look pale to-daj ; In sooth, I would you were a little sick. That I might sit all night and watch with you. I warrant I love you more than you do me. Iltib. His words do take possession of my bosom. Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a Paper. How now, foolish rheum ! [Aside. Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! I must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. — Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? Huh. Young boy, I must. Arth. ' And you will ? Hub. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again ; And with my hand at midnight held your head ; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and ftnon cheer' d up the heavy time, Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief ? Or, What good love may I perform for you ? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; But you, at your sick service, had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, if I I 252 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And call it cunning. Do, an' if you will ; If heaven be pleased that you must use mo ill, Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes ? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you ? Huh. I have sworn to do it, And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah ! none but in this iron ago would do it. The iron of itself, though heat red hot. Approaching near those eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence. Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? An' if an angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's Hub. Come forth ! [^Stamps. Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, etc. Po as I bid you. Arth. Oh ! save me, Hubert, save me I My eyes are out Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Huh. Give me the iron, I say. and bind him here. Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boisterous rough ? I will not struggle, I will stand stone still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! Nay, hear me, Hubert; drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly. Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you Whatever torment you do put me to. • Huh. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. First Attendant. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alafi ! I then have chid away my friend ( THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 253 cycB do it. tears, ron IS, )ert'8 [^Stamps. s, etc. eyes are out n here. ^s rough ? id! • ^ou J I Ihim. Ifrom such a k.TTENDANT8. 3ndl He hath a stern look, hut a gentle heart. Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Jhtb. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy ? Huh. None but to lose your eyes. Arth. Oh I heaven I that there were but a mote in yours, A grain of dust, a gnat, a wandering hair — Any annoyance to that precious sense ; Then, feeling what small things are boist'roua there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise ? Go to ! hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes. Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert. Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. So that I may keep mine eyes. Oh ; spare mine eyes ! Though to no use, but still to look on you ! Lo ! by my troth ! the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserv'd extremes. See else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal ; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth! And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert. Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes, And, like a dog that is compelled to fight. Snatch at his master, that doth tarre him on. All things that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office ; only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire and iron extend. Creatures of note, for mercy lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes ■1 -r-i: 254 THB CANADIAN SPEAKER. For all the treasure that thine uncle owes. Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out, Arih. Oh! now you look like Hubert! All this while You were disguis'd. ' . 3ub. Peace ! no more. Adieu ! Your uncle must not know but you are dead ; I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure. That Hubert, far the wealth of all the world. Will not offend thee. Arth Oh ! heaven. I thank you, Hubert ! Huh. Silence ! no more. Go closely in with me. Much danger do I undergo for thee. — Shakspeare, II.— LOCHIEL. Seer. Lochiel ! Lochiel I beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array I For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight. And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight ; They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom ^nd crown ; Woe, woe, to the riders, that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances,insulting the slain. And their hoof beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark ! through the fast flashing lightning of war^ What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 'Tis thine, Glenullin I whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watchfire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Scotland, to death and captivity led ! O weep, but thy tears cannot number the dead ; For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. TEE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 255 this while ou, Hubert ! 1 me. -Shakspecure, ay array ! [it, ght ; crown ; wnl plain, g of war^ ? ait, gate. [ad; \e, )rave. .Lochid. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! Or if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. Seer. Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth. From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north ? Lo 1 the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlement's height. Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn : Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clan — » Their swords are a thousand — their bosoms are one ! They are true to the last of their blood ar.d their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! But woe to his kindred and woe to his cause. When Scotland her clayjiore indignantly draws ; When her bo^meted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ! All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — Seer. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! ' ^ware of the day ! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 'J il , ; ■ :fi \l' ! <'i ; i ! i ' * '4 ':£.*;■- . .:- I 256 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight, Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests and cover his flight ! — 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors, CuUoden is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the ir9n-bound prisoner ? Where ? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn. Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? Ah no ! for a darker departure is near, — The war drum is muffled, and black is the bier; His death bell is tolling ! Oh mercy, dispel Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs. And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale. For never shall Albin a destiny meet. So black with dishonour, so foul \> ith retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore. Like ocean weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains. While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low. With his back to the field and his feet to the foe ! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. — Ca/mphelL THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 257 III.— GIL BLAS AND THE ARCHBISHOP. Arch. Well, young man, what is your business with me ? Gil Bias. I am the young man whom your nephew, Don Fernando, was pleased to mention to you. Arch. Oh ! you are the person, then, of whom he spoke so handsomely. I engajze you in my service, and consider you a valuable acquisition. From the specimens he showed me of your powers, you must be pretty well acquainted with the Greek and Latin authors. It is very evident your education has not been neglected. I an* satisfied with your handwriting, and still more with your understanding. I thank my nephew, Don Fernando, for hav.'^g given me such an able young man, whom I consider a rich acqui- sition. You transcribe so well, you must certfiinly under- stand grammar. Tell me, ingenuously, my friend, did you find nothing that shocked you in writing over the homily I sent you on trial ? some neglect, perhaps, in style, or some improper term ? Gil B. Oh, sir, I am not learned enough to make crit- ical observations ; and, if I was, I am persuaded the works of your Grace would escape my censure. Arch. Young man, you are disposed to flatter ; but tell me, which paf ts of it did you ' think most strikingly beau- tiful ? Gil. B. If, where all is excellent, any parts were partic- • ularly so, I should say they were the personification of hope, and the description of a good man's death. Arch. I see you have a delicate knowledge of the truly- beautiful. This is what I call having taste and sentiment. Gil Bias, henceforth, give thyself no uneasiness about thy fortune— I will take care of that. I love thee ; and, as a proof of my aflfection, I will make thee my confidant : yes, my child, thou shalt be the repository of my most secret thoughts. Listen with attention to what I am going to say. My chief pleasure consists in preaching, and the Lord gives a blessing to my homilies ; but I confess my weakness. The honour of being thought a perfect orator m u ' 'S hi #• ■ t . iHin i*^ 258 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. has charmed my imagination ; my performances are thought equally nervous and delicate ; but I would of all things avoid the fault of good authors, who write too long. Wherefore, my dear Gil Bias, one tiling that I exact of thy zeal, is, whenever thou shalt perceive my pen smack of old age, and my genius flag, don't fail to advertise me of it, for I don't trust to my own judgment, which may be se- duced by self-love. That observation must proceed from a disinterested understanding, and I make choice of thine, which I know is good, and am resolved to stand by thy decision. Gil. B. Thank Heaven, sir, that time is far off. Besides, a genius like that of your Grace, will preserve its vigour much better than any other, or, to speak more justly, will be always the same. I look upon you as another Cardinal Ximines, whose superior genius, instead of being weakened, seemed to acquire new strength by age. Arch. No flattery, friend ; I know I am liable to sink all at once. People at my age begin to feel infirmities, and the infirmities of the body often affect the understanding. I repeat it to thee again, Gil Bias, as soon as thou shalt judge mine in the least impaired, be sure to give me notice. And be not afraid of speaking freely and sincerely, for I shall receive thy advice as a mark of thy affection. Gil. B. Your Grace may always depend upon my fidelity. Arch. I know thy sincerity, Gil Bias ; and now tell me plainly, hast thou not heard the people make some remarks upon my late homilies ? Gil. B. Your homilies have always been admired ; but it seems to me that the last «Iid not appear to have had so powerful an effect upon the audience as former ones. Arch. How, sir ; has it met with any Aristarchus ! Gil. B. No sir, by no means ; such works as yours are not to be criticized; every body is charmed with them. Nevertheless, since you have laid your injunctions upon me to be free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you that your last discouse, in my judgment, has not altogether the energy of your other performances. Did you not think so, sir, yourself? THB CANADIAN SPEAKER. 259 re thought all things too long. I exact of n smack of Lse me of it, may be se- Deed from a se of thine, and by thy ff. Besides, e its vigour justly, will ler Cardinal g weakened, iable to sink firmities, and iderstanding. 3 thou shalt ve me notice, cerely, for I ion. my fidelity. now tell me |ome remarks imired ; but I have had so ones. larchus ! 1 as yours are with them. lions upon me ^ to tell you lot altogether ")id you not Arch. So, then, Mr. Gil Blaa, this piece is not to your taste? Gil B. I don't say so, sir ; I think it excellent, although a little inferiour to your other works. Arch. Say no more, my child ; you are yet too raw to make proper distinctions. Be it known to you, I nerer composed a better homily than that which you disapprove ; for my genius, thank Heaven, hath, as yet, lost nothing of its vigour : henceforth, I will make a better choice of a confidant. Go ! ^o, Mr. Gil Bias, and tell my treasurer to give you a hundred ducats ; and may Heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, Mr. Gil Blai ! I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a little more taste. — Le Sage, IV.— KING EDWARD AND WARWICK. JSdw. Let me have no intruders ; above all, Keep Warwick from my sight. — [Enter Warwick.] War. Behold him here — No welcome guest it seems, unless I ask My lord of Sufiblk's leave — there was a time When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain Admission here. Ed. There was a time, perhaps, When Warwick more desired, and more deserved it. War. Never ; I've been a foolish, faithful slave j All my best years, the morning of my life, Have been devoted to your service : what Are now the fruits ? Disgrace, and infamy— My spotless name, which never yet the breath Of calumny had tainted, made the mock For foreign fools to carp at : but 'tis fit, Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded. '{•';-! !■ *. » i * M f 260 THB CANADIAN SPEAKER. '(! H. Ed. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaid Your services with honours, wealth, and power Unlimited : thy all-directing hand Guided in secret every latent wheel Of government, and mov'd the whole machine : Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward Stood like a cypher in the great account. War. Who gave that cypher worth, and seated thee On England's throne ? Thy uridistinguish'd name Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang, And moulder'd in oblivion, had not Warwick Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore, And stamped it with a diadem. Thou knowest This wretched country, doom'd, perhaps, like Rome, * To fall by its own self-destroying hand, Tost for so many years in the rough sea Of civil discord, but for me had perish'd. In that distressful hour, I seiz'd the helm, Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and steer'd Your shatter'd vessel safe into the harbour. You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid Which you no longer want ; but know, proud youth. He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe. Ed. Know, too, reproach for benefits receiv'd. Pays every debt, and cancels obligation. War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty, A thrifty, saving knowledge : when the debt Grows burdensome, and cannot be discharg'd, A sponge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing. Ed. When you have counted o'er the numerous train Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish'd on me, You may remember next the injuries Which I have done you ; let me know them all. And I will make you ample satisfaction. War. Thou canst not ; thou hast robb'd me of a jewel It is not in thy power to restore: I was the first, shall future annals say, That broke the sacred bond of public trust THB CANADIAN SPEAKBB. 261 And mutual confidence ; ambassadors, In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name To witness that they want not an example, And plead my guilt to satisfy their own. Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, To be the shameless herald of a lie ? Ed. And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on me ? If I have broke my faith, and stain'd the name Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels That urged me to it, and extorted from me A cold consent to what my heart abhor'd. War. I've been abus'd, insulted, and betray'd ; My injur'd honour cries aloud for vengeance, Her wounds will never close ! Ed. These gusts of paasion Will but inflame them ; If I have been right Inform'd, my lord, besides these dangerous scarfl Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds Afl deep, though not so fatal : such, perhaps, As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. War. Elizabeth! Ed. Nay, start not — I have cause To wonder most : I little thought, indeed, When Warwick told me, I might learn to love, He was himself so able to instruct me : But I've discover'd all— . War. And so have I — Too well I know thy breach of friendship there, Thy fruitless, base endeavours to supplant me. Ed. I scorn it, Sir — Elizabeth hath charms, And I have equal right with you to admire them ; Nor see I aught so godlike in the form, So all-commanding in the name of Warwick, That he alone should revel in the charms Of beauty, and monopolize perfection. I knew not of your love. r*. 262 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. War. 'Tisfalsel You knew it all, and meanly took occasion Whilst I was busied in the noble oflSce, Your Grace thought fit to honour me withal, To tamper with a* weak, unguarded woman, And basely steal a treasure Which your kingdom could not purchase. Ed. How know you that ? but be it as it may, I had a right, nor will I tamely yield My claim to happiness, the privilege To choose the partner of my throne : It is a branch of my prerogatire. War. Prerogative ! what's that ? the boast of tyrants^ A borrow'd jewel glittering in the crown With specious lustre, lent but to betray. You had it, Sir, and hold it, from the people. Ed. And therefore do I prize it : I would guard Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine : But when proud faction, and her rebel crew Insult their sovereign, trample on his laws, And bid defiance to his power^ the people. In justice to themselves, will then defend His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave. War. Go to your darling people, then ; for soon, If I mistake not, 'twill be needful ; try Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause. If I forbid him. Ed. Is it so, my lord ? Then mark my words : I've been your slave too long, And you have ruled me with a rod of iron ; But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master, And will be so : the king who delegates Hif power to others' hands, but ill deserves The crown he wears. War. Look well then to your own : It sits but loosely on your head ; for, know, THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 263 The man who injur'd Warwick, never pass'd Unpunish'd yet. Ed. Nor he who threaten 'd Edward — You may repent it, Sir — my guards there — seize This traitor, and convey him to the Tower — There let him learn obedience. — From the French. ay» of tyrants,. juard Isoon, )0 long, [aster. v.— SHYLOCK DEMANDING HIS BOND. Duke. — Make room, and let him stand before our face- Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty^ And, where thou now exact'st the penalty Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture. But, touched with human gentleness, and love. Forgive a moiety of the principal, Glancing an eye of pity on hi& losses, ' That have of late brought down such ruin on him, Enough to press a royal merchant down ; We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. — I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose ; And by our holy sabbath have 1 sworn To have the due and forfeit of my bond. If you deny it let the danger light Upon your charter, and your city's freedom — You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats ? I'll not answer that, But say, it is my humour ? Is it answer'd ? What if my house be troubled with a rat. And I be pleas' d to give ten thousand ducats Ill I i-IS i' \ t« I iL 264 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ? Bassanio. — This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shy. — I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Antonio. — I pray you, think you question with the Jew : You may as well go stand upon the beach, And bid th3 main flood bate his usual height ; You may as well use questions with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb, Afl try to melt his Jewish heart to kindness. Bass. — For thy three thousand ducats, here are six. Shy. — If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. Ihike. — How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none : Shy. — What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. Is dearly bought : 'tis mine ; and I will have it. Enter PoRTio, dressed like a Doctor of Laws. Duke. — Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario ? Por. — I did, my Lord. Duke. — You are welcome : take your place. Are you acquainted with the cause in question ? Por. — I am informed thoroughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here ? and which the Jew ? Duke. — Antonio, and old Shylock ; both stand forth. Por. — (To Shylock.) Is your name Shylock ? Shy. — Shylock is my name. Por. — (To Antonio.) You stand within his danger, do you not ? Ant. — Ay, so he says. Por. — Do you confess the bond ? Ant. — t do. Por. — Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. — On what compulsion must I ? Tell me that. Por. — The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven, Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest, ^ '''Mi THE CANADIAN 8PBAKER. 266 It blesses him that gives, and him that takes. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute of God himself ; And earthlj power doth then show likest God'i, When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Tho' justice be thy plea, consider this, That in the course of justice none of ua Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy, And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. Shy. — My deeds upon my head I I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Bass. — For once I beg the court to bend the law To equity. 'Tia worth a little wrong To curb this cruel devil of his will. For. — It must not be. There is no power in Venio©, Can alter a decree established. 'Twill be recorded for a precedent, And many an error by the same example Will rush into the state. It cannot be. Shy. — A Daniel come to judgment ! Yea, a Daniel ! wise young judge I How do I honour thee ! Por. — I pray you, let me look upon the bond. Shy. — Here 't is, most reverend doctor ! Here it is. Por. — Shylock ! — there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. Shy. — An oath ! an oath ! I have an oath in Heaven ! Shall I lay perjury on my soul ? No, not for Venice. Por. — Why, this bond is forfeit, And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut oflf Nearest the merchant's heart. — Be merciful, Take thrice thy money. Bid me tear the bond. Shy. — ^AVhen it is paid according to the tenour. — There is no power in the tongue of mim, To alter me. I stay upon my bond. m ■i » ":f F™ s ■■" *, ' I si . ■ . , ll ■ ' 4 ■ >' ;f KeS .'! f ■ * , ! « r J I 1 * 4 1 . 'ill:' h^ M '].l 272 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. of two dear gallant sons ; I have stored in heaven, the riches which repay good actions here ; and still my chiefest trea- sure do I bear about me. Pis. What is that? Inform me. Oro. I will ; for it never can be thine — the treasure of a pure, unsullied conscience. Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares speak as thou dost. Oro. Would I could believe there is no other Spaniard who dares act as thou dost. Gom. Obdurate Pagan ! How numerous is your army? O'O. Count the leaves of yonder forest, Dav. Which is the weakest part of your camp ? Oro. It has no weak part ; on every side 'tis fortified by justice. Pis. Where have you concealed you wives, and children ? Oro. In the hearts of their husbands, and their fathers. Pzr. Knowest thou Alonzo ? Oro. Know him ? Alonzo ? Know him ? Our nation's benefactor ! The guardian (Tngel of Peru ! Piz. By what has he merited that title ? Oro. By not resembling thee. Dav. Who is this Rolla, joined with Alonzo in com- mand ? Oro. I will answer that ; for I love to hear, and to re- peat the hero's name. Rolla, the kinsman of the king, is the idol of our army ; in war, a tiger, chafed by the hun- ter's spear ; in peace, more gentle than the unweaned lamb. Cora was once betrothed to him ; but finding that she pre- ferred Alonzo, he resigned his claim, and, I fear, his peace, to friendship, and to Cora's happiness ; yet still he loves her with a pure, and holy fire. Piz. Romantic savage ! I shall meet this Rolla soon. Oro. Thou hadst better not. — The terrors of his noble eye would strike thee dead. Dav. Silence ! or tremble ! Oro. Beardless robber ! I never yet have trembled be- fore man : why should I tremble before thee, thou less than man! the riches Bfest trea- reasure of vho dares Spaniard )ur army? >? brtified by , children ? ir fathers. ir nation's > m com- and to re- le king, is the hun- ned lamb. it she pre- his peace, he loves la soon, his noble ibled be- less than THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 273 Dav. Another word, audacious heathen, and I strike. 0?'0. Strike, Christian ! Then boast among thy fellows — I, too, have murdered a Peruvian ! JJav. Vengeance seize thee ! [^Stahs him. Fiz. Hold! I)uv. Couldst thou longer have endured his insults ? Piz. And, therefore, should he die untortured ? Oro. True ! Observe, young man, your unthinking rash- ness has saved me from the rack ; and you yourself have lost the opportunity of a useful lesson : you might have seen with what cruelty vengeance would have inflicted tor- ments — and with what patience virtue would have borne them. \Orozemho is home off", dying. Piz. Away ! — Davilla, if thus rash a second time Dav. Forgive the hasty indignation which — < — Piz. No more. Unbind that trembling wretch : let him depart^ 'tis well he should report the mercy which we show to insolent defiance. Hark ! Our guard and guides approach. [Soldiers march through the tents. Follow me friends ! Each shall have his post assigned ; and ere Peruvia's god shall sink beneath the main, the Spanish bankers, bathed in blood, shall float above the walls of the vanquished Quito. — Kotzebue. VIII.— HAMLET AND HORATIQ. Hor. — Hail to your lordship I Ham. — I am glad to see you well. Horatio I or do I forget myself. Hor. — The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ua,m. — Sir, my good friend: I'll change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenburg, Horatio? Hor. — A truant disposition, good my lord. Ham. — I would not hear your enemy say so! wmw 274 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ;'l ■■.4?l:| Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself. I know you are no truant. But what is your aflair in ELsinore? We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. Jlor. — My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. lla?n. — I pray thee do not mock me, fellow-student; I think it was to see my mother's wedding. Jlor. — Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon't. flam. — Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my direst foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio. My father — Methinks I see my father. Hor. — Oh where, my lord ? JIam. — In my mind's eye, Horatio. IIoi\ — I saw him once : he was a goodly king. Ham. — He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Ho?'. — My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham.— Saw ! who ? Hor. — My lord, the king, your father. Ham. — The king, my father! Hor. — Season your admiration but a while With an attentive ear ; till I deliver. Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you. Ham. — For Heaven's love, let me hear ! Hor. — Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waste and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Arm'd at all points exactly cap-a-pie, Appears before them, and with solemn march Goes slowly and stately by them ; thrice he walk'd By their oppress'd and fear-surpris'd eyes, Within his truncheon's length ; while they, distill'd Almost to jelly with the effect of fear. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 275 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secrecy impart they did, And I with them the third night kept the watch : Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, Form of the tiling, each word made true and good, The apparation comes. I knew your father ; These hands are not more like. Ham. — But where was this ? Hor. — My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. Ham. — Did you not speak to it ? Hor. — My lord, I did ; But answer made it none. Yet once, methought, It lifted up its head, and did address Itself to motion, like as it would speak. But even then the morning cock crew loud ; And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vaniah'd from our sight. Ham. — 'Tis very strange. Hor. — As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true ; And we did think it writ down in our duty, To let you know of it. Ham. — Indeed, indeed, sir, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night ? Mar. and Ber. — We do, my lord. Ham. — Arm'd, say you ? Hor. — Arm'd, my lord. Ham. — From top to toe ? Hor. — My lord, from head to foot. Ham. — Then saw you not his face ? Hor. — yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up. Haw.— What, look d he frowningly ? Hor. — A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.. Ham. — Pale, or red ? Hor. — Nay, very pale. Ham. — And flx'd his eyes upon you? 77or.— Most constantly. Ham. — I would I had been there ! Hor. — It would have much amazed you. il t! m u il I : T^?«' 1' T-^, 1 i 276 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. haste might tell Ham. — Yery like. Staid it long? Ifor. — While one with moderate hundred. Jiam. — His beard was grizzled ? — Hor. — No, it was, as I have seen it in his life. A sable silver'd. Hum. — I'll watch to-night? perchance 'twill walk again. Hor. — I warrant you it will. flatn. — If it assumes my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gaj>e, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all. If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight. Let it be tenable in your silence still ; And whatsoever shall befall to-night. Give it an understanding but no tongue. I will requite your love : so fare ye well. Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve I'll visit you. — Shaksjpearc. IX.— KING SAUL AND THE PHYSICIAN. The Queen and a Physician. Phi/s, — His majesty's general health seems to me per- fect; For, save when he is suffering in the fit (When I have marked his pulse most riotous), His frame exhibits no symptom of disease. Queen. — No ? Looks his eye as clear and bright as ever, As healthful his complexion ? Is his voice Strong, nor ever rumbles hollowly in his breast, Like spirit speaking from a sepulchre ? Does he never seem to sigh without occasion ? I hear him groan throughout the livelong night ; And he informs me that he's vexed with dreams, Wherein a form seems ever beckoning him THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 277 it tell a alk again. 1, ^hakspeare. [CIAN. to me per- bright as To rise and follow it to violent deeds ; Or, in his otherwise sound slumber, something Beats at the doors and windows of his senses, Urging for entrance. Tell me what these mean. Phys. — Whate'er their meaning, they are of one com- plexion With his day's paroxysms. This much I know, [Enter Saul unobserved. His Majesty certaiuly hath a mania, An intermittent mania, but of such Unusual kind, that I divine not yet Of its true nature, and, hence, hesitate To treat him for it. Saul, — Look deeper than the skin ; Then find me amongst thy compounds or thy simples, An anodyne for undeserved distress. Doctor, I have a stubborn melancholy ; Move it, and I will make thee king of physic. Phys. — Your Majesty bids me exercise an art That I profess not : but as water droppings Slowly remove whate'er they fall on, so May the cadent moments of your Majesty's life Grently remove your trouble. Time is the skilfuUest Physician and tenderest nurse. Saul. — But memory Is time's defier. Phys. — To know, is not to suflfer Always ; for wrongs, like men, grow weak when old. — But I'm too bold, your Majesty. Saul. — I hpve heard say That, toward the west, a people live believing There is a river that can wash the past From out the memory. Phys. — I've travelled 'mongst them: But they believe 'tis only after death That those dark waters can avail the spirit ; ^ Which, losing the remembrance of past evil. Resigns therewith the memory of past good. Bj'''' '' : \ 1 i . r f ''l :,j-^ -■Hi 278 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. hi i Saul. — I ask not such oblivion ! But haat nothing That can avail a mortal whilst he lives ? What arc the dead to thee ! Phys. — Your majesty, Hefcin I cannot help you : — I have no opiate That can assuage the anguish of the spirit ; Nor subtle, fine astringent is their known Can bind the wanderings of a lawless fancy ; No soft, insinuating balsam that Can through the body reach the sickly soul. Saul, — Hast naught, then, in thy dispensatory ? Phys. — I've sedatives, narcotics, tonics too^ Saul, — Give me a tonic for the heart. PAy«.— The King Is strong of heart, or he had not delivered Us from our enemies as he hftth done. Saul. — Prince of flatterers, but Beggar of doctors, How poor thou art to him who truly needs ! The mind, the mind's the only worthy patient. Were I one of thy craft, ere this I'd have Anatomized a spirit ; I'd have treated Soul-wounds of my own making ; and, especially, I would have sought out sundry wasted wretches, And striven to cauterize to satisfaction The gangrenes of their past. — Ye are imposters ; All said, ye are imposters ; fleas. — Skindeep Is deep with you : you only prick the flesh, When you should probe the overwhelmed heart, And lance the horny wounds of old despair. Away ; Death is worth all the doctors. Phys. — I'll speak the truth to him whate'er the result. My liege, forgive me, for you have encouraged (Aloud.) Me, by your gracious freedom, to be bold : You have an evil spirit from the Lord. Saul, — Ay, I am filled with evil whilst my fit Continues, and do scores of murders then, In fancy, and, in my excited hour. f i THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 27d result. [Aside.) \ Aloud') Abominations work for which there is No name in the vocabulary, whose worst Expressions seem soft terms of innocence, Compared with the big syllables required To express me fully, when, in cruelty And guile, the very soul of Moloch and The machinations of the cunningest fiends That walk the bottomless pit, and therein ply Their fruitful fancies to deceive the world. Move me 'midst black temptation. Oh, I breathe Then the live coals of hell, and all my heart Glows ruddier than Tophet's angry noon. So bloody is my soul and wrapped in sable. Say, what's our cure ? Queen. — Oh, fail not now his need ! Phys. — Music can make the raging maniac gentle As is the slumbering babe ; and hold the demon In thrall until he smile like to an angel, And creep from out his victim to the air, To walk enrapt and harmless on the earth, As erst he trod the blue abyss of heaven. Saul. — I envy him his dole : a minstrel seek Me then. Phys. — Your majesty, I have seen a son Of Jesse the Beth-lemite ; an excellent player ;• Handsome and prudent, and religious also. He keeps his fjither's sheep : his name is David. (SflM^. —Straight send a messenger to his father, bidding Him send his son to the court. [Exit Physician.. Dost hear, sweet, How that the Devil is subdued by sound ? He cannot be all evil then ; for music Moves but that portion of us which is good. Nay, dry thy tears. Come, come. Sweet medicine Were music, and eflfective I doubt not ; For I remember, lately, when possessed, Wandering beyond the limits of the garden, Into the wood, upen a breezy day, ^11 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 11.25 l^|2£ |25 Ut Uii 12.2 Sf U£ 110 Mil 14 11.6 y M % ^ 280 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. m\ The sound of the swift brook assuaged my madness, That, as I stood absorbed upon the bank, Ebbed from me in unconscious, tender sighs. — (7. Heavysege. X.—CATO AND DECIUS. Dec. Caesar sends health to Cato Cato, Could he send it To Cato's slaughter'd friends, it would be welcome. Are not your orders to address the senate ? Dec. My business is with Cato ; Caesar sees The straits to which you are driven ; and, as he knows Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Would he save Cato, bid him spare his country. Tell your dictator this ; and tell him, Cato Disdains a life which he has power to offer. Dec. Bome and her senator's submit to Caesar; Her gen'rals and her consuls are no more. Who check'd his conquests, and denied his triumph: Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend ? Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged forbid it. Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate, And reason with you as from friend to friend : Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens every hour to burst upon it. Still may you stand high in your country's honours ; Do but comply and make your peace with Caesar, Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, As on the second of mankind. Cato, No more: I must not think of life on such conditions. Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your virtaeii| And, therefore, sets this value on your life. is-;: m THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 281 *) lued. Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship, And name your terms. Cato. Bid him disband his legions, Restore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public censure. And stand the judgment of a Roman senate : Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. Dec, Cato, the world talks boldly of your wisdom. — Cato. Nay more — tho' Cato's voice was ne'er employed To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes. Myself will mount the rostrum in his favour And strive to gain his pardon from the people. Dec. A. style like this becomes a conqueror. Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. Dec. What is a Roman that is Caesar's foe ? Cato. Greater than Caesar : he's a friend to virtue. Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head of your own little senate : You don't now thunder in the capitol. With all the mouths of Rome to second you. Cato. Let him consider that, who drives us hither; 'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's senate little, And thinn'd its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a false glaring light, Which conquest and success have thrown upon him ; Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst bg^ him black With murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes , That strike my soul with horror but to name them. I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch, Beset with ills and cover'd with misfortunes ; But, by the gods I swear, millions of worlds Should never buy me to be like Caesar. Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar, For all his gen'rous cares and proffer'd friendship p Cato. His cares for me are msolence and vain : Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, Bid him employ his care for these my friends, 282 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. >*'^ii »/* ■^ ■) I i i And make good use of his ill-gotton power, By shelt'ring men much better than himsell'. Dec. Your high unconquer'd heart makes you forget You are a man ; you rush on your destruction. But I have done. When I relate hereafter The tAle of this unhappy embassy, Ail Rome will be in tears. — Additon. XI.— GESLER AND TELL. Sar. Down, slave, upon thy knees, before the governor, And beg for mercy. Gea. Does he hear ? Sar. He does, but braves thy power. Down, slave, And ask for life. {To Tell Ges, \To Tell.'] Why speak'st thou not ? Tell. For wonder. Ges. Wonder? Tell. Yes, that thou shouldst seem a man. Ges. What should I seem ? Tell. A monster. Ges. Ha I Beware ! — think on thy chains. Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me down Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up Erect, with no hing but the honest pride Of telling thee, usurper, to thy teeth. Thou art a monster. — Think on my chains ! How came they on me ? Ges. Darest thou question me ? Tell. Darest thou answer ? Ges. Beware my vengeance. Tell. Can it more than kill ? Ges. And is not that enough ? Tell. No, not enough : — It cannot take away the grace of life — • THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 283 forget -Additon. a gOTemor, , slate, [To Tell ih me down The comeliness of look that virtue gives — Its port erect with consciousness of truth — Its rich attire of honourable deeds — Its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues : — It cannot lay its hand on these, no more Than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, Or with polluted finger tarnish it. Get. But it may make thee writhe. Tell. It may, and I may say, '' Go on !" though it should make me groan again. Ges. Whence comest thou ? Tell. From the mountains. Gea. Canst tell me any news from them P Tell. Ay;— they watch no more the avalanche. Ge8. Why so? Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane Comes unawares upon them : from its bed The torrent breaks, and finds them in liA track — Gea What then? Tell. They thank kind Providence it is not thou 1 Thou haat perverted nature in them. The earth Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce Betum his smile. Their flocks and herds increaae, And they look on, as men who count a loss. There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but The thought of thee doth wither to a curse — As something they must lose, and had far better Lack. Ges. 'Tis well. I'd have them as their hills That never smile, though wanton summer tempt Them e'er so much. Tell. But they do sometimes smile. Ges. Ah ! — when is that ? T'ell. When they do pray for vengeance. Ges. Dare they pray for that ? Tell. They dare, and they expect it, too. Ges. From whence ? I i 284 THE CANADIAN 8PEAKEE. Tell. From Heaven, pjid their true hearts. Gea. [To Sarnem.^ Lead in his son. Now will I take Exquisite vengeance. [To Tell, as the Boy entera.'y I have destined him To die along with thee. Tell. To die! for what? he's but a child. Gea. He's thine, however. Tell. He is an only child ! Gea. So much the easier to crush the race. Tell. He may have a mother ! Gea. So the viper hath — And yet who spares it for the mother's sake ? Tell. I talk to stone. I'll talk to it no more ! Come, my boy, I taught thee how to live, — I'll teach thee how to die. Gea. But, first, I'd see thee make A trial of thy skill with that same bow. Thy arrows never miss, 'tis said. Tell. What is the trial ? Gea. Thou look'st upon thy boy as though thou guessed it. Tell. Look upon my boy ! What mean you ? Look upon my boy as though I guessed it ! — Guessed at the trial thou wouldst have me make ! Guessed it — instinctively 1 Thou dost not mean — No, no — Thou wouldst not have me make A trial of my skill upon my child ? Impossible ! I do not guess thy meaning. Gea. I'd see thee hit an apple on his head Three hundred paces off. Tell. Great Heaven 1 Gea. On this condition only will I spare His life and thine. Telt. Ferocious monster ! make a father Murder his own child. Gea. Dost thou consent ? Tell With his own hand I— The hand I've led him when an infant by I THE CANADIAN SPEAI^ER. 285 w will I take \f enters^ I >re! thougli thoa ake! ean — My hands are free from blood, and have no gust For it, that they should drink my child's. I'll not murder my boy for Gesler ! Boy. You will not hit me, father. You'll be sure To hit the apple. Will you not save me, father ? Tell. Lead me forth — I'll make the trial. Boy. Father — Tell. Speak not to me ; — Let me not hear thy voice — Thou must be dumb, And 80 should all things be — Earth should be dumb. And heaven, unless its thunder muttered at The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. — Give me my bow and quiver. Ge%. When all is ready. Sarnem, measure hence The distance — three hundred paces. Tell. Will he do it fairly ? Gt9. What is't to thee, fairly or not ? Tell. \Sarca9tically^ 0, nothing, a little thing I A very httle thing I I only shoot At my child ! \Samem prepares to m€asureJ\ Villain, stop ! You measure 'gainst the sun. Get. And what of that ? What matter whether to or from the sun ? Tell. I'd have it at my back. The sun should shine Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots : — I will not shoot against the sun. Ges. Give him his way. ^Sarnem paces and goes out.^ Tell. I should like to see the apple I must hit. Ges. [Picks out the smallest one.l^ There, take that. Tell. You've picked the smallest one. Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be The greater if thou hittest it. Tell. {Sarcastically.'] True!— true! I did not think of that. I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one Had given me a chance to save my boy. — Give me my bow. Let me see my quiver. Ge9. Give him a single arrow. [To an attendant.'] [Tell looks at it, and breaks it,] 286 THB CANADIAN SPEAKER. m i -M Tell. Lei me see my quiver. It is not One arrow in a dozen I would use To shoot with at a dove, much less a dove Like that. , Is the boy ready ? Keep silence now, For Heaven's sake, and be my witnesses, That, if his life's in peril from my hand, 'Tis only for the chance of saving it. For mercy's sake keep motionless and silent 1 [JTiff aims and shoots in the direction of the boy. In a moment Sarnem enters, with the apple on the arrow*s point.^ Sarnem. The boy is safe. Tell. [Raising his arms.'\ Thank heaven ! [As he raises his arms a concealed arrow /alls. '\ Ges. [Picking if up.] Unequalled archer ! — Why was this concealed ? Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy ! — Sheridan Knowles. I « V\ ! XII.— WOLSEY AND CROMWELL. WoUey. — So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness 1 This is the state of man. To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him. The third day comes 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. These many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride THK CANADIAN SPEAKEa. 287 e hoy. In a n the arrow's ow ^aUs.'l sr I— Why wa» yboy! an Knowles. ELL. 11 bear me. 1 orth lim. =iy fide At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! I feel my heart new-opened. Oh, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes* favours ! There is betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have ; And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. Enter Cromwell, standing amazed. Why, how now, Cromwell ? Vrom. — I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. — ^What! amazed At my misfortunes ? Can thy spirit wonder A great man should decline ? Nay, if you weep, I'm fallen indeed. Crom. — How docs your Grace ? Wol— Why, well ; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now, and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities — > A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, I humbly thank his Grace ; and, from these shoulders, These ruined pillars, out of pity taken A load would sink a navy — too much honour. Oh, 'tis a burden. Cromwell, 'tis a burden Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. — I'm glad your Grace has made that right use of it. Wol. — I hope I have. I'm able now, methinkfl, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, T' endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-heart«d enemies dare offer. What news abroad ? Crom. — The heaviest and the worst i. 'V, :\ (li.. ' * .■ ( . , I' It rt i-i' I;! I I! i ;J1 HI:' 288 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Is your displeasure with the King. ITo/.—God bless him I Crom. — The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. — That's somewhat sudden — But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake and his conscience ; that his bones. When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him 1 What more ? Crom. — That Cranmer is returned with welcome ; Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Wol. — That's news, indeed ! Crom. — Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secrecy, long married, This day was viewed in open as his Queen, Going to chapel ; and the voice is now Only about her coronation. Wol. — There was the weight that pull'd me down. Cromwell. The King has gone beyond me. All my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever. No sun shall ever usher forth my honours. Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seek the King. That sun, I pray, may never set. I've told him What and how true thou art ; he will advance thee. Some little memory of me will stir him ; I know his noble nature, not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not ; make use, now, and provide For thine own future safety. Croni. — my lord, Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master? THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 289 ire is chosen bones, jings, iml ilcome ; 'd me down, ies imwell ; um |e thee. rell, Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord I The King shali have my service ; but my prayers For ever and for ever shall be yours. Wol. — 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 wo: nan. Let's dry our. tears, and thus far hear me Cromwell ; And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must more be heard, say then I taught thee ; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in — A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me. 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 ; Curruption 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, Tby God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the King; And — prithee, 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 my own . Cromwell, Cromwell I 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 I '^Shahspeare . I I I I I • ' < I- . i Si' ' 290 THE CANADUN 8PBAKEE. XIII.— SCENE FROM DOUGLASS. LORD RANDOLPH — OLBNALYON — NORVAL. Glenalvon. His port I love : he's in a proper mood To chide the thunder, if at him it roared . [Atide . Has Nerval seen the troops ? Norval, The setting sun, With yellow radiance lightened all the vale, And as the warriors moved, each polished helm, Corslet, or spear, glanced back its gilded beams. The hill they climbed, and, halting at its top, 'Of more than mortal size, towering they seemed A host angelic, clad in bi ning arms. Glen. Thou talk'st it well ; no leader of our host, In sounds more lofty talks of glorious war. Nor. If I should e'er acquire a leader's name, My speech will be less ardent. Novelty . Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration Vents itself freely, since no part is mine Of praise pertaining to the great in arms. Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir ; your martial deeds Have ranked you with the great. But, mark me, Norval, Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth -Above his veterans of famous service , Let ibe, who know these soldiers, counsel you . Oive them all honour ; seem not to command, Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power. Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns . Nor. Sir, I have been accustomed all my days To hoar and speak the plain and simple truth ; And though I have been told that there are men Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn, Yet in such language I am little skilled : Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel. Although it sounded harshly . Why remind Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power With such contemptuous terms? Glen. I did not mean To gall your pride, which now I see is great. JVbr. My pride! THl OANADIAN SPEAKHEB. 291 mood liost, ion artial deeds me, Nerval, )wer, isoorn, Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper . Your pride's excessive . Yet, for Randolph's sake, I will not leave you to its rash direction . If thus you swell, and frown at high-bom men, Will high-bom men endure a shepherd's soom ? Nor. A shepherd's scorn ! Qlen. Yes : if you presume To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes, As if you took the measure of their minds. And said in secret, you're no match for me. What will become of you ? Nor. If this were told ! — [^ Aside, Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? Glen. Ha I dost thou threaten me ? Nor. Didst thou not hear ? Glen. Unwillingly I did ; ^ uoMer foe Had not been questioned thus ; but such as thee — Nor. Whom dost thou think me ? Glen. Norval. Nor. So I am — And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes ? Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering be^ar boy ; At best no more, even if he speaks the truth . Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth ? Glen. Thy truth ! thou'rt all a lie ; and as false as hell Is the vainglorious tale thou told'st to Randolph . Nor. If I were chained, unarmed, or bedrid old, Perhaps I should revile ; but as I am, I have no tongue to rail . The humble Norval Is of a race who strive not but with deeds . Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor. And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, I'd tell thee — what thou art . I know thee well . Glenj Dost thou not know Glenalvon, bom to oommMid Ten thousand slaves like thee ? Nor, Villain, no more I Draw and defend thy life. I did design To have defied thee in another cause ; But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee* Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs. 292 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Lord Randolph. [^Enters.'] Hold ! I command you both X the man that stirs Makes me his foe . Nor. Another voice than thine . That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph . Glen. Hear him, my lord ; he's wond'rous condescending ! Mark the humility of Shepherd Norval ! ■^m^»''*0^-^:ZZ'\:'* Nor. Now you may scoff in safety. [Sheathes his swords Lord Ran. Speak not thus. Taunting each other, but unfold to me The cause of quarrel ; then I judge betwixt you . Nor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much. My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. I blush to speak ; I will not can not speak The opprobrious words that I from him have borne . To the liege lord of my dear native land I owe a subject's homage ; but even him And his high arbitration I'd reject. Within my bosom reigns another lord ; Honour, sole judge and umpire of itself. If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, Revoke your favours, and liet Norval go Hence as he came, but not dishonoured I Lord Ran. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice ^ The ancient foe of Caledonia's land Now waves her banner o'er her frighted fields; Suspend your purpose till your country's arms Repel the bold invader ; then decide The private quarrel . Glen. I agree to this. Nor. And I . [Exit Randolph , ] Glen. Norval, Let not our variance mar the social hour. Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph . Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, Shall stain my countenance . Smooth thou thy brow ; Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame . Nor. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment; When we contend again, our strife is mortal . THE CANADIAN SPEAKlfiR. 293 you both f I. escending ! I Ids sword. I. u much, snt. lorne. artial voice ; Ly brow; [meut ; — flbwie* XIV.—FRAMPTON AND EUSTACE. Lord Eustace. Well, my dear Frampton, have you secured the letters ? Frampton. Yes, my lord, for their rightful owners. Lord Bust. As to the matter of property, Frampton, we will not dispute much about that. Necessity, you know, may sometimes render a trespass excusable. Fram. I am not casuist sufficient to answer you upon that subject ; but this I know, that you have already trespassed against the laws of hospitality and honour, in your conduct towards Sir William Evans and his daughter. And as your friend and counselor both, I would advise you to think seriously of repairing the injuries you have com- mitted, and not increase your offence by a farther violation. Lord Fust. It is actually a pity you were not bred to the bar, Ned ; but I have only a moment to stay, and am all impatience to know if there be a letter from Langwood, and what he says. Fram. I shall never be able to afford you the least in- formation upon that subject, my lord. Lord Fust. Surely, I do not understand you! You said you had secured the letters. Have you not read them ? Fram. You ^ -ve a right, and none but you, to ask me such a question. My weak compliance with your first proposal, relative to these letters, warrants your thinking so meanly of me. But know, my lord, that though my personal affection for you, joined to my unhappy circum- stances, may have betrayed me into actions unworthy of myself, I never can forget that there is a barrier fixed before the extreme of baseness, which honour will not let me pass. Lord Fust You will give me leave to tell you, Mr. Frampton, that where I lead, I think you need not halt. Framp. You will pardon me, my lord ; the conscious- ness of another man's errors, can never be a justification of our own : and poor indeed must that wretch be, who can be satisfied with the negative merit, of not being the worst man he knows. Lord Fust. If this discourse were uttered in a conventicle, it might have its effect by setting the congregation to sleep. 1 1 11 ■ 1, i ■ ^j, ,J t '^i iff' « '1 ^H' ^^^1 i ■ ! ■i; '1 11 } ;•; v/. ■i HI V'i ,'»( .ru. Go to; you are not, Cassius. Ca^ I am! Bru. I say, you are not. Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself — Have mind upon yourself— tempt me no farther ! Bru. Away, slight man 1 Cas. Is't possible ? Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? Cas. gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? Bru. All this ? ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break ; Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 297 rt break; Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish. Cos. Is it come to this 7 Bru. You say you are a better soldier; Let it appear so : make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way — you wrong me, Brutus; I said, an elder soldier, not a better ; Did I say better? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not ? Bru. No. Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ? Bru. For your life you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; I may do that I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; For I am armed so strong in honesty. That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; For I can raise no money by vile means. I had rather coin my heart. And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring, From the hard hands of peasants, their vile traah, By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? When Marcus Brutus grows so coveteous, To lock such rascal-counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 298 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 1 infl ^^B 1 i '''■^^1 ^^H ^UA ^^H I w ^B ■ ^^B ^^H *^^B ^^1 -I 9 ^H ;^H ^^B "^^B ^^1 9 ^B - 'ill > Jm ^M i 1 dl H ' t ji^aH i • *ii Dash him to pieces I Cas. I denied you not. Bru. You did. Cas. I did not; — he was bmt a foci That broUj^ht my answer back. — Brutus hath rived my heart A friend should bear his triond's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bm. I do not, till you practise them on me. Gas. You love me not ? Bru, I do not like your faults. Gas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bm. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus. Gas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come ! Kevenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is a-weary of the world : Hated by one he loves — braved by his brother — Checked like a bondman — all his faults observed. Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, To cast into my teeth — 0, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, J. id here my naked breast ; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ! If that thou be'st a Koman, take it forth. I that denied thee gold, will give my heart; Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, When thou didst hate him worse, thou lovodst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Bi'u. Sheathe your da^er ; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius 1 you are yoked with a lamb. That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; ' Which, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Gas. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? Bmi, When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 299 Q J heart Com. Do you ooufesd so much ? Give me your hand. Bru. And my heart too. Cat. O Brutus! Bru. What's the matter? Com. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humou , which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful ? Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. — Shahspcare. pear better XVI.— ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. Antony. They tell me 'tis my birth-day ; and I'll keep it With double pomp of sadness. 'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath. Why was I raised the meteor of the world. Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled. Till all my fires were spent, and then cast downwards To be trod out by Caesar ? Ventidiui, I must disturb him. I can hold no longer. [Stands before him,'\ Ant, [Starting up.\ Art thou Ventidius ? Vent. Are you Antony ? I'm liker what I was, than you to him I left you last. Ant. I'm angry. Vent. So am I. Ant. I would be private. Leave me. Vent. Sir, I love you, And therefore will not leave you . Ant. Will not leave me ! Where have you learnt this answer ? Who am I ? Vent. My emperor ; the man I love next Heaven . Ant. Emperor? Why that's the style of victory. The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds, I h U . '■: ' ■{ !- ;'5" Mi .Hf-- *51 3oa THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Salutes his general so : but never more Shall that sound reach my ears . Fe.it. I warrant you . jint. Actium, Actium ! Oh — Vent. It sits vdo near you . Ant. Here, here it lies ! a lump of lead by day ; And, in my short distracted nightly slumbers, The hag that rides my dreams — Vent. Out with it ; give it vent. Ant. Urge not my shame — I lost a battle . , Vent. So has Julius done . Ant. Thou favourest me, and speakest not half thou thinkest ; For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly : But Antony — Vent. Nay, stop not. Ant, Antony (Well, thou wilt have it) like a coward fled, Fled while his soldiers fought ! fled first, Ventidius . Thou longest to curse me ; I give thee leave . I know thou earnest prepared to rail . Vent. No. Ant. Why? Vent, You are too sensible already Of what youVe done ; too conscious of your failings ; And like a scorpion, whipped by others first To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge . I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds, Cure your distempered mind, and heal your fortunes . Ant. I know thou wouldst. Vent. I will. Ant. Sure thou dreamest, Ventidius ! Vent. No, 'tis you dream; you sleep away joirr liours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy . Up, up, for honour's sake ; twelve legions wait you, Aikd long to call you chief. By pain^ journeys I led them, patient both of heat and hunger, Down from the Parthian marches, to the Nile . THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 301 'Twill do you good t<» see their sun-burnt faces, Their scarred chel.b, and chopped hands; there's virtue in them ; They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates, Than yon trim bands can buy . Ant, Where left you them ? Vent. I said in Lower Syria. Ant. Bring them hither ; There may be life in these . Vent. They will not come . Ant. Why did they refuse to march? Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra . Ant. What was't they said 1 Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Why should they fight, indeed, to make her conqueror, And make you more a slave ? Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free license On all my other faults ; but, on your life, No word of Cleopatra; — she deserves More worlds than I can lose . Vent. Behold, you powers, To whom you have intrusted human kind I See Europe, Asia, Africa, put in balance. And all weighed down by one light, worthless woman I Ant. You grow presumptuous . Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to speak . Ant. Plain love ! plain arrogance ! plain insolence ! Thy men are cowards ; thou, an envious traitor, Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall . Oh, that thou wert my equal, great in arms As the first Caesar was, that I might kill thee Without a stain to honour . Vent. You may kill me ; You have done more already; called me a traitor. A'lt. Art thou not one ? Vent. For showing you yourself, Which no one else durst have done . But had I been That name, which I disdain to speak again, 302 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. h* I ' )■ I;-! Ill 11 I!"' ill I need not have sought your abject fortunes, Come to partake your fate, to die with you. What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles To fill Octavius' bands? I could have been A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor, And not have been so called . Ant, Forgive me, soldier; I've been too passionate . Fent. You thought me false ; Thought my old age betrayed you . Kill me, sir, Pray kill me ; yet you need not ; your unkindness Has left your sword no work . Ant. 1 did not think so; I said it in my rage : prithee forgive me . Thou only lovest, the rest have flattered me . Fent. Heaven's blessing on your heart, for that kind word. May I believe you love me ? Speak again . Ant. Indeed I do. Do with me what thou wilt: . Lead me to victory, thou knowest the way . Fent. And will you leave this — Ant. Prithee do not curse her. And I will leave her ; though heaven knows, I love Beyond life, conquest, empire, all but honour; But I will leave her. Fent. That's my royal master : And shall we fight ? Ant. 1 warrant thee, old soldier: Thou shalt behold me once again in iron, And at the head of our old troops, that beat The Parthians, cry aloud, come, follow me ! Fent. Methinks you breathe Another soul ; your looks are more sublime ; You speak a hero, and you move like Mars . Ant 0, thou hast fired me ! My soul is up in arms ! And mans each part about me . Once again That noble eagerness of fight has seized me ; That eagerness with which I darted upward To Cassius' camp . In vain the steepy hill Opposed my way ! In vain a war of spears THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 303 Sung round my head, and planted all my shield t I won the trenches, while my foremost men Lagged on the plain below . Vent. Ye gods, ye gods ! For such another hour ! Ant. Come on, my soldier ; Our hearts and arms are still the same . I long Once more to meet our foes ; that thou and I, Like Time and Death, marching before our troops, May take fate to them ; mow them out a passage, And entering where the utmost squadrons yield, Begin the noble harvest of the field . — Shakspeare. arms I XVII.— THE THREE WARNINGS. When sports went round, and all were gay. On neighbour Dobson's wedding day, Death called aaide the jocund groom With him into another room ; And, looking grave, " You must," says he " Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." " With you, and quit my Susan's side ! With you !" the hapless husband cried ;' " Young as I am ! 'tis monstrous hard ! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared." What more he urged I have not heard ; But Death the poor delinquent spared. Yet, calling up a serious look, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke : " Neighbour," he said, "farewell ! No more Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour. And further, to avoid all blame Of cruelty upon my name. To give you time for preparation, And fit you for your future station, Three several warnings you shall hare, • i 304 >rnE Canadian speaker. Before you're summoned to the grave : Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey, And grant a kind reprieve ; In hopes you'll have no more to say, But, when I ciill again this way, Well pleased, the world will leave." To these conditions both consented, And parted perfectly contented. What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he lived, how wise, how well, How calmly he pursued his way, And what he did from day to day, The willing muse shall tell ; He chaffered, then, he bought, he sold Nor once perceived his growing old, Nor thought of Death as near ; His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few, He passed his hours in peace ; But while he viewed his wealth increase. While thus along life's dusty road The beaten track content he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares. Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood, As all alone he sat. The unwelcome messenger of Fate Once more before him stood. Half-killed with anger and surprise, " So soon returned !" old Dobson cries. " Soon, do you call it ?" Death replies : " Surely, my friend, you're but in jest. Since I was here before, 'Tis six-and-thirty years at least. And you are now fourscore." " So much the worse," the clown rejoined, " To spare the aged would be kind ; Besides, you promised me three warnings, THX CANADIAN SPEAKER. 305 Which I have looked for nights and mornings, But. for that loss of time and ease, I can recover damages." " I know/' cries Death, " that at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest ; But don't be captious, friend, at least ; I little thought you'd still be able To stump about your farm and stable : Your years have run to a great length ; I wish you joy, though, of your su'^ngth." " Hold," says the farmer; " not 30 faat ; I have been lame these four yours past." " And no great wonder," Death replies ; " However, you still keep your eyes ; And, sure, to see one's loves and friends, For legs and arms would make amends." " Perhaps," says Dobson, " so it might; But, latterly, I've lost my sight." " This is a shocking story, faith I Yet there's comfort still," says Death ; " Each strives your sadness to amuse ; I warrant you hear all the news." " There's none," cries he, "and, if there were I'm grown so deaf I could Hot hear." " Nay, then," thn spectre stern rejoined, " These are unjustifiable yearnings : If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, You've had your three sufficient warnings. So come along — no more we'll part;" He said, and touched him with his dart. And now, old Dobson, turning pale, Yields to his fate. So ends my tale. — Mn. ThrcUe, XVIII.^THE KING AND THE MILLER. King* [a/o7t.<;.] No, no, this can be no public road, that's certain, I am lost, quite lost, indeed. Of what ad- _j3 306 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Tantage is it now to be a king. Night shows me no respect : I cannot see better, nor walk so well as another man . What is a king ? Is he not wiser than another man ? Not without his councillors, I plainly find . Is he not more powerfvil ? I have ofb been told so, indeed, but what now can my power command? Is he not greater and more magnificent ? When seated on his throne, and surrounded with nobles and flatterers, perhaps he may think so ; but when lost in a wood, alas i what is he but a common man ? His wisdom knows not which is north and which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at; and his greatness the beggar would not bow "^^o . And yet how oft are we puffed up with these false attributes! Well, in losing the monarch, I have found the man . [The report of a gun is heard, ^ Hark ! some villain sure is near ! What were it best to do ? Will my majesty protect me ? No . Throw majesty aside then, and let manhood do it. Miller, [enters.'] I believe I hear the rogue. Who's there ? King . No rogue, I assure you . Miller. Little better, friend, I believe. Who fired that gun ? King . Not I, indeed . Miller, You lie, I believe. King . Lie ! lie I How strange it seems to me to be talked to in this style ! [aside."] Upon my word I don't. Miller, Come, come, sirrah, confess; you have shot one of the king's deer, have not you ? King, No, indeed; I owe the king more respect. I heard a gun go off, indeed, and was afraid some robbers might be near . Miller, I'm bound to believe this, friend. Pray, who are you ? What's your name ? King, Name! Miller . Name ! yes, name . Why, you have a name, have not you ? Where do you come from ? What is your business here ? King, These are questions I have not been used to, honest man . Miller , May be so, honest man ; but they are questions THE CANADIAN SPEAKSB. 307 me no another another Is he \ed, but greater >ne, and he maj le hut a )rth and )ark at; A.nd yet ributes I . best to majesty s there ? latgun? e to be I don't, shot one ect. I robbers ay, who b name, is your ised to, uestions DO honest man would be afraid to answer, I think : so, if you can give no better account of yourself, I shall make bold — to take you along with me, if you please . King . With you ! what authority have you to Miller, The king's authority; if I must give you an account, sir, I am John Cockle, the Miller of Mansfield, one of his majesty's keepers in this forest of Sherwood ; and I will let no suspected fellow pass this way that cannot give a better account of himself than you have done, I promise you. King. I must submit to myovrn authority— TaAiV/^.] Very well, sir, I am glad to hear the king has sogood an officer; and since I find you have his authority, I will give you a better account of myself, if you will do me the favour to hear it . MiVer, It's more than you deserve, I believe; but let's hear what you can say for yourself. King . I have the honour to belong to the king as Tvell as you, and, perhaps, should be as unwilling to see any wrong done him . I came down with him to hunt in thig forest ; and the chase leading us to-day a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and ha\e lost my way. Miller, This does not sound well. If you have been a hunting, pray where is your horse ? King, I have tired my horse, so much that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him . Miller* If I thought I might believe this now — King , I am not used to lie, honest man . Miller . What ! do you live at court, and mot lie ? that's a likely story indeed . King . Be that as it will, I speak truth now, I assure you ; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it, or give me a night's lodging in your own house, here is something to pay you for your trouble, (giving a purse;) and if that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire . Miller . Ay, now I am convinced you are a courtier ; there is a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath 1 here, take it again, and take 308 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. I' « ■f this along with it, — John Cockle is no courtier ; he can do what he ought — without a. bribe. King . Thou art a very extraordinary man, I must own, and I should be glad, methinks, to be farther acquainted with thee . Miller. Thee ! and thou ! pr'ythee don't thee and thou me ; I believe I am as good a man as yourself, at least . King . Sir, I beg your pardon . Milter. Nay, I am not angry, friend: only I don't love to be too familiar with anybody, before " know whether or not he deserves it. King. You are in the right. But what am I to do? Miller. You may do what you please. You are twelve miles from Nottingham and all the way through thick wood ; but, if you are resolved upon going thither to-night, I will put you in the road, and direct you the best I can ; or, if you will accept of such poor entertainment as a miller can give', you will be welcome to stay all night, and in the morning I shall go with you myself. King . And cannot you go with me to-night ? Miller. I would not go with you to-night, if you were » the king. King . Then I must go with you, I think . — Dodsley . f': t - ■f XIX.— RORY O'MORE'S PRESENT TO THE PRIEST. '* Why, then, I'll tell you," said Rory. " I promised my mother to bring a present to the priest from Dublin, and I could not make up my mind rightly what to get all the time I was there. I thought of a pair of top-boots : for, indeed, his riverence's is none of the best, and only you hnow them to be top-boots, you would not take them to be top-boots, bekase the bottoms have been put in so often that the tops is wore out intirely, and is no more hke top-boots than my brogues. So I wint to a shop in Dublin, and picked out the purtiest pair o'top-boote I could see ; — ^whin I say purty, I don't mane a flourishin' tarin* pur, bat THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 309 )u were » eitcb as was fit for a priest, a respectable pair o' boots ; — and with that, I pulled out my good money to pay for them, whin jist at that minit, rememberin' the thricks o' the town, I bethought myself, and says I, ' I suppose these are the right thing ?' says I to the man. — ' You can thry them,' says he. — * How can I thry them ?' says I. — ' Pull them on you,' says he. — ' Musha, an' I'd be sorry,' says I, < to take sitch a liberty with them,* says I. — * Why, aren't you goin' to ware thim ?' says he. — ' Is it me ?' says I, ' me ware top-boots ? Do you think it's takin' lave of my sinsis I am ?' says I. — ' Then what do you want to buy them for ?' says he. — * For his riverence, Father Kinshela, says I. — * Are they the right sort for him ?' — ' How should I know ?' says he. — ' You're a purty boot-maker,' says I 'not to know how to make a priest's boot !' — ' How do I know his size V says he.-^* Oh, don't be comin* off that way,' says I, ' There's no such great differ betune priests and other men !' " I think you were very right there," said the pale traveller. " To be sure sir," said Rory ; " and it was only jist a come offfoT his own ignorance. — ' Tell me his size,* says the fellow, * and I'll fit him.' — * He's betune five and six fut,' says I. — * Most men are,' says he, laughin' at me. He was an impidint fellow. — * It*s not the five, nor six, but his two feet I want to know the size of,* says he. So I persaived he was jeerin' me, and says I, ' Why, thin, you respectful vagabone o* the world, you Dublin jackeen ! do you mane to insinivate th^t Father Kinshela ever wint barefutted in his life, that I could know the size of his fut,' says I ; and with that I threw the boots in his face. * Take that^' says I, ' you dirty thief o' the world ! you impident vagabone of the world 1 you ignorant citizen o' the world !' And with that I left the place." * * " It is their usual practice," said the traveller, " to take the measure of their customers." « Is it, thin ?*' " It really is." "See that, now?" said Rory, with an air of triumph. ~ w^ 310 TH£ CANADIAN SPEAKER. * ' {;} i r; . ' \\\ w " You wouM think that they wor cleverer in the town than in the counthry ; and they ought to be so, by all accounts ; — but in regard of what I towld you, you see, we're before them intirely." " How so ?" said the traveller. " Arrah ! bekase they never throuble people in the coun- thry at all with takin' their measure ; but you jist go to a fair, and bring your fut along with you, and somebody else drives a cartful o' brogues into the place, and there you «arve yourself; and so the man gets his money and you get jour shoes, and every one's plazed." * * " But what I mane is — whsre did I leave off tellin' you about the present for the priest ? — wasn't it at the boot- maker's shop ? — ^yes, that was it. Well, sir, on laving the shop, as soon as I kem to myself afther the fellow's impidince, I began to think what was the next best thing I could do for his riverence ; and with that, while I was thinkin' about it, I seen a very respectable owld gintleman goin' by, with the most beautiful stick in his hand I ever 5ot my eyes on, and a goolden head to it that was worth its weight in goold ; and it gave him such an illigant lock alto- gether, that sayH I to myself, ' It's the very thing for Fa- ther Kinshela, if I could get sitch another.' And so I wint lookin' about me every shop I seen as I wint by, and at last, in a sthreet they call Dame-sthreet — and, by the same token, I did'nt know why they called it Dame-street till I ax'd ; and I was towld they called it Dame-sthreet bekase the ladies were so fond o' walkin' there ; — and lovely cray- thurs they wor ! and I can't b'lieve that the town is such an onwholesome place to live in, for most o* the ladies I seen there had the most beautiful rosy cheeks I ever clapt my eyes upon — and the beautiful rowlin' eyes of them I — Well, it was in Dame-sthreet, as I was sayin', that I kem to a shop where there was a power o' sticks, and so I wint in and looked at thim ; and a man in the place kem to me and ax'd me if I wanted a cane ? ' No,' says T, ' I don't want a cane ; it's a stick I want,' says I. 'A cane, you mane^ sa^^s he. * No,' says I, ' it's a stick' — for I was de- termined to have no cane, but to stick to the stick. < Here's THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 311 a Date one, sajs he. ' I don't want a nate one says, I ' but a responsible one,' says I. * Faix!' says he, 'if an Insh- man's stick was responsible, it would have a great deal to answer for' — and he laughed a power. I didn't know my- self what he meant, but that's what he said." "It was because you asked for a responsible stick," said the traveller. " And why wouldn't I," said Rory, " when it waa for his riverence I wanted it ? Why wouldn't he have a nice lookin', respectable, responsible stick ?" "Certainly," said the traveller. " Well, I picked out one that looked to my likin' — a good «ubstantial stick, with an ivory top to it— for I seen that the goold-headed ones was so dear I couldn't come up to them ; and so says I, ' Give me a howld o' that,' says I — and I tuk a grip iv it. I never was so surprised in my life. I thought to get a good, brave handful of a solid stick, but, my dear, it was well it didn't fly out o' my hand a'most, it was so light. ' Phew 1' says I ' what sort of a stick is this ?' * I tell you it's not a stick, but a cane,' says he. ' Faix ! I b'lieve you,' says I. ' You see how good and light it is,' says he. Think o' that sir ! — to call a stick good and light — as if there could be any good in life in a stick that wasn't heavj, and could sthreck a good blow 1 ' Is it jokin' you are?' says L 'Don't you feel it yourself V says he. — ' Throth, I can hardly feel it all,' says I . ' Sure that's the beauty of it,' says he. Think, o' the ignorant vaga- bone ! — to call a stick a beauty that was as light a'most as a bulrush ! ' And so you can hardly feel it ! ' says ho, grinnin' . * Yis, indeed,' says I ; ' and what's worse, I don't think I could make any -one else feel it either . ' ' Oh I you want a stick to bate people with ! ' says he. 'To be sure,' says I; 'sure that's the use of a stick.' 'To knock the sinsis out o' people!' says he, grinnin' again . ' Sartinly,' says I, ' if they're saucy' — ^lookin' hard at him at the same time . ' Well, these is only walkin'-sticks,' says he . ' Throth, you may say run- nin'-sticks, says I, 'for you daren't stand before any one with such a thraneen as that in your fist . ' ' Well, pick out ftt'ib 1 1 I I f^t If' r i M It ! };■ . !' k V S i. I j! , ;. f 1' J'^T ■^ 1 t^ ^ t ft b 7 ,1 312 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. the heaviest o' them you plaze/ says he j * take your choice . ' So I went pokin' and rummagin' among them, and, if you believe me, there wasn't a stick in their whole shop worth a kick in the shins — sorra one !" " But why did you require such a heavy stick for the priest?" " Bekase there is not a man in the parish wants it more," says Rory . " Is he so quarrelsome, then ?" said the traveller. "No, but the greatest o' pacemakers," says Rory. " Then what does he want the heavy stick for?" ''For wallopin' his flock, to be sure," said Rory. " Walloping 1" said the traveller, choking with laughter. " Oh ! you may laugh," said Rory, "but 'ponmy word ! you wouldn't laugh if you wor undher his hand, for he has a brave heavy one. Heaven bless him and spare him to us !" "And what is all this walloping for ?" "Why, sir, when we have a bit of a fight, for fun, or the regular faction one, at the fair, his riverence sometimes hears of it, and comes av coorse." " Are you in earnest !" said the traveller, in real astonish- ment, " does the priest join the battle ?" " No, no, no, sir ! I see you're quite a stranger in the counthry . The priest join it ! — Oh ! by no manes . But he comes and stops it ; and, av coorse, the only way he can stop it is, to ride into them, and wallop thim all round be- fore him, and disparse them — scatter them like chaff before the wind ; and it's the best o' sticks he requires for that same." " But might he not have his heavy stick on purpose for that purpose, and make use of a lighter one on other occa- sions ?" * "As for that matther, sir," said Rory, "there's no knowin' the minit he might want it, for he is often necessi- tated to have recoorse to it . It might be, goin' through the village, the public-house is too full, and in he goes and drives them out . Oh ! it wouid delight your heart to see the style he clears a public-house in, in no time !" 4 -J3 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 313 5hoice . ' , if you p worth for the >> t more, r. y- aughter . ay word ! or he hits Q to us !" r fun, or ometimes I astooish- er in the BS. But ay he can ound he- aff before for that rposo for her occa- iere's no necessi- through goes and irt to see " But wouldn't his speaking to them answer the purpose as weU r " Oh, no ! he doesn't like to throw away his discoorse on thim ; and why should he ? — he keeps that for the blessed althar on Sunday, which is a fitther place for it : besides he does not like to be sevare on us . " " Severe!" said the traveller, in surprise "why, haven't you said he thrashes yoii round on all occasions ?" " Yis, sir ; but what o' that ? — sure that's nothin' to his tongue — ^his words is like swoords or razhors, I may say : we're used to a lick of a stick every day, but not to sich language as his reverence sometimes murthers us with whin we displaze him . Oh I it's terrible, so it is, to have the weight of his tongue on you ! Sure 1 I'd rather let him bate me fix)m this till to-morrow, than have one angry word with him." " I see then, he must' have a heavy stick," said the tra- veller. " To be sure he must, sir, at all times; and that was the raison I was so particular in the shop ; and afbher spendin' over an hour — ^would you b'lieve it ? — sorra a stick I could get in the place fit for a child, much less a man . " But about the gridiron ?" "Sure I'm tellin' you about it," said Rory; "only I'm not come to it yit. You see," continued he, "I was so disgusted with them shopkeepers in Dublin, that my heart was fairly bruk with their ignorance, and I seen they knew nothin' at all about what I wanted, and so I came away without anything for his riverence, though it was on my mind all this day on the road ; and comin' through the last town in the middle of the rain, I thought of a gridiron." " A very natural thing to think of in a shower of rain," said the traveller. "No, 'twasn't the rain made me think of it — I think it was goodness put a gridiron in my heart, seein' that it was a present for the priest I intended ; and when I thought of it, it came into my head, afther, that it would be a fine u 314 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. m:'-' :■ 1 thing to sit on, for to keep out of the rain, that was ruina- tin' my cordheroys on the top of the coach ; so I kept my eye out as we dhrove along up the sthreet, and sure enough what should I see at a shop half way down the town but a gridiron hanging up at the door ! and so I went back to get it." "But isn't a gridiron an odd present ? — ^hasn't his reve- rence one already ?" " He had, sir, before it was bruk — but that's what I remembered, for I happened to be up at his place one day, sittin' in the kitchen, when Molly was brillin' some mate an it for his riverence; and while she jitt turned about to get a pinch o' salt to shake over it, the dog that was in the place made a dart at the gridiron on the fire, and threwn it down, and up he whips the mate, before one of us could stop him . With that Molly whips up the gridiron, and says she, * Chokin' to you, you disrespectful baste ! would nothin' sarve you but the priest's dinner?' and she made a crack o' the gridiron at him. * As you have the mate, you shall have the gridiron too,' says she ; and with that she gave him such a rap on the head «/ith it, that the bars flew out of it, and his head went through it, and away he pulled it out of her hands, and ran off with the gridiron hangin' round his neck like a necklace ; and he went mad a'most with it; for though a kettle to a dog's tail is nath'rel, a gridiron round his neck is very surprisin' to him ; and away he tatthered over the country, till there wasn't a taste o' the gridiron left together . " — Samuel Lover ^ :.:!■ XX. -MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. MR. MARTYN, MRS. MARTYN, AND MR. HALL. Mr. Martyn. I declare, there is a hole here in this new carpet. There it goes again. Carelessness 1 Idrs, Martyn. Yes, I see. I think it a bum. It looks as though a careless servant had let fall on it a red hot poker. THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 315 Tiina- )tmy lough a but ck to i reve- vhat I le day, I mate )out to 1 in the bhrewn 9 could n, and would made a ite, you hat she ars flew ) pulled hangin' a' most 'rel, a and a taste jover . IL. lis new [t looks ted hot Mr. M. (Stooping down to examine the injury). By no means ; it is not at all like a burn ; it is a cut, most assuredly. Mrs, M. (With surprise.) A cut ! Mr. M. A cut, most certainly. It has been done with a knife, and probably occurred when splittting kindlings, or cutting sand-paper for polishing the bars of the grate. Yes, it is a cut. Mrs. M. But do you not see that the edges of the hole do not meet, as they would if it was a cut ? There is a space where the piece has been burned out. Look again, and you will see what I mean. Mr. M. {Peevishly.) It is not so. The edges of the hole have been ravelled out by the broom in sweeping, and positively lap over. If you will take the trouble to look a little more carefully, you will discover that what I say is true. Mrs. M. {In a higher keg.) As to trouble, Mr. Martyn, I am not generally sparing of my trouble ; and as to care- fulness, I only wish that every body in this house was equally careful with myself. But you are always saying just such unkind things. Humph 1 a cut, indeed ! I can almost smell the singey odor now. Mr. M. Is it impossible ? Mrs. M. You might as well charge me with falsehood at once. Do you mean to say, Mr. Martyn, that I am telling an untruth ? Mr. M. {Very positive in manner.) I mean to say that it is a cut, Mrs. Martyn, and nothing but a cut. It is utterly impossible for that kind of hole to result from a bum. You may pout now, and turn up you nose, and look as angry as you please. I say it again ; that it is a cut. Mrs. M. Angry ! Did you say " angry," Mr. Martyn ? It is a pity that you can not see yourself as others see you. You are extremely ready to accuse me of being angry. Now, I do not care that {dashes her basket violently to the floor y) whether it is a cut or a bum ; but I do not choose to be spoken to in this shameful manner. It once was otherwise ; you then did not bring such charges. ---«.i w ' i» ''^I« Il if / m I ' 316 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ' f; I i , Mr* M, (Ironically.) I suppose that you are not angry now. Your eyes flash fire, and your face is flushed — -literally red with rage. Mrs, M* You need not throw any stones about flushed faces, or rage. I have learned that your face can flush up red, and that you have a temper hot enough, I know to my cost. Mr. M. You know to your cost ! Madam, what do mean? Mrs. M, (Ironically.) 0, nothing, sir j nothing at all. I mean nothing, and caro for nothing. Mr. M. Then be silent. Mra. M. I will not ; I will say just what I plea^, and talk as long as I please. Mr. M. Then you may talk to yourself, for I will not remain here and put up with your insolence. I wonder that you dare act as you do. Mrs. M. Dare 1 dare ! Why might I not dare ? Surely I am as good as you, or any man living. My position in the world was as good as yours. Mr. M. I can not see how that could be. You were a tradesman's daughter ; I a gentleman born and bred. Mrs. M, Whose money enabled you, a beggar almost, to — Mr. M. {Interrupting with much heat.) Who made you a lady ? As though money gave position. Mrs. M. Put money out of the question, and who could distinguish the gentleman from the beggar P A fine figure your gentlemanly birth and breeding would have cut in a "shocking bad hat" and a seedy coat, without wealth — my wealth — bestowed upon you. (Mr. Hall enters, but is not perceived.) Mr. M. (Much excited.) Silence, madam j hold your venomous, ungovemed tongue. You are a disgrace to your sex — a libel on the name of woman. Mrs. M. Thank you, Mr. Alphonse Martyn. I am very greatly obliged . You have now shown me exactly the nature of your regard for me. This is my father's recompense for the thousands which he threw away upon a poverty-stricken gentleman; this is what comes of all are not flushed ; flushed flush up mow to ^hat do thing at ^ase, and will not wonder Surely )Bition in u were a ed. lOSt, to — 10 made ho could ae figure cut in a wealth — tersj but )ld your e^race to I am exactly father's ay upon of all THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 317 your fine promises . I tell you, sir, I will not put up with It. I will have a separation. I do not care, though it may cost every cent of my fortune, I will have a separa- tion, I say. Mr. M, (Ironically.) Suppose you set about it at once. Mrs. M. You think that I dare not, but I will show you . I will go away where you never can discover my abode, and then you may wish you had behaved different- ly ; or perhaps you will be a thousand times happier when I have gone. Mr. M. It is yourself, not I, who says this. Mrs. M. Yes, it is so. You will rejoice to be rid of me ; but if I once do go, I will never return, but die alone, and never plague you with my hateful presence . I will not, though you should go upon your knees and entreat me . I would spurn you . Mr. M. You need not apprehend that I will ever go upon my knees, upon that desirable occasion. I would regard your conduct, I assure you, m I now do, with cakn contempt . Mr. Hall. {Coming forward.) What has happened now? Mrs. M. {Spitefully.) Ask him; he can tell you. Mr. M. Your daughter threatens to leave me, sir. Mr. JET. For what reason ? As her father, and natural protector, I demand to know . Tell me at once. Mrs. M. He taunted me for my low breeding — said I was a mean tradesman's daughter . Mr. M, She called me a beggar, spendthrift, a low fellow. Mrs. M. He said that he made me a lady by marrying me; that I was a libel upon my sex, had a venomous tongue, and a face red with rage and fury . Mr. M. And so she had . She taunted me with marry- ing her for her wealth ; threatened to desert me, and to refuse every advance that 1 made for reconciliation . Mrs. M. He said he despised me . Heaven knows that I would rather be hated outright. He scorned me. , ! 318 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. ' fvj.JH.S.'.X.' . t" ' ■■'' ■ . . '■,r ~\; '< '" ' !'■■ i n ii : ■ • i Mr. H. But I do not wish to hear all the offensive speeches made during your quarrel ; and, if they arc not stopped, you will soon be contending again, here, before my face . This scene is disgraceful . A permanent sepa- ration is proposed between husband and wife ; and things, it does appear, would not come to such a pass unless some great fault had been committed. Now, 1 demand, in all candor and plainness, what is the cause — what com- menced this bitter, fierce dispute? (^They look downcast and ashamed) As father to Mrs. Martyn, as ever your friend, sincere and earnest, Mr . Martyn, 1 ask, again, how you began this shameful quarrel . Mr. M. It began, sir, about — Mrs. M. It was all because I insisted — Mr. M. There was — Mrs. M. Mr. Martyn abused me because — Mr. M. She worked herself into a passion — Mr, H. But what was it all about I Both. {Pointing to the floor.) That hole in the carpet. Mr. H. What? Mrs. M. He said it was a cut . Mr. M, She said it was burned . Mr, H. {Shrugging his shoulders^ and turning on his heel.) You deserve to be whipped, and sent to bed with- out your suppers. To quarrel about a trifle, when it mattered nothing which was right 1 I am ashamed of you both . I have ever consulted your welfare, done what I could to promote your happiness; and yet, here, in the midst of abundance, you, in a fit of passion which would disgrdice school-boys, because you can not convince each other that a hole in your carpet was caused by a cut or a bum, now propose separation, and threaten to do all in your power to render each other wretched and unhappy. A very small matter, and yet how great a fire has been kindled ! For your own peace, and from a proper regard to the feelings of your friends, if you act from no higher motives, forbear these contentions and wranglings, which only produce estrangement and bitterness. THE CANADIAN SPKAKER. 31^ ffensive arc not before nt scpa- things, 588 some 1, in all at com- owncast rer your ain, how carpet , Iff on his yed with- when it of you id •what I in the h would ice each cut or a ~io all in ihappy, las been regard higher which XXI.— MODERN EDUCATION. Teacher. (Alone.) I am heartily sick of thiH modem mode of education. Nothing but trnsh will suit the taste of people at this day. I am perplexed beyond all endur- ance with these ^'requcnt solicitations of parents to give their children graceful airs, polite accomplishments, and a smattering of what they call the fine arts ; while nothing is said about teaching them tlie substantial branches of literature. If they can but dance a little, fiddle a little, flute a little, and make a handsome bow and courtesy, that is sufficient to make them famous, in this enlightened age. Three-fourths of the teachers of those arts, which once were esteemed most valuable, will soon be out of employ- inent, at this rate. For my part, I am convinced, that, if I had been a dancing-master, music-master, stage-player, or mountebank, I should have been much more respected, and much better supported, than I am at present. [jEVi^er Parent.^ Parent. Your humble servant, :sir j are you the prin- cipal of this school ? Teacher. 1 am, at your service, sir. Parent. I have heard much of the fame of your insti- tution, and am desirous of putting a son, of about twelve years of age, under your tuition. I suppose you have masters who teach the various branches of the polite arts ? Teacher. We are not inattentive to those arts, sir ; but the fame of our school does not rest upon them. Useful learning is our grand object. What studies do you wish to be taught to your son ? Parent. I wish him to be perfected in music, dancing, drawing, etc. ; and, as he possesses a promising genius for poetry, I would, by all means, have that cultivated. Teacher. These are not all the branches, I trust, in which he is to be instructed. You mention nothing of reading, writing, arithmetic, language, etc. Are these to be wholly neglected ? Parent. Why, as to these every-day branches, I can not / I' t '" ¥ ■!r «<«.»J ?^gE^« t i ' s S >1 ' I • •i« U '.' ^jifn : ' !■ sH If,,- j|r;r 11/ 'J' I ^20 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. say I feel very anxious about them. The boy reads well now, writes a decent hand, is acquainted with the ground rules of arithmetic, and pronounces the English language genteelly. He has been a long time under the care of Mr. Honestus, our town schoolmaster, who has taught him all these things sufficiently. So that I think any more time devoted to them would be wasted. Teacher, Yes, if he is such an adept that there is no room for his progressing in those arts; yet, I think, at least, there is need of practice, lest, at his age, he should forget what he has learned. • Parent, That I shall leave to your discretion. But there is one branch of great importance, which I have not yet mentioned, and to which I would have particular attention paid; I mean the art of speaking. You will find him not deficient in that respect ; though, perhaps, it requires as much practice to make one perfect in that, as in any art whatever. He has already learned by heart a great number of pieces, and has acted a part in several comedies and tragedies, with much applause. It has been the cust }m of our master to have an exhibition at least once a quarter ; and my son has always been considered as one of his best performers. He lately took the part of Jenuny Jumps, in the farce called The Farmer, and acted it to universal acceptation. Teacher. I must confess, sir, that your account of your son does not appear to me to be very flattering. Parent. Why so, pray? Have you not an ear for eloquence ? Teacher. Indeed I have, sir. No man is more charmed than I am with its enrapturing sounds. No music rests sweeter on my ear than the melodious notes proceeding from the mouth of a judicious, well-instructed, and power- ful orator. But I must tell you plainly, that I am by no means pleased to see parents take so much pains to transform their children into monkeys instead of men. What signs of oratory do you imagine you can discern in a boy, rigged out in a fantastical dress, skipping about I ■f THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 321 the stage like a baboon, in the character of Jemmy Jumps, Betty Jumps, or any other jumper ? Parent. Do you not approve of exhibitions, then ? Teacher. Certainly I do, if they are rightly conducted, and do not occur too often. But a master, who has four in a year, must, necessarily, rob his pupils of one-quarter of that time, which, in my opinion, might be much better employed in attending to what would be useful for them in life. Parent. What can be more useftil for a child, under such a government as ours, than to be able to speak before an audience with a graceful ease and a manful dignity? My son, for aught I know, may be a member of parlia- ment before he dies. Teacher. For that very reason I would educate him differently. I would lay the foundation of his future fame on the firm basis of the solid sciences ; that he might be able, in time, to do something more than a mere parrot or an ape, who are capable only of speaking the words and mimicking the actions of others. He should first be taught to read. He should, likewise, be taught to compose for himself; and I would not be wanting in my endeavours to make him a speaker. Parent. Surely, Mr. Teacher, you must be very wrong in your notions. I have ever pursued a different plan with my children ; and there are none in the country, though 1 say it myself, who are more universally caressed. I have a daughter that has seen but fourteen years, who is capable of gracing the politest circles. It is allowed, that she can enter and leave a room with as much ease and dignity, as any lady of quality whatever. And this is evidently owing altogether to her polite education. I boarded her a year in the capital, where she enjoyed every possible advantage. She attended the most accomplished masters in the ornamental branches of science, visited the genteelest families, and frequented all scenes of amuse- ment. It is true, her letters are not always written quite so accurately as could be wished ; yet she dances well, plays' well on the piano-forte, and sings like a nightingale. 322 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Teacher. Does she know the art of making a good pud- ding ? Can she darn a stocking well ? or is she capable of patching the elbows of her husband's coat, should she ever be so lucky as to get one ? If she is to remain igno- rant of all such domestic employments, as much as I value her other accomplishments, and as much as 1 might be in want of a wife, I would not marry her with twice her weight in gold. Parent. Her acomplishments will command her a hus- band as soon as she wishes. But so long as a single cent of my property remains, her delicate hands shall never be so unworthily employed. ^er "her. But suppose a reverse of fortune should over- take you, what is to become of your child ; as you say she understands nothing of domestic affairs ? Will it be more honourable, do you imagine, for her to be maintained by the charities of the people, than by her own indugfk-y ? Parent. There are many ways for her to be supported. I would not have you think she is wholly ignorant of the use of the needle, though she never employed it in so dis- graceful a manner as that of darning stockings, or patching tattered garments ! But we will waive that subject, and attend to the other. Will you receive the boy, for the purposes before mentioned ? Teacher. Why, indeed, sir, I can not. Though I am far from condemning altogether your favourite branches, yet I consider them all as subordinate, and some of them, at least, totally useless. We devote but a small portion of our time to the attainment of such superficial accomplish- ments. I would, therefore, recommend it to you, to com- mit him to the care of those persons who have been so successful in the instruction of his sister. Parent. I confess I am so far convinced of the propriety of youi> method, that, if you will admit him into your school, I will renounce all right of dictating to you his lessons of instruction, except in one single instance — and in that I am persuaded we shall not disagree — I mean the art of speaking. Teacher, In regard to speaking, I would not have my THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 323 views and feelings misunderstood. I think it a very important exercise, and one which should receive more attention in all our schools. But I feel that special care should be used in the selection of pieces, and that every thing which tends to the cultivation of a perverted or false taste, should be strictly avoided. The matter no less than the manner should be regarded. Parent. On these points we shall not differ, and I shall be happy to intrust my son to one whose views are so cor- rect and sound. — Anonymous. XXII.— MARRIAGE OF A DAUGHTER. GRUB-»-MRS. GRUB. Grub. My dear, there's rare news from the Alley, India stock is mounting every minute . Mrs. Grub. 1 am glad to hear it, my dear. Grub, Yes, I thought you would be glad to hear of it. I have just sent Consol to the Alley to see how matters go — I should have gone myself, but I wanted to open an affair of some importance to you^ — Mrs. G. Ay, ay, you have always some affair of great importance . Grtib. Nay, this is one — I have been thinking, my dear, that it is high time we had fixed our daughter; 'tis high time that Emily was married . Mrs. G. You think so, do you ? I have thought so many a time these three years ; and so has Emily too, I fancy . I wanted to talk to you about the same subject . Grub. -You did ? Well I declare that's pat enough; he,^ he, he ! — I vow and protest I'm pleased at this — why our inclinations do seldom jump together. Mrs. G. Jump, ind^^ed ! No, 1 should wonder if they did, and how comes it to pass now? What! I suppose you have been employing some of your brokers, as usual ; or perhaps advertising, as you used to do ; but I expect ta I f . 324 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. hear no more of these tricks, now that we are come to this end of the town . Grub. No, no, my dear, this is no such matter. The gentleman I intend — Mrs. Q. You intend ! Qrub, Yes, 1 intend . Mrs. G. You intend ! What ! do you presume to dis- pose of my child without my consent ? Mind your money matters, Mr. Gruh: look at your buUsj and your beara^ and your lame ducksj and take care that they don't make you waddle out of the Alley, as the saying is : — but leave to me the management of my child . — ^What ! Things are come to a fine pass indeed ! I suppose you intend to marry the poor innocent to one of your city cronies, your factors, your supercargoes, packers, or dry salters; hut I'll have none of them, Mr. Grub, no, I'll have none of them. It shall never be said, that, after coming to this end of the town, the great Miss Grub was forced to trudge into the the city again for a husband . Grub. Why, you are mad, Mrs . Grub . Mrs. G, No, you shall find I am not mad, Mr . Grub ; — that I know how to dispose of my child, Mr. Grub. — What ! did my poor dear brother leave his fortune to me and my child, and shall she now be disposed of without consulting me ? Grub, Why, you are mad, certainly If you will but hear me, you shall be consulted. — Have I not always con- sulted you? — To please you, was I not inclined to marry my daughter to a lord? and has she not been hawked about, till all the peerage of the three kingdoms turn up their noses at you and your daughter? Did I not treat with my Lord Spindle, my Lord Thoughtless, and' my Lord Manikin ? and did we not agree, for the first time ia our lives, that it would be better to find out a commoner for her, as the people of quality now-a-days marry for only a winter or so ? Mrs. G. Very well, we did so ; and who, pray, is the proper person to find out a match for her? Who, but her mother, Mr. Grub? — who goes into company with no THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. 325 s the t her h no other view, Mr . Grub ; — who flatters herself she is no con- temptible judge of mankind, Mr . Grub ; — yes, Mr . Grub, as good a judge as any woman on earth, Mr . Grub . Grttb. That I believe, Mrs. Grub. Mrs. O. Who, then, but me should have the disposal of her ? and very well I have disposed of her . I have got her a husband in my eye . Gruh. You got her a husband ? Mrs. G. Yes, I have got her a husband. Grub. No, no, no, Mr?. Grub, that will never do. — What ! have I been toiling upwards of fifty years, — up early, down late, shopkeeper and housekeeper, made a great fortune, which I could never find in my heart to enjoy — and now, when all the comfort I have in the world, the settlement of my child, is in agitation, shall I not speak "? shall I not have leave to approve of her husband ? Mrs. O. Heyday 1 You are getting into your tantrums, I see. Gruh. What! did I not leave the city, every friend in the world with whom i used to pass an evening? Did I not, to please you, take this house here? Nay, did I not make a fool of myself, by going to learn to come in and go out of a room, with a gi'own gentleman in Cow-lane ? Did I not put on a sword, too, at your desire ? and had I not like to have broken my neck down stairs, by its getting be- tween my legs, at that diabolical Lady what-d'ye-call-her's rout? and did not all the footmen and chairmen Jaugh at me? Mrs. G. And well they might, truly. An obstinate old fool — Grub. Ay, ay, that may be ; but I'll have my own way — I'll give my daughter to the man I like — I'll have no Sir This nor Lord That — I'll have no fellow with his waist down to his knees, and a shirt like a monkey's jacket — with » coat no bigger than its button, his shoe-buckles upon his toes, and cue thicker than his leg. Mrs. G. Why, Mr . Grub, you are certainly mad, rav- ing, distracted. — No, the man I propose — Grub. And the man I propose — Y w^ V)' 326 THE CANADIAN SPEAKER. Mrs. (? Is a young gentleman of fortune, discretion, parts, sobriety, a^d connections . Orub. And the man I propose is a gentleman of abili- ties, fine fortune, prudence, temperance, and every virtue. Mrs. G. And his name is — Orub. And his name is Bevil . Mrs. O. Bevil! Orub. Yea . Bevil, I say, and a very pretty name, too. 'Mrs O. What! Mr. Bevil of Lincolnshire ? Grub. Yes, Mr. Bevil of Lincolnshire* Mrs. G. Oh, my dear Mr . Grub, you delight me ! Mr. Bevil is the very man I meant . Grub. Is it possible ? Why, where have you met him ? Mrs. O. 0, at several places; but particulariy at Mrs. Matchem's assemblies . Grub. Indeed! was ever any thing so fortunate ? Didn't I tell you that our inclinations jumped : but I wonder that he never told me that he was acquainted with you . Mrs. G. Nay, I cannot help thinking it odd that he should never tell me he had met with you ! but I see he is a prudent man : he was determined to be liked by both of us . But where did you meet him ? Grub. Why, he bought some stock of m.e, and so we be- came acquainted ; but I am so overjoyed, — I scarce know what to say. My dear Mrs. Grub, let us send for the child and open the business at once to her. — I am so over- joyed — who would have thought it? Let us send for Emily — poor dear soul, she little thinks how happy we are going to make her . — O'Brien, THE END. ERRATUM. Page 105, iecond stanza, for " weathered " r«^ad withered. 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