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A V (i— <»-K'^Jl..-w,/ THE % 0%. « SCHOOL SPEAKER AND RECITER, CONTAINING UPWAUD8 OF TWO HUNDRED PROSE AND POETICAL PIECES AND DIALOGUES, IN EJfGLlSH, FliENCH, GREEK AND LATIN SUITABLE FOR GRAMMAR AND COMMON SCHOOL EXAMINATIONS AND EXHIBITIONS. By J. GEORGE HODGINS, ll.b., Ri;a(llnp inivkos a full luau ; writing', a correct n»an ; andSrEAKiNO, A Rbady man,— Lord Baoox. .... Act well your Part, there all the honour lies. Note.— None of the Prose or Poetical Pieces in this book will be found in the newly authorized series of Readers for Province of Ontario. P0tttteal : PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOHN LOVKLL AND FOR SALE AT THE BO©KSTORES. 1868. T— ■'■■ I ? Entered according to the Act of the Parliament, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight, by John LovBLL, in the Office of the Registrar of the Dominion oi Canada. K N t^ CONTENTS. PAGE. Prefatory Note 7 Remarks on Reading and Speaking y Gestures for Reading ', jq Gestures lor speaking 10 JPakt I.— Forty-Five National and Tatriotic Tikcks. Caractacus tc his Followers John Sherer Song of the Danish 80a King Wm. MotherweU Sir Sernardine du Born Mrs. Sigoumey Henry V at the siege of Harflour Shakspeare Defeat of the Spanish Armada Lord Macaulay , . , Battle of Marston Moor W. M. Fraed On the Loss of the Royal George Cowper , The British Oak Bernard Barton , Boat Song for the Naval Reserve Anonymous British charge at Waterloo Sir Walter Scott Chelsea Pensioners and the Battle of Waterloo/''. W. N. Bay ley The Burial March of Dundee W. E. Aytoun Hail to the Chief. Sir Walter Scott Highland War Song Sir Walter Scott , Flora Maclvor's Summons Sir Walter Scott Lord Wellington's Landing in Spain Anonymous The Irish Maiden's Song Bernard Barton The Bridal of Malahide Anonymous The Chimes of England Bisfiop Coxe The Woods and Vales of England G. Mellen Queen Victoria and the Bible Anonymous. Burning of Trophies in the Tower of London . Zadi'g ' Islesmen of the West Dub University Magaz. Death Ride of the Light Brigade Anonymous East Indian Massacres in the Punjaub Archbishop Trench The Death of Uavelock Anonymous . . British Colonial and Naval Power Atlantic Monthly Loyalty to the Queen and Constitution Hon. W. Young British Constitutional System of Canada Hon. T. D'Arcy McQee. The Battle of Quebec Elliot Warburton Memories of Quebec W. Kirby The Falls of Niagara J. S. Buckingham The United Empire Loyalists Toronto Globe The Monarchical principle in Canada Sir J. B. Jiobinson Progress of British America Sir J. U. Jiobinson Elements of Social Advancement Jfev. Dr. Jiyerson Great Value of Inventions and Discoveries.. . itev. Dr. Jii/erson Necessity for Education in Canada Rev. Dr. Ale Caul ... Duties of Educated men in Canada Principal Dawson Young men the hope of Canada liev. Itr. Ormistcn Lord Elgin's Valeaictory at Kingston, 1854. . Lord Elgin Lord Elgin's Valedictory at Quebec, lb54 Lord Elgin The Dominion Act of Union Hon. T. D'Arcy McGee. Canadian Patriotism a Duty to Ourselves. . ..Han. T. D'Arcy McGee. Our Country and our Queen Anonymous Part II.— Twknty-Six Pathetic Piecks. The Curse of Cain K710X 75 Moses' last View from Pisgah Dean Stanley ^a The Dead are with us Anonymous 77 The Memory of the Dead Salad for the Solitary... 78 The Memories of Great Men Anonym&m 79 11 12 13 14 15 18 '20 21 22 24 25 26 30 31 32 33 33 34 3b 37 38 40 42 44 4U 48 49 51 52 54 56 57 68 60 61 62- 63- 66" 66 67 68 69 71 72 74 XH7<1^ IV CONTENTS. Sorrow for the Dead yVashington Irving 81 The Repose of Death Lord Byron 82 Oh, why is Earth and Ashes Proud Anonyrmm. 83 Burial and Keaurrection liet^. Dr. Oroty 85 Soon and Forever ^ev. J. S.Momell 86 Dropping down the River Rev. H. Bonar 8< The Day of Wellington's Funeral, 1852 Anonymous 88 Old Letters ! Oh then spare them ! IS". Y. Albion 89 The Dying Boy Anonymous 90 The Blind Boy's been at I'lay, Mother FMm Cook 92 Infantine Enquiries WiUiam f. Broton 93 The Witheiless Bairn WiUiam Thorn 94 The Bairuless Mither Anonymous 96 The Two Homes Anonynuym 96 Birds of Passage ' Mrs. Hemans 96 Childe Harold's Departure Lord Byron 97 The Fall of the Leaf Anonymous 99 Beautiful Autumn Washington Irving 100 The Child and the Dew Drops J. E. Carpenter 101 Home and the Domestic Affections liev. Mr. Johnston 101 The Way to promote Domestic Harmony. . . .Mrs. H. Moore. 103 Part. III.— Twenty-Onk Miscellaneous Pieces. Charles Phillips 104 Earl Russell 106 .Lord. Palmerston 107 Rfv. Charles Wolfe 108 Rev. R. TumbuU. 109 John Fhillips 110 Charles Phillips Ill Bon. Edward Everett. . . 112 Anonymous 113 non. W.H.Blake 115 Anonymous 116 Anonymous 116 Lord Byron 117 Park Benjamin 119 Southei/ 12(> Wm. Uowitt 121 Shakspeare 123 Dr. Johnson 123 Anonymous 124 J. Simmons 125 Charles Swain 125 Character and Career of Napoleon The Rise and Fall of Nations The Intellectual (Qualities and Moral Feelings The Voice of History Milton and his Poetry Means of Instruction in Books The Advantages of Education Our Common Schools The Triumphs of K nowledge "tJultivation of the Faculties The Poetry of the Steam Engine The Magnetic Telegraph Address to tho Ocean How Cheery are tlie Mariners The Cataract of Lodore Mountains Henry IV's Soliloquy on Sleep Charles XII of Sweden Ring out, ye Uerry, Merry Bells Speak of a' Man as we liud him One Story's Good Till Another is Told Part IV.— Foutv-One Sacred axd Classical Pieces. (1. English.) The Jew Ationi/mous 12f? 'n'"^^}?.*?* V'« ^'^[^ ■ A •,: • • : R'^^' Dr. Spring 127 Ihe Bible the Best of Books pev. Georqe Gilfillan... . 129 1 lie Burial of Jacob Rev.J.D. Burns 130 Mount of Olives ..... 7^,,,. />,.. Hamilton 132 St. Paul at the Acropohs of Athens Earl of Carlisle l^i Paul at Athens Anonymous 135 Cato s Soliloquy. . Addison 136 1 he Plain of Marathon /^ord Bwon 137 Ancient^ Greece Lord Byron ,...; 139 Ruins of the Coliseum Charles Dickens 140 ThTr?*--^*?'"^^; Lord Byron \ 141 The J^|"«?^». Martyr r^, H. Buehauan .... 142 Salathieltolitus Rev. Di-. Croiy.... 1^ ! CONTENTS. PAGK m Caesar's Triumphs •/. Sheri'Jan Knoirlas — 144 Cassius instigating Brutus ai^ainst Caesar Shakspeare 145 Cicero's Appeal against Catilino Cicero 146 Cseear and tne Catiline Conspiracy Ben Jonson 148 Rienzi's Address to the Romans Miss Mit/ord 149 Greek and Latin Authors compared Lord Lytton 150 Part IV.— Continued. (2. Latin.) Cacsaris et Pompeii comparatlo Ex Luc. " fhar," lib. i. 152 GermaniciadMiIitessuosnuperrebellesOratio^. Tac. "An.," lib. i.e. ^2 153 Mors omnibus communie T. lAicretius, lib. Hi 164 Quis vere Rex E. Seneca " Thyeste." . . 155 GloriiE Militaris Vanitas .Juvenal, Sat. x 156 Fama Ovid, Met. xii. 23 157 Somnus Statins, Thet. a-. 84 158 De Somno Ovid, Met. xi. 592 159 Urbs Syon Aurea Bernard de Cluc/ny 159 Oratio ad SS. Trinitatem Hildebert 161 Dies Irae— Part I T/io-nas de Celano 161 T>ies Ir;e— Part II 2'ho nas de Celano 162 Part IV.— Continued. (3. Greek.) Noptunus ad Castra Graecorum proflci8Citur..jEJ.r Homeri " [Hade," N. 163 Descriptio Noctis Serena Ex Homeri " Iliade," 0.. 164 Vitam Privatam Principatu Potiorom esse. . .Ex Soph. '• ^Edipo Tyr." 165 Patriae Amor E. Thucy. " Hist." lib. ii 166 Athenienses pro Graecia pi'opugnaturi ita Spartanis respondent 166 Xerxes Delatus Abydum Copias anas lustrat.i5?a; Her. " Hist." lib. vii 167 Quo Pacto Omnia ita Peragi possint, ut Diis sint Grata 168 Homines Animalibus Ceteris longe antecellunt5o;>/ioctes, Antig. 334. . . . 169 Ex Moribus Factisque suis Ingenui sunt judi- candi Euripides Elect. 568 170 Part V.— Twelve French Pieces. O Canada ! Mon Pays ! Mes Amours Sir G. E. Cartier 171- Chanson Patriotiq^ue Hon. A. N. Morin 172^^ Chanson du Batelier Canadien '. Thomas Moore 173 La Valine d'Ovoca, ou la Rencontre des EauxTVtoma,'? Moore 174 La Harpe de Tara Thomas Moore 174 L'Isolement Thomas Moore 175 Origine de la Langue Fran9ai8e Rivarol 175 L'Uistoire Victor Hugo 176 Adieux de Marie Stuart Bkranger 177 Monarchic et Gouvernement Populaire Corneille, Cinna, ii, i 178 Mentir est un odieux Vice Montaiqne, Essais, i. 9. 179 Les Deux Pedants Molidre 179 Part VI.— Sixtee>' Dialogues. Hamlet's Instructions to the Players Shakspeare's Hamlet 182 Shylock lending his Ducat** Merchant of Venice 183 8hyIock demanding his Bond Merchant of Venice 186 (^liief Justice Gascoigne to King Henry V. . .Shakspeare's, Henry IV. 188 Wolsey hearing of his Downfall Shakspeare' s Henry Vfll 189 Wolsey's Death and Character Shakspeare'' s Henry VlII 190 David's Interview with King Saul Mrs. Hannah More 192 Alexander and the Robber Evenings at Home 194 Caesar's Message to Cato Addison 195 Damon and Pythias Shiel and lianim 197 VI CONTENTS. PAOB A Sceno from Pizarro Sheridan's Pizairo 204 Doinjr what Others Do Anonynwm 207 Theifoasons Itev. Dr. Brewer 211 The Noblest Uero Anonymous 212 NecGssity of loarninR soraething dally Anon'fmom 215 The Perfect Merchant Annoymous 218 Part VII.— Forty Humourous Piecks. {JJlalof/ues.) Sam. WoUor in Bardoll on. Pickwick /)ic/:eiis 221 The Frencli I'risont'r and thy Fisliiug TackleAuonyinous 22;j Slander— How io raise it . • AnonyniDUs 225 The Know Nothing Inonynious 227 Pedantry— A Lesson on Language J. Coleman, Jun '22H Going to be an Orator Anonymous 230 The School Iteliearsal Anonymous koJi Playing Scliool Anonymous 235 Part VII.— Continued. (Single Recitations.) The Ant and the Cricket Anonymous 23C Spider Grim and Mi.ss Fiy JJr. J. Wolcot 240 The Great Musical Critic Anonymous 241 The Three Black Crows Byrom 242 Modern Logic Anonymous 244 The art of Book-keeping Thomas Hood 245 Exercises in Punning Noolc. . . 247 Tragical History of Major Brown fJood 248 The Brentford Duel I^ood 261 The Miss Nonicrs Mrs. B. Wihon 2.')2 The Clown and the ' ounsellor Horace Smit/i 254 The Philosopher's Scales Jane Taylor 255 The Auction Anonymous 250 The Blacksmiths' Removal Anouymons 258 Speech of Orator Climax Anonymous 259 Speech against Foreign Principles Anonymous 2t3(j Conversation not a Collo(iuial Duel Cow per 202 The Retort Courteous Inonymous 2i)o Madame Talleyrand and the Traveller Jlorace Smith 264 Queer People -inonymous 200 Don't run mto Debt 'inonymous 207 Spectacles, or Helps to Read Byrom 268 Disputes of the P"'oatures Anonymous 20S Rhyme of the Rail ,Sa.i:e 270 A Song of the Railroad (,\ F. Wol/c 271 The Old Cottage Clock Charles Swain 273 The Victim of Reform Blackwood's Magazine. . 274 The Magpie and the Monkey Yriarte 275 The Street of By-and-Bye Anonymous 278 Part VIII.— Fivk Valedictort Addresses. Introductory, or Salutory Piece Ammymous.. 27y Apology on Examination Day Anonymous 'JSO Valedictory Address Anonymous 28i A Closing Valedictory Anonymous 282 Closing Address, and thanks to the teachers. J. 7'. i?d(i 283 Part IX.— Two SinglbRecitatioxs avith chorus accomi>animents. 285 287 Note to Teacher ogg Jessie's Dream at Lucki-'ow.. • Crare Campbell Father, Dear Father, come Home II. C Work '. ^ PREFATORY NOTE. The coUectioa of pieces inserted in this book in Prose and Poetry may be briefly classified as follows : — I. — Those of a National and Patriotic character. II. — Pathetic Pieces allied to the foregoing, or of a per- sonal or domestic character. Many of these pieces are in- tended for, and are admirably adapted for recitation by girls. III. — Miscellaneous Pieces of a literary, educational or philosophical cast. IV. — Ancient arid Classical Pieces, distinguished us fol- lows : (1) Those of a Biblical character, (2) Greek and Latin subjects in English, (3) Greek and Latin extracts, in the original languages V. — French Pieces^ single extracts and dialogues. VI. — Dialogues on various topics. VII. — Humorous Pieces of various kinds. The compiler has sought to embrace in the collection, as great a variety of pieces from standard authors, as possi- ble, both of prose and poetry. In order to include some new pieces, he has been compelled unwillingly to omit many old favourites. He hopes, however, that the number and variety of new pieces inserted in the book will, in some degree, compensate for this omission. The purely classical and French pieces are a novelty in a miscellaneous collection of this kind ; but they are inserted chiefly for use in our Grammar Schools and higher collegiate institutes. The pieces in the second division are admirably adapted either for reading or recitation by girls, and they will thus famili- arize them with some of the most beautiful and touching pieces in our language, besides aiding in cultivating their tastes and memory. - As this work may be considered one of a series on this special subject which is more or less in use in our public schools, (''^) it has not been considered necessary under the circumstances to insert more than a few general remarks on Reading and Elocution. These will be found appended. (*) "The Art of Raadiug," one of the national seres of text books, •' Elements of Elocution," by J. barber, published by John Lovell, " The Classic Reader," by Kev. Dr. Hamilton, published by Johu Lovell. PREFATORY NOTE. 1?" REMARKS ON READING AND SPKAKINU. Although a perfectly natural and unaffecied manner of reading and speaking is of the first importance, yet a few of the graces of the art are no less indispensable, and should be sedulously culti- vated by every one who aspires to success in either department. Wo are aware that some are opposed to the study of Gesture as an art. Among them there is none more distinguished than Archbishop Whately ; who contends, that the natural unstudied manner is that which is most becoming to every speaker. He rdmarks, that he who is careful to follow the dictates of nature, will have the advantage of carrying within him an infallible guide; and that by abstaining from all thoughts respecting his action, he will be the better able to fix his mind intently on the business he is engaged in. " Those," says he, " who cultivate a studied delivery, may be more successful in escaping censure and insur- ing admiration ; but he will far more surpass them in respect of the proper object of the orator, which is, to carry his point J^ IJut so strong is the tendency to indicate vehement internal emotion by some kind of outward gesture, that those who do not encourage or allow themselves in any, frequently fall uncon- sciously into some awkward trick of swinging the body, (•) fold- ing a paper, twisting a string, or the like. It is reasonable that the study of a graceful manner should prevent the formation of such modes of delivery ; and even the author just quoted admits, that if any one find himself naturally and spontaneously led to use, in speaking, a moderate degree of action, which he finds, from the observation of others, not to be ungraceful or inappro- priate, there is no reason that he should repress this tendency. Although nature must be the groundwork, there is ample room for study and art. The study of action in public speaking may be said to consist chiefly in guarding against awkward and disa- greeable motions, and in learning to perform such as are natural to the speaker in the most becoming manner. The public speaker should study to preserve as much dignity as possible in the whole attitude of the body. An erect posture is generally to be chosen ; standing firm, so as to have the fullest and freest command of all his motions : any inclination which is used should be a little to the right ; and forwards toward the hearers, which is a natural expression of earnestness. As for the countenance, the chief rule is, that it should correspond with the nature of the dis- course ; and when no particular emotion is expressed, a serious and manly look is always the best. The eyes should never be fixed close on any one object, but move easily round the audience (*) Of one of the ancient Roman orators it was satirically remarked, on account of his having this habit, that he must have learned to speak in a boat. Of some other orators, whose favourite action is rising on tiptoe, it would perhaps have been said, that they had been accustomed to address their audience over a high wall. M PREFATORY NOTE. 9 In the motions tnado with the hands, consists the chief part of gesture in speaking. Motions performed by the left hand alone are not always offensive ; but it is natural for the right hand to be more frequently employed. Warm emotiona demand the mo- tion of both hands corresponding together. But whether the orator gesticulates with one or both hands, it is an important rule, that all his motions should be free and easy. Narrow and straitened movements are generally ungraceful ; for which rea- son, motions made with the hands should proceed from the shoul- der rather than from the elbow. Movements with the hands per- pendicularly, which Shakspeare in Hamlet calls " sawing the air with the hand," are seldom good. Oblique motions are in general the most graceful. Too sudden and nimble motions should be likewise avoided : earnestness can be fully expressed without them. Shakspeare's directions on this head are full of good sense : " use all gently," says he, " and in the very torrent and tempest of passion, acquire a temperance that may give it smooth- ness." One word in regard to the time of action. The action employed must always precede somewhat the words it is to enforce : it must not be used after or during their utterance. The former is always the natural order of action : whila the latter suggests the idea of a person speaking to those who do not fully understand the language, and striving by signs to explain the meaning of what he has been saying. An emotion (*) struggling for utterance, produces a tendency tc a bodily gesture, to express that emotion more quickly than words can be framed ; the words follow as soon as they can be spoken. And this being always the case with an earnest speaker, this mode of placing the action foremost, gives it (if it be otherwise appropriate) the appearance of strong and unfeigned emotion, actually present in the mind. The reverse of this natural order would alone be sufficient to con- vert the action of Demosthenes himself into unsuccessful and ridi- culous mimicry. We shall dismiss this portion of our work with the rules sub- joined below : premising, that they bear chiefly on the attitude and position of the speaker when not actuated by any emotion, and that of course they are subject to modification when the contrary is the case, that is, when he is swayed by any inward emotion or passion labouring to express itself. They cannot, therefore, be considered as complete, or as embracing the whole subject . they are believed by the author to be as comprehensive as it is possible to make them, in subordination to the paramount necessity of their being " few and short," in order to be of any practical value. A careful study of them, and withal a familia- (*) Format enira natura priuB nos intus ad omnem Fortunarum habitum; juvat, aut impellit ad iram, Aut ad humuiQ moerore gravi doducit, et angit: Fosc eflert animi motus mterprete hng\x&>.—Jior. 10 PREFATORY NOTE. ill rity (to use the words of our introduction) " with the deport- ment of those public speakers who possess elegance of manner, whicl' is the most efficacious lesson :" will, he doubts not, put the student into possession of a sufficient knowledge of the art of Gesture for all ordinary purposes. GESTURES FOR READING. Rule l.—Rest the whole weight of the body on the right leg; the other just touching the ground, at the distance at which it would naturally fall if lifted up, to show that the body dees not bear upon it. Let the knees be straight : and the body straight, yet not perpendicular, but inclining a little to the right and rather forwards. Mule 2.— Hold the book in the left hand. £l^ilg 3, Look at those who are hearing as often as possible ; but do not lose the place or forget the words. Rule 4.— Elevate the right hand when any thing sublime, lofty, or heavenly, is expressed. Rule 5.— Let the right hand (but not any single finger) point downwards, when anything low or grovelling is expressed. GESTURES FOR SPEAKING. Rule 6. Be^in h^ in reading. Let the whole weight of the body rest on the risfht leg ; the other just touching the ground at the distance at wnich it would naturally fall if lifted up, to show that the body does not bear upon it. Let the knees be straight and firm, and the body straight, yet not perpendicular, but inclining to the right and rather forwards. Let both arms hang in their natural place by the side. jlulg 7. As soon as the sentiment requires a gesture, let the right arm be held out, the palm open, the fingers straight and close the thumb almost as distant from them as possible, and the flat of the hand neither vertical nor horizontal, but between both. jl^lg 8. Diiring the utterance of tne last word in the sentence, the right hand, as if lifeless, must drop down to the side. jly^lQ 9 — When a change of position becomes necessary, the body without moving the feet, must poise itself, on the left leg : the left hand must be raised exactly as the right one was before, and continue in this position till the end of the sentence, and then drop as if lifeless. Rule 10. — Take care to end each sentence completely, before the next is begun. Rule 11.— In every movement of the arm, keep the elbow at a distance from the body. Rule 12. — Let the eyes be directed to those who are addressed ; excepting when the subject requires them to be raised. Rule 13. — Endeavour to suit the action to the word, enter into the sense and spirit of every passage, And feel what is expressed. This is the best guide to emphasis, toiie apd gesture. — Oratofs Own Book. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Part I. NATIONAL AND PATRIOTIC PIECES. I. CARACTACUS TO HIS FOLLOWERS.* A.D. 52. << Ye Britons brave 5 your native dust is trodden by your foes, Whose march throughout your woody land is tracked by countless woes ; Thro' furrowed waters of the deep they've boldly dared to steer, To conquer here this spot of earth ; this land we hold so dear I '' Their heads are helmeted in brass ; their forms are cased in steel. The very earth doth seem to quake beneath their heavy heel ; Such warlike men I never saw as Romans in array, Save you, my noble countrymen, assembled here to-day. " Yet fear them not ; ourjBritish soil shall suffer no disgrace'; Our women are its living flowers, our men, a valiant race ; The one all truth and tenderness, howe'er their lot obscure, The other brave and fearless too, and constant to endure. * Caractacus was the last of the British chiefs who offered a lengthened resistance to the arms of the Romans. He was defeated by Ostorius, and was himself subsequeuJy betrayed into the hands of the conqueror, by whom he was sent to Uorae, to grace his triumphs. On being exposed to the gaze of the people, instead of expressing, as the other captives did, any sign of fear, or imploring their pity, he addressed the Emperor Claudius in a short speech (preserved by Tacitus, in his Annals, xiv. 37) and with such eflect, that he obtained for himself and his family, not ouly liberty, but an escort to conduct him home. mm 12 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. " But } ark ! the Roman trumpet sounds the thi-ilUng notes of war ! ,.,11 , Ye British chieftains, raise your shields, and mount the battle car ; Fleet as the wind your javelins hurl down upon the foe, And with a strong resistless arm lay each invader low. '^ Come on, ye heroes ! follow me, for Romans are but men. Our fathers drove them back before 5 we'll drive them back again ! Press on 5 press on ; and bear them down with vengeful cut and thrust. And make their crippled eagles stoop and bite the British dust." W Li >•■> -.W' Ml The fight is long 5 but what avails the Britons' scattered power, Against a foe whose discipline and strength are as a tower ; The first wild shock they turn aside, by well-used sword and shield, But thousands of the Britons sleep their last sleep on that field! JOHN SHERER. 'I J P- 2. SONG OF THE DANISH SEA-KING. A.D. 870. Our barque is on the waters deep, our bright blades in our hand, Our birthright is the ocean vast — we scorn the girded land ; And the hollow wind is our music brave, and none can bolder be Than the hoarse- tongued tempest raving o'er a proud and swelling sea 1 Our barque is dancing on the waves, its tall masts, straining, bend Before the gale, which hails us now with the halloa of a friend ; And its prow is sheering merrily the upcurled billow's foam. While our liearts, with throbbing gladness, cheer old Ocean as our home. Our eagle- wingp of might we stretch before the gallant wind, And we leave the tame and sluggish earth a dim mean speck behind j THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 13 We shoot into the untracked deep, as earth-freed spu'its , soar, Like stars of fire through boundless space — through realms without a shore 1 The warrior of the land may back the wild horse, in his pride ; But a fiercer steed we dauntless breast — the untamed ocean tide ; And a nobler tilt our barque careers, as it quells the saucy- wave While the Herald storm peals o'er the deep the glories of the brave. Hurrah ! hurrah 1 the wind is up — it bloweth fresh and free ; And every cord, instinct with life, pif)es lone its fearless glee ; Big swell the bosomed sails with joy, and they madly kiss the spray, As proudly, through the foaming surge, the Sea-King bears away. WM. MOTHERWELL. land; 3. SIR BERNARDINE DU BORN. A.D. 1125. King Henry sat upon his throne. And full of wrath and scorn, His eye a recreant knight survey' d — Sir Bemardine du Born. And he that haughty glance returned, Like lion in his lair, While loftily his unchang'd brow Gleamed through his crisped hair. ^'Thou art a traitor to the realm. Lord of a lawless band ; The bold in speech, the fierce in broil, The troubler of our land. Thy castles and thy rebel- towers Are forfeit to the crown, And thou beneath the Norman axe Shalt end thy base renown. 14 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. '' Deign' st thou no word to bar thy doom, Thou with strange madness tired ? Hath reason quite forsook thy breast?" Plantagenet inquired. Sir Bernai'd turned him toward the king, He blanched not in his pride ; ' ' My reason failed, my gracious liege, The year Prince Henry died." * Quick at that name a cloud of woe Pass'd o'er the monarch's brow; Touched was that bleeding chord of love. To which the mightiest bow. Again swept back the tide of years. Again his first-born moved, — The fair, the graceful, the sublime. The erring, yet beloved. And ever, cherished by his side, One chosen friend was near, To share in boyhood's ardent sport, Or youth's untam'd career. With him the merry chase he sought, Beneath the dewy morn; With him in knightly tourney rode This Bernardine du Born. Then in the mourning father's soul Each trace of ire grew dim ; And what his buried idol loved Seemed cleansed of guilt to him ; — And faintly through his tears he spake, '' God send his grace to thee, And, for the dear sake of the dead, Go forth — unscathed and free." MRS. SIGOURNEY. 4.— HEMIY V. AT THE SIEGE OF HARFLEUR. 1415. Once more unto the breach, dear friends^, once more. Or close the wall up with our English dead ! *The king's favourite son who perished on the coast of Normandy. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 1& — In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility ; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews ; summon up the blood ; Disguise fair nature with hard favoured ragej Then lend the eye a terrible anpect ; Let it pry thro' the portage ot the head, Like the brass cannon 5 let the brow o'erwhelm it, As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. — Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To its full height ! On ! on ! you noblest English, Whose blood is fetched from father's of war-proof — Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument : Be copy now to men of grosser blood And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs, were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips. Straining upon the start. The game's a-footl Follow your spirit I and, upon this charge. Cry, ''Heaven for Harry! England! and St. George !" SIIAKSPEARE. IHOT-R.—Harfleur—B. Town in Normandy besieged and taken by the Tlng- Iwh, 1415. Coijfouaded fease— His worn away hQ.^%.— Argument— Wot^ to be done.— 5/ijos— Leather thongs fastening two dogs together that they may start at the same time. 5.— DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA.* A.D. 1588. Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise; I sing of the thrice famous deeds she wought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible, agaihst her bore, in vain. The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain. » Sent from Spain by PhHip IT in 1588 for the conquest of England, storm nearly destroyed the whol« fleet. 16 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, There came a gallant merchant ship, full sail to Plymouth bay j The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace ; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. Forthwith a guard, at every gun, was placed along the wall ; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumb's lofty hall ; Many a light fishing bark put out, to piy along the coast ; And with loose rein, and bloody spur, rode inland many a post. With his white hair, unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff come?; Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums , The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear an ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace 5 And haughtily the trumpets peal, nnd gaily dance the bells. As slow upon the labouring wind, the royal blazon swells. Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down ! Ho stalk' d he when he turn'd to flight, on that famed Picard held, Bohemia's plume, Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield : So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turn'd to bay. And crush'd and torn, beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay. Ho ! strike the flagstaff deep, sir knight ! ho ! scatter flower" fair maids ! Ho, gunners ! tire a loud salute ! ho, gallants ! draw your blades ! Thou, sun, shine on her joyously ! ye breezes, waft her wide 1 Our glorious Semper Eadem ! the banner of our pride 1 The fresh' ning breeze of eve unfurl' d that banner's massy fold— The parting gleam of sunshine kiss'd that haughty scroll of gold: Night sunk upon the dusky beacn, nnd on the purple sea ; Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lyn to Milford bay, That time of slumber was as briglit, as busy as the day j l-HE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 17 For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance spread — High on St. Michael's Mount it shone — it shone on Beachy Head: Far o'er the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fo'e. The tisher left his skiff to rock on Tamer's glittering waves. The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's sunless caves : O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew, And roused the shepherds of Stonehenge — the rangers of Beaulieu. Eighi; sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night from Bristol town; And. ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down. The sentinel on Whitehall gate look'd forth into the night, And saw, o'erhanging Eichmond Hill, that streak of blood- red light : The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the death-like silence broke. And with one start and with one cry the royal city woke. At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering tires , At once the wild alarm clash' d from all her reeling spires ; From all the batteries of the Tower peal'd loud the voice of fear. And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer ; And from the farthest wards was heard the rush ^x hurrying feet. And the broad streams of flags and pikes dash'd down each rousing street ; And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din. As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in ; And eastward straight, for wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went ; And roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires of Kent: Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright coursers forth ; High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started for the north J 18 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. And on, and on, witliout a pause, untirod tlioy bounded still j All night from tower to tower they sprang, all night from hill to hill ; Till the proud peak unfurl' d the flag o'er Derwent's rocky dales ; Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales I Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height ; Till stream' d in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest of light; Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth, on Ely's stately fane, And town and hamlet I'ose in arms, o'er all the boundless plain ; Till Belvoir's grand and lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of Trent, Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt' s embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. LORD MACAULAY. Note. — Aurlgny's /.s/^,— Alderney, one of the Channel islands. Pinta, — a Spanish Ship. Semptr Kadam, — Queen Elizabeth'« mutto. Gaunt's embattled pile, — Lancaster Castle (now the county jail. ) 6.— BATTLE OF MARSTON MOOR.* 1644. To horse ! to horse ! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's note is high ! To horse ! to horse ! Sir Nicholas, the big drum makes reply ! Ere this hath Lucas marched, with his gallant cavaliers. And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter in our ears. To horse I to horse ! Sir Nicholas ! White Guy is at the door ! And the raven whets his beak again o'er the field of Marston Moor. * Fought between the Cavaliers and Roundheads, or the Royalists and Parliamentarians, in which Cromwell defeated Princo Rupert. This ballad metre has the true ring about it, reminding one of Macau- lay and Aytoun. Mr. Praed, however, (opposed to the great biatoriau In politics,) takea the cavulier side. ■^mwipi THE SCHOOL speaker. 19 Up rose the Lady Alice, from her hrief anattle's smoke, The staunch English wooden walls — The same stout hearts of oak. Then three cheers for our Queen j And three cheers for our land ; And three cheers for the hearts that love us ! And three times three For ihe British flag, That floats in the breeze above us ! Old England's mighty Charter, It still remains the same : Oppression still her standard hates — Still Freedom loves her name I And calmly still her people In God repose their trust, Nor change the Peace they love for War, Save when that War is just ! Then three cheers for our Queen 5 And three cheers for our land ; And three cheers for the hearts that love us I And three times three For the British flag. That floats in the breeze above us ! Lift her along — Stout hearts and strong ! While our oars in their beat Still repeat The old song ! Then three cheers for our Queen ; Three cheers for our Land ; And three cheers for the hearts that love us I And three times three For the dear old flag. That floats in the breeze above us ! -w I I 1. i 1 ' i 24 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 10.— BRITISH CHARGE AT WATERLOO. 1815. On came the whirlwind like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest blast On came the whirlwind steel gleams broke Like hghtning thro' the rolling smoke, The war was waked anew ; Beneath their fire in full career, Rush'd on the ponderous cuirassier; The lancer couch' d his ruthless spear, And hurrying as to havock near. The Cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent broad and strong. The advancing onset roll'd along; For harbinger' d by fierce acclaim, That from the shroud of smoke and flame, Peal'd wildly the imperial name. But, on the British heart, were lost The terror of the charging host, For not an eye, the storm that view'd Changed its proud glance of fortitude ; Nor was one forward footstep staid As dropp'd the dying and the dead. Fast as their ranks the thunder tear, Fast they renew' d each serried square ; * And on the wounded and the slain. Closed their diminished files again; 'Till from their line, scarce spears' length three Emerging from the smoke they see Helmet, and plume, and panoply. Then waked their fire at once ; Each musketeer's revolving knell As fast, as regularly fell. As when they practice to display Their discipline on festal day ; Then down went spear and lance ; Down were the Eagle's banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went. Corslets were pierced and pennons rent ; And to augment the Ir-ay, Wheel' d full against their staggering flanks, The English horsemen's foaming ranks Forced their resistless way. 11 ¥1 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 25 . 1815. )ke Then to the musket knell succeeds The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds. As plies the smith his clanging traae, Against the cuirass rang the blade. And while amid their close array The well served cannon rent their way ; And while amid their scatter' d band Kaged the fierce rider's bloody brand, Recoiled in common rout and fear, Lancer and guard and cuirassier ; Horsemen and foot a mingled host, Their leaders fall'n, their standards lost. SIR WALTER SCOTT. ee 11. CHELSEA PENSIONERS READING THE ACCOUNT OF THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 1815. The golden gleam of a summer sun Is lighting the elm-dec ^'d grove, And the leaves of the old trees — every one — Are stirred with a song they love ; For there bloweth a light b,-eeze, whispering true Of the deeds they are doing at Waterloo ! The veteran ! with his mr.rk of war — The medal on his breast I — Star of the brave that decks liim now, When his sword is laid to rest ! And the iron sheath is worn away. That was tenantless on the battle day 1 The young and old — the I'air and brave — Are congregated here ; And they all look out with an anxious gaze Of mingled hope and f(^ar ! As the wearied sailor looks for land, When the bark speeds on and the gales are bland. Now gaze again ! — A Ianc3r comes With a spur in his courser's side, That speeds towards th' expecting group As a lover bounds to his bride ! He bringeth the news, and their hearts beat high— ^ - The news of a glorious victory ! C I. 9 ! 'm t M 26 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Oh 1 v/hen the heart is very glad, It leaps like a little child That is just released from a weary task, With a spirit free and wild. It fluttereth like a prisoned bird. When tidings such as these are heard ! A low sound — like a murmured prayer ! Then, a cheer that rends the sky ! A loud huzza — like a people's shout When a good king passeth by ! — As the roar of waves on an angry main Breaks forth, and then all is mute again ! The Lancer looks in the Veteran's face, And hands him the written scroll ; And the old man reads, with a quiv'ring voice. The words of that muster-roll. As they wake a smile, or force a sigh, From many an anxious stander-by. If the father's boy be laurel- crown' d. He glories in his name ; If the mother hath lost her only son, She little heeds his fame ! And the lonely girl, whose lover sleeps, Droops in her beauty, and only weeps I But if a few have blighted hopes, And hearts forlorn and sad I How many of that mingled group Doth that great victory glad ? Who bless — for their dear sakes — the day Whom toil and war kept far away ? p. W. N. BAYLEY. 12.— THE BURIAL-MARCH OF DUNDEE.* 1689. Sound the fife, and cry the slogan — Let the pibroch shake the air With its wild triumphal music, Worthy of the freight we bear. * John Graham, of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, wfta killed at the yiotorious battle of Killiecraukie, in Scotland, iu 1689. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 27 Let the ancient hills of Scotland Hear once more the battle-song Swell within the glens and valleys, As the clansmen march along ! Never from the field of combat, Never from the deadly fray, Was a nobler trophy carried Than we bring with us to-day. Never since the valiant Douglas — On his dauntless" bosom bore Good King Robert's heart — the pric3le8s — To our dear Redeemer's shore ! Lo 1 we bring with us the hero — Lo 1 we bring, the conquering Graeme, Gk'owned as best beseems a victor From the altar of his fame | Fresh and bleeding from the battle Whence his spirit took its flight, 'Midst the crashing cha^'ge of squadrons. And the thunder of the fight ! Strike, I say, the notes of triumph. As we march o'er moor and lea ! r. BAYLEY. dlled at the See, above his glorious body Lies the royal banner fold — See his valiant blood is mingled — With its crimson and its gold — See how calm he looks and stately. Like a warrior on his shield. Waiting till the flash of morning Breaks along tlie battle field ! « * * » On the heights of Killiecrankie Yester-morn an army lay. « « « « Slowly rose the mist in columns From the river's broken wayj Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, And the Pass was wrapt in gloom. When the clansmen rose together From their lair amidst the broom. Then we belted on our tartans. And our bonnets down we drew, Aiid we felt our broadsword's edges. And we proved them to be true ; li ift 28 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Then our leader rode before us On his war-horse, black as night — « « ♦ ♦ And a cry of exultation From the bearded warriors rose ; But he raised his hand for silence — '^ Soldiers ! I have sworn a vow: Ere the evening star shall glisten On Schehallion's lofty brow, Either we shall rest in triumph, Or another of the Graemes Shall have died in battl a-harness For his country and King James I Strike ! and when the light is over ! If ye look in vain for me, Where the dead are lying thickest Search for him that was Dundee ! " m * * Loudly then the hills re-echoed With our answer to his call, But a deeper echo sounded In the bosoms of us all. For the lands of wide Breadalbane, Not a man who heard him speak Would that day have left the battle. « « • « Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet Sounding in the Pass below. And the distant tramp of horses, And the \ oices of the foe : Down we crouched amid the bracken, Till the Lowland ranks drew near, Panting like the hounds in summer, When they scent the statelyjdeer. Frvm the dark defile emerging. Next we saw the squadrons come, Leslie's foot and Leven's troopers Marching to the tuck of drum. * ♦ * ♦ Like a tempest down the ridges Swept the hurricane of steel. Rose the slogan of Macdonald — Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel ! Vainly sped the withering volley 'Mongst the foremost of our band— ■i THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. On we poured until we met them, Foot to foot, and hand to hand. Horse and man went down life drift-wood When the floods are black at Yule, And their carcasses are whirling In the Garry's deepest pool. Horse and man went down before us — > Living foe there tarried none On the field of Killiecrankie, When that stubborn fight was done ! And the evening star was shining, On Schehallion's distant head When we wiped our bloody broadswords, And returned to count the dead. There we found him gashed and gory. Stretched upon the cumbered plain, As he told us where to seek him, In the thickest of the slain. And a smile was on his visage, For within his dying ear Pealed the joyful note of triumph, And the clansmen's clamourous cheer : So, amidst the battle's thunder. Shot, and steel, and scorching flame. In the glory of his manhood Passed the spirit of the Graeme ! Open wide the vaults of AthoU, Where the bones of heroes rest — Open wide the hallowed potrals To roceive another guest ! Last of Scots, and last of freemen — Last of all that dauntless race. Who would rather die unsullied Than outlive the land's disgrace ! O thou lion-hearted warrior ! Reck not of the after-time : Honour may be deemed dishonour, Loyalty be called a crime. Sleep in peace with kindred ashes Of the noble and the true, Hands that never failed their country, Hearts that never baseness knew. 30 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER, Sleep ! — and till the latest trumpet Wakes the dead from earth and sea, Scotland shall not boast a braver Chieftain, than our own Dundee 1 W. E. AYTOUN. V. t ► !■■ ■ i 4 ■ I 13.— HAIL TO THE CHIEF.* Hail to the chief, who in triumph advances 1 Honoured and blessed be the ever-green pine I Long may the tree in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! Heaven send it happy dew. Earth lend it sap anew ; Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back agen, '' Eoderick Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe I" Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade 5 When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifting rock, Proof to the tempest's shock. Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; Menteith and Breadalbane, then. Echo his praise agen, *' Koderick Vich Alpine dhu, ho 1 ieroe 1" Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied : Glen Luss and Eoss-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid. Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woo ; Lennox and Leven glen Shake when they hear agen, '' Roderick Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe !" * This sonff is intended as an imitation of the jorrams or boat songs of the Highlanders, which wore usually composed in honour of a favourite chief. They are so adapted as to keep time with the sweep of the oars. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 31 a. E. AYTOUN. I nel es, Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands 1 Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green pine 1 ! that the rosebud that graces yon islands. Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine I Oh that some seeding gem Worthy such noble stem. Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow 1 Loud should CI m Alpine then Ring from her doepmost glen, '^ Roderick Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe I" SIR WALTER SCOTT. tain, iaf on the ie. m. I rum > r side. songs of favourite be oars. 14.— HIGHLAND WAR-SONG. Pibroch* of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan-Conuil. Come away, come away, hark to the summons ! Come in your war array, gentles and commons ! Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that wears one. Come every steel-blade, and strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges ; Come with your fighting gear, broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when forests are rended : Come as the waves come, when navies are strandea : Faster come, faster come, faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come •, see how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle-plume, blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset ! SIR WALTER SCOTT. * A pibroch (pronounced pi'brok) ie a martial air played with the bag- pipe. Donuil, pronounced Don' nil ; Conuil, Con' nil. 32 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 15.— FLOKA MACIVOK'S SUMMONS. There is mist on the mountains, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded — it sank on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumbed e\ ery hand ! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust ; On the hill or the glon if a gun should appear, It is only to war vfith the heath-cock or deer. The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ; Be mute every string, and Ije hushed every tone, That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, The morn on our mountains is dawning at last j Glen-al'adale's peaks are illumed with the rays. And the streams of Glen-finnan leap bright in the blaze. O, high-minded Mo'ray ! — the exiled ! — the dear ! — In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear ! Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly. Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. Awake on your hills, on your islands awake Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake 5 'Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall. 'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death^ When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath 5 They call to the dirk, tlie claymore, and the targe. To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fii'e ! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sire did of yore ! Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more ! SIR WALTER SCOTT, 16.- A vai Brf For All lU And I K I THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 33 16.— LORD WELLINGTON'S LANDING I¥ SPAIN. 1808. % various host from kindred realms they came, 1^ S.. Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown ; i'or yon fair bands shall merry England claim, And with their deeds of valour deck her crown : Her's their bold port, and her's their martial frown, ?And her's their scorn of death in freedom's cause ; Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And free-born thoughts which league the soldier with the laws. And oh ! loved warriors of the minstrels' land, Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave. The rugged form may mark the mountain band, And harsher features and a mien more grave. But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart so brave As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid ; And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, And level for the charge their arms are laid. Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset staid ? [Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, [His jest which each blithe comrade round him flings, And moves to death with military glee ; Boast, Erin ! boast them, tameless, frank and free, I In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known. Rough nature's children, humourous as she, [And He, yon chieftain, — strike the proudest tone ;/0f thy bold harp, green Isle, — the Hero is thine own. 17.— THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG. Though Scotia's be lofty mountains. Where savage grandeur reigns 5 Though bright be England's fountains, And fertile be her plains ; When 'mid their charms I wander. Of thee I think the while. And seem of thee the fonder, My own green isle ! 34 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Ml While many who have left thee, Seem to forget thy name, Distance hath not bereft me Of its endearing claim : Afar from thee sojourning Whether I sigh or smile, I call thee still ^' Mavom-neen," My own green isle 1 Fair as the glittering waters Thy emerald banks, that lave, To me thy graceful daughters, Thy generous sons as brave. Oh ! there are hearts within thee Which know not shame or guile, And such proud homage win thee. My own green isle. For their dear sakes I love thee, Mavourneen, though unseen j Bright be the sky above thee. Thy shamrock ever green j May evil ne'er distress thee, Nor darken nor defile. But heaven for ever bless thee, My own green isle. Larl jOU(| The Who As w) Who! 80 ru Whill <^ -"«-- ^iWer, and peopled with? ?"* "»'» «ky, Walk with a deeper fflltstffh* '^l"'«' ^^'^^ n^^^or";^ft'''^"TT^^^^^^ Upon Z Z^S:^ZrTto'' !''«" -" Am.d thy wood al&*° ""l^ f°'-tt ^hen faf.i::t"ltd"th:t?!°"^'«- years Rung to their tiny foof,f»I ^^'^' ''"'' *e turf ^Prang with the hftini i? ' '""' ')"'«*: Aowers GRENyiLLE MELLEN. 2I-QUBEN VIOroRU AND THE BIBLE • He saw the stately palace walls And'stoTS'tr'^T^ A wonderTni JJ " ''''y''' ^""^ wonaering stranger there. '-•rfn"4ui-?f °jSf ®^9nce s^nt costly ^ifts .^77 ' ■ '•*»!^^, THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 39 foam, irs ns, — [1 f fs rod — s. ''Our skies are fair — our mountain streams In golden ripples flow 5 Oh, bright the crystal current gleams When diamonds flash below ! ''The sea-breeze wins a breath of balm In summer's sultry hours, When sweeping o'er the fragrant palm, Or floating 'mid the flowers — "The cocoa shadows where we rest The acacia and the vine — Oh, why is not our land as blest As this fair realm of thine ! " She counted not her armies o'er, Who, proud her rule to own, The English flag in triumph bore To honour and renown ; MELLEN'. sting uteu ' i'ell Nor her proud ships, whose spreading sails Swept ocean's farthest foam, While southern winds and northern gales Were wafting treasures home : — She had a volume richly bound Its golden clasps between, And thought not of the wealth around That shone for England's queen. "Take this: these precious leaves unfold, And find what gems are chere ; There's wealth beyond the purest gold Within its pages fair. "Tis this makes blest our English homes, Where peace and quiet reign •, This is the star to him who roams Upon the land or main. " This is .he secret of our fame : To praise the King of Kings — Adoring His most holy name. Our land its homage brings. 40 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. '< 'Tis He that gives the wealth we win, This word that makes us free — Our life and blessing it hath been — Thus may it be to thee." 22.— BUKNING OF THE TROPHIES IN THE TOWER aF LONDON. 1841. Grey fortress of the royal Thames, dark pile of old renown, So the red wing of flame hath struck thy proudest glories down. Aye mourn ! beneath your crumbling walls and blacken' d ashes lie Spoils of a thousand years of fftme, of matchless victory ! Magnificent the wealth that flashed within thy arches old, Beyond the wildest dreams of might in earthly story told ; No spoils like thine the triumph graced when Gaul or Roman hurled His storm of fiery war abroad, stern trampler of the world ! Thine was an atmosphere of fame ; beneath each trophied arch, A world of phantoms floated by in slow and stately march. Brave visions mock'd the dreamer's eye, white j^lumes and Jewell' d crown, Kings — warlike woman — soldier — priest — high shajDes of old renown. A thousand years their tokens brought of high and gallant deed The battle axe of Hastings' strife — the shield of Runnimede — Bright arms that told of Syrian sands, where Paynim ;>word and targe Went down beneath the English steed of Lion Hearsf warrior charge. There were spoils that spoke of Cressy's tale cf the bold Black Champion's might, Of the charging shout of Agincourt ''St. George for England's right!" Old Tilbury and our warrior Queen with all her mail clad train, And the red cross on the channel seas 'mid the flying barques of Spam. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 41 And Blenheim's thrilling tale was told, — red Minden's battle shock — And Wolfe in victory's splendour fall'n on the far Canadian rock, Each noble deed by field or wave where our conquering banner flew To the crowning strife of Trafalgar — of deadly Waterloo. All, all lie crush'd and buried 'mid those blacken'd walls of thine. The gifts that centuries of fame had heaped in glory's shrine ; But noble trophies yet are ours no earthly flame can mar, Lights to outmatch the blaze of arms, the victor's fiery star. Where may those deathless memories rest ? — Ask the broad earth to name The debt that man to Britain owes — the tribute to her fame : She'll tell of floods of Chi'istian light on nations poured abroad. Of myriads snatched from sm and death, of altars roared to God. Ask of the infant or the sage, search the far wilds of earth, From tropic sand to polar snow — from king to peasant's hearth 5 And where Improvement's step is seen, where Christians join in prayer. The spirit of our land is felt — the hand of Britain's there ! Gaze on each happy scene that smiles, along her cultured plains, Where ''silent fingers heavenward point" the spires of village fanes J Look east, look west, and feel where'er her Christian banner floats. There man's rude nature upward strives, there breathe religion's notes. Britain ! a glorious treasure 's thine that mocks at storm and flame, Far o'er thy bla/o of martial deeds thy holy Christian Name^ Bright lamp to flash its light o'er earth on time's last wave upborne — Quenched — when the Trumpet- Voice from Heaven pro- claims man's Judgment Morn I Toronto, December, 1841. ''Zadiq." D 42 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 23.-~THE ISLESMEN OF THE WEST. There is mustering on the Danube's banks such as Earth ne'er saw before, Though she may rifle where she may her glory-page of yore : The bravest of her cliildren, proud Europe stands to-day, All battle-harnessed for the strife, and panting for the fray. No jewelled robe is round her flung, no glove is on her hand, But visor down and clasped in steel, her gauntlet grasps the brand ; Oh ! lordly is the greeting as she rises from her rest, And summons to the front of fight the Islesmen of the West. No braver on this earth of ours, no matter where you go. Than they whose boast was aye to bear the battle's sternest blow ; No braver than that gallant host, who wait with hearts of fire To bridle with an iron bit the Muscovite's desire. Ho ! gallant hearts, remember well the glories of the past, And answer with your island shout the Russian's trumpet- blast 5 Ho! gallant hearts, together stand, and who shall dare molest. The bristling hem of battle's robe, the Islesmen of the West. Brave are the chivalry of France as ever reined a steed, Or wrung from out the jaws of death some bold heroic deed j jA hundred fields have proved it well from Neva to the Po, vV^hen kings have knelt to kiss the hand that smote their souls with wo. And worthy are the sons to-day of that old Titan breed, Who spoke in thunders to the Earth that glory was their creed ; Ay, worthy are the sons of France, in valor's lap caress' d. To-night beside their foes of old, the Islesmen of the West. Oh, England ! in your proudest time you ne'er saw such a sight, As when you flung your gauntlet down to battle for the right ; What are the Scindian plains to us, the wild Caffrarian kloof. That glory may be bought too dear that brings a world's reproof ! The brightest deed of glory is to help the poor and weak. And shield from the oppressor's grasp the lowly and the meek; And that thou' It do — for never yet you raised your lion crest But victory has blest your sons, the Islesmen of tho West. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 43 Who are those haughty Islesmen now who hold the keys of earth, And plant beside the Crescent moon the banner of their birth? Who are those scarlet ranks that pass the Frenchman and the Turk, With lightsome step and gladsome hearts, like reapers to their work ! The sons of Merry England they, reared in her fertile lands, From Michael's Mount to s^^out Carlisle, from Thames to Mersey's sands ; From every corner of the isle where valour was the guest, That cradled in the freeman's shield the Islesmen of the West. The stormers of the breach pass on, the daring sons of Eiio, Light-hearted in the bayonet- strife as in the country fair ; The mountaineer who woke the lark on Tipperary's hills, And he who kiss'd his sweetheart last by Shannon's silver rills. The "Rangers" of our western land who own that battle- shout. That brings the '^Fag-an-bealag" blow, and seals the car- nage rout 5 Those septs of our old Celtic land, who stand with death abroast. And prove how glorious is the fame of Islesmen of the West. The tartan plaid and waving plume, the bare and brawny knee. Whose proudest bend is when it kneels to front an enemy • The pulse of battle beating fast in every pibroch swell — Oh, God assoilize them who hear their highland battle yell. Those Campbell and those Gordon men, who fight for <^auld lang syne," And bring old Scotland's broadsword through the proudest battle line ; You have done it oft before, old hearts, when fronted by the best, And Where's the serf to-day dare stand those Islesmen of the West? Speak ! from your bristling sides, ye shijDS, as Nelson spoke before — Speak ! whilst the world is waiting for your thunder-burst of yore j ' 11 •> u 44 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Speak! whilst your Islesmen stand before each hot and smoking gun, That rends the granite from the front of forts that must be won; LTnroll that grand old ocean flag above the smoke of fight, And let each broadside thunder well the Islesmen' s battle might ; Roll out, ye drums, one glory peal, 'tis Liberty's behest, That summons to the front of fight the Islesmen of the West DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. 24.— DEATII-RIDE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 1854. '' We sat mute on our chargers, a handful of men, As the foe's broken columns swept on to the glen, Like torn trees when the whirlwind comes : Cloven h(>lm and rent banner grew dim to our ken, And faint was the throb of their drums. ." 3 ill ^'But, no longer pursued, where the gorge opens deep They halt ; with their guns they crowd level and steep ; Seems each volley some monster's breath. Who shows cannon for teeth as he crouches to leap From his ambushed cavern of death. '^ Their foot throng the defile, they surge on the bank j Darts a forest of lances in front ; o'er each flank Peer the muskets — a grisly flock ; They have built their live tower up, rank upon I'ank, And wait, fixed, for an army's shock. *' Far in front of our lines, a dot on the plain, Mute and moveless we sat till his foam-flecked rein At our side gallant Nolan drew : ' They still hold our guns, we must have them again, ' Was his message — ' Advance, pursue !' '' Pursue them !— What, charge with our hundreds the foe Whose massed thousands await us in order below ! Yes, such were his words. To debate The command was not ours ; we had but to know. And, knowing, encounter our fate. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 45 *' Wj ride our last march — let each crest be borne high I We raise our last cheer — let it startle the sky I And the land with one brave farewell ; For soon never more to our voice shall reply Kock, hollow, fringed river, or doll. <' Let our trump ring its loudest ; in closest array. Hoof for hoof, let us ride ; for the chief who to-day Eeviews us — is Death the Victorious : Let him look up to Fame, as we perish, and say, ' Enrol them — the fallen are the glorious ! ' ''We sj)ur to the gorge ; from its channel of ire Livid light burst like surf, its spray leaps in fire ; As the spars of some vessel staunch. Bold hearts crack and fall 5 we nor swerve nor retire, But in the mid- temp est we launch. ^ '' We cleave the smoke-billows, as wild waves the prow ; The flash of our sabres gleams straight like the glow Which a ploughing keel doth break From the grim seas around, with light on her bow. And light in her surging wake. ''We dash full on their guns — tlu'ough the flare and the , roar Stood the gunners bare-armed ; now they stand there no more The war- throat waits dumb for the ball ; For those men pale and mazed to the chine we shore, And their own cannon's smoke was their pall. " That done, we're at bay ; for the foe, with a yell Piles his legions around us. Their bayonets swell Line on line ; we are planted in steel : ' Good carbine ! trusty blade ! Each shot is a knell, Each sword-sweep a fate — they reel !' " One by one AiU our men, each girt with his slain, A death-star with belts ! 'Charge we break them 1' — In vain ! From the heights their batteries roar ; The fire-sluices burst ; through that flood, in a rain Of iron, we strike for the shore. m 4 46 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. ''Thunder answers to thunder, bolts darken the air, To breathe is to die ; their funeral glare The lit hills on our brave ones rolled ; What of that ? They had entered the lists with Despair, And the lot which they met — they foretold. '' Comrade sinks heaped on comrade ! A ghastly band That fell tide, when it ebbs, shall leave on the strand : Of the swimmers who stemmed it that day A spent, shattered remnant we struggle to land, And wish we were even as they." Oh, Britain, my country 1 Thy heart be the tomb Of those who for tliee rode fearless to doom, The sure doom which they well foreknew : Though mad was the summons, they saw in the gloom Duty beckon — and followed her through. She told not of trophies, — of medal or star, Or of glory sign-manual graved in a scar, Or how England's coasts shall resoimd When brothers at home greet their brothers from war, As they leap upon English ground ! 25.— EAST INDIAN MASSACRES IN THE PUNJAUB. * Bear them gently, bear them duly, up the broad and slop- ing breach Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting-place they reach. • In the costly cashmeres folded, on the stronghold's top- most crown, In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics down. * The following touching and beautiful poem was written by Archbishop Trench, on the murder at Mooltan of two British officers, Anderson and Agnew. Being reduced to oxtromity. Sirdar Khan Sing begged Mr. Agnew to be allowed to sue for mercy. Though weak from loss of blood, Agnew'fl heart failed him not. He replied : " let none be asked for; we are not the last of the English." The English indeed soon came and reduced the fort- ress; but they did not depart without performing the last sad rites over the gallant slain. The bodies of the two officers were carefully, even affec- tionately, removed and wrapped in cashmere shawls, to obliterate all traces of neglect. They were borne by the soldiers in triumph through the breach in the walls, and placed in an honoured resting place on the summit of Moolraj's citadel! THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 47 Here repose, for this is meetest, ye who here breathed out your life, Ah! in no triumphant battle, but beneath the assassin's knife. Hither, bearing England's message^ bringing England's just demand. Under England's segis, came ye to the chieftain of the land : In these streets beset and wounded, hardly borne with life away, Faint, and bleeding, and forsaken, in your helplessness ye lay. But the wolves that once have tasted blood, will raven still for more 5 From the infuriate city rises high the Wild and savage roar. Near and nearer grows the tumult of the gathering mur- derous crew, Tremble round those helpless couches, an unarmed but faithful few : '^ Profitless is all resistance, let us then this white flag wave. Ere it be too late, disdain not mercy at their hands to crave." But to no unworthy pleading, would descend that noble twain : ^'Nay, for mercy sue not 5 ask not what to ask from these were vain. We are two, betrayed and lonely ; human help or hope is none 5 Yet, O friends, be sure that England owns beside us many a son. They may slay us ; in our places, multitudes will here be found, Strong to hurl this guilty city, with its murderers to the ground. Yea, who stone by stone would tear it from Its deep foun- dations strong, Rather than to leave unpunished, them that wrought this treacherous wrong." Other words they changed between them, which none else could understand. Accents of our native English, brothers grasping hand in hand. '(%' 48 TUt SCHOOL SPEAKETt. So they died, the gallant hearted! so from earth their spirits past, Uttering words of lofty comfort, each to each, unto the last: And we heard, but little heeded their true spirits far away. All of wi'ong and coward outrage heaped on the unfeeling clay. Lo 1 a few short moons have vanished, and the promised ones appear, England's pledged and promised thousands, England's mul- titudes are here ; Flame around the blood-stained ramparts swiftest messen- gers of death. Girdling with a fiery girdle, blasting with a fiery breath j Ceasing not, till choked with corpses, low is laid the mur- derers' hold. And in his last lair the tiger toils of righteous wrath enfold. Well, oh well — ye have not fail'd them who on England's truth relied. Who on England's name and honour did in that dread hour confide. Now one last dear duty render to the faitliful and the brave. What they left of earth behind them rescuing for a wor- thier grave. Oh then, bear them, hosts of England, up the broad and sloping breach Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting place they reach. In the costly cashmeres folded, on the ramparts' topmost crown. In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics down ! 26.— THE DEATH OF HAVELOCK. He is gone ! Heaven's will is best : Indian turf o'erlies his breast ; Goule in black, nor man in gold Laid him in yon hallowed mould. Guarded to a soldier's grave By the bravest of the brave, He hath gained a nobler tomb Than in old cathedral gloom. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Nobler mourners paid tho rito Than the crowd that craves a sight ; England's banners o'er him waved — Dead, — he keeps the realm he saved. Strew not on the hero's hearse Garlands of a herald's verse: Let us hear no words of Fame Sounding loud a deathless name : Tell us of no vauntful glory Shouting forth her haughty story, All life long his homage rose To far other shrines than those. *\^n Ut -if, no rival power shall ever possess them. As we sail a little farther on, we come to the Chinese Sea. What a beaten track of commerce is this 1 What wealth of comfort and luxury is wafted over it by every breeze ! The teas of China ! The silks of farther India ! The spices of the East ! What ships of every clime and nation swarm on its waters ! The stately barques of England, France, and Holland ! Our own swift ships ! And mingled with them, in picturesque confusion, the clumsy junk of the Chinaman, the Malay prahu, and the slender, darting bangkong of the Sea Dyak ' At the lower end of the Chinese Sea, where it narrows into Malacca Strait, England holds the little island of Singapore — a spot of no use to her whatever, except as a commercial depot, but of inestimable value for that, and which under her fostering care, is grow- ing up to take its place among the great emporiums of the world. Half way up the sea is the island of Labuan, whose chief worth is this, that beneath its surface and that of the neighbouring mainland are hidden inexhaustible treasures of coal, which are likely to yield wealth and power to the hand that controls them. At the upper end of the sea is THE SCnoOL SPEAKEH. 61 ilong Konp;, a hot unhoalthy island, but which gives her a l)U.sc from which to threaten and control the neighbour- ing waters. Even in the broad and as yet comparatively untracked Pacific she is making silent advances toward dominion. — The vast continent of Australia, whicii she has secured, forms its south-western boundary. And pushed out six hundred miles eastward from this, lies New Zealand like a strong outpost ; its shores so scooped and torn by the waves that it must be a very paradise of commodious bays and safe liavens for the mariner ; and lifted up, as n to relieve it from island tameness, are great mountains and dumb volcanoes, worthy of a continent, and which hide in their bosoms deep, broad lak<»s. Yet the soil of the low lands is of (extraordinary fertility, and the climate, though hu- mid, deals kindly with the 8axon constitution. Nor is this all ; for, advanced from it for north and south, like picket stations, are Norfolk isle and the Aukland group, which have good harbours. And it requires no prophet's eye to see that, when England needs posts fiirther east- ward, she will find them among the green coral islets that stud the Pacific. Turn now your step^ homeward, and pause a moment at the Bermudas, these 'autiful isles, with their fresh ver- dure, green gems in the ■ f^an, with airs soft and balmy as Eden's were I They have Jieir homely uses too. They furnish arrow -root for the sick, and ample supplies of vegetables earlier than sterner climates will grant. Is this all that can be said ? Reflect a little more deeply. Here is a military and naval depot, and here a splendid harbour, landlocked, and amply fortified, difficult of access to stran- gers — and all this within three or four day's sail of any one of the Atlantic ports North or South. England keeps this as a station on the road to her West Indian possessions ; and should America go to war with her, she would use it as a base of offensive operations, where she might gather and hurl upon any unprotected port all her gigantic naval and military power. — Atlantic Monthly. 28.— LOYALTY TO THE QUEEN AND CONSTITUTION. Our attachment to the Queen, our own Victoria, is mingled with a tenderness not inconsistent with the sterner sentiment, which it softens and embellishes without ener- -?-"-a ; i 6^ THE SCHOOL Sl»EAKEIt. vating. Let her legitimate authority as a constitutional Monarch ; let her reputation as a Woman be assailed, and notwithstanding the lamentation of Burke that the age of chivalry was past, thousands of swords would leap from their scabbards to avenge her. Ay, and they would be drawn as freely, and wielded as vigorously and bravely in Canada or in Nova Scotia, as in England. T^oy^lty ! love of British Institutions! They are engrafted in our very nature ; they are part and parcel of ourselves ; and I can no more tear them from my heart (even if I would, and lacerate all its fibres,) than I would sever a limb from my body. And what those institutions? A distinguished American Statesmen recently answered this question. He said: ^'The proudest Government that exists upon the face of the earth is that of Great Britam, and the great Pitt, proudest statesman, when he would tell of Britain's crowning glory, did not speak as he might have done, of her wide spread dominion, upon which the sun never set ]. He did not speak of martial achievements, of glorious battle fields, and of splendid naval conflicts 5 but he said, with swelling breast, and kindling eye, that the poorest man of Great Britain in his cottage might bid defiance to all the forces of the crown. It might be frail, its roof might shake, the wind mignt blow through it, the storm might enter, the rain might enter; but the King of England could not enter it. In all his power he dare not cross the threshold of that ruined tenement." HON. W. YOUNG, ETC. U:t i 27.— THE BRITISH CONSTITUTIONAL SYSTEM OF CANADA. I take the British constitutional system as the great original system u^oon which are founded the institutions of all free states. 1 take it as one of a iamily born of Christian civil- ization, and of the religion of that Germanic empire which, breaking up, transmitted it to other empires to mould for them free institutions. I take it as combining in itself, permanency and liberty — liberty in its best form, not in theory alone, but in practice — liberty which is enjoyed in practice by all the people of Canada of every origin and creed. Can any one pretend to say that a chapter of acci- dents which we can trace for eight hundred years, and which some antiquarians may even trace for a much longer THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 53 period, will account for the permanerce of these institu- tions ? If you say that they have not in themselv ^s the elements of permanency — if they have not the saving salt which preserves the fouixdation of th; government of a free state from one generation to another — how do you account for their continued and prosperous existence ? — how do you account for it that ofall the ancient constitutions of Europe this alone remains ; and remains not only with all its an- cient outlines, but with great modern improvements and even alterations, but alterations made in harmony with the design of its first architects ? Here is a form of Govern- ment that has lasted with modifications to suit the spirit of the age for a period of 800 years. How is it that I account for the permanency of its institutions ? Because, in their out- line plan they combine all the good of material importance that has ever been discovered. The wisdom of the middle age, and the political writers of the present, have all laid down one maxim of government — that no unmixed form of government can satisfy the wants of a free and intelligent people, that an unmixed democracy for instance must result in anarchy or military despotism ; but that form of govern- ment which combines in itself an inviolable monarchy and popular representation, with the incitements and induce- ments of an aristocracy — a working aristocracy, an aristo- cracy that takes its share in the day of battle, and of toil and labour, of care and anxiety in the time of peace ; an aristocracy of talent ojijen to the i^eople who by talent and labour made themselves worthy to enter it — this three-fold combination in the system of Government was the highest problem of political science, the highest effort of the mind of man. Let us see if the British form, apart from any details of its practice, combines in if':;elf these three qualities. If we hold that authority and liberty are necessary to free government — and one is as necessary as the other — then we can apply tiie touch-stone to this system and see whe- ther it be true to the mechanism on which it stands. The leading principles of the British system is that the head of the state is inviolable. It is necessary to the stability of any state that there should be an inviolable authority or tribunal, and under the British system is recognized in the maxim that '^ the king can do no wrong." It is ne- cessary in any free government that there should be some quarter — either the head of the state or some other power — beyond wliich an appeal does not use ^ i influence not subject to the caprice of whim; or even to the just com- Ir 54 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. plaint of the private citizen warring against the state. This is necessary to prevent reform becoming revolution, or to prevent local abuses becoming the source of general disor ganization. Having placed the principle of inviolability there, and the principle of privilege in the peerage, the founders of the state took care at the same time that the peerage should not stagnate into a sunken well, an intol- erable wall of pretension and arrogance. They left the device of the House of Lords, so to speak, with one gable — they left it open to any of the 2^eople who might distin- guish themselves in war or in peace, although they might be the children of paupers, (and some have been ennobled who were unable to tell who their parents were,) to enter it and take their place on equality w^ith the proudest there, who dated back their descent for centuries. This inclined plane by which the people might rise to higher positions was left open; and this provision was made in order that the peerage should not stagnate into a small and exclu- sive caste which could neither be added to or subtracted from, except by the inviolable law of increase or decrease. It was for the people of this country, with the precedent of England and the example of the American republic before them, to decide which should be the prevailing character of our government, — British constitutional or republican constitutionjJ. For his part, he preferred the British consti- tutional government because it wos the best, and he reject- ed the republican constitutional government because it was not the best. He pointed out that we were now witnessing a great epoch in the world's history, and that the events daily transpiring around us should teach us not to rely too much upon our present position of secure independence, but rather to apprehend and be pre- pared for attempts against our liberties and against that system of government, which he was convinced was heartily cherished by the inhabitants of tliis Province. HON. T. D. mcGee. 30.— THE BATTLE OF QUEBEC. 1759. The closing scene of French dominion in Canada was marked by circumstances of deep and poculic.:- interest. The pages of romance can furnish no more striking episode than the battle of Quebec. The skill and daring of the plan which brought on the combat, and the success and fortune THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 55 of its execution, were unparalleled. There a broad open plain, offering no advantages to either party, was the field of fight. The contending armies were nearly equal in military strength if not in numbers. The chiefs of each were men already of honourable fame. France trusted firmly in the wise and chivalrous Montcalm: England trusted hopefully ir the young and heroic Wolfe. The magnificent stronghold which was staked upon the issue of the strife, stood close at hand. For miles and miles around the prospect extended over as fair a land as ever rejoiced the sight of man ; mountain and valley, forest and waters, cities and solitude, grouped together in forms of almost ideal beauty. Quebec stands on the slope of the eastern extremity of that lofty range which here forms the left bank of the St. Lawrence 5 a table-land extends westward for about 9 miles from the defences of the city, occasionally wooded and undulating, but towards the ramparts open and tolerably level : this portion of the heights is called the plains of Abraham. Wolfe had discovered a narrow passage winding up the side of the steep precipice from the water's edge. For miles on either side there was no other possible access to the heights. Wolfe's plan was to ascend this path se- cretly with his whole army, and make the plains his battle ground. The extraordinary audacity of the enterprise was its safety : the wise and cautious Montcalm had guarded against all the probable chances of war ; but he was not prepared against an attempt for which the pages of I'omance can scarcely furnish a parallel. Great preparations were made throughout the fleet and army for the decisive movement, but the plans were still kept secret : a wise caution was observed in this respect, for the treachery of a single deserter might have imperiled the success of the whole expedition had the whole object been known. Silently and swiftly, unchallenged by the French sentries, Wolfe's flotilla dropped down the stream in the shade of the overhanging cliffs. The rowers scarcely stirred the water with their oars 5 the soldiers sat motionless. Not a word was spoken save by the young general; as ho re- peated in a low voice to the officers by his side, ^'Gray's Elegy in a Country Church yard;" and as he concluded the beautiful verses, said, ''Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec!" But while Wolfe thus, in the jjoet's words, gave vent to 56 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. the intensity of his feeling, his eye was constantly bent upon the dark outline of the heights under which he silently moved. At length he recognized the appointed spot, and leaped ashore. The after struggle, in the me- morable plains of Abraham, was brief, but deadly. The September sun rose upon two gallant armies arrayed in unbroken pride : noon of the same day saw the ground where they had stood, strewn with the dying and the dead ; while at night the red-cross banner floated triumphantly over the field of death. ELLIOT WARBURTON, 31.— MEMOKIES OF QUEBEC. Afar, Quebec exalts her crest on high, Her rocks and battlements invade the sky ; * * * ♦ While on the Bay's broad bosom far and wide, The anchored fleets of commerce proudly ride. Huge clift's above precipitous that fro^vn, Like Atlas, bent beneath another town. Where all along the grey embrasured steep In grim repose the watchful cannon peep. Tall spires, and domes, and turrets shine afar Behind the arched gates, and mounds of war. While proud Cape Diamond towers above them all, With aerial glacis and embattled wall ; Till on the loftiest point where swift bivds rise. Old England's standard floats amid the skies. Oh ! j'dorious spot! The Briton's boast and pride, Where armies battled and where heroes died, Where gallant Wolfe led his devoted band, Eejoiced in death ind waved his dying hand 5 'Mid cheers of victory rung from side to side, The hero smiled content, and calmly died ! Though few his years and young his lofty fame, With p;reenest garlands England crowns his name 5 And on her roll of glory, proudly reads The nation's records of his mighty deeds. And noble Montcalm ! Well thy honoured bier May claim the tribute of a British tear. Although the lilies from these ramparts fell, Thy name immortal with great Wolfe's shall dwell : Like him, thy consciousness of duty done, Soothed thy last pang, and cheered thy setting sun ! From the "Approach to Quebec" By W. Kirby, Hail ! e mi First d{ sig The po Grows thi No flee But om The risi And tl Cat ThyDia Set rou fea While I she And th( feei Thv reig Thy birt The sun. Saw the And fro] From ag By day, ace] In cease nan For wliG Or since sto( Whoe'e Must hfi Accept From tl Thf> hui To The( ing "tmt SCHOOL SPEAKER. 32.— THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. 5t ILiil ! Sovereign of the world of Floods ! whose majesty and might First dazzles, — then enraptm-es, — then o'erawes the aching sight ; The pomp of Kings and Emperors in every clime and zone Grows dim beneath the splendour of thy glorious watery throne. No fleets can stop thy progress, — no armies bid thee stay, But onward — onward — onward thy march still holds its way ; The rising mist that veils thee — as thine herald, goes before, And the music that proclaims thee is the thundering Cataract's roar. Thy Diadem is an emerald green of tlie clearest, brightest hue, 8et round with waves of show-white foam, and spray of feathery dew ; While tresses of the brightest pearls float o'er thy amj^le sheet. And the rainbow lays its gorgeous gems in tribute at thy feet. Thy reign is of the ancient days, — thy sceptre from on high. Thy birtii was when the morning stars together sang for joy ; The sun, the moon, and all the orbs that shine upon thee now, Saw the flrst wreath of glory which twined thine infant brow. And from that hour to this — in which I gaze upon thy stream From age to age — in winter's frost or summer's sultry beam. By day, by night, without a pause thy waves with loud acclaim, in ceaseless sounds have still proclaimed the Great Eternal's name. For whether on thy forest banks, the Intlian of the wood. Or since his days (he red man's foe on his fatherland have stood, Who e'erhas seen thine iiijense rise or heard thy torr'^nt roar. Must have bent before the God of all to worship and adore. Accept then Oh ! Supremely Great, Oh ! Infinite, Oh ! God, From this primeval altar — the green and virgin sod — The humble homage that my soul in gratitude would pay To Thee I whose shield has guarded me thro' all my wander- ing way. £ m 1?HE SCHOOL Sl»EAi^ER. For if the Ocean be as naught in the hollow of thy hahd, And the stars in the bright firmament in thy balance grains of sand ; If Niagara's rolling flood seem great to us who lowly bow, Oh I Great Creator of the whole I how passing great art Thou ! Yet tho' thy power is greater than finite mind can scan, Still greater is thy mercy shown to weak dependent man ; For him Thou cloth' st the fertile fields with herb, and fruit, and seed, For him the woods, the lakes, the seas supply his hourly need. Around,— -on high, — or far, — or near, the universal whole Proclaims Thy glory, as the orbs in their fixed courses roll ; And from creation's grateful voice — the hymn ascends above, While Heaven re-echoes back to Earth the chorus ''God is Love." J. S. BUCKINGHAM. 33.— THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALIOTS. How little is known of the '' pre-historic annals" of Canada ! A belief that there settled in the maritime pro- vinces, and on the shores of the great lakes, about the time of the American Revolution, a number of men and women distinguished by the name of Loyalists, is all that is known on the subject by many in Canada. What brought them here, whence they came, how they did, what they suffered, are questions seldom asked or answered. These people were devoted subjects of the British Crown, who would not and did not join in the war o:^ Independence, but took up arms for the United Empire, and who, when the victory went with the colonists, refused to abandon their allegiance, suffered the confiscation of all their earthly goods, and went forth, in 1783, to seek a home in the wilderness of Canada. No bar sinister stains their escutcheon. They were men of whom we need not be ashamed. The United Empire Loyalists form an ancestry of which any people might be proud. They had every characteristic which can go to con- stitute an enduring substratum for a coming nation. They were men, of whom the descendants of contemporary foes now utter disinterested eulogies. Respecting them even prejudice is dead, and the grand-child of the Revolutionist can now speak generously of the political opponents of his *BE SCHOOL SPEAKER. t& ancestors in the land where their honour was trit^d as in a crucible. They are our Pilgrim Fathers. They are our heroes. They were martyrs of their jjrinciples. Believing that a monarchy was better than a republic, and shrinking with abhorrence from a dismeftiberment of the empire, they were willing, rather than lose the one and endure the other, to bear with a temporary injustice. And their sincerity was put to the test. They took up arms i'or the king; they passed through all the dangers and horrors of ci\'il war •, they bore what was worse than death itself — the hatred of their countrymen'; and when the battle went against them, they sought no compromise, but forsaking their most splendid possessions, upreared the banner to which they had sworn fealty, and, following where it led, went forth to seek, on the then inhospitable shores of our lakes, a miserable shelter, in exchange for the home from which they were exiled. Nor did they ever draw back. The Indian, the wolf, the famine, could not alter their iron resolution ; and for their allegiance, they endured a thousand deaths. They lost every treasure but their honour, and bore all sufferings but those which spring from self-reproach. If George the Third played the tyrant, that makes nothing against our loyalist fathers. They were not tyrants, but faitliful subjects. We are bound to believe that they acted conscientiously, for their lives and fortunes were staked on the issue of the con- test ; and in acting upon their convictions in the very face of ruin, we know that they were sincere. These Loyalists are our own men — our fore-fathers. Their reputation is ours. We must put ourselves, therefore, in their circumstances, defend them where we can, and honour them always. The Americans have set us an example in this direction. Their Puritan Fathers are held in perpetual remembrance. Men make pilgrimages to the place where they landed, and Plymouth Rock is now their monument. And yet the Amorican people do not agree in every iota with these worthies. There are many who see in their principles room for difference, and in their conduct, some things to censure. Precisely similar should be our treatment of our loyalist fathers. There are points in which we differ from the opin- ions which they held, but we can all agree in admiring their attachment to the Mother Country, and the patient sincerity with which they suffered for their loyalty. Thus we should venerate them. Nor can we believe that the growing intelligence of the Province will fail to produce m ii I CO THE SCHOOL SPEAKER* some one patriotic enough to tell the world a talc of lofty principle and no})le sacrifice, which when set forth as veri- table history, will kindle a healthful glow in every bosom'. No people has made a figure in the life of nations without its heroes, and the loyalist fathers are the heroes of the Canadian Provinces. TORONTO GLOBE, DECEMBER, 1855. 34.— THE M(3NARCniCAL PKINCIPLE IN CANADA. It is common for us to hear of that great experiment in government in which the vast republic near us is engaged. But in the provinces of British North America we have an experiment going on, of no light interest to our glorious mother country, or to mankind. We occuj)y a peculiar and somewhat critical position on this continent, and more than we can foresee may probably depend upon the manner in wliich our descendants may be able to sustain themselves in it. It wull be their part, as it is now ours, to demonstrate that all such freedom of action as is consistent with rational liberty, with public peace, and with individual security, can be enjoyed under a constitutional monarchy as fully as under the purest democracy on earth — to prove that, in proportion as intelligence increases, what is meant by liberty is better understood, and what is soundest and most stable in govern- ment is better appreciated and more firmly supported. The glorious career of England among the nations of the world demands of us this tril)ute to the tried excellence of her admirable constitution ; it should be our pride to shew that far removed as we are from the splendours of Royalty and the influences of a Court, monarchy is not blindly preferred among us from a senseless attachment to antiquated pre- judices, nor reluctantly tolerated from a sense of duty or a dread of change ; but that on the contrary, it is cherished in the affections, and supjiorted by the free and firm will of an intelligent people, whose love of order has been strengthened as their knowledge has increased — a people who regard with loyal pleasure the obligations of duty which bind them to the Crown, and who value their kingly form of government not only because they believe it to be the most favourable to stability and peace, but especially for the security it affords to life and property, the steady support which it gives to the laws, and the certainty with which it ensures the actual enjoyment of all that deserves to be dignified with the name of freedom. SIR J. B. ROBINSON. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 61 35.— PROGKESS OF BRITISH AMERICA. In these observations I desire to advert to the present remarkable period in the history of this Province. We arc advancing with a rapidity that surprises ourselves scarcely less than the people of other countries who have been sud- denly awakened to the truth of our astonishing, but ine- vitable progress. Ii was but a few weeks ago that I read in one of the leading English periodicals, an article written expressly for the purpose of impressing upon the British public a due sense of the impoi'tance of the North American Provinces, and of the great interests which, with surprising rapidity, are springing up within them, and claiming the at- tention of the mother country. In order to give force to his statements, the writer of this ai'ticle speaks of it as matter of surprise, that the British North American Provinces contain among them a population of nearly two million souls, not imagining, that our two provinces [of Ontario and Quebec] alone contained more people than he gave credit for to all the Provinces of British North America ! In all of these extensive Colonies of the British Crown, distinguished as they are by a loyal and generous apprecia- tion of their position as a portion of the British Empire, the same spirit of enterprise is at this moment in active employment, with the aid of singular advantages, in develop- ing their great national resources. Everything that we can see and feel at the present time, or can discern in the future, is full of encouragement to the farmer, the mechanic, and the labourer, — and as for the liberal professions, it is impossible that they can languish among a prosperous people. The multiplying calls for intelligence in the varieties of employment which are daily increasing — the wonderful cheapness and facility which improvements in the art of printing have given in the production of books and newspapers, and the quickened circidation of intel- ligence which we derive from liberal postal arrangements and the magic wonders of the telegraph, must make the necessity of being able to read and write so great, and the desire so nearly universal, that the few who may remain without such instruction will be made to feel the marked inferiority of their position. And soon it will be literally true that in Canada there will be no excuse for any per- son endowed with oi'dinary capacity, being found in a condition so degrading to a free man, and so unsuitable to an accountable being. With everything to urge and to It 1 , ti- *. IS, A ' 62 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. ! « tempt thorn to the acquisition of knowledp^o, and everything to aid thom in obtaining it, it will be impossible that the people of C'anada can do otherwise than feel that in their case emphatically ^^ poverty and shame shall be to him that refuseth iustmction.^^ ibu\ 36.— ELEMENTS OF SOCIAL ADVANCEMENT. It is my earnest prayer, that the '^internal guard" of a truly Christian education may be planted in the hea.>'t- citadel of every youth of our land, ft is the union of moral and intellectual qualities which adorn and elevate the individual man ; and it is their united development which constitutes the life and strength, the happiness and progress of society. If then we wish to see our country accomplish its high destiny — our unbroken forests converted into waving wheat fields — single manufactories growing into prosperous towns, and towns swelling into cities — canals and railroads intersecting the various counties, and commerce covering the rivers and lakes; if we wish to see our institutions settled and perfected, and our Government fulfilling its ^ noblest functions — our schools and colleges radiating cen- ^ tres of intellectual light and moral warmth to the youthful ^ population — the poor as well as the rich properly educated, and a rich and varied home literature created — the expe- rience of past ages giving lessons in all our domestic dwel- lings, by means of books and libraries ; — in a word, if we wish to see the people of Canada united, intelligent, pros- perous and happy — great in all that constitutes the real grandeur of a people — let us feel that the eventful issues of that anticipated futurity are in our hands, and that it is for each individual of our grown-up generation to say how far these hopes of patriotism and philanthroj^y shall be realized or disappointed. Above all, let us never forget that there is a moral as well as physical universe, and as it is in the harmony of the two that the perfections of the divine cha- racter and government are fully displayed, so it is in the harmonious development of the moral with the intellectual ' man that the perfection of his nature consists. What God has joined together we must never put asunder in any of our plans and efforts for the social advancement of Canada. Our motto should be the words of the inspired Isaiah — '' Wisdom and knowledge shall be the stability of thy times — the possession of continued salvation; the fear of Jehovah, this shall be thy treasure" — [Bishop Loioth's Translation.^ REV. DR. RYERSON. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 63 37.--GIIEAT VALUE OF INVENTIONS AND BIS- COVERIES. Very few of those who have distinguished themselves as the authors of inventions, discoveries, and improvements in mechanical science, have enjoyed greater advantages of leisure and resources, than can be commanded by the majority of mechanics in Canada; and yet, what un- speakable benefits have those humble men conferred upon the human race ! To select only a few illustrations. Who can conceive the political and social revolutions which have already resulted from the European discoverer of the magnetic needle, — that sleepless, unerring, faith- ful little pilot, unblinded by the starless midnight, and unmoved by the raging tempest, — which at once relieved the mariner from his timid creeping from headland to headland, and among its first feats opened the commerce of India, and guided Columbus to the discovery of a new world 1 What mind can imagine the results to mankind, in every department of science and knowledge, and in every in- terest of civil freedom and social advancement, which em- anated from the humble inventor of the Art of Printing, — an art whose magic power appears destined to penetrate yet unexplored regions of humanity, and to transform the institutions and society of every uncivilised nation of the globe. The cotton manufacture of Great Britain, as a branch of national industry and commerce, may almost be said to have commenced with Arltwright's invention in spinning machinery, soon followed, as it was, by Cart- wright's invention of the power loom. Before Arkwright's invention, the whole annual amount of the cotton manu- facture of Great Britain did not exceed £200,000 j now it amounts to forty millions of pounds per annum ! Then the raw cotton manufactured amounted to about four millions of pounds per annum ; it now exceeds two hun- dred millions ! And if Arkwright's invention has added to the manufacturing industry of Great Britain what is equal to the labour of forty millions of human beings ? Watt's inventions and improvements in the steam engine, in connection with other machinery, performs an amount of labour, according to Dr. Buckland's estimate, '^ equiva- lent to that of three or four hundred millions of men by direct labour," besides its achievements on the continent ill ! A sil '■: 'l '' ',;; ' ! . I ■I i N''i 5*"" !•! > 64 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. of Europe and in the United States, and its navigation of the rivers an. They say thy glens are bare — ^v^But oh ! they kno'7 not what imkd hearts >^ "^^A.re nurtured there. ^-'^ *" " Scotland^ I love thee well, Thy dust'lta dear to me— This distant lantivis very lair, But not like theeN.^ It matters not on what line of latitude or longitude it may be, but one's native land should be the dearest, sweetest, and most hallowed spot on this side of heaven. Canada, our country! we love it: and because we love it, we wish its young men to be worthy of it. Our fathers have done much. They came from almost every country beneath the sun. They were a varied people ; and we are, to some extent, varied still. Their national, educational, and ecclesiastical prejudices were varied. They had but one thing to bind them together; — the deep fertil-^, soil beneath their feet, and the clear canopy of the bright blue sky above their heads. Pioneers in this goodly land, some have found a home — many only a grave, c ad on the resting-place of these \yo sW 11 ti 68 THE SCHOOL SPIIAKER. should tread lightly, doing reverence to their ashes, and living so as to honour them. With the young men of Ca- nada we should arm for the conflict, and gird ourselves for the coming struggle. We are the strength of the coun- try. Upon us it depends whether, in twenty years, this country shall be progressive, and rise to assume its own just place in the heraldry of nations, and have the proud boast of possessing a God-fearing people ; whether it shall become a dark spot in the geography of the world, and, by and by, vanish altogether ; or whether intelligence and industry shall place Canada in the vanguard of nations. REV. DR. ORMISTON. 4 'i 1 41.— LORD ELG1N';S VALEDICTORY AT KINGSTON. 1854. When I look to all that has occurred during the years from 1847 to 1854 5 when I remember that during that time the revenue rose from four to fourteen hundred thousand pounds a year, and that our commerce increased in a cor- responding ratio ; that we have an ample net work of rail- ways extended over the country ; and that the productions of Canada are now to be admitted duty free to some markets. When 1 look to these circumstances, and when I remem- ber that your educational system is expanding itself so nobly, and that it was in 1847 that the Normal School (the seed plot of that system,) was established : when I remem- ber the progress which that educational system has made and is still making ; and that Township and County Libra- ries are becoming as the crown and glory of the Institutions of the Province — ^when I remember, too, that out of that chaos of rules, ill-defined and half-understood, an impartial and well defined constitution, wliich might be termed the charter of Canadian liberty, has sprung, — when I claim that out of all this has grown that beautiful and graceful struc- ture of Canadian liberty, which England and America may justly be proud of, 1 can only refer it to the simple, straight- forv. ard, plain-sailing policy I have felt it my duty to pur- sue. I greatly fear that these wortliy pevsons who think differ- ently will discover to their cost that it sometimes rains when iliej would wish it to be fair— that the wind occa- 1' I^IJU SCHOOL SPEAKER. 69 sionaily blows from the East when they would prefer a zephyr, and what is worse, that Parliamentary majorities, will from time to time, say ^aye,' when they would hav6 them say 'nay,' and this will no doubt happen to them even after the time shall have arrived when a solitary sign- l)0st dangling here and there before the door of a village tavern, is all that remains to remind Canadians of Lord Elgin. It is true, gentlemen, that we have had our times of difficulty. It is right that times of difficulty should be referred to, for it is by the manner in which we deal with difficulties that we fit ourselves to deal with prosperity and happiness. But when the Canadian farmer finds himself comfortably housed in his frame or brick building, with his spacious farm alongside of him, and his fields surrounded with good fences, and waving with yellow crops, all the vestiges of the old forest removed, except here and there an old pine stump which stands as a tombstone to remind him of former generations of heroes that have passed away — when he looks at that and sees his sons and daughters settled comfortably around him, I wonder whether it is with feelings of regret that he looks back to that early pe- riod when he first marched into the forest and put the torch to the stately oak, and girded the majestic maple, and rolled together the logs to make a house for himself and family to shelter them in winter. When he looks back to those days as the infancy of a glorious manhood, will he not tell those who remind him of the mists and clouds that hung around the dawn of the prosperity of Canada, that these mists and clouds were, after all, but the garb of the morning, the harbingers and heralds of a bright and glorious day ! 42.— LORD ELGIN'S VALEDICTORY AT QUEBEC. 1854. For the last time I am surrounded by a circle of friends with whom I have spent some of the pleasantest hours of my life. For the hist time I welcome you as my f^-'^e^^y to this charming residence, which I have been in u of calling my home. I did not, I will frankly conl , Know what it would cost me to break this habit until tlie period of my departure approached, and I began to feel that the great interests which have so long engrossed my attention nv Ijji SI ,1 fe_t — h z 70 THte sdHdoL SPEAKilia. and thoughts were passing out of my hands. I had a hint oi' what my feeUngs really were upon tliis point— a pretty broad hint too — one lovely morning in June last, when I returned to Quebec after my temporary absence in England,' and landed at the cove below Spencer Wood. With the greeting of the old people in the cove, who put then- heads out of the windows, as 1 passed along, and cried ^'welcome home again," still ringing in my ears, I mounted the hill and drove through the avenue to the house door. I saw the drooping trees on the lawn, with every one of which I was so familiar, clothed in the green of spring, and the river beyond, calm and transparent as a mirror, and the ships fixed and motionless as statues on its surface, and the whole landscape bathed in a flood of the bright Canadian sunshine which so seldom pierces our murky atmosphere on the other side of the Atlantic. I began to think that those persons were to be envied who were not forced by the necessities of their positions, to quit those engrossing retreats and lovely scenes, for the purpose of proceeding to distant lands, but who are able to remain among them until they pass to that quiet corner of Mount Ilermon cemetery, which juts into the river and commands a view of the city, the shipping. Point Levi, the Island of Orleans, and tho range of Laurentine hills, so that through the dim watches of that tranquil night which precedes the dawning of the eternal day, the majestic citadel of Quebec, with its noble train of satellite hills may seem to rest for ever on the sight, and the low murmur of the waters of the St. Lawrence, with the hum of the busy life on their surface to fall ceaselessly on the ear. I cannot bring myself to believe that the future has in store for me any interests which will fill the place of those I am now abandoning. But although 1 must henceforward be to you as a stranger ; although my official connection with you and your interests will have become in a few days a matter of history, yet I trust that through some one channel or another the tidings of your prosperity and progress may occasionally reach me, that I may hear fr *r\ time to time, of the steady growth and development of t. .3se principles of liberty and order, of manly independence in combination with respect for authority and law, of national life in harmony with attachment to British connection which it has been my earnest endeavour, to the extent of my humble means of influence, to implant and to establish among you. *HE SCHOOL St»EA^t:tt. 11 43.~TIIE DOMINION ACT OF UNION. 1867. In speaking of the Dominion Act of Union, a gentleman said : '^It was only an Act of Parliament." So I would re- p^ind bim are the Bill of Rights, and the Act of Succession, both of which are included in this Act of Union j but they are, nevertheless, fundamental acts, and parts of the British Constitution, itself; and no one, as yet, has argued that they belong to the same class as the ordinary Statutes of the realm. They are looked upon, to use Lord Chat- ham's words, as ^' the Scriptures of the Constitution;" while other ordinances of Parliament are as the writings of particular commentators, open to revision and correction at any time. But, sir, I will affirm this, that on establishing a second constitutional government on this continent, we are rendering an unpurchasable service to the cause of civil and religious liberty everywhere. I say a second con- stitutional government, for I admit that that of Washington was first in point of time. What is it to establish a se- cond government in America? It is, in my humble opinion, to provide all men with an opportunity of comparison, and a means of choice between two systems — the British repre- sentative system of free government, and the American, or Democratic system. It is to give the third generation of the nineteenth century an opportunity to observe the in- stitutions of our common ancestors adapted to our Cana- dian circumstances, side by side with the Anglo-American invention of the last years of the last century. It is to put side by side in this new arena, filled with eager spectators, the masterpieces of Alfred and Edward I ; of Bacon, Somers and Chatham; with the masterpieces of Washington, Ham- ilton, Jefferson, Madison and Marshall ; it is to compare an ancient text of freedom, enriched with the commentaries of Burke, Mansfield and Macintosh, with a modern text elucidated by Webster, Story and Calhoun. They have no cause to be ashamed of their political progenitors, neither have we ; and with all the possible admiration for tho age that produced the American constitution, and the illus- trious men who adopted it, I hope we live in a better cen- tury than they did. This century, as compared with the eighteenth, may be called a religious century : there is no Bolingbroke possible now to patronize Providence ; no Voltaire to argue against Christianity ; the sceptical method of Descartes is not, thank God, the philosophical gospel of the age. Though the Republican Fathers were many of 'H i? ill n i'ltE SCHOOL StEAlCEtt. them sincerely religious men, yet tnany otliel-s, sUch as Jefferson and Franklin, were professed sceptics, and the philosophy of doubt was too congenial to the epoch and its wor!i, not to be acquiesced in by the majority. — Rationalism lies at the root Republicanism ; faith and re- verence have prepared the deeper and better foundations of our form of government, and until faith and reverence fail from our hearts, or those of our children, I have no fear that this, our tried Constitution, will ever fail. HON. T. D. m'gee. i 44.— CANADIAN PATRIOTISM A DUTY TO OURSELVES. The reason why we have not hitherto attracted and re- tained more people in Canada from the other side of the Atlantic, is because we have not made our country attrac- tive to them : because we are not known as a nation abroad : because those isolated Provinces have not impressed the imagination of the emigrating classes. Who in the byeways of Germany, or even of Britain, knew anything of Canada, until the other day ? In those hives of human labour, they knew only one country — America — and only one sea- port — New York. But once give our united Provinces the aspect of Empire, make them a power and a name, and the reputation and credit of the Dominion will be our best emigration agent abroad. ' No power on earth can take forcible possession of this country, if we are united as one man in its defence. No pop- ulation that can be stirred up against us can put a hostile force face to face with four millions of us on our own soil. If every man, woman and child in Canada is imbued with the spirit which enabled Switzerland to hold her own against the Austrian Empire, and Spain in her decline to cast out Napoleon in his vigour, we will be safe enough within our rivers and rapids in summer, and our snowed-up roads and freezing skies in winter. We complain sometimes of our rigorous winters, but there is this compensation at least, that no invading force that bivouaced out for one genuine Canadian night would ever answer to the call of the long roll for self defence again. I hope to see the military spirit of our population encouraged in every way ; so that rifle matches may become as familiar municipal institutions as THE SCflOOL SPEAKER. 73 ings or county agricultural fairs. I cannot, for one, agree that the best way to make ourselves respected abroad, and to secure impunity from attack, is to depreciate the sources of our strength ; but rather to make the most of what. Lord Bacon, in his ''true greatness of Britain," considers the main element of a nation's strength, "its breed of men." By the breed of men, that bring a nation safely through its destinies, Lord Bacon meant — not only the muscle of the men, their bodily hardihood, but also their morale — their courage, docility, and capacity for combination — the wisdom of the few to command, and the wisdom of the many to co-operate. I do not disparage the power of numbers •, I do not underrate the power of wealth ; but above both I place the safety of any State, great or small, in the spirit and unity of its inhabitants, ^ow, it is in the power of our public men to depress or rsdse the public spirit; to strengthen or weaken the immunity of the Cc»m- mon wealth. I need not illustrate this position^by reciting instances of the many countries which have b^n under- minded in their courage or character, conquered wiUin before they were conquered without, — the name Gr>sece is sufficient ; "Enough! no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell ! Yes 1 self-abaseme'^t paved the way. For villain bonds ^t^nd despots sway !" The policy of self-abasement I cannot see in the light of policy at all. View it how we may ; turn it round and round ; hang it in any light you like, it will not wear the lineaments of prudence, or fortitude or patriotism. While we should on the one hand avoid all bravado as unbecom- ing our position, we should, on the other hand, endeavour to elevate and not to depress, the public spirit of the coun- try. We should not seek to shake the faith of our people in their own future, the faith of every Canadian in Canada, and of every province in its irister province. This faith wrongs no one; burthens no one; menaces no one; dis- honours no one ; and as it was said of old, faith moves mountains, so 1 venture reverently to express my own belief, that if the difficulties of our future as a Dominion, were as high as the peaks of the Alps or Andes, yet that the pure patriotic faith of an united people would be all- sufficient to overcome, and, ultimately, to triumph over all such difficulties. P HON. T. D. M'gEE. : X -^ — j ■■(:• 74 THE SCHOOL SPEAKlER. 45.— OUR COUNTEY AND OUR QUEEN. In other lands the bright sunbeam With richer glow is known j But none however fair they seem, Are fairer than our own ; And none a monarch can possess, As on our throne is seen, So then we'll pray to God to bless, Om* Country and our Queen. In song let children hail her name. For she our love hath won, By deeds of more enduring fame Than manhood's might hath done. And long as language can express. What in the heart's unseen, We'll pray to God above to bless. Our Country and our Queen. From lordly tower, and princely hall. And peasant's lowly home, Where'er her gentle sway doth fall Her heartfelt praises come. Our mountains their delight express. Our cliffs and valleys green ; And still we pray to God to bless Our Country and our Queen. Though great her glory and renown. Theme of her people's prayers. May she yet win a nobler crown Than that on earth she wears, And long may future times confess The virtues we have seen ; But Lord ! in Thy great love still bless Our Country and our Queen i It PAET II. PATHETIC PIECES. i; ; ;.t-'' 1.— THE CUKSE OF CAIN. 0. THE wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing ! — Like the tempest that withers the blossoms of spring, Like the thunder that bursts on the summer's domain, It fell on the head of the homicide Cain. And, lo ! like a deev in the fright of the chase. With a fire in his heart, and a brand on his face, He speeds him afar to the desert of No^l, — A vagabond, smote by the vengeance of God ! All nature to him has been blasted and banned, And the blood of a brother yet reeks on his hand ; And no vintage has grown, and no fountain has sprung, For cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue. The groans of a father his slumber shall start, And the tears of a mother shall pierce to his heart, And the kiss of his children shall scOrch him like flame. When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name. And the wife of his bosom — the faithful and fair — Can mix no sweet drop in his cup of despair ,• For her tender caress, and her innocent breath, But stir in his soul the hot embers of death. And his offering may blaze unregarded by HeaVeil. And his spirit may pray, yet remain unforgiven ; And his grave may be closed, yet no rest to him bring j 0, the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing I KNOX. sill ■j ; J hi- ire THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 2.— MOSES' LAOT VIEW FEOM PISGAIt The end was at last come. It might still have seemed that a triumphant close was in store for the aged Prophet. * His eye was not dim nor his natural force abated.' He had led his people to victory against the Amorite kings ; ho might still be expected to lead them over into the land of Canaan. But so it was not to be. From the desert plains of Moab he went up to the same lofty range, whence Balaam had looked over the same prospect. Tlie view of Balaam has been long forgotten ; but the view of Moses has become the proverbial view of all time. It was the peak dedicated to Nebo on which he stood. * He lifted up his eyes westward, and northward, and southward, and east- ward,' Beneath him lay the tents of Israel ready for the march ; and ' over against ' them, distinctly visible in its grove of palm trees, the stately Jericho, key of the Land of Promise. Beyond was spread out the whole range of the mountains of Palestine, in its fourfold masses | 'all Gilead,' with Hermon and Leban* i in the east and north ; the hills of Gralilee, overhanging the Lake of Gennesareth ; the wide opening where lay the plain of Esdraelon, the future battle- fields of the nations; the rounded summits of Ebal and Gerizim ; immediately in front of him the hills of Judsea, and, amidst them, seen distinctly through the rents in their rocky walls, Bethlehem on its narrow ridge, and the invincible fortress of Jebus. To us, as we place ourselves by his side, the view swells into colossal proportions, as we think how the proud city of palm trees is to fall before the hosts of Israel ; how the spear of Joshua is to be planted on height after height of those hostile mountains ; what series of events, wonderful beyond any that had been witnessed in Egypt or in Sinai, would in after ages be enacted on the narrow crest of Bethlehem, in the deep basin of the Galilean lake, beneath the walls of ' Jebus which is Jerusalem.' All this he saw. He ' saw it with his eyes, but he was not to go over thither.' It was his last view. From that height he came down no more. And as Josephus says : ' Amidst the tears of the people, the women beating their breasts, and the children giving way to uncontrolled wailing, he withdrew. At a certain point in his ascent he made a sign to the weeping multitude to advance no further, taking with him only the elders, the high priest Eliezar, and the general Joshua. At the top of the mountain he dismissed the elders, and then, as he was embracing Eliezar THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 77 and Joshua, and still speaking to them, a cloud suddenly stood over him, and he vanished from their view.' But the silence of the Sacred narrative refuses to bo broken. ' In ' that strange land, ^ that land of Moab, Mosos the servant of the Lord died according to the word of the Lord.' ' He buried him in ^' a ravine " in tlie land of Moab, over against the idol temple of Poor.' Apart fi'om his countrymen, honoured by no funeral obse(|uies, visited by no grateful pilgrimages, ' no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.' DBAN STANLEY. 3.— THE DEAD STILL WITH US. The dead ! the dead are with us, and they throng around our way. And the greenness of their mem'ry, in our hearts can ne'er decay When round the hearth we gather, we know that they are there. And with them our spirits worship, in the holy place of prayer. Around our couch at midnight, their forms flit slowly by, And in the olden tones they speak, to us, e'er they fade into the sky. At twilight when the dew falls, they talk with us and sing. And their voice is like the murmuring of swallows on the wing. And when in social circle, we join the merry band Or in the hour of sorrow, sit silent hand in hand. They come and sit beside us, and gaze into our eyes And we listen to their voices then, with a calm and mute surprise. The departed, the departed, they crowd around me now. And a sweet and cheerful light of peace they shed upon my brow ; I know they have not left me, tho' no more I see their forms. And their presence 'mid the strife of life, is like sunshine seen in storms. The beautiful, — the beautiful, all silently they stand Within the chambers of my soul, a fair and shadowy band, ill 78 THE SOUOOL SPEAKER. And from out thoso chambers, now and then, this cheerful voice is given Oh 1 faint not, while you walk below, ye shall dwell with us in heaven. No earthly sorrows blights us, no chill misfortunes pain, Then weep not tho' with you no more, in form we walk again ; Ye feel that we are with you, when ye wander by the streams. And ye see our faces as of old, in the pleasant light of dreams. And when in twilight musings ye think of us as dead — And o'er our grassy resting place, the sweet spring flowers ye spread, Remember for the soul that lives, there can no ending be, Remember that the soul once born lives thro' Eternity! 4.— THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. How beautiful is the memory of the dead ! What a holy thing it is in the human ^heart, and what a softening in- fluence it sheds upon human life 1 How it subdues all the harshness that grows up within us in the daily inter- course with the world ! How it melts our unkindness, softens our pride, kindles our deepest love, and tasks our highest aspirations ! Is there one who has not some loved friend gone into the eternal world, and one whom he de- lights to live again in memory ? Does he not love to sit down in the hushed and tranquil home of existence, and call around him the face, the form, so familiar and cherished — to look into the eye that mirrored, not more clearly his own face, than the soul which he loves — to listen to the tones which he loved to listen to, the tones which were once melody in his ear, and have echoed softly in his ear since they were hushed to his senses ? Is there a spirit to which heaven is not brought nearer, by holding some kindred souls ? How friend follows friend into the lonely dwelling place of the dead, till we find at length that more of those who loved us are on the heavenly shore than they who dwell among us ! Every year witnesses the departure of some one whom we knew and loved ; and when we recall the names of all who have been dear to us in life, how many of them have passed into that city which is imperishable. The blessed dead ! how free from sin is our love for them ! The earthly taint of our affections is buried with that which was cor- ruptible, and the divine in its purity illumines our breast, THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 79 We have now no fear of losing them. They are fixed for us eternally in the mansions prepared for our re-union. W« shall find them waiting for us in their garments of beauty. The glorious dead I how reverentially we speak their names. Our hearts are sanctified by their words which we remember. How wise they have now grown in the limitless fields of truth ! How joyous they have now become by the undying fountain of pleasure ! The immortal dead I how unchanging is their love for us ! How tenderly they look down on us, and how closely they surround our beings, how earnestly they rebuke the evils of our lives. Let me talk pleasantly of the dead, as those who no longer suffer and are tried, as thos > who pursue no longer the fleeting, but have grasped and secured the real. With them the fear and the longings, the hope and the terror, and the pain are past; the fruition of life has begun. How unkind, that when we put away their bodies, we should cease the utter- ance of their names. The tender-hearted dead, who strug- gle so in parting from us ! why should we speak of them in awe, and remember them only with sighing? Very dear were they when hand clasped hand, and heart responded to heart. Why are they less dear when they have grown worthy of a higher love than ours, and their perfected souls might receive even our adoration : By their hearthside and grave- side, in solitude and amid the multitude, think cheerfully and speak lovingly of the dead. SALAD FOR THE SOLITARY. 5.— THE MEMOIITES OF GKEAT MEN. What a wonderful and beautiful thing is the gift of genius ! How it enshrines its possessors in the minds and memories of men ! How it creates a home for itself in hearts which have long felt, but could not express, its breathing thoughts and burning words ! How its interests and sympathies go on circling and widening, like the rip- ples around the stone cast into the water, till they become as '^household words" or ^^old familiar faces," in all tongues and all lands! How it grows — never older, but ever younger; the mighty men of yore speaking more powerfully to the generation of to-day, than to the past of yesterday ! Beauty has power, and it, also, is a gift from Heaven ; but it passeth away, and its place is known no more J for who treasures the deface^ and vapant casket, or 80 THE S<~ JOOL SPEAKER. the flower of the morning, when it lies on the cold ground ? The easel of the painter and the chisel of the sculptor, may preserve the lineaments of loveliness, but only as a sight to the eyeS; no lo'iger as a voice to the heart. Kiches, too, have power, but they have also wings, and oftentimes they flee away, And even when they remain till the rich man is obliged to flee from them, they leave no memories, they create no sympathies. Rank is might over the minds of men, and proudly does it rear iLs erminod form and jewel- led brow ; but the time soon comes when no voice sounds. No power emanates from the crimson pall and escutch- eoned tomb. J low different is genius from all these ! True, it has its waywardness, its follie'^, its eccentricities ; but these are lost in, or perhaps only enhanced by, the charm of its truth, its earnestness^ its humility. Yes, genius is true ; it is a reality •, it has truth to inculcate, and work to d.o, were it only to bring do^vn a sense of beauty, or a power -^f vision to closed hearts and filmy eyes. Genius is earnest; it flutters not like the white-winged wanderers of the sum- mer, idly and uselessly, from flower to flower; but, like the bee, it perceives, and earnestly extracts, use with the beauty, food with the perfun^c. Genius is humble : striving after something far higher than itself, which it never reaches, gazing into brightness and into beauty which it cannot emulate, it for ever sees its own littleness, its own darkness, its own deformity, and shrinks from occupying the pedestal assigned to it in its day and generation. Oi course, these qualities form the golden setting of the real gem, fresh from the depths of the ocean, or the recesses of the mine, for never do they siuTound the mock jewel, created out of the dust and tinsel of the world. It is not, however, to the fulfilled thoughts, and woras, and works of great men — it 3 not to their name and their fame throughout the land — it is not to the incense showered upon them in the halls of the crowned, and the circles of the beautiful — that our hearts turn with the deepest un- derstanding and sympathy. No, it is to their homes and their hearths, to their joys and their sorrows. Yonder are the walls which have looked down upon the midnight vigil and noonday languor. Yonder is the window whence the eyo, gazing up to the h'^avens. has caught something of their inspiration. Lo, here the board which has echoed to the sweet sounds of household jest and homely tenderness. Lo, there the sleepless couch, where the sufTerings of life, if not more bravely borne, have been more deeply felt, than by othcx men ! anonvmous. ffHE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 81 6.— SORROW FOR THE DEAD. The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal — every other affliction to forget ; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open — this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang ? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved: when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal ; would accept of conso- lation that must be bought by forgetfulness ? — No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has like- wise its delights: and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection : when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness — who would root out such a sorrow from the heart ? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety ; or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloo^n ; yet who would exchange it even ibr a song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voico from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remem- brance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living. Oh the grave ! — the grave '. — It buries every error — covers every defect — extinp isli^\s every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring n> -b 't fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him ! But the grave of those we loved — what a place for medi- tation ! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endear- ments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily inter- course of intimacy — there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the poHing scene. Tlie bed of death, with all its stifled grief—its noiseless attendance — its mute watchful assiduities. The m 82 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER , i? last testimonies of expiring love ! The feeble, fluttering, thrilling — oh ! how thrilling ! — pressure of the hand. The last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence ! The faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection ! Ay ! go to the grave of buried love and meditate ! There settle the account with thy conscence for every past benefit unrequited — every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being, who can never — never — never return to be soothed by thy contrition 1 If thou art a child and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent — if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth — if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee — if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet ; — then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul — then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavail- ing tear; more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender yet futile tributes of regret ; but take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite afflic- tion over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living. WASHI.WTON IRVING. 7.— THE REPOSE OF DEATH. He who hath bent him o'er the dead, Ere the first day of death be fled, — The first dark day of iiothingness, The last of danger and distress, — (Before Decay's effacing lingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) And marked the mild angelic air, — The rapture of repose that's there, -^ THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 83 The fixed, yet tender traits, that streak The languor of the placid f'heek, — And, — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, — And, — but for that chill changeless brow. Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; — Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, He still might aoubt the tyrant's power; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed. The first, last look by death revealed I • « « So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul ^s wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death. That parts not quite with parting breath j But beauty with that fearful bloom, Thrt hu*^ ^"hich haunts it to the tomb ; — Expressi(,n's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay. The farewell beam of feeling past away ! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth. Which gleams, but warms no more our cherished heart. LORD BYRON. 8.— WHY IS EARTH AND ASHES PEOUD ! < ) why shou' 1 the spirit of mortal be proud, Like a fast flitting meteor or f. st flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave. And he passes from life to his rest in the grave ! The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade. Be scatter'^d around and together be laid. And the young, and the old, and the low, and the high, Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie. The child that a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant's affections hath proved. The husband, that mother, and infant that blest, Uach, all, are away to their dwelling of rest. i«*i* ',' 84 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. The hand of the king, that the sceptre hath borne, The brow of the priest, that the mitre hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave. Are hidden, and lost in the depths of the grave ! ' The peasant whose lot was to sow, and to reap. The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep, The beggar that wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread. The saint that enjoyed the communion of Heaven, The sinner that dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just. Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes — like the flower and the wee d, That wither away to let others succeed, So the multitude comes — even these we behold, To repeat every tale that hath ever been told. For we are the same, that our fathers have been 5 We see the same sights, that our fathers have seen ; We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun. And we run the same race that om' fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think, From the death we are shrinking, they too would shrink ; To the life we are clinging, they too would cling. But it speaks from the earth like a bird on the wing. They loved, — but their story we cannot unfold, They scorned, — bu^ the heart of the haughty is cold. They grieved, — but :ho wail from their hearts cannot come. They joyed, — but th3 voice of their gladness is dumb. They died as they lived, and where are they now. With the sod and the turf that lies over their brow, Who make in their dwellings a transient abode. Meet the changes they met, on their pilgrimage road. Yea hope, and despondence, and pleasure and pain, Are mmgled together in smishine and rain; And the smile anH the tear, and the song and the dirge. Still follow each other other like surge upon surge. 'Tis the twink of an eye — 'tis the draught of a bveatli From the blossom of health to the paleness of death. From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, why should the spirit of mortal be proud I tnlA SCHOOL SPEAKER. 9.— BURIAL AND RESURRECTION. Earth to earth, and dust to dust I Here the evil and the just, Here the youthful and the old, Here the fearful and the bold, Here the matron and the maid, In one silent bed are laid ; Here the vassal and the king Side by side lie withering ; Here the sword and sceptre rust : ''Earth to earth and dust to dust ! " Age on age shall roll along O'er this pale and mighty throng; Those that wept them, those that weep. All shall with these sleepers sleep ; Brothers, sisters of the worm, Summer's sun, or winter's storm, Song ox peace, or battle's roar, Ne' er shall break their slumbers more : Death shall keep his silent trust : "Earth to earth and dust to dust." But a day is coming fast, Earth, thy mightiest and thy last 5 It shall come in fear and v/onder. Heralded by trump and thunder ; It shall come in strife and toil j It shall come in blood and spoil ; It shall come in empires' groans. Burning temples, trampled thrones ; Then, ambition, rule thy lust : ''Earth to earth and dust to dust ! " Then shall come the judgment sign ; In the east the King shall shine, Flashing from Heaven's golden gate, Thousands, thousands, round his state, Spirits with the crown and plume. Tremble, then, thou sullen tombj Heaven shall open on our sight, Earth be turned to living light, Kingdoms of the ransomed just : "Earth to earth and dust to dustl n 86 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Then thy mount, Jerusalem, Shall be gorgeous as a gem ; Then shall in the desert rise Fruits of more than Paradise j Earth by angel feet be trod. One great garden of her God, Then are dried the martyrs' tears. Through a thousand glorious years. Now in hope of Him we trust : ''Earth to earth and dust to dust I " REV. DR. CROLY. 10.— SOON AND FOREVEE. " Soon and forever ! " Such promise our trust Though ''ashes to ashes," and " dust unto dust, — Soon and forever our union shall be Made perfect, our glorious Redeemer, in thee. When the sins and the sorrows of time shall be o'er, Its pangs and its partings remembered no more. When life cannot fail, and when death cannot sever Christians with Christ shall be — soon and forever. Soon and forever the breaking of day Shall drive all the night clouds of sorrow away. Soon and forever we'll see as we're seen, And learn the deep meaning of things that have been. When fighting without us, and fears from within, Shall "\yeary no more in the welfare of sin ; [be never, Where fears, and where tears, and where death shall Christians with Christ shall be — soon and forever. Soon and forever the work shall be done, The welfare accomplished, the victory won 5 Soon and forever the soldier lay down His sword for a harp and his cross for a, crown. Then droop not in sorrow, despond not in fear ; A glorious to-morrow is brightening and near, When, blessed reward of each faithful endeavour, Christians with Christ shall be — soon and forever. REV. J. S. MONSELL. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 87 11.— DROPPING DOWN THE RIVER. Dropping down the troubled river, To the tranquil, tranquil shore, Dropping down the misty river. Time's willow-shaded river, To the spring-embosomed shore, Where the sweet light shineth ever, And the sun goes down no more j O wondrous, wondrous shdre I Dropping down the winding river, To the wide and welcome sea j Dropping down the narrow river, Man's weary, wayward river, To the blue and ample sea, Where no tempest wrecketh ever, Where the sky is fair and free ; O' joyous, joyous sea ! Dropping down the noisy river. To our peaceful, peaceful home j Dropping down the turbid river, Earth's bustling, crowded river, To our gentle, gentle home, Where the rough roar riseth never. And the vexings cannot come ; loved and longed-for home ! Dropping down the eddying river, With a Helmsman true and tried -, Dropping down the perilous river. Mortality's dark river. With a sure and heavenly Guide, Even Him who, to deliver My soul from death, hath died j O Helmsman true and tried ! Dropping down the rapid river. To the dear and deathless land ■ Dropping down the well-known river Life's savollen and rushing river. To the resurrection-land, Where the living live forever, And the dead have joined the band ; O fair and blessed land I m REV. H. BON R. m !rHE SCHOOL St>EAKERi 12.— THE. DAY OF WELLINGTON'S FUNERAL. 185i No sounds of labour vexed the quiet air From morn till eve. The people all stood still, And earth won back a Sabbath. There were none Who cared to buy and sell, and make a gain, , • For one whole day. All felt as they had lost A father, and were fain to keep within. Silent, or speaking little. Such a day An old man sees but once in all his time. The simplest peasant in the land that day Knew somewhat of his country's grief. He heard The knell of England's hero from the tower Of the old church, and asked the cause, and sighed. The vet' ran who had bled on some far field, Fought o'er the battle for the thousandth time With quaint addition 5 and the little child, That stopped his sport to run and ask his sire What it all mennt, picked out the simple tale, — How he who drove the French from Waterloo, And crushed the tyrant of the world, and made His country great and glorious, — he was dead. All, from the simplest to the stateliest, knew But one sad story, — from the cottar's bairn Vp to the fair-haired lady on the throne, Who sat within and sorrowed for her frien J : And every tear she shed became her well, And seemed more lovely in her people's eyes Than all the starry wonders of her crown. But, as the waters of the Northern Sea, (When one strong wind blows steady from the pole), Come hurrying to the shore, and far and wide As eye can reach, the creaming waves press on Impatient ; or, as trees that bow their tops One way, when Alpine hollows bring one way The blast whereat they quiver in the vale, — So millions pressed to swell the general grief One way ; — ^fbr once all men seemed gne way drawn ; Or if, tlirou^h evil hap and unforeseen, Some stayed l>ehind, their hearts, at least, were there Tho whole day through, — could think of nothing else, Hear nothing t.lse, see nothing ! THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 89 In his cell The student saw the pageant ; spied from far The long-drawn pomp vvhich reached from west to east, Slow moving in the silence : casque and plume, A nd banner waving sad ; the marvellous state " Of heralds, soldiers, nobles, foreign powers With baton, or with pennon ; princes, peers, Judges, and dignities of church and state, And warriors grown grey-headed •, every form Which greatness can assume or honour name, Peaceful or warlike, — each and all were there ; Trooping in sable sorrow after him Who slept serene upon his funeral car In glorious rest ! .... A child might understand That 'twas no national sorrow, bat a grief Wide as the world. A child might understand That all mankind were sorrowing for one ! That banded nations had conspired to pay This homage to the chief who drew his sword At the command of Duty ; kept it bright Through perilous days ; and soon as Victory smiled, Laid it, unsullied, in the lap of Peace. Oriel College, Oxford. ANONyMOua* 13.~-0LD LETTERS! OH THEN SPARE THEM! Old letters! Oh then spare them — they are priceless for [their age ! I love — Oh how I love to see each yellow time-stained page ! Tliey tell of joys that are no more, of hopes that long have [fled; Old letters ! Oh then spare them— they are sacred to the [dead! They tell of times— of happy times— in years long, long [gone by, Of dear ones who have ceased to live but in the memory 5 They picture many a bright, bright scene, in sunny days of [yore, Old letters ! Oh then spare them, for they are a priceless [store. Old am I too, and grey-hair' d now — deserted and alone, And all of those I onco could call my fr* jnds, alas ! are gone 5 G i J, 90 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Yet oft at midnight's stilly hour, in solitude's retreat, With each one in his silent tomb, I hold communion sweet. Old letters ! here is one — the hand of youth is on its face ; Ah! that was from a brother young in some far foreign [place ; A sailor boy, beloved by all, frank, open-hearted, brave- Cold, cold and lonesome is his rest beneath the Atlantic [wave. Oh ! ye are now the only links that bind us to the past; Sweet, sweet memorials of the days too happy far to last; The tear-drop fills again the eye whence tears had almost [fled, Old letters ! yc are precious ! ye are sacred to the dead ! N. Y. ALBION. 14.— THE DYING BOY. It must be sw^eet in childhood, to give back The Spirit to its Maker •, ere the heart Has grown familiar with the paths of sin And sown — to garner up its bitter fruits. — I knew a boy whose infant feet had trod Upon the blossoms of some seven springs. And when the eighth came round and called him out To revel in its light, he turned away. And sought his chamber to lie down and die. 'Twas night — he summoned his accustomed friends, And, in this wise, bestowed his last bequest : <' Mother, I'm dying now! There is deep suffocation in my breast, As if some heavy hand my bosom press' d ; And on my brow • I feel the cold sweat stand ; My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath Comes feebly up. O. tell me is this death ? Mother, your hand — Here — lay it on my wrist And place the other thus beneath my head, And say, sweet mother, say, when I am dead, Shall I be missed? 1 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 91 Never beside your knee iShall I kneel down again at night to pray, Nor with morning wake and sing the lay You taught to mo. Oh, at the time of prayer, When you look round and see a vacant seat ; You will not wait then for my coming feet : You'll miss mo there !" '' Father — I'm going home ! To the good home you spoke of, that blest land Where it is one bright summer always, and Storms do never come. I must be happy then. From pain and death you say I shall be free ; That sickness never enters there, and we Shall meet again !" '^Brother— The Httle spot 1 used to call my garden, where long hours We've stayed to watch the budding things and flowers, Forget it not. Plant there some box or pine ; Something that grows in winter, and will be A verdant offering to my memory. And call it mine !" '^ Sister — The young rose tree — That all the Spring has been my pleasant care, Just putting out its leaves so green and fair, I give to thee. And when its roses bloom — I shall be gone away, my short life done ; But will you not bestow a single one Upon my tomb?" ^' Now, mother, sing the tune You sang last night; I'm weary, and must sleep." ^' Who was it called my name ? Nay, do not weej^, ^ You'll all soon come !" Morning spread over earth her rosy wings. And that meek sufferer, cold and ivor r pale, m ^ w ■^ ii IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 2.0 L25 III! 1.4 — 6' 1.8 1.6 V] <^ /} /y '^. c* ^1 CM ^y_j> O / F Photographic Sciences Corporation 4>. ■ •), m ri -A - U I ^^^ 94 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. r I ^' Though ours be a pillar'd and lofty home, Where want with his pale train never may come, Oh I scorn not the poor with the scorner's jest, "Who seek in the shade of our hall to res* 5 For He who hath made them poor may soon Darken the sky of our glowing noon, And leave us with woe in the world's bleak wild ! Oh ! soften the griefs of the poor, my child ! " WILLIAM p. BROWN". . I n.— THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.* Wlien a' ither bah'nies are hash'd to their hame. By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand -dame, Wha stands last an' lanely, an' sairiy forfairn ? 'Tis the puir dowie laddie — the mitherless bairn ' The mitherless bairnie creeps to his lane bed, Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head | His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn. An' lithless the lair o' the mitherless bairn. An^ath his cauld brow, siccan dreams hover there, ()' hands that wont kindly to k;iim his dark hair ! But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stern, That lo' e nae the looks o' the mitherless bairn 1 The sister wha sang o'er his saftly rocked bed, Now rests in the mools where their mammie is laid ; While the father toils sair his wee bannock to earn. An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless banii. Her spirit that pass'd in yon hour o' his birth, Still watches his lane lorn wand' rings on eai'th. Recording in heaven the blessings they earn, Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn 1 Oh ! speak him na harshly — he trembles the while, He bends to your bidding, he blesses your smile: — In their dark hour o' anguish, the heartless shall learn That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn ! WILLIAM THOM. * To be repeated alternately with the next piece by another pupil. TEtE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 96 18.— THE BAIRNLESS MITHER. * The Poet sings sweet o' the ''Mitherless Bairn; " An gars a' our hearts to feel sairly forfairn, For ' ' the puir dowie laddie ' ' sae sad an forlorn, An a' the cauld sorrows to which he is born. But sing ye nae sang o' ane sadder by far, — Ken ye nae grief that aboon it is waur, — A sorrow 'neath which e'en the cauldest hearts swither, Oh! wha can speak peace to the ''Bairnless Mither? The Mitherless Bairn a kind wordie will cheer An' a smile or a ba.nnock will chase awa fear, Young hearts are aye blithesome — hope disnae soon wither But hope ne'er can come to the "Bairnless Mither." She sees nae a' wean but it makes her heart sair, — Ap. echo, deep echoes, each little voice there — Ah ! how lanely the ingle where awe a' thegither Her bairnies play'd round the noo '-Bairnless Mither." She dwells mid the mem'ries o' days that ere gane, Still sees them, an' hears them, an' clasps them again In fancy they call her, to joys that ne'er wither, — An' she pines to be wi' them that ^'Bairnless Mither." Oh speak ye her saftly, for sair is her lot — ''Lamentation and weeping because they are not," The Angels in pity are whispering with her. For the Lord kens the grief o' the ''Bairnless Mither." He alone sees the tears that in secret are shed, Hears the groans o' her heart o'er the hopes that have fled, "In the land o' the leal," they'll soon be thegither — For the Lord hears the prayer o' the "Bairnless Mither." ANONYMOUS. Cobourg, Canada. * To be repeated alternately with the Mitherless Bairu by a second pupil. p n 1 u ml i8H t h ^Bl 1 f! ^H IHH [ ; |M a ' iH^ :1 i-i. 96 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER* 19.— THE TWO HOMES. ^' Where is thy home ?" I asked a child, Who, in the morning air, Was twining flowers most sweet and wild, In garlands for her hair. ''My home," the happy heart replied. And smiled in childish glee, '' Is on the sunny mountain's side. Where soft winds wander free." Oh ! blessings fall on artless youth, And all its rosy hours. When every word is joy and truth, And treasures live in flowers. '< Where is thy home, thou lonely man 1" I asked a pilgrim gray. Who came with furrowed brow and wan. Slow moving on his way. He paused, and with a solemn mien Upturned his holy eyes ; '' The land I seek thou ne'er hast seen — My house is in the skies !" Oh ! blest — thrice blest — the heart must be, To whom such thoughts are given ; That walks from worldly fetters free — His only home in heaven ! ANONYMOUS. 20.— BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing ! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring ? — '' We come from the shores of the green old Nile, From the land where the roses of Sharon smile, From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, From the m3Trh- trees of glowing Araby. We have swept o'er the cities in song renown' d. Silent they lie with the deserts round ! We have crossed proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd All dark with the warrior blood of old : And each worn wing hath regain' d its home, Under peasant's roof- tree or monarch's dome." m THE MCHOOL Sl»EAKEIt. 97 M And what have you fojnd in the monarch's dome, Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam ? — '' We have found a change, we have found a pall, And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt, Nought looks the same, save the nest w© built I" Oh I joyous birds, it hath still been so ; Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go ! But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep. And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep, — Say what have you found in the peasant's cot. Since last ye parted from that sv/eet spot ? — '^ A change we have found there — and many a change ! Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange 1 Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, And the young that were have a brow of care, And the place is hush'd where the children play'd, Nought looks the same, save the nest we made I"' Sad is your tale of the beautiful e irfch. Birds that o'ersweep it, in power and mirth I Yet through thn wastes of the trackless air, Ye have a Guide, and shall we despair ? Ye over desert and deep have pass'd. So may we reach our bright home at last. MRS. HEMAN9. 21.— CHILBE HAROLD'S DEPARl'URE. Adieu ! adieu 1 My native shore fades o'er the waters blue ; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, and shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea we follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile to him and thee : my native land, good- night ! A few short hours, and he will rise to give the morrow birth j And I shall hail the main and skies, but not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, its hearth is desolate ; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, my dog howls at the gate. *$J '*■ -^' 4 98 O^HE SCHOOL SPEAItER. 1 - I I 4 Come hither, hither, my Httle page ! why dost thou ifeep and wail ? Or dost thou dread the billow's rage, or tremble at the gale ? But dash the tear-drop from thine eyej our ship is swift and strong : Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly more merrily along. Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high 1 I fear not wave nor wind ; Yet marvel not. Sir Childe, that I am sorrowful in mind ; For I have from my father gone, a mother whom I love, And have no friend save these alone, but thee — and One above. My father blessed me fervently, yet did not much complain ; But sorely will my mother sigh till I come back again. — Enough, enough, my little lad ! such tears become thine eye ; If I thy guileless bosom had, mine own would not be dry. Come hith er now, my staunch yeoman 1 why dost thou look so pale ? Or dost thou dread a French foeman, or shiver at the gale ? Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak : But, thinking on an absent wife will blanch a faithful cheek. My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, along the bor- dering lake ; And when they ou their father call, what answer shall she make ? Enough, enough, my yeoman good I thy grief let none gainsaj^ ; But I, that aux of lighter mood, will laugh to flee away. And now I'm in the world alone, upon the wide, wide sea : But why should I for others groan, when none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, till fed by stranger- hands 5 But, long ere I come back again, he'd tear me where he stands. : .^^^^ ,■,. , ,;.,,^;v.. ' ,;■. With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go athwart the foaming brine ; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, so not again to mine ! Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves 1 and when you fail my sight. Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves! My native land, good night ! LORD BYRON. TUB SCHOOL SPEAKEIt. ^9 22.— TUE FALL OF THE LEAF. Autumn tinges the forest, and the deepening green fades into brown. The slanting sun sinks sooner to its bed ; the rains are steadier and less hopeful of a break : and the day, nice that of aging man, is graver. The wind is harsher j it l)eats and tears the trees in their waning life, and already begins to strip them of their summer glories, strew'ng the ground with the cast-off rags of verdure. The dahlia holds out the parting splendours of the summer, with an intense fire of its own, as though sunlight had been sown and blos- somed in colour. The corn has been robbed of its golden crown. The gay season has passed, and autumn is leading us to winter, as life wanes and the sombred countenance of man foreshadows death. Death is the handmaid of life. The leaf falls to compose the life-giving earth for future forests ; the tree perishes to heap nurture round the root of the sapling ; the glowing petal rots, and is food for the seed of the bud 5 the corn is gathered to feed the race that survives many generations of corn and seed beyond its own mortality. Man witnesses these transitions with saddened senses, and with a firm faith, spans the dark chasm between summer and summer, and borrows from the drear season the light of future years. Other creatures die ; and man is gifted with the sad know- ledge that he too dies, but he is able to recognize death as the frontier betwben life and life. Where the lichen crept over the barren rock, the shrub has grown to forests, the corn waves, and the voice of man breaks the silence of the desert to sing the story of the world ; that long story which began before mankind awoke in its cradle, the tale in which ages are as seasons, and change is ever-increasing glory. To the informed soul of man the fall of the leaf speaks not only of a resurrection, but teaches him how decay is but a process of regeneration ; destruction is the first half of improvement. When living nature has attained perfection in one type, it will not tolerate less, but each stage is made complete, and then the creature perfected after its kind, gives place to new perfection. As forests fall that more stately forests may rise, so human states fall that greater states may rise. Persia and Egypt sank into the tomb on which Greece built her temple ; Rome propagated the civilization planted by Greece, and modern Europe rises on the ruins of ancient Rome. Revolutions are but the fall ■> i' ::l i *f 100 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. II of the leaf. Poland haa rotted in the soil of Europe ; but the Emperor sitting at Warsaw can no more forbid the unborn nation than the vulture perched upon the fallen trunk can forbid the oak which is growing beneath liis feet. ANONYMOUS. 23.— BEAUTIFUL AUTUMN. The sere and yellow leaf reminds us that another autumn is at hand. There is no subject in nature more beautiful to the contemplative mind than Autumn. When we go back in memory to the gay flowers of the vernal fields, the green foliage of the mountains, hills, and valleys, and contem- plate their beauty, their glory, and their freshness, their grandeur and sublimity, we think of but youth and happiness. But when we see the ruddy hue of declin- ing Summer deepening into the rich robe of Autumn — gathering like the pall of death upon all nature — we are reminded, in her own emphatic language, that we, like the '' leaves that fall in wintry weather," must ere long, as they are nipped by the autumnal frcst, be cut down by the strong arm of death, and gathered to the tomb of silence. It is the time for the mother to visit the lonely grave of her depart- ed love, and weep over it the sad tear of sorrow — for the friend, the acquaintance, and the relative — to think of those who have closed their eyes for ever upon the vani- ties of earth, and lie sleeping among the silent dead. At such a period the mind enters into untold enjoyment. There is a sweetness even in the deepest melancholy, which flows to the heart, touching every tendril with emotions of affection, sympathy, and love. It is the time to abstract our thoughts from things perishable — to turn from the ephemeral charms of earth, the more sublime beauties which lie beyond the grave — to learn from the sober realities around us, that our days will have an autumn, that we can not expect while here '' our bright summer always," though we may look forward to a time when the bloom of an eter- nal Spring will be known for ever ; where streams of happi- ness flow in tranquil beauty from a fountain which time can not affect. WASHINGTON IRVING. iil 4 THE SCHOOL speaker! 101 24.— THE CHILD AND THE DEW-DROPS " father, dear father, why pass they away, The dew-drops that sparkled at dawning of day — That glitter'd like stars by the light of the moon, Oh, why are those dew-drops dissolving so soon ? Does the sun, in his wrath, chase their brightness away, As though nothing that's lovely might live for a day? The moonlight has faded — the flowers still remain, But the dew has dried out of their petals again." ''My child," said the father, '' look up to tjie skies. Behold yon bright rainbow — those beautiful dyes j There — there are the dew-drops in glory reset, • 'Mid the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet. Then are we not taught, by each beautiful ray, To mourn jiot earth's fair things though fleeting away? For though youth of its brightness and beauty be riven. All that withers on earth blooms more brightly in heaven," Alas for the father ! — how little knew he The words he had spoken prophetic could be ; That the beautiful child, — the bright star of his day, — ■ Was e'en then like the dew-drops — dissolving away. Oh ! sad was the father, when lo, in the skies The rainbow again spread its beauteous dyes 5 And then he remember'd the maxims he'd given, And thought of his child and the dew-drops — in heaven. J. E. CARPENTER, 25.— HOME AND THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS. Home is the paradise of this terrestrial life. For there it is where all that is great and good, all that is noble and re- fined, all that permanently fits man for the fulfilment of the object of his creation ought first to be imparted to his thoughts, and interwoven with his affections and his de- sires. Other institutions of life may be good, but it is the well regulated institution of domestic life, and the proper government of home, that most deeply and permanently affects the well-being of mankind. Where the institutions of home government are defective, in vain will be the en- actment of wholesome laws, or the efforts of an active police, or the establishment of public educational institutions, or f 7 ~ a U; ''- " 11 ' 4^. I m 102 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. W I lit ' IM the imBheathod sword of military power. On the othor hand, whcro the fountains of mora) life are purified by th(< principles inculcated at home, though other laws of society may be defective, and other institutions either faulty or inoj)erative — yet, like the waters of a stream issuing from a pure fountain, the manners of a people may now and again become partially polluted, but the stream which continues to flow from the fountain will wash the defilement away. Then, may we not be permitted to assume that among the first and most imperative duties of man, after the worship he owes to his Maker, is the proper cultivation and govern- ment of the domestic affections and relations of life. Hapj)y are the people whose religion inculcates, as a duty, the sacred obligations of social life. Happy are the people whose public laws give countenance and support to such teachings of religion. Happy are the people whoso rulers set the example ox reverence, for such teachings, and obedience to such laws. '^ And truly blest is that nation, where, gathered around the domestic hearths of its palaces and its cottiiges, are a people who revere the pure, the hallowed, and the ennobling affections of parents and children, and all the domestic relations of home." It is true, the happiness, prosperity, and strength of a nation spring from those fountains which have theii' sources at the hearthstones of the people. If these sources are not true to nature ; if the affections of domestic life are not cherished at these firesides, then must that nation take an inferior rank in comparison with others, whose soldiers fight for home, their altars, and their firesides. And who can doubt that the happiness of mankind is not essentially interwoven with the domestic affections ? In ear- liest childhood it is seen. That happy little group collected on their playground, or around their toys, whose joyous laugh, whose faces, radiant with delight, prove that they find ex- quisite pleasure in their sports — enjoy their pleasure only while affection or kindness regulates their play. And if some angry word, some passionate blow, inflict pain or grief upon the child, where does he go for comfort ? — to his mother. In her arms, her loving voice, her fond caress, her consoling words quickly soothe him, and before the tear-drop has vanished from his eye, the last remnant of grief has flowed from his breast. Happy child to have a mother to fly to I happy mother, whose magic can charm her darling's grief away. And here, amidst this joy, let us drop one tear of sorrow over those little ones who have none on earth THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 103 whom they can call father or mother — whose orphan child- hood must receive sympathy and sustenance from the hands and hearts of strangers. Y<^t they have a friend who hath said, ''Leave thy fatherless children to me: I will take care of them." To such the eye of pity and the hand of aft'ec- tion should be extended. And, in your hours of play, brothers, do not think that because you are stronger it is unmanly to bo gentle to ycjur little brothers and sisters. True nobleness of heart and true manliness of conduct are never coupled with pride and arro- gance. When I see a young man kind and respectful to his mother, and gentle and forbearing to his sisters, I think he has a noble heart. Ottawa. REV. MR. JOHNSTON. 26.— THE WAY TO PKOMOTE DOMESTIC HARMONY. Since trifles make the sum of human things. And half our misery from our foibles springs ; Since life's best joys consist in peaco and ease. And though but few can serve, ye^ all may please — 01 let the ungentle spirit learn from hence A small unkindness is a great offence. To spread large bounties though we wish in vain, Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain. To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth, With rank to grace them, or to crown with health, Our little lot denies ; but Heaven decrees To all the gift of ministering to ease ; — The gentle offices of patient love, Beyond all flattery, and all price above ; The mild forbearance at another's fault; The taunting word suppressed as soon as thought ; The kind attention - all the peace which springs From the large aggregate of little things, — On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend, The almost sacred joys of home depend I A solitary blessing few can find ; Our joys with those we love are intertwined ; And he, whose wakeful tenderness removes The obstructing thorn which wounds the breast he loves, Smooths not another's rugged path alone, But scatters roses to perfume his own I MRS. H. MOORE. 4 , J^ ;,jj.:..i4 V ■i ... m n ! I- \\ ■ V. PART III. ■wp |.1,^«.^ „ MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. i!^ pi: .;f 1.— CHARACTER AND CAREER OF NAPOLEON. He is fallen ! We may now pause before that wonderful prodigy, which towered amongst us like som.e ancient ruin. Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptred hermit, wrapped in the solitude of his own origin- ality. A mind bold, independent, and decisive*, a will despotic in its dictates ; an energy that distanced expedi- tion ; and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character, — the most extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of the world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life in the midst of a revolution that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledged no superior, 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 genius had arrayed themselves ; and competition 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 altar of his idolatry. His person partook of 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, and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or northern snows, he seemed empowered with ubiquity ; nor was there aught in his career 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 antiquity became common-places in his con- templation 5 kings were his people — nations were his out- THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 105 posts ; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess-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 Russia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was still the same military despot. Cradled in the field, 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 sol- diers, not one abandoned him, till affection was useless ; and their first stipulation was for the safety of their favourite. They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was pro- digal of himself; and that if he exposed chem to peril, he repaid them with plunder. For the soldier, he subsidized every people ; to the people, he made even pride pay tri- bute. 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 omit- ed. The jailer of the press, he affected the patronage of letters ; the proscriber of books, he encouraged plxilosophy ; the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the patronage of learning ; the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor 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 Mohammedan, a Catholic, and a patron of the Synagogue — a traitor and a tyrant — a Christian and an in- fidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original — the same mysterious, incom- prehensible self— the man without a model, and without a shadow. His fall, like his life, baflfled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world 5 and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie. Kings may learn from him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people ; the people w i.. w 106 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. are taught by him that there is no despotism, however stupenaous, against which they have not a resource j and to those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a living lesson, that, if Ambition can raise them from tlio lowest station, it can also prostrate them from the highest. CHARLES PHILLIPS. V' 2.— THE lilSE AND FALL OF NATIONS. There have been many causes assigned for the r'se and fall of nations. Many states have fallen because they wcie too small to contend against their more powerful neighbours. We have the case of Athens and the case of Florence, then I might allude to Prussia, the great state of Germany, and tlie smaller one of Portugal. I need scarcely allude to England, because this country is largo enough and strong enough to maintain itself for ages to come. But there is another source of decline, and which is celebrated in a line of the Roman satirist, as the immediate cause of the fall [of the Roman Empire, which, after stretching its armies into almost every part of the world, fell from the effects of luxury. But there are other causes which it behoves us to consider, which have occasioned the decline of nations. There have been des- potic institutions, where men have been forbidden to in- vestigate subjects of science, or discuss any improvement in art — where they have been forbidden, under penalty of fire, from holding any religious opinion different from that of the State. Where that despotism has existed — where that persecution has prevailed, the nation has withered under the influence. There are also other sources of decline — from the conse- quences of political events, from the calamities of war, from struggles long continued, from other objects of national interest, and other motives, the effect of which no person can perceive, and upon which no man would ever be entitled to your confidence, or the confidence of a nation, if he pre- tended to prophesy. These are subjects connected with the future, the knowledge of which is not given to man. Events may come to pass and contradict and overrule all his anticipations 5 but upon that subject you and your suc- cessors have a duty to perform as well as hopes to realise. It behoves you to maintain the liberty of this country, to maintain the Christianity of this country, and my belief is ti 0i THE SCHOOL SPEAKER, 107 that by cultivating your minds, by extending as much as possible your researches, ^whether in science, whether in literature, you will contribute to that end, you will strengthen the religious and political institutions of the country. earl russell. 3.— DEVELOPMENT OF THE INTELLECTUAL QUA- LITIES AND MORAL FEELINGS. The intellectual qualities as well as the moral feelings of our nature are scattered broadcast over the face of the earth. We find them everywhere, in the lowest classes as in the highest. Their development depends on the opportunities which are offered for their culture, and it is to the literary and scientific institutions that we are indebted for the facili- ties which are so advantageously presented. In this country, fortunately, the road to wealth and honours is open to all. some of those among us who have filled the most distin- guished situations have sprung from the humblest position, and have raised themselves by their talent and good con- duct. Man is endowed with a double nature — the moral and the intellectual. Both contribute to his pleasure and happiness ; his moral enjoyments are independent of exter- nal support. They begin with his home, and constitute his domestic attachments 5 extending a little further, they assume the character of friendship 5 in a wider range they become love of country and of patriotism, and with a still further development they take the shape of benevolence and philanthropy. It is true that knowledge is power, and assuredly those who afford to all classes the means of acquiring that know- ledge, even to a limited amount, contribute not merely to their advancement in life but also to their innocent and laudable enjoyments. We have often heard quoted the words of one of our great poets, that " A little learning is a dangerous thing, Drink deep or taste not the Pierian Spring." I hold that this is a mistake. The more knowledge a man has the better, but if his time and the means at his disposal do not permit of his acquiring deep and accurate knowledge, let him have as much as he can, and, depend upon it, he will be all the better for it ; for, although he may not be able to drink deeply of that spring, if his lips have once Hlv . « tf^-^i 108 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. tasted of it he will go back to the same delicious waters whenever he has an opportunity, and his draughts, be they great or small, will refresh his fancy, invigorate his intellect, raise him in the scale of civihzation, contribute to his indi vidual happiness, and make him a more useful and honour- able member of society. LORD PALMERSTON. m !> J 4.— THE VOICE OF HISTORY. Of all the sciences, history is that which is always advanc- ing. Mathematics and philosophical improvements may be long at a stand ; poetry and the arts are often stationary, often retrograde ; but every year, every month, every day, is contributing its knowledge to the grand magazine of his- torical experience. And how much of that experience may be gathered from the record of the acts and the heroism of our own ancestry ! Let the energies of our mother-land become extinct ; let her armies be overwhelmed ; let her navy become the spoil of the enemy; let the national credit be exhausted, and let the constitution crumble ; — then stand with history on one hand, and oratory on the other, over the grave in which her energies lie entombed, — and tell her that there was a time when the soul of a Briton would not bend before the congregated world ; tell her that she once called her sons around her, and wrung the charter of her liberties from a reluctant despot's hand ; tell her that Spain sent forth a, nation upon the seas against her, and that England and the elements overwhelmed it ; tell her that six centuries were toiling to erect the edifice of her constitution, and that at length the temple arose 5 tell that tht>re are plains in every quarter of the globe where victory has buried the bones of her heroes j " That the spirits of her fathers Shall start from every wave, For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave !" Tell her that when the enemy of human liberty arose, thf> freedom of the whole world took refuge with her ; that with an arm of victory, alone and unaided, she flung back the usurper, till recreant Europe blushed with shame ; — teil her all this ; and I say that the power of lethargy must be »^' THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 109 omnipotent, if she does not shake the dust from her neck, and rise in flames of annihilating vengeance on her destroyer. For the reader of history, every hero has fought, every philosopher has instructed, every legislator has organized. Every blessing was bestowed, every calamity was inflicted, for his information. In i^ublic, he is in the audit of his counsellors, and enters the senate with Pericles, Solon, and Lycurgus, about him ; in private, he walks among the tombs of the mighty uead ; and every tomb is an oracle. But who is ho that should pronounce this awakening call ? who is he whose voice should be the trumpet and war-cry to an enslaved and degraded nation? — It should be the voice of such a one as he who stood over slumbering Greece, and uttered a note at which Athens started from her indo- lence, Thebes roused from her lethargies, and Macedni trembled. REV. CHARLES WOLFE. 5.— MILTON AND HIS POETRY. Milton's principal characteristic is majesty. In his cha- racter and work is consummated the union of human learn- ing and divine love. Here, as in an old world cathedral, illumined by the setting sun, and resounding hallelujahs, blends the most perfect devotion with the most perfect art. All is grand, and beautiful, and holy. In the '^ Paradise Lost," you come into contact with thoughts which sweep the whole compass of letters, and the fresh fields of nature made lustrous by the fine frenzy of the poet ; here also, and more especially, you come into contact with " thoughts which wander through eternity." You trace his daring flight, not simply through the realms of primeval glory, but of chaos and elder night. You follow the track of his burn- ing wing through the hollow abyss, ''whose soil is fiery marl," whose roof is one vast floor of lurid light, and whose oceans are " floods of sweltering flame." You mingle, shuddering with infernal hosts, or listen with rapture to the far-off choiring of cherubim and seraphim, the glorious mingling of sweet sounds "from harp, lute, and dulcimer." You stand on the dismal verge of Pandemonium, with its dusky swarms of fallen spirits, glimmering through the shadows, ''thick as the leaves in Vallambrosa," see borne upon its burning marl or sailing through the gloomy atmos- phere, that form of angel ruined, vast, shadowy, and ter- ^ k 110 THE SCHOOL SPEAKETt. 1^1 ii ■■1 , if- [ m ,"'*• rible, which, when it moves, causes the abyss to shudder. You gaze with astonishment and awe upon the starry domes, which rise, '^hke an exhalation" from the fiery depths, and tremble at the shout of defiance from the multitudinous army, as it rings through those lurid halls. Or, rising oppressed with the splendour and woe of the infernal regions, you pass, with the gentle poet, into the fragrance of Para- dise, bathe your eyes in celestial dews, wander with heavenly guests through the melodious groves and " amaranthine bowers of Eden," quaffing immortal draughts from cool foim- tains, soothed by the song of early birds, and finding rest imutterable beneath the shadow of the tree of life r or, it may be, holding converse high, on some ^' serener mount," with angelic -forms, or with that noblest pair, whose inno- cence and beauty are fresh as the young dews which glisten upon the flowers of Eden. You catch the spirit of that high Christian seer, gaze through the long vista of time, behold the wonders of Calvary, man redeemed, and the gates of glory thronged with rejoicing myriads. EEV. R. TURNBULL. 6.— MEANS OF INSTEUCTION IN BOOKS. There is one source of gratification, and a most important one, which, it is to be hoped, will be considerably augmented in power and importance in this school, and that is the Library. Thanks to heaven that we can read I Thanks to heaven that there are books worth reading — books in which the wisdom of ages is collected in a convenient space ! Yes, eternal honour to that Pelasgian hero, that mythical Cadmus, who crossed the snowy mountains, and brought the Asiatic gift of letters to the western world, and with that spell awoke the magic muse of Greece 1 Honour to those scribes — not Pharisees — who, on the papyrus leaf and parchment roll — more durable than brass or stone — recorded the sacred traditions of Judaea, the eloquence of Greece, and the annalg of Rome ! Honour to those honest workmen of the valley of the Rhine, who multiplied, by forms of wood and metal, all the literature of the ancient world, and gave to mankind a mass of knowledge that can never die, which no Arab chief can burn, and which no accident can in future destroy ! How important to read the books which preserve the undying words of Newton, and those illustrious men who have bequeathed to us the legacy of their highest 1 TIIB SCHOOL SPEAKEFl. Ill thoughts, treasured up and put out to the noblest uses, for the common good of all mankind ! If I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under every variety of circumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield against its ills, however things might go amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it, of course, only as a worldly advantage, and not in the slightest degree as superseding or derogating from the higher office and surer and stronger panoply of religious principles — but as a taste, an instrument and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Give a man this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making a happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history — with the wisest, the wittiest — with the tenderest, the brav- est, and the purest characters that have adorned humanity. You make him a denizen of all nations and a contemporary of all ages. john phillips. 7.— THE ADVANTAGES OF EDUCATION. No doubt you have all personally considered — no doubt you have all personally experienced, that of all the blessings which it has pleased Providence to allow us to cultivate, there is not one which breathes a purer fragrance, or bears a heavenlier aspect, than education. It is a companion which no misfortunes can depress, no clime destroy no enemy alienate, no despotism enslave ; at home a friend, abroad an introduction, in solitude a solace, in society an ornament : it chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once a grace and grvei lament to genius. Without it, what is man? A sple^idid slave 1 a reasoning savage, vacillating between the dignity of an intelligence derived from God, and the degradation of passions participated with brutes | and in the accident of their alternate ascendancy shuddering at the terrors of an hereafter, or embracing the horrid hope of annihilation. What is this wondrous world of his resi- dence ? " A mighty maze, and all without a plan," a dark and desolate and dreary cavern, without wealth, of Ornament or order. But light up within it the torch or \ ■« i fi ''¥■ 'Si h f '1 n fl '■' 3 1 ■ ■ ?: ' '■! % 1 ' H ,v! 112 THE SCHOOL SPEAKEtt. I'! I' I '•■^1 B 't i m knowledge, and how wondrous the transition ! The seasons change, the atmosphere breathes, the landscape lives, earth unfolds its fruits, ocean rolls on in its magnificence, the heavens display their constellated canopy, and the grand animated spectacle of nature rises revealed before him, its varieties regulated, and its mysteries resolved ! The phe- ■jiomena which bewilder, the prejudices which debase, the superstitions which enslave, vanish before education. Lik(3 the holy symbol which blazed upon the cloud before the hesitating Cons tan tine, if man follow but its precepts, purely, it will not only lead him to the victories of this world, but open the very portals of Omnipotence for his admission. Cast your eye over the monumental map of ancient gran- deur, once studded with the stars of empire and the splen- dorus of philosophy. What erected the little state of Athens into a powerful commonwealth, placing in her hand the sceptre of legislation, and wreathing round her brow the imperishable chaplet of literary fame? what extended Eome, the haunt of banditti, into universal empire? what animated Sparta with that high, unbending, adamantine courage, which conquered nature herself, and has fixed her in the sight of future ages, a model of public virtue, and a proverb of national independence ? What but those wise public institutions which strengthened their minds with early application, informed their infancy with the principles of action, and sent them into the world, too vigilant to be deceived by its calms, and too vigorous to be shaken by its whirlwinds. charles Phillips. 8.— OUR COMMON SCHOOLS. It is our common schools which give the keys of know- ledge to the mass of the people. Our common schools are important in the same way as the common air, the common sunshine, the common rain, — invaluable for their common- ness. They are the corner-stone of that municipal organiza tion which is the characteristic feature of our social system j they are the fountain of that wide-spread intelligence which, like a moral life, pervades the country. From the humblest village school, there may go forth a teacher who, like Newton, shall bind his temples with the stars of Orion's belt; with Herschel, light up his cell with the beams of before undiscovered planets ; with Franklin, grasp the lightning. Columbus, fortified with a few sound i> THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 113 geographical principles, was, on the deck of his crazy cara- vel, more truly the monarch of Castile and Aragon, than Ferdinand and Isabella, enthroned beneath the golden vaults of the conquered Alhambra. It is a solemn, a tender and sacred duty, that of educa- tion. What considerate man can enter a school, and not reflect v^^ith aw^e, that it is a seminary where immortal minds are training for eternity ? What parent but is, at times, weighed down with the thought, that there must be laid the foundations of a building which will stand, when not merely temple and palace, but the perpetual hills and adamantine rocks on which they rest, have melted away ! — that a light may there be kindled, which will sliine, not merely when every artificial beam is extinguished, but when the affrighted sun has fled away from the heavens ! I can add nothing, sir, to this consideration. I will only say, in conclusion, Education, — when we feed that lamp, we perform the high- est social duty ! If we quench it, I knov/ not where (humanly speaking), for time or for eternity, — " I know not where is that Promethean heat, That can its light relume !" HON. EDWARD EVERETT. 9.— THE TKIUMPHS OF KNOWLEDGE. We are looking forward to the advent of better days ; and I rejoice to know that the means of securing them are in operation. Every letter taught to lisping infancy, every newspaper furnished, every school, and every institution of learning in the land, brings '' the good time" nearer, and encourages us to persevere in sowing that sure and golden seed, which, once rooted in the mind, brings forth beautiful and everlasting flowers. Knowledge opens to the mind a better and more cheering world. It introduces us to objects and glories which genius alone can portray. It lifts us above the earth ; it takes us round and across it, pointing out and explaining matters miraculous and stupendous. It brings back the dead — those who went down to their graves thou- sands ii iiiii m 11— THE POETRY OF THE STEAM ENGINE. There is, to our own thinking, something awfully grand in the contemplation of a vast steam engine. Stand amidst its ponderous beams and bars, wheels and cylinders, and watch their unceasing play ; how regular and how power- ful ! The machinery of a lady's Geneva watch is not more nicely adjusted ; the rush of the avalanche is not more awful in its strength. Old gothic cathedrals are solemn places, presenting solemn lessons, lonely and solemn things ; but to a trifler, an engine room may preach a more serious lesson still. It will tell him of mmd — mind wielding matter at its will — mind triumphing over physical difficulties — man asserting his great supremacy — '< intellect battling with the elements." And how exquisitely complete is every detail! how subordinate every part towards the one great end 1 how every little bar and screw fit and work together ! Vast as is the machine, lot a bolt be but the tenth part of an inch too long or too short, and the whole fabric is disorganized. It is one complete piece of harmony — an iron essay upon unity, design and execution. There is deep poetry in the steam engine — more of poetry of motion than in the bound of tlie antelope — more of the poetry of power than in the dash of the cataract. And ought it not to be a lesson to those who laugh at novelties, and put no faith in curiosities, to con- sider that this complex fabric, this triumph of art and sci- ence, was once the laughing stock of jeering thousands, and once only the working phantasy of a boy's mind as he sat, and in seeming idleness watched a little column of vapour rise from the spout of a tea kettle. -U 12.— THE MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH. Along the smooth and slender wires The sleepless heralds run. Fast as the clear and living rays, Go streaming from the sun. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 117 No poals or flaHhos, hoard or 8ocn, Their wondrous flight betray : And yet their words are strongly felt In cities far away. Nor summer's heat, nor winter's hail, Can check their rapid course ; They meet unmoved the fierce wind's rage — The rough wave's sweeping force : In the long night of rain and wrath, As in the blaze of day, They rush with news of weal and woe, To thousands far away. But faster still than tidings borne On that electric cord, Rise the pure thoughts of him who loves The Christian's life and Lord — Of him who, taught, in smiles and tears, With fervent lips to pray, Maintains high converse here on earth With bright worlds far away. Ay ! though no outward wish is breathed, Nor outward answer given, The sighing of that humble heart Is known and felt in heaven : Those long frail wires may bend and break, Tnose viewless heralds stray ; But Faith's least word shall reach the throne Of God, though far away. 13.— ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods ; There is a rapture on the lonely shore ; There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar : I love not man the less, but nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before. To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. ik 118 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. :MSh !^' ;■ f' r^f' /I t* mi 4 Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain 5 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. • The armaments which thunder-strike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake. And monarchs tremble in their capitals. The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — Those are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free. And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou ! Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where th' Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time. Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made 5 each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. Pf And I have loved thee, ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 119 Were a delight ; and. if the freshening sea Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee. And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — ^as I do here. LORD BYRON 14.— HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS ! How cheery are the mariners — Those lovers of the sea I Their hearts are like its zeasty waves, As bounding and as free. They whistle when the storm-bird wheels In circles round the mast ; And sings when deep in foam the ship Ploughs onward to the blast. What care the mariners for gales ? There's music in their roar, When wide the berth along the lee, And leagues of room before. Let billows toss to mountain heights Or sink to chasms low. The vessel stout will ride it out, Nor reel beneath the blow. With streamers down and canvass furled. The gallant hull will float Secure, as on an island lake A silkftn-tasselled boat; And sound asleep some mariners, And some with watchful eyes Will fearless be of dangers dark That roll along the skies. God keep those cheery mariners ! And temper all the gales That sweep along the rocky coast Tothe ir storm-shattered sails 5 And men on shore will bless the ship Thai could so guided be, '' Safe in the hollow of IJis hand," To brave the mighty sea I PARK BENJAMIN. a ii i m N . i' m ^:! ! 120 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 15.— THE CATABACT OF LODOKE. < M 128 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. m m ll 11 ill* pi: m -.T^ meat J " sees the war horse pawing in the valley; descries the eagle on the crag of the rock ; and, in all that is vast and minute, dreadful and beautiful, discovers and proclaims the glciy or Him who is "excellent in counsel and wonder- ful in working 1 " The style of Hebrew poetry is everywhere forcible and figurative beyond example. The Book of Job stands not alone in this sententious, spirited, and energetic form and manner. It prevails throughout the poetic parts of tho Scriptures ; and they stand, confessedly, the most eminent examples to be found in the truly sublime and beautiful. I confess I have not much of the spirit of poetry. It is a fu'e that is enkindled at the living lamp of nature, and glows only on a few favored altars. And yet I cannot but love the poetic associations of the Bible. Now, they are sublime and beautiful, like the mountain torrent, swollen and impetuous by the sudden bursting of the cloud ; now, they are grand and awful, like +he stormy Galilee when the tempest beat upon the fearful disciples; again, they are placid as that calm lake, when the Saviour's feet have touched its waters, and stilled them into peace. There is also a sublimity, an invention, in the imagery of the Bible, that is found in no other book. In the Bible you have allegory, apologue, parable and enigma, all clearly intelligible, and enforcing truth with a strong and indelible impression. You have significant actions, uttering volumes of instruction ; as when '^ Jesus called the little child, and set him in the midst of his disciples, and said. Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven ; " as when he cursed the barren fig tree; as when he ''washed his disciples' feet." And where is there a comparison like this ? ''And the heavens departed as a scroll, when it is rolled together." Where is there a description like this ? " And I saw an angel stand- ing in the sun, and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come and gather yourselves together unto the supper of the great God." Or where is there a sentence like the following? ^' And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heavens fled away, and there was found no place for them." English literature is no common debtor to the Bible. In what department of English literature may not the difference be discovered between the spirit and sentiments of Chris- tian writers and those who have drawn all their materials v:1; THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 129 of thought and of ornament from pagan writers ? We find a proof of the superiority of Christian principles even in those works of imagination which are deemed scarcely sus- ceptible of influence from religion. The common romance and the novel, with all their fooleries and ravings, would be more contemptible than they are, did they not, sometimes, undesignedly catch a conception, or adorn a character, from the rich treasury of revelation. And the more splendid fictions of the poet derive their highest charm from the evangelical philanthropy, tenderness, and sublimity that invest them. But for the Bible, Homer and Milton might have stood upon the same shelf, equal in morality, as they are competitors for renown ; Young had been ranked with Juvenal ; and Cooper had united with Horace and with Ovid to swell the tide of voluptuousness. REV. DR. SPRING. 3.— THE BIBLE THE BEST OF BOOKS. The Bible is not a scientific work 5 it does not profess or display any scientific methods ; but it could not be remarked with too much attention, that no passage contained therein, as properly interpreted, was found to contradict any prin- ciple of scientific truth. It had been subjected to the fu-e of the closest investigation, a fire which had contemptuously burnt up the cosmography of the Shaster, the absurdities of the Koran, and other works of false philosophy, but yet this artless, loosely compiled little book was unhurt, untouched, not one of its pages singed, with not even the smell of fire upon it. That book was the mirror of Divinity ; other books, like the planets, shone with reflected lustre — that book, like the sun, shone with unborrowed rays ; other books sprang from earth, that book of books came from heaven on high 5 other books appealed to the understanding or feelings, that book to conscience and faith; other books solicited their attention, that book demanded it, for it ''spoke with authority, and not as the scribes." Other books would glide gracefully along the' earth, or onwards to the mountain summit of imagination ; that book, and that alone, conducted up the awful abyss which led to heaven ; other books, after shining a little season, might perish in flames fiercer than those which consumed the Alexandrian library 5 that book should remain, pure as gold, yet unconsumable as asbestos, in the flames of a 130 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. u 'A I;. I' h general conflagration. Other books might bo forgotten in an universe whore suns go down and disappear like bubbles in tho stream ; that book, transferred to a higher place, sliall shine as the brightness of the firmament and as the stars of heaven. " Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries, Happy the man of human race. To whom our God has granted grace, To ask, to seek, to hope, to pray. To lift the latch, and find the way. But bettor had he not been born. Who roads to doubt, or reads to scorn." REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. '1 i, i. :. w 3 % 4.— THE BUKIAL OF JACOB. It is a solemn cavalcade, and slow. That comes from Egypt ; never had the land, Save when Pharaoh died, such pomp of woe Beheld ; never was bier by such a band Of princely mourners followed, and the grand Gloom of that strange funereal armament Saddened the wondering cities as it went. In Goshen he had died, that region fair Which stretches east from Nilus to the wave Of the great Gulf j and since he could not bear To lay his ashes in an alien grave, He charged his sons to bear them to the cave Where slumbered all his kin, that from life's cares And weariness his dust might rest with theirs. For seventy days through Egypt rose the cry Of woe, for Joseph wept ; and now there came Along with him the rank and chivalry Of Pharaoh's court, — the flower of Egypt's fame ; High captains, chief estates, and lords of name, The prince, the priest, the warrior, and the sage, Made haste to join in that sad pilgrimage. TnE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 131 Tho hoary cldors in their robes of state Wore there, and sceptred judges ; and tho sight Of their pa\ilions pitcned without the gate Was pleasant ; chariots with their trappings bright Stood round, — till all were met, and every rite Was paid ; — then at a signal the array Moved with a heavy splendour on its way. Its very gloom was gorgeous • and the sound Of brazen chariots, and the measured feet Of stately pacing steeds upon the ground, Seemed, by its dead and dull monotonous beat, A burthen to that march of sorrow meet ; With music Pharaoh's minstrels would have come Had Joseph wished, — 'twas better they were dumb. ♦ ♦ ' ♦ • They pass by many a town then famed or feared, But quite forgotten now ; and over ground Then waste, on which in after time were reared Cities whose names were of familiar sound. « « « 4» The fiery sons of Ishmael, as they scour The stony glens of Paran with their hordes, Watch their array afar but dread their power ; Here first against mankind they drew their swords In open warfare ; as the native lords Of the wild region held their free career, And fenced the desert with the Arab spear. But unmolested now the mourners pass. Till distant trees, like signs of land, appear. And pleasantly they feel the yielding grass Beneath their feet, and in the morning clear They see with joy the hills of Canaan near j The camels scent the freshness of the wells. Far hidden in the depth of leafy dells. At length they reach a valley opening fair With harvest field and homestead in the sweep Of olive sprinkled hills, where they prepare The solemn closing obsequies to keep ; For an appointed time they rest, and weep With ceaseless lamentation, and the land Rings with a grief it cannot understand. f * « • f« 132 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. I V-U The rites thus duly paid, they onward went Across the eastern hills, and rested not Till, slowly winding up the last ascent, They see the walls of Hebron, and t.' e spot To him they bore so dear and unforgot, Where the dark cypress and the sycamore Weave their deep shadows round the rock-hewn door, Now Jacob rests where all his kindred are, — The exile from the land in v;hich of old His fathers lived and died, he comes from far To mix his ashes with their mortal mould. There where he stood with Esau, in the cold Dim passage of the vault, with holy trust His sons lay down the venerable dust. They laid him close by Leah, where she sleeps Far from her Syrian home, and never knows That Reuben kneels beside her feet and weeps. Nor glance of kindly recognition throws Upon her stately sons from that repose ; His Rachel rests far sundered from his side. Upon the way to Bethlehem, where she died. Sleep on, O weary saint ! thy bed is blessed ; Thou, with the pilgrim staff of faith, h Another Jordan into endless rest: Well may they sleep who can serenely cast A look behind, while darkness closes fast Upon their path, and breathe thy parting word, — ''For Thy salvation I have waited, Lord !" sod EEV. J. D. BURNS. 5.— MOUNT OF OLIVES. The mountains are Nature's monuments. Like the is lands they dwell apart, and like them they give asylum from a noisy and irreverent world. Many a meditative spirit has found in their silence leisure for the longest thought, and in their Patmos-like seclusion the brightest visions and largest projects have evolved 5 whilst by a sort of over- mastering attraction they have usually drawn to themselves the most memorable iucideuts which variegate our human fWi THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 133 history. And, as they are the natural haunts oftholiighest spirits, and the appropriate scenes of the most signal occurrences, so they are the noblest cenotaphs. Afar off they arrest the eye ; and though their hoary chronicle tells its legend of the past, their heaven-pointing elevations convey the spirit onward towards eternity. Wo do not wonder that excited fancy has sought relics of the ark on the top of Ararat, and in the grim solitude of Sinai it is solemn to remember and easy to believe that the voice of Jehovah has spoken here. Elijah has m.ade Carmel all his own, and the death of Moses must be ever Pisgah^ s diadem. The words of Jesus seem still to linger on the hills of Gali- lee, their lilies forbiddhig <' thought for raiment," and their little birds twittering '' no thought for to-morrow," whilst every grassy tuft and scented flower is breathing its own beatitude. But though heavenly wisdom spake on that mountain side, and excellent glory lighted up the top of labor, there is another height to which discipleship reverts with fonder memory, and which it treads with softer step — that mountain where beyond any spot in Palestine ''God was manifest in the^e^A," — where the great Interces- sor was wont to pray, where Jesus wept over Jerusalem, on whose slope he blessed the Apostle-band and sent his mes- sage of mercy to mankind — the mountain at whose base lay Bethany and Gethsemane — on whose gentle turf his feet last stood and where they yet may stand again — on the Sabbatic, pensive and expectant Mount of Olives. KEV. DR. HAMII^TON. 6.— ST. PAUL AT THE ACROPOLIS OF ATHENS. What is admirable and wonderful at Athens, is the har- monious blending of every detached feature with each other —with the solemn mountains, the lucid atmosphere, the eternal sea — all wearing the same unchanged aspect as when the ships of Xerxes were shivered on that Colian Cape be- neath ; as when the slope of the Acropolis was covered with its Athenian audience to listen under this open sky to (llschylus and Sophocles, to the Agamemnon or the (Edipus ; as when St. Pr.ul stood on the topmost stone of yon hill of Mars, and whil? summit above and plain below bristled with idols, proclaimed, with the words of a power to which Pe- ricles could never have attained, the counsel of the true m ,1^ il^' m n j'l .' I'*! i 134 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. God. Let me jiist remark, that even the impressive decla- ration of the Apostle, that ^'God dwelleth not in temples made with hands," may seem to grow in effect when we remember that the buildings to which he must have almost inevitably pointed at that very moment were the most per- fect that the hands of man have ever reared, and must have comprised the Theseum below and the Parthenon above him. It seems to have been well that << art and man's de- vice" should be reduced to their proper level, on the very spot of their highest development and glory* The direct and immediate object of his appearance and address here, was, undoubtedly, to annul the false sanctities of the place, to extinguish every altar, strip every shrine, and dethrone every idol. This object has been achieved with entire suc- cess. The words of the man, ''weak and contemptible in bodily presence," spoken on the rocky brow of the Acro- polis, amidst the mocking circle, still live and reign, while tongues, and races, and empires have been swept away. It could not have been without providential agency, that within the narrow and rugged circuit, hemmed in by the slopes of Parnes, PenteUcus, and Hymettus, were concen- trated the master efforts of human excellence, in arts and arms, in intellect and imagination, in eloquence and song. The lessons of the Apostle have taught mankind that all other beauties and glories fade into nothing by the side of the cross ; but, while we look at the cross as the law of our life ; while we look to that Apostle on the hill of Ma^'s, at Athens, as the teacher whose words of truth and soberness have superseded the wisdom of all her sages, and the dreams of all her bards, then, if then only, it will be lawful for us to enjoy the whole range of subordinate attractions. It will be felt not to be without its import that St. Paul himself did not refuse to illustrate the Gospel truth by reference to human literature. And so for us, too, the long line of the Panathenaic procession ma;, seem to wind through the portals of the Propylroa, and ascend the steps of the Par- thenon 5 for us the delicate columns of the unwinged vic- tory may recall the lineage of Miltiades and the shame of Persia. For us the meledious nightingale may still pour her plaint in the green coverts of the sparkling colonos ; and hill, and plain, and grove, and temple, may feed us unre- buked with their thronging images of the past glory and the living beauty. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 135 Te, Wcas, )lace, to 7.— PAUL AT ATHENS* Come to the hill of Mars, for he is there, That wondrous man, whose eloquence doth touch The heart like living flame. With brow unblanched, And eye of fearless ardour, he confronts That high tribunal with its pen of Clint, Whose irreversible decree made pale The Gentile world. All Athens gathers near, Fickle, and warm of heart, and fond of change, And full of strangers, and of those who pass Life in the idle toil to hear or tell Of some new thing.. See thither throng the bands Of Epicureans, wrapt in gorgeous robe, Who seem with bright and eager eyes to ask. What will this babbler say ? With front austere Stand a dark group of Stoics, sternly proud, And predetermined to confute, yet still 'Neath the dark wrinkles of their settled brow Lurks some unwonted gathering of their powers As for no common foe. With angry frown Stalk the fierce cjmics, anxious to condemn, And prompt to punish, while the patient sons Of gentle Plato bind the listening soul To search for wisdom, and with reason's art Build the fair argument. Behold the throngs Press on the speaker, drawing still more close In denser circles, as his thrilling tones Speak of the God who ''warneth every were Men to repent," and of that fearful day When he shall judge the world. Loud tumult wakes, The tide of strong emotion hoarsely swells, And that blessed voice is silent. They have mocked At Heaven's high messenger, and he departs From the wide circle. But his graceful hand Points to an altar, with its mystic scroll '' The Unknown God." O Athens I is it so I Thou who has crowned thyself with woven rays As a divinity and called, the world Thy pilgrim-w^orshipper, dost thou confess Such ignorance and shame ? ''The Unknown God ! " Why, all thy hillocks and resounding streams Do boast their deity, and every house, Yea, every beating heart within thy walls May chose its temple and its priestly train. ■Ifea 136 tHU SCaoOL SPEAltER. 1 ( iiv J*' t 1 f [ } 111 J ' I. m .) 6 f Victim and garland and appointed rite ; Thou makest the gods of every reahn thine own, Fostering with maddened hospitality All forms of idol worship. Can it be That still thou foundst not Him who is so near To every one of us, in whom we live, And move, and have a being ? ' ' Found Him not Of whom thy poets speak with child-like awe ? And thou philosophy, whose art refined Did aim to pierce the labyrinth of fate, And compass with a fine-spun, sophist web This mighty universe — didst thou fall short Of the Upholding Cause ? The Unknown God ! Thou, who didst smile to find the admiring world Crouch as a pupil to thee, wert thou blind ? Blinder than he, who in his humble cot, With hardened hand, his daily labour done, Turned the page of Jesus, and doth read, With toil, perchance, that the trim school-boy scorns, Counting him, in his arrogance, a fool. Yet shall that poor, wayfaring man lie down With such a hope as thou couldst never teach Thy king-like sages — yea, a hope that plucks The sting from death, the victory from the grave ! . 8.— CATO'S SOLILOQUY. Cato alo' , in his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul; a drawn sword on the table beside him.) It must be so — Plato, 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 falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us j 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought I Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me : But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 137 (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue 5 And that which he delights in must be happy. But when, or where ? — This world was made for Ceesar. I'm weary of conjectures— this must end them. [Laging his hand on his sword.} Thus am I doubly arm'd ; my death and life, My bane and antidote are both before me. This in a moment brings me to an end ; But 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 crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that hangs upon me ? This lethargy that creeps thro' all my senses ? Nature oppress' d and harass' d out with care. Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour her^ That my awaken' d soul may take her flight, Renew' d in all her strength, and fresh with life, An off' ring fit for Heaven. Let guilt or fear Disturb man's rest — Cato knows neither of them, Indiff'rent in his choice, to sleep or die. ADDISON. ; . 9.— THE PLAIN OF MARATHON.* Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground! No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould ! But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muses' tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold, Defies the power which crushed thy temples gone : Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares grey Marathon. *The battle of Marathon, in which Miltiades. the Athenian, defeated the hosts of invading Persians, under Datis and Artaphernes, was fought 490 before the advent of our Saviour. m m m m 138 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Vii ; If IV. ' . I'-- li if 'fliH ^^- p! fl If 9 *f ■j M * ^if' & 1 1 ' »; si The sun, tlip soil, but not the slave the same — Unchanged in all, except its foreign lord. Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame ; The battle-field — where Persia's victim-horde First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, As on the morn to distant glory dear. When Marathon became a magic word. Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career ! The flying Mede — his shaftless broken bow ! The fiery Greek — his red pursuing spear ! Mountains above — earth's, ocean's plain below! Death in the front — destruction in the rear ! Such was the scene, — what now remaineth here ? What sacred trophy marks the hallowed ground Kecording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear? The rifled urn, the violated mound. The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns around ! Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng j Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore j Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! Which sages venerate, and bards adore. As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. The parted bosom clings to wonted home. If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth j He that is lonely, hither let him roam. And gaze complacent on congenial earth. Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth ! But he whom sadness sootheth may abide. And scarce regret the region of his birth, When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died! LORD BYRON. 10 " TUB SCHOOL SX'EAKER. 10.— ANCIENT GKEECE. 139 Clime of the unforgotten brave I Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was freedom's home or glory's grave ! Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, That this is all remains of thee ? Approach, thou craven crouching slave : Say, is not this Thermopylse ? These waters blue that round you lave, Oh, servile offspring of the free — Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! These scenes, their story not unknown. Arise, and make again your own ; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires j And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That tyranny shall quake to hear. And leave his sons a hope, a fame They, too, will rather die than shame. For freedom's battle once begun Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft is ever won ! Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Ablest it many a deathless age ! While kings in dusty darkness hid. Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command. The mountains of their native land ! There points thy muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die ! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace Each step from splendour to disgrace. Enough — no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; Yes ! self-abasement paved the way To villains' bonds and despots' sway. ^!i m m m m LORD DTRON. Wr M |T SI ii It' |!» ^ in > \ 1 .1 n ^fi :fl| n 1 1 1 'i t s » J 1 i ri # \5 ■ A ^ ^ .1 ! 140 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 11.— KUINS OF THE COLISEUM. It is no fiction, but plain, sober, honest truth to say, they who will, may in imagination have the whole great pile before them, as it used to be, with thousands of eager faces staring down into the areni, and such a whirl of strife, and blood, and dust, going on there, as no language can describe. Its solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter desolation, now strike upon the stranger, like a softened sorrow ; and never in his life, perhaps, will he be so moved and overcome by any sight, as this so suggestive and distinct as it is at this hour. To see it crumbling there, an inch a year ; its walls and arches overgrown with green ; its corridors open to the day I the long grass gi'owing in its porches ; young trees of yesterday, springing up on its ragged parapets, and bearing fruit — chance produce of the seeds dropped there by the birds who build their nests within its chinks and crannies ; to see its Pit of Fight tilled up with earth, and the peaceful Cross planted in the centre ; to climb into its upper halls, and look down on ruin, ruin, ruin, all about it ; the tri- umphal arches of Constantine, Septimus Severus, and Titus ; the Roman Forum 5 the Palace of the Caesars ; the temples of the old religion, fallen down and gone ; is to see the ghost of wicked wonderful Old Rome ! haunting the very ground on which its people trod. It is the most impressive, the most stately, the most solemn, grand, majestic, mournful sight, conceivable. Never, in its bloodiest prime, can the sight of the gigantic Coliseum, have moved one heart, as it must move all who look upon it now — a ruin. God be thanked — a ruin ! Here was ancient Rome, indeed, at last ; and such a Rome as one can imagine it in its full and awful grandeur ! We wandered out upon the Appian Way, and then went on, through miles of ruined tombs and broken walls, with here and there a desolate and uninhabited house ; past the Circus of Romulus, where the course of the chariots, the stations of the judges, comj)etitors, and spectators, are yet as plainly to be seen as in old time ; past the tomb of Cecilia Metella ; past all inclosure, hedge or stake, wall or fence ; away upon the open Campagna, where on that side of Rome, nothing is to be beheld but Ruin. Except where the distant Apermines bound the view upon the left, the whole wide prospect is one field of ruin : broken aqueducts, left in the most picturesque and beautiful clusters of arches 3 9%^ THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 141 broken temples 5 lirokon tombs : a desert of decay, sombre and desolate beyond all expression ; and with a memorable history in every stone that strews the silent ground. CHARLES DICKENS. 12.— ANCIENT ROME. Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye Whose agonies are evils of a day ! — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and fire Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride 5 She saw her glories star by star expire. And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, Where the car climbed the Capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void. O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, '^lere was, or is," where all is doubly night? The double night of ages, and of her, Night's daughter, Ignorance hath wrapt, and wrap All round us ; we but feel our way to err. The ocean hath its chart, the stars their map, And knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap Our hands and cry, '' Eureka 1 " it is clear — When but some false mirage of ruin rise* near. ill m j i!v;- #i :f'M vn 1 1 n hi IK t; m 142 THE SCHOOL speaker. Alas ! tlu> lofty city ! and alas ! The trebly hundred triumphs 1 and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away I Alas for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictured page 1 — but these shall be Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. Alas for earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was fren ! I !; M 13.— THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. The ©yea of thousands glanced on him, as mid the cirque h« stood, Unheeding of the shout which broke from that vast mul- titude. The prison damps had paled his cheek, and on his lofty brow Corroding care had deeply traced the furrows of his plow. Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and raised to heaven his eye. For well that feeble old man knew they brought him forth to die ! Yet joy was beaming in that eye, while from his lips a prayer Passed up to heaven, and faith secured his peaceful dwell- ing there. Then calmly on his foes ho looked ; and, as he gazed, a tear Stole o'er his cheeks j but 't was the birth of pity, not of fear. He knelt down on the gory sand — once more he looked toward heaven ; And to the Christian's God he prayed that they might be forgiven. But, hark 1 another shout, o'er which the hungry lion's roar Is heard, like thunder^ mid the swell on a tempestuous shore 1 And forth the Lybian savage bursts — rolls his red eyes around ; Then on his helpless victim springs, and beats him to the ground. TIIK SCHOOL SP.EAKER. 143 Short pause was left for hope or fear : the instuictive love of life One struggle made, but vainly made, in such une<|ual strife, Then with the scanty stream of life his jaws the savage dyed ; While, one by one, the quivering limbs his bloody feast sup- plied. Rome's prince and senators partook the shouting crowd's delight ; And Beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that unhallowed sight. But say, what evil had ho done ? — what sin of deepest hue? — A blameless faith was all the crime that Christian martyr knew I But where his precious blood was spilt, even from that barren sand. There sprang a stem, whose vigorous boughs soon over- spread the land : O'er distant isles it-< shadow fell ; nor knew its roots decay, Even when the Roman Cjpsar's throne and rule had passed away. REV. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. 14.— 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 liave ties to life as strong as ever were bound round the heart of ni'in : I stand here a suppliant for the life of one whose loss would imbitter niin '^ ! Yet, not f^-^r 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. Jerusaleni 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 dynasty extinguished in blood, and an enemy of his throne ?— The IF? Ii;^ is; I 144 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Persian camo : from hor protector, ho turned into her oppressor ; and his empire was swept away Hke the dust of the desert ! — The {Syrian smote her : the smiter died in agonies of remorse ; and where is liis kingdom now ? — The Egyptian smote her : and who now sits on the throne of the Ptolemies ? Pompey came : the invincible, the conqueror of a thousand cities, the liglit of Home ; 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 *^^ itone plunged into the ocean ! Blind counsel, rash . .ition, womanish fears, were upon the great statesman ana warrior of Rome. Where does he sleep ? What sands were coloured with his blood ? The universal conqueror died a slave, by the hand of a slave ! Crass us 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 ! You, too, son of Vespasian, may be commissioned for the punishment of a stiff-necked and rebellious people. You may scourge our naked vice by force of a,rms ; and then you may return to your own land exulting in the '' quest of the fiercest enemy of Rome. But shall you es the common fate of the instrument of evil ? 8hall you see a peaceful old age ? Shall a son of yours ever sit upon the throne ? Shall not rather some monster of your blood efface the memory of your virtues, and make Rome, in bitterness of soul, curso the Flavian name ? REV. DR CROLY, f H-i 't' i ri -K 1 '.•'•■» m Wi ■ ' " ffi^^^ «jiil 15.— CESAR'S TRIUMPHS. To form a just estimate of Caesar's aims, look to his triumphs after the surrender of Utica — Utica,more honoured in being the grave of Cato, than Rome in having been the cradle of Caesar. We read that Caesar triumphed four times. First, for his victory over the Gauls ; secondly, over Egyj^t ; thirdly, over Pharnaces ; lastly, over Juba, the friend of Cat?. His first, second, and third triumphs were, we are told, magnificent. Before him marched the princes and noble foreigners of the countries he had conquered : his soldiers, crowned with THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 145 111 laurols, followod him ; and the whole city attended with acclamations. This was well ! — the conqueror should be honoured. His fourth triumph approaches — as magnificent as the former ones. It does not want its royal captives, its soldiers crowned with laurels, or its flushed conqueror, to grace it ; nor is it less honoured l»y the multitude of its spectators : — but they send up no shout of exultation ; they heave loud sighs ; their cheeks are frequently wiped ; their eyes are fixed upon one object, that engrosses all their senses — their thoughts — their affections — it is the statue of Cato ! — carried before the victor's chariot ! It represents him rending open his woun: 154 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 1 l» III i-ir fi- "'j ( ( ' 3.— MORS OMNIBUS COMMUNIS. T. Lucretius. Lib. iir. Hoc etiam tibi Tate interdum dicere possis : Lumina sis oculis etiam bonus Ancu' reliquit, Qui melior multis, quam, Tu, fuit Improbe, rebus. Inde alii multi reges, rerunniue potentes Oociderunt, magnis qui gontibus imperitarunt. Ille quoquo Ipse, viam qui quondam per mare magnum Stravit, iterque declit legionibus ire per altura, Ac pedibus salsas doouit super ire lacunas : Et contemsit, aquis insultans, murmura ponti, Lumine ademto, animam moribundo corpore fudit. Scipiades, belli fulmen, Carthaginis horror, Ossa dedit terrae, proinde ac famul infimus esset. Adde reper tores doctrinarum, atque leporum, Adde Heliconiadmn comites ; quorum unus Homerus Sceptra potitus, eadem aliis sopitu' quiote 'st : Denique Democritum postquam matura vetustas Admonuit memorem motus languescere Mentis, Sponte sua letho caput obvius obtulit ipso. Ipse Epicurus obit decurso lumine vitee, Qui genus humanum ingenio superavit, et omneis Prsestinxit, stellas exortus uti aitherius Sol. Tu vero dubitabis, et indignabere obire, Mortua quoi vita est prope jam vivo, atque videnti ? Qui somno partem majorem conteris eevi ? Et vigilans stertis, nee somnia cernere cessas, SoUicitamque geris cassa formidine mentem ? Nee reperire potes, quid sit tibi saepe mali, cum Ebrius urgeris multis Miser undique curis, Atque animi incerto fluitans errore vagaris ? Si possont Homines, proinde ac sentire videntur, Pondus inesse Animo quod se gravitate fatiget, Et quibus id fiat causis cognoscere, et unde Tanta mali tanquam moles in pectore constet ; Haud ita vitam agerent, ut nunc plerumque videmus. Quid sibi quisque velit, nescire, et querere semper, Commutare locum, quasi onus deponere possit. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 155 QUIS VERE EEX. 4.—E Senccce " Thycsk. Regem non faciunt opes, Non vestis Tyria^ color, Non frontis nota regiae, Non auro nitidee fores. Rex est, qui posuit metus, Et diri mala pectoris : Quern non ambitio impotens, Et nunquam stabilis favor Vulgi prfiecipitis, movet : Non quidquid fodit Occidcns, Aut unda Tagus aurea Claro devehit alveo : Nonquid quid Libycis tei'it Fervens area messibus. Quern non concutiet cadons Obliqui via fulminis ; Non Eurus rapiens marc, Aut seevo rabidus freto Ventosi tumor Adrioe ; Quern non lancea militis, Non strictus domuit chalybs : Qui, tuto positus loco, Infra se videt omnia ; Occurritque suo libens Fato, nee queritur mori. Reges conveniant licet, Qui sparsos agitant Dallas : Qui rubri vada litoris, Et gemmis mare lucidum Late Sanguineum tenent j Aut qui Caspia fortibus Recludunt juga Sarmatis. Certet, Danubii vadum Audet qui pedes ingredi ; , Et quocunque loco jacent Seres vellere nobiles ; Mens regnum bona possidet. Nil ullis opus est equis, Nil armis, et inertibus Telis, quae procul ingerit Parthus, cum simulat fugas : :X\ 4 %% '' ' h^ w m m 1 lo rerum, pelagoque geratur, Et tellure, videt totumque inquirit in orbem. 7.— S0MNU8. Statius. TiiEB. X. 84. Stat super occiduso nebulosa cubilia noctis, iEthiopas(iuo alios, nulli penetrabilis astro Lucus iners, eubterque cavis grave rupibus antrum It vacuum in montem, (jua desidis atria Somni Hecurumque larem segnis Natura locavit. Limen opaca Quies, et pigra Oblivia servant, Et nunquam vigili torpens Ignavia vultu. Otia vestibulo, pressisque Silentia pennis Muta sedent, abiguntque truces a culmine ventos, Et ramos errare vetant, et murmura demunt Alitibus : non hie pelagi, licit omnia clament Littora, non uUus ca3li fragor : ipse profundis Vallibus etlugiens speluncie proximus amnis Saxa inter scopulos(iue tacet : nigrantia laverat an. ns Mulciber : hie hau'et later! redimita Voluptn >, Hie comes in requiem vergens Labor: est ubi Baccho, Est ubi Martigena3 sociuni pulvinar Amori Obtinet: interius tectum in penetralibus altis Et cum Morte jacet: imllique ea tristis imago. ff| 0- THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 150 Ipse autem, vacuus curis, humontia subter Antra soporifero stipatus flore tapotas liicubat: exhalant vestes, ot corpore i)ipi'o Strata calerit, supraquo torum nigcr eftlat anliolo Ore vapor: manus ha'c fusos a tempore Ituvo Sustentat crines, htjec conm oblita renii^it. 8.— DE SOMNO. Ovid. Met. xi. 592. Est propo C'immorios longo spelunca recossu, Mens cavus, ignavi domus ec penetralia Somiii : Quo nunquam radiis orions, mediusve, cadensve Phoebus adire potest. NobulH3 caligine luixtoe Exhalantur Immo, dubincque crepuscula lucis. Non vigil ales ibi crintati cantibus oris Evocat Auroram : nee voce silentia rumpunt Sollicitive canes, canibusve sagacior anser. Non fera, non pecudes, non moti flamine rami, llumanteve sonum reddunt convicia lingurR. Muta quies habitat. Saxo tamen exit ab inio Ilivus aquee Lethes : per quern cum murmure labens Invitat somnos crepitantibus unda lapillis. Ante fores antri fecunda papavera fioi-ent, Innumerseque herba3 : quarum de lacte soporem Nox legit, et spargit per opacas humida terras. Janua, quae verso stridorem cardine reddat, Nulla domo tota ; custos in limine nuUus. At medio torus est, ebeno sublimis in atra, Plumeus, unicolor, pullo velamine tectus : Quo cubat ipse deus, membris languore solutis. Hunc circa passim, varias imitantia formas, Somnia vana jacent totidem, quot messis aristas, Sylva gerit frondes, ejectas littus arenas. 0.— URBS SYON AUREA. (JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN.) Laus Patrice ccelesiis : Bernard de Ciajny. Urbs Syon aurca, patria lactea cive decora, Omne cor obruis, omnibus obstruis et cor et ora. Nescio, nescio, qusR jubilatio, lux tibi qualis, Quam socialia gaudia., gloria quam spcciidis : :rl } 'I IH.'""^ 160 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. •■in H i 1 ) u ¥ Laude studens ea tollere, mens mea victa fatiscit. O bona gloria, vincor ; in omnia laus tua vicit. Sunt Syon atria conjubilantia, martyre plena, Cive micantia, Principe stantia, luce serenan : Est ibi pascua, mitibus afflua, prsestita Sanctis, Kegis ibi thronus, agminis et sonus est epulantis. Gens duce splendida, concio Candida vestibus albis j Sunt sine fletibus in Syon eedibus, sedibus almis ; Sunt sine orimine, sunt sine turbine, sunt sine lite In Syon sedibus editiorebus IsraelitsB . Urbs Syon inclyta, gloria debita glorificandis, Tu bona visibus interioribus intima pandis : Intima lumina, mentis acumina te speculantur, Pectora flammea spe modo, postea sorte lucrantur. Urbs Syon unica, mansio mystica, condita coelo. Nunc tibi gaudeo, nunc mihi lugeo, tristor, anhelo : Te quia corpore non queo, pectore ssepe penetro, Sed caro terrea, terraque carnea, mox cado retro. Nemo retexere, nemoque promere sustinit ore, Quo tua moenia, quo capitalia plena decore ; Opprimit omne cor ille tuus decor, o Syon, o pax, Urbs sine tempore, nulla potest fore laus tibi mendax ; O sine luxibus, o sine luctibus, o sine lite Splendida curia, florida patria, patria vitee ! bona patria, lumina sobria te speculantur, Ad tua nomina sobria Injriina collacrimantur : Est tua mentio pectoris un.ctio, cura doloris, Concipientibus sethera men^ibus ignis amoris, Tu locus unicus, illeque coelicus es paridisus, Non ibi lacrima, sed placidissima gaudia, risus. Est ibi consita laurus, et insita cedrus hysopo : Sunt radiantia jaspide moenia, clara pyropo ; Hinc tibi sardius, inde topazius, hinc amethystus ; Est tua fabrica concio coelia, gemmaque Christus. Tu sine littore, tu sine tempore, fons, modo rivuS; Dulce bonis sapis, estque tibi lapis undique v'vus. Est tibi laurea, dos datur aurea, Sponsa decora, Primaque Principis oscula suscipis, inspicis ora : Candida lilia, viva monilia sunt tibi, Sponsa, Agnus adest tibi, Sponsus adest tibi, lux speciosa : Tota negotia, cantica dulcia dulce tonare. Tarn mala d bita, quam bona prsebita conjubilare. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 10.— OKATIO AD SS. TKINITATEM. Me r^ceptet Syon ilia, Syon, David urbs tranquilla, Cujus taber Auctor lucis, Cujus portee lignum crucis, Cujus muri Capis vivus, Cujus custos Rex festivus. In hac urbe lux solennis, Ver fieternum, pax perennis : In, hac odor implens coelos. In hac, semper festum melos ; Non est ibi corruptela, Non defectus, non querela ; Non minuti, non deformes, Omnes Christo sunt conformes. Urbs coelestis, urbs beata, Super petram collocata, Urbs in portu satis tuto, De longinquo te saluto, Te saluto, fce suspiro, Te affecto, te requiro. Quantum tui gratulantur, Quam festive convivantur, Quis afifectus eos stringat, Aut quse gemma muros pingat, Quis chalcedon, quis jacinthus, Norunt illi qui sunt intus. In plateis hujus urbis, Sociatus piis turbis, Cum Moyse et Elia, Pium cantem Alleluya ! 161 .t;| m HILDEBERT. 11.— DIES IR^. De NovTssLio Judicio. — Thomas De Calano. Dies iree, dies ilia Solvet seeclum in favilla, Teste David cum sibylla. Quantus tremor est futurus, Quando Judex est venturus, Cuncta stricte discussurus, M 162 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. li;*! Ihp. Tuba, mirum spargens sonum Per sepulchra regionum, Coget omnes ante tlironum. Mors stupebit et natura, Quum resurget creatura, Judicanti responsura. Liber scriptus proferetur, In quo totum continetur, De quo mundus judicetur. Judex ergo quum sedebit, Quidquid latet, apparebit, Nil inultuin remanebit. Quid sum miser turn dicturus, Quern patronum rogaturus, Quum vix Justus sit securus ? Rex tremendce majestatis, Qui salvandos salvas gratis, Salva me, fons pietatis. 12.— DIES IRJE, I til,; PARS II. Recordare, Jesu pie, Quod sum causa ture vite; Ne me perdas ilia die ! Quferens me sedisti lassus, Redemisti crucem passus : Tantus labor non sit cassus, Juste Judex ultionis, Donum fac remi^sionis Ante diem rationis. Ingemisco tanquam reus, Culpa rubet vultus meus : Supplicanti parco, Deus ! THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Qui Mariam absolvisti, Et latronem exaudisti, Mihi quoquo spem dedisti. Preces moco non sunt digncp^ Sed tu bonus fac benigne Ne perenni cremer igne ! Inter oves locum pr?esta, Et ab hajdis mo sequestra, Statuens in parte dextra. Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis, Voca me cum benedictis. Ore supplcx et aeclinis, Cor contritum quasi cinis : Gere curam mei finis. 163 m Iri ' ' i PART lY. —CContinuedO (III. GREEK.) 1.— NEPTUNUS AD CASTKA GEyECORUM PEOFICIS- CITUPt. Ex Homer i ^'Iliadc.^^ N. Ob 6' d/.ao(T!w~c?)v tlx^ npauv 'EvocixOov Kai yap 6 Oavjuu^uv ijaro TCTQi-eiiov re [idxTjv re 'Txpov tT' anpoTUTf/c Kopvcbijc '^duov v2.T}taGT]C Qpr]'LKh]r- ivOcv yap tcpahero •ndca /xev "Idr/j 'i'aivsro Jt Uptdfioio 7i6?urj Kal vi'jeq ' Axaccjv. "Evd' dp' 6/ E§ dXuc £^eT' Iwf , k?Jcupe J' 'Axatovr Tpualv Safivauh'ovCj Aii 6c uparcpuQ tvefxiaca. AvTiKa 6' tf opeog KarF^fjaaro Tzai'Tza7i6wTor^ KpaiTzvd TTOcl 7rpol3il3d(;' rpt-fze 6' ovpe^ ■ v?.7j Uoaalv tiT* ddavdroKTc Uoaeidduvog c6i^tO'_ T/)?f fih upt-^ar' lui'j Tci Jt- T^Tparoi'^ ikvto riK/xup^ 1SS& 164 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Alydg' hda 6e ol K^vra dufiara (^ivOeai H(ivr]g^ Xpvffsaj fiapjuaipovTa TeTevxO'Tai^ a^OiTa alel. "'Evd' kWuVf vtt' d^eacpc tltvoketo ja/l/cdTrod' Zttttw, 'Q/tUTrera, XP'^'^^V'^^^ eOeipyaiv KO/bLouvre. Xpvabv 6' avToq edvve irepl xpoi' yhro 6' IjidaO'krjv Xpvoeirp^f evtvktov, tov c5' e7re(3^aaTo Siippov By 6' eXdav eirl Kv/iar'' ara/l/le dc k^te ^tt* avTov TldvTodev EK Kevdfiuv, oiicV rjyvoiijaev avaKTw VrjdoGvvri 6e ddTtaaaa duoTaro' rot 6e ttetovto 'PlfK^a fj.d?.' ' ovd' vTTEVEpdE diaivETo xd'^KEog d^cjv Tbv d' eg 'Axait^v v^ag EvcKapd/noi (pEpov 'iirTzot. ''Eart 6e tl arriog Evpv fiadel'qg f^Evdeat Xifivijgy "MeaaTjyvg TeveSoio koI "Ift^pov TratTraloEaaTjg- 'Evd^ 'iTTTTovg iarrjae Uoaeidduv kvoaixf^uv, Aiiaag k^ bx£0)Vf izapd 6' dfj,(3p6aLov I3d2.ev elSap "TlSfievar dfipoveiv tTviaraTac. vvv fiev yap ek gov Trdvf avev > Oeufiivovg^ nal kpacrdg ycyvo/itvovg avTT/g, — nal^ urav vfuv [leyaki] dv^rj elvai, hOvfiov/itvovg on Tolfujvreg, Kol yiyvuGKOvreg tu deovra^ Kal ev rolg epyoig alGxvvofcevoi uvc^psg avrd tKrt/aavTO' Kal oTrdre koI -Keipa rov a(paXei7jaaVj ovkovv kuI rijv TrdTiiv ye ryg c^erepag aperyg u^iouvrsg crepicKsiv, KuXkicrov 6c ipavov avry TroU/xevoi. Koivy yap to. coyfiara diduvregf i6ia tov ayfjpuv ETzaivov k-'kaiiftavov^ Kal tov rdavC>v Ttdca yi] rd(pog, Kal oh gt7]?.o)v fidvov ev Ty oiKeia crjfiaiveL e7riypa(j)yj d/l/ld Kal ev ry fxi) izpoai^Ko'vay dypatbog [ivii[j,t] ■Trap' eKaarcp, r?/f yvufiTjg [id7Jj)v y rov ipyovj evdiairdrai. ovg vvv vfielg ^7j?o6GavTEc, Kal rb Evdaifiov rb eXei'dspoVf rb Se eTiEvOcpov rb evipvxov Kpivavreg, fii) TTEpiopdcde rovg Tro^EjuiKOvg Kivdvvovg. ov yap ol KaKOTTpayovvreg diKaidrspov dcpeahiEv av tov ^iov, o\g e?i,7rlg ovk eot' dyadovj dTCk' dig 7/ evavTca fiErajSoTii) ev tu i^'jv en KivSvvEVErai, Kal ev dig fidliara fj.Eyd?M rd diacpepovra, yv n TrraicuaLV. dTiyEivortpa yap dvdpi ye ^p6yyfj.a exGvn y \ev r?"/] //era tov [laTiaKLadi'ivaL KaKualg^ y 6 [lerd p(j)fiT}g Kal Koivyg ekmdag ajxa yiyvofiEvog dvaicdyrog ddvarog. 5.— ATHENIENSES PRO GRiECIA PROPUGNATURI ITA SPARTANIS RESPONDENT. E Eo'odoti ^^ Eisiorid..^^ Lib. \iii. Tb fiev JercTGf AaKEdaifioviovg fiy v^oTioy/jau^ev tu Bap(3dpG} Kapra dvdpQ-ii'lov 7JV. drdp alaxpug ye ciKarej e^ETziard/iEvoi tcjv 'AOyvaluv !tnE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 1G7 rb ^povT^fittf appudijaac on ovte xP'^^C ^^ti- YVC ovdctfiCOt roaov'og^ ovTS X^PV K-o^'^si' Kal apETtj fttya vnep^Epovaaf tO, yfielQ Se^a/UEVot We?m/iev av [njdiaavTEq KaraSovluaaL rijv 'EXZdda. IloXXd te yap Kol [iEjaka eotX tcL diaKco'Avovra ravra firj 'koleelv^ firjd' ?jv eOeIuheVj izpura fiEV Kot fiiytora, ruv Oeuv rd. ayalfiara nai tol olKtj[j.ara ifiTrEKpTjfffieva te koI cvyKEXi^Ofiha' Tolai Tjixeag avayicatcog exec nfioptsLV Eg TO. fiiyiara fiaXkov y Tzsp ojioT^oytELV rCi ravra tpyaaa/uvu. avrig 6^y rb 'E?i,?JjviKuv kdv bfiaifidv te Kal u/nSyTiucaov, Kal deiJv Idpvfiard te kolvol koI Ovoiaij ijdEA te o/idrporra' ruv Tpo^orag yciiadat ^AOrjvriLovg ovk av ev exoi' ETricraadE te ovrUf ec juy rrpurEpov hrvyxdvETE ETnardfievoif ectt' av Kal Eig iTEpty 'AO?}vaiiov, pydafia hlio'koyriaovrag I'ljitag AEp^y. 'Tfiecov fievrot aydfiEOa tijv Tzpovo'n^v ryv eg i//j.Eag ixovaav, ore rzpoEi^Ers 7}fj.t:uv OLiio^Ooprjfiivov ovru, QO'E ETTidpiipat e6e1eiv 7/fituv Tovg ocKErag. Kal vfilv juh i) X'''-P^C EKnEirTJipciTaL' TJfXEEg fiEvroL ^.nrapyGOfiEV ovtu^ oKCjg av excjjuev-, ov6ev 2,V7rEcvrEg vjnEog. "Nvv Jt, og ovtq exovtuVj arpariyv u)Q rdx^GTa EKirE/xTTETE. Ljg yap y/ihg EtKa^o/iEVf ovk EKag xp^vov irapicrat 6 Bdp(Sapog ka^aliov kg rijv yuETEprjVf dTJi ETZELddv rdxiora irvdTjraL ryv ayyEXiTjV, on ov6ev TcoiijGoiLEV tuv EKEcvog 7/fiE0)v rrpocEdiEro. '::ptv uv TTapEivat ekeXvov Eg ryv 'Attck^jv^ rj/icag naipdg ian izpocftu- 6f/aai Eg ryv TioiMrirjv. '■\ r .1, \ 6.— XERXES DELATUS ABYDUIM COPIAS SUAS LUSTRAT. Ex Eerodoii " HMoniV Lib. vn. 'Eirei 6' iytvovro h. 'A/3»;cV, yOtTiTjas Z^p^VQ l^EoOac irdvra rbv crpardv. Kal 'rtpoETCE'Kolrjro yap etcI koIqvov EiriTTjdEg avro) raury TTpoE^kSpT] TiWov TuEVKOv' ETcoiTjaav 6P: 'A^vdijvol^ hrEclafiivov irpd- rspov paailfjog' ivdavra ug i^sro, Karopuv errl TT/g ?'/i6vog eOtjeIto Kal rbv TTE^bv Kal rag vmg- Of^EvuEvog (^i IjiipO?! rwv veuv d/zt?2av yivofiEVTjv Idhdai. etzeI 6' kytvEro te Kal hUov (toivcKsg Itduvcoc VoOtj te T7J d^ilTiTj Kal Ty arpany. 'Qg (S^ (opa Trdvra /ih rbv 'KA?Jjgttovtov virb t&v veijv aTTOKEKpvjLtfihoVf Tzdaag 6h rag uKrag Kal ra 'A/JvJ^vwv TTEdia fTtV/lea dvdp^rruv, hvdavra Aep^^g Euvrbv 168 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. H. I ifiaK&piOE' fiETCL oe TOVTO IddKpvae. Maduv 6k fiiv 'Aprdp^vog (] Trdrpwf, br rb npurov yv^fiTjv aTreSiCaTo e^evdipug ov avjLi3ov?ievuv ^tp^ij arpaTEveadai etvI tijv 'E/lAuJa, ovtoq 'uvijp >dvaL j3()':- lat^ Kal vl mi TCoieicL , Kara^v)) 70V aiuj'o [NT, UT 13. ia'MQ tCTiV, VK. ton nal vrraKo'iOii V TI) otKuy rolq QEolr] avE^y To'v lug t/c Tuv 'AW el h iaTaarrjaEL^ avTi'-iV £A'"j •ijv yfjv, ort f roi'.; Tuv S.— HOMINES ANIMALTBUS CETERIS LONOJE ANTE- CELLUNT. Sophocles. Antig. 334. IIo/i/lo Ta chiva kowUv avdp(07rov deivorepov irtAtr Tovro Kal TToTiiov nepav tcovtov x^i^l^-^pi^fi^ v6t(;) X<^P^'h TTEpL^pyXiOiCIV Tzepidv vtt' oldfxaaLV, 6eo)v te Tav vTrEprdrav, ydv , . d(pdLTOVy dKa/ndrav aTrorptira/, l?i?.ofj,EV(i)v dporpuv ETog elg crog, Itttzeu^ ytvEt TroAEvtov. Kov(pov6a)v te (pvXov opvWuv dfi^c(3a?io)v ay el Kal drjpihv dypiuv eOvt], ttovtov t' ttv:i?iiav (p'vaiv OTTEipaiai 6iKTV0K?MaTmg, TVEpi(ppa6fig dvijp' KpaTEl 6e fiTJXdvalg dypavXov djjpug opEoaipaTUf "kaaiavxEvd 0' lii'Kov E^ETat dfj.(j)i?i.o(pov ^vybv ovpei6i< r' aKfxfJTa Tavpov. Kal (pOtyfia Kal dvE/ndev (ppovr/fxa Kal doTWo/xovg bpydg kdidd^aTo Kal 6vaav?o)v Tzdyuv aldpia Kal (Vvoofil^pa ^EvyEiv /^e?.??, TvavTOTidpog' dizapog ett' ov6ev IpxETat TO fiElXov "Aida fiovov ^EV^lV OVK ETzd^ETai' ^ " v6ao)v 6' durjxdvcov T^v(J' ovK elvai TraZJ' 'AvTiydvrjv, u dvarrjvog fcnl dvari/vov narpbg OiJ^Trdda, ri TTor' ; ov (J// ttov at y arciaTovaav roZf paaikeioiq airayovoi v6/xoig mi iv dippocuvy KaOeMvre^ ; 9.— EX MORIBUS FACTISQUE SUIS INGENUI SUNT JUDICANDI. Eiinpides. Elect, 563. OVK ear' anpL^kq ov6ei> tig evavdpiav ixovai yap Tapayfibv ai (pvaeig (iporuv. r]6r} yap e16ov avdpa yevvaiov narpog TO p7/ 1 iiratir' T''fi, 4 'HM 11 ■f< t^T 172 THE SCIlOOIi SPEAKEU. 'if I \ h i A Ron pays il no fiit jamais traitre, A Tesclavago il resista toujours ; Et sa maxiino est la j)aix, le bien-etro Du Canada, son pays, ses amours. Cna(^uc pays vante sos belles ; .Je crois bien que I'on ne ment pas ; Mais nos (Janadiennes comme elles Ont des graces et des appas. Chez nous la belle est aimable, sincere j D'uno Fran9aise elle a tous les atours, L'air moins coquet, pourtant assez pour plaire. O Canada I mon pays ! mes amours ! O mon pays ! de la nature Vraiment tu fus T enfant cheri ; Mais I'etranger souvent parjure. En ton sein, le trouble a nourri. Puissent tous tes enfants enfin so joindi'e, Et valeureux voler a ton secours ! Car le beau jour deja commence a poind re. O Canada ! mon pays ! mes amoiu's ! HON. G. E. CARTIER. 1.— CHANSON PATEIUTIQUE. Kiches cites, gardez votre opulence : Mon pays seul a des charmes pour moi : Pernier asile oCi regne I'innocence, Quel pays pent se comparer a toi ? Dans ma douce patrie, Je veux tinir ma vie ; iSi Je quittais ces lieux chers a mon coeur, Je m'ecrirais : j'ai perdu le bonheur ! Combien de fois, a 1' aspect de nos belles, L'Europeen demeure extasie ! Si par malheur il les trouve cruelles, Leur souvenir est bien tard oublie. Dans ma douce patrie, Je veux finir ma vie ; Si je quittais ces lieux chers a mon coeur, Je m'ecrirais : j'ai perdu le bonheur I THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 173 Si Ics liivors couvront iios cliamps do glaces L'rto Irs i'li;ni;j;c cii liin})ulos oourjints, Et nos boscjui'ts fn'MjUciites par los gnicos Servont oiicor do rotraito aux ainants. Dans nia douce i)atrie, .)o veiix finir ma vie ; Si JG (juittals CCS lieiix chors a mon ca3ur, Je m'ociii'iiis : j'ai pordu le bonliour ! Oh I mon pays, vois comme TAngletoiTO l^^iit respoctor partoiit ses leopards ; Tu poux braver les fureurs do la guerro, La liborte veillo siir nos remparts. Dans ma douoe patrie, Je veux linir ma vie ; Si je quittais ees lieux cliers a mon co^ur, Je m'ecrirais : j'ai perdu le bonlieur I HON. A. \. :uoiuN. -CHANSON DU BATELIER CANADIEN. f-J {The Canadian Boat Song.) Doucement, doucement, comme tintent los douces cloches (Ui soir, que nos voix gardent 1' accord et nos rames la ca- dence. Bientot, I'ombre des bois noircissant sur la rive, nous chanterons a Sainte-Anne notre hymne de depart. Ramez, freres, ramez ; le courant se precipite, les Raj^ides sont proches, et le jour va palir ! Pourquoi nous faudrait-il deployer notre voile, quand pas une brise ne fait onduler la vague bleue ! mais quand le vent soufflera du rivage, alors doucement nous laisserons reposer nos rames fatiguees. Soufflez, brises, soufflez; le courant se precipite, les Rapides sont proches, et le jour a pali ! P'lot d'Outaouais! cette lune tremblante bientot nous verra flotter sur ta lame ecumeuse ; Sainte de File Verte, ecoute nos prieres : accorde-nous des cieux sereins et des vents favorables! Soufflez, brises, soufflez! le courant se precipite, les Rapides sont proches, et le jour s'est eteint. THOMAS MOORE, m in Kit. 174 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 4.— LA VALLEE D'OVOCA, OU LA RENX'UNTRE DES EAUX. ( The Vale of Ovoca.) il n'est pas dans ce vaste monde de vallee aussi delicieuso que la vallee au sein de laquelle ces eaux brillantes se re- unissent. Oh ! les derniers rayons de sentiment et de vie s'effaceront de mon coeur avant qu'il perde le souvenir de cette contree fleurie ! Cependant ce n'etait point parce que la nature avait re- pandu avec profusion sous ces frais oinbrages son cristal le plus pur, sa verdure la plus fraiche ; ce n'etait pas la douce magie du luisseau ou de la coUinej oh! non, c'etait quelque chose de plus ravissant encore \ C'etait parce que les bien-aimes de mon ame etaient proches que ces lieux enchantes me devenaient si chers. Oh! qui n'a senti ce que les charmes de la nature gagnent a etre reflechis dans lep regards de ce qu'on aime ! Douce vallee d' Ovoca, que j'aimerais a reposer, avec les amis que je cheris le plus, dans ton sein ombrage 1 la expi- reraient les orages q^i nous assiegent en ce monde glace! ia nos cceurs se meleraient, comme tes ondes, dans uii suave repos ! THOMAS MOOUE. 5.— LA HAEPE DE TARA. (" The Harp that once through Tara's lialV) La h3 pe qui jadis versait I'harmonie dans la «?alle de Tara, aujourd'hui pend niuette a ses miirailles, comme si son ame avait fui: ainsi sommeille I'orgueil des anciens jours, ainsi le tressaillement dc la gloire est passe, et les cieurs que faisait palpiter la louange oe battent plus pour elle. La harpe de Tara ne retentit plu3 pour les chefs et h^ brillantes dames. La corde qui se rompt dans le silence do la nuit raconte seule cette histoire de ruine. Ainsi la libeite ne s'eveille plus que rare^f»r.t, et le dernier sanglot d'un noble coeur qui se brise est le seul wigne de vie qu'elle donne encore! THE SCHOOL SPEAKElt. 175 IS MOOUE. 6.— L'ISOLEMENT. (^' Oft in the Stilly mghtJ') SouVent^ p6ildant le calme de la nuit, avant que lo som- meil ait enchaiiie mes sens, la memoire ramene autoiir do moi la lumiore des jours passes, les sourires, les j^leurs de radolescence, les mots d' amour, si chers alors, les yeuxfjui })rillaient, maintenant ternis ou fermes, les ooeurs joyeux (jui ne palpitent plus ! Ainsi, pendant la nuit paisible, avaut que le sommeil ait enchaine mes sens, le triste souvenir evoque les clartes des .iours ecoules. Quand je me rappelle tous les amis que j"ai vus tomber autour de moi, comme les feuilles dans le brouillard d'au- tomne, il me semble parcourir seul la salle deserte des })anquets : les flambeaux sont eteints, les guirlandes sont rtetries, tous les convives ont disparu, tous, excepte moi seul ! Ainsi, pendant la nuit paisible, avant que le sommeil se soit appesanti sur moi, le triste souvenir evoque les pales lueurs des jours qui ne sont plus! THOMAS MOORK. T.— ORIGINE DE LA LANGUE FRANOALSE. Quand les Romains conquirent la Gaule, leur sejour et lours lois y donnerent d'abord la preeminence a la langue 1:1 tine ; et quand les Francs leur succrHlf'rent, la religion cla-etienno, qui jetait ses fondements dans ceux de la inonarchie, contirma cette preeminence. On parla latin a la cour, dans les cloitres, dans les tribunaux et dans les ecoles ; mais les jargons ;t«tZ ct le jn'ovenral. Des princes s'exercerent clans Tun et Tautre, et c'est aussi dans I'un et I'autre cj(ue furent d'abord ecrits les romans do chevalerio et les petits poemes du temps. Du cute du midi tiorissaient les Troubadours, et du cote du nord les 7Voih veiirs. Ces deux mots, qui au fond n'en font qu'un, expii- ment assez bien la physionomie des deux langues. 8i le pipven(;al, qui n'a que des sons pleins, eut prevalu, 11 aurait donne au frangais Feclat de I'espagnol et de Tita- lien ; mais le midi de la France, toujours sans capital et sans roi, ne put contenir la concurrence du nord, et 1' in- fluence du patois picard s'accrut avec T influence de la cou- ronne. C'est done le genie clair et methodique de ce jargon, et sa prononciation un peu gourde, qui dominent aujourd'hui dans la langue fran9aise. Mais quoique cette nouvelle langue eut ete adoptee par la cour et la nation, et que des I'an 1260 un auteur italien lui eut trouvA assez de charmes pour la preferer a la sienne, cependant I'eglise, I'universite et les parlements la repous- serent encore, et ce ne fut que dans le seizieme siecle qu'on lui accorda solcnnellement les lionneurs dus a une langue legitimee. rivarol. 8.— L'HISTOIRE. Le sort des nations, comme une mor profonde, A ses ecueils caches et ses gouflres mouvants. Aveugle qui ne voit, dans les destins du monde, Que le combat des tlots sous la lutte des vents. Un souffle immense et fort domine ces tempetes. Un rayon du ciel plonge a travers cette nuit. Quand I'homme aux cris de mort mele le cri des fetes, Une secrete voix parle dans ce vain bruit. Les siecles tour-a-tour, ces gigantesques freres, Differents par leur sort, somblables dans leurs vceux, Trouvent un but pareil par des routes contraires, Et leurs fanaux divers brillent des memes feux. ' I Muse ! il n'eisi point de temps que tes regards n'emlu'a.iKGiit: Tu suis dans I'avenir leur cercle solennel ; Car les jours, et les ans, et les siecles ne tracent Qu'un sillon passager dans le fleuve eternel. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 177 u BouiTeaux, n'en doutez pas, n'cn doutez pas, vic-tinies ! EUe porte en tons lieux son immortol flambeau, Plane au sommet des monts, plongo au fond des abime«, Et souvent fonde un temple oii m'in(|uait iin tombeaii. EUe apporte leur palmo aux heros qui suocombont, I)u char des conqiierants brise le Irele essioii, Marche en revant au bi-uit des empires qui tomberit, Et dans tons les chemins montre le pas de Dieu ! Du vieux palais des temps elle pose le faite ; Les siecles a sa voix viennent se reunir ; Sa main, comme un captif honteux de sa dei'aite, Traine tout le jxisse jusque dans Tavenir. Recueillant les debris du monde en ses nauiVagcs, Son ceil de mers en mers suit le vaste vaisseau, Et salt voir tout ensemble, aux deux bornes des ages, Et la premiere tombe et le dernier berceau ! VICTOR HUGO. 9. -ADIEUX DE MARIE STUART. Adieu, charmant pays de France Que je dois tant cherir ! Berceau de mon heureuse enfance, Adieu I te quitter, c'est mourir ! Toi que j'adoptai pour patrie, Et d'ou je crois me voir bannir, Entends les adieux de Marie, France, et garde son souvenir. Le vent souffle, on quitte la plage, Et, peu touche de mes sanglots, Dieu, pour me rendre a ton rivage, Dieu n'a point souleve les flots ! Lorsqu'aux yeux du peuple que j'aime Je ceignis les lis eclatants, II applaudit au rang supreme Moins qu'aux charmes de mon printemps. En vain la grandeur souveraine M'attend chez le sombre Ecossais 5 Je n'ai desire d'etre reine Que pour regnei* sur des Fran^ais. m 'f N 1 .t' i Mil ill: 1 1. i ! 1 '"'1 i ni f: 178 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. L' amour, la gloire, le genie Ont trop enivre mes beaux jours ; Dans I'inculte Caledonie De mon sort va changer le cours. He las ! un presage terrible A livre mon coeur a I'eftroi : J'ai cru voir, dans un songe horrible, Un echafaud dresse pour iioi ! France, du milieu des alarmes, La noble lille des Stuarts, Comme en ce jour qui volt ses larmes. Vers toi tournera ses regards. Mais, las I le vaisseau trop rapide Doja vogue sous d'autres cieux, Et la nuit, dans son voile humide, Derobe tes bords a mes yeux ! Adieu ! cliarmant pays de France Que j'e dois tant cherir 1 Berceau de mon heureuse enfance. Adieu I te quitter, o'est mourir ! BRUANCKH. 10.— MONARCITIE ET GOUVERNEMENT POPULAIRE, CorneiUe, Cinna, II. I. Si TamoTU' du pays doit ici prevaloir, C'est son bien seulement que vous devcz vouloir ; Et cette liberte, qui lui semble si chere, N'est pour Rome, seigneur, qu'un bien imaginaire, Plus nuisible qu' utile, et qui n'approche pas De celui qu'un bon prince apporte a ses etats : Avec ordre et raison les honneurs il dispense, Avec discernement punit et recompense, Et dispose dt tout en juste possesseur, Sans rien precipiter de peur d un successeur. Mais quand le peuple est maitre, on n'agitqu'en tumultc'; La voix de la raison jamais ne se consulte ; Les honneurs sont vendus aux plus ambitieux, L'autorito livree ?ux plus seditioux. BRUANOKK. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 179 Ces petits souverains qu'il fait pour une annee, Voyant d'uii temps si court leur puissance bornee Des plus heureux tlesseins font avorter le fruit, De peur de le laisser a celui que les suit ; Comme ils ont peu de part aux biens dont lis ordonnent, Dans le champ du public largement ils moissonnent, Assures que chacun leur pardonne aisement, Esperant a son tour un pareil traitement. 11.— MENTIR EST UN ODIEUX VICE. Montaigne^ Essais, I. 9. En vorite le mentir est un mauldict vice : nous ne sommes liommes, et ne nous tenons les uns aux aultres que par la [)!irole. Si nous en cognoissons Thorreur et le poids, nous le poursuivrions a feu plus justement que d' aultres crimes. Je trouve qu'on s'amuse ordinairemcnt a chastier aux en- fants des erreurs innocent es, tres mal a propos, et qu'on les tourmente pour des actions temeraires qui n'ont ny impressioii ny suitte. La menterie seule et, un peu au dessoubs, I'opiniastrete, me semble estre celles desquelles on. debvroit a toute instance combattre la naissance et le progrez ; elles croissent quand et eulx : et depuis qu'on a donne ce fauls train a la langue, c'est merveille combien 11 est impossible de Ten retirer: par ou il ad v lent que nous veoyonsdes honnestes hommes d'ailleurs, y estre subjects et asservis. Si, comme la verite, le mensonge n'avoitqu'un visage, nous serious eiimeilleurs termes ; car nous prendrions pour certain I'oppose de ce que diroit le menteur-, mais le revers de la verite a cent mille figures ct mi champ indetiny. 12.— LES DEUX PEDANTS. MouERE (Les Femmes Savantes, act. 111, sc. 5.) Trissotin, Vadius, Philaminte {cest cJiez Philamfnfe, fcmme bel-espritj que se soni rencontres les deux Ftdants.) Trias. Vos vers ont des beautes que n'ont point tous les autres. Vad. Les Graces et Venus regnent dans tous les votres. Tiiss. Vous avez le tour libre et le beau choix des mots. Vad. On voit partout chez vous Vithou et \q ^^aihos. 'If II lU ir- U^: ISO THE SCHOOL SPEAKEIl. Triss. Nous iivoiis vu do vous des eglogues d'uii siyla Qui i^asse en doux attaits Theocrite et Virgilo. Vad. Vos odes ont un air noble, galant et doux, Qui laisse de bien loin voire Horace apres vous. Trifis. Est-il rien d'amoureux comme vos chansonnettes ? Fad. Peut-on voir rien d'egal aux sonnets que vous faitos? THss. Rien qui soit plus charmant que vos petits rondeaux? Fad. Kien tie si plein d'esprit que tous vos madrigaux? 7';is'.s*. Aux ballades sin-tout vous etes admiral)le. Vad. Et dans les bouts-rimos Je vous trouve adoral jle. 7V/.y5. Si la France pouvait connaitre votre prix, Vad. »Si le siecle rendait Justice aux beaux esprits, Triss'. En carosse dore vous iriez par les rues. Vad. On verrait le public vous dresser des statues. (A 2V/.s\s'.) Ifom ! c'est une l)allade, et je veux que tout net Vous ni'en. . . . a Vad. Avez-vous vu certain petit sonnet iSur la tievre qui tient la princcsse Uranie ? ( )ui. Ilier il me fut lu dans une compagnie. Vous en savez I'auteur ? Non ; mais je sais fort bien Qu'a ne le point flatter, son sonnet ne vaut rien. Beaucoup de gens pourtant le trouvent admirable. Cela n'empeche pas qu'il ne soit miserable ; Et, si vous I'avez vu, vous serez de mon gout. Je sais que la-dessus je n'en suis point du tout, Et que d'un tel sonnet peu de gens sont capal)le,s. Me preserve le ciel d'en faire de semblables ! Je soutiens qu'on ne pent en faire de meilleur ; Et ma grande raison, c'est que j'en suis I'auteur. Vous? Triss. Moi. Je ne sais done comment se fit 1' affaire. C'est qu'on fut malhem*eux de ne pouvoir vous plalre. II faut qu'en ecoutant j'aie eu I'esprit distrait, Ou bien que le lecteur m'ait gate le sonnet. Mais laissons ce discours, et voyons ma ballade. La ballade, a mon gout, est une chose fade : Ce n'en est plus la mode ; elle sent son vieux temp*. La ballade pourtant charme beaucoup de gens. Cela n'empeche pas qu'elle ne me deplaise. Elle n'en reste pas pour cela plus mauvaise. Elle a pour les pedants de merveilleux appas. Cependant nous voyons qu'elle ne vous plait pas. Vous donnez sottement vos qualites aux autres. {lis se Itvent.) Triss. Vad. Triss. Vad. Triss. Vad. Triss. Vad. l^riss. Vad. Vad. Triss. Vad. Ti'iss. Vad. Triss. Vad. Triss. Vad. Triss. ■wiwf;«h« THE SCHOOL speaker. 181 Vad. Fort impertinemmcnt vous me jetez les votres. Triss. Allez, petit grimaud, barbouilleur de papier. Vad. Allez, rimeur de balle, opprobre du metier. Triss. Allez, fripier d'ecrits, iiiipudent plagiaire. Vad. Allez, cuistre Philaminte. He ! messieurs, que pretendez-vous faire ? 'Diss, a Vad. Va, va restituer tous les honteux larcins Que reclament sur toi les Grecs et les Latins. Vad. Va, va-t-en faire amende honorable au Parnasso B'avoir fait a tes vers estropier Tforace. Triss. Souviens-toi de ton livre et de .son peu de bruit. Vad. Et toi, de ton libraire a I'liopital reduit. Triss. Ma gloire est etablie, en vain tu la dechires. Vad. Qui, Oui, je te renvoie a I'auteur des satires. Triss. Je t'y renvoie aussi. Vad. J'ai le contentement Qu'on voit qu'il m'a traite plus honorablement. 11 me donne en passant une atteinte legere Parmi plusieurs auteurs qu'au palais on revere ; Mais jamais dans ses vers il ne te laisse en paix, Et Ton t'y voit partout etre en butte a ses traits. Triss. C'est par la que j'y tiens un rang jjIus honorable : II te met dans la foule, ainsi qu'un miserable ; 11 croit que c'est assez d'un coup pour t'accabler : Et ne t'a jamais fait Fhonneur de redoubler : Mais il m'attaque a part comme un noble ad versa ire Sur qui tout son effort lui semble necessaire 5 Et ses coups, contre moi redoubles en tous lioux, Montrent qu'il ne se croit jamais victorieux. Vad. Ma plume t'apprendra quel homme je puis etre. Triss. Et la mienne saura te faire voir ton maitrc. Vad. Je te defie en vers, prose, grec et latin. Triss. He bien ! nous nous verrons seul a seul chez Barbin. PART VI. DIALOGUES 1.— IIA^ILET'S INSTRUCTIONS TO THE PLAYERS. I'ri I III CHARACTERS: — HAMLET AND THE PLAYERS. Hamlet. Speak the r.p«,ech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, tripj3ingly or the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus : but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- ness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise : I would have such a fellow whipped for out-doing Termagant ; it out herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. Players. I warrant your honor. Hamlet. Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discre- tion be your tutor ; suit the action to the word, the word to the action 5 with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature : for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as ' twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressui'e, Now this, overdone, or come tardy ofi", though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the Judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, overweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and that highly — not to speak it profanely, that neither having the accent of Christians; nor the gait of Chiistian, Pagan, nor man, have THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 183 po strutted, and bellowed, that I liave thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. Player. I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us. Hamlet. O, reform it altogether. And let those that ]»lay your clowns speak no more than is set down for them : for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered : that's villanous : and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Shakspeare's Hamlet. m 2.— SHYLOCK LENDING HIS DUCATS. CHARACTERS : — SHYLOL'K, BASSANIO, AND ANTONIO. Ba^s. Canst thou lend three thousand ducats Jew ? i^hy. Three thousand ducats, — well ! Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. Shy. For three months, — well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and An- tonio bound. lie is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? Shy. Ho, no, no, no. My meaning, in saying he is a good man, is to have you understand me that he is sufhcient. Yet his means are in supposition. He hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies 5 I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England ; and other ventures he hath squandered abroad. But ships are but boards 5 sailors but men. There be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves ; I mean pirates ; and then there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient : — three thousand ducats ; I think, I may take his bond. Bass. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured I may ; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with us. Shy. Yes, to smell pork and eat it! Ba! I will buy 184 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. with you, soil ^vith you, talk with you, and walk with you ; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. — What news on the Rialto ? [Enter Antonio. — Who is he conies hero? Bass. This : « Signior Antonio. Shy. [Aside.'!i IIow like a fawning publican he looks ! 1 hate him, lor he is a Christian ; But more, lor that in low simplicity lie lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch hiin once upon the hip, 1 will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails. Even there where merchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest. Om-iSftd be my tribe If I forgive him. Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? Shy. I am debating on my present «tore | And, by the near guess of my memory, I cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats : what of that ? Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. Will furnish me. To Antonio. Rest you fair, good signior ; Your worship was the last man in our mouths. Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow. Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend, I'll break a custom. Shy. Methought you said, you neither lend nor borrow upon advantage. Ant. I never do it. Bass. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you ? Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft. On the Rialto, you have rated me About my moneys and my usances : Still have I born it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog. And spit upon my Jewish gabardine; And all for use of that wdiich is mine own. Well, then, it now appears you need my help : . Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say, " Shylock, we would have nioneys :'' you say so 5 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 185 You, that did void your ilioum upon my board. And tbotine, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your thresholtl : moneys is yoiu- suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, *' Hath a dog money? Is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" (.)r Shall I bend low, and, in a bondsman's key, With bated breath, and whispering humbleness. Say this : — '' Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurned me such a day ; another time You called me dog; and for these courtesies, I'll lend you this much moneys?" Anf. I am as like to call thee so again, To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends — But lend it rather to thine enemy ; Who, if ho break, thou mayst with better face Exact the penalty. Shi/. Why, look you how you storm! I would be friends with you, and have your love, Forgot the shames that you have stained me with. Supply your present wants, and take no doit Of usance for my moneys 5 and you'll not hear me. This is kind I offer. Ant. This were kindness. Shi/. This kindness will I show : — Go with me to a notary, seal mo there Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, If you repay me not on such a day, In such a place, such sum or sums as are Expressed in the condition, let the forfeit Be nominated for a equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. Ant. Content, in faitli ; And sav, there is much kindness in the .lew! Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me. J'd rather dwell in my necessity. Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it : Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this l)ond. . 1' II I I m ■il:m <*>, ^. ^ - .,.>^ -^^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. 1.0 !f I.I 1^ 1^ ■^ IM U£ Ki |2.2 y^ lllll^ IS ■^ |||M 1. ^ WUu 11 = 1 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► V] <^ 7W /A y Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. )4i80 (716) 872-4503 A TT m i 186 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Shy. father Abraham ! what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealings teach them to suspect The thoughts of others! — 'Pray you, tell me this: If he should break his day, what should I gain By the exaction of the forfeiture ? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, Is not so estimable, profitable neither, As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, To buy his favour, I extend this friendship : If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu. Ant. Yes, Shy lock, I wall seal unto this bond. Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's j Give him direction for this merry bond. And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; And presently I will be with you. Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. — lExit Shylod: In this there can b© no dismay : My ships come home a month before the day. Shakspeare's Merchant of Venice, 3.— SHYLOCK DEMANDING HIS BOND. CHARACTERS :- M -THE DUKE, SHYLOCK, BASSANIO, SALAR:^in, AND ANTONIO. Duke. What, is Antonio here? Antonio. Eeady, so please your Grace. I)uke. I am sorry for thee ; thou are come to answer A stony adversary, an unhuman wretch, uncapable of pity- Void and empty from any dram of mercy. Go one and call the Jew into the Court. Salarnro. He is ready at the door : he comes, my Lord. Enter. — ShyloCk . 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' It 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, M id. iswer of pity, y Lord, face,— THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 187 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 his losses. That have of late brought down such ruin on him, Enough to press a royal mercliant down 5 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. I have possess' d your grace of what I purpose ; And by our holy sabbath have I 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' 4 +0 give ten thousand ducats To have it bar^.^ V '"hai.. are you answer'd yet ? Bassanio. This is aiv. ansv^'^er, 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 the main flood bate his usual height ; You may as well use question with the wolf. Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb. As try to melt his Jewish heart to kindness. Bass. For thy three thousand ducats, here are six. Shy. I fev'ry ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and ev'ry 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. Salar. But surely thou wilt not take his flesh? What's that good for? Shy. If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He had disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million ! laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies 1 And what's his reason? I am a Jew I Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a Jew hands ? organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? Is he not fed with the same :i-i: it ii.' ~ 188 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the, same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and coolod by the same summer and winter, as a Christian is ? If you stab us, do we not bleed ? If you tickle us, do we not laugh ? If you poison us, do we not die ? and if you wroiitr us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the resi: we will resemble you in that ! If a Jew wrong a Christian! what is his humility ? Ilevenge. If a Chi'istian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? Why revenge ? The villainy, you teach me I will execute : and it will go hard but I will better the instruction yon give m.e ! Siiakspeare's Merchant of Venice. !.[■ m It m list 4.— CHIEF JUSTICE GASCOIGNE TO KING HENRY \ Chief Justice. If the deed were ill, Be you contented, wearing now the garland, * To have a son set your decrees at naught ; To pluck down justice from your awful bench 5 To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person : Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workings in a second body, f Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; Be now the father, and propose a son : Hear your own dignity so much profaned, See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, Behold yourself so by a son disdain' d ; And then imagine me taking your part. And in your power soft silencing your son. Henry V. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well : Therefore, still bear the balance and the sword : And I do w*ish your honours may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak my father's words ; — ^^ Happy am I, that have a man so bold. That dares do justice on my proper son : And not less happy, having such a son, * i.e. tho crown, t That is, would you be satisfied for your represen- tative in the state to be rudely treated '! THE SCHOOL SPFAKER. 189 That would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice." You did commit me ; For which, I do commit into thy hand The unstain'd sword that you have us'd to bear ; With tnis remembrance, — That you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ; You shall be as a father to mv vouth : My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ; And I will stoop and humble my intents i To your well-practis'd wise directions. Shakspeare's llcnry IV. )ur repreicn- 5.— WOLSEY HEARING OF EIIS DOWNFALL. CHARACTERS: — CARDINAL WOLSEY AND SIR THOMAS CROMWELL. Wolsey. I am able now, methinks. To endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad ? Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the king. Wol. God bless him ! Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen liOrd Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden : But he's a learred mm. May he continue Long in his highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience 5 that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! What more ? Crom. That Cranmer is return" d with welcome, JnstalPd lord archbishop of Canterbury. Wol. That's news indeed. Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, Whom the king had in secrecy long married, This day was view'd 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. Crom- [wtU, r T' i 'i; A !, 190 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 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 honors, 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 have told him What, and how true thou art ; he will advance thee j 8ome 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 thy own future safety. Crom. O, my lord, Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego So good, so noble and so true a master ? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron. With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord, — The king shall have my service ; but my prayers For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. Siukspeare's Henry VIII. 6.— WOLSEY'S DEATH AND CHARACTER. CHARACTERS : A NOBLE AND GRIFFITH. mi ! t m IIP 1 1^^ »(:. 1 -If p'^lu^pfl - i Noble. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st mc That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead ? Griffith. I did, but yet I think your grace, Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to it. Nob. Prythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : If tfJt'Z/, he slept before me, happily, For my example. Griff. Well, as the voice goes, truly ; For after the stout earl of Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward (As a man sorely tainted * ) to his answer, He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill He could not sit his mule. * Tainted— Attainted. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 191 Xob. Alas, poor man ! Grijf. At last, with easy roads he came to Leicester, Lodged in the abbey 5 where the reverend abbot With all his convent, honourably received him ; To whom he gave these words : " O father Abbot^ An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye -, Give him a little enrth for charity ! " So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness Pursued him still ; and three nights after this, About the hour of eight (which he himself Foretold should be his last) full of repentance, Continual meditations, tears and sorrows, Jle gave his honours to the world again. His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace, Xob. So may he rest, his faults lie buried with him ! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, And yet with charity ; he was a man Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking ' Himself with princes : o?.ie that by suggestion Tied all the kingdom ; simony was fan- play -, His own opinion was his law. I'th' presence He would say untruths 5 and he ever double Both in his words and meaning. He was never (But where he meant to ruin), pitiful : His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; But his performance, as he now is, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and gave The clergy ill example. Griff. Men's evil manners live in brass, their vn-tues We write in water. May it please your highness. To hear me speak his good now ? ' Nob. Yes, good Griffith ; I were malicious else. Griff. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashioned to much honour from his cradle. He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. And, though he was unsatisfied in getting, (Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, truly, He was most princely ; ever witness for him ^m h L . ,11 ( 192 'I'HE SCHOOL SPEAKER. TI108C twills in loiUDiiig that lie raised in you, Ipswich and Oxibrd I one of wliich fell with liirn Unwilling to outlive the good he did it ; ' The other, though unHnisJKHl, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so i-ising, That Christendom shall ever si)eak his virtue. His overthrow lieaped happiness u])on him ; For then, and not till then, he felt MmffeJj] And found the blessedness of being little': And, to add greater honoui's to his ngc Than man could give him, he died iearing (jod. X(jb. After my death I wish no otliei' herald No othei' speaker of my living actions, To keep my honour from coi-ruption, But such an honest chronicler as Gritlith. Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, — 'With thy I'eligious truth and modesty, — Now in his ashes honour. J^eacc be with him ! Suaksi>eare's Ileiirt/ VIIL ".— DA VID'.S INTJtKVlEW WITH KINCJ SAUL. 1/' CHlRAOrEKS -Sauj. (dimified and dhfrus/J'nJ), Abxek, David Oneefc and catncsi.) It ^ hut in Darid. Hail, mighty King! Abnei-. Behold youi- champion here ! Saul. Art thou the youth, whose high heroic zeal Aspires to meet this giant son of Anak? Dacid. If so the king permit. Saul. Impossible ! Why, what experience has thy youth of arms ? Where, stripling, didst thou learn the trade of war ? Beneath what hoary veteran hast thou served ? What feats hast thou achieved — what daring deeds? Hast thou e'er scaled the citj'-'s rampart wall. Or hurled the missile dart, or learned to poise The warrior's dreadful spear? The use of targe, Of helm and buckler, is to thee unknown. David. Arms I have seldom seen. I little know Of war's proud discipline. The trumpet's clang. The shock of charging hosts, the embattled wall, 1'hc serried phalanx, an\\t thou, O K.ng! thyself wast oner; unknown, Till i'air occasion brought tliy worth to light. 1^ ar higher views now \varm my youthful heart Tiian human i)raise : I s(M'k to vindicate The insulted honour of the God I serve. 'Tis nobly said. 1 love thy spii-it, youtl), ]hit dare not trust thy in<'Xp■ i. ■ f.Jl t ^1-ij, l i'.i 198 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Pyth. Tears have a quality of manhood in them, When shed for what we love. Damon. I bade him say, That half my fear for her, and my young boy, As to their future fate, was banished. In the full certainty I felt of all The care and kindness thou wilt have of them. Fyth. That was a true thought, Damon. Damon. I know it, Pythias — Pyth. Didst thou not say It was thy desire to look upon Thy wife and child. Damon. Oh, yes, good Pythias. Pyth. Good Procles, Lead me at once to Dionysius — Enter Dionysius. Behold me, Dionysius, at thy feet ! As thou dost love thy wife, and thy sweet children — Let Damon go and see his wife and child Before he dies — for four hours respite him — Put me in chains — plunge me into his dungeon, As pledge for his return. Do this — but this — And may the gods themselves build up thy greatness As high as their own heaven. Dion. What wonder's this? Is he thy brother? Damon. No, not quite my brother. Not — yes, he is — he is my brother in the heart I Dion. iTo Damon.] Did'st urge him on To this? Pyth. By the gods, no ! Dion. And should I grant Thy friend's request, leaving thee free to go, Art thou quite sure that thou wilt come and ransom him, At the imminent time ? Damon. Sure of it ? Hearest thou. Heaven ? The emptiest things reverberate most sound. And hollow hearts have words of boisterous promise. I can say only — I am sure I Dion. 'Tis granted. How far abides thy wife from hence ? Damon. Four leagues. r THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 199 :h:; Dion. For six hours we defer thy death. And the sixth hour See that stand' st not far from him. Away ! Damon. Farewell, Pythias 1 Pl/th. And farewell, Damon ! Not a word upon it. Speed thee. What, tears ? Forbear. Damon. I did not think To shed one tear — but frendship lik3 to thine — Pj/th. Farewell! Come, officer. Damon. I pray thee, Procles, Give mc the testament thou had'st of me. [Pkoclk.s (jives it him. Pythias, thy hand again. Pvthias, farewell ! Fyth. Farewell! [Exit Damon, Pythias and Proclhs, Dion. 0, by the wide world, I did not think the heart of man was moulded To such a purpose, I'll visii Pythias in his dungeon, and get me A deep disguise. If they should triumph, (browns are nothingness. Glory is sound — and grandeur, poverty ! [Exil. A Prison — The door of Pythias^ uiuvjeon. Enter Dionysius. Dion. My lord Pythias I Pyth. {within) How now ? Who calls me ? Dion. A friend, Pythias. The time is precious — haste, And follow me. Enter Pythias. Ptjth. Where do you lead me ? Dion. I come To serve and succour thee. Pyth. And who art thou, And how can'st succour me ? Dion. I dwell beneath the tyrant's roof, and learn'd by accident Tliis fell determination— ha hath resolved — Pyth. My Life !— liii- fir ^^ TT }■:>: : I 200 !riiE SCHOOL speaker. mi ^i'SJ/ I'l E< ;il! II M i. i 1^1 'if Dw/i. Thy Life !— Ere this, he hath despatch' d some twenty men To intercept thy friend, on his approach To meet and ransom thee. Pi/th. Oh, Damon. Dion. He not arriving at the ajipointed hour, Thy Hfe is forfeited. Pyih. Oh! Damon I had hop' d That one or other of us could have liv'd. No matter. Dion. Pythias, I am come to save thee. Pyth. What dost thou mean ? Dion. Urg'd by my pity for such no})le friends. So trusting and betray' d — I have provided in the port of Syracuse A good quick-saihng ship — yonder she hes. Her sails already spread before the breeze. PyiL Hold. By all tiie gods, In awful reverence sworn, I would not cheat My honour ! Dion. How? Pi/th. Dost thou not know the tyrant spar'd his life, On the security I gave for him : Stand I not here his pledge ? Dion. (Aside.) 'Tis wonderful! His brow is fix'd ; his eye is resolute. [To Pyth.] Dost thou know The Tyrant doth break faith with thee. And Damon cannot come to be thy ransom. Pi/th. I have heard it. But having heard it, I still may hold it false. No slight contingency Should push us a mere point from any pledge Of manliness and lionour. Yet would I live. But not dishonour'd — Still, he may return ! May ! may ! — That word ends all ! — Death looks but grimly, And the deep grave is cheerless — yet I do — I do prefer the certainty of death Unto the possibility of dishonour 1 Dion. Behold ! behold ! (Pointing towards the window.) The good ship hath her streaming signal out ! look at freedom, Pythias, look at it I !fHfi SCHOOL SPEAKEK. How beautiful it is upon the sea 1 See, they approach ! dost hesitate? Puth. No ! no ! so help me heaven !— 'Tis hard ! It plucks my heart up — but, no ! no ! 201 A public place in Syracuse— A Scaffold with steps ascending to it, Calanthe. (Affianced to Pythias.) ( Without.) There's no power Shall stay me back ! I must behold him die. Then follow him ! Enter Dionysius, still in disguise. Ha ! are you come ? That Damon would not come. — The selfish traitcf I The traitor Damon ! Dion. Hark thee, Calanthe ! It was an idle tale I told to thee ! Cal. I do not ask thee why thy tale was fram'd— Fram'd in thy cold deliberate cruelty — But only this — one question: — May he yet — May Damon yet return ? Dion. He may — he is As free to come, or stay, as are the winds. Cal. AndDionysius withholds him not? Dion. He does not. Cal. And yet he comes not! Procles enters loith Pythias. Cal. 0, my Pythias, He yet may come I Pyth. Calanthe, no! — Remember That Dionysius hath prevented it. Cal. That was an idle tale of this old man, And he may yet return. Pyth. May yet return? Speak ! — How is this ? Return ? — life how strong Thy love is in the hearts of dying men I But did'st say the tyrant would prevent His coming back to Syracuse ? 9 'i 202 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Dion. I wrong' d him. Fyth. Ila ! were it possible ? — may he yet come ? CaL Into the sinews of the horse that bears him Put swiftness, gods ! — let him outrace and shame The galloping of clouds upon the storm I Pythias, O Pythias ! Pyth. I could have borne to die, Unmov'd by Dionysius — but to be torn Green from existence by the friend I lov'd, — No, no I I wrong thee Damon, by that half thought — Shame on the foul suspicion 1 Heaven has flung some obstacle in his way To keep him back, and lets me die v;ho am Less worthy, and the litter. Froc. Pythias advance ! CaL No, no ! why should he yet? The time is not yet— JJion. Your duty, officer. Pyth. Damon, I do forgive thee ! — I but ask Some tears unto my ashes ! — [A shout is heard. Pythias leaps up on the scaffold. What do I see ! A horse, and horseman ! F'ar upon the hill They wave their hats, and he returns it — ye'i I know him not — his horse is at the stretch ! O, life, I scarcely dare to wish for thee. And yet — that jutting rock has hid him from me — No ! — let it not be Damon ! — he has a wife And child ! Gods ! keep him back I Damon. [Without.l Where is he? [//e rushes in, and stands for a moment, looldmj round. Hal He is alive ! untouched ! Pyth. The gods do know I could have died for him, And yet I dared to doubt — But he faints ! Damon, my dear friend ! Damon. Where am I? Have I fallen from my horse? That I am stunn'd, For mercy's sake, Stay me not back — he is about to die ! Pythias, my friend ! Unloose me, villain, or You will find the might of madness in mine arm ! [Sees Pythias.] Speak to me — let me hear thy voice — Pi/ih. My friend ! THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 203 Damon, It pierc'd my brain, and rush'd into my heart There's lightning in it ! That's the scaffold— there The block — the axe — the executioner ! And here he lives — I have him in my soul ! Pyth. Oh Damon ! Damon. Oh Pythias, let me grasp thy manly hand — It is an honest one, and so is mine — They are fit to clasp each other ! Pyth. Would that my death could have preserv'd thee ! Damon. Pythias, Even in the very crisis to have come To have hit the very forehead of old Time I Had I arriv'd an hour before, I should not feel this agony of joy, This triumph over Dionysius ! But tell me, slaves, Where is your tyrant ! Let me see him now. Wliy stand he hence aloof? Where is your master? Wha t is become of Dionysius ? I would behold, and laugh at him. [Dionysius advances hefween Damon and Pythias, (Damon being on the scaffold) and throws off his disyuise. Dion. Behold me ! Damon and Pyth. How ? Dion. Stay your admiration for a while. Till I have spoken my commandment here. Go, Procles, and bid a hearld cry Wide through the city, from the eastern gate Unto the most remote extremity. That Dionysius, tyrant as he is. Gives back his life to Damon. {Exit Procles. Pyth. How, Dionysius? Speak that again. Dion. I pardon him. Pijth. 0, Gods! You give his life to Damon ? Dion. Life and freedom. [Damon remains mute with astonishment upon the scaffold. Pyth. O, Dionysius ! O, my sovereign ! Life And freedom ! Let me fall down at your feet And open all the sluices of my heart, In one wild gush of weeping gratitude ! 0, Damon. [Damon still continues motionless. '' 1 Mil IS rl w w •?■' 204 THS SCHOOL SPEAKER. v ! HHI ii' '. ''''-f. '■[■■'.''1 u- - ■SI i : ! !?. Dion. Almighty virtue, Now do I own and worship thee ! How, Damon, is it with thee ? C'ome, descend, Let me conduct thee from this place of death, Into the bosom of your friend. Fyth. O, Damon ! Damon. Pythias — good Dionysius — no, I cannot — Lend me your hand, good Pythias — I could weep. [T/im/ take each other's hands, and remain looking at each other.] Dion. Pythias, 'twas I that visited your dungeon. To put your faith unto the test. But here is The loveliest face that ever yet was worn By consolation ! Enter Calanthe. Cal. my Pythias. Pyth. Thou hast lieard all? Cal. Yes — through the city a loud voice goes forth Of love, and life, and holy gratitude. And piety, and exultation. Damon. I did not yet, In the wild wonder of recover' d life, Appreciate the blessing, but it rushes Now, full and deep, in one wide gush of joy. Dion. Damon and Pythias, You have rewarded me. 1 now begin To taste of pleasures never touch'd before — ■ Perfect the work you have begun — And I myself, by the continued light Of your example, may at last essay To tread such wondrous ways of virtue with you ! SHiEL AND bainim's Damon and Pythias. 11.— A SCENE FROM PIZARRO. characters : — ALONZO rolla, sentinel and soldiers. Alonzo in chains. A Sentinel walking near. Enter a Soldier — shows a passport to the Sentinel, who withdraws. Alonzo to Soldier. What bear you there ? Soldier. These refreshments I was ordered to leave n your dungeon, THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 205 3 leave n AL By whom ordered ? Sol. By the lady Elvira. She will bo here herself before the dawn. Al. Bear back to her my humblest thanks; and take thou the refreshments, fi'iend. I need them not. Sol. I have served under you, Don Alonzo. Pardon my saying, my heart pities you. [Exit. Al. In Pizarro's camp, to pity the unfortunate no doubt requires forgiveness. (LooMng out.) I will not watch the coming dawn ; but in the darkness of my cell, my last j)rayer to thee, power supreme ! shall be for my wife and child ! [Exit. A rapping is heard. Sen. Who's there? Answer quickly ! Who's there? Rolla. A friar come to visit your prisoner. {Enter Eolla, disguised as a monk.) Inform me, friend, is not Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon ? Sen. He is. Bol. 1 must speak with him. Sen. You must not. Rol. He is my friend. Sen. Not if he were your brother. Rol. What is to be his fate ? Sen. He dies at sunrise. Rol. Ha 1 then I am come in time. Sen. Just — to witness his death. Rol. Soldier, I must speak with him. Sen. Back ? back ! it is impossible. Rol. I do entreat you, but for one moment. Sen. You entreat in vain. My orders are m^st strict. Rol. Even now, I saw a messenger go hence. Sen. He brought a pass, which we are all accustomed to obey. Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold •, look on these precious gems. In thy own land they will be wealth for thee and thine, beyond thy hope and wish. Take them ; they are thine. Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo. Sen. Away ! Wouldst thou corrupt mo ? me ! an old Castilian ! I know my duty better. Rol. Soldier ! hast thou a wife ? Sen. I have. Rol. Hast thou children ? Sen. Four: honest, living boys. Rol. Where didst thou leave them ? Sen. In my native village ; even in the cot where myself was born. \. II f l\ m II; 1 1J 206 THE SCHOOL srEAKER. EoL Dost thou lovo thy children and thy wife I Sen. Do I love them ! God knows my heart, I do. Rol. Soldier ! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruol death in this strange land 5 what would bo thy last request? Sen. That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children. Bol. Oh ! but if that comrade were at thy prison gate, and should there be told — thy fellow-soldier dies at sunriso, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his wretched wife, what wouldst thou think of him, who thus could drive thy comrade from the door ? Sen. How? Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child. I am come but to receive for her, and for her babe, the last blessing of my friend. Sen. Go in. [Retires. Rol. — Alonzo ! my friend ! Ila ! in gentle sleep ! Alonzo, — rise ! Al. ITow ! is my hour elapsed ? Well I am ready. Rol. Alonzo ! know me. Al. What voice is that ? Rol. 'TisEoUa's. Al. RoUa! my friend! (Embraces Mm.) How couldst thou pass the guard ? Did this habit ? Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar, as I passed our field of battle ; it has gained me entrance to thy dun- geon, now take it thou, and fly. Al. And Rolla's Rol. Will remam here in thy place. Al. And die for me ? No ; never ! Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not RoUo's ; Go ! go ! Alonzo ! Go, to save, not thyself, but Cora and thy child ! Al. Urge me not thus, my friend. I had prepared to die in peace. Rol. To die in peace ! devoting her you've sworn to live for to misery, and death 1 For be assured, the state I left her in forbids all hope, but from thy quick return. Al. Oh, Rolla ! you distract me ! Rol. A moment's further pause and all is lost. The dawn approaches. Fear not for me. I will treat with Pizarro as for surrender, and submission. I shall gain time, doubt THE SCHOOL speaker. 207 not; while thou, with a chosen band, passing tho socrct way, may'st at night return, rolejise tliy iVienci, and bear him back in triumph. Yes, hasten, dear Alonzo. Even now I hear the frantic Cora call thee. Haste 1 haste ! haste ! Al. Rolla, I fear your friendship drives me from honour, and from riglit. Ktd. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his fri(md. AL Oh, my preserver ! {Kmhracing Inm.) liol. I feel thy warm tears dro])})ing on my cheek. Go ; I am rewarded. (Throws the friar's ijarmnit over Alonzo.) Tliere, conceal thy face ; Mnl: r ■ ( m WW. 'I W ^ M m .]- 1 '^ lU. 208 THE SCHOOL SrEAKER. Charles. Well,— I did, — for there's no use in denying it. But what of all that ? Henri/. What of it ? Why, it's mean ; and I am ashamed of you lor it. What harm has Jemmy ever done you? and why do you wisli to ridicule him ? Supposing you were in his situation, would you like it ? Charles. No ; but you are very grave about it. I have no desire to abuse old Jemmy ; why do you think I have ? Henry. If you did not intend to insult him, why did you use such language ? Just tell us that. Charles. Why, I heard John Warner calling after him, and so 1 joined in. Henry. Aha ! You joined in with John, then ; and wliy did John do it ? Charles. Well, you can ask him ; here he comes. Enter John. John. Well boys? What's going on? Who called my name? Henry. Charles and I. We are speaking of Jemmy, and of the insult offered to him by the boys. I had been asking; Charles why he called out after him in the streets j and what do you suppose his answer was ? ; John. Reall}'', I could n't tell; except that he liked the sport of it ! Henry. No ; he denies that. He says he did so because you did ! a great reason, to be sure ! Now, will you tell us why you did it ? John. You seem to be very inquisitive. Do you think there is any harm in having a little fun with old Jemmy ? Henry. John, if j'ou were old Jemmy, would you like it? Come, now, "own it," and be honest. John. Well, I will answer that (question. I should n't have thought about calling after Jemmy, if William Simpson had n't put me up to it. Henry. Indeed ; so here is another confession. Well, now, I should like to ask William, — and here he is, coming fresh from the scene, I suppose, — yes — I'll ask him who coaxed him on. John. Come here, William, and give us your evidence ; wo have a court here. Enter William. William. A court? Well don't try mo hard. But what's the case now ? THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 209 John. Henry wants to ask you a question. William. Well, what is it ? Henry. 0, a very simple one, William. We were speaking of the insults offered by the boys to poor Jemmy. I was asking Charles here, why he called out after him. 1 le says it was because Jolin did it. I asked John his reason, .and ho says you put him up to it. Now, will you tell me why you (lid it? William. 0, I've no particular reason to give. The other boys cry out after him, and so do I, now and then. Henry. There ! now we have the reason of the whole matter. To do it because others do it ; not stopping to ask whether it is right or wrong. Is n't that it ? William. Yes, I suppose so. But why do you speak as if it were of so much importance ? Do you suppose I wish to injure old Jemmy ? Henry. Oh no, William ; I don' t think that ; but you don't believe that such treatment of the unfortunate old man is really right, do you ? William. No, I do not. Henry. Well, now let us see if we cannot learn a lesson here. I remember what our schoolmaster said to Henry Stocker, the other day, when he threw stones, and Henry told him he did so because Joseph White did. '' Supposing Joseph White should tell you to Jump overboard, would you doit?" I thought this a good hit. But that is not all. Many of our bad habits are kept up in this way. One does mischief because another does. One swears because ano- ther does. One drinks, or gambles, or lies, or defrauds, or steals, because another does. You remember the story about the rumseller, who said if he did not sell liquor to make people drunk, somebody else would. So because others sinned, he must. This is a wicked pretence •, and we opght to know it and feel it. We should learn to do a thing because it is right, or not to do it because it is wrong ; no matter what others do, or what they do not. What say you, William, is n't this right? William. I think so. John and Charles. (Both.) And so do I. Henry. Well, just to be winding up our talk, I will recite to you a few verses from Cowper. They present the matter, I think, in a ludicrous light. (All three.) Let's hear them. A ' i! ;:t iiV f f'. m trw 210 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. I"^l: •■» If m •^ m i Henry. " A youngster at school moro soflato tlian tho rest, TTad once his integrity put to tho tost ; ilis comrades had plotted an oi-chard to rob, And asked him to go and assist in tho job. '' Ife was shocked much indeed, and ho answered, '0 no I What I rol) our good neiglihour ! 1 pray you don't go : Besides the man's })Oor, and liis orchard's liis bread ; Then think of his children, for they must bo fed.' '^ ^ You speak very fine, and you look very grave. But ap[)les we want, and apples we'll have ; If you will go with us, you shall have a share ; U not, you shall have neither applo nor poar.' ^^They spoke, and Tom pondered — 'T see they will go 5 Poor man ! what a pity to inj'ui*e him so ! Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if 1 could, But staying behind horo will do him no good. '^ 'If the matter depended alone upon me, liis apples might hang till they diop^jod from the tree ; But since they will take them, I think I'll go too ; ITo will lose none by mo, though I got a few.' '^ His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And wont with his comrades, the apples to seize ; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan — He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man ! " William.. That's a good hit, as you said of your school master. I shall think more of this matter, in time to come. Henry. I trust you will 5 and that Charles and John, and all of us, will be wnse enough in future, just to ask ourselves, when we are prompted to do any thing wrong — not whether others do it — nor whether it is a custom or a fr^shion — nor whether the many or the few approve it ; but whether it is really just and right in itself. When I hear of any better course than this, I will tell you of it 5 and when you do, just send me word. William. I certainly will, Henry ; and I hope we shall all be the better of this talk, ANONYMOUS. \A. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 211 13.— THE SEASONS. roNTMOUS. HY FIVK IIOYS, OK OIKLS. first hoy, or (jirl. If evory stoed, (Now l)ri(llo(l to (|Uiit('rnion woathor,) That \)y gi-adntion brings i\\v vai'yiii<; your, Slioiild hy thy choico l)o yokcMl togcthor And Olio uiialtoi'iiig Soason h>ad, Which should it h(^ ? Wiiit(>i', or Spi-ing, Or SuiniiKM' faiinod l)y Zcyhyr's wing, Or Autumn lair? — Sliould it be Spring? Second. Oh who could hoar Crude infancy from year to yo.ar 5 To SCO tho milky embiyo-shoot Ne'er swell and mellow into fruit ; But dwindle in the germ at last, Despite of care and laboui's past ? Who'd live a constant school-boy's life, For ever rip(*ning, never ri])o ? Oh ! who of mortal tire could liear, , Green infant Spring to rule the year? First. Should it be Summer ? T/iinl. Who would be To Dog-star rays in slavery 5 See Nature languishing for breath, Like a young lion chased to death ? The streams are dry, the evening air EiU'th laps in vain, no dews are there j Entombed, if e'en a Zephyr hies, In her own atoms Nature lies ; If such be Summer, surely none Would bondsmen be to Summer's sun. First. Should it be Autumn ? , . Fourth. Who would choose Perpetual blights and sickening dews, To see the leafy country fade. And Nature deepening shade by shade ? Where'er you move or chance to stray, Some falling leaf to cross your way ? Or glorious harvests all around, Cropped from their stalks desert the ground ? Beset with sickness, storms, and death, Who'd give to her perpetual breath ? .> • wv If H if If ri-h: 212 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. First. Hoar Winter comes to close the train, Shivering with cold, or drenched with rain, Or cramped with frost, or hid with snow, While piping winds around him blow. The sun withdraws, — Storms urge on storm, And Nature's visage quite transform : — If neither Summer, Autumn, Spring, Shall Winter be perpetual king ? Fifth. All fair in their appropriate place, Old age destroys their maiden grace : May each, in happy turn, be mine ! When Spring revolts, may Summer shine ; May she the rule to Autumn yield. Crowned with the honours of the field, And Winter leave behind his bier, The Pha?nix ashes of the year. REV. DK. BREWER. 14.— THE NOBLEST HERO. characters: — MR. Mxm.Y, (the School- Maste)\) am pupils. ' foui Mr. M. Now boys, I promised you a new study for Mon- day, and, as it is Friday, I will give you the subject now. It is — ''What constitutes a True Hero; " and you may, it you choose, give an example of the noblest hero of whom you have ever read. Frank. May we ask our friends about it, or must we find it out for ourselves ? Mr. M. I prefer that you should find out for yourselves. Henry. We may look into books, mayn't we? Mr M, Certainly. Any books which you can find to give you any light upon the subject. JiExit Mr. M.] William. Who under the sun is the greatest hero? I can't guess. John. You're not expected to guess, you're to think. Henry. That's not very hard. I think I know mine already. Frank. I should know mine if I thought Mr. Manly meant what we are thinking of. But I suspect he means more than we think he does. William. Well, come home ; wo can talk it oyer after wards. [Exeunt all. J BREWER. tHE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Enter an elder boy . nd Frank. 21S Frank. Well, Uncle! Uncle. Well, Frank ! what is it ? Frank. Our teacher gave us such a queer subject for our lesson next Monday morning. Uncle. Well, what was it, Frank? Frank. It was, '^ What constitutes a True Hero ;" and I cannot make up my mind 5 and we are not permitted to ask anybody. Uncle, [smiling]. Well, Frank, then I am afraid I can- not help you. Frank, [leans in an attitude of thought ; hut at length exclaims.'^ I have it! I have it! [Exit] Uncle. lam sure I hope he has. lExitJi. Enter Henry and John. Henry. Well, John, have you your hero ? John. Yes, indeed, Henry. It did not take me long to think who I should have. Henry. Well ! where are the others? It seems to me they'll be late if they don't hurry. Enter Frank and William, John, Here they are ! — good day boys I William. Got your hero, John ? John, [slapping his jacket. li Yes, all right; safe here in my pocket. Henry. He must be a precious small hero if he is in that pocket. John. He may turn out bigger than yours ; who knows ? though he is in such a small place. Frank. Yes, John is right ; good goods are often done up in small parcels. Enter Mr. M. Henry. Well, here is Mr. Manly. Mr. M. Good morning, boys ! All. Good morning, sir. Mr. M. I hope your heroes are all chosen* All. Yes, sir; we are all ready. Mr. M. Well, boys, I'll call upon each in turn for his idea of what constitutes a hero, and for your chosen one. Well, William, y )v. may speak first. ^ ■i! : ■if v ^ l'< It ^ 11,, r iti.i 214 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Williant. 1 think, sir, that heroes should have great talents, and should never be afraid of anyone j but should conquer all their enemies. Mr. M. Well, certainly, you are quite right as far as you go ; but have you not forgotten something ? William. I could not think of any other quality, sir. Mr. M. Well ! we will hear what the others say ; but who is your hero ? William. Alexander the Great. Mr M Truly you have chosen a great conqueror ; but I am 'afraid he lacks some qualities which I should wish my hero to have. Now, John, tell us your deiinitiou. John. I think, sir, that a hero should be generous and forgiving ; but, at the same time, firm and undaunted, and should love his country more than his life. And 1 have chosen Wellington. Mr M. Very well, indeed, John, your definition is good, and your choice is a noble one. Now, let us hear Henry. Henry. 1, sii', have chosen Cromwell ; but I fear he is not the right kind of hero, as 1 think he fought for himself quite as much as for liberty. Mr. M. I believe you are right, Henry, though it is a disputed point to settle whether he did all for himself or not. Now, Frank, tell us your thoughts, we have heard all tho rest. Frank. I, sir, thought for a long time over all the heroes of ancient and modern time, but none suited mo; they all wanted something. Then I thought of the Bible verse : ''He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city." I took that as my definition, and I add to it generosity, self-devotion, and, self-sacrifice. Mr M. Truly, Frank, you are right. For [turning to the audience'], ''The noblest Hero of the whole Is he who can himself control." ANONTMOr^ THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 215 ;fe. And I 15.— NECESSITY OF LEARNING SOMETHING DAILY. t as far as ■ characters : — the teacher ; thomas, frank and two other boys. Tliomas. Well 1 there's that sober-face boy, Frank, assure as I'm alive. Reading, too ! He always has a book in his hand. Hallo, Frank, I say ! Come and play with us. We are going to have a game of ball down in the meadow. Hurrah, boys! come along! {Catches Frank Inj the arm.) Come, Frank, down with your book, and let's be ott* to play. Frank. I should like to play with you very much, but I have not time. I must finish my book this afternoon, for I want to help father to morrow. Thomas. O nonsense ! you can come with us. Who'd ever tliink of sitting down to read, such a glorious day .as this? What difference will it make whether you read it or not? Frank. Much difference. What I learn to-day, I shall not to have learn another day •, and, if I use this time, I shall have so much more for learning something else. Why, I am almost fourteen years old, and I do not know how many more years I shall live •, so I want to learn all I can while I have a chance. Thomas. Pooh ! nonsense ! You're getting to be as wise as a judge, and twice as sober. 'Twon't be a year before you'll be putting on a coat and stand-up collar, and a beaver on your head ; and then, I suppose, you'll cut our acquaint- ance. For my part, I'm glad to be out of the sight and hearing of books, for once in my life ; and you won't catch me moping aw\ay my time in vacation, reading. No, not I. Boys together. Nor I, nor I, nor I either. Frank. Well, boys, you can do as you please, and so can I. 1 love to play too, as well as the l3est of you ; but I love to study better. Thomas. O dear ! Well, I can learn enough if I only study in school, without bothering myself with books in vacation. Why, I can say my geography all by heart ; I can cipher pretty well, for a l)oy of my size ; and that's more'n Jack Dolittle can do, though he is the biggest boy in school, and has the most money to spend, and nothing to do at home. Frank. That is nothing, to beat Jack Dolittle. Every body knows that he is lazy. I hope you do not mean to measure your learning by his, do you ? .NONTMOrS ■ ■( .; ' - It- ir^ h-.l; 216 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. J' <' I" I' 111' 'I ■1- 'i: pi m Thomaa. No, indeed, I don't. But I've got time enougli to learn all I want, and I can have a great many games of ball besides. I expect to finish my education by the tinitt I'm twenty. Frank. Finish your education ! Why, if I should live to be as old as Methuselah, I should expect to keep learning something every day. Thomas. Nonsense ! Now, Frank, you don't mean to say that you intend to study when you are a man grown, do you? Why, you'll '4earn out" before that time. Frank. When I have learned all that is worth studying, I shall stop. But when do you think that will be ? Thomas. Well, I suppose in about eight or ten years. likely by the time you are twenty- three or four. That will be time enough in all reason, for you to learn all that cai be of any manner of use to you. Then I think you'll stop, won't you? Frank. No, I expect to keep studying as long as I live. Thomas. Well, you are going to be a wise man, hey ? A judge, or minister, or some other great fellow, I suppose. I always thought you were cut out for a minister, or deacon. Come on, boys. Let's go to play, if he won't, and leave him to dig out his sermon. ( They turn to go, but see their teacher, Mr. Wise, who has come up without being noticed. ) Boys. (To each other in a low tone.) Here's the master. Here's Mr. Wise. Mr. Wise. How, now, boys? What's this? Did I under- stand you to say, Thomas, that Frank is going to preach ? Frank. Oh, he's only trying to make fun of me because I'd rather stay here i,nd read than to play. He says I shall ''learn out" before I'm a man grown. Mr. W. Leam out 1 That is a new idea. Why, here I have been living In, the world these thirty-five years, and like the great Newton, I have only just begun to learn. Thomas. You, sir? Mr. W. Yes. Every day I find new wonders around me, and a great many new things to learn. See here, bo^s 1 Look at this leaf (picking tip one.) Is there not sometlung wonderful in it ? Thomas. Why, no, sir, it's only a little leaf. I see hun- dreds of them ft very day, sir. I don't think there's any- thing wonderful about that. Mr. W. Do you not? Then let me ask you a few questions THE SCHOOL SPEAKER- 217 about it, and see if you can answer them. In the first place, liow docs it grow ? Thomas. "NVhy, I suppose God makes it grow. He can do anything, you know, sir. Mr. W. Yes ; but how does it grow ? Thomas. You might watch it a wliole day, and you could not see it grow. Mr. W. And yet it does grow. How is it ? In what way does it manage to take in its food, and keep itself alive ? Thomas. How funny! You talk just as if the leaf could eat, drink or sleep, like a cat or dog. Mr. W. Why, how funny ! I thought you knew all about it. But I find there is something yet, even in this little leaf, for you to learn. Now this leaf has the power of drink- ing in moisture, which is a part of its real food, and keeps it alive and green. Thomas. How can that be, sir? Mr. W. Do you see these little ribs or veins branching out all over the leaf? These are hollow tubes or pipes, so perfectly constructed that they cany moisture to its very extremity. There are tlie roots, and these have veins that draw up such substances, as are best suited to their tastes. And what is remarkable, they do not take everything that otters itself I but they choose only what will give the plant health and strength. So should it be with boys who read or study. They should single out and remember the good, letting the bad alone. Frank. But we cannot always tell which is good, and which is bad. Mr. W. Very true. And there you may sec the wonder- ful instinct of the plant, which has the power of choosing between the two. If you place a plant in soil containing none of the articles that it likes, it will go without food, and soon die. So your immortal souls will perish, my bo} , if not supplied with the right kind of mental food. Frank. But, can you tell us, sir, something more about the leaf? Mr. W. This leaf is one of the lungs of the plant. Thomas. The lungs of the plant, sir ! Mr. W. Yes, the leaves are the i^lant's organs of breath- ing. Thomas. A plant breathe ! You talk as if it were a real live animal. Do plants really breathe ? Mr. W. Yes, That may seem strange to you ; yet it is i 3 fi m , ' "J 8 218 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. ! S r,i li :i\^ true. If a plant be excluded from the air it will die, even if it has plenty of water to drink. Thomas. That is wonderful I I never thought of such a thing before. M7\ W. But, Thomas, supposing that there were butono or two new things to learn about everything that surrounds you, how long, think you, would it take you to learn tliem ? Thomas, (looking confused), I don't know, indeed, sir. Mr. W. There are many other things you will want to know something about, and it will take years of hard study to learn them. Thomas. O dear ! I am afraid I never shall know much. I did not dream there was so much to learn. Mr. W. Oh! there are hundreds of things you should know something about, if you would ever be a really learned man. And you should earnestly study the Bible if you would wish to be a good and wise man. Thomas. After all, then, it was I who was foolish, though I did really think that it was nonsense of Frank to study in vacation. But I do not think so now. 1 mean to learn something every day, and be so much the wiser when I am grown up. Mr. W. That is right. That is the true spirit, my lad. Try to learn for the pleasure of learning. Try to be some- thing. Be not discouraged by small things ; and, if at any time, you need help, come to me, and I will gladly show you — any of you. Boys {together), Thank you, sir, thank you. ANONYMOUS. 16.— THE PERFECT MEECHANT. characters: — MR. PERKINS AND fflS SONS, JOHN, FRANK, ROBERT, DAVID AND HENRY. {seniOV l)0ys.) Mr. P. Well, boys, you all intend to be merchants one of these days, I believe, and I should like to know what you think will make you good men of business, as mer- chants. John. I know what it is, father. No merchant can be anything without enterprise. When I am a merchant I shall cut a dash, I tell you. Mr. P. Those who cut a dash usually fail. John. O, I don't mean that kind of dash. I mean to find THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 219 LOW much. I ANONYMOUS. A.NK, ROBERT, out new places for trade, and make business. My ships shall be better than others, and nobody shall know where they have been till they come home full of valuable cargoes. Mr. P. Very well, John, this is all very well, but let us hear what Frank has to say. IVank. I shall not attempt to cut a dash, but shall mo- (Icstly carry on a small and safe business. My I'ents and my other expenses shall not eat up all my profits, and by saving and taking care of small mattei's, 1 shall be sure to grow rich by strict economy. Mr. P. It is probably true, that more get rich by saving than by any other way. But lot us hear what Robert has to say. Robert. I think, father, I should depend upon my in- dustry. John. Well, I mean to be industrious too. Rob. Yes, but you mean to do business on a large scale, and to run great risks. I shall run no risks, but shall make the very bees blush, I shall be so nmcli more busy than the busiest of them. Frank. What will you be so busy about, if you have no business to do. Rob. I will make business. John. Yes, as Mr. Fussy does. His apprentice tells me that, when no customer is in, they make believe they wait upon customers; and, when they are tired of that, Mr. Fussy strews dirt on the floor and sets him to clean it up, or throws goods on the counters for him to put up on the shelves. Rob. When I have customers, I shall be verv attentive to them. When I have no person in, I shall put the shop in order, buy goods, and prepare for business. If no cus- tomers come, then I shall try to find some. If the honey does not come to the hive, the bee must go out after it. Mr. P. You stand your ground well, Robert. But, David, lot us hear how you intend to manage. What do you think the most important quality to insure success in business ? David. Honesty, father. The old proverb says, ''Honesty IS the best policy," and I shall try it. John. Well, you don't sui:)pose we mean to bo dishonest, <>le ; mais I vant deux fly to trap de poisson [p'woy-som] — de feech. Enter Shop Keeper and Shop Boy. French P. Ah, Monsieur anglaise, [mus-u ang-lay] com- ment vous, portez-vous? [com-ay vou, pore-tay vou?] Shop Keeper. That's French, eh, not that I understand it, but I'm very well, if that's what you mean. French P. Bon, bon, ver good j den, saire, I sail tell you, I vant deux fly. !^ ; ( ' • r m I mm 224 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Sho}) K. I dare say you do, Monnscor, and so do a groat many more of your outlandish gentry; l)ut I'm a trueliorn Briton, and can never consent to ln^lp the entunies of my country to leave it, particularly when they cost us so much to bring them fiere. French P. All, monsieur, you no comprehend ; I sail ropoate, I vantdeux Hy, on do top of do vater. Shop K. (-)h ! inds head or tail of this sum, and I be- lieve it is put wrong on i3urpose to bother me. John. Read it, and let me see if I can help you. George. {Reads) '^ If a leg of veal weighs fifteen pounds, what will it come to at twelve cents a pound if a large por- tion of it is fat?" There, was there ever anything so absurd? John. Why, what is the trouble ? what is the dithculty V It seems simple enougli. George. I could manage the leg well enough, if it was not for the fat. John. Why does the fat trouble you more than the lean ? George. Why, don't you see? It does not say how much fat there vfas. I guess you are as dull as I am. John. It is no matter about the fat, George. George. Why, you goose, don't you see that a large por- tion of the leg was fat, and who can tell how many pounds a large portion is ? John. Let us get at it by trying another question. If a turkey weighs twenty pounds, how much will he come to at five cents a pound ? George. Why, to five times twenty, or a hundred cents. That's plain enough. John. Well, now, if part of the turkey is bone, will that alter the cost of it ? George. No — but then you see tliis is fat and not bone. John. Well, suppose the turkey is made u}) partly of bone and partly of fleshy and the whole turkey weighs twenty pounds, George. Yes, but don't you see, this is not bone or flesh, but fat. You are duller tlian I am. ih 238 THE SCHOOL speaker. ii ti i John. Suppose, thon, that the tui'k<\y (^onsistsol' l)ono, and flesh, uiid I'ut, Mild wciglis twenty pounds, liowiiuuth would he come to at five ccMits iv pouiul Y Geoi'i/c. Wliy, that is just like tlie h>g of veal ; who can tell hovrmuch bone, or lean, or I'at tluiie is ? John. George, you must study algebra. George. What lor ? John. That deals in unknown quantitic uid may help you. George. I would rather study anything ciso than arith- metic. John. Lot us bring the question home. J low much would you weigh, George, if you weighed just tit'ty pounds, and a large portion of you were fat? George. How is that, .John? Ask me that again, will yon? John. (Slowly). How — much — would — you — weigh— if — you — Weighed — iifty — pounds, — and — a — largo — portion — of — you — were — fat ? George. Why, just the same ! But then, if I were sold as the veal was, how much would the fat com '^ to? John. If you were sold in the lump at f ^ents a pound, what odds would it make whether a largf mall portion of you were fat or lean, moat or bone ? George. (JIc thinks a mi ante, dro]f.'i his head, looh.'i confioied and sat/s,) It was not fair to put that sum in a way to bo- ther a fellow so. But, John, — John. What? Goorge. Don't tell any body of the mess I made of it, will you ? John. I will not tell, if you will promise me not to hate arithmetic any more. George. Done I for any one who should hear of my leg of veal, w^ould naturally set me down for a — calf! ALTERED FROM ANONYMOUS. i PART ViL—iCUlljnfni) HUMOROUS PIECES. (SIXOLK ULCITATIOXS.) 1.— THE ANT AND THE Cit.JKET. A silly young crickot, accustomed to sing Through tho wnrm, sunny months of gay summer and spiing, liogan to complain, when he found that at honu^ His cuijbo ! what will become," says the Cricket, '^ of me ? " At last by starvation and famine mado bold, All dripping witl wet, and all trembling with cold, Away he set oft't' miserly Ant, To see if to keep . m alive ho would gi'ant llim shelter om ram, — A mouthful of grain, I le wished only to borrow, He'd repay it to-morrow. If not, ho must die of starvation and sorrow. Says the Ant to the (/ricket, '^I'm your servant and friend ! But we Ants never borrow, we Ants never lend. But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by When the weather was warm ? " Said the Cricket, <' Not I , My heart was so light, That I sang tlay and night, For all nature looked gay." '' You .iaruj, sir, you say? Go then," says the Ant, '' and dance winter away." Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket. And out of tho door turned the poor little cricket. Thougli this is a fable, the moral is good ; — If you live without ioork, you nuist go vvithout/ootZ. ANOXYMOrS. ii"t ■If I';i iri r i m Mo l^IIE BCttOOL SPtJAKEtl. 2.— SPIDER GRIM AND MISS FLY. Fresh was the breath of morn ; the busy breeze, As poets tell us, whispered through the trees, And swept the dew-clad blooms with wings so light ; Phcebus got up and made a blazing lire, That gilded every country-house and spire, And, smiling, put on his b^ist looks so bright. On this fair morn a spider, who had set. To catch a breakfast, his old waving net With curious art upon a spangled thorn ; At length, with gravely-squinting, longing eye, Near him beheld a pretty, plump, young Hy, Humming her little orisons to morn. ^' Good morrow, dear Miss Fly ! " (quoth gallant Grim:) * Good morrow. Sir ! ' (replied Miss Fly to him :) " Walk in, Miss, pray, and see what I'm ti )Out : ' ' I'm much obliged to you. Sir, (Miss Fly rejoined,) My eyes are both so very good, I find That I can jjlainly see the whole without.' ''Fine weather, Miss," "Yes, very, very fine, (Quoth Miss,) prodigious fine, indeed ! " '' But why so coy, ((juoth Grim, that you decline To put within my bower your pretty head ? " '"Tis simply this, (Quoth cautious Miss,) I fear you'd like my pretty head so well, You'd keep it for yourself, Sir, — who can tell'? '' ''Then let me squeeze your lovely hand, my dear, And prove that nil your fears are foolisli, vain." " I've a sore finger, Sir ; nay more, I fear You really would not let it go again." " Poh ! poh ! child ! pray dismiss your idle dread. I would not hurt a hair of that sweet head : Well then, withone kind kissof fri<3ndsliipmeotmo;" — " Ah ! Sir, (quoth Miss, with seeming artless tongue,) I fear our saluta{i.)n would be long : So loving, too, I fear that you would eat me?" So saying, with a smile she left the rogue. To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog. DR. J. WOLCOT. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 241 3.— THE GREAT MUSICAL CRITIC. Once on a time, the Nightingale, whose singing Had with her praises set the forest ringing, Consented at ^. concert to -ippear. Of course, her friends all flocked to hear, And with them many a critic, wide awake To pick a flaw, or carp at a mistake ! She sang as only nightingales can sing 5 And when she 'd ended. There was a general cry of ''Bravo ! splendid ! " While she, poor thing, Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated, Quite terrified to be so warmly greeted. The Turkeys gobbled their delight ; the Geese, Who had been known to hiss at many a trial, Gave this one no denial : It seemed as if the applause would never cease. But, 'niong the critics on the ground. Ah Ass was present, pompous and profound, Who said, "My friends, I'll not dispute the honour, That you w^ould do our little prima dt-nna. Although her upper notes are very shrill. And she defies all method in her trill, She has some talent, and, upon the whole. With study, may some cleverness attain. Then, her friends tell me, she 's a virtuous soul ; But — but- n ''But," growled the Lion, "by my mane, I never knew an Ass who did not strain To qualify a good thing with a but I " "Nay," said the Goose, approaching, with a strut, " Don't interrupt him, sire ; pray let it pass ; The Ass is honest, if he is an Ass 1 " "I wrs about," said Long Ear, "to remark. That there is something lacking in her whistle ; — Something magnetic, — To waken chords and feeling sympathetic And kindle in the breast a spark Like— like, for instance, a good Juicy thistle." The assembly tittered, but the Fox, with gravity, Said, at the Lion winking, "Our learned friend, with his accustomed suavity, Has given his opinion, withou' hrinking. 242 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. •ra^ SI" But, to do justice to the Nightingale, Pie sliould inform us, as no doubt he will, What sort of music 'tis that does not i'ail J lis sensibilities to rou^e and thrill." ^' Why," ,«aid the critic, with a look potential, And pricking up his ears, delighted much At lleynard's tone and manner deferential, — ''Why, Sir, there 's nothing can so deeply touch 3Ii/ feelings, and so cany me away. As a tine, mellow, ear- inspiring bray." ''I thought so," said the Fox, without a pause ; ''As far as you 're concerned, your judgment's true — You do not like the Nightingale, because The Nightingale is not an Ass like you ! " ANONYMOUS. 4.— THE THREE BLACK CEOV/S. Our tale will raise the question, I suppose. What can the meaning be of three black crows ? It is a London story, you must know. And happened, as they say, some time ago. To tell the moral till the tale be told. We'll give a hint, for once, how to apply The meaning tirst, and hang the tale thereby. People full oft are put into a pother, For want of understanding one another : And strange, amusing stories creep about, That come to nothing if you trace them out ; Lies of the day, the month, perhni)s, or year. That serve their purpose, and then disappear ; Fi'om which, n.ean while, disputes of every siz-e, That is to say, misunderstandings, rise ; The springs of ill j'rom bickering up to battle, From wars and tumults down lo tittle-tattle. Such as, for instance — for we need not roam Far oft' to tind them, but come nearer home — m ' THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 243 \NOXYMOr.S. Such a^ })efall by sudden mis liv'n'ng. On cuts, on coiils, on l>oxes, and on signing. It may, at least it should, correct a zeal That hurts the public or the private weal, By euger giving of too rash assent, To note how meanings, that were never meant, Will f^y about, like so many black crows, Of that same breed of which the story goes. Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the otlier briskly by the hand ; ' Hark ye,' said he, ' 'tis an odd story this About the crows ! ' 'I don't know what it is,' Keplied his friend. 'No ! I'm surprised at that, — Where I come from, it is the common chat : But you shall hear 5 an odd atiUir indeed ! And that it happened they are all agreed : Not to detain you fVom a thing so strange, A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the Alley know^s, Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.' ' Impossible ! ' * Nay, but it's really true ; I have it i'rom good hands, and so may you.' ' From whose, I pray ? ' So, having named the man, Straiglit to euijuire his curious comrade ran. < Sir, did you tell' — (I'elating the atiair) * Yes, sir, I did : and if it's worth the care, Ask Mr. Such a-one, he told it me ; But, by tlie bye, 'twas two black crows, not three.' Kesolved to trace so wond'rous an event, Quick to the third the virtuoso want. < Sir,' — iind so forth — ' Why, yes ; the thing is fact, Tho' in regard to number, not exact ; It was not two black crows, 'twas only one ; The truth of that you may depend upon ; The gentleman himself told me the case. < Where may I find him? ' Why in such a place.' Away goes he, and having found him out, ' Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.' Then to his last informant he referr'd. And begg'd to know if true what he had heard. * Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ? ' ' Not I ! ' ' Bless me ! how people pro})agate a lie ! Black crows have been thrown up, tlu'ee, two, and one 5 And here, I find, all comes at last to none. w m 244 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Is- 111'!' - Li ;: ' i1: I n * Did you say nothing of a crow at all ? ' ' Orow — crow, perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over.' — And pray, sir, what was't ! ' ' Why, I was horrid sick, and at last, I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, Somethmg that was — as black, sir, as a crow ! ' BYROM. 5— MODERN LOGIC. An Eton stripling training for the Law, A Dunce at Syntax, but a dab at taw, One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf His cap, his gown, and store of learned pelf, With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home. Arrived, and past the usual " How d'ye do's," Inquiries of old friends, and College news, * ' Well, Tom — the road, what saw you worth discerning, And how goes study, boy — what is't you're learning?' "Oh, Logic, Sir, but not the worn-out rules Of Locke and Bacon — antiquated fools ! 'Tis wit and wranglers' Logic — thus, d'ye see, I' 11 prove to you, a? clear as A, B, C, That an eel-pie's a pigeon: — to deny it, Were to swear black's white." — ''Indeed !" — ''Let's try it. An eel-pie is a pie of Ush." — "Well — agreed." "A fish-pie may be a Jack-pie. — " Proceed." "A Jack-pie must be a John-pie — thus, 'tis done, For every John-pie is a Pi-ge-on!" "Bravo I" Sir Peter cries, " Logic for ever ! It beats my grandmother — and she was clever I But, zounds, my boy — it surely would be hard, That wit and learning should have no revfard 1 To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross, And then I'll give you" — "What?" — " My chesnut-horse." " A horse !" cries Tom, "blood, pedigree, and paces, Oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races 1" — He went to bed, and wept for downright sorrow. To think the night must pass before the morrow ; Dreamed of his boots, his cap, his spurs and leather breeches, Of leaping live-barr'd gates, and crossing ditches j Left his warm bed an hour before the lark, Dragg'd his old uncle fasting through the park : — ■i THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 245 Each craggy hill and dale in vain they cross, To find out something like a chesnut-horse ; But no such animal the meadows cropp'd : At length, beneath a tree, Sir Peter stopp'd 5 Took a bough — shook it — and down fell — A fine horse-chesnut in its prickly shell. — " There, Tom— take that."— ''Well, Sir, and what beside?" "Why, since you're booted — saddle it, and ride!" '' Ride what? — A chesnut !" "Ay, come get across. I tell you, Tom, the chesnut is a horse. And all the horse you'll get — for I can show, As clear as sunshine, that ' tis really so — Not by the musty, fusty, worn-out rules Of Locke and Bacon — addle-headed fools ! All maxims ! — but the wranglers' I disown. And stick to one sound argument — your oum. Since you have proved to me, I don't deny That a pie John is the same as a John-pie ! What follows, then, but as a thing of course, That a horse-chesnut is a chesnut horse?" ANONYMOUS. 6.— THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING. How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their books. Are snared by anglers, — folks that fish with literary Hooks, — Who call and take some favourite tome, but never read it through ; — They thus comjilete their set at home, by making one at you. I, of my ''Spenser" quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken ; Of "Lamb" I've but a quarter left, nor could 1 save my "Bacon: " And then I saw my "Crabbe," at last, like Hamlet, back- ward g I And, as the tide was ebbing fast, of course I lost my " Rowe." My "Mallet" served to knock mo down, which makes mo thus a talker ; And once, when I was out of town, my "Johnson'' proved a ♦'V/alker." \^ It: ''i ill; 111. hi i!35 1 lii ii'^P I ■ ' 'yi ■ " - > ::'! if ^'^ 246 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. While studying, o'er tlio fire, one day, my '^Ilobbes/' amidst the smoke, They bore my ^'Colman'' clean away, and carried ofT mv <'Coke." They picked my '^ Locke," to me ftir more than Bram^ili's patent worth, And now my losses I deplore, without a '^ iromo*' on earth. If once a book you let them lift, another tliey concc^al, For though I cauglit them stealing ''8wift," as swiftly wont my ''Steele." "Hope" is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated ; But what is strange, my " Pope" himself is excommunicated. My little "Suckling" in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage ; And what was Crusoe's fate to save, 't w^as mine to lose, — a "Savage." Even " Glover's'" works I cannot put my frozen liands upon ; Though ever since 1 lost my "Foote," my "Biuiyan'' has been gone. My "Iloyle" with " Cotton" went 02)pressed ; my "Taylor," too, must fail ; To save my "Goldsmith" from arrest, in vain I offered "Bayle." "Prior" sought, but could not see the "Ilood" so late in front ; And when I turned to hunt for "Lee," O! where was my "Leigh Hunt?" I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not "Tickle"' touch ; And then, alack! I missed my "Mickle," — and surely Mickle's much. 'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrow^s to excuse, To think 1 cannot read my "Keid," nor even use my "Hughes ;" My classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped j Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my "Livy" has eloped. My life is ebbing fast away ; I suffer from these shocks, And though I fixed a lock on "Gray," there's gray upon my locks ; I'm far from "Young," am growhig pale, 1 see my "Euthn'' And when they ask about my ail, 'tis "Burton" I rei^ly. THE SCHOOL SrEAKER. 247 They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs divide 5 • For ! they cured me of my " Burns," and eased my " Akon- side." But all I think T shall not say, nor let my anger burn, For, as they never found me " Gay," they have not left mc *' Sterne." THOMAS HOOD. m 7.— EXERCISES IN TUNNING. '•My conu'ades all, who learn to read, pray early learn to shsin That very silly thing indeed which people call a pun, Jvcad Ei;«Lick's rules, and 'twill be found how simple an otTence It is to make the self-same sound afford a double sense. For instance, ale may make you ail, your aunt an ant may kill. You in a vale may buy a veil, and Bill may pay the MM. Ur, if to France your bark you steer, at Dover it may bo, A peer appears upon the pier, who blind, still goes to sea. Thus, one might say, when to a treat, good friends accept our greeting, 'Tis ineet that men who meet to eat, should eat their meat when meeting. Brown on the board's no bore indeed, although from boar prepared, Nor can the^ot^Zon whichwe feed/owZ feeding be declared. Most wealthy men good manors have, however vulgar they, And actors still the harder slave the oftener they play ; So poets can' t the baize obtain unless their tailors choose. While grooms and coachmen not in vain each evening seek the mews. The dyer who by dyeing lives, a dire life maintains; The glazier, it is known, receives his profits from his panes 5 By gardeners thyme is tied, 'tis true, when Spring is in its prime, But time or tide won't wait for you, if you are tied for time. HOOK. it I mi 248 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 8.— TRAGICAL HISTORY OF MAJOR BROWN, If any man, in any age, In any town or city, Was ever valiant^ courteous, sago. Experienced, wise or witty. That man was ]\f ajor Brown by name : The fact you cannot doubt. For he himself would say the same, Ten times a-day about. The Major in the foreign wars Inditierently had fared ; For he was coveced o'er with scars^ Though he was never scared. m IfA But war had now retired to rest. And piping peace returned j Yet still within his ardent breast. The Major's spirit burned. When suddenly he heard of one. Who, in an air balloon Had gone — I can't tell where he'd gone- Almost into the moon. " Let me, let me," the Major cries, ''Let me, like him, ascend; And if it fall that I should rise, Who knows where it may end?" Now many yards of silk were bought, And many iron nails. And many drugs of many a sort, And placed in many pails. And now the whole appears complete — With wonder most profound, Admiring crowds together meet From every village round. While some the chequered bag admire, And some prefer the car — Behold ! with head some inches higher. In steps the man of war. The school speaker. The cords are cut — a mighty shout !— Tlie globe ascends on high ; And, Hke a ball from gun shot out, The Major mounts the sky ; Or ivould have done, but cruel chance Forbade it so to be ; And bade the Major not advance — CVught in a chestnut tree. But soon the awkward branch gives way, He smooths his angry brow, Shoots upward, rescued from delay, And makes the branch a bow. Till, mounting furlongs now^ some dozens, And pressing down, he pants To see his mother, sisters, cousins. And uncles, look like ants. That Brown looked blue I will not say — His uniform was red ; — But he thought that if his car gave way He should probably be dead. He gave his manly breast a slap And loudly shouted " courage !" And waved above his head the cap In which he used to forage. And up he went, and looked around To see what there might be. And felt convinced that on the ground, Were better things to see. '' I wish that you would please to drop," Quoth Brown to his balloon ; — He might as well have spoken to The man that's in the moon. He saw no more the pigmy crowd That dwelt upon earth's ball 5 For why ? — he'd got into a cloud, And could not see at all. Though nearer to the sun, 'twas queer. He found it wondrous cold : And the Major now began to fear That he had been too bold. B 249 hi 1,1 III m 250 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. iV tli:-^ ml I'; .! i:! 1 ■ i ■ And now the heavens begin to lower, And thunder loud to roll ; And winds and rains to blow and pour That would daunt a (jenenW a soul. Such a hurricane to Major Brown Must most unpleasant be ; And he said, ''If J cannot get down, 'Twill be all up with me !" From his pocket, tlien, a knife he took— In Birmingham 'twas made — The handle was of handsome look, Of tempered steel the blade. Says he, ''the acquaintance of a balloon 1 certainly shall cut ;" So in the silken bag, full soon His penknife blade he \mi. Out rushed the gas imprisoned there, — The balloon began to sink ; "I shall surely soon get out of the air," Said Major Brown, "I think." Alas ! how shall I write it down. What now I have to tell ? Misfortune fell to Major Brown, Who to misfortune fell. Alas ! for Brown, balloon and car. The gas went out too fast 5 The car went upside down, antl far Poor Major Brown was cast. Long time head over heels he tum bled, till unto the ground, As I suppose, he must have come j But he was never found. The car went down to London town ; The bag to Oxford flew; But what became of Major Brown, No mortal ever knew. HOOD, THE SCHOOL SPEAltER. 251 9.— THE BRENTFOKD DUE].. In Brentford town, of old renown, There lived a Mister Bray, Who strongly fancied Lucy Bell, And so did Mister Clay. Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay, ''You choose to rival me. And court Miss Bell ; but througli your court No thoroughfare shall be. *' Unless you now give up your suit, You may repent your love : — I, who have shot a pigeon match, Can shoot a turtle dove. "So, pray, before you further go, Consider what you do : If you i)0p aught to Lucy Bell, — I will pojj at you." Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray, " Your threats I do explode 5 — One who has been a volunteer Knows how to prime and load." Now gold is oft for silver clianged. And that for copper red ; But these two went away to give Each other change for lead. But first they found a friend apiece. This pleasant thought to give — That when they both were deatl, they'd have Two seconds yet to live. To measure out the ground, not long The seconds next forbore 5 And having taken one rash step. They took a dozen more. They next prepared each pistol pan, Against the deadly strife ; By putting in the prime of deatli; Against the i)rime of life. li ' i' ^ t .' ?■■ il 1 ■1 ■■ ■' I M- I i 1 T; 252 THE SCHOOL speaker. Now all waH roady for the i'oo.H ; But whoii tliey took tlioir stands, Fcai' mad(5 them tremble ho, they found There both were shaking hands. Said Mr. C. to Mr. B. ''Here one of us may fall, And like St. Paul's Cathedral now, Be doomed to have a ball. 'ne, 10.— THE MISS NOMERS. 1. Miss Brown is exceedingly fair, Miss White is as red as > }>* Miss Black has a grey 1 ^ Miss Graves is a girl v lu Miss Lightbody weighs . . teen Miss Kich scarce can muster i guinea, Miss Hare wears a wig and ha- none. And Miss Solomon is a sad ninny ! 2. Miss Mildman's a terrible scold, Miss Dove's ever cross and contrary, Miss Young is now grown very old, And Miss Heavyside's light as a fairy j THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 253 Miss Short is at least six foet tall Miss Noble's of humble extraction ; Miss Lo> e lias a hatred towaid all, Whi'o Mibo Still is for ever in action. 3. Miss Green is a regular bkie, Miss Scarlet looks pale as a lily ; Miss Violet ui^'er shrinks from our view, And Miss VV^iseman th.nk.s every one silly! Miss Goodchild's a naughty young elf, Miss Lyon's from terror a fool, Miss Mee's not at all like Myself'; Miss Carpenter no one can rule. 4. Miss Sadler ne'er mounted a horse, While Miss Groom from the stable will run ; Miss Killmo/e can't look on a corse, And Miss Aimwell ne'er levelled a gun ; Miss Greathead has no brs^ins at all, Miss Ileartwell is ever complaining, Miss Dance ne'er has been at a ball, Over hearts Miss Fairweather likes revjning ! 5 Miss Wright, she is constantly wn ng, Miss Tiekell, alas ! is not funny | Miss Singer ne'er warbled a song, And, alas ! poor Miss Cash has no money ; Miss Bateman would give all she's worth To purchase a beau to her liking, Miss Merry is shock' d at all mirth. Miss B.xer we never tind striking ! 6. Miss Bliss does with sorrow o'erflow, Miss Hope in despair seeks the tomb | Miss Joy still anticipates woe, And Miss Charity's never " at home" Miss Hamlet resides in a city. The nerves of Miss Standfast .are shaken j Miss Prettyman's beau is not j)retty, Miss Faithful her friend has forsaken ! 7. Miss Porter despises all froth. Miss Scales they'll make waif I am thinking, Miss Meeklcy is apt to be wroth. Miss Lofty to meanness is sinking} It ' til 'Jf):^ ' "^f» 1 ! 254 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. h to; I'' • Miss Seymore's as blind as a bat, Miss Last at a party is first ; Miss Brindle dislikes a striped cat And Miss Waters has always a thirst I 8. Miss Knight is now changed into Day. And Miss Day is changed into Knight, Miss Prudence has just run away, And Miss Steady assisted her flight. But success to the fair — one and all ! No mis-appreliensions be making: — Though wrong the dear ones to Mis-call, There's no harm, I should hope, in Miss-Taking. MRS. B. WILSON, ii ;>- m . 1 1 ill u Ii .4 J!'! m 11.— THE CLOWN AND THE COUNSELLOR. A Counsel in the Common Pleas, Who was esteemed a mighty wit, Upon the strength of a chance hit Amid a thousand flippancies. And his occasional bad jokes In bullying, bantering, browbeating, Ridiculing and maltreating Women or other tmiid folks, In a late cause resolved to hoax A clownish Yorkshire farmer — one Who, by his uncouth look and gaiu. Appeared expressly meant by Fate, For being quizzed and played upon. So having tipped the wink to those In the back rows, Who kept their laughter bottled do.vn Until our wag should draw the cork, He smiled jocosely on the clown. And went to work. <^ Well, Farmer Numskull, how go the calves at York?" ''Why — not, Sir, as they do wi' you, But on four legs instead of two." '' Officer 1" cried the legal elf, Piqued at the laugh against himself, ''Do, i)ray, keep silence down below there. Now, look at mC; clowu, and attend, T iking. WILSON. I. York?'' ]. o 3. 5. THE SCHOOL srEAKER. 255 Ha^^e I not seen you somewhere, friend ?" '^ Yees— very like— I often go there." "Our rustic's waggish, quite laconic," The Counsel cried, with grin sardonic; — *^ I wish I'd known this prodigy. This genius of the clods, when I, On circuit, was at York residing. Now, Farmer, do for once speak true, Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you Who doubtless think j^oursolf so clever, Are there as many fools as ever In the West Riding ?" "Why, no. Sir, no-, we've got our share. But not so many as when you were there." HORACE SMITH. I . I 12.— THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES. A philosopher once in the depth of his lore Resolved various schemes in his mind o'er and o'er Resigning to thought his chimerical brain, Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain ; But whether by skill or by alchemy' s powers, We know not; indeed, 'tis no business of ours. Perlia])s, it was only by patience and care, At last, that he brought his inventions to boar ; In youth 't was projected, but yeai's stole away; And ere 't was complete, he was wrinkled and gray; But success is secure, unless energy fails ; And, at length, he produced the PinLOsorHEu's scales. "What were they?" you ask; you shall presently see; These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea ; O no ; for such properties wondrous haant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down. This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate ; But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ; For in each dwelt a smith ; — a more hard-working two Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe. At six in the morning, their anvils, nt work, Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk. "These fellows," he cried, ''such a clattering keep, That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 259 3NYM0US. From morning till night they keep thumping away, — No sound but the anv^il the whole of the day ; His afternoon's nap and Lis daughter's new song Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding dong. He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop ; But, no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop : At length (both his spirits and health to improve) He cried, '* I '11 give each fifty guineas to move." '^Agreed ! " said the pair ; '' that will make us amends." "Then come to my house, and let us part friends : You shall dine ; and we '11 drink on this joyful occasion, That each may live long in his new habitation." He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale ; He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise, and restore him to rest. '^And now," said he, "tell me, where mear you to move? I hope to some spot where your trade will improve." "Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, '' Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his ! " ANONYMOUS, 15.— SPEECH OF OKATOR CLIMAX. (A Literary Burlesque.) Mr. PREsmENT, — Happiness is like a crow perched upon the neighbouring top of a far-distant mountain, which some fisherman vainly strives, to no purpose, to ensnare. He looks at the crow, Mr. President, — and — Mr. Presi- dent, the crow looks at him ; and. Sir, they both look at each other. But the moment he attempts to reproach him, he banishes away like the schismatic taints of the rainbow, the cause of which it was the astonishing and perspiring genius of a Newton, who first deplored and enveloped the cause of it. Cannot the poor man, sir, percipitate into all the beauties of nature, from the loftiest mounting up to the most humblest valley, as well as the man prepossessed of indigence? Yes, sir; while thrill- u i II w . ■'. I It' *' 2G0 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. ing transports crown his view, and rosy hours allure his sanguinary youth, he can raise his mind up to the laws of nature, incompressible as they are, while viewing the lawless storm that kindleth up the tremenjiou? voar- ing thunder, and fireth up the dark and rapid lightenings, and causeth it to fly through the intensity of space, that belches forth those awful and sublime meteors, and' roll- abolly-aliases, through the unfathomable regions of fiery hemispheres. Sometimes, Sir, seated in some lovely re- treat, beneath the shadowy shades of an umbrageous tree, at whose vernal foot flows some limping stagnant steam, he gathers around him his wife and the rest of his orphan children. He there takes a retrospective view upon the diagram of futurity, and casts his eye like a flashing meteor forward into the past. Seated in their midst, aggravated and exhaled by the dignity and independence coincident with honorable poverty, his countenance ^frigated with an intense glow of self-sufficiency and excommunica- ted knowledge, he quietly turns to instruct his little assemblage. He there endeavours to distill into their young, youthful minds useless lessons to guard their juve- nile youths against vice and immortality. There, on a clear sunny evening^ when the silvery moon is shining forth in all her indulgence and ubiquity, he teaches the first sediments of gastronomy, by pointing out to them the bear, the lion, and many other fixed invisible consterna- tions, which are continually involving \\])0\\ their axletrees, in the blue cerulean fundamus above. From this vast ethereal he dives with them to the very bottom of the unfathomable ocean, bringing up from thence liquid trea- sures of earth and air. He then courses with them on tho imaginable wing of fancy through the boundless regions of unimaginable either, until, swelling into impalpable im- mensity, he is lost for ever in the infinite radiation of his own overwhelming genius ! ANONYMOUS. 16.— SrEECH AGAINST FOREIGN PllINCIPLES. (A Political Burlesque.) Unused, Sir, I am, and even more than unacquainted with public speaking, yet, I rise, Sir, in consequence of my having caught the eye cast upon me, to express with the THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 261 roNYMOUS. utmost disliko my truly cno})lmg ideas on tho foroigti matter tliose who have no right to ditler from me have brought before us. 1 will, therefore, not be too bold to affirm, though I am free to declare, that I by no means apologize for the outrageous foreign ideas of our opponents here. 1 will not, however, go twice over the same grounds of argument, nor undertake to run down a foreign principle, without a total confederation of its laws and basis. I certainly shall not blink the question much by distorting its parts ; nor am I inclined to meet my enemy half-way ; because, at the first blush, I am determined to scout all his ideas in toto. And if. Sir, the disorders of uncivilized society and its tran- quillity is the first duty of man to destroy, I cannot hesitate to pronounce my indignation at the general arguments so feebly agitated by our best friend. No, Sir, he cannot hide them from me, for it is we!l known I smell a rat in every breeze ; I see him. vampire-like, floating in the air ; but, Sir, and I repeat it, I shall nip him in the bud so that he shall never bloom again upon this earth, no, never ! But, Sir, and I confess it with pride, not a single idea attaches to me in this matter ; and when my opponent professes to lay open all his princii)les without knowing it, he only proved his weakness by undertaking to clean the stables of those wretched foreigners, the Augeans of old, which Hercules himself would scorn to do. No, Sir, I am again free to assert, though I am by no means able or v/illing to prove too much by saying, that if gentlemen under these trying times, do not labour against foreign principles, in our inglorious con- stitution, framed years and years ago with more than all the wisdom of the forerunners of our common ancestors, — this constitution may I repeat it, fall to the ground, Sir, un- der the weight of its o^^Tl accumulated strength. But on this head, Sir, we are opened up to conviction : and I trust the gentleman, for whose worth, integrity, perspi- cuity, and want of firmness, I have not the slightest speci- men of respect, may yet preserve this great and growing nation from the lawless banishment of acquitted felons, who, not having suffered a sufficient penalty in their own country from an outrageous law, insult us daily with their want of common sense. And they too. Sir, do not hesitate to prefer the foreign tea of barbarous China to our own better infusions of camomile tea, beaf tea, tansy tea and other useful herb teas of the more precious soil of this country j and who would still further seek to insult our p'l 1 |:?' |'.:|: l;)- irrf,|:: 262 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. growing nationality by choosing the coffee of the heathenish Mochas and Javas of distant foreigners to our own more dry and sweet specimens of native peas and oats and wheat. But, Sir, not to trespass too long on your patience, or even discernment, I shall conclude by expressing my approval of the effbrts I have now made, as well as my lastnig thanks to this kind and thoughtless audience in the touching words of our own great Latin poet, who says — " Quid dico finis est, carpe diem— Vale !" ANONYMOUS. I» It' ': 17.— CONVEKSATION NOT A COLLOQUIAL DUEL. Ye powers, who rule the tongue, — if such there are, — And make colloquial happiness your care, Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate — A duel in the form of a debate. Vociferated logic kills me quite ; A noisy man is always in the right : I twirl my thumbs, f.\ll back into my chair, Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, And, when I hope his blunders are all out, Keply discreetly— ^' To be sure — no doubt I" Dubious is such a scrupulous, good man — Yes — you may catch him tripping, if you can^ He would not, with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own 5 With hesitation, admirably slow, He humbly hopes — presumes — it may be so. His evidence, if he were called by law To swear to some enormity he saw. For want of prominence and just relief, Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Through constant dread of giving truth offence, He ties up all his hearers in suspense 5 Knows what he knows as if he knew it not j What he remembers seems to have forgot 5 His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall. Centering, at last, in having none at all. A story, in whch native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains : lNONYMOU.S. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well api)lied ; But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the tidgets, and my patience fails. 'Tis the most assinine employ on earth. To hear them tell of parentage and birth, And echo conversations, dull and dry, p]mbellished with, "He said,'' and "So said I," At every interview their route the same. The repetition makes attention lame : — We bustle up, with unsuccessful speed, And, in the saddest part, cry, "Droll indeed!" 263 cowrER. 18.— THE RETORT COURTEOUS. A supercilious nabob of the East, Haughty and grave, and purse-proud, being rich, A Governor, or General, at least, (I have forgotten which,) Had in his family an humble youth, Who went to India in his patron's suite 5 An unassuming body — and, in truth, A lad of decent parts ana good rei^ute. One day, his Honor drinking wine Conceived it would be vastly tine To crack a joke ujjon his secretary. "Young man," said he, "by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father earn his livelihood ?" "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, " And in his line was reckoned good." " A saddler, eh ! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew ! And pray why, sir, didn't your father make A saddler, sir, of you ?' ' Each parasite, as in duty bound. The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length, Modestus, bowing low. Said, craving pardon, if too free be made, " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade." ! WT^ 264 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. i;i|r r lit 'i' M Jl m ;!■'■ : ! ■ !.! . !^ <'My father's trade? Why, that's too bad, My father's trade ! Why, blockhead, art thou mud ? My father, sir, did never stoop so low ; He was a gentleman, I'd have you know !" '^Excuse the liberty," Modestus said, "1 take," With archness in his brow, *' Pray, sir, why did not then your father make A yentleman of you ?" anonymous. 19.— MADAME TALLEYRAND AND THE TRAVELLEU. The famous Talleyrand, who knew The secret of avoiding execution, And kept his head upon his shoulders througli All the convulsions of the Revolution, When heads were cropp'd by the prevailing powers, Like cauliflowers. Till tl. ^y themselves endured the keen Infliction to the guillotine. And made way for another faction To undergo the same reaction : — This Talleyrand possessed a wife, Selected in his humbler life, — A rich bourgeoise of homely breeding, Neither bas bleu, nor femme savante, But rather, as I freely grant. Deficient in her general reading. One day — 'twas when he stood elate, Napoleon's minister of state, — Having invited to his house Some literati to confer With a great foreign traveller, The husband thus addressed his spouse :— <'My dear, at dinner you will meet A foreigner, a man of note ; These authors like that you should quote From their own works ; therefore, to greet Our guest, suppose you learn by rote A sentence here and there, that when He prates, like other travelled men. Of his exploits on land and ocean, You may not be completely gravell'd, But have at least some little notion \^ ItllE SCHOOL SPEAKElt, 265 ONYMOUS. or how, and when, and where he travelled ; Take down his book, you'll find it yonder; Its dull contentH you need not ponder; Read but the headings of the chapters, liefer to them with praise and wonder, And our vain guest will be in raptures." Madame resolved to play her part So as to win the stranger's heyrt. Studied the book ; but far from dull. She found it quite delightful, — full Of marvellous adventures, fraught With perilous escapes, wrought So deej) an interest in her mind. She really was surprised to find. As to the ilining room she tripp'd, ilow rapidly the time had slijjp'd. The more to flatter and delight her, When at the board she took her place, ' The famous travellei' and writer Was seated by her side; the grace Was hardly said, or soup sent round, Ere with a slu'ug and a grimace, Eager to show her lore profound, A la FraiiQciisc, she raised her eyes, And hands, ^uid voice, in ecstasies, — ^' Eh, Monsieur Robinnon, ma bleu, Voilcl un conte merveilleux ! Ah, 2)ar- example! it appals The mind to think of your attacks On those terrific cannibals, — Those horrid savages and blacks, Who, if they once had gained the upper Hand, had eaten you for supper, And so prevented your proceeding With that sweet book I've just been reading. Mais, qtiel honheur ! to liberate Poor Friday from the murderous crew, And gain in your deserted state, So lonely and disconsolate, A servant and companion too !" The visitors were all astounded ; The stranger stared aghast, dumb- founded ; I, I' l^ 26G THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Poor Talleyrand })luslied red as flame, Till having catechized the dame. The mystery was (juickly cleared : The simple woman, it appeared, Instead of the intended book, In which she had been urged to look, From the same sliolf contrived to take Robinson Crusoe l)y mistake ! IIORACK SMITH. 2().— QUEER PEOPLE. It has boon often said that this is a queer world. But this is a mistake ! 'Tis the people that are (jueor. Yes ; there are, indeed, a great many queer people in this world of ours. But, of all the queer people liore below, the croaking, growling, grumbling, gossiping, snarling, snapping, .sour, sulky, fidgety, fretful, fault-finding, tattling, back-biting species, are the queerest. And they are queer ; or else J don't understand the word. They think everybody wrong l)ut themselves; and I'm sure that's queer ! 'Tis queer they can't see that the best people in the world are the most candid, open-hearted, atfable, kind, charitable, free, and unsuspecting ; but then they wouldn't be queer, if they saw it; and, as they love to be queer, they won't see it. It is queer they don't know that peojile who deserve the most censure themselves, are most apt to ))e always blant ing and scolding their neighbours. It is queer they never found out that tliose who are so keen-sighted as to see only other people's faults, are stone- blind in seeing their own. Yes; 'tis queer; but then, if all this wasn't queer, they wouldn't be queer; and then they'd fight with themselves; or, like the Kilkenny cats, eat them- selves for being like other people. And so they go througli life, fretting at everything that isn't as themselves. A fretting man or woman is something like a wasp; (how- ever, to the honour of the wasp be it said, he won't sting you unless you disturb him ;) but a foult-finding, fretful, pee- vish, dissatisfied mortal goes through life, buzzing and sting ing without provocation. Ah, my friends, never get queer ! It is useless. It makes nothing come out right. It sets no broken bones ; it stops \i ' THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 267 no leaks; it gathers no spilt milk; it mends no smashed jjitchers ; it fattens no pigs ; it cures no spoilt hay ; it saves no damaged grain ; it changes no east wind ; it makes no- body love you ; it only makes people laugh ; for they know that barking dogs never bite. AXOXVMOUS. 21.— DONT RUN INTO DEBT. (iood friends, let mo urge you not to run into debt 1 If the chairs and the sofas are old, They will htyour back better than any new set, Unless they are paid for in gold. [gether, Though your house may be small, and you sit close to- Keep it warm with a hearty good will; A large one unpaid for, in all kinds of weather, Will send to your warm heart a chill. (.)h ! don't run in debt, let your frienrls if they can, Have fine houses, and feathers and flowers : But, unless tliey are paid foi-, be more of a man Than to envy their sunshiny hours. There's no comfort at all in walking the street In fine clothes, if you know you're in debt, And feel that, pei'chance, you some tradesman may meet, Who will sneer — ^'Tliey'i'e not j>aid for yet.'' Kind hu!ihnii(h', don't run in debt anymore, 'Twill ml youi' wife's cup full of soirow, To know tliat your neighbours may call at your rt, we '11 e'en tiy these ; Still somewhat more they magnify the letter ; Now, sir? " — "Why, now — 1 'm not a bit the better." "No? here, take these that magnify still more ;, How do they fit ? " — " Like al! tlie rest before." In short, they tried a whole assortment through ; But all in vain, for none of 'era would do. The operi^tor, much surprised to find So odd a case, thought, sure the man is blind ! "What sort of eyes can you have got ? " said he. — " Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see."-— "•• 1 es, I perceive the clearness of the ball — Pray, let me ask you — can you read at all ? " " No, you great blockhead ; if I could, what need Of paying you for any ' helps to read ? ' " • And so he left the maker in a lie^.t, Resolved to post him foi' an arrant cheat. BY ROM. 23.— DlSPl'TL OF THE FE ATUA(E3. Thp*- mortals are made up of quarrelsome clay, My tale, I imagine, will prove as it goes ; For the features composing the visage one day, Moso cruelly fell to abusing the No«e. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 269 Fii*st, the Lips took it up, and their reason was this : That the nose was a bane both to beauty and love : And they never, moreover, in comfort could kiss, For that horrid protuberance jutting above. Then Eyes, not behind in the matter to be. With a sparkle began, as I've often times seen 'em, And avowed, it was perfectly shocking to see Such a lump of deformity sticking between 'em. The Cheeks, with a blush, ''said the frightfullest shade. By the Nose o'er their bloom and their beauty was thrown," And Ears couldn't bear that loud trumpeting noise, Whenever that troublesome member was blown ! So 'twas moved and agreed, without asking the head, To thrust the intruder, at once from the face. But Nose, hearing this, most indignantly said, ''By the breath of his nostrils he'd stick to his place." Then, addressing the eyes, he went learnedly through His defence, and inquired, "when their vigour was gone Pray what would their worships for spectacles do. If the face had no nose, to hang spectacles on?" Mankind, he observed, loved their scent as their sight ; Or who'd care a farthing for myrtles or roses ? And the charge of the Lips was as frivolous quite ; For if Lips fancied kissing, pray, why mightn't Noses? As for Ears — and, speaking, Nose scornfully curled, — "Their murmurs were equally trifling and teasing, And not all the Ears, Eyes, or Lips in the world, [zing. Should keeiJ hiai unblown, or prevent him from snee- "To the Cheeks, lie oitendcd, "he acted as screen. And guarded them oft from the wind and the weather ; And, but that ht^ stood like a land-mark between, The face had been nothing but cheeks altogether !" With eloquence thus he repelled their abuse. With logical clearness defining the case; And from thence came the s.iying, so frequent in us^ That an argument's plain '*asthe nose on your face V ANONYMOUS. 1- 270 11 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 24.— KHYME OF THE RAIL. Singing through the forests, RattHng over ridges, Shooting under arches, RumbHng over bridges, Whizzing througli the mounttiins. Buzzing o'er the vale, — Dear me ! this is pleasant, Riding on tlie rail ! Men of ditierent station!:;, In the eye of fame, Here are very quickly Coming to the same: High and lowly people, Birds of everv feather, On a common level. Travelling together ! Gentlemen in shorts. Looming very tall; Gentlemen at large, Talking very small ; Gentlemen in tights With a loos-ish mien ; Gentlemen in grey, Looking rather green ; Gentlemen quite old, Asking for the news : Gentlemen in black, In a fit of blues ; Gentlemen in daret, Sober as a vicar ; Gentlemen in tweed, Dreadfully in liquor ! Stranger on the right, Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something rathei' funny ; Stranger on the loft, Closing up his peepers ; Now ho snor* s amain, Like the seven sleepers, THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 271 Ancient maiden lady Anxiously remarks, That there must be peril 'Mong so many sparks ; Roguish-looking fellow, Turning to the stranger, Says its his opinion, She is out of danger! Woman with her baby, Sitting vU-ci-vis ; Baby keeps a-squalling, Mother looks at me ; Asks about the distance, Says its tiresome talking, Noises of the cars Are so very shocking ! 'A Market woman, careful Of the precious casket. Knowing eggs ai-e eggs, Tightly holds her basket | Feeling that a smash. If it came, would surely Send her eggs to pot, Rather prematurely. Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges. Shooting under arches. Rumbling under bridges, Whizzing through the mountains Buzzing o'er the vale, — Pear me ! this is pleasant, Riding on the Rail ! SAXE. 25.—A SONG OF THE RAILROAD. Through the mould and through the clay. Through the corn and through the hay, By the margin of the lake. O'er tUe river, through the brake, 272 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. I m O'er the bleak and dreary moor, On we hie with screech and roar ! Splashing! flashing! Crashing ! dashing ! Over ridges, Gullies, bridges! By the bubbling rill, And mill — Highways, Bvways, Hollow hill- Jumping — bumping — Rocking — roaring Like forty thousand giants snoring By the lonely hut and mansion, By the ocean's wide expansion — Where the factory chimneys smoke. Where the foundry bellows croak — Dash along ! Slash along ! Crash along ! Flash along ! On! on! with a jump, And a bump, And a roll ! Hies the firo-liend to its destuied go.il ! O'er the aqueduct and bog, On we fly with ceaseless jog; Every instant something new. Every instant lost to vie>v ; Now a tavern — now a steeple — Now a crowd of gaping p;-ople — Now a hollow — now a ridge — Now a cross way — now a bridge — Grumble — stumblf* — Kumble — tumble — Fretting — getting in a stew ! Church and steeple, gaping people, Quick as thought are lost to view ! Everything that eye can survey, Turns hurly-burly, topsy-turvey ! Each passenger is thumped and shaken As physic is when to be taken. THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. By the foundry, past the forge, Through the plain and mountain gorge, Where the cathedral rears its head, Where repose the silent dead. Monuments amid the grass. Flit like spectres as you pass ! If to hail a friend inclined — Whish ! whirr ! ka-swash ! he's left behind ! Rumble, tumble, all the day, Thus wo pass the hours away. 273 C. F. WOLFE. 26,— THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. O ! the old, old clock, of the household stock, ' Was the brightest thing and neatest ; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, And its chime rang still the sweetest. 'T was a monitor, too, though its words were few, Yet they lived, though nations altered ; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, When the voice of friendship faltered ! ''Tick, tick," it said ; ''quick, quick, to bed, — For ten I 've given warnin.i' ; Up, up, and go, or else you know You '11 never rise soon in the morning ! " A friendly voice was that old, old clock, As it stood in the corner smiling. And blessed the time with a merry chime. The wintry hours beguiling •, But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock. As it called at daybreak boldly, When the dawn looked gray o'er the nusty way. And the early air blew coldly. "Tick, tick," it said ; "quick out of bed. For five I 've given warning ; You '11 never have health, you '11 never get wealth, Unless you 're up soon in the morning." CHARLES SWAIV, p^ I ' ) Hi f I ! *l * r.i . ^Ki::i 274 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 27.— THE VICTBI OF KEFORM. A Monkey, oiico (named Jack), wliicli had been led to list To all the rancorous spouting and contention Of a convention for every one's emancipation From every tiling and body in creation, Determined in the good work to assist. So, with some cm'ious notions in his noddle, And conning portions of the precious twaddle. Which, in the form of resolutions. Had struck at all existing institutions, He strode forth with a step that seemed designed To represent the mighty march of mind. Not far he'd wandered, when his indignation Was roused to see a great menagerie. Where birds and beasts of every race and station, All free-born animals, were kept confined, Caged and locked up in durance vile ! It was a sight to waken all his bile. ■CI '1 & The window of the building stood ajar ; It was not far, Nor, like Parnassus, very hard to climb ; The hour was verging on the dinner time. And many a growl was sent through many a' bar. Meanwhile, Jack scrambled upward like a tar, And soon crept in. Unnoticed in the hunger-telling din. Full of his new emancipating zeal, Zounds ! how it made him chafe, To look around upon this brute Bastile, And see the King of creatures in — a safe ! The desert's denizen in one small den. Enduring all oppression's bitterest ills ; A bear in bars, unbearable ; and then, The fretful porcuphie, with all its quills. Imprisoned m a pen ! A tiger limited to four feet ten ; And, still worse lot, a leopard to one spot! Jack went above, a solitary mounter, — Up gloomy stairs, and saw a pensive group Of hapless fowls, cranes, vultures, owls, — In fact, it was a sort of poultry-counter, Where feathered prisoners were doomed to droop liere sat an eagle, forced to make a stoop, o list THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 275 Not from the skies, but his impending rooi'^ And there, aloof, A pining ostrich, moping in a eoopj With other samples of the bird creation, All caged against their wills, And cramped in such a space, the longest bills Were plainly bills of least acconmiodation ; — In truth it was a scene more foul than fair. His temper litlhi mended, Jack from his bird-cage walk at last descended Unto the lion and the elepliant. His bosom in a pant To see all Nature's free list thus suspended, And beasts deprived of what she had intended. They could not even prey in their own way, — A hardship always reckoned quite prodigious. Thus he revolved, and finally resolved To give them freedom, civil and religious ; And first, with stealthy paw, Jack hastened to withdraw The bolt that kept the King of brutes within. '• Now, Monarch of the forest, thou shalt win Precious enfranchisement, — thy bolts are undone; Thou art no longer a degraded creature, But loose to roam with liberty and nature ; Free to search all the jungles about London." — Alas for Freedom, and for Freedom's hero ! Alas for liberty of life and limb ! For Jack had only half unbolted Nero, » When Nero bolted him ! Blackwood's magazine. 28.— THE MAGPIE AND THE MONKEY. ^' Dear Madam, I pray," quoth a Magj)ie, one day, To a Monkey, who happened to come in her way, — " If you'll but come with mo To my snug little home in the trunk of a tree, I'll show you such treasures of art and vertu, kSuch articles, old, medifeval and new, As a lady of taste and discernment like you, Will be equally pleased and nstonished to view ; — In an oak-tree hard by I havt^ stowed all these rarities ; Aiad if you'll come with me, I'll soon show you where it is/' 276 THE SCHOOL Sl»EAKEll. The Monkey agreed at once to proceed, And, hopping along at the top of hor speed, To keep up with the guide, who flew by her side, As eager to show as the other to see. Presently came to the old oak-tree ; When, from a hole in its mighty hole, In which she had cunningly hidden the whole, One by one, the Magpie dre\v, And displayed her hoard to the Monkey's view : A buckle of brass, some bits of glass, A ribbon dropped by a gypsy lass ; A tattered handkerchief edged with lace. The haft of a knife, and a tooth-pick case j An inch or so of Cordelier's rope, A very small cake of Castilian soap. And a medal, a string and a bit of a rope ; Half a cigar, the neck of a jar, A couple of pegs from a cracked guitar ; Beads, buttons and rings, and other odd things. And such as my hearers would think me an ass, if I Tried to enumerate fully or classify. At last, having gone, one by one, through the whole, And carefully packed them again in the hole, Alarmed at the pause, and not without cause, The Magpie looked anxiously down for applause. The Monkey, meanwhile, with a shrug and a smile. Having silently eyed the contents of the pile, And found them, in fact, one and all, very vile. Resolved to dej)art ; and was making a sU„rt, When, observing the movement with rage and dismay. The Magpie addressed her, and pressed her to stay : '' What, sister. I pra}', have you nothing to say, In return for the siglit that I've shown you to-day? Not a syllable? — hey? I'm surprised ! — well I may, — That so fine a collection, with nothing to pay, Should be treated in such a contemptuous way. I looked for applause, as a matter of right. And certainly thought that you'd prove more polite." At length, when the Magpie had ceased to revile, The Monkey replied, with a cynical smile : ^' Well. Ma'am, since my silence oftends you," said she, 'Til frankly confess that such trifles possess, Though much to your taste, no attraction for^me ; THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 277 Kor though like yourself a collector of pelf, Such trash, ere I'd touch it, might rot on a shelf; And I'd not, I'd warrant you, out of my way go, A moment to pick up so vile a farrago. To the digging of roots, and the picking of fruits, I strictly contine my industrial pursuits ; And whenever I happen to find or to fish More than will serve for a moderate dish, — For my ai)petite's small and I don't eat a deal, — In the pouches or craws which hang from my Jaws, And which I contract or distend at my pleasure, I safely deposit the rest of my ti'easure, And carry it home, to be oaten at leisure. In short. Ma'am, while you collect rubbisli and rags, — A mass of chitlbnerie not worth possessing, — I gather for Ui»e, and replenish my bags With things that are really a comfort and blessing, A reserve, if I need them, for future subsistence. Adapted to lengthen and sweeten existence." The Monkey's reply — for I must, if I'm able Elicit some practical hint from the fable — Suited the Magpie, and suits just as well any Who spend all their time in picking up a miscellany Of odds and ends here which are often a hash, Oddly compounded, of all kinds of trash, That I wonder, whenever I chance to inspect them. How people can have the bad taste to select them. A much graver lesson wo may also l)e able To learn from the satire expressed in this fable : 'Tis a picture of those who all the day labour For the rubbish of earth, — each one jostling his neighbour : Who here and there pick up some glittering prize, And, forgetful of that world beyond the bright skies, Join house on to house, and bank roll to bank roll ; They gain the whole world, but lose their own soul ! ., Altei^ed from YRWRTK. 29.— THE STREET OF BY-AND-BYE. " By the street of By -and-Bye, one arrives at the house of' Never,' "— Old Saying. 1 shun the spot, .ny youthful friends, I urge you to beware ; Beguiling is the pleasant way, and softly breathes the air; 273 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. i , I' ' 'I I 1 1 1 m Yet none have ever passed to scenes ennobling, great and high, Who once began to linger in the street of By-and-Bye. IIow varied are the images arising to my sight, Of those who wished to shun the wrong, who loved and prized the right ; Yet irom the silken bonds of sloth they vainly strove to fly. Which held them gently prisoned in the street of By-and- Bye. A youth aspired to climb the height of Learning's lofty hill ; What dimmed his bright intelligence — what quelled his earnest will? Why did tne object of his quest still mock liis wistful eye ? Too long, alas I he tarried in the street of By-and-Bye. " My projects thrive,'" the merchant said 5 ''when doubled is my store, IIow freely shall my ready gold ])e showered among the poor!" Vast grew his wealth, yet strove lie not tlie mourner's tear to dry ; Me never journeyed onward fi'om the street of By-and-Bye. '' Forgive thy erring brother, lie had wept and suffered long,"' I said to one, who answered — ''he hath done me grievous wrong 5 Yet will I seek my brother, and forgive him, ere Idle •," Alas ! Death shortly found him in the sti'cet of By-and-Bye. The wearied worldling muses upon lost and wasted days, Ilesolved to turn herc^after from the error of his ways. To lift his grovelling thoughts from earth, and fix them on the sky ; Why does he lingor fondly in the street of By-and-Bye? Then shun the spot, my youthful iVicndsj work on, while yet you may ; Let not old age o'er take you as you slotlifuUy delay. Lest you should gaze around you, and discover with a sigh, You have reached the house of ''Never,'' by the street of By-and-Bye ! ANONYMOUS. PART VIII. VALEDICTORY ADDRESSES, &c. 1.— INTRODUCTOKY, OR SALUTORY PIECE. By a Boy or a Girl, at the close of School. Kind Friends — Within our scliool-room walls we gLadly see you meeting, And haste to bid you welcome ; pray receive our heart-felt greeting. You've come to listen to our songs, our lessons and dis- courses ; Pray look not for broad river's, friends, so near their tiny sources. We'll gladly do our best for you, and kindly you'll re- member The April of our lives can' t yield the rich fruits of September ; But if our offering you'll accept — the early fruits of Spring — We'll make no more apologies, but will read, recite, and sing. We schoolboys, honoured fiiends, are like a hive of busy bees, As they, their waxen cells do store, so we store our mem- ories. As they enjoy the bright sunshine, and oft wing their way aloft, So love we well the summer shine, mid we wish fo)' wings full oft ! They sip the honey IVom the flowers ; we have what's no less sweet, For candy of molasses made, doth yield us many a treat ! Troubles they have, and so have we some troubles of onv own; And great ones have they that won't work — for we some- times liave a drone. n IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) III 1.0 I.I ■- In III 2.2 Hi Uk — as, 2.0 !.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 «« 6" — ► V. <^>/ A o^. O 7 ^ &.. PhotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 s <^ .V ^ ci^ '<> I I 2^0 (the school SPEAKEH. iU , i it'' >-lK^ :| Yet differ we in some respects, for \ They buzz at work j but, though ' tis we must obej'' oui* rule ; is hard! we must not buzz in school. They have a queen, and hard they work to win her appro- bation. We too've a queen, and teachers kind, and love their com- mendation. And happy are the hours, dear friends, we've spent within these walls, Attentive to Instruction's voice, obedient to her calls, And to our God we I'aise our hearts in loving, grateful praise, Tliat in this land of Public Schools, we ^pend our youthful days. Where knowledge free as sunshine is, and as plentiful as dew; Where learning's precious stores abound, like flowers of varied hue ! And while we girls and boys enjoy these means of edu- cation, Wy. pray that long the blessing will endure while we're a nation. Altered from anonymous. 2.— APOLOGY ON EXAMINATION DAY. Examination day ! How many little hearts Within these walls, have shuddered at that word : And do you wonder much, that even boys, And timid misses, such as these you see, Should shrink from being singled out Before so many strangers, to sing, declaim. And answer all the questions, plain and right, The teachers wish to ask, though it require To ransack their own knowledge-box, from top To bottom, ere they find the answers clear, And all these people looking on, to see If we should chance to fail. I wonder what these kind, wise Trustee-men Would think, if they were yearly marshalled out. And made to stand up here, like us, and tell This audience all they knew about the world, THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. 281 Its countries and tlieir products, — all they knew About the people and their modes of life, And then to tell us about this ''house we live in," Its bones and muscles, veins and brains, and nerves, (No doubt they'd really find that they had tierces.) And then to think of all those puzzling sums In our Arithmetic, and the harder work Of abstruse Algebra. How would they like To stand up here, with chalk in hand, and add, Subtract, divide, and multiply in fractions, Simple, compoimd, proper, and im^Droper? (Indeed, I think they're ail improper.) And then I'd like to know how you would feel, To stand up in tm nlace and bear your part In dialogue, or d:.J>-'... 'oii, while Each eye and ear intei.t -m you — Was watching every word and motion, And you, poor soul, a trembling in your shoes. I think you'd say, as did the mouse of old, To pussy-cat. ''This may be fun to you. But it is death to me."' * ♦ ♦ Say, then, do you not pity us ? I know The ladies do. I see it in their eyes : Our wise trustees, too, look kindly on us, And from our very hearts we thank you all. ANONYMOrs. ;l -VALEDICTORY ADDRESS. (% a little hoy or girl at the dose of a school examination.) Our examination is over now, I, therefore, at its close, would make my bow, To thank you, friends, who so kind have been, To list with patience to our simple scene. We're pleased to see before us such a crowd Of friends and visitors, to hear our song 5 f'm W '-' i. ft It? t >^ 282 THE SCHOOL speaker. And while we're tried to interest you Jill, We know in knowledge we are very small ; But we are all determined we will try, To climb the hill of science very high ; And since we've had your presence here to-dayj We think 'twill cheer us far along our way. And now, kind friends, Just let me say to you, Our exercises are now all through ; And hoping that we have not wearied you, We bid you all a kind — a warm adieu. Teachers, [timiimj to thein,'] our thanks to you let me express. For all your care and unweariedness ; And when we're parted may you ne'er forget, This happy band whom you so oft have met. Dear schoolmates ; [invning to tlwnl when to-morrow's rising sun Another day his journey has begun, And when the chiming bell strikes on our eni', Think you we all shall be assembled here ? Ah no ! vacation days have surely come — To-morrow's sun will find us all at home. And a soft voice is whispering — '^ Though we part. Affection's WTeath is twined around each heart;" And until memory's brightest sun has set. These happy hours we will ne'er forget ; And now, though bound as if by magic spell, Teachers and schoolmates, we must say, farewell ! AKONYMOrS. 4.— A CLOSING VALEDICTORY. Dear Friends and Parents ! 'neath whose cheering smile We've tried to please and keep you here a while, Our task is o'er 5 and now to me the post Has been assigned to speak, with grateful heart, To all who now have watched and wish us well, The few brief words of friendship and farewell ! Oh ! gently judge us for all deeds amiss ; Forget our faults, and just remember this— That all our parts, however ill performed, Were well intended, and we hope not scorned. u let me norrow s part, art; " 3NYM0rS. s: smil(^ THE SCHOOL speaker. 283 Your praise indeed it was our wish to gain, And fondly hopo we have not strove in vain. For your attendance here our thanks accept, And in our hearts shall your kind smiles be kept To cheer and gladden us some future day When o'er the past our memory's thoughts shall sti'ay •, And we recalling from those ti-easures dear. Will bless the friends wlio with us gather here. Oh ! friends and parents ! may your future be Henceforth unclouded, and from sorrow free. And may each year as onward still it flies, Spread learning's ami)lo page before our eyes. And may we strive to act our parts as well As those to whom we now would say, — farewell ! May our own paths to peace and pleasure tend, And at the go{»l of life immortal end ! May gentle flowers be strewed where'er yon tread ! And joy's pure halo circle o'er each head ! Life's thorns be hidden in the desert sand, As on we journey to the promised land ! May no foot Mter till life's march be past. And we together meet in heaven at last ! And when we meet upon that blissful shore, Where every storm that darkens life is o'er. Amid the songs that there our hearts shall swell, Those words we ne'er again shall utter : Friends J'areicell ! Altered from anonymous. 5.- -CLOSING ADDKE.SS-TI1ANKS TO THE TEACHERfS. The time has now come just briefly to say That all our school exercises are closed for the day-- My speech comes the last, as our programme will show, ''The last and the least" you will very soon know. Our lessons are over, our songs have been sung, Giving pleasure, we trust, to the old and the young : You've heard our recitals, and dialogues too, And remember the moral each piece had m view. How well we have spoken and acted our part, Our friends can best judge-with a kind and large heart. 284 m THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. Mucli praise should ho. given, much credit is duo, 'I'o the heads of the school, our tcjicliei's so true ; With them for our leaders tluoughout the i)ast year, The boys and the girls have had nothiug to fear. Our teachers, God bless them ! we cannot forget, They've toiled for us nobly, since the time we first met • LJnwearied in duty, like sentinels stand, ' Those brave volunteers in the common school band. <-^>li, give them your prayers, that long may they live To sow the good seed which a liorvest shall give • And give them yoin- blessing, ye lovers of trutli I That their lips in this service shall never be mute ! AUeredfrom .i. .t. rkid. PART IX.^ SINGLE RECITATIONS, WITH CIIORFS ACCOMPANI- MENTS. JESSIE'S DREAM AT LUCKNOW. ( To he reniied by ajyvpU who nndet'siands and can .yyeaJc broad Scotch. The class to join in the Chorus as indicated.) PtipiJ — Far awa' to bonnie Scotland Has my spirit ta'en its flight. And I saw my mither, spinnin' In our Highland hame at night ; I saw the kye a browsing, My father at the plough. And the grand auld hills aboon thorn n', Wad I could see them now ! Oh 1 leddy, while upon your knees Ye held my sleepin' head, I saw the little kirk at hame, Where Tam an' I were wed : 1 heard the tune the pipers played, I kenn'd its rise and fa', 'Twas the wild Macgregor's slogan — 'Tis the grandest of them a' ! Chorus f>t/ the f/irls, like the distant music of the soldiers.) Verif sofVji at first — Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to min' '^ Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld langsyne ? /'///>;/.— Hark! surely I"m no wildly dreamiiv For I hear it plainly now — Ye cannot, ye never heard it. On the far off mountain's brow ; * Selections of other suitable pieces, with chorn8e«, con bp made by the teacher at pleasure. See note on page 288. T i m' i: 14 280 THE SCHOOL SPEAKER. For in your soutliron childhood, Ye were nourished sai'l; and warnii, Nor watch' d upon the cauld hill side The risin' o' the storm — Aye ! now the soldiers liear it, An' answer with a cheer, As ''the Campbells are a comin', '* Falls on each anxious ear— The cannons roar their thunder. An' the sappei'ss work in vain. For high aboon the din o' war Resounds the welcome strain. Chorus by the boijs, «.s' before — very softly at first.) The Campbells are comin', oh ! oh ! The Campbells are comin', oh! oh ! The Campbells are comin' to bonnie Lochloven ; The Campbells are comin', oh! oh ! Pupil. — An' nearer still, an' nearer still. An' now again 'tis '' Auld langsyno," Its kindly notes like life bluid rin, Rin through this puir, sad heart o' mine ; Oh I leddy, dinna swoon awa' ! Look up, the evil's past, They're comin' now to dee wi' us, Or save us at the last — Then let us humbly, thankfully, Down on our knees and pray. For those who come through bluid and firo. To rescue us this day. That lie may o'er them spread His shield, Stretch forth His arm an' save Bold Ilavelock and his Highlanders, The bravest o' the brave ! Chorus by the lohole school, rising up as they begin. God save our gracious Queen, Long live our noble Queen ! God save the Queen I Send her victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us — God save the Queen ! GRACE CAMPKET.T,. THE SriTOOr. SPEAKEtl. 287 .) n; re, I, 'V.FAA.. '2.~FA'nimi, DEMI FATJIEK, (miE J1(\ME. PupiL-F^ihcv, (lour Aitlier, come liomc with mo now' 1 he clock in tlie steeple strikes one • You s^vid you were coming right home from the shop, ^ As soon as your day's work was done. Our hre has gone out— our house is all (hirk— And mother's beea watching since tea VV ith poor brother Benny so sick in her arnm And no one to liolp her but me. ' Come home ! come home ! come home ' P/ease father, dearfathov, come home. Chorus hy the Clans. Hear the sweet voice of the cliild, Which the night winds repeat as they roam ! Oh, who could resist tliis most i)laintive of rrayer<< f ''Please, father, dear father, come home!'" ' P/^p?'/.— Father, deai- fixther, come home with me now ' The clock in the steeple strikes two ; The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse— But he has been calling for you. Indeed he is worse— Ma says he will die, Perhaps before morning shall dawn ,- And this is the message she sent me to bring— 'I Come quickly, or he will be gone." Come home ! come home ! come home ! riease father, dear father, come home. Chorus as before. Hear tlie sweet voice, kc. FvpiL—Y'dthev, dear father, come home with me now ! The clock in the steeples strikes three; The house is so lonely — the hours are so long For poor weeping mother and me : Yes, we are alone— poor Benny is dead, And gone with the angels of light; And these W'ere the very last words that he said— *' 1 want to kiss Papa ; good night." Come home ! come home ! come home ! Flease father, dear father, come home. Chorus as he/ore. Hear the sweet voice, A:c. Jf. C. WORK. %>''^ m If Note to Teacher. — ^The following, or any other Pieces like them, may be selected by tlie Teacher for recita- tion, with chorus accompaniments, as in the preceding cases,' VIZ. : 1 . Home, Sweet Home 5 with Chorus, by J. H. Pyne. 2. Tramp, the Boys are Marching, with Britisli Cho- rus. By G. F. Root. 3. Cheer, Boys, Cheer; mth Chorus. By Charles Mackay. 4. There's a good time coming, Boys ; with Chorus. By the Hutchinson Family. r». Canadian Boat Song: with Chorus. By Thomas Moore, Esq. 6. Bonnie Dundee, a Scotch Ballad, with Chorus. 7. Lily Dale, with Chorus. By H. S. Thompson. Duetts^ such as ''What are the Wild Waves saying," ifec, &c., will also be found to add interest and variety to the exercises. * Many beautiful Hymns, Avith Choruses, can also be very appro- priately usod in the School**.. iher Pieces for recita- preceding . H. Pyne. British Cho- By Charles dth Chorus. By Thomas [Chorus, ►mpson. 11 res saying, cl variety to be very appro*