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18 widely spread, greedy to touch
Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds. 13. But see! the ground is opening; a blue light
Mounts, gently waving, noiseless; thin and cold
Points out the lightning's track. 14.
The father saw,
The wonted smile return'd. 15.
Silent and pale
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die.
At every swell, nearer and still more near,
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands;
And death came soon, and swift,
LOVE OF HOME.
BY DANIEL WEBSTER.
1. It is only shallow-minded pretenders who either make distinguished origin a matter of personal merit, or obscure origin a matter of personal reproach. Taunt and scoffing at the humble condition in early life affect nobody in this country but those who are foolish enough to indulge in them; and they are generally sufficiently punished by public rebuke. A man, who is not ashamed of himself, need not be ashamed of his early condition. It did not happen to me to be born in a log cabin; but my elder brothers and sisters were born in a log cabin, raised amid the snow-drifts of New Hampshire, at a period so early, that when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney, and curled over the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence of a white man's habitation between it and the settlements on the rivers of Canada.
2. Its remains still exist: I make it an annual visit. I carry my children to it, to teach them the hardships endured by the generations which have gone before them. I love to dwell on the tender recollections, the kindred ties, the early affections, and the touching narrations and incidents which mingle with all I know of this primitive family abode. I weep to think that none of those who inhabited it are now among the living; and if ever I am ashamed of it, or if I ever fail in affectionate veneration for him who raised it and defended it against savage violence and destruction, cherished all the domestic virtues beneath its roof, and, through the fire and blood of seven years' revolutionary war, shrunk from no danger, no toil, no sacrifice, to serve his country and to raise his children to a condition better than his own, may my name, and the name of my posterity, be blotted forever from the memory
1. FAR away from the hill-side, the lake, and the hamlet,
The rock and the brook, and yon meadow so gay;
From his hut and the grave of his friend far away;
No bloodhound has roused up the deer with his bay. 2. He has left the green valley, for paths where the bison
Roams through the prairies or leaps o'er the flood;
And the cat of the mountains keeps watch for its food.
shall be clearer, the rifle be surer, And stronger the arm of the fearless endurer
That trusts naught but Heaven, in his way through the wood. 3. Light be the heart of the poor lonely wanderer;
Firm be his step through each wearisome mile;
Far from the track of the mean and the vile!
And light up the cold touch of death with a smile. 4. And there shall the dew shed its sweetness and luster,
There for his pall shall the oak-leaves be spread;
And o'er him the leaves of the ivy be shed.
And moan o'er the spot where the hunter is laid.
REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.
BY EDWARD THURLOW.
EDWARD THURLOW was the son of the Rector of Ashfield, in Suffolk, where he was born in 1732. In 1778 he was created a peer, and immediately after he was appointed Lord High-Chancellor of Great Britain. He died in 1806.
The Duke of Grafton reproached him with his obscure birth, which called forth the following reply.
1. My lords, I am amazed; yes, my lords, I am amazed at his grace's speech. The noble duke cannot look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble peer
who owes his seat in this house to his successful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident? To all these noble lords the language of the noble duke is as applicable, and as insulting, as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone. No one venerates the peerage more than I do; but, my lords, I must say, that the peerage
solicited me, not I the peerage. 2. Nay, more; I can say, and will say, that as a peer of Parliament, as Speaker of this right honorable house, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his majesty's conscience, as Lord HighChancellor of England, nay, even in that character alone in which the noble duke would think it an affront to be considered, but which character none can deny me,--as a MAN, this time, as much respected as the proudest peer I now look
BY EDWARD YOUNG.
1. Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer:
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger stil). 2. Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears
The palm, “That all men are about to live"
pay themselves the compliment to think
And scarce in human wisdom to do more. 3. All promise is poor dilatory man;
And that through every stage. When young, indeed,
Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.
All men think all men mortal, but themselves;