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And, though I have been told that there are men
Whó borrow friendship’s tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skill'd;
Therefore, I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind
Mo of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms ?

Glen. I did not mean
To gall your pride, which now I see is great.

Norv. My pride!

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper;
Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ?

Norv. A shepherd's scorn!

Glen. Yes, if you presume
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,
As if you took the measure of their minds,
And said in secret, You're no match for me,
What will become of you?

Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?
Norv. Didst thou not hear?

Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Had not been question'd thus; but such as thou,-

Norv. Whom dost thou think me?
Glen. Norval.

Norv. So I am!
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes ?

Gien. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.

Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?

Glen. Thy truth ! thou’rt all a lie; and basely. false
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.

Norv. If I were chain'd, unarm’d, or bed-rid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but, as I am,
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee—what thou art. I know thee well.

Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalyon, born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee?

Norv. Villain, no more !

Draw, and defend thy life! I did design
To have defied thee in another cause;
But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs.

(They draw their swords.) Enter LORD RANDOLPH. Lord Randolph. Hold! I command you both! the man that

Makes me his foe.

Norv. Another voice than thine
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. -

Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous condescending !
Mark the humility of shepherd Norval !

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. (Sheathes his sword.)

Lord Ran. Speak not thus,
Taunting each other, but unfold to me
The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you.

Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much,
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak—I will not, cannot speak-
The opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord, -
Honor, sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favors, and let Norval go
Hence as he came, alone, but not dishonor'd!

Lord Ran. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice ;
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land
Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields :
Suspend your purpose till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader; then decide
The private quarrel.

Glen. I agree to this.
Norv. And I.

Glen. Norval,
Let not our variance mar the social hour,
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph;
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,
Shall stain my countenance.

Smooth thou thy brow,
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.

Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentments When we contend again, our strife is mortal.




1. LET us look boldly, broadly out on Nature's wide domain. Let us note the irregular, yet persistent, advance of the pioneers of civilization, the forest-conquerors, before whose lusty strokes and sharp blades the century-crowned wood-monarchs, rank after rank, come crashing to the earth. From age to age have they kept apart the soil and sunshine, as they shall do no longer. Onward, still onward, pours the army of ax-men, and still before them bow their stubborn foes. But yesterday their advance was checked by the Ohio; to-day it crossed the Missouri, the Kansas, and is fast on the heels of the flying buffalo. In the eye of a true discernment, what host of Xerxes or of Cæsar, of Frederick or Napoleon, ever equaled this in majesty, in greatness of conquest, or in true glory?

2. The mastery of man over Nature,—this is an inspiring truth, which we must not suffer, from its familiarity, to lose its force. By the might of his intellect, man has not merely made the elephant his drudge, the lion his diversion, the whale his magazine, but even the subtlest and most terrible of the elements is made the submissive instrument of his will. He turns aside or garners up the lightning; the rivers toil in his workshops; the tides of ocean bear his burdens; the hurricane rages for his use and profit. 3. Fire and water struggle for mastery, that he may

be whisked over hill and valley with the celerity of the sunbeam. The stillness of the forest midnight is broken by the sporting of the Iron Horse, as he drags the long trains from lake to ocean with a slave's docility, a giant's strength. Up the long hill he labors, over the deep glen he skims, the tops of the tall trees swaying around below his narrow path. His sharp, quick breathing bespeaks his impetuous progress; a stream of fire reflects its course. On dashes the restless, tireless steed; and the morrow's sun shall find him at rest in some far mart of commerce, and the partakers of his wizard journey scattered to their vocations of trade or pleasure, unthinking of their night's adventure. What had old Romance wherewith to match the every-day realities of the Nineteenth Century ?



1. Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice,

The one speaking thus, and the other down so:
In each sentence he utter'd he gave you your choice;
For one half was B alt, and the rest G below.

Oh! Oh! Orator Puff,

One voice for an orator's surely enough. 2. But he still talk'd away, spite of coughs and of frowns,

So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, “My voice is for war," ask'd him, “Which of them, pray?"

Oh! Oh! Orator Puff,

One voice for an orator's surely enough. 3. Reeling homeward one evening, top-heavy with gin,

And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, He tripp'd near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in; “Sinking-fund” the last words, as his noddle came down.

Oh! Oh! Orator Puff,

One voice for an orator's surely enough. 4. “Ho! help!” he exclaim'd, in his he and she tones ;

“Help me out! help me out! I have broken my bones!
“Help you out !” said a Paddy, wḥo pass’d; "what a bother!
Why, there's two of you there; can't you help one another ?”

Oh! Oh! Orator Puff,
One voice for an orator's surely enough.





1. It cannot be that earth is man's only abiding-place. It cannot be that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float another moment upon its surface and then sink into nothingness and darkness forever. Else why is it that the high and glorious aspirations which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts are forever wandering abroad, unsatisfied ? Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and leave us to muse on their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars, which hold their festival around the midnight throne, are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, and forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? And, finally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to the view, and then taken from us, leaving the thousand streams of the affections to flow back in an Alpine torrent upon our hearts? We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a realm where the rainbow never fades; where the stars will be spread out before us like the islands that slumber on the ocean; and where the beautiful beings, that here pass before us like visions, will stay in our presence forever.




ABOU BEN-ADHEM (may his tribe increase !)
*A'woke, one night, from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel, writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben-Adhem bold;
And to the presence in the room he said,
“What writest thou?” The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made all of sweet accord,
Answer'd, “The names of those who love the Lord.
“And is mine one ?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”
Replied the angel. Abou spake more low,
But cheerily still, and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.”

The angel wrote, and vanish’d. The next night,
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,
And lo! Ben-Adhem's name led all the rest.

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