Lady C. Asleep! the wretch! I'll awake him-hem! Sir Charles! [Shakes chair. Sir C. [Starting.] Eh-what-oh, is it you, my dear madam?— you destroyed the most delicious dream-I was dreaming of you. Lady C. Oh! Sir C. Yes, I dreamt that you refused me. [Comes down. Lady C. But dreams go by contraries, you know, Sir Charles. Lady C. What! Sir C. I meant, it was agitating—I was wretched!—but still it was something to be that-it was a sign of existence. Lady C. Yes, Sir Charles, I awoke you to say Sir C. What? Lady C. That the few minutes are past. Sir C. What ten minutes?-eh-oh-ah-beg pardon; of course I remember my proposal. Lady C. I have considered, and— Sir C. You refuse me-well Lady C. I accept. Sir C. Aha, good!- Lady C. That surprises you, I believe. Sir C. Not in the least. We'll fix the happy day as soon as you please. (171.) THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown; Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapours gray, Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished ghost-like into air. Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high; And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes, Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir; And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. All the Foresters of Flanders,—mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, I beheld the pageants splendid, that adorned those days of old; Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies; I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground; more. Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware, Longfellow. (172.) CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. Daniel Webster, one of the greatest, if not the greatest of American orators, jurists, and statesmen, was born in the town of Salisbury, New Hampshire, January 18, 1782. At the age of fifteen he entered Dartmouth College, where he graduated in due course, exhibiting remarkable faculties of mind. When in his nineteenth year, he delivered a Fourth of July oration, at the request of the citizens of Hanover, and his works bear the impress of a comprehensive intellect and exalted patriotism. He died at Marshfield, surrounded by his friends, October 24, 1852. The last words he uttered were, "I still live." A marble block, placed in front of his tomb, bears the inscription: "LORD, I BELIEVE, HELP THOU MY UNBELIEF."-The following extract is from a speech delivered on the hundredth birthday of Washington in 1832. The maxims upon which Washington conducted our foreign relations were few and simple. The first was an entire and indisputable impartiality towards foreign states. He adhered to this rule of public conduct against very strong inducements to depart from it, and when the popularity of the moment seemed to favour such a departure. In the next place, he maintained true dignity and unsullied honour in all communications with foreign states. It was among the high duties devolved upon him, to introduce our new government into the circle of civilized states and powerful nations. Not arrogant or assuming, with no unbecoming or supercilious bearing, he yet exacted for it from all others entire and punctilious respect. He demanded, and he obtained at once, a standing of perfect equality for his country in the society of nations; nor was there a prince or potentate of his day, whose personal character carried with it, into the intercourse of other states, a greater degree of respect and veneration. His own singleness of purpose, his disinterested patriotism, were evinced by the selection of his first cabinet, and by the manner in which he filled the seats of justice and other places of high trust. He sought for men fit for office; not for offices which might suit men. Above personal considerations, above local considerations, above party considerations, he felt that he could only discharge the sacred trust which the country had placed in his hands, by a diligent inquiry after real merit, and a conscientious preference of virtue and talent. The whole country was the field of his selection. He explored that whole field, looking only for whatever it contained most worthy and distinguished. He was, indeed, most successful, and he deserved success for the purity of his motives, the liberality of his sentiments, and his enlarged and manly policy. Washington's administration established the national credit, made provision for the public debt, and for that patriotic army whose in terests and welfare were always so dear to him; and, by laws wisely framed, and of admirable effect, raised the commerce and navigation of the country, almost at once, from depression and ruin to a state of prosperity. Nor were his eyes open to these interests alone. He viewed with equal concern its agriculture and manufactures, and, so far as they came within the regular exercise of the powers of this government, they experienced regard and favour. It should not be omitted, even in this slight reference to the general measures and general principles of the first president, that he saw and felt the full value and importance of the judicial department of the government. An upright and able administration of the laws he held to be alike indispensable to private happiness and public liberty. The temple of justice, in his opinion, was a sacred place, and he would profane and pollute it who should call any to minister in it not spotless in character, not incorruptible in integrity, not competent by talent and learning, not a fit object of unhesitating trust. Finally, gentlemen, there was in the breast of Washington one sentiment so deeply felt, so constantly uppermost, that no proper occasion escaped without its utterance. He regarded the union of these States less as one of blessing, than as the great treasure-house which contained them all. Here, in his judgment, was the great magazine of all our means of prosperity; here, as he thought, and as every true American still thinks, are deposited all our animating prospects, all our solid hopes for future greatness. He has taught us to maintain this union, not by seeking to enlarge the powers of the government on the one hand, nor by surrendering them on the other; but by an administration of them at once firm and moderate, pursuing objects truly national, and carried on in a spirit of justice and equity. Full of gratifying anticipations and hopes, let us look forward to the end of the century which is now commenced. A hundred years hence, other disciples of Washington will celebrate his birth with no less of sincere admiration than we now commemorate it. When they shall meet, as we now meet, to do themselves and him that honour, so surely as they shall see the blue summits of his native mountains rise in the horizon, so surely as they shall behold the river on whose banks he lived, and on whose banks he rests, still flowing on toward the sea, so surely may they see, as we now see, the flag of the Union floating on the top of the Capitol; and then, as now, may the sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country! (173.) THE STORY OF A STOWAWAY. Clement Scott, b. 1845. Poet, dramatist, and miscellaneous writer. Contributor to the Daily Telegraph, editor of the Theatre, and one of the best modern dramatic critics. The poem is on an incident recorded in a shipwreck which took place in the early part of the year 1882. Come, my lad, and sit beside me; we have often talked before If your playmates love adventure, bid them gather round at school Spite of storm and stress of weather, in a gale that lash'd the land, All was over now and hopeless; but across those miles of foam "All is over!" screamed the Captain. call. "You have answered duty's God have mercy on us all!” Save yourselves! I cannot help you! Who shall tell the saddened story of this miserable lad? |