56. The stranger praised the eloquence of our pulpit, bar, and

senate.

57. But, Mr. Speaker, the gentleman says we have a right to tax America! Oh! inestimable right! Oh! wonderful, transcendent right, the assertion of which has cost this country thirteen provinces, six islands, one hundred thousand lives, and seventy millions of money. Dear, my soul is gray

58.

With poring over the long sum of ill;
So much for vice, so much for discontent,

So much for the necessities of power,
So much for the connivances of fear.

59. Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper?

60. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, that dost not bite so nigh as benefits forgot.

61. As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity.

62. What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?

63. Strange cozenage! None would live passed years again; yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; and from the dregs of life think to receive what the first sprightly running could not give.

64.

65.

He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find

The loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow;

He who surpasses or subdues mankind,

Must look down on the hate of those below.
Though high above the sun of glory glow,
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
Contending tempests on his naked head,

And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,-'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,

Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are

A beauty and a mystery, and create

In us such love and reverence from afar,

That fortune, fame, power, life, hath named themselves a star.

EXERCISES IN COMPOSITION.

REPRODUCTION XII.

PROSE READINGS.

REPRODUCTION XIII.

VALDEMAR THE HAPPY.

FAVORED in love, and first in war,
Ever had been King Valdemar.

Bards had written heroic lays,
Minstrels had sung in Valdemar's praise.

Mothers had taught their babes his name,
Maidens had dreamed it; this is fame.

Beautiful eyes grew soft and meek
When Valdemar opened his mouth to speak.

Warriors grim obeyed his word,
Nobles were proud to call him Lord.

"Favored in love and famed in war, Happy must be King Valdemar!"

So, as he swept along in state,
Muttered the crone at the palace gate,-

Laughing to clasp in her withered palms
The merry monarch's golden alms.

Home at evening, for rest is sweet,
Tottered the beggar's weary feet.

Home at evening from chase and ring,
Buoyant and brave came Court and King.

Flickered the lamp in the cottage room,
Flickered the lamp in the castle's gloom.

One went forth at the break of day,
Asking alms on the King's highway.

One lay still at the break of day-
A king uncrowned, a heap of clay.

For swiftly, suddenly, in the night,
A wind of death had put out the light.

And never again might Valdemar
Strike lance for love or lance for war.

Silent, as if on holy ground,
The weeping courtiers throng around.

Tenderly, as his mother might,

They turn his face to the morning light,—

Loose his garments at throat and wrist,
Softly the silken sash untwist.

Under the linen soft and white,
What surprises their aching sight?

Fretting against the pallid breast,

Find they a penitent's sackcloth vest.

Seamed, and furrowed, and stained, and scarred, Sadly the flesh of the King is marred.

Never had monk under serge and rope,
Never had priest under alb and cope,

Hidden away with closer art
The passion and pain of a weary heart,

Than had he whose secret torture lay
Openly shown in the light of day.

At the lips all pale and the close-shut eyes,
Long they gazed in their mute surprise-

Eyes once lit with the fire of youth,
Lips that had spoken words of truth.

From each to each there floated a sigh,-
"Had this man reason? Then what am I?"

Proud of the cunning lines his art had spun,

He said: "I take my stand

Close by my work, and watch what I have planned.

And now, if Heaven should bless

My labors with but moderate success,

No fly shall pass this way,

Nor gnat, but it shall fall an easy prey."

He spoke, when from the sky

A strong wind swooped, and whirling, hurried by,
And, far before the blast,

Rose, leaf, and web, and plans and hopes were cast.

W. C. BRYANT.

Abou Ben ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke 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,