redeeming blow for their own freedom; but who, like this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers? Others have lived in the love of their own people; but who, like this man, has drunk his sweetest cup of welcome with another? Matchless chief! Of glory's immortal tablets, there is one for him, for him alone! Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame of liberty shall guard it that the generations of men may repeat the name recorded there, the beloved name of Lafayette. CHARLES Sprague. GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL. OH! what's the matter? what's the matter? In March, December, and in July, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill; Young Harry was a lusty drover, And who so stout of limb as he? His voice was like the voice of three. Auld Goody Blake was old and poor, All day she spun in her poor dwelling, And then her three hours' work at night! Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling, It would not pay for candle-light. This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire, Her hut was on a cold hill-side, And in that country coals are dear, For they come far by wind and tide. By the same fire to boil their pottage, Would sit, as any linnet gay. But when the ice our streams did fetter, And then for cold not sleep a wink. Oh, joy for her! whene'er in winter Yet never had she, well or sick, As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, wood or stick, Enough to warm her for three days. Now when the frost was past enduring, And made her poor old bones to ache, Could anything be more alluring, Than an old hedge to Goody Blake? And now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed, To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. Now Harry he had long suspected And to the fields his road would take, And once behind a rick of barley, Thus looking out did Harry stand; The moon was full and shining clearly, And crisp with frost the stubble-land. He hears a noise he's all awake Again!-on tiptoe down the hill He softly creeps- 'Tis Goody Blake! She's at the hedge of Harry Gill. Right glad was he when he beheld her: When with her load she turn'd about, And fiercely by the arm he took her, Her bundle from her lap let fall; She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, O may he never more be warm! " The cold, cold moon above her head, Thus on her knees did Goody pray : Young Harry heard what she had said, And icy cold he turn'd away. He went complaining all the morrow His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, 'Twas all in vain, a useless matter, And blankets were about him pinn'd: Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter, Like a loose casement in the wind. And Harry's flesh it fell away; And all who see him say 'tis plain, He never will be warm again. No word to any man he utters, His teeth may chatter, chatter still: WORDSWORTH. INSTIGATION SCENE. JULIUS CÆSAR. Brutus. What means this shouting? I do fear the people Choose Cæsar for their king. Cassius. Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. Brutus. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.— But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? The name of honor more than I fear death. Cassius. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, I cannot tell, what you and other men |