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Doub. I'm rid of him, at last, thank fortune! (PRY reënters.) Well, are n't you gone? What now?

Pry. I've dropped one of my gloves. No! Now, that's very odd -- here it is in my hand, all the time. Doub. O! get out of my way. (Goes out.)

Pry. Come, that's civil. If I were the least of a bore, now, it would be pardonable; but Hullo! there's the postman! I wonder whether the Parkins's have got letters again to day? They have had letters every day this week, and I can't, for the life of me, think what they can be about. (Runs off, and returns.) Dear me! I was going off without my umbrella.

Altered from JOHN POOLE.

CIX.-NIGHT REVEALS WHAT DAY CONCEALS.

HES PE-RUS, n., a Greek name given to | CAN'O-PY, n., a covering of state over the planet Venus when she appears

in the evening.

head.

TRANS-LU'CENT, a., clear; lucid.

A sonnet is properly a poem of fourteen lines, with rhymes occurring like those in the following, pronounced by Coleridge one of the finest in the English language.

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MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew
Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,

This glorious canopy of light and blue ?
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hes'perus, with the host of heaven, came;

And, lo! Creation widened in man's view.

Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O Sun! Or who could find, While fly, and leaf, and insect, stood revealed That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? Why do we, then, shun death, with anxious strife? If Light can thus deceive. wherefore not Life?

J. BLANCO WHITE.

CX.-DEATH THE GATE OF LIFE.

COMPASS (kum-), v. t., to pass round; | FA-CIL'I-TY, n., easiness.

hence, to secure; to obtain. HA'LO, n., pl. HA'LOS, a bright circle

round the sun or moon.

UN-TO'WARD, a., perverse.

AP-PA-RA'TUS, n., the furniture or means for some art or purpose.

FUL-FILL' OF FUL-FIL', v. t., to perform. RET-RI-BU'TION, n., repayment.

The o in shone is short, according to Worcester; long, according to Webster. ProBounce open, o'pn; hasten, hā'sn.

1. I HAVE seen one die: she was beautiful; and beautiful were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfill. Angelic loveliness enrobed her; and a grace, as if it were caught from heaven, breathed in every tone, hallowed every affection, shone in every action-invested as a halo her whole existence, and made it a light and a blessing, a charm and a vision of gladness, to all around her; but she died! Friendship, and love, and parental fondness, and infant weakness, stretched out their hand to save her; but they could not save her; and she died! What! did all that loveliness die? Is there no land of the blessed and the lovely ones, for such to live in? Forbid it reason, religion, bereaved affection, and undying love! forbid the thought!

2. I have seen one die-in the maturity of every power, in the earthly perfection of every faculty; when many temptations had been overcome, and many hard lessons had been learnt; when many experiments had made virtue easy, and had given a facility to action, and a success to endeavor; when wisdom had been wrung from many mistakes, and a skill had been laboriously acquired in the use of many powers; and the being I looked upon had just compassed that most useful, most practical of all knowledge, how to live. and to act well and wisely; yet I have seen such a one die !

3. Was all this treasure gained, only to be lost? Were all these faculties trained, only to be thrown into utter disuse? Was this instrument Was this instrument - the intelligent

soul, the noblest in the universe—was it so laboriously fashioned, and by the most varied and expensive apparatus, that, on the very moment of being finished, it should be cast away forever? No; the dead, as we call them, do not so die. They carry their thoughts to another and a nobler existence. They teach us, and especially by all the strange and seemingly un-to' ward circumstances of their departure from this life, that they, and we, shall live forever. They open the future world, then, to our faith.

4. O, death!-dark hour to hopeless unbelief! hour to which, in that creed of despair, no hour shall suc ceed! being's last hour! to whose appalling darkness, even the shadows of an avenging retribution were brightness and relief-death! what art thou to the Christian's assurance? Great hour! answer to life's prayer great hour that shall break asunder the bond of life's mystery.

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5. Hour of release from life's burden-hour of reünion with the loved and lost-what mighty hopes hasten to their fulfillment in thee! What longings, what aspirations, breathed in the still night, beneath the silent stars what dread emotions of curiositywhat deep meditations of joy-what hallowed impussibilities shadowing forth realities to the soul, all verge to their consummation in thee! O, death! the Chris tian's death! What art thou, but a gate of life, a pōr tal of heaven, the threshold of eternity?

"Death gives us more than was in Eden lost.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
When shall die to vanity, pain, death!
When shall I die When shal I live forever!"

DEWEY.

CXI.-BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CÆSAR.

CEN'SURE, n., fault-finding; blame.

EX-TEN'U-ATE, v. t., to lessen.

OF-FENSE' or OF-FENCE', n., transgres- NONE (nŭn), a., not one; not any. sion.

When a noun ends in s, the s of the possessive case is sometimes omitted for the sake of euphony; as, "Brutus' love," "For Jesus' sake." When mine is used adjectively, as below, the absence of accentual force will permit the shortening of the sound into min.

ROMANS, Countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge.

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If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, — to him I say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen?

As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and death, for his ambition! Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

None? Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his

glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark An'tony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com'monwealth: as which of you shall not? With this I depart: That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the saine dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. SHAKSPEARE.

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IN'VEN-TO-RY, n., a list of goods. | PRĬTH'EE, corruption of pray thee.
Avoid saying deps for depths. Pronounce Wolsey, Wool'zy; heard, herd.

CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.

Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention

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Of me must more be heard, say, then, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in,—
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me!
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition!
By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honesty;

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not;
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O, Cromwell hou fall'st a bless'ed martyr!

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