50 Ham. But where was this? Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. Hor. My lord, I did; But answer made it none. Yet once, methought, 55 Itself to motion, like as it would speak; 60 65 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; Ham. 'Tis very strange! Hor. As I do live, my honoured lord, 'tis true; Ham. Indeed, indeed, Sir, but this troubles me. Hor. We do, my lord. Ham. Armed, say you? Ham. From top to toe? Hor. My lord, from head to foot. 70 Ham. Then saw you not his face? 75 Hor. O yes, my lord: he wore his beaver up. Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. Hor. Nay, very pale. Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you? Hor. Most constantly. Ham. I would, I had been there. Hor. It would have much amazed you. 80 Ham. Very like, very like; staid it long? Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hun dred. Ham. His beard was grizzled ?—no ?—— Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 85 A sable silvered. Ham. I'll watch to night; perchance, 'twill walk again. Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 38. Shakspeare. "Yes, An idea of faith impressed on a child. Children are very early capable of impression. I imprinted on my daughter the idea of faith, at a very early age. She was playing one day with a few beads, which seemed to delight her wonderfully. Her whole soul 5 was absorbed in her beads. I said-" My dear, you 199 "Yes, Papa! "And have some pretty beads there."you seem to be vastly pleased with them.' Papa!"-" Well now, throw 'em behind the fire." The tears started into her eyes. She looked earnestly at 10 me, as though she ought to have a reason for such a cruel sacrifice. "Well, my dear, do as you please: but you know I never told you to do any thing, which She lookI did not think would be good for you." ed at me a few moments longer, and then-summon15 ing up all her fortitude-her breast heaving with the effort she dashed them into the fire." Well," said I; "there let them lie, you shall hear more about them another time; but say no more about them now." Some days after, I bought her a box full of larger beads, 20 and toys of the same kind. When I returned home, I opened the treasure and set it before her; she burst into tears with ecstacy. "Those, my child,” said I, believed me, when I told you are yours because it would be better for you to throw those two or three 25 paltry beads behind the fire. Now that has brought you this treasure. But now, my dear, remember, as I did all this to teach long as you live, what FAITH is. you the meaning of FAITH. You threw your beads away when I bid you, because you had faith in me, you that 30 I never advised you but for your good. Put the same confidence in God. Believe every thing that he says in his word. Whether you understand it or not, have faith in him that he means your good.". Cecil. Dubius is such a scrupulous good man- He humbly hopes-presumes--it may be so. For want of prominence and just relief, Knows, what he knows, as if he knew it not; 15 His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, Centering at last in having none at all. Yet, though he tease and baulk your listening ear, 20 A sceptic in philosophy may seem, Reduced to practice, his beloved rule He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. Some fretful tempers wince at every touch, 5 You fall at once into a lower key, That's worse-the drone-pipe of an humblebee. The southern sash admits too strong a light, You rise and drop the curtain-now 'tis night. He shakes with cold-you stir the fire and strive 10 To make a blaze--that's roasting him alive. Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; With soal-that's just the sort he does not wish. He takes what he at first professed to loath, And in due time feeds heartily on both; 15 Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown, He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. Your hope to please him vain on every plan, Himself should work that wonder, if he canAlas! his efforts double his distress, 20 He likes yours little, and his own still less. I pity bashful men, who feel the pain The fear of being silent makes us mute. Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip: Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 40 And finds a changing clime a happy source Of wise reflection, and wad discourse. 45 We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, Like conservators of the public health, Of epidemic throats, if such there are, And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh. 50 Filled up at last with interesting news, Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed, And who is hanged, and who is brought to bed: But fear to call a more important cause, As if 'twere treason against English laws. 55 The visit paid, with ecstasy we come, As from a seven years' transportation, home, And there resume an unembarrassed brow, Recovering what we lost we know not how, 60 The faculties, that seemed reduced to nought, Expression and the privilege of thought. 41. Lady Percy to her husband. Cowper. Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; And start so often when thou sit'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; 5 And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars: Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 10 Cry, Courage!--to the field! And thou hast talk'd Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 15 And all the 'currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream; 20 And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain their breath |