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How pale you look, Cornelia. I don't believe you've got a good doctor. Do send him away, and try some one else. You don't look so well as you did when I came in. But if anything happens, send for me at once. If I can't do anything else, I can cheer you up a little,



[After once reading this "Beautiful Gem" the reciter will need no prompting to teach him its proper elocution, nor that it is not possible for him to deliver it with too much genuine emotion. Its sentiment is especially felt by those "who mourn, yet are not without hope."]

I know that thou art gone to the land of thy rest;
Then why should my soul be so sad?

I know that thou art gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner looks up and is glad;

Where Love has put off in the land of its birth,

The stain it has gathered in this;

And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth,
Lies asleep in the bosom of bliss.

I know that thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd
With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul,

Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred,
Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal;

I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows
Through a land where they do not forget;
That sheds over memory only repose,
And takes from it only regret.

This eye must be dark that so long has been dim,

Ere again it may gaze upon thine;

But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home,
In many a token and sign;

I never look up with a vow, to the sky,

But a light like thy beauty is there;

And I hear a love murmur, like thine, in reply,

When I pour out my spirit in prayer,

In a far-away dwelling, wherever it be,

I believe thou hast visions of mine;

And the love that made all things as music to me,

I have not yet learned to resign.

In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea,
Or alone with the breeze on the hill,

I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still.

And though like a mourner that sits by a tomb,

I am wrapped in a mantle of care,

Yet the grief of my bosom-oh! call it not gloom,

Is not the black grief of despair.

By sorrow revealed as the stars are by night
Far off a bright vision appears;

And Hope, like the rainbow-a creature of light,
Is born, like the rainbow, in tears.



[The reader should declaim this piece on a somewhat subdued or low key, slow time, and long quantity. The deep, agonizing sorrow of the deserted one should be expressed by deep emotion, the voice tremulous with agitation, rising slightly above an ordinary conversational tone as the faithful wife and mother resolves to bear her husband's "madness."]

He comes not-I have watched the moon go down,
But yet he comes not. Once it was not so.
He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow,
The while he holds his riot in that town.
Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weep,
And he will wake my infant from its sleep,
To blend its feeble wailing with my tears.

O! how I love a mother's watch to keep,

Over those sleeping eyes, that smile, which cheers
My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fixed and deep.

I had a husband once, who loved me-now

He ever wears a frown upon his brow,
And feeds his passion on a wanton's lip,
As bees from laurel flowers a poison sip.

But yet I cannot hate-O! there were hours
When I could hang forever on his eye,
And time, who stole with silent swiftness by,
Strewed, as he hurried on, his path with flowers.

I loved him then-he loved me too. My heart
Still finds its fondness kindle if he smile;
The memory of our loves will ne'er depart;
And though he often sting me with a dart,
Venomed and barbed, and waste upon the vile
Caresses which his babe and mine should share,—
Though he should spurn me,-I will calmly bear
His madness, and should sickness come and lay
It's paralyzing hand upon him, then

I would with kindness, all my wrongs repay
Until the penitent should weep and say,
How injured and how faithful I had been!


[This beautiful little poem calls for no loud declamation, but should be recited with much genuine emotion.]

This book is all that's left me now!

Tears will unbidden start,

With faltering lip and throbbing brow,

I press it to my heart.

For many generations past,

Here is our family tree;

My mother's hand this Bible clasped;

She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those

Whose names those records bear,

Who round the hearthstone used to close

After the evening prayer,

And speak of what these pages said,
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still!

My father read this holy book

To brothers, sisters dear;

How calm was my poor mother's look,

Who learned God's word to hear.

Her angel-face-I see it yet!

What thronging memories come!

Again that little group is met

Within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew,

Thy constancy I've tried;

Where all were false I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.

The mines of earth no treasure give

That could this, volume buy:

In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.



The following extract is from a speech delivered in support of Foot's resolu. tion, in the United States Senate, January 26, 1830, by Robert Young Hayne, of South Carolina, in his memorable debate with Mr. Webster, of Massachusetts. Mr. Webster's reply follo vs.]

The gentleman (Webster) has made a great flourish about his fidelity to Massachusetts. I shall make no profession of zeal for the interests and honor of South Carolina; of that my constituents shalt judge. If there be one State in the Union, Mr. President (and I say it not in a boastful spirit), that may challenge comparison with any other, for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that State is South Carolina.

Sir, from the very commencement of the Revolution up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made, no service she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity; but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than filial affection.

No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs, though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded with difli

culties, the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound; every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts freely and lav ishly to the altar of their common country.

What, sir, was the conduct of the South during the Revolution? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle But, great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think, at least, equal honer is due to the South. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to calcu late their interest in the dispute.

Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create a commercial rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guarantec that their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all considerations, either of interest or of safety, they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, periled all, in the sacred cause of freedom.

Never was there exhibited in the history of the world higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the Whigs of Carolina during the Revolution. The whole State, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. The plains of Carolina" drank up the most precious blood of her citizens. Black and smoking ruins marked the places which had been the habitations of her children.

Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost impene. trable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina (sustained by the example of her Sumters and her Marions) proved, by her conduct, that, though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible,



[Extract from a speech delivered by Mr. Webster in the Senate chamber January 27, 1830, in defence of the Union and the Constitution, and in reply to a peech of Robert Young Hayne, of South Carolina. As the defender and expounder of the Constitution, Webster stood alone; he had no equal, though there were many political and mental giants in the Senate in those days; he was the acknowledged leader. In his great debate with Hayne and Calhoun, he set before the nation and the world the grandeur and the strength of our Constitution,

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