antagonist, perceiving his confutation inevitable, in the height of passion threw a full glass of wine in John Henderson's face. Henderson, without altering his features or changing his position, gently wiped his face, and then coolly replied, "This, sir, is a digression; now for the argument." It is hardly necessary to add, the insult was resented by the company's turning the aggressor out of the room. 5. In a letter from Oxford to my brother Amos, his pupil, John Henderson thus expresses himself: "See that you govern your passions. What should grieve us but our infirmities? What make us angry but our own faults? A man who knows he is mortal, and that all the world will pass away, and by and by seem only like a tale, a sinner who knows his sufferings are all less than his sins, and designed to break him from them, one who knows that everything in this world is a seed that will have its fruit in eternity, that God is the best, the only good friend,—that in Him is all we want, that everything is ordered for the best, so that it could not be better, however we take it, he who believes this in his heart, is happy." 6. Those who were unacquainted with John Henderson's character may naturally ask, "What test has he left the world of the distinguished talents thus ascribed to him?" None! He cherished a sentiment, which, whilst it teaches humility to the proud, explains the cause of that silence so generally regretted. Upon my once expressing to him some regret at his not having benefited mankind by the result of his deep and varied investigations, he replied, "More men become writers from ignorance than from knowledge, not knowing that they have been anticipated by others. Let us decide with caution, and write late." Thus the vastness and variety of his acquirements, and the diffidence of his own mental maturity, alike prevented him from illuminating mankind, till death called him to graduate in, a sphere more favorable to the range of his soaring and comprehensive mind. He died on a visit to Oxford, in November, 1788, in the thirty-second year of his age. The skylark, though common in England, is not known in America. Several attempts have been made to introduce the breed here, but as yet without success. The note of this bird is often audible high overhead, when the bird itself is too distant to be seen. The poet's enthusiasm here runs over in words as beautiful and inspiring as the music of the little creature he celebrates. See in Index, HYMENEAL, Languor, Shelley. I. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! bird thou never wert, II. Higher still, and higher, from the earth thou springest III. In the golden lightning of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, thou dost float and run, IV. The pale purple even melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, in the broad daylight V. All the earth and air with thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, from one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. VI. Sound of vernal showers on the twinkling grass, Joyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth surpass. VII. Teach us, sprite or bird, what sweet thoughts are thine: That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. VIII. Chorus hymeneal, or triumphal chant, Matched with thine would be all but an empty vaunt,· IX. What objects are the fountains of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? what shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? X. With thy clear, keen joyance languor cannot be: XI. Waking or asleep, thou of death must deem Things more true and deep than we mortals dream, XII. We look before and after, and pine for what is not: XIII. Yet if we could scorn pride, and hate, and fear; If we were things born not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. XIV. Better than all measures of delightful sound, XV. Teach me half the gladness that thy brain must know, CXXX. THE FATAL BRAWL. The following dialogue is founded on an actual occurrence which took place in Scotland, about the year 1625. In the incidents here represented there is hardly any departure from the facts as they are on record. Pronounce the g in ARGYLE hard (as in go), LAMONT, la-mont'. Refuge and help! Is no one in the house? (Soliloquizes.) 'T was a hot chase, but I have distanced them! My brain still whirls, What have I done? Now it comes back, the wine is not yet out. O fatal, fatal frenzy! the dire reality! O irretrievable and utter wreck Of all my hopes, made in one drunken moment! This morning rich in all that graces life, And now - a miserable homicide, A hunted fugitive! Enter MACGREGOR. Macgregor. A stranger here? I knew not any one was in the room. Did no one wait upon you? Lam. No. I entered By stealth one of the windows in the basement, I am pursued, my life is in your hands, I throw myself for shelter on your mercy! Mac. Pursued? For what? No crime, I hope? Lam. No crime Premeditate in act or in intent, Nothing to stain my honor; —yet a deed To blacken all my future, -ay, to make it One long sigh of repentance! At a tavern, A few miles off, a party of us stopped And dined. The wine flashed freely. We partook More than our brains could carry. Up there came Like us, with wine. Quick wȧkener of contention, The lie was given, Was struck, a fatal blow!. a blow and I the giver! The receiver Fell backward-hit the curbstone with his neck. Rose-staggered-dropped- and died! Mac. Unhappy chance! Lam. When the appalling fear that I had killed him Grew to conviction, I stood motionless And mute with horror. Then a cry of vengeance! Broke from his friends. Mine, overpowered, urged me To fly. I ran, scarce knowing how or why, But, with such speed, I soon left my pursuers And here I stand a suppliant. Mac. Your reliance Shall not be disappointed. On my hearth |