Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation; And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave THE BRIGHT SIDE. THERE is many a rest in the road of life, And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, Better to líope, though the clouds hang low, For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, There was never a night without a day, There is many a gem, in the path of life, It may be the love of a little child, Better to weave in the web of life Than to snap the delicate, slender threads And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends, M. A. Kidder. REPLY OF PITT TO WALPOLE, ON BEING TAUNTED ON ACCOUNT OF YOUTH. : SIR,-The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honorable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palkate nor deny; but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of expe rience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province of determining; but surely age may become justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improvement, and vice appears to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object either of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred, who as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and become more wicked with less temptation; who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth, sir, is not my only crime; I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned, that it may be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language; and though, perhaps, I may have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his diction or his mien, however matured by age, or modelled by experience. But if any man shall, by charging me with theatrical behavior imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain; nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves; nor shall anything but age restrain my resentment,-age, which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious, without punish ment. But with regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion that if I had acted a borrowed part, Í should have avoided their censure; the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor fear shall in fluence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, whoever may protect him in his villainy, and whoever may partake of his plunder. Lord Chatham. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. ["In the Parish of St. Neots, Cornwall, is a well, arched over with the robes of four kinds of trees,-withy, oak, elin, and ash,-and dedicated to St. Keyne The reported virtue of the water is this, that, whether husband or wife first drank thereof, they get the mastery thereby."-FULLER.] A WELL there is in the West country, An oak and an elm-tree stand beside, A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne; For from cock-crow, he had been travelling, He drank of the water so cool and clear, And he sat down upon the bank, There came a man from the neighboring town, On the well-side he rested it, "Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ?" quoth he, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day "Or has your good woman, if one you have, In Cornwall ever been? For an if she have, I'll venture my life She has drank of the well of St. Keyne." "I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger he made reply; "But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you answer me why." "St. Keyne," quoth the countryman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well, And before the angel summoned her She laid on the water a spell. "If the husband of this gifted well Shall drink before his wife, A happy man thenceforth is he, "But if the wife should drink of it first, The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne, "You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the countryman said. But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. "I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch. But i' faith, she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church." Robert Southey. FARM-YARD SONG. OVER the hill the farm-boy goes: The early dews are falling: Into the stone-heap darts the mink, "Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co'! co' !" Farther, farther over the hill, Faintly calling, calling still "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co' !" Into the yard the farmer goes, With grateful heart, at the close of day: In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plough; The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, When into the yard the farmer goes, His cattle calling— "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co' ! co' !" While still the cow-boy, far away, Goes seeking those that have gone astray"Co', boss! co', boss! co' ! co' !" Now to her task the milkmaid goes; The new milch heifer is quick and shy, Soothingly calling "So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so!" |