LESSON CXXXVI.

THE CHILD PLAYING WITH A WATCH.

FRANCES S. OSGOOD.

1. ART thou playing with Time, in thy sweet baby glee?
Will he pause on his pinions to frolic with thee?
Oh, show him those shadowless, innocent eyes,
That smile of bewilder'd and beaming surprise;

Let him look on that cheek, where thy rich hair reposes;
Where dimples are playing "bo-peep" with the roses.

2. His wrinkled brow press with light kisses and warm,
And clasp his rough neck in thy soft wreathing arm!
Perhaps thy bewitching and infantine sweetness
May win him, for once, to delay in his fleetness,-
To
pause, ere he rifle, relentless in flight,

A blossom so glowing of bloom and of light;

Then, then, would I keep thee, my beautiful child!

3. Thy blue eyes unclosed, thy bloom undefiled,
With thy innocence only to guard thee from ill,
In life's sunny dawning,-a lily-bud still.

Laugh on, my own Ellen! That voice, which to me
Gives a warning so solemn, makes music for thee;
And while I at those sounds feel the idler's annoy,
Thou hearest but the tick of the pretty gold toy!

4. His smile is upon thee, my blessed, my own!
Long may it be ere thou feelest his frown.
And oh, may his tread, as he wanders with thee,
Light and soft as thy own little fairy step be,

And still through all seasons, in storm and fair weather
May time and my Ellen be playmates together!

LESSON CXXXVII.

THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL.

DANIEL O'CONNELL.

1. I Do not rise to fawn or cringe to this House. I do not rise to supplicate you to be merciful toward the nation to which I belong, toward a nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct nation: it has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history and by seven hundred years of tyranny. I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of the press, and of every other institution dear to Englishmen.

2. Against the bill I protest, in the name of the Irish people, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of, that our redress is not to be agitated; for, in such cases, remonstrances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the people suffer.

3. There is a frightful clause in this bill, which does away

with trial by jury, and substitutes what you call a court martial, a mere nickname, but what I stigmatize as a revolutionary tribunal. What in the name of Heaven is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary tribunal? It annihilates the trial by jury; it drives the judge from his bench, the man who, from experience, could weigh the nice and delicate points of a case, who could discriminate between the straightforward testimony and the suborned evidence, who could see, plainly and readily, the justice or injustice of the accusation.

4. It turns out this man who is free, unshackled, unprejudiced,—who has no previous opinions to control the clear exercise of his duty. You do away with that which is more sacred than the throne itself; that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your Commons assemble. If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for repeal, this bill, this infamous bill,-the way in which it has been received by the House, the manner in which its opponents have been treated, the personalities to which they have been subjected, the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted,—all these things dissipate my doubts, and tell me of its complete and early triumph.

5. Do you think those yells will be forgotten? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country, that they will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills? Oh, they will be heard there! yes, and they will not be forgotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation: they will say, We are eight millions; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more to your country than the Isle of Guernsey or of Jersey !"

6. I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and to my country. I have opposed this measure throughout; and I now protest against it, as harsh, oppressive, uncalled-for, unjust, as establishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating crime against crime,-as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous!

LESSON CXXXVIII.

PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS.

WALTER SCOTT.

1. NOT far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troops array,
To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide;

The train from out the castle drew;
But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu.

2. "Though something I might 'plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I stay'd,
Part we in friendship from your land;
And, noble earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone;
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall, in friendly grasp,
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

3. Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire:

And "This to me!" he said.

"An' 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!

And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,

Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate;
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near,
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou said'st I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

4. On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;

Fierce he broke forth :

66 And darest thou, then,

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms! what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall!"

5. Lord Marmion turn'd,-well was his need,-
And dash'd the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To

pass there was such scanty room,

The bars descending, razed his plume.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim.

And, when Lord Marmion reach'd his band,
He halts, and turn'd with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

6. "Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!"

But soon he rein'd his fury's pace;