The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar! The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
For Brutus is an honorable man,
(So are they all, all honorable men,)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

2. He was my friend, faithful and just to me; But Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honorable man !

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff;
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see, that on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse.

Was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honorable man.

3. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke;
But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason! Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar;
And I must pause till it come back to me.
But yesterday the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence!

4. O masters, if I were disposed to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men.

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar;
I found it in his closet; 'tis his will:
Let but the commons hear his testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go, and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue!

5. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii.

Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through!
See, what a rent the envious Casca made!
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd!
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it!

6. This was the most unkindest cut of all!
For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquish'd him. Then burst his mighty heart!
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell!

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen !

Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down,

Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us!

Oh, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops!

Kind souls! What! weep you, when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? look you here!
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, by traitors!

7. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed are honorable!
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.

8. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood. I only speak right on.
I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths;
And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny!

LESSON CXCVII.

MANNERS IN NEW YORK IN EARLY TIMES.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

1. THE houses of the higher class were generally constructed of wood, excepting the gable end, which was of small black-and-yellow Dutch bricks, and always faced on the street; as our ancestors, like their descendants, were very

much given to outward show, and were noted for putting the best foot foremost. The house was always furnished with abundance of large doors and small windows on every floor; the date of its erection was curiously designated by iron figures on the front; and on the top of the roof was perched a fierce little weathercock, to let the family into the important secret which way the wind blew.

2. These pointed so many different ways that every man could have a wind to his mind; and you would have thought old Æolus had set his bags of wind adrift, pellmell, to gambol about this windy metropolis. The most stanch and loyal citizens, however, always went according to the weathercock on the top of the governor's house, which was certainly the most correct, as he had a trusty servant employed every morning to climb up and point it whichever way the wind blew. In those good days of simplicity and sunshine, a passion for cleanliness was the leading principle in domestic economy, and the universal test of an able housewife,-a character which formed the utmost ambition of our unenlightened grandmothers.

3. The front door was never opened except on marriages, funerals, New Year's day, the festival of St. Nicholas, or some such great occasion. It was ornamented with a gorgeous brass knocker curiously wrought, sometimes into the device of a dog, and sometimes of a lion's head, and was daily burnished with such religious zeal that it was ofttimes worn out by the very precautions taken for its preservation. The whole house was constantly in a state of inundation, under the discipline of mops, and brooms, and scrubbing-brushes; and the good housewives of those days were a sort of amphibious animal, delighting exceedingly to be dabbling in water, insomuch that a historian of the day gravely tells us that many of his townswomen grew to have webbed fingers like unto a duck: but this I look upon to be a mere sport of fancy, or, what is worse, a willful misrepresentation.

4. The grand parlor was the sanctum sanctorum, where the passion for cleaning was indulged without control. In this sacred apartment no one was permitted to enter excepting the mistress and her confidential maid, who visited it once a

week for the purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning and putting things to rights, always taking the precaution of leaving their shoes at the door, and entering devoutly on their stocking feet. After scrubbing the floor, sprinkling it with fine sand,-which was curiously stroked into angles, and curves, and rhomboids, with a broom,-after washing the windows, rubbing and polishing the furniture, and putting a new bunch of evergreens in the fireplace, the windowshutters were again closed to keep out the flies, and the room carefully locked up until the revolution of time brought round the weekly cleaning-day.

5. In those happy days, a well-regulated family always rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sundown. Dinner was invariably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestable symptoms of disapprobation and uneasiness at being surprised by a visit from a neighbor on such occasions. But, though our worthy ancestors were thus singularly averse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the social bonds of intimacy by occasional banquetings, called tea-parties. These fashionable parties were generally confined to the higher classes, or noblesse; that is to say, such as kept their own cows and drove their own wagons. 6. The company commonly assembled at three o'clock, and went away about six, unless it was in winter-time, when the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before dark. I do not find that they ever treated their company to iced creams, jellies, or syllabubs, or regaled them with musty almonds, moldy raisins, or sour oranges, as is often done in the present age of refinement. Our ancestors were fond of more sturdy, substantial fare. The teatable was crowned with a huge earthen dish well stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut into morsels and swimming in gravy.

7. The company, being seated around the genial board, and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in launching at the fattest pieces of this mighty dish, in much the same manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced with immense apple-pies, or saucers full of preserved