"Woman," the old judge crabbedly said-
"Your boy is the neighborhood's plague and dread;
Of a gang of reprobates chosen chief;

An idler and rioter, ruffian and thief.

The jury did right, for the facts were plain;
Denial is idle, excuses are vain.

The sentence the court imposes is one-
"Your honor," she cried, "he's my only son."

The tipstaves grinned at the words she spoke,
And a ripple of fun through the court-room broke;
But over the face of the culprit came

An angry look and a shadow of shame.
“Don't laugh at my mother!" loud cries he;
"You've got me fast, and can deal with me;
But she's too good for your coward jeers,
And I'll-" then his utterance choked with tears.

The judge for a moment bent his head,
And looked at him keenly, and then he said:
"We suspend the sentence,-the boy can go;"
And the words were tremulous, forced, and low,
"But say!" and he raised his finger then-
"Don't let them bring you hither again.
There is something good in you yet, I know;
I'll give you a chance-make the most of it-Go!"
The twain went forth, and the old judge said:
"I meant to have given him a year instead.
And perhaps 'tis a difficult thing to tell
If clemency here be ill or well.

But a rock was struck in that callous heart,
From which a fountain of good may start;
For one on the ocean of crime long tossed,
Who loves his mother, is not quite lost."

THE STUDY OF ELOQUENCE. CICERO.

I cannot conceive anything more excellent, than to be able, by language, to captivate the affections, to charm the understanding, and to impel or restrain the will of whole assemblies, at pleasure. Among every free people, especially in peaceful, settled governments, this single art has

always eminently flourished, and always exercised the greatest sway. For what can be more surprising than that, amidst an infinite multitude, one man should appear, who shall be the only, or almost the only man capable of doing what Nature has put in every man's power? Or, can any thing impart such exquisite pleasure to the ear and to the intellect, as a speech in which the wisdom and dignity of the sentiments are heightened by the ut most force and beauty of expression?

Is there any thing so commanding, so grand, as that the eloquence of one man should direct the inclinations of the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates? Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so great, sɔ generous, so public-spirited, as to assist the suppliant, to rear the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, and to save a fellow-citizen from exile? Can any thing be so necessary, as to keep those arms always in readiness, with which you may defend yourself, attack the profligate, and redress your own, or your country's wrongs?

But let us consider this accomplishment as detached from public business, and from its wonderful efficacy in popular assemblies, at the bar, and in the senate; can any thing be more agreeable, or more endearing in private life, than elegant language? For the great characteristic of our nature, and what eminently distinguishes us from brutes, is the faculty of social conversation, the power of expressing our thoughts and sentiments by words. To excel mankind, therefore, in the exercise of that very talent, which gives them the preference to the brute creation, is what every body must not only admire, but look upon as the just object of the most indefatigable pursuit.

And now, to mention the chief point of all, what other power could have been of sufficient efficacy to bring together the vagrant individuals of the human race; to tame their savage manners; to reconcile them to social life; and, after cities were founded, to mark out laws, forms, and constitutions, for their government?-Let me,

in a few words, sum up this almost boundless subject. I lay it down as a maxim, that upon the wisdom and abilities of an accomplished orator, not only his own dignity, but the welfare of vast numbers of individuals, and even of the whole state, must greatly depend.

WIDDER BUDD.

I'm fifty, I'm fair, an without a gray hair,
An' I feel just ez young ez a girl.

When I think o' Zerubbabel Lee, I declare
It sets me all into a whirl.

Last night he wuz here, an' I told him to "clear"-
An' my! How supprised he did look:
Perhaps I wus rash, but he's after my cash-
I see through his plans like a book.

Some offers I've had that I can not call bad,
There was Deacon Philander Breezee;
I'd a sartin sed Yes, when he wanted a kiss,
Ef he hadn't so flustrated me.

It took me so quick that it felt like a kick-
I flew all to pieces at once;

Sez I, "You kin go-I'm not wantin a beau;"
I arted, I know, like a dunce.

Sez he, ez he rose, "I hev come to propose."
I stopped him afore he began:

Sez I, “You kin go, an' see Hepzibah Stow—
I won't be tied down to a man.”

"Mariar," ses he," Widder Tompkins an' me
Kin strike up a bargain, I know;

An', seein' ez we can't decide to agree,

I guess that I better hed go."

He picked up his hat from the chair where it sat
An' solemnly started away.

Sez I, with a look that I'm sure he mistook,
"You're perfectly welcome to stay."

My face got ez red ez our old waggin-shed—
I thought for the land I should melt.

Sez he, "I am done. Good night, leetle one."
I wish he'd a known how I felt.

To-day, Isaac Beers, with his snickers and sneers,
Whose face is ez ugly ez sin,

Dropped in jest to see about buyin' my steers,
An' tickled the mole on my chin.

Sez I, "You jest quit; I don't like you a bit;

You can't come your sawder on me.

You'd better behave till Jane's cold in her grave,

Your manners is ruther too free."

When dear David died (sniff-sniff), ez I sot by his side(sniff -sniff);

He ketched up my hand in his own (sniff-sniff);

He squeezed it awhile (sniff-sniff), an' he sez with a smile (sniff-sniff),

"You'll soon be a widder alone (sniff-sniff—sniff),

An' when I am gone (sniff-sniff) don't you fuss an' take on (sniff-sniff)

Like old Widder Dorothy Day (sniff—sniff).

Look out fur your tin (sniff-sniff) if you marry agin (sniff --sniff),

Nor throw your affections away (sniff -sniff—sniff).

My children hev grown, an' have homes o' their ow They're doin' ez well ez they can (wipes her eyes and nose):

An' I'm gettin' sick o' this livin' alone-

I wouldn't mind havin' a man.

Fur David hez gone to the mansion above

His body is cold in the ground,

Ef you know of a man who would marry for love,

Jest find him an' send him around.

KATE SHELLY.- EUGENE J. HALL.

Have you heard how a girl saved the lightning express,Of Kate Shelly, whose father was killed on the road? Were he living to-day, he'd be proud to possess

Such a daughter as Kate. Ah! 'twas grit that she showed On that terrible evening when Donahue's train

Jumped the bridge and went down, in the darkness and rain.

She was only eighteen, but a woman in size,

With a figure as graceful and lithe as a doe;

With peach-blossom cheeks, and with violet eyes,
And teeth and complexion like new-fallen snow;

With a nature unspoiled and unblemished by art-
With a generous soul, and a warm, noble heart!
'Tis evening-the darkness is dense and profound;
Men linger at home by their bright-blazing fires;
The wind wildly howls with a horrible sound,

And shrieks through the vibrating telegraphi-wires;
The fierce lightning flashes along the dark sky;
The rain falls in torrents; the river rolls by.

The scream of a whistle! the rush of a train!
The sound of a bell! a mysterious light
That flashes and flares through the fast-falling rain!
A rumble! a roar! shrieks of human affright!
The falling of timbers! the space of a breath!
A splash in the river! then darkness and death!

Kate Shelly recoils at the terrible crash;

The sounds of destruction she happens to hear;
She springs to the window-she throws up the sash,
And listens and looks with a feeling of fear.
The tall tree-tops groan, and she hears the faint cry
Of a drowning man down in the river near by!
Her heart feebly flutters, her features grow wan,

And then through her soul in a moment there flies
A forethought that gives her the strength of a man-
She turns to her trembling old mother and cries:
"I must save the express-'twill be here in an hour!"
Then out through the door disappears in the shower.
She flies down the track through the pitiless rain;
She reaches the river-the water below

Whirls and seethes through the timbers. She shudders again: "The bridge! To Moingona God help me to go!"

Then closely about her she gathers her gown
And on the wet ties with a shiver sinks down.

Then carefully over the timbers she creeps

On her hands and her knees, almost holding her breath. The loud thunder peals and the wind wildly sweeps, And struggles to hurry her downward to death; But the thought of the train to destruction so near Removes from her soul every feeling of fear.

With the blood dripping down from each torn, bleeding limb,

Slowly over the timbers her dark way she feels;