person, but by giving it in their own language. This method of writing is probably more ancient than simple narration; and we find it in the books of the Old Testament, which abound with speeches, with answers and replies, upon the most familiar subjects. It is very happily used in describing the interview between Joseph and his brethren. VII. JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 22. And Joseph said unto his brethren, "Whence come ye'?" And they said, "From the land of Canaan', to buy food'." And Joseph said, "Ye are spies': to see the nakedness of the land' ye are come." 23. And they said unto him, "Nay, my lord, but to buy food are thy servants come. We are all one man's sons; we are true men; thy servants are no spies." And he said unto them, "Nay, but to see the nakedness of the land ye are come." And they said, "Thy servants are twelve brethren, the sons of one man in the land of Canaan; and behold, the youngest is this day with our father, and one is not." 24. And Joseph said unto them, "That is it that I spake unto you, saying, Ye are spies. Hereby ye shall be proved: By the life of Pharaoh, ye shall not go forth hence except your youngest brother come hither." 25. At a subsequent interview, the conversation of Joseph's brethren among themselves is also given in the narrative form. And they said one to another, "We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought us, and we would not hear; therefore is this distress come upon us." And Reuben answered them, saying, "Spake I not unto you, saying, Do not sin against the child; and ye would not hear'? Therefore, behold, also, his blood is required." 26. This form of the dialogue, which holds a conspicuous place in the modern novel, allows the author to keep his readers informed of any thing concerning the characters, or the plot, which it may be desirable for them to know. It admits every variety of composition, and is especially adapted to the delineation of the familiar scenes of every-day life. LESSON XCIII. MRS. CAUDLE'S UMBRELLA LECTURE. From the Manuscript of the late Mr. Caudle; by WILLIAM DOUGLAS JERROLD. [WILLIAM DOUGLAS JERROLD, born in London, England, in 1803; died in 1857. At the age of ten he was a midshipman, then a printer, and lastly he became a man of letters by profession. He wrote humorous dramas, was a frequent contributor to the magazines, and a man of brilliant wit in conversation. His "Caudle Lectures," from which the present lesson is taken, first appeared in the London "Punch." Mr. Caudle having lent an acquaintance the family umbrella, Mrs. Caudle lectured him thereon. The supposed brief responses of Mr. Caudle, spoken in a low tone, are here inserted, italicized, and in brackets. The piece is one that combines the scolding lecture, the assumed dialogue, and the soliloquy, and will be found a fine exercise for a good reader.] 1. THAT'S the third umbrella gone since Christmas. [What was I to do?] What were you to do? Why', let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could spoil'! [He might have taken cold.] Take cold'! indeed! He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have better taken cold than taken our only umbrella. 2. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle'? I say, do you hear the rain? And, as I'm alive, if it isn't St. Swithin's day! Do you hear it against the windows'? Nonsense: you don't impose upon me: you can't be asleep with such a shower as that! Dou you hear it, I say'? [Yes, I hear it.] Oh! you do hear it! Well, that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks'; and no stirring all the time out of the house'. [Perhaps he'll return' the umbrella.] Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle; dont't insult me; he return the umbrella! Any body would think you were born yesterday. As if any body ever did return an umbrella! 3. There': do you hear it'? Worse' and worse'. Cats' and dogs! and for six weeks'! always six weeks; and no umbrella! I should like to know how the children are to go to school to-morrow. They sha'n't go through such weather; I am determined. No; they shall stop at home, and never learn any thing (the blessed creatures!), sooner than go and get wet! And when they grow up, I wonder whom they'll have to thank for knowing nothing; whom, indeed, but their father'? People who can't feel for their own children ought never to be fathers. 4. But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh yes; I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow, you knew that; and you did it on purpose. [I like to have you go there.] Don't tell me! you hate to have me go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle. No, sir; if it comes down in buckets-full, I'll go all the more. [You can take a cab, then.] No; I won't have a cab! Where do you think the money's to come from? You've got nice high notions at that club of yours! 5. A cab, indeed'! Cost me sixteen pence, at least-sixteen pence! two-and-eight pence: for there's back again. Cabs, indeed! I should like to know who's to pay for 'em; for I'm sure you can't, if you go on as you do, throwing away your property, and beggaring your children-buying umbrellas! 6. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle'? I say, do you hear it'? But I don't care- -I'll go to mother's to-morrow—I will; and, what's more, I'll walk every step of the wayand you know that will give me my death. [You'll be a foolish woman, then.] Don't call me a foolish woman; it's you that's the foolish man. 7. You know I can't wear clogs; and with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold-it always does. But what do you care for that'? Nothing at all. I may be laid up, for what you care, as I dare say I shall—and a pretty doctor's bill there'll be. I hope there will! It will teach you to lend your umbrella again. I shouldn't wonder if I caught my death; yes: and that's what you lent the umbrella for. Of course. 8. Nice clothes I shall get, too, traipsing through weather like this. My gown and bonnet will be spoiled quite. [You needn't wear them, then.] Needn't wear 'em, then'! Indeed, Mr. Caudle, I shall wear 'em. No, sir; I'm not going out a dowdy, to please you, or any body else. Gracious knows! it isn't often that I step over the threshold: indeed, I might as well be a slave at once; better, I should say; but when I do go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go as a lady. 9. Oh, that rain-if it isn't enough to break in the windows! Ugh! I look forward with dread for to-morrow. How I am to go to mother's, I'm sure I can't tell. But if I die, I'll do it. [You can borrow an umbrella.] No, sir, I'll not borrow an umbrella-no, and you sha'n't buy one. Mr. Caudle, if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it into the street. Ha! and it was only last week I had a new nozzle put on that umbrella. I'm sure, if I'd known as much as I do now, it might have gone without one. Paying for new nozzles for other people to laugh at you! 10. Oh, it's all very well for you; you can go to sleep. You've no thought of your poor, patient wife, and your own dear children; you think of nothing but lending umbrellas! Men, indeed!-call themselves lords of the creation! pretty lords, when they can't even take care of an umbrella! 11. I know that walk to-morrow will be the death of me. But that's what you want: then you may go to your club, and do as you like; and then, nicely my poor, dear children will be used. But then, sir, then you'll be happy. [No, I shall not.] Oh! don't tell me! I know you will: else you'd never have lent the umbrella! You have to go on Thursday about that summons; and, of course, you can't go. No, indeed: you don't go without the umbrella. You may lose the debt for what I care; it won't be so bad as spoiling your clothes-better lose it: people deserve to lose debts who lend umbrellas! 12. And I should like to know how I am to go to mother's without the umbrella. [You said you would go.] Oh! don't tell me that I said I would go; that's nothing to do with it-nothing at all. She'll think I'm neglecting her; and the little money we're to have, we sha'n't have at allbecause we've no umbrella. The children too! (dear things!) they'll be sopping wet; for they sha'n't stay at home; they sha'n't lose their learning; it's all their father will leave them, I'm sure. But they shall go to school. [You said they shouldn't go.] Don't tell me I said they shouldn't: you are so aggravating, Caudle, you'd spoil the temper of an an gel. They shall go to school: mark that; and if they get their deaths of cold, it's not my fault: I didn't lend the umbrella. "Here," said Caudle, in his manuscript, “I fell asleep, and dreamt that the sky was turned into green calico, with whalebone ribs;-that, in fact, the whole world revolved under a tremendous umbrella." a St. Swith'in. The Bishop of Winchester, tutor to King Alfred, was canonized as Saint Swithin. He is said to have wrought many miracles, the most celebrated being a rain of forty days' continuance. It is a popular superstition in England, that if it rain on St. Swithin's day (July 15th) it will rain for forty days thereafter. LESSON XCIV. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. SHAKSPEARE'S Hamlet, Act III., Scene 1. [This soliloquy of Hamlet is spoken with that solemnity of manner, and becoming Blowness of utterance, which are expressive of deep thought and meditation.] 1. To be or not' to be!-that is the question:- 2. And, by opposing', end' them ?-To die-to sleep'- The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks To die',-to sleep', To sleep'!-perchance to dream!-ay, there's the rub'! For, in that sleep of death, what dreams' may come', Must give us pause. There's the respecta That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time', |