Ham. But where was this? 50 Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watch’d.

Ham. Did you not speak to it ?

Hor. My lord, I did ;
But answer made it none. Yet once, methought,

It lifted up its head, and did address
55 Itself to motion, like as it would speak;

But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
And vanished from our sight.

Ham. 'Tis very strange!
60 Hor. As I do live, my honoured lord, 'tis true;

And we did think it writ down in our duty,
To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, Sir, but this troubles me.
Hold
you

the watch to night? 65

Hor. We do, my lord.
Ham. Armed, say you ?
Hor. Armed, my lord.
Ham. From top to toe ?

Hor. My lord, from head to foot. 70 Ham. Then saw you not his face ?

Hor. O yes, my lord : he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, looked he frowningly?
Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale, or red ? 75 Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you ?
Hor. Most constantly.
Ham. I would, I had been there.
Hor. It would have much amazed

you. 80 Ham. Very like, very like ; staid it long ? Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hun

dred.
Ham. His beard was grizzled !--no ?--

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 85 A sable silvered.

Ham. I'll watch to night; perchance, 'twill walk again.
Hor. I warrant you, it will.
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,

I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 90 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, sir,

If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still ;
And whatsoever else shall hap to night,

Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 95 I will requite your love : so, fare you well. Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,

Shakspeare.

I'll visit you.

Yes,

38. An idea of faith impressed on a child. Children are very early capable of impression. I imprinted on my daughter the idea of faith, at a very early age. She was playing one day with a few beads, which

seemed to delight her wonderfully. Her whole soul 5 was absorbed in her beads. I said—“My dear, you

have some pretty beads there."--"Yes, Papa !”. " And
you seem to be vastly pleased with them.'
Papa !”—“ Well now, throw 'em behind the fire.” The

tears started into her eyes. She looked earnestly at 10 me, as though she ought to have a reason for such a

cruel sacrifice. “Well, my dear, do as you please : but you know I nerer told you to do any thing, which I did not think would be good for you.” She look

ed at me a few moments longer, and then-summon15 ing up all her fortitude her breast heaving with the

effort—she dashed them into the fire." Well,” said I; "there let them lie, you shall hear more about them another time ; but say no more about them now.”

Some days after, I bought her a box full of larger beads, 20 and toys of the same kind. When I returned home, I

opened the treasure and set it before her ; she burst into tears with ecstacy. “Those, my child,” said I,

are yours : because you believed me, when I told you

it would be better for you to throw those two or three 25 paltry beads behind the fire. Now that has brought

you this treasure. But now, my dear, remember, as long as you live, what Faith is. I did all this to teach you the meaning of Faith. You threw your beads away when I bid you, because you had faith in me, that 30 I never advised you but for your good. Put the same

confidence in God. Believe every thing that he says in his word. Whether you understand it or not, have faith in him that he means your good.”.

Cecil.

Dubius is such a scrupulous good man-
Yes—you may catch him tripping if you can.
He would not, with a peremptory tone,

Assert the nose upon his face his own; 5 With hesitation admirably slow,

He humbly hopes-presumes--it may be so.
His evidence, if he were called by law
To swear to some enormity he saw,

For want of prominence and just relief,
10 Would hang an honest man, and save a thief.

Through constant dread of giving truth offence,
He ties up all his hearers in suspense ;
Knows, what he knows, as if he knew it not ;

What he remembers, seems to have forgot ; 15 His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall,

Centering at last in having none at all.
Yet, though he tease and baulk your listening ear,
He makes one useful point exceeding clear ;

Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme 20 A sceptic in philosophy may seem,

Reduced to practice, his beloved rule
Would only prove him a consummate fool;
Useless in him alike both brain and speech,

Fate having placed all truth above his reach,
25 His ambiguities his total sum,
He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb.

Cowper.

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch,
You always do too little or too much :
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain,
Your elevated voice goes through the brain ;

5 You fall at once into a lower key, That's worse

-the drone-pipe of an humblebee. The southern sash admits too strong a light, You rise and drop the curtain—now 'tis night.

He shakes with cold—you stir the fire and strive 10 To make a blaze--that's roasting him alive.

Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ;
With soal—that's just the sort he does not wish.
He takes what he at first professed to loath,

And in due time feeds heartily on both;
15 Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown,

He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.
Your hope to please him vain on every plan,
Himself should work that wonder, if he can-

Alas! his efforts double his distress,
20 He likes yours little, and his own still less.

Thus always teasing others, always teased,
His only pleasure is--to be displeased.

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain

Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, 25 And bear the marks upon a blushing face

Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace.
Our sensibilities are so acute,
The fear of being silent makes us mute.

We sometimes think we could a speech produce 30 Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose ;

But being tried, it dies upon the lip,
Faint as a chicken’s note that has the pip:
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,

Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 35 The circle formed, we sit in silent state,

Like figures drawn upon a dial plate;
Yes ma'am, and no ma'am uttered softly, show
Every five minutes how the minutes go ;

Each individual, suffering a constraint 40 Poetry may, but colours cannot paint ;

As if in close committee on the sky,
Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry ;
And finds a changing clime a happy source

Of wise reflection, an w!! !!! discourse, 45 We next inquire, but softly and by stealth,

41.

Like conservators of the public health,
Of epidemic throats, if such there are,
And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh.

That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 50 Filled up at last with interesting news,

Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed,
And who is hanged, and who is brought to bed :
But fear to call a more important cause,

As if 'twere treason against English laws. 55 The visit paid, with ecstasy we come,

As from a seven years' transportation, home,
And there resume an unembarrassed brow,

Recovering what we lost we know not how, 60 The faculties, that seemed reduced to nought, Expression and the privilege of thought.

Cowper.
Lady Percy to her husband.
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth ;
And start so often when thou sit'st alone ?

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; 5 And given my treasures, and my rights of thee,

To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars :

Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 10 Cry, Courage !--to the field! And thou hast talk'd

Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets ;
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ;

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 15 And all the 'currents of a heady fight.

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,

Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream; 29 And in thy face strange motions have appear’d, Such as we see when men restrain their breath