Brother, I perceive your little son between your knees. May the Great Spirit preserve his life, my brother. He grows up before you, like the tender sapling by the side of the mighty oak. May they flourish for a long time together; and when the mighty oak is fallen on the ground, may the young tree fill its place in the forest, and spread out its branches over the tribe.

Brothers, I make you a short talk, and again bid you come to our council hall.

wel

XCI. ORLANDO AND JAQUES.

SHAKSPEARE.

[William Shakspeare, the illustrious dramatic poet, was born at Stratford on Avon, in England, in April, 1564, and died in 1616.

This lesson is taken from As You Like It, one of his comedies, a play full of exquisite poetry, and the finest pictures of woodland life. Many of the scenes-the following among them are laid in a forest. Orlando is a young man in love with Rosalind. Jaques is a nobleman in attendance upon a banished duke, who lives in the wood, and is Rosalind's father.]

Jaques. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief been myself alone.

Orlando. And so had I; but yet, for fashion's sake, I thank you too for your society.

Jaq. God be with you; let us meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire that we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks.

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favoredly.

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orl. Yes, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened.

Jaq. What stature is she of?

Orl. Just as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers.

Have you not been

*

acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth,† from whence you have studied your questions.

Jaq. You have a nimble wit: I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in love.

Orl. 'Tis a fault I would not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found

you.

Orl. He is drowned in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure.

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior Love.

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.

* Conned, learned or studied. Rings formerly had mottoes, or sentiments, engraved upon them.

+ Painted cloth means the hangings, or tapestry, with which rooms used to be hung. Sentences were frequently wrought into them with a needle, as in a sampler; or sometimes woven in.

Atalanta was a maiden in Grecian poetry, famous for her swiftness in running.

XCI.SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE.

GOOD NAME.—SHAKSPEARE.

GOOD name in man or woman

Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;

'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;

But he who filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed.

A BIRD'S NEST.-HURDIS.

It wins my admiration

To view the structure of that little work,
A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without;
No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut;
No nail to fix; no bodkin to insert;

No glue to join ;

his little beak was all;

And yet how neatly finished! What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another?

NIGHT.-YOUNG.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world:
Silence, how dead! and darkness how profound!
Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds.
Creation sleeps. "Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause
An awful pause, prophetic of her end.

THE CLOUD.—SHELLEY.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet birds every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under;

And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.

THE LANDSCAPE.-DYER.

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view?
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky;
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower:
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

A MORNING PICTURE.-GRAY.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm,

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes:

Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,

That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

EVENING.-WORDSWORTH.

Calm is the fragrant air, and loath to lose

Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews. Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;

Look up a second time, and, one by one,

You mark them twinkling out with silvery light,
And wonder how they could elude the sight;
The birds, of late so noisy in their bowers,
Warbled a while with faint and fainter powers,
But now are silent as the dim-seen flowers.

TEACHINGS OF NATURE.-COLERIDGE.

But thou, my babe, shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.

NIGHT.-R. SOUTHEY.

How beautiful is night!

A dewy freshness fills the silent air;

No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain

Breaks the serene of heaven:

In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine

Rolls through the dark-blue depths.

Beneath her steady ray

The desert-circle spreads,

Like the round ocean girdled with the sky.

How beautiful is night!