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RHETORICAL DIALOGUES.

SERIOUS AND SENTIMENTAL.

I-THE LAND OF THE BLEST.-Mrs. Abdy.

FATHER-CHILD.

Child. Dear Father, I ask for my mother in vain, Has she sought some far country, her health to regain, Has she left our cold climate of frost and of snow, For some warm sunny land, where the soft breezes blow?"

Father. Yes, yes, gentle boy, thy loved mother has gone To a climate where sorrow and pains are unknown; Her spirit is strengthened, her frame is at rest,

There is health, there is peace, in the Land of the Blest.

Child. Is that land, my dear Father, more lovely than ours, Are the rivers more clear, and more blooming the flowers, Does Summer shine over it all the year long,

Is it cheered by the glad sounds of music and song?

Father. Yes, the flowers are despoiled not by winter or night, The well-springs of life are exhaustless and bright, And by exquisite voices sweet hymns are addrest To the Lord who reigns over the Land of the Blest.

Child. Yet that land, to my mother, will lonely appear, She shrunk from the glance of a stranger, while here; From her foreign companions, I know she will flee, And sigh, dearest Father, for you and for me.

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Father. My darling, thy mother rejoices to gaze

On the long-severed friends of her earliest days;

Her parents have there found a mansion of rest,

And they welcome their child to the Land of the Blest.

Child. How I long to partake of such meetings of bliss, That land must be surely more happy than this; On you, my kind Father, the journey depends, Let us go to my mother, her kindred, and friends.

Father. Not on me, love; I trust I may reach that bright clime, But in patience I stay till the Lord's chosen time, And must strive, while awaiting his gracious behest, To guide thy young steps to the Land of the Blest. Thou must toil through a world full of dangers, my boy, Thy peace it may blight, and thy virtue destroy; Nor wilt thou, alas! be withheld from its snares By a mother's fond counsels, a mother's fond prayers. Yet fear not the God, whose direction we crave, Is mighty to strengthen, to shield, and to save; And his hand may yet lead thee, a glorified guest, To the home of thy mother, the Land of the Blest.

II. THE DEAD MOTHER.-Anonymous.

FATHER-CHILD.

Father. Touch not thy mother, boy.-Thou canst not wake her.

Child. Why, Father? She still wakens at this hour.
Father. Your mother's dead, my child.

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If she be dead, why then 'tis only sleeping,
For I am sure she sleeps. Come, mother,―rise.-
Her hand is very cold!

Father. Her heart is cold.

Her limbs are bloodless; would that mine were so!

Child. If she would waken, she would soon be warm.

Why is she wrapt in this thin sheet? If I,

This winter morning, were not covered better,
I should be cold, like her.

Father. No-not like her.

The fire might warm you, or thick clothes-but her-
Nothing can warm again!

Child. If I could wake her,

She would smile on me, as she always does,
And kiss me. Mother! you have slept too long-
Her face is pale-and it would frighten me,
But that I know she loves me.

Father. Come, my child.

Child. Once, when I sat upon her lap, I felt
A beating at her side, and then she said
It was her heart that beat, and bade me feel
For my own heart, and they both beat alike,
Only mine was the quickest.-And I feel
My own heart yet-but hers--I cannot feel-

Father. Child! child!--you drive me mad--come hence, I

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Child. Nay, Father, be not angry! let me stay here

my mother wakens.

Father. I have told you,

Your mother cannot wake-not in this world

But in another, she will wake for us.

When we have slept like her, then we shall see her.
Child. Would it were night, then!

Father. No, unhappy child!"

Full many a night shall pass, ere thou canst sleep
That last, long sleep.-Thy father soon shall sleep it;

Then wilt thou be deserted upon earth:

None will regard thee; thou wilt soon forget

That thou hadst natural ties.

Child. Father! Father!

Why do you look so terribly upon me?

You will not hurt me?

Father. Hurt thee, darling? no!

Has sorrow's violence so much of anger,

That it should fright my boy? Come, dearest, come.
Child. You are not angry, then?

Father. Too well I love you.

Child. All you have said, I cannot now remember,
Nor what is meant—you terrified me so.
But this I know, you told me-I must sleep
Before my mother wakens-so, to-morrow--
Oh Father! that to-morrow were but come.

III. THE WORLD.

FIRST CHILD-SECOND CHILD.

First Child. How beautiful the world is! The green earth covered with flowers-the trees laden with rich blossoms-the blue sky, and the bright water, and the golden sunshine. The world is, indeed, beautiful, and He who made it must be beautiful.

Second Child. It is a happy world. Hark! how the merry birds sing-and the young lambs-see! how they gambol on the hillside. Even the trees wave, and the brooks ripple in gladness. Yon Eagle!-Ah! how joyously he soars up to the glorious heavens-the bird of liberty, the bird of America. First Child. Yes;

"His throne is on the mountain top;

His fields the boundless air;

And hoary peaks, that proudly prop
The skies-his dwellings are.

"He rises, like a thing of light,
Amid the noontide blaze,

The midway sun is clear and bright

It cannot dim his gaze."

Second Child. It is happy-I see it and hear it all about me -nay, I feel it-here, in the glow, the eloquent glow of my own heart. He who made it must be happy.

First Child. It is a great world. Look off to the mighty ocean when the storm is upon it;-to the huge mountain, when the thunder and the lightnings play over it; to the vast forestthe interminable waste,-the sun, the moon, and the myriads of fair stars, countless as the sands upon the seashore. It is a great, a magnificent world,-and He who made it,-Oh! He is the perfection of all loveliness, all goodness, all greatness, all gloriousness!

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