By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play,

He seemed to the whole great army to say,

And when their statues are placed on high
Under the dome of the Union sky,
The American soldier's temple of Fame, -
There, with the glorious General's name,
Be it said in letters both bold and bright:
"Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight
From Winchester — twenty miles away !"

The Night Scene in Macbeth.

T. B. Reaa.

Lady Macbeth's Room in the Castle at Dunsinane.
Enter GENTLEWOMAN and PHYSICIAN.

Phy. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Phy. What at any time have heard her say? you

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Phy. You may to me; and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. - Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Enter LADY MACBETH, with a Taper.

Phy. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her; she has light by her continually: 'tis her command.

Phy. You see her eyes are open?

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Phy. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands. Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Phy. Hark! she speaks.

Lady M. Out, terrible spot! out, I say!-One: Two: Why, then, 'tis time to do't! - Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a

soldier, and afeard? what need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? - Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Phy. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? — What, will these hands ne'er be clean! - No more o' that, my lord; no more o' that; you mar all with this starting.

Phy. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that; Heaven knows what she has known.

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Phy. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so pale: - I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.

Phy. Even so.

Lady M. To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand: what's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed.

Phy. Will she go now to bed?

Gent. Directly.

Phy. More needs she the divine than the physician.—

Look after her;

Remove from her the means of all annoyance,

[Excit

And still keep eyes upon her.—

Good Heaven, forgive us all!

Shakspeare

BRIEF EXTRACTS.

The Nature of True Eloquence.

True eloquence does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it,-they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object,-this, this is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence: it is action, noble, sublime, God-like action.

Darel Webster.

Self-Reliance.

Insist on yourself; never imitate. Your own gift; Ju can present every moment with the cumulative force. of a whole life's cultivation; but of the adopted talent of another you have only an extemporaneous, half possession. That which ach can do best, none but his Maker can teach him. No mau yet knows what it is, nor can, till that person has exhibited it. Where is the master who could have taught Shakspeare? Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? Every great man is a unique.

5*

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Brain.

Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winde them up once for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hands of the Angel of the Resurrection.

Tic-tac tic-tac! go the wheels of thought; our will cannot stop them; they cannot stop themselves; sleep cannot still them; madness only makes them go faster; death alone can break into the case, and, seizing the ever-swinging pendulum, which we call the heart, silence at last the clicking of the terrible escapement we have carried so long beneath our wrinkled foreheads. Oliver Wendell Holmes.

The Burning Prairie.
Ι

The prairie stretched as smooth as a floor,

As far as the eye could see,

And the settler sat at his cabin door,
With his little girl on his knee;

Striving her letters to repeat

And pulling her apron over her feet.

II.

His face was wrinkled but not old,

For he bore an upright form,

And his shirt sleeves back to the elbow rolled,

They showed a brawny arm.

And near in the grass with toes upturned,

Was a pair of old shoes cracked and burned.

III.

A dog with his head betwixt his paws,

Lay lazily dozing near,

Now and then snapping his tar black jaws,
At the fly that buzzed in his ear.
And near was the cow-pen made of rails,
And a bench that held two milking pails.

IV.

In the open door an ox yoke lay,
The mother's odd redoubt,
To keep the little one at her play

On the floor from falling out,

While she swept the hearth with a turkey wing, And filled her tea kettle at the spring.

แ

"Good wife," he cried, come out and see,

The skies are as red as blood."

"God save us!" cried the settler's wife,

"The prairie's a-fire, we must run for life!"

VIII.

She caught the baby up, "Come,

Are ye mad? to your heels my man.

He followed terror stricken, dumb,

And so they ran and ran,

Close upon them was the snort and swing,
Of buffaloes madly galloping.