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services of a sordid and dishonorable nature, betrayal of his own Order, and of the noble interests of England can gain him even momentary favor there. He cannot bridle the wild horse of a Plebs any longer:- for a generation past he has not even tried to bridle it; but has run trotting and panting meanly by the side of it, patting its stupid neck; slavishly plunging with it into any "Crimean " or other slough of black platitudes it might reel towards, anxious he, only not to be kicked away, not just yet; oh, not yet for a little while! Is this an existence for a man of any honor? I should say, not. And he still thinks to hang by the bridle, now when his Plebs is getting into the gallop? Hanging by its bridle, through what steep brambly places (scratching out the very eyes of him, as is often enough observable), through what mal-odorous quagmires and ignominious pools will the wild horse drag him,- till he quit hold! Let him quit, in Heaven's name. Better he should go yachting to Algeria, and shoot lions for an occupied existence or stay at home, and hunt rats? Why not? Is not, in strict truth, the Rat-catcher our one real British Nimrod now? Game-preserving, Highland deer-stalking, and the like, will soon all have ceased in this over-crowded Country; and I can see no other business for the vulgar Noble Lord, if he will continue vulgar! (CARLYLE: Shooting Niagara and After)

(Cassius):

CASSIUS BELITTLES CÆSAR

Well, honor is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,

I had as lief not be as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you:

We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he:

For once, upon a raw and gusty day,

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me, "Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in

And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside

And stemming it with hearts of controversy;
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink!"
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Cæsar. And this man

Is now become a god, and Cassius is

A wretched creature and must bend his body

If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:

His coward lips did from their color fly,

And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:

Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books,

Alas, it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius,"
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world
And bear the palm alone.

(SHAKESPEARE: Julius Cæsar)

ANDREAS HOFER'S SELF-DEFENSE

You ask what I have to say in my defense,- you, who glory in the name of France, who wander through the world to enrich and exalt the land of your birth,— you demand how I could dare to arm myself against the invaders of my native rocks? Do you confine the love of home to yourselves? Do you punish in others the actions which you dignify and reward among yourselves? Those stars which glitter on your breasts, do they hang there as recompense for patient servitude?

I see the smile of contempt which curls your lips. You say: "This brute, he is a ruffian, a beggar! That patched jacket, that ragged cap, that rusty belt, shall barbarians such as he close the pass against us, shower rocks.upon our heads, and single out our leaders with unfailing aim, these grovelling mountaineers, who know not the joys and brilliance of life, creeping amidst eternal snows, and snatching with greedy hand their stinted ear of corn? ”

Yet, poor as we are, we never envied our neighbors their smiling sun, their gilded palaces; we never strayed from our peaceful huts to blast the happiness of those who had not injured us. The traveler who visited our valleys met every hand outstretched to welcome him; for him every hearth blazed; with delight we listened to his tale of other lands. Too happy for ambition, we

were not jealous of his wealth; we have even refused to partake of it. (HOFER: Speech in Self-Defense)

MURDER WILL OUT

He has done the murder. No eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake.

Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which pierces through all disguises, and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that " murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God or man.

or

A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either from Heaven earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirit of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.

(WEBSTER: The White Murder Case)

A GLORIOUS CHRISTMAS DINNER

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Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course and in truth it was very much like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their post, crammed spoons into their mouths lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last

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