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conimander throws his shield over the fortunes of his country, and prepares in silence and amid 6bloquy the ineans of maintaining its independence. But the triumphs of the orator are immediate; his influence is instantly felt; his, and his alone, it is

“ The applause of listening senates to command,

The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read his history in a nation's eyes !" "I can conceive," says Cicero, "of no accomplishment more to be desired than to be able to captivate the affections, charm the understanding, and direct or restrain, at pleasure, the will of whole assemblies. This single art has, amongst every free people, commanded the greatest encouragement, and been attended with the most surprising effects. For what can be more astonishing, than that from an immense multitude one man should come forth, the only, or almost the only man, who can do what Nature has made attainable by all ? Or can anything impart to the ears and the understanding a pleasure so pure as a discourse which at once delights by its elocution, enlists the passions by its rhetoris, and carries captive the conviction by its logic?

“What triumph more noble and magnificent than that of the eloquence of one man, swaying the inclinations of the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates? Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so grand, so generous, so public-spirited, as to relieve the suppliant, to raise up the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, to save a fellow-citizen from exile and wrong? Can aught be more desirable than to have always ready those weapons with which we can at once defend the weak, assail the profligate, and redress our own or our country's injuries ?

“But, apart from the utility of this art in the Forum, the Rostrum, the Senate, and on the Bench, can anything in retirement from business be more delightful, more socially endearing, than a language and elocution agreeable and polished on every subject? For the great characteristic of our nature-that which distinguishes us from brutes—is our capacity of social intercourse, our ability to convey or r ideas by words. Ought it not, then, to be pre-eminentły our study to excel mankind in that very faculty wb'ch constitutes their superiority over brutes ?

“Upon the eloquence and spirit of an accomplished orator may often depend, not only his own dignity, but the welfare of a government, nay, of a people. Go on, then, ye who would attain this inestimable art. Ply the study you have in hand, pursue it with singleness of purpose, at once for your own honor, for the advantage Ot your friends, and for the service of your country.”

SAVED.-JENNIE JOY.

COME! hurry up, Jim-don't you see the moon is comin' out? What inakes you lag so far behind? D’ye mind what you're

about? I want to reach that patch of corn while yet the moon is hid Beneath the clouds-now start your pegs, and du as you are

bid.

Jim! are you cryin'?—now for shame! you chicken hearted lad. Don't want to help me take the corn—don't want to help your

dad? Old Todd won't see us pick the ears-we'll bag five bushel,

clear; We cannot starve ; I ha'n't a cent, I spent the last for beer. You needn't be afraid, now Jim! there's not a soul around; 'Tis almost midnight-Todd's asleep, and so's his “ blooded

hound.” I allers gin you credit, lad, for bein' bold and brave; And I have hearn you say that fears should ne'er make you

their slave.

I'll let you have a dozen ears—the largest that we take-
To feed your pig, and some we'll grind to make a johnny-cake.
I owe Sam Stokes a little bill of drinks, and other traps, -
The rest will have to go to him-and you may taste my Schnapps
Now jump the fence--and "mind your eye!” don't speak above

a breath;
If that confounded hound should wake, he'd be our very death.
I'm glad the clouds have got so thick-the night is pesky dark;
Now here's the bag-What is it Jim? I thought you whispered

-Hark!

The clouds are scatterin'—There's the moon! Too bad, but

never fear, We'll fill the sacks, and hurry home-I'm hankerin' fur some

beerWhat did you say, Jim ?-are you sure? I hope it ain't old “Look up," d'ye say? “we're surely seen; we cannot hide

from God ?"

Todd;

Jim! Jim! my boy, I guess you're right; here, take the empty

bags; 'Tis drink that's brought your dad to this, and clothed us both

in rags. It was not fear that made you lag, unless 'twas fear of God; D'ye think he'd hear you if you prayed ?—I do not mean old

Todd.

“Yes ?”' well, kneel down—my words are rough, too rough

for such as He, But may be He will hear my boy, and pity even me. l'll taste no more the damning stuff! Take heart, poor, suf

fering lad; Thank God l your prayer has blessed my soul-yes, saved your

weak, old dad. “ Wood's Household Magazine.”

THE SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING.

Not long since a sober middle-aged gentleman was quietly dozing in one of our railroad trains, when his pleasant, drowsy meditations were suddenly interrupted by the sharp voice of the individual by his side. This was no less a personage than a dandified, hot-blooded, inquisitive Frenchman, who raised his hairy visage close to that of the gentleman he addressed.

"Pardonnez, sare; but vat you do viz ze pictair_hein ?"

As he spoke, monsieur pointed to some beautiful steel plate engravings, in frames, which the quiet gentleman held in his lap, and which suited the fancy of the little French connoisseur precisely.

The quiet gentleman looked at the inquisitive foreigner with a scowl which he meant to be very forbidding, and made no reply. The Frenchman, nothing taunted, once more approached his hairy visage into that of his com. panion, and repeated the question

you ask?

"Vat you do viz ze pictair—hein ?"

“I am taking them to Salem,” replied the quiet gentleman, gruslly.

Hal you take 'em to sell 'em!” chimed in the shrill voice of the Frenchman. "I be glad of zat, by gar! I like the pictair. I buy 'em of you, sare. How much

“They are not for sale!” replied the sleepy gentleman —more thoroughly awake, by-the-by, and not a little irritated.

Hein?" grunted monsieur, in astonishment. Vat you say, sare ?"

“I say I don't want to sell the pictures !" cried the other, at the top of his voice.

“By gar! c'est drole !exclaimed the Frenchman, his eye beginning to flash with passion. “It is one strange circumstance, parbleu ! I ask you vat you do viz ze pictair, and you say you take 'em to sell 'em, and zen you vill not sell 'em! Vat you mean, sare_hein ?"

"I mean what I say,” replied the other, sharply. “I don't want to sell the engravings, and I didn't say I did.”

" Morbleu !" sputtered monsieur, in a tone loud enough to attract the attention of those of his fellow travelers who were not already listening; “morbleu! you mean to say I ’ave not any ear? Non, monsieur, by gar I hear ver' well vat you tell me. You say you sell ze pictair. Is it because I one Frenchman, zat you will not sell me ze pictair?

T'he irritated gentleman hoping to rid himself of the annoyance, turned his back upon his assailant, and made no reply.

But monsieur was not to be put off thus. He laid his hand on the shoulder of the other, and showing his small white teeth, exclaimed

Sacristie ! monsieur, zis is too muche. You've give me one insult, and I shall 'ave satisfaction." Still no reply. "By gar, monsieur," continued the Frenchman, "you are not one gentleman, I shall call you one poltroon-vat you call 'em ?-coward !"

“What do you mean," retorted the other, afraid the affair was beginning to be serious; “I haven't insulted

you, sir.”

"Pardonnez, monsieur, but it is one grand insult! In America, perhaps not; but in France, one blow your brains out."

“For what, pray?"

“For vat? Parbleu! you call me one mentuer-how you speak 'em—liar? you call me one liar? you call me one liar!"

“Oh no, sir. You misunderstood."

"No, by gar! I've got ears. You say you vill sell ze pictair; and ven I tell you vat you say, you say ze contrarie-zat is not so !"

“But I didn't tell you I would sell the pictures,” remonstrated the man with the engravings, beginning to feel alarmed at the passion manifested by the other. “You misunderstood

"I tell you no! It is not posseebl’! When I ask you vat you do viz ze pictair, vat you say?"

" I said I was taking them to Salem.”

Yes, parbleu!exclaimed monsieur, more angry than ever, “you say you take 'em to sell 'em-"

"No, no! interrupted the other, “not to sell them, but Salemthe City of Salem.”

"Ze city of Sell 'em !” exclaimed the Frenchman, amid the roars of laughter that greeted his ears. “ Sacristie! Zat is one grand mistake. Pardon, monsieur! Que je suis bete! The city of Sell 'em? Ha-ha! I will rememher zat, by garl” And he stroked his moustache with his fingers, while the man with the engravings once more gave way to his drowsy inclinations.

THE DYING BRIGAND.

SHE stood before the dying man.

And her eye grew wildly bright-
“Yo will not pause for a woman's ban,

Nor shrink from a woman's miglit;
And his glance is dim that made you fly,

As ye before have fled :
Look, dastards !-how the brave can dio-

Beware !-he is not dead !

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