says my mother; "he is a remarkably fine, strong boy for that age!" "He is indeed a fine child," says Mrs. Fidget; "but don't, my dear, do that," says she, "you frighten the poor bird." As the Misses Fidget were about to put him down, mother ventured to assure them that he would do no harm. "Pretty little fellow," says she, "pray let him amuse himself."

12. Mrs. Fidget being rested, they all prepared to go. My mother, however, urged that if they would but stay a little longer, my father would be home from his ride, and he would be greatly mortified to miss seeing them; but nothing would do, go they must.

13. Thinks I to myself, now a fig for your friendship, Mrs. Fidget. What! not stay when my mother so earnestly presses it! Not stay when she declares your going will mortify my worthy father! No; nothing would stop them. Away they went. Not, indeed, without sundry promises on their part soon to call again, and divers most earnest entreaties on my mother's on no account to forget it. 14. They were scarcely out of the front door before my father entered. "Are they really all gone at last?" says he; "I thought they would have stayed till doomsday. Who in the world were they all?" "O dear," says my mother; "why, Mrs. Fidget and all her tribe, - girls and boy, and two pug-dogs." "Thank my stars I escaped them!" says my father. Thinks I to myself, great symptoms of mortification my dear father shows at having had the misfortune to miss seeing them.

15. "I declare," says my mother, "it is abominable to break in upon one in this manner; it was impossible to entertain such a group, for while Mrs. Fidget and I were engaged in conversation, her young people and the dogs had nothing to do but to tease the bird and dirty the furniture. That little monkey of a boy is always in mischief. I could freely have boxed his ears for him. I thought he would have killed my poor bird. I think she'll lose that boy; I never saw such a puny, sickly-looking child in all my life." Thinks I to myself, O poor Mrs. Fidget; fine stout boy of its age!

Dr. Nares.

III.

From Vienna by the Danube

Here she came, a bride, in spring. Now the autumn crisps the forest; Hunters gather, bugles ring.

IV.

Hark! the game's on foot, they scatter:
Down the forest ridings lone,
Furious, single horsemen gallop.

Hark! below the gates unbarring!
Tramp of men and quick commands ! -
""T is my lord come back from hunting."
And the Duchess claps her hands.

IX.

Slow and tired, came the hunters; Stopped in darkness in the court. "Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters!

To the hall! What sport, what sport?"

X.

Slow they entered with their Master;
In the hall they laid him down.
On his coat were leaves and blood-stains,
On his brow an angry frown.

XI.

Dead her princely youthful husband
Lay before his youthful wife;
Bloody 'neath the flaring sconces :
And the sight froze all her life.

XII.

In Vienna oy the Danube

Kings hold revel, gallants meet.

Gay of old amid the gayest

Was the Duchess Marguerite.

XIII.

In Vienna by the Danube

Feast and dance her youth beguiled.
Till that hour she never sorrowed;

But from then she never smiled.

Matthew Arnold.

F

CXXI.- LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM.

ROM life without freedom, say, who would not fly?
For one day of freedom, O, who would not die?

Hark! hark! 't is the trumpet! the call of the brave,
The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave.
Our country lies bleeding, haste, haste to her aid;
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade.

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains,
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains.
On, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed.
And O, even if freedom from this world be driven,
Despair not, at least we shall find her in heaven.

T. Moore.

CXXII

I

THE IRISH-DISTURBANCE BILL.

Do not rise to fawn or cringe to this house. I do not

rise to supplicate you to be merciful towards the nation to which I belong, towards a nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from it. It is a distinct nation; it has been treated as such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny.

2. I call upon this house, as you value the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of the press, and of every other institution dear to Englishmen.

3. Against the bill I protest in the name of this Irish. people, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful assertions that grievances are not to be complained of, that our redress is not to be agitated! for, in such cases, remonstrances cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what tyranny the people suffer.

4. There are two frightful clauses in this bill. The one which does away with trial by jury, and which I have called upon you to baptize: you call it a court-martial, — a mere nickname; I stigmatize it as a revolutionary tribunal. What, in the name of Heaven, is it, if it is not a revolutionary tribunal?

5. It annihilates the trial by jury; it drives the judge from his bench, the man who, from experience, could weigh the nice and delicate points of a case; who could discriminate between the straightforward testimony and the suborned evidence; who could see, plainly and readily, the justice or injustice of the accusation.

6. It turns out this man who is free, unshackled, unprejudiced; who has no previous opinions to control the clear exercise of his duty. You do away with that which