a band of white bannered knights; and so your pleased attention strays through a thousand vagaries of fancy, or memory, or vaticinating hope. 11. It is a matter of gratitude that this finest gift of Providence is the most profusely given. Flowers can not be monopolized. The poor can have them as much as the rich. It does not require such an education to love and appreciate them, as it would to admire a picture of Turner's, or a statue of Thorwaldsen's. And, as they are messengers of affection, tokens of remembrance, and presents of beauty, of universal acceptance, it is pleasant to think that all men recognize a brief brotherhood in them. It is not impertinent to offer flowers to a stranger. The poorest child can proffer them to the richest. A hundred persons turned together into a meadow full of flowers would be drawn together in a transient brotherhood. 12. It is affecting to see how serviceable flowers often are to the necessities of the poor. If they bring their little floral gift to you, it can not but touch your heart to think that their grateful affection longed to express itself as much as yours. You have books, or gems, or services that you can render as you will. The poor can give but little, and do but little. Were it not for flowers, they would be shut out from those exquisite pleasures which spring from such gifts. I never take one from a child, or from the poor, that I do not thank God in their behalf for flowers! EXERCISE XXV. 1. Ho'-MER, a celebrated poet of antiquity, who lived about the 9th century before the Christian era. Seven cities disputed for the honor of being his birth-place. His great works are the Iliad, which treats of the siege of Ilium, or ancient Troy, and the Odyssey, which has for its subject the return of Ulysses, a great Grecian hero, from Troy to Ithaca, his native country. 2. HEC-TOR, Son of Priam, King of Troy, was the bravest of all the Trojan chiefs that fought against the Greeks during the ten years' siege 3. AN-DROM-A-CHE, wife of the celebrated Trojan, Hector, was remarkable for her domestic virtues, and for the constancy of her attachment to her husband. See Exercise CVI., p. 305. DOMESTIC LIFE. VICESIMUS KNOX 1. An active life is exposed to many evils which can not reach a state of retirement; but it is found, by the uniform experience of mankind, to be, upon the whole, productive of the most happiness. All are found desirous of avoiding the listlessness of an unemployed condition. Without the incentives of ambition, of fame, `of interest, of emulation, men eagerly rush upon hazardous and painful enterprises. There is a quick succession of ideas, a warm flow of spirits, an animated sensation, consequent on exertion, which amply compensates the chagrin of disappointment and the fatigue of attention. 2. One of the most useful effects of action is, that it renders repose agreeable. Perpetual rest is pain of the most intolerable kind. But a judicious interchange of rest and motion, of indolent enjoymeħt and strenuous efforts, gives a true relish of life, which, when too tranquil, is insipid, and, when too much agitated, disgustful. Sena 3. This sweet repose, which is necessary to restore, by relaxing the tone of the weary mind, has been sought for by the wisest and greatest of men at their own fireside. tors and heroes have shut out the acclamations of an applauding world, to enjoy the prattling of their little ones, and to partake the endearments of family conversation. They knew that even their best friends, in the common intercourse of life, were in some degree actuated by interested motives in displaying their affection; that many of their followers applauded them in hopes of reward; and that the giddy multitude, however zealous, were not always judicious in their approbation. But the attentions paid them at their fireside, the smiles which exhilarated their own table, were the genuine result of undissembled love. 4. The nursery has often alleviated the fatigues of the bar and the senate-house. Nothing contributes more to raise the gently-pleasing emotions than the view of infant innocence, enjoying the raptures of a game at play. All the sentiments of uncontrolled nature display themselves to the view, and furnish matter for agreeable reflection to the mind of the philosophical observer. 5. To partake with children in their little pleasures, is by no means unmanly. It is one of the purest sources of mirth. It has an influence in amending the heart, which necessarily takes a tincture from the company that surrounds us. Innocence as well as guilt is communicated, and increased by the contagion of example. And the great author of evangelical philosophy has taught us to emulate the simplicity of the infantine age. He seems, indeed, himself to have been delighted with young children, and found in them, what he in vain sought among those who judged themselves their superiors, unpolluted purity of heart. 6. Among the great variety of pictures which the vivid. imagination of Homer' has displayed throughout the Iliad, there is not one more pleasing than the family piece which represents the parting interview between Hector' and Andromache.9 It deeply interests the heart while it delights the imagination. The hero ceases to be terrible, that he may become amiable. We admire him while he stands completely armed in the field of battle; but we love him more while he is taking off his helmet, that he may not frighten his little boy with its nodding plumes. 7. We are refreshed wit e tender scene of domestic love, while all around breathe rage and discord. We are pleased to see the arm which is shortly to deal death and destruction among a host of foes, employed in caressing an infant son with the embraces of paternal love. A professed critic would attribute the pleasing effect entirely to contrast; but the heart has declared, previously to the inquiries of criticism, that it is chiefly derived from the satisfaction which we naturally take in beholding great characters engaged in tender and amiable employments. EXERCISE XXVI. SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL. JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. Emma. I never knew a weary night before! Mine eyes refuse to close. (sl.) The old man rests: How deadly calm's the night! (") What's that? I'm grown An idiot with my fears. I do not know The avalanche ! Great Power that hurls it down, Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps! What keeps him? 'tis but four hours' journey hence: He'd rest; then four hours back again. What keeps him! Erni would sure be found by him he knows Emma. What's the matter? Only the old man dreaming: He thinks again they 're pulling out his eyes. I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this That fills my heart with horrible alarm? And yet it can not see. Melch. (waking.) Where am I? Emma. Fáther! Melch. My daughter, is it thou! Thank Heaven, I'm here! Is 't day yet? Emma. No. Melch. Is 't far on the night! Emma. Methinks, about the turn on 't. Melch. Is the boy Come back? Emma. No, father. Melch. Nor thy húsband? Emma. No. Melch. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee! Would thou hadst never seen ine. Emma. Fáther! Melch. Child! Emma. Methinks I hear a step!-I do! (knocking.) A knock! Melch. Tis William! Emma. No; it is not William's knock. (Opens the door.) I told you so. Your will? Enter STRANGER. Stran. Seeing a light, I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for shelter; For I have miss'd my way. Emma. Whence come you, friend? Stran. From Altorf. Emma. Altorf! Any news from thence? Stran. Aye! News to harrow parents' hearts, and make The barren bless themselves that they are childless! Emma. May Heaven preserve my boy! Melch. What say'st thy news? Stran. Art thou not Melchtal-he whose eyes, 'tis said, The tyrant has torn out? Melch. Yes, friend, the same. Stran. Is this thy cottage? Melch. No; 'tis William Tell's. Stran. 'Tis William Tell's-and that's his wife-Good night! Emma. (Rushing between him and the door.) Thou stirr❜st not hence until thy news be told! Stran. My news! In sooth 'tis nothing thou wouldst heed. Emma. Tis something none should heed so well as I! Stran. I must be gone. Emma. Thou seest a tigress, friend, Spoil'd of her mate and young, and yearning for them. Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man? |