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to military insubordination. Remember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Cæsar, England her Cromwell, France her Bonaparte, and that, if we would escape the rock on which they split, we must avoid their errors.

7. I hope gentlemen will deliberately survey the awful isthmus on which we stand. They may bear down all opposition; they may even vote the General the public thanks; they may carry him triumphantly through this House. But, if they do, in my humble judgment, it will be a triumph of the principle of insubordination, a triumph of the military over the civil authority, a triumph over the powers of this House, a triumph over the constitution of the land; and I pray most devoutly to Heaven, that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and consequences, a triumph over the liberties of the people.

XXXI.-GOD'S JUDGMENT ON A WICKED

BISHOP.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

1. The summer and autumn had been so wet
That in winter the corn was growing yet;
'Twas a piteous sight to see, all around,
The grain lie rotting on the ground.

2. Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door;
For he had a plentiful last year's store,
And all the neighborhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.

3. At last, Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quict the poor without delay;
He bade them to his great barn repair,
And they should have food for the winter there.

4. Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, The poor

folk flocked from far and near. The great barn was full as it could hold Of women and children, and

young

and old.

5. Then, when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on God they call,
He set fire to the barn and burned them all.

6. “I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire !” quoth he, " And the country is greatly obliged to me, For ridding it, in these times forlorn, Of rats that only consume the corn.”

7. So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,
And he slept that night like an innocent man;
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

8. In the morning, as he entered the hall,
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the rats had eaten it out of the frame.

9. As he looked, there came a man from his farm; He had a countenance white with alarm; “My lord, I opened your granaries this morn, And the rats had eaten all your corn.”

10. Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be,“Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly!” quoth he, “ Ten thousand rats are coming this way, The Lord forgive you for yesterday."

11. “I'll go to my tower on the Rhine,” replied he, « 'Tis the safest place in Germany; The walls are high and the shores are steep, And the stream is strong and the waters deep."

12. Bishop Hatto fearfully hasten'd away, ,
And he crossed the Rhine without delay,
And reached his tower, and barred with care
All the windows, doors, and loop-holes there.

13. He laid him down and closed his eyes,-
But soon a scream made him arise ;
He started, and saw two eyes of flame
On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.

14. He listened and looked; it was only the cat; But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that; For she sat screaming, mad with fear, At the army of rats that were drawing near.

15. For they have swam over the river so deep, And they have climbed the shores so steep, And

up

the tower their way is bent, To do the work for which they were sent.

16. They are not to be told by the dozen or score; By thousands they come, and by myriads and more. Such numbers had never been heard of before; Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.

17. Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did he tell,
As louder and louder drawing near,
The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

18. And in at the windows, and in at the door,
And through the walls, helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

19. They have whetted their teeth against the stones;
And now they pick the Bishop's bones;
They gnaw'd the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him !

XXXII.- WE CHERISH THE MEMORY OF OUR

HONORED DEAD.

EDWARD EVERETT.

1. It has been the custom, from the remotest antiquity, to preserve and to hand down to posterity, in bronze and in marble, the counterfeit presentment of illustrious men. Within the last few years modern research has brought to light, on the banks of the Tigris, huge slabs of alabaster, buried for ages, which exhibit in relief the faces and the per. sons of men who governed the primeval East in the gray dawn of history. Three thousand years have elapsed since they lived and reigned and built palaces and fortified cities and waged war, and gained victories of which the trophies are carved upon these monumental tablets,—the triumphal procession, the chariots laden with spoil, the drooping captive, the conquered monarch in chains,— but the legends inscribed upon the stone are imperfectly deciphered, and little beyond the names of the personages, and the most general tradition of their exploits is preserved.

2. In like manner the obelisks and the temples of ancient Egypt are covered with the sculptured images of whole dynasties of Pharaohs, - older than Moses, older than Joseph, whose titles are recorded in the hieroglyphics with which the granite is charged, and which are gradually yielding up their long concealed mysteries to the sagacity of modern criticism. The plastic arts, as they passed into Hellas, with all the other arts which give grace and dignity to our nature, reached a perfection unknown to Egypt or Assyria; and the heroes and sages of Greece and Rome, immortalized by the sculptor, still people the galleries and museums of the modern world.

3. In every succeeding age and in every country, in which the fine arts have been cultivated, the respect and affection of survivors have found a pure and rational gratification in the historical portrait and the monumental statue of the honored and loved in private life, and especially of the great and good who have deserved well of their country. Public esteem and confidence and private affection, the gratitude of the community and the fond memories of the fire-side have ever sought, in this way, to prolong the sensible existence of their beloved and respected objects. What though the dear and honored features and person on which, while living, we never gazed without tenderness or veneration, have been taken from us, --something of the loveliness, something of the majesty abides in the portrait, the bust, and the statue. The heart bereft of the living originals turns to them; and, cold and silent as they are, they strengthen and animate the

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