Sir R. Now that's plaguy impudent, but there's no flattery in it, and it keeps up the independence of argument. His father, my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit; Humphrey, you remember my brother Job? Hum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five-and-twenty years ago. Sir R. I did not drive him. Hum. Yes, you did. You would never let him be at peace in the way of argument. Sir R. At peace! Zounds, he would never go to war. Hum. He had the merit to be calm. Sir R. So has a duck-pond. He received my arguments with his mouth open, like a poor-box gaping for half-pence, and, good or bad, he swallowed them all without any resistance. couldn't disagree, and so we parted. We Hum. And the poor, meek gentleman went to Russia for a quiet life. Sir R. A quiet life! Why he married the moment he got there, tacked himself to the shrew relict of a Russian merchant, and continued a speculation with her in furs, flax, potashes, tallow,* linen, and leather; what's the consequence? Thirteen months ago he broke. Hum. Poor soul, his wife should have followed the business for him. Sir R. I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as he broke, and now this madcap, Frederic, is sent over to me for protection. Poor Job, now he is in distress, I must not neglect his son. Hum. Here comes his son; that's Mr. Frederic. Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, good morning! nothing but beauty. Sir R. Who bid you caper over my beauty? stay in-doors till I got up. Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it. Your park is I told you to Sir R. The sun! he's mad! you mean the moon, I believe. Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, you don't know the effect of a fine spring morning, upon a fellow just arrived from Russia. The day looked bright, trees budding, birds singing, the park was so gay, that I took a leap out of your old balcony, made your deer fly before me like the wind, and chased them all around the park to get an appetite for breakfast, while you were snoring in bed, uncle. Sir R. Oh, oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon a Russian, is to make him jump out of a balcony and worry my deer. Fred. I confess it had that influence upon me. Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, unless you think the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy. Fred. I hate legacies. Sir R. Sir, that's mighty singular. They are pretty solid tokens, at least. Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are posthumous despatches, affection sends to gratitude, to inform us we have lost a gracious friend. Sir R. How charmingly the dog argues! Fred. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morning. I will obey you better in future; for they tell me you are a very worthy, good sort of gentleman. Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you that? Fred. Sir R. Why, Humphrey, you didn't? Yes, but I did though. Hum. Fred. Yes, he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to show you obedience, for 'tis as meritorious to attempt sharing a good man's heart, as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich man's money. A noble nature aims its attentions full breast high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty assiduities at the pocket. Sir R. [Shaking him by the hand.] Jump out of every window I have in the house; hunt my deer into high fevers, my fine fellow! Ay, that's right. This is spunk and plain speaking. Give me a man, who is always flinging his dissent to my doctrines smack in my teeth. Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle. Hum. And so do I. Fred. I'd knock You! you forward puppy! If you were not so old, Sir R. I'll knock you down, if you do. I won't have my servants thumped into dumb flattery. Hum. Come, you're ruffled. Let us go to the business of the morning. Sir R. I hate the business of the morning. Don't you see we are engaged in discussion. I tell you, I hate the business of the morning. Hum. No you don't. Sir R. Don't I? Why not? Hum. Because it's charity. Sir R. Pshaw! Well, we must not neglect the business, if there be any distress in the parish; read the list, Humphrey. Hum. Taking out a paper, and reading.] "Jonathan Huggins, of Muck Mead, is put in prison for debt." Sir R. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney, recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds. Hum. Yes, and charged a hundred for his trouble; so seized the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder. Sir R. A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow's distress. And I must kick his attorney. Hum. [Reading.] "The curate's horse is dead." Sir R. Pshaw! There's no distress in that. Hum./Yes there is, to a man that must go twenty miles every Sunday to preach, for thirty pounds a year. Sir R. Why won't the vicar give him another nag? Hum. Because it's cheaper to get another curate already mounted. What Sir R. Well, send him the black pad which I purchased last Tuesday, and tell him to work him as long as he lives. else have we upon the list? Hum. Something out of the common; there's one Lieutenant Worthington, a disabled officer and a widower, come to lodge at farmer Harrowby's, in the village; he is, it seems, very poor, and more proud than poor, and more honest than proud. Sir R. And so he sends to me for assistance. Hum. He'd see you hanged first! No, he'd sooner die than ask you or any man for a shilling! There's his daughter, and his wife's aunt, and an old corporal that served in the wars with him, he keeps them all upon his half-pay. Sir R. Starves them all, I'm afraid, Humphrey. Sir R. You rogue, where are you running, now? Fred. To talk with Lieutenant Worthington. Sir R. And what may you be going to say to him? Fred. I can't tell till I encounter him; and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who has been disabled in his country's service, and is struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant in honorable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments. Stop, you rogue; I must be before you in this busi Sir R. ness. Fred. That depends on who can run fastest; so, start fair, uncle, and here goes.—[Runs out.] Sir R. Stop, stop; why, Frederic-a jackanapes-to take my department out of my hands! I'll disinherit the dog for his assurance.' Hum No you won't. Sir R. as we go. Won't I? Hang me if I-but we'll argue that point COLMAN. LESSON CCXVIII. STAR-LIGHT ON MARATHON. 1. No vesper-breeze is floating now, A gloom hath vailed the mountain's brow. The night-beads on, the dew-white grass 2. No hum of life disturbs the scene, "T is like a calm where grief hath been, The warring tones of day have gone, 3. I look around from earth to sky, Like sleepless spirits from the dead, 4. What though the mounds that marked each name, Beneath the wings of Time, Have worn away, theirs is the fame, For who can tread on Freedom's plain, 5. Oh! to have seen the marching bands, Have seen their weapon-clinching hands, Their radiant shields, and dancing crests 6. Then said the mother to the son, "Come with it, when the battle 's done, Then mute she glanced her fierce, bright eye, 7. "T was here they fought and martial peals And gash and wound from plunging steels Here, Grecians trod the Persian dead, And Freedom shouted while she bled! * The loss of the shield was considered disgraceful. 8. But gone the day of Freedom's sword, Who mowed the dastard-minded horde While Greece arose sublimely free, 9. Still, star-light sheds the same pale beam, And musing breasts might fondly dream For empires fall, and Freedom dies, 10. May He, whose glory gems the sky For thee, sad Greece, and every son R. MONTGOMERY. LESSON CCXIX. BATTLE OF MARATHON. 1. To the left of the Athenians was a low chain of hills, clothed with trees; to their right, a torrent; their front was long; for, to render it more imposing in extent, and to prevent being out-flanked by the Persian numbers, the center ranks were left weak and shallow; but, on either wing, the troops were drawn up more solidly and strong. Callimachus commanded the right wing; the Platæans formed the left; the whole was commanded by Miltiades. They had few, if any, horsemen or archers. 2. The details which we possess of their arms and military array, if not in this, in other engagements of the same period, will complete the picture. We may behold them clad in bright armor of a good proof and well tempered, which covered breast and back; the greaves, so often mentioned by Homer, were still retained; their helmets were wrought and crested, the cones mostly painted in glowing colors, and the plumage of feathers, or horsehair, rich and waving in proportion to the rank of the wearer. Broad, sturdy, and richly ornamented were their bucklers, the pride and darling of their arms, the loss of which was the loss of honor; their spears were ponderous, thick, and long, a chief mark of contradistinction from the light shaft of Persia, and, with their short broad-sword, constituted their main weapons. |