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tried to enliven the dreary journey they were performing together by little attempts at cheerfulness, and at length succeeded in winning a smile from her fellow-sufferer.

5. A colossal statue of Liberty, composed of clay, like the liberty of the time, then stood in the middle of the Place" de la Concorde, on the spot now occupied by the Obelisk; the scaffold was erected beside this statue. Upon arriving there, Madame Roland descended from the cart in which she had been conveyed. Just as the executioner had seized her arm to enable her to be the first to mount to the guillotine, she displayed an instance of that noble and tender consideration for others, which only a woman's heart could conceive, or put into practice at such a moment. "Stay!" said she, momentarily resisting the man's grasp. "I have one only favor to ask, and that is not for myself; I beseech you grant it me." Then, turning to the old man, she said, "Do you precede me to the scaffold; to see my blood flow would be making you suffer the bitterness of death twice over. I must spare you the pain of witnessing my punishment." The executioner allowed this arrangement to be made.

6. With what sensibility and firmness must the mind have been imbued which could, at such a time, forget its own sufferings, to think only of saving one pang to an unknown old man! and how clearly does this one little trait attest the heroic calmness with which this celebrated woman met her death! After the execution of Lamarche, which she witnessed without changing color, Madame Roland stepped lightly up to the scaffold, and, bowing before the statue of Liberty, as though to do homage to a power for whom she was about to die, exclaimed, "O, Liberty! Liberty! how many crimes are committed in thy name!" She then resigned herself to the hands of the executioner, and in a few seconds her head fell into the basket placed to receive it.

LAMARTINE.

CXXXVIII.—WHAT A COMMON MAN MAY SAY.

1. I Am lodged in a house that affords me conveniences and comforts which even a king could not command some centuries ago. There are ships crossing the seas in every direction, some propelled by steam and some by the wind, to bring what is useful to me from all parts of the earth. In China, men are gathering the tea-leaf for me; in the Southern States, they are planting cotton for me; in the West India Islands, and in Brazil, they are preparing my sugar and my coffee; in Italy, they are feeding wlk-wonns for me; at home, they are shearing sheep to make me clothing powerful steam-engines are spinning and weaving for me, and making cutlery for me, and pumping the mines, that minerals useful to me may be procured.

2. My patrimony was small, yet I have locomotive engines running, day and night, on all the railroads, to carry my correspondence. I have canals to bring the coal for my winter fire. Then I have telegraphic lines, which tell me what has happened a thousand miles off, the same day of its occurrence; which flash a message for me in a minute to the bedside of a sick relative hundreds of miles distant; and I have-editors and printers who daily send me an account of what is going on throughout the world, amongst all these people who serve me. By the daguerreotype I procure in a few seconds a perfect likeness of myself or friend, drawn without human touch, by the simple agency of light.

3. And then, in a corner of my house, I have looks! — the miracle of all my possessions, more wonderful than the wishingcap of the Arabian Tales; for they transport me instantly not only to all places, but to all times. By my books I can con'jure up before me, to vivid existence, all the great and good men of old; and, for my own private satisfaction, I can make them act over again the most renowned of all their exploits. In a word, from the equator to the pole, and from the beginning of time until now, by my books I can be where I please.

4. This picture is not overcharged, and might be much extended; such being the miracle of God's goodness and providence, that each individual of the civilized millions that cover the earth may have nearly the same enjoyments as if he were the single lord of all!

CXXXIX.— STRONG DRINK MAKETH MEN FOOLS.

1. Tms gentleman and I

Passed but just now by your next neighbor's house,
Where, as they say, dwells one young Lionel,
An unthrift youth, — his father now at sea, —
And there, this night, was held a sumptuous feast.
In the height of their carousing, all their brains
Warmed with the heat of wine, discourse was offered
Of ships and storms at sea; when, suddenly,
Out of his giddy wildness, one conceives
The room wherein they quaffed to be a pinnace,
Moving and floating, and the confused" noise
To be the murmuring of winds, gusts, mariners,

That their unsteadfast footing did proceed
From rocking of the vessel.

2 This conceived,

Each one begins to apprehend the danger, And to look out for safety. Fly, saith one

Up to the main-top and discover. HeClimbs by the bed-post to the tester," there Reports a turbulent sea and tempest towards," And wills them, if they '11 save their ship and lives, To cast their lading overboard. At this, All fell to work, and hoist into the street, As to the sea, what next comes to their hand — Stools, tables, tressels, trenchers, bedsteads, cups, Pots, plate, and glasses.

3. Here a fellow whistles— •

They take him for the boatswain ;" one lies struggling Upon the floor, as if he^swam for life;A third takes the bass-viol for a cock-boat, Sits in the hollow on't, labors and rows,— His oar, the stick with which the fiddler played;A fourth bestrides his fellow, thinking to escape, As did Arion," on the dolphin's back, Still fumbling on a gittern." The rude multitude,

Watching without, and gaping for the spoil Cast from the windows, went by the ears about it.

4. The constable is called to atone" the broil;
Which done, he, hearing such a noise within Of imminent shipwreck, enters the house, and finds them In this confusion; they adore his staff, And think it Neptune's" trident; and that he Comes with his Tritons" (so they call his watch) To calm the tempest, and appease the waves; — And at this point we left them. T. Heywood.

CXL. — THE LUTIST AND THE NIGHTINGALE.*

1 Passing from Italy to Greece, the taljs
Which poets of an elder time have feigned
To glorify their Temped bred in me
Desire of visiting this Paradise.
To Thessaly I came, and living private,
Without acquaintance of more sweet companions

• There are well-authenticated instances of singing-birds that have dropped down dead in the apparent effort to emulate the music produced from some instrument.

Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
I day by day frequenf ed silent groves
And solitary walks. One morning early
This accident encountered me: I heard
The sweetest and most ravishing contention
That art and nature ever were at strife in.

2. A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather,
Indeed, entranced my soul: as I stole nearer,
Invited by the melody,1' I saw

This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon*his lute,
With strains of strange variety and harmony,
Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge
To the clear choristers of the woods, the birds,
That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent,
Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too.

3. A nightingale,

Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes

The challenge; and for every several strain

The well-shaped youth could touch, she sang him down

He could not run divisions with more art

Upon his quaking instrument than she,

The nightingale, did with her various notes

Reply to.

4. Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last
Into a pretty anger, that a bird,

Whom art had never taught cliffs,'3 moods, or notes
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study
Had busied many hours to perfect practice.
To end the controversy, — in a rapture
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly,
So many voluntaries, and so quick,
That there was curiosity in cunning,
Concord in discord, lines of differing method
Meeting in one full centre of delight.

5. The bird (ordained to be Music's true martyr) strove to imitate These several sounds; which, when her warbling throat
Failed in, for grief down dropt she on his lute,
And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness
To see the conqueror138 upon her hearse
To weep a funeral elegy of tears.

6 He looked upon the trophies of his art,

Then sighed, then wiped his eyes; then sighed and cried,
"Alas! poor creature, I will soon revenge
This cruelty upon the author of it.
Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood,

Shall never more betray a harmless peace
To an untimely end: — and in that sorrow
As he was dashing it against a tree,
I suddenly stept in.

CXLI. — POETRY OF THE SEASONS.

PART FIRST.

1. The Tardy Spring.Whittier.

We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south,
The touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth;
For the yearly evan'gel" thou bearest from God, —
•Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod!
Up our long river vaflBjr for days have not ceased
The wail and the shriek of the bitter north-east,
Raw and chill as if winnowed through ices and snow,
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimaux.
0, soul of the spring-time, its balm and its breath!
O, light of its darkness, and Hie of its death!
Why wait we thy coming? why linger so long
The warmth oTthy breathing, the voice of thy song?
Renew the great miracle! let us behold
The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled.
And Nature, like Lazarus, rise as of old!

-,

2. The Blue-bird's Song. A. B. Street.

Hark, that sweet carol! With delight

We leave the stifling room;
The little blue-bird meets our fight, —

Spring, glorious Spring, has" come!
The south-wind's balm is in the air,
The melting snow-wreaths everywhere

Are leaping off in showers; . t

And Nature, in her brightening looks,
Tells that her flowers, and leaves, and brooks.
And birds, will soon be ours.

3 The Delights Of Spring. Mary Howitt.

The Spring, e is a blessed thing,

She is the mother of the flowers;
She is the mate of birds and bees,
The partner of their revelries, —
if Our star of hope through wintry hours,
The little brooks run on in light,
As if they had a chase of mirth;

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