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reminiscences of sorrow, and the fondest anticipations of hope. If a man would eat, drink, die, and be forgotten, let his dwelling place be in the city: if he would live, love, and be remembered, let him speed him to the glens of the mountains.

ExERCISE 102.
Summary Punishment.—WALTER Scott.

It was under the burning influence of revenge that the wife of MacGregor commanded that the hostage exchanged for her husband's safety should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward at her summons a wretch already half dead with terror, in whose agonized features I recognised, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris. He fell prostrate before the female chief, with an ef. fort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that, instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent; and, with cheeks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he prayed but for life—for life he would give all he had in the world;—it was but life he asked—life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations:—he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the depths of the lowest caverns of their hills. It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with which the wife of MacGregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence. She gave a brief command in Gaelic to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries,

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that fear ever uttered—I may well term them dreadful, for they haunted my sleep for years afterwards.

I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large heavy stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again, eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. Half-naked, and thus manacled, they hurried him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, drowning his last death-shriek with a loud halloo of vindictive triumph, over which, however, the yell of mortal agony was distinctly heard. The heavy burden splashed in the dark blue waters of the lake, and the Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant, to guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he was attached, he might have struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been securely bound; the victim sunk without effort; the waters which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him, and the unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was forever withdrawn from the sum of human existence.

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Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, the jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin,_ (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile,)—Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart—the dear delight

10 Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.—

But, no—what here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain

Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 15 Thou as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, §. storms all weathered, and the ocean crossed,) hoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 20 Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, “Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar,” 25 And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressed— JMe howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, 30 Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost, And day by day some current’s thwarting force, Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. Yet, O the thought, that thou art safe, and he? That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 35 My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the Earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise— The son of parents, passed into the skies.

ExERcise 104.

Ertract from “The Grave.”—Montgomery.

1 There is a calm for those who weep;
A rest for weary pilgrims found:
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground!

2 The storm that wrecks the winter sky,
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer-evening’s latest sigh,
That shuts the rose.

3. I long to lay this painful head,
And aching heart, beneath the soil;
To slumber in that dreamless bed,
From all my toil.

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4 Art thou a wanderer?—hast thou seen
O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark?
A shipwrecked sufferer hast thou been,
Misfortune's mark?

5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemned in wrotchedness to roam,
Live! thou shalt reach a sheltering port,
A quiet home!

6 There is a calm for those who weep!
A rest for weary pilgrims found:
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground;—

7 The soul, of origin Divine,
God’s glorious image, freed from clay,
In Heaven's eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day! -

8 The sun, is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its Sire,
Shall never die!

ExERcise 105.

Defence of Johnson.—CURRAN.

Even if it should be my client’s fate to be surrendered to his keepers—to be torn from his family—to have his obsequies performed by torch light—to be carried to a foreign land, and to a strange tribunal, where no witness can attest his innocence, where no voice that he ever heard can be raised in his defence, where he must stand mute, not of his own malice, but the malice of his enemies—yes, even so, I see nothing for him to fear; —that all-gracious Being, that shields the feeble from the oppressor, will fill his heart with hope, and confidence, and courage; his sufferings will be his armour, and his weakness will be his strength. He will find himself in the hands of a brave, a just, and a generous nation—he will find that the bright examples of her Russels and her Sydneys have not been lost to her children. They

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will behold him with sympathy and respect, and his persecutors with shame and abhorrence; they will feel too, that what is then his situation, may to-morrow be their own—but their first tear will be shed for him, and the second only for themselves. Their hearts will melt in his acquittal; they will convey him kindly and fondly to their shore; and he will return in triumph to his country; to the threshold of his sacred home, and to the weeping welcome of his delighted family. He will find that the darkness of a dreary and a lingering night hath at length passed away, and that joy comethin the morning.—No, my lords, I have no fear for the ultimate safety of my client. Even in these very acts of brutal violence that have been committed against him, do I hail the flattering hope of final advantage to him—and not only of final advantage to him, but of better days and

more prosperous fortune for this afflicted country—that

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country of which I have so often abandoned all hope, and which I have been so often determined to quit foreWer.

I have repented—I have staid—and I am at once rebuked and rewarded by the happier hopes that I now entertain. In the anxious sympathy of the public—in the anxious sympathy of my learned brethren, do I catch the happy presage of a brighter fate for Ireland. They see, that within these sacred walls, the cause of liberty and of man may be pleaded with boldness and heard with favor. I am satisfied they will never forget the great trust, of which they alone are now the remaining depositaries. While they continue to cultivate a sound philosophy—a mild and tolerating Christianity—and to make both the sources of a just and liberal, and constitutional jurisprudence, I see every thing for us to hope; into their hands, therefore, with the most affectionate confidence in their virtue, do I commit these precious hopes. Even I may live long enough yet to see the approaching completion, if not the perfect accomplishment of them. Pleased shall I then resign the scene to fitter actors—pleased shall I lay down my wearied head to rest, and say, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”

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