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ELOQUENCE.--LEWIS Cass. What country ever offered a nobler theatre for the display of eloquence than our own? From the primary assemblies of the people, where power is conferred, and may be retained, to the national legislature, where its highest attributes are deposited and exercised, all feel and acknowledge its influence.

The master spirits of our father-land, they who guided the councils of England in her career of prosperity and glory, whose eloquence was the admiration of their contemporaries, as it will be of posterity, were deeply imbued with classical learning. They drank at the fountain and not at the stream, and they led captive the public opinion of the empire, and asserted their dominion in the senate and the cabinet.

Nor have we been wanting in contribution to the general stock of eloquence. In our legislative assemblies, at the bar, and in the pulpit, many examples are before us, not less cheering in the rewards they offer than in the renown which follows them. And if our lamps are lighted at the altar of ancient and modern learning, we may hope that a sacred fire will be kept burning, to shed its influence upon our institutions and the duration of the Republic.

But after all, habits of mental and moral discipline are the first great objects in any system of instruction, public or private. The value of education depends far less upon varied and extensive acquirements than upon the cultivation of just powers of thought and the general regulation of the faculties of the understanding. That it is not the amount of knowledge, but the capacity to apply it, which promises success and usefulness in life, is a truth that cannot be too often inculcated by instructors and recollected by pupils.

If youth are taught how to think, they will soon learn what to think. Exercise is not more necessary to a healthful state of the body than is the employment of the various faculties of the mind to mental efficiency. The practical sciences are as barren of useful products as the speculative, where facts only are the objects of knowledge, unless the understanding is habituated to a continued process of examination and reflection.

No precocity of intellect, no promise of genius, no extent of knowledge, can be weighed in the scale with those acquisitions. But he who has been the object of such sedulous attention, and the subject of such a course of instruction, may enter upon the great duties of life with every prospect of an honorable and useful career. His armor is girded on for battle. However difficult the conjuncture in which he may be called on to act, he is prepared for whatever may betide him.

A sailor once, his pockets filled with gold,
Having once heard the sights of London told,
Determined that the joys of town he'd taste,
And thither go with all convenient haste;
But first he says, “Avast, and let me see,
What though I am inclined a fool to be,
Shiver my timbers if I throw away
My cash, and save none for a rainy day;
In vain to Portsmouth I may try to steer
Without the comfort of a drop of beer-
On rocks and quicksands I may chance to run,
And founder in the midst of all my fun!
Stop, splice my mainsails, if I've not a thought,
Which, if I'm cast away, may yield support."
Inspired by grog, he makes no longer stay,
But mounts the upper deck and sails away.
The stage drives on-now, to change horses stays,
While Jack with pride his purse of gold surveys.
"Bring me a glass of grog!" he loudly cries,
The waiter on the errand briskly flies;
Sly Jack, the landlord takes aside alone,
And thus begins his tale in under-tone:-
“I'm on a cruise to town, d'ye hear, my friend,
And to cast anchor some short time intend;

But should I chance somehow to run aground,
I then immediately am homeward bound;
But that, d'ye see, no evil may betide,
I for my voyage back will thus provide:-
I'll pay you double now for all I have,
And a secure return by this means save;
And mark, when back to port I'm on my way,
I merely ask what have I got to pay-
And on my stick by twirling thus my hat,
You surely will the arrangement not forget.”
Thus 'twas agreed, and at each house he stayed,
With every landlord this same bargain made.
In town arrived, poor Jack, on frolic bent,
Became an easy dupe, his money spent,
And when he found his only shilling gone,
Mounted the self same coach to reach his home.
One of the tribe of Israel, who sat
By Jack, and saw the wonders of the hat,
Felt all his conscience go, and how to obtain
This wondrous hat, now puzzled much his brain.
“Vy, plesh my heart,” he cried, in great amaze,
"Not for one single thing this sailor pays;
I do not understand why for is dat,
Unless dere be some witchcraft in de hat;
If I could get dat hat vat would I give,
'Twould keep me all the days vat I shall live."
At length, in undervoice, to Jack he said,
"Dat is a shabby hat upon your head ;
Now I'll sell you a new one, if you please,
If you and I for dat old hat agrees;
Vat vill you take?”—Jack plainly saw his aim,
And said, “If you will give what I shall name,
The hat is yours—you see its use, no doubt,
So either give my price or go without;
You've got a watch, I want one, give me that,
And for ten pounds beside I'll sell the hat.”
“What!” cried the Jew, Eh, vere's your conscience

gone? Ten pounds for that old shabby hat alone.” “Ten pound!” bawls Jack, "and just what I have said, Or not for you the hat comes off my head.” The Jew then gave the watch, besides ten pounds, And scarcely could he keep his joy in bounds.

At the first inn, he stops and takes a chair,
Determined he will end his journey there;
“Here, vaiter, here!” he bawls, “I want to dine,
Make haste and bring a bottle of good wine;
Bring me Champagne, for I would have you know,
Dat I can pay, you dog, where'er I go;
I've got de cash-dat is, I've bought de hat;
Look here-look here—there, vat d'ye think of dat?"
His dinner ended, loud he calls, “I say,
Here, vaiter, here, vat have I got to pay ?”
And or his stick twirling the sailor's hat,
Exulting cries, “There! vat do you think of dat?
Eh, eh! dis hat 'twill pay for everything,
I would not part with it to be a king.”
The waiter, wondering at the whim he sees,
Replies, “Two pounds your reck’ning, if you please."
“Eh? what! two pounds! what impudence is dat?
Look here, you dog, d’ye see? Behold de hat!
Dis hat's mine, now; dis hat is mine, you know;
Dere, dere, see dere—vat have I got to pay now ?
The waiter, laughing, cries, “ The sailor's hat,
Ha, ha, ha, ha! I see now what you are at.”
The Jew enraged, when the deceit he knew,
Straight at the waiter's head the hat he threw,
And madly from the house he ran away,
Still bawling out, “Vat have I got to pay?”.

DERMOT'S PARTING. Ob waken up, my darlin'—my Dermot, it is day, Thoday, when from the mother's eyes the real light dies away; For what will daylight be to me that never more will see The fair face of my Dermot come smilin' back to me? Arise, my son, the morning red is wearing fast away, And through the gray mist I can see the masts rock in the bay. Before the sea-fog clears the hill, my darlin' must departBut oh, the cloud will never lift that wraps the mother's

heart! Sure, then, I'm old and foolish; what's this I'm saying now? Will I see my fair son leave me with a shadow on his brow? Oh, no! we'll bear up bravely, and make no stir, nor moan; There will be time for weepin' when my fair son shall be gone. I've laid the old coat ready, dear; my pride this day has been That on your poor apparel shall no rent nor stain be seen. And let me tie that 'kerchief, too; it's badly done, I fear, But

my old hands tremble sadly, with the hurry, Dermot, dear. And are you ready, darlin'? Turn round and bid farewell To the roof-tree of the cabin that has sheltered us so well; Leave a blessing on the threshold, and on the old hearth.

stone,'Twill be a comfort to my heart when I sit there alone. And often at the twilight hour, when day and work are done, I'll dream the old time's back again, when you were there,

my son, When you were there, a little thing that prattled at my knee, Long ere the evil days had come to part my child and me. The dear arm is still round me, the dear hand guides me still; 'Tis but a little step to go—see, now we've gained the hill; Is that the vessel, Dermot, dear?—the mist my eyesight dimsOh, shame upon me now! what means this trembling in my

limbs? My child! my child! oh, let me weep awhile upon your breast; Would I were in my grave! for then my heart would be at

rest; But now the hour is come, and I must stand upon the shore And see the treasure of my soul depart for evermore! I know, my child !-I know it, the folly and the sin,But oh! I think my heart would burst to keep this anguish

in, To think how in yon sleeping town such happy mothers be, Who keep their many sons at home, wbile 1-1 had but theel But I have done; I murmur not; I kiss the chastening rod. Upon this hill-as Abraham did--I give my child to Godi But not, like him, to welcome back the precious thing once

given; I'll see my fair son's face again—but not on this side heaven !

If I were told that I must die to-morrow,

That the next sun
Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow

For any one,
All the fight fought, all the short journey through,

What should I do?

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