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Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;

For I am armed so strong in honesty,

That they pass me by as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ;-
For I can raise no money by vile means:

By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection! I did send

Το

you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not :-he was but a fool

That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

my heart

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come!
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius;

For Cassius is aweary of the world,

Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother,
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold;
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;

I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius!

Bru. Sheathe your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope:

Do what you will, dishonor shall be hun
O Cassius, you are yokéd with a lamb
That carries anger as the flint bears fire:

Who much enforcéd shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too.
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand
Bru. And my heart, too.

Cas. O Brutus !

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humor which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth,
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

51.-TRIBUTE TO WASHINGTON.

W. H. HARRISON.

Hard, hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the struggle for independence. The golden sun of liberty had well-nigh set in the gloom of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams illumined our western horizon. Had not the tutelar saint of Columbia hovered around the American camp, and presided over her destinies, freedom must have met with an untimely grave. Never can we sufficiently admire the wisdom of those statesmen, and the skill and bravery of those unconquerable veterans, who, by their unwearied exertions in the cabinet and in the field, achieved for us the glorious revolution. Never can we duly appreciate the merits of a Washington, who, with but a handful of undisciplined yeomanry, triumphed over a royal army, and prostrated the Lion of England at the feet of the American Eagle. His name,‚—so terrible to his foes, so welcome to his friends,-shall live forever upon the brightest page of the historian, and be remembered with the warmest emotions of gratitude and pleasure by those whom he has contributed to make happy, and by all mankind, when kings, and princes, and nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their merited oblivion. Unlike them, he needs not the assistance of the sculptor or the architect to perpetuate his memory: he needs no princely dome, no monumental pile, no stately pyramid, whose towering height shall pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty head to heaven, to tell posterity his fame. His deeds,

his worthy deeds alone, have rendered him immortal! When oblivion shall have swept away thrones, kingdoms, and principalities when every vestige of human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have moldered into dust, and the last period of time become extinct-eternity itself shall catch the glowing theme, and dwell with increasing rapture on his name!

52.-LIBERTY AND UNION.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this Government whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed.

While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and for our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind! When

my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in Heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States, severed, discordant, belligerent: on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured,-bearing, for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as "What is all this worth ?"- -nor those other words of delusion and folly, "Liberty first and Union afterwards," but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heartLiberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable!

53. WE SHALL MEET AND REST.

HORATIUS BONAR.

We shall meet and rest:

Where the faded flower shall freshen,
Freshen never more to fade;

Where the shaded sky shall brighten,
Brighten never more to shade;
Where the sun-blaze never scorches;
Where the star-beams cease to chill;

Where no tempest stirs the echoes
Of the wood, or wave, or hill;

Where the morn shall wake in gladness,
And the noon the joy prolong;
Where the daylight dies in fragrance
'Mid the burst of holy song;
Where no shadow shall bewilder;
Where life's vain parade is o'er;
Where the sleep of sin is broken,

And the dreamer dreams no more;
Where the bond is never severed-
Partings, claspings, sob, and moan--
Midnight waking, twilight weeping,
Heavy noontide-all are done;
Where the child has found its mother,
Where the mother finds her child;
Where dear families are gathered

That were scattered on the wild;

Where the hidden wound is healed;
Where the blighted life reblooms;
Where the smitten heart the freshness
Of its buoyant youth resumes;
Where the love that here we lavish

On the withering leaves of time,
Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on,
In an ever spring-bright clime;
Where we find the joy of loving,
As we never loved before;
Loving on unchilled, unhindered,
Loving once, for evermore.

54.-ART THOU LIVING YET?
Is there no grand, immortal sphere,
Beyond this realm of broken ties,
To fill the wants that mock us here,

And dry the tears from weeping eyes;
Where Winter melts in endless Spring.

And June stands near with deathless flowers,
Where we may hear the dear ones sing,
Who loved us in this world of ours?

I ask, and lo! my cheeks are wet
With tears for one I cannot see;
Oh, mother, art thou living yet,
And dost thou still remember me

I feel thy kisses o'er me thrill,

Thou unseen angel of my life;
I hear thy hymns around me thrill,
An undertone to care and strife;
And tender eyes upon me shine,
As from a being glorified:
Till I am thine and thou art mine,
And I forget that thou hast died.
I almost lose each vain regret
In visions of a life to be;

Oh, mother, art thou living yet,

And dost thou still remember me?

The Spring-times bloom, the Summers fade,
The Winters blow along my way,

But over every light and shade

Thy memory lives by night and day. It soothes to sleep my wildest pain,

Like some sweet song that cannot die;

And like the murmur of the main,

Grows deeper when the storm is nigh.

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