lect, the dialect of plain working men, was perfectly sufficient. There is no book in our literature, on which we would so readily stake the fame of the old, unpolluted English language; no book which shows so well, how rich that language is, in its own proper wealth, and how little it has been improved by all that it has borrowed.

6. Cowper said, fifty or sixty years ago, that he dared not name John Bunyan in his verse, for fear of moving a sneer. We live in better times; and we are not afraid to say that, though there were many clever men in England during the latter half of the seventeenth century, there were only two great creative minds. One of these produced the "Paradise Lost," the other the "Pilgrim's Progress."

HENRY KIRK WHITE was born at Nottingham, England, in 1785. From his earliest years he exhibited an ardent passion for literature, and through the kindness of his friends he was enabled to enter the University of Cambridge, where his too great devotion to study brought on a fatal disease. He died in 1806.

1. WHEN +marshal'd on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky;
One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone, the Savior speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.

2. Once, on the raging seas I rode ;

The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The ocean yawn'd and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my †foundering bark.

Deep horror then my tvitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.

3. It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark †forbodings cease,

And through the storm and danger's thrall,

It led me to the port of peace.
Now, safely moor'd, my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's +diadem,
Forever and forever more,

The star, the star of Bethlehem.

CXXXI. THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE.

-

1. SOME years ago, a warehouseman in Manchester, England, published a scurrilous pamphlet, in which he endeavored to hold up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule. William Grant remarked upon the occurrence, that the man would live to repent of what he had done; and this was conveyed by some tale-bearer to the libeler, who said, “O, I suppose he thinks I shall some time or other be in his debt; but I will take good care of that." It happens, however, that a man in business can not always choose who shall be his +creditors. The pamphleteer became a bankrupt, and the brothers held an acceptance of his, which had been endorsed to them by the drawer, who had also become a bankrupt.

It

2. The wantonly-libeled men had thus become creditors of the libeler! They now had it in their power to make him repent of his audacity. He could not obtain his certificate without their signature, and without it he could not enter into business again. He had obtained the number of signatures required by the bankrupt law, except one. seemed folly to hope that the firm of "the brothers" would supply the deficiency. What! they, who had cruelly been made the laughing-stock of the public, forget the wrong and favor the wrong-doer? He despaired. But the claims of a wife and children forced him at last to make the application. Humbled by misery, he presented himself at the countinghouse of the wronged.

3. Mr. William Grant was there alone, and his first words to the delinquent were, "Shut the door, sir!" sternly uttered. The door was shut, and the libeler stood trembling before the libeled. He told his tale, and produced his certificate, which was instantly clutched by the injured merchant. "You wrote a pamphlet against us once!" exclaimed Mr.

Grant.

The supplicant expected to see his parchment thrown into the fire. But this was not its destination. Mr. Grant took a pen, and writing something upon the document, handed it back to the bankrupt. He, poor wretch, expected to see "rogue, scoundrel, libeler," inscribed; but there was, in fair round characters, the signature of the firm.

4. "We make it a rule," said Mr. Grant, "never to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we have never heard that you were anything else." The tears started into the poor man's eyes. "Ah," said Mr. Grant, "my saying was true! I said you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I did not mean it as a threat. I only meant that some day you would know us better, and be sorry you had tried to injure us. I see you repent of it now." "I do, I do!" said the grateful man; "I bitterly repent it." "Well, well, my dear fellow, you know us now. How do you get on? What are you going to do?" The poor man stated he had friends who could assist him when his certificate was obtained. "But how are you off in the meantime?"

5. And the answer was, that, having given up every farthing to his creditors, he had been compelled to stint his family of even common necessaries, that he might be enabled to pay the cost of his certificate. "My dear fellow, this will not do; your family must not suffer. Be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to your wife from me. There, there, my dear fellow! Nay, do not cry; it will all be well with you yet. Keep up your spirits, set to work like a man, and you will raise your head among us yet." The overpowered man endeavored in vain to express his thanks; the swelling in his throat forbade words. He put his handkerchief to his face, and went out of the door, crying like a child.

CXXXII. THE GLOVE AND THE LION.

FROM LEIGH HUNT.

LEIGH HUNT, an English poet, was born in 1784. His writings, prose and poetic, are full of life and beauty.

1. KING Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport, And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;

The nobles fill'd the benches round, the ladies by their side, And 'mong them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sigh'd:

And truly 't was a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

2. Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glar'd, gave blows like beams, a wind went with

their paws;

With twallowing might and stifl'd roar, they roll'd on one another;

Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous

smother;

The bloody foam above the bars came twhizzing through the

air:

[there."

Said Francis, then, “Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than

3. De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively +dame, With smiling lips, and sharp, bright eyes, which always seem'd

the same;

She thought, “The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be, He surely would do wondrous things to show his love for me; King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;

I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine."

4. She dropp'd her glove, to prove his love, then look'd at him, and smil❜d;

He bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild:

The leap was quick, return was quick, he soon regain'd the place,

[face. Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's "In faith,” cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat ;

"Not love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."

CXXXIII.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
FROM SOUTHEY.

1. Ir was on a summer evening,
Old Kasper's work was done,
And he, before his cottage door,
Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green,
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

2. She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found;

He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

3. Old Kasper took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh,

""T is some poor fellow's skull," said he,
Who fell in the great victory.

4. I find them in the garden,

For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plow,
The plowshare turns them out!
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory:"

But what they killed each other for,
I could not well make out.
But every body said," quoth he,
"That 't was a famous victory.

7. "My father liv'd at +Blenheim then,
Yon little stream, hard by;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forc'd to fly;

So, with his wife and little child, he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

8. "With fire and sword, the country round Was wasted, far and wide;

And many a nursing mother then,

And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know must be
At every famous victory.