"Twas the name for which my soul had panted for years, as the heart panteth for water-brooks. But where was Duluth? Never, in all my limited reading, had my vision been gladdened by seeing the celestial word in print. Nevertheless, I was confident it existed somewhere, and that its discovery would constitute the crowning glory of the present century, if not of all modern times. I knew it was bound to exist in the very nature of things; that the symmetry and perfection of our planetary system would be incomplete without it, that the elements of material nature would long since have resolved themselves back into original chaos if there had been such a hiatus in creation as would have resulted from leaving out Duluth. In fact, Sir, I was overwhelmed with the conviction that Duluth not only existed somewhere, but that wherever it was, it was a great and glorious place. I was convinced that the greatest calamity that ever befell the benighted nations of the ancient world was in their having passed away without a knowledge of the actual existence of Duluth; that their fabled Atlantis, never seen save by the hallowed vision of inspired poesy, was, in fact, but another name for Duluth; that the golden orchard of Hesperides was but a poetical synonym for the beer gardens in the vicinity of Duluth. I knew that if the immortal spirit of Homer could look down from another heaven than that created by his own celestial genius upon the long lines of pilgrims from every nation of the earth to the gushing fountain of poesy opened by the touch of his magic wand, if he could be permitted to behold the vast assemblage of grand and glorious productions of the lyric art called into being by his own inspired strains, he would weep tears of bitter anguish that instead of lavishing all the stores of his mighty genius upon the fall of Troy it had not been his more blessed lot to crystallize in deathless song the rising glories of Duluth. TONE OF SOOTHING. (See Tone Drill No. 53.) [The tone of Soothing is akin to Assurance, and has in it, at times, Affection and Consolation. It calms and lulls.] Sweet and Low, Sweet and Low. ALFRED TENNYSON. Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. She Is Sleeping. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. Some are laughing, some are weeping; She is sleeping, only sleeping: Round her rest wild flowers are creeping. There are lilies, and there blushes In the west; a fresh wind brushes There by day the lark is singing, And the grass and weeds are springing; Night and morning, noon and even, To her soul at rest and shriven. TONE OF WARNING. (See Tone Drill No. 210.) [This tone implies caution or threatening; in its higher form it has a touch of prophecy.] Our Duty. DANIEL WEBSTER. The world, at this moment, is regarding us with a willing, but something of a fearful admiration. Its deep and awful anxiety is to learn whether free states may be stable as well as free; whether popular power may be trusted as well as feared; in short, whether wise, regular, and virtuous selfgovernment is a vision for the contemplation of theorists, or a truth established, illustrated, and brought into practice in the country of Washington. Sir, for the earth which we inhabit, and the whole circle of the sun, for all the unborn races of mankind, we seem to hold in our hands, for their weal or woe, the fate of this experiment. If we fail, who shall venture the repetition? If our example shall prove to be one, not of encouragement but of terror, not to be imitated but fit only to be shunned, where else shall the world look for free models? If this great "Western Sun" be struck out of the firmament, at what other fountain shall the lamp of liberty hereafter be lighted? What other orb shall emit a ray to glimmer, even, on the darkness of the world? Sir, there is no danger of our overrating or overstating the important part which we are now acting in human affairs. It should not flatter our personal self-respect, but it should reanimate our patriotic virtues, and inspire us with a deeper and more solemn sense both of our privileges and of our duties. We cannot wish better for our country, nor for the world, than that the same spirit which influenced Washington may influence all who succeed him; and that that same blessing from above which attended his efforts may also attend theirs. A Warning to Young Men. GEORGE W. CURTIS. Show me a land in which the young men are cold and skeptical and prematurely wise; in which polite indifference is called political wisdom, contempt for ideas common sense, and honesty in politics Sunday-school statesmanship-show me a land in which the young men are more anxious about doing well than about doing right-and I will show you a country in which public corruption and ruin overtakes private infidelity and cowardice, and in which, if there were originally a hope for mankind, a faith in principle, and a conquering enthusiasm, that faith, hope, and enthusiasm are expiring like the deserted camp-fires of a retiring army. Woe to a man when his heart grows old! Woe to a nation when its young men shuffle in the gouty shoes and limp on the untimely crutches of age, instead of leaping along the course of life with the jubilant spring of their years and the sturdy play of their own muscles! Henry V to Citizens of Harfleur. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. How yet resolves the governor of the town? I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, With conscience wide as hell. Therefore, you men of Harfleur Take pity of your town, and of your people, Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy. If not, why, in a moment look to see Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; |