Flame, flew, flown, fly, trifl’d, trifl’dst, trifles, trifl'st, sofon,

sof'n'd, sof'ns; frame, freeze, frown, laughs, laugh’st, waft, wafts, waft'st, fifth.

Passage down the Ohio.

JAMES K. PAULDING.

As, down Ohio's ever-ebbing tide,
Oarless and sail-less silently they glide,
How still the scene! how lifeless, yet how fair,
Was the lone land that met the stranger there !
No smiling villages, or curling smoke,
The busy haunts of busy men bespoke;
No solitary hut, the banks along,
Sent forth blithe labor's homely rustic song ,
No urchin gambolled on the smooth, white sand,
Or hurled the skipping stone with playful hand,
While playmate dog plunged in the clear blue wave,
And swam, in vain, the sinking prize to save.

Where now are seen, along the river side,
Young, busy towns, in buxom painted pride,
And fleets of gliding boats, with riches crowned,
To distant Orleans, or St. Louis bound,
Nothing appeared but nature unsubdued ;
One endless, noiseless, woodland solitude,
Or boundless prairie, that aye seemed to be
As level and as lifeless as the sea;
They seemed to breathe in this wide world alone,
Heirs of the earth the land was all their own!

'Twas evening now; the hour of toil was o'er ;
Yet still they durst not seek the fearful shore,
Lest watchful Indian crew should silent creep,
And spring upon, and murder them in sleep;

So through the livelong night they held their way,
And 'twas a night might shame the fairest day;
So still, so bright, so tranquil, was its reign,
They cared not though the day ne'er came again.

The moon, high wheeled the distant hills above,
Silvered the fleecy foliage of the grove,
That, as the wooing zephyrs on it fell,
Whispered, it loved the gentle visit well.
That fair-faced orb alone to move appeared,
That zephyr was the only sound they heard.
No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed,
No lights upon the shore or waters played,
No loud laugh broke upon the silent air,
To tell the wanderers, man was nestling there,
All, all was still, on gliding bark and shore,
As if the earth now slept to wake no more.

LESSON LIV.

EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.

Dragg'd, dragg'dst, glow, mangled, mangles, manglst, grave,

green, grown, begs, begg'st.

An Evening Reveric.

W. C. BRYANT.

The summer day has closed the sun is set : Well have they done their office, those bright hours, The latest of whose train goes softly out In the red west. The green blade of the ground Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown, And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil From bursting cells, and in their graves await

Their resurrection. Insects from the pools
Have filled the air awhile with humming wings,
That now are still forever; painted moths
Have wandered the blue sky, and died again ;
The mother-bird hath broken for her brood
Their prison-shells, or shoved them from the nest,
Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves,
In woodland cottages with earthy walls,
In noisome cells of the tumultuous town,
Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe.
Graves, by the lonely forest, by the shore
Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways
Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out,
And filled, and closed.

This day 'hath parted friends,
That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit
New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight
Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long
Hath wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late
Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word,
That told the wedded one her peace was flown.
Farewell to the sweet sunshine! one glad day
Is added now to childhood's merry days,
And one calm day to those of quiet age.
Still the fleet hours run on; and as I lean
Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit
By those who watch the dead, and those who twine
Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes
Of her sick infant shades the painful light,
And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.

Othou great movement of the universe,
Or change, or flight of time,- for ye are one ! -
That bearest, silently, this visible scene
Into night's shadow, and the streaming rays
Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me?
I feel the mighty current sweep me on,

Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar
The courses of the stars ; the

very

hour He knows when they shall darken, or grow bright; Yet doth the eclipse of sorrow and of death Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love, Shall pass from life, or, sadder yet, shall fall From virtue? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife With friends, or shame, and general scorn of men Which, who can bear ? or the fierce rack of pain, Lie they within my path ? or shall the years Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace, Into the stilly twilight of my age ? Or do the portals of another life, Even now, while I am glorying in my strength, Impend around me? O, beyond that bourn, In the vast cycle of being which begins At that broad threshold, with what fairer forms Shall the great law of change and progress clothe Its workings ? Gently — so have good men taught Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new; the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.

Claim, buckld, buckles, buckl'dst, bucklst, black'n,

black'n'd, black'ns, black'n'dst, black'nst, cream, thinks, think'st, sixth, act, acts, act'st.

Patrick Henry. ALEXANDEP. H. EVERETT. In his person, Henry was tall and thin, with a slight stoop of the shoulders. His complexion was dark, and his face furrowed by deep lines of care and thought, which gave it a somewhat severe aspect. In his youth, he was rather inattentive to his dress; but in his later years, especially on public occasions, and while he occupied the executive chair, he paid, in this respect, a proper regard to the decorum required by his position in society. At the bar of the General Assembly, he always appeared in a full suit of black cloth, or velvet, with a tie-wig dressed and powdered in the highest style of forensic fashion ; and in the winter season,

he

wore, over his other apparel, in accordance with the usage of the time, an ample scarlet cloak.

As he advanced in years, he also exchanged the rusticity of his youthful manners for a deportment distinguished by entire self-possession, and, on proper occasions, by an air of stateliness and elegance. He is represented, by those who have been present when he has entered the hall of the Assembly for the purpose of arguing some important case, as “saluting the house all round with a dignity, and even majesty, that would have done honor to the most polished courtier in Europe.”

The leading traits in his intellectual and moral character are shown too clearly in his practical life to require an elaborate recapitulation. He possessed an instinctive sagacity, which supplied, to a great extent, the deficiencies of his education ; a moral courage, which led him to spurn at all considerations of mere temporary expediency, when he was once satisfied where the right lay; and a naturally noble and generous heart. To these latter qualities he owed his extraordinary efficiency and success as a public speaker. Eloquence, no doubt, supposes, in general, the natural gift of an easy, copious, and flowing utterance; but this is not a rare endowment, and, when wholly or chiefly relied upon for effect, is apt to tire, rather than convince or delight an audience. It rises into eloquence only when it becomes the impression of powerful thought, and especially deep feeling.

While the speaker only gratifies the ear with melodious