this was the same lion with which he had so long lived in Africa, and which, like himself, had been captured and taken to Rome for exhibition. 10. The Roman emperor, hearing of this singular friendship between the lion and Androcles, ordered not only that the slave should be set free, but also that the lion should be given to him as a present. From this time the noble lion and the freed slave were constant companions. 11. Androcles received quite an income by leading the lion about the streets and giving the people an opportunity to witness his gentleness and his friendship for the man who had so long before relieved him from pain and suffering by extracting a thorn from his foot. 12. Kindness, sooner or later, in some way or other, will bring its reward. T. DAY. XXXIII. HOW TO MOVE AN AUDIENCE. 1. A speaker will affect his audience according to the degree in which he is affected himself. There is a congenial sympathy which darts like an electrical spirit from heart to heart! It will strike others more or less forcibly, according to the impulse it receives from the speaker. 2. He is the master-spring which puts all others in motion. But can a man transfuse the very life of the passions into the souls of others, while he himself remains unmoved, or but moderately agitated? 3. No; he must feel, in the most exquisite degree, every tender, every bold, every animated emotion he would produce! Then, and then only, will he be able to excite kindred feelings in the hearts of his audience. 4. Many of our public addresses have a kind of freez ing and benumbing influence, which is an antidote to animation. Such speeches may be compared to a waxen image, which has form, proportion and ornament, but is destitute of life and motion. 5. But there is an inborn fire of the soul, which is the very spirit of eloquence. There is a wide-flaming enthusiasm in the strains of a masterly speaker which will force its way into the hearts of all. It may not necessarily produce conviction, but it will command respect, for it loads words with power. If that power be truth, men must bow to it. HERRIES. XXXIV. THE OLD BARN. 1. The ghostly old barn, with its weather-stained frame, How often it rises to view! In its narrow, green lane, cut in parallel tracks, Save the net-work of light from the knot-holes and Which scarce could the darkness illume 2. The hay-mow, how fragrant and welcome its scent! How soft and elastic the hay! The nooks, what safe coverts for hide-and-go-seek!" On that floor, like the beat of the pulse, went the And the huskers, the corn how they hulled! And, when ceased the husking, how merry the dance Till the stars in the daybreak were dulled. 3. O, what though the storm blustered fiercely with out, And the hail as from catapults flew ? There dozed the meek oxen secure in their stalls, And, with Crumple, did nothing but chew; There chanticleer roamed with his partlets about, Each scratching and snatching the seed; And the pigeons flew in on their silken-toned wings: 'Twas a picture of comfort, indeed! 4. A rough harness streamed from a peg in a beam, A saddle sat, bridle hung, nigh; And the road-wagon stood, bright as satin, beside, Next champed the two steeds—and what trotters And I counted it one of my joys To ride them with halter, bare-backed, to the pond -- 5. The lane in the summer, how greenly it smiled, With its milk-weeds and tall mullein-spears! There I sliced the long pumpkin vines, wreathed through the fence, For trumpets that deafened all ears. And the pumpkins — what lanterns they made, to be sure! What mouths, and what noses and eyes! And when on my head flamed the horrible face, 6. But alas! the old barn has long since passed awayThe lane has been turned to a street, And the fields into court-yards and gardens of flowers: All is new all is strange that I meet. All is shrunken in size, and the distances, too; The pond at the wood is near by; And the long fence I trembled to skirt in the night, 7. The old barn is gone, like the past with its dreams, Which crowded, chaotic, my brain; All are gone-all are gone! and yet often I wish Though the barn, low and dark, is a dwelling of And the lane is a street wide and bright, 8. All are gone - all are gone! The soft pictures I draw, Not one has Time's cruelty spared. All are gone; and I wonder and smile to myself Yet, somehow, they bear in their presence a glow 'Tis the light in the urn alabaster of youth That soon fades forever away. 9. And in that sweet light the heart grows pure and bright In the paradise smiling around; And we wish o'er and o'er we were children once more, And roaming that magical ground. Its scenes, how grotesque, and how trivial and tame! Like the pools of Bethesda, it freshens the heart, ALFRED B. STREET. XXXV. THE SHELL ON THE SHORE. 1. I had turned over the pebbles and the damp weeds, and sought with naked feet among the waves for some bright shell or colored stone to carry home, but I could find none. 2. Tired out, I sat down on a pile of stone to rest, and to watch the waves unroll themselves on the waiting sands. I heeded not the tide, but let it go and come without notice. 3. After a longer interval than I dare tell, considering I was without boots or stockings, and my coat damp with the spray of the last tide, I woke from my dreaming and renewed my search for a prize, and sure enough there was a shell glistening and gleaming, colored like sunlit crystal, just dropped from the white fingers of some wave. 4. I did not hurry to possess myself of it, but sat still admiring it. It was mine; I was sure I could reach it at any moment with my stick,- and who was near on this lonely beach to pick it up ere I could take full possession? 5. Splash, splash, and up rolled a huge wave, hissing and hurrying, rattling the stones, wetting my feet— and the shell; where is it? I looked around, I followed the receding water; dripping sea-grass, creamy lots of froth, only remained to meet me; the shell - the beautiful shell-was gone. Old Neptune had altered his mind, and got back his pearl. 6. A little loss, this, but uttering a lofty lesson,- never to lose an opportunity of taking every gift of mercy or usefulness the tide of time may bring us. If unused neglected the wave that brought it will soon take it away. |