OSBORNE.
Cousin Mary. More breezes? What terrible thing has happened now, Cousin Grim? What's the matter?
Grim. Matter enough, I should think! I sent this stupid fellow to bring me a pair of boots from the closet; and he has brought me two rights, instead of a right and left.
Cousin. What a serious calamity! But, perhaps, he thought it was but right to leave the left.
Grim. None of your jokes, if you please. This is nothing to laugh at.
Cousin. So it would seem, from the expression on your face,—rather something to storm at, roar at, and fall into a frenzy about.
Michael. That's right, Miss; give him a piece of your mind! He's the crossest little man I have met with in the new country. You might scrape old Ireland with a fine-tooth comb, and not find such another.
Grim. How dare you talk to me in that style? I'll discharge you this very day!
Michael. I'm thinking of discharging you, if you don't take better care of that sweet temper of yours.
Grim. Leave the room, sir!
Michael. That I will, in search of better company, saving the lady's presence.
[Exit.
Grim. There, cousin! there is a specimen of my provocations! Can you wonder at my losing my temper?
Cousin. Cousin Grim, that would be the most fortunate thing that could befall you.
Grim. What do you mean?
Cousin. I mean, if you could only lose that temper of yours, it would be a blessed thing for you; though I should pity the poor fellow who found it. Grim. You are growing satirical in your old age, Cousin Mary.
Cousin. Cousin Grim, hear the plain truth; your ill temper makes you a nuisance to yourself and every body about you.
Grim. Really, Miss Mary Somerville, you are getting to be complimentary!
Cousin. No; I am getting to be candid. I have passed a week in your house, on your invitation. I leave you this afternoon; but, before I go, I mean to speak my mind.
Grim. It seems to me that you have spoken it rather freely already.
Cousin. What was there, in the circumstance of poor Michael's bringing you the wrong boots, to justify your flying into a rage, and bellowing as if your life had been threatened?
Grim. That fellow is perpetually making just such provoking blunders!
Cousin. And do you never make provoking blunders'? Didn't you send me five pounds of Hyson tea, when I wrote for Souchong'? Didn't you send a carriage for me to the cars, half an hour too late, so that I had to hire one myself, after great trouble'? And did I roar at you, when we met, because you had done these things'?
Grim. On the contrary, this is the first time you have alluded to them. I am sorry they should have happened. But surely you should make a distinction between any such little oversight of mine, and the stupidity of a servant, hired to attend to your orders.
Cousin. I do not admit that there should be a distinction. You are both human; only, as you have had the better education, and the greater advantages, stupidity or neglect on your part, is much the more culpable.
Grim. Thank you! Go on.
Cousin. I mean to; so don't be impatient. If an uncooked potato, or a burnt mutton-chop, happens to fall to your lot at the dinner-table, what a tempest follows! One would think you had been wronged, insulted, trampled on, driven to despair. Your face is like a thunder-cloud, all the rest of the meal. Your poor wife endeavors to hide her tears. Your children feel timid and miserable. Your guest feels as if she would like to see you held under the nose of the pump, and thoroughly ducked.
Grim. The carriage is waiting for you, Miss Somerville, and the driver has put on your baggage.
Cousin. I have hired that carriage by the hour, and so am in no hurry. Your excuse for your irritability will be, I suppose, that it is constitutional, and not to be controlled. A selfish, paltry, miserable excuse! I have turned down a leaf in Dr. Johnson's works, and will read what he says in regard to tempers like yours.
Grim. You are always quoting Dr. Johnson! Cousin, I can not endure it! Dr. Johnson is a bore!
Cousin. Oh, yes! to evil-doers,—but to none else. Hear him: "There is in the world a class of mortals known, and contentedly known, by the appellation of passionate men, who imagine themselves entitled, by this distinction, to be provoked on every slight occasion, and to vent their rage in vehement and fierce vociferations, in furious menaces, and licentious reproaches."
Grim. That will do.
Cousin. "Men of this kind," he tells us, "are often pitied rather than censured, and are not treated with the severity which their neglect of the ease of all about them, might justly provoke." But he adds: "It is surely not to be observed without indignation, that men may be found of minds mean enough to be satisfied with this treatment; wretches who are proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and——"
Grim. I will hear no more! Have done!
Cousin. So the shaft went home! I am not sorry.
Grim. No one but a meddlesome old maid would think of insulting a man in his own house.
Cousin. So, when, at a loss for a vindication, you reproach me with being an old maid! Cousin, it does not distress me, either to be an old maid, or to be called one. I must, however, remark, that the manhood that can charge against a woman her single state, either as a matter of ridicule or reproach, is not quite up to my standard.
Grim. Cousin Mary, I ask your pardon! But am I, indeed, the petulant, disagreeable fellow, you would make me out?
Cousin. My dear Caspar, you are generous enough in large things; but, oh! consider that trifles make up a good portion of the sum of life; and so "a small unkindness is a great offense." Why not be cheerful, sunny, genial, in little things? Why not look on the bright side? Why not present an unruffled front to petty annoyances? Why not labor,—ay, labor,—to have those around you happy and contented, by reflecting from yourself such a frame of mind upon them?
Life is short, at the best; why not make it cheerful? Do you know that longevity is promoted by a tranquil, happy habit of thought and temper'? Do you know that cheerfulness, like mercy, is twice blessed; blessing "him that gives, and him that takes'?" Do you know that good manners, as well as good sense, demand that we should look at objects on their bright side'? Do you know that it is contemptible selfishness in you to shed gloom and sorrow over a whole family by your moroseness and ill-humor'?
Grim. Cousin Mary, the patience with which I have listened to your cutting remarks, will prove to you, I hope, that, notwithstanding my angry retorts, I am convinced there is much truth in what you have said of me. I have a favor to ask. Send away your carriage; stay a week longer,—a month,—a year, if you will. Hold the lash over this ugly temper of mine,—and I give you my word that I will set about the cure of it in earnest.
Cousin. You should have begun earlier,—in youth, when the temper is pliable, and strong impressions can work great changes. But we will not despair. I will tarry with you a while, just to see if you are serious in your wish for a reformation, and to help you bring it about.
Grim. Thank you. We hear of reformed drunkards, and reformed thieves; and why may not a petulant temper be reformed, but a system of total abstinence from all harsh, unkind moods and expressions? Come, we will try.
QUESTIONS.—1. At what was Mr. Grim offended? 2. What did Cousin Mary say would be fortunate for him? 3. What blunder had Mr. Grim made? 4. How did he often behave at the table? 5. What does Dr. Johnson say of such men? 6. What did Cousin Mary finally say to him? 7. Of what was he convinced? 8. What did he resolve to do?
[Footnote: The fable, here thrown into verse, is related in English prose by Macaulay, who says:—"Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrit Aesop."]
VERSIFIED BY J.N. McELLIGOTT.
QUESTIONS.—1. What trick did the three rogues play off on the Brahmin? 2. In what way did they do this? 3. What moral is taught in this fable?
S.W. PARTRIDGE.
O.M. MITCHEL.
1. If you would know the glory of the Omnipotent Ruler of the universe, examine the interminable range of suns and systems which crowd the Milky-Way. Multiply the hundred millions of stars which belong to our own "island universe" by the thousands of these astral systems that exist in space, within the range of human vision, and then you may form some idea of the infinitude of His kingdom; for lo! these are but a part of His ways.
2. Examine the scale on which the universe is built. Comprehend, if you can, the vast dimensions of our sun. Stretch outward through his system, from planet to planet, and circumscribe the whole within the immense circumference of Neptune's orbit. This is but a single unit out of the myriads of similar systems.
3. Take the wings of light, and flash with impetuous speed, day and night, and month, and year, till youth shall wear away, and middle age is gone, and the extremest limit of human life has been attained;—count every pulse, and, at each, speed on your way a hundred thousand miles; and when a hundred years have rolled by, look out, and behold! the thronging millions of blazing suns are still around you, each separated from the other by such a distance, that, in this journey of a century, you have only left half a score behind you.
4. Would you gather some idea of the eternity past of God's existence,—go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you in one of his walks through space; and, as he sweeps outward from object to object, from universe to universe, remember that the light from those filmy stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, now falling on your eye, has been traversing space for a million of years.
5. Would you gather some knowledge of the omnipotence of God,—weigh the earth on which we dwell, then count the millions of its inhabitants that have come and gone for the last six thousand years. Unite their strength into one arm, and test its power in an effort to move this earth. It could not stir it a single foot in a thousand years; and yet under the omnipotent hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not fly more than a thousand miles.
6. But this is a mere atom,—the most insignificant point among his innumerable worlds. At his bidding, every planet, and satellite, and comet, and the sun himself, fly onward in their appointed courses. His single arm guides the millions of sweeping suns, and around His throne circles the great constellation of unnumbered universes.
7. Would you comprehend the idea of the omniscience of God,—remember that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by the whole human race, by the combined efforts of its brightest intellects, has enabled the astronomer to compute approximately the perturbations of the planetary worlds. He has predicted roughly the return of half a score of comets. But God has computed the mutual perturbations of millions of suns, and planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through the ages that are passed, and throughout the ages which are yet to come, not approximately, but with perfect and absolute precision.
8. The universe is in motion,—system rising above system, cluster above cluster, nebula above nebula,—all majestically sweeping around under the providence of God, who alone knows the end from the beginning, and before whose glory and power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven or on earth, should bow with humility and awe.
9. Would you gain some idea of the wisdom of God,—look to the admirable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets and satellites which sweep around the sun. Every globe has been weighed and poised, every orbit has been measured and bent to its beautiful form.
10. All is changing; but the laws fixed by the wisdom of God, though they permit the rocking to and fro of the system, never introduce disorder, or lead to destruction. All is perfect and harmonious, and the music of the spheres that burn and roll around our sun, is echoed by that of ten millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the bright suns that reign above.
11. If, overwhelmed with the grandeur and majesty of the universe of God, we are led to exclaim with the Hebrew poet-king,—"When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that Thou visitest him?"—If fearful that the eye of God may overlook us in the immensity of His kingdom, we have only to call to mind that other passage, "Yet Thou hast made him but a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. Thou madest him to have dominion over all the works of Thy hand; Thou hast put all things under his feet." Such are the teachings of the word, and such are the lessons of the works of God.
MISS PAMELIA S. VINING.
KOSSUTH.
1. Mr. President: I consider it a particular favor of Providence that I am permitted to partake, on the present solemn occasion, in paying the tribute of honor and gratitude to the memory of your immortal Washington.
2. An architect having raised a proud and noble building to the service of the Almighty, his admirers desired to erect a monument to his memory. How was it done? His name was inscribed upon the wall, with these additional words: "You seek his monument—look around."
3. Let him who looks for a monument of Washington look around the United States. The whole country is a monument to him. Your freedom, your independence, your national power, your prosperity, and your prodigious growth, is a monument to Washington.
4. There is no room left for panegyric, none especially to a stranger whom you had full reason to charge with arrogance, were he able to believe that his feeble voice could claim to be noticed in the mighty harmony of a nation's praise. Let me, therefore, instead of such an arrogant attempt, pray that that God, to whose providential intentions Washington was a glorious instrument, may impart to the people of the United States the same wisdom for the conservation of the present prosperity of the land and for its future security, which he gave to Washington for the foundation of it.
5. I yield to nobody in the world in reverence and respect to the immortal memory of Washington. His life and his principles were the guiding star of my life; to that star I looked up for inspiration and advice, during the vicissitudes of my stormy life. Hence I drew that devotion to my country and to the cause of national freedom, which you, gentlemen, and millions of your fellow-citizens, and your national government, are so kind as to honor by unexampled distinction.
6. Sir, I have studied the history of your immortal Washington, and have, from my early youth, considered his principles as a living source of instruction to statesmen and to patriots.
When, in that very year in which Washington issued his Farewell Address, M. Adet, the French Minister, presented to him the flag of the French Republic, Washington, as President of the United States, answered officially, with these memorable words:
"Born in a land of liberty, having early learned its value, having engaged in a perilous conflict to defend it, having devoted the best years of my life to secure its permanent establishment in my country, my anxious recollections, my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes, are irresistibly attracted, whensoever in any country I see an oppressed nation unfurl the banner of freedom."
7. Thus spoke Washington. Have I not then full reason to say, that if he were alive his generous sympathy would be with me; and the sympathy of a Washington never was, and never would be, a barren word. Washington, who raised the word "honesty" as a rule of policy, never would have professed a sentiment which his wisdom as a statesman would not have approved.
8. Sir! here let me end. I consider it already as an immense benefit that your generous attention connected the cause of Hungary with the celebration of the memory of Washington.
9. Spirit of the departed! smile down from heaven upon this appreciation of my country's cause; watch over those principles which thou hast taken for the guiding star of thy noble life, and the time will yet come when not only thine own country, but liberated Europe, also, will be a living monument to thy immortal name.