This is also in praise of Washington: that never in the tide of time has any man lived who had in so great a degree the almost divine faculty to command the trust of his fellow-men and rule the willing. Wherever he became known, in his family, his neighborhood, his country, his native state, the continent, the camp, civil life, among the common people, in foreign courts, throughout the civilized world, and even among the savages, he beyond all other men had the confidence of his kind.

How sleep the Brave who sink to rest
By all their Country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould.
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

COLLINS.

JOHN MILTON

LXXVII

ON HIS BLINDNESS

JOHN MILTON

JOHN MILTON (1608-1670) was educated at Christ's College, Cambridge. During the Commonwealth he was appointed Secretary of Foreign Tongues, his duty being the diplomatic correspondence, which was carried on in Latin. In 1652 he lost his sight. Milton was both a prose writer and a poet, but it is as a poet that we usually consider him to-day. He ranks with the greatest. Most people are familiar with the twin lyrics, "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso," with the elegy, "Lycidas," commemorating the death of his friend Edward King, with some of the sonnets, notably

that on his own blindness, and with his splendid epic, "Paradise Lost," which treats of the fall of man. The greater part of Milton's work is characterized by loftiness of thought and high dignity of expression.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,-
Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?

I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: God doth not need

Either man's work, or His own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:-
They also serve who only stand and wait.

SOUL AND BODY

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Poor Soul, the center of my sinful earth,
Foil'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?

Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:-

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

LXXVIII

THE HURRICANE

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, the celebrated naturalist, was born near New Orleans in 1780, and died in New York in 1851. The "Birds of America" is his great book, for which his whole life was a preparation. He spent many months of the year in the unexplored forest with his gun and drawing materials. His drawings of birds are celebrated. He wrote, also, the "Ornithological Biography," and, with his sons, the "Quadrupeds of America."

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON

Various portions of our country have, at different periods, suffered severely from the influence of violent storms of wind, some of which have been known to traverse nearly the whole extent of the United States, and to leave such deep impressions in their wake as will not easily be forgotten. Having witnessed one of the awful phenomena, in all its grandeur, I will attempt to describe it. The recollection of that astonishing revolution of the ethereal element even now brings with it so disagreeable a sensation that I feel as if about to be affected by a sudden stoppage of the circulation of my blood.

I had left the village of Shawaney, situated on the banks of the Ohio, on my return from Henderson, which is also situated on the banks of the same beautiful stream. The weather was pleasant, and I thought not warmer than usual at that season. My horse was jogging quietly along, and my thoughts were for once at least in the course of my life entirely engaged in commercial speculations. I had forded Highland Creek, and was on the eve of entering a tract of bottom land or valley that lay between it and Canoe Creek, when on a sudden I remarked a great difference in the aspect of the heavens. A hazy thickness had overspread the country, and I for some time expected an earthquake, but my horse exhibited no propensity to stop and prepare for such an occurrence. I had nearly arrived at the verge of the valley, when I thought fit to stop near a brook, and dismounted to quench the thirst which had come upon me.

I was leaning on my knees, with my lips about to touch the water, when, from my proximity to the earth, I heard a distant murmuring sound of an extraordinary nature. I drank, however, and as I rose on my feet looked toward the southwest, when I observed a yellowish oval spot, the appearance of which was quite new to me. Little time was left to me for consideration, as the next moment a smart breeze began to agitate the taller trees. It increased to an unexpected height, and already the smaller branches and twigs were seen falling in a slanting direction towards the ground. Two minutes had scarcely elapsed when the whole forest before me was in fearful motion. Here