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Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student; I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio; the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father,—methinks I see my father
Hot. O, where, my lord?
Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. Saw! who?
Hor. My lord, the king, your father.
Ham. The king, my father!
Hor. Season your admiration for a while,
Ham. For heaven's love let me hear.
Hor. Two nights together had those gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waist and middle of the night, Been thus encountered: a figure, like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-i-pi^, Appears before them, and, with solemn march, Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walked By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled Almost to jelly with the act of fear, Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me, In dreadful secrecy, impart they did; And I with them, the third night, kept the watch: Where, as they had delivered, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good, The apparition comes. I knew your father; These hands are not more like. Ham. But where was this? Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watched. Ham. Did you not speak to it?
Hor. My lord, I did;
But answer made it none. Yet once, methought
Ham. 'T is very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honored lord, 'tis true; ■
Ham. Indeed, indeed, sir, but this troubles me.
Hor. We do, my lord.
Ham. Armed, say you?
Hor. Armed, my lord.
Ham. From top to toe?
Hor. My lord, from head to foot.
Ham. Then saw you not his face?
Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, looked he frowningly?
Hor. A countenance more In sorrow than in anger.
Ham. Pale, or red?
Hor. Nay, very pale.
Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you?
Hor. Most constantly.
Ham. I would I had been there I
Hor. It would have much amazed you.
Ham. Very like, very like. Staid it long?
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Ham. His beard was grizzled ?—no?
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silvered.
Ham. I will watch to-night;
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor. I warrant 'twill.
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I Ml speak to it, though hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, sir,
If you have hitherto concealed this sight,
XCIV.—APPEAL FOR STARVING IRELAND.
THERE lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beautiful island, famous in story and in song. Its area is not so great as that of the State of Louisiana, while its population is almost half that of the Union. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully all battles but their own. In wit and humor it has no equal; while its harp, like its history, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos.
2. Into this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fearful ministers that fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed to give her increase. The common mother has forgotten her offspring, and she no longer affords them their accustomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly Famine, has seized a nation with its strangling grasp. Unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the past.
3. Oh I it is terrible that, in this beautiful world, which the good God has given us, and in which there is plenty for all, men should die of starvation! When a man dies of disease, he, it is true, endures the pain. But around his pillow are gathered sympathizing friends, who, if they cannot keep back the deadly messenger, cover his face, and conceal the horrors of his visage, as he delivers his stern mandate. In battle, in the fullness of his pride and strength, little reeks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sings his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel.
4. But he who dies of hunger, wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. He has nc friends to cheer him in the terrible conflict; for, if he had friends, how could he die of hunger? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him; for his foe, vampirelike, has exhausted his veins. Famine comes not up, like a brave enemy, storming, by a sudden onset, the fortress that resists. Famine besieges. He draws his lines round the doomed garrison. He cuts off all supplies. He never summons to surrender, for he gives no quarter.
5. Alas! for poor human nature, how can it sustain this fearful warfare? Day by day the blood recedes; the flesh deserts; the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless. At last the mind, which at first had bravely nerved itself against the contest, gives way, under the mysterious influences which govern its union with the body. Then the victim begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Providence. He hates his fellow-men, and glares upon them with the longing of a cannibal; and, it may be, dies blaspheming.
6. This is one of the cases in which we may, without impiety, assume, as it were, the function of Providence. Who knows but that one of the very objects of this calamity is to test the benevolence and worthiness of us, upon whom unlimited abundance is showered? In the name, -hen, of common humanity, I invoke your aid in behalf of starving Ireland. He who is able, and will not aid in such a cause, is not a man, and has no right to wear the form. He should be sent back to Nature's mint, and reissued as a counterfeit on humanity, of Nature's baser metal.
S. S. Peextiss.
XCV.—THE TEAR OF REPENTANCE. i.
ONE morn a Peri at the gate
Through the half-open portal glowing,
"How happy," exclaimed this child of air, "Are the holy spirits who wander there,
'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall! Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,
One blossom of heaven outblooms them all!"
The glorious angel who was keeping
The Peri yet may be forgiven,
The gift that is most, dear to Heaven!
Rapidly as comets run
To the embraces of the srm,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,
And lighted earthward by a glance
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.