the splendor of noon: such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True, it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding men's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with the time and place: a thousand ears catch every whisper: a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene,-shedding all their light, and ready to kindle, at the slightest circumstance, into a blaze of discovery. 5. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself, or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it does not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy nor assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses, soon comes to possess him; and like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in. his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed there is no refuge from confession but suicide, . and suicide is confession. 5. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thundered: Left of six hundred. 6. When can their glory fade? Noble six hundred ! LONGFELLOW. LXXXV.- "EXCELSIOR!" 1. THE shades of night were falling fast, 2. His brow was sad: his eye, beneath, The accents of that unknown tongue, "Excelsior!" 3. In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright: 4. "Try not the pass!" the old man said, 5. "Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest 6. "" 'Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! This was the peasant's last good-night;— 7. At break of day, as heavenward A voice cried through the startled air, 8. A traveller, by the faithful hound, 9. There, in the twilight cold and gray, LXXXVI.-SOLILOQUY OF KING RICHARD III. 1. GIVE me another horse-bind up my wounds- Is there a murderer here? No: yes; I am. Then fly. What! From myself? Great reason, why? I love myself? Wherefore? For any good O, no alas! I rather hate myself, 2. I am a villain: yet I lie: I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter- Nay; wherefore should they; since that I myself Methought the souls of all that I had murdered LXXXVII.-MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. SHAKSPEARE. 1. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdest, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim : But, while this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it— Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn; With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. 2. Do thou but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Or any air of music touch their cars, |