LESSON XXXIX. SELECT PASSAGES. The following selections are from speeches of Col. E. D. Baker. The second and fourth extracts are from his oration delivered in San Francisco in 1858, on the occasion of celebrating the laying of the Atlantic telegraph cable. The third is from his Union speech made in San Francisco while on his way to Washington, as Senator elect from Oregon. L OYALTY.-Let the laws be maintained and the Union preserved at whatever cost. By whatever constitutional process, through whatever of darkness or danger there may be, let us proceed in the broad luminous path of duty, till danger's troubled night be passed and the star of peace returns. SCIENCE.-Oh, Science! thou thought-clad leader of the company of pure and great souls that toil for their race and love their kind! Measurer of the depths of earth and the recesses of heaven! Apostle of civilization, handmaid of religion, teacher of human equality and human right, perpetual witness for the Divine wisdom, be ever, as now, the great minister of peace! Let thy starry brow and benign front still gleam in the van of progress, brighter than the sword of the conqueror, and welcome as the light of heaven. FREEDOM.-Here, then, long years ago, I took my stand by Freedom, and where the feet of my youth were planted, there my manhood and my age shall march. And, for one, I am not ashamed of Freedom. I know her power; I glory in her strength. I have seen her again and again struck down on a hundred chosen fields of battle. I have seen her foes gather around her and bind her to the stake. I have seen them give her ashes to the winds, re-gathering them again, that they might scatter them yet more widely. But when they turned to exult, I have seen her again meet them, face to face, clad in complete steel, and brandishing in her strong right hand a flaming sword, red with insufferable light. And, therefore, I take courage. The people gather around her once more. Genius of America will at last lead her sons to Freedom. The THE COMET.-Even while we assemble to rejoice at the completion of the laying of the Atlantic cable, whose mysterious coil, hidden in the bosom of the sea, is to carry, in throbs of fire, the responsive heart-beats of great and kindred nations, the Almighty, as if to impress us with our weakness when compared with his power, has set a new signal of his reign in heaven. If to-night, fellow-citizens, you will look out from the glare of your illuminated city into the northwestern heavens, you will perceive low down on the edge of the horizon a bright stranger pursuing its path across the sky. Amid the starry host that keep their watch, it shines, attended by a brighter pomp, and followed by a broader train. No living man has gazed upon its splendors before. No watchful votary of science has traced its course for nearly ten generations. 2. It is more than three hundred years since its approach was visible from our planet. When last it came it startled an Emperor on his throne, and, while the superstition of his age taught him to perceive in its presence a herald and a doom, his pride saw in its flaming course and fiery train the announcement that his own light was about to be extinguished. In common with the lowest of his subjects, he read omens of destruction in the baleful heavens, and prepared himself for a fate which alike awaits the mightiest and the meanest. Thanks to the present condition of scientific knowledge, we read the heavens with a far clearer perception. We see in the predicted return of the rushing, blazing comet through the sky, the march of a heavenly messenger along its appointed way and around its predestined orbit. 3. For three hundred years it has traveled amid the regions of infinite space. "Lone, wandering, but not lost," it has left far behind shining suns, blazing stars, and gleaming constellations: now nearer the eternal throne, and again on the confines of the universe, it returns with visage radiant and benign; it returns with unimpeded march and unobstructed way; it returns, the majestic, swift electric telegraph of the Almighty, bearing upon its flaming front the tidings that throughout the universe there is still peace and order ; that amid the immeasurable dominions of the Great King, His rule is still perfect; that suns, and stars, and systems tread their endless circle and obey the eternal law. LESSON XL. SCENE FROM THE CRITIC. BY R. B. SHERIDAN. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the brilliant orator and dramatist, was born in Dublin in 1751. His father was a teacher of elocution, and his mother, an amiable and accomplished woman, was herself an authoress. His first comedy was The Rivals, which, after a partial failure, was highly successful. The Duenna, one of the most charming of English operas, followed. By some stroke of policy, he became one of the proprietors of Drury Lane Theater, London; and in 1777 he produced The School for Scandal, perhaps the finest comedy in our language. The Critic followed in 1779. In 1780, he was brought into Parliament, and uniformly supported the Whig party. His talents as an orator were no less splendid, although he is said to have degenerated much in his latter days. He died in 1816. Enter SERVANT. Serv. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. Dangle. Beg him to walk up. [Exit SERVANT.] Now, Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your own taste. Mrs. Dangle. I confess he is a favorite of mine, because everybody else abuses him. Sneer. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of your judgment. Dangle. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but himself, that's the truth on't-though he's my friend. Sneer. Never. He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six-and-thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations. Dangle. Very true, egad-though he is my friend. Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures; though at the same time he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism; yet is he so covetous of popularity that he had rather be abused than not mentioned at all. Dangle. There's no denying it-though he is my friend. Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven't you? Dangle. Oh, yes, he sent it to me yesterday. Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you? Dangle. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must ownthough he is my friend—that it is one of the most-he's here [Aside]-finished and most admirable perform Sir Fretful (without). Mr. Sneer with him, did you say? Dangle. Ah, my dear friend! Egad, we were just speaking of your tragedy. Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable! Sneer. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretfulnever in your life. Sir Fret. You make me extremely happy; for, without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours-and Mr. Dangle's. Mrs. Dangle. They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful, for it was but just now that Dangle. Mrs. Dangle! Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs. Dangle-my friend Sneer was rallying just now. He knows how she admires you, and Sir Fret. Certainly. I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity than to—a double-faced fellow ! [Aside. Dangle. Yes, yes: Sneer will jest, but a better humoredSir Fret. Oh, I know— Dangle. He has a ready turn for ridicule. His wit costs him nothing———— Sir Fret. No, egad,—or I should wonder how he came by it. [Aside. Mrs. Dangle. Because his jest is always at the expense of his friend. Dangle. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the managers yet? Or can I be of any service to you? Sir Fret. No, no, I thank you; I believe the piece had sufficient recommendation with it. I thank you, though. I sent it to the manager of Covent Garden Theatre this morning. Sneer. I should have thought, now, that it might have been better cast (as they call it) at Drury Lane. Sir Fret. Oh, Lud! No, never send a play there while I live-Hark'ee! Sneer. Writes himself -I know he does [Whispers SNEER. Sir Fret. I say nothing-I take away from no man's merit -am hurt at no man's good fortune--I say nothing. But this I will say--through all my knowledge of life, I have observed--that there is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy ! Sneer. I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed. Sir Fret. Besides, I can tell you it is not always so safe to leave a play in the hands of those who write themselves. Sneer. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear Plagiary? Sir Fret. Steal! to be sure they may; and, egad, serve your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children--disfigure them to make 'em pass for their own. Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene, and he, you know, never- Sir Fret. That's no security. A dexterous plagiarist may do anything. Why, sir, for aught I know, he might take some of the best things in my tragedy and put them into his own comedy. Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. Sir Fret. And then, if such a person gives you the least hint or assistance, he is very apt to take the merit of the whole.. |