Her evenings then were dull and dead:
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not sleep a wink.

Oh! joy for her! whene'er in winter,
The winds at night had made a °rout,
And scattered many a lusty splinter
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,

As every man who knew her says,
A pile beforehand, wood or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.

Now when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could anything be more alluring,

Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chih,

She left her fire, or left her bed,

To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake,
And vowed that she should be detected,
And he on her would vengeance take;
And oft from his warm fire he'd go,

And to the fields his road would take,
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watched to seize old Goody Blake.

And once behind a rick of barley,

Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land:-
He hears a noise,-he's all awake,-
Again!-on tiptoe down the hill
He softly creeps-Tis Goody Blake!
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.

Right glad was he when he beheld her:
Stick after stick did Goody pull;
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had filled her apron full.-

When with her load she turned about,
The by-road back again to take,
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast;
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody, who had nothing said,

Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed
To God who is the judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm,—
"God! who art never out of hearing,
Oh! may he never more be warm!”—
The cold, cold moon above her head,

Thus on her knees did Goody pray;
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turned away.

He went complaining, all the morrow,
That he was cold and very chill:
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,-
Alas that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding-coat,

But not a whit the warmer he; Another was on Thursday brought, And, ere the Sabbath, he had three.

A-bed or up, by night or day,

His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

CCXXV.-WEBSTER'S ELOQUENCE.

Ir was on Tuesday, January the 26th, 1830,– -a day to be hereafter for ever memorable in Senatorial annals,-that the Senate resumed the consideration of Foote's Resolution. There never was before, in the city, an occasion of so much excitement. To witness this great intellectual contest, multitudes of strangers had for two or three days previous, been rushing into the city, and the hotels overflowed. As early as nine o'clock of this morning, crowds poured into the Capitol, in hot haste; at twelve o'clock, the hour of meeting, the Senate chamber, its galleries, floor, and even lobbies,-was filled to its utmost capacity. The very stairways were dark with men, who hung on to one another, like bees in a swarm.

The courtesy of Senators accorded to the fairer sex room on the floor--the most gallant of them, their own seats. The gay bonnets and brilliant dresses threw a varied and picturesque beauty over the scene, softening and embellishing it.

Seldom, if ever, has a speaker in this or any other country had more powerful incentives to exertion; a subject, the determination of which involved the most important interests, and even duration, of the republic; competitors, unequaled in reputation, ability, or position; a name to be made still more glorious, or lost for ever; and an audience, comprising not only persons of this country, most eminent in intellectual greatness, but representatives of other nations, where the art of eloquence had flourished for ages. All the soldier seeks in opportunity was here.

Mr. Webster perceived, and felt equal to the destinies of the moment. The very greatness of the hazard exhilarated him. His spirits rose with the occasion. He awaited the time of onset with a stern and impatient joy. He felt like the war horse of the Scriptures, -who "paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: who goeth on to meet the armed men,-who sayeth among the trumpets, Ha! ha! and who smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains and the shouting."

A confidence in his own resources, springing from no vain estimate of his power, but the legitimate offspring of previous severe mental

discipline, sustained and excited him. He had gauged his opponents, his subject, and himself.

He never rose on an ordinary occasion to address an ordinary audience more self-possessed. There was no tremulousness in his voice or manner; nothing hurried, nothing simulated. The calmness of superior strength was visible everywhere; in countenance, voice, and bearing. A deep-seated conviction of the extraordinary character of the emergency, and of his ability to control it, seemed to possess him wholly. If an observer, more than ordinarily keen-sighted, detected at times something like exultation in his eye, he presumed it sprang from the excitement of the moment, and the anticipation of victory.

Mr. Webster rose and addressed the Senate. His exordium is known by heart everywhere. "Mr. President, when the mariner has been tossed, for many days, in thick weather, and on an unknown sea, he naturally avails himself of the first pause in the storm, the earliest glance of the sun, to take his latitude, and ascertain how far the elements have driven him from his true course. Let us imitate this prudence; and before we float further, on the waves of this debate, refer to the point from which we departed, that we may, at least, be able to form some conjecture where we now are. I ask for the reading of the resolution."

There wanted no more to enchain the attention. There was a spontaneous, though silent, expression of eager approbation, as the orator concluded these opening remarks. And while the clerk read the resolution, many attempted the impossibility of getting nearer the speaker. Every head was inclined closer towards him, every ear turned in the direction of his voice-and that deep, sudden, mysterious silence followed, which always attends fullness of emotion. From the sea of upturned faces before him, the orator beheld his thoughts reflected as from a mirror. The varying countenance, the suffused eye, the earnest smile, and ever-attentive look, assured him of his audience's entire sympathy.

Those who had doubted Mr. Webster's ability to cope with and overcome his opponents, were fully satisfied of their error before he had proceeded far in his speech. Their fears soon took another direction. When they heard his sentences of powerful thought, towering in accumulative grandeur, one above the other, as if the orator strove, Titanlike, to reach the very heavens themselves, they were giddy with an apprehension that he would break down in his flight. They dared not believe, that genius, learning, any intellectual endowment however uncommon, that was simply mortal, could sustain itself long in a career seemingly so perilous. They feared an "Icarian fall.

Ah! who can ever forget, that was present to hear, the tremendous, the awful burst of eloquence with which the orator spoke of the Old

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Bay State! or the tones of deep pathos in which the words were pronounced.

"Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon, Massachusetts. There she is-behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill-and there they will remain for ever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State; from New England to Georgia; and there they will he for ever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice; and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it-if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it—if folly and madness—if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint-shall succeed to separate it from that Union, by which alone its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which ite infancy was rocked: it will stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin.”

There was scarcely a dry eye in the Senate; all hearts were overcome; grave judges and men grown old in dignified life, turned aside their heads, to conceal the evidences of their emotion.

No one who was not present can understand the excitement of the scene. No one, who was, can give an adequate description of it. No word-painting can convey the deep, intense enthusiasm,-the reverential attention, of that vast assembly-nor limner transfer to canvas their earnest, eager, awe-struck countenances. Though language were as subtile and flexible as thought, it still would be impossible to represent the full idea of the scene.

The variety of incidents during the speech, and the rapid fluctuation of passions, kept the audience in continual expectation and ceaseless agitation. There was no chord of the heart the orator did not strike, as with a master hand. The speech was a complete drama of comic and pathetic scenes: one varied excitement; laughter and tears gaining alternate victory.

A great portion of the speech is strictly argumentative; an exposition of constitutional law. But grave as such portion necessarily is, severely logical, abounding in no faney or episode, it engrossed throughout the undivided attention of every intelligent hearer. Abstractions, under the glowing genius of the orator, acquired a beauty, a vitality, a power to thrill the blood and enkindle the affections, awakening into earnest activity many a dormant faculty. His ponderous syllables had an energy, a vehemence of