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Though fast the red bark down the river did glide,
Yet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side;
“Macgregor ! Macgregor !” he bitterly cried;
“ Macgregor! Macgregor !" the echoes replied.
He struck at the lady, but, strange though it seem,
His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream;
But the groans from the boat, that ascended amain,
Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain.
They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away-
Macgregor is vanished forever and aye!


WINTHROP M. PRAED was an English poet of considerable distinction. He was born in London in 1802, and died in 1839. The two beautiful Charades following, are selected from many efforts in this way from his pen.

CHARADE is a species of Enigma or Riddle, and is so called from the name (Charade) of the person who invented it. The subject of the Charade is a name or word enigmatically described or indicated by its several syllables and their combination, when taken together as a whole.



Come from my First, ay, come !

The battle dawn is nigh;
And the screaming trump and the thund'ring drum

Are calling thee to die
Fight as thy father fought,

Fall as thy father fell,
Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought;

So-forward ! and farewell !

Toll ye, my SECOND! toll !

Fling high the flambeau's light;
And sing the hymn for a parted soul,

Beneath the silent night!
The wreath upon his head,

The cross upon his breast,
Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed :

So-take him to his rest!

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Sir Harry is famed for his amiable way
Of talking a deal when he's nothing to say:
Sir Harry will sit by our Rosalie's side,
And whisper from morn until eventide;
Yet, if you would ask of that maiden fair,
What Sir Harry said while he lingered there;
Were the maiden as clever as L. E. L.,
Not a word that he said could the maiden tell.

II. Sir Harry has ears, and Sir Harry has eyes, And Sir Harry has teeth of the usual size; His nose is a nose of the every-day sortNot exceedingly long nor excessively short; And his breath, though resembling in naught“the sweet south," Is inhaled through his lips, and exhaled from his mouth; And yet from the hour that Sir Harry was nursed, People said that his head was no more than my FIRST !

III. Sir Harry has ringlets he curls every day, And a fortune he spends in pomatum, they say; He is just such a youth as our Rosalie bides with, When she has'nt got me to take waltzes or rides with ; But not such a one, as, I woen, she would choose, Were a youth that I know to be caught in the noose; For I've oft heard her say—though so flighty she's reckoned- . That she'd ne'er take a bridegroom who hadn't my SECOND!

Sir Harry sat out, the last visit he paid,
From when breakfast was over, till dinner was laid !
He talked, in his usual lady-like way,
Of the ball and the ballet—the park and the play.
Little Rosa, who hoped, ere the whole day had passed,
That the youth would speak out, to the purpose, at last,
When evening, at length, was beginning to fall,
Declared that Sir Harry was naught but my ALL!



SAMUEL JOHNSON. My First shuts thieves from your house or your room; My SECOND expresses a Syrian perfume; My WHOLE is a man in whose converse I shared The strength of a bar and the sweetness of narı.


SIR JAMES MACKINTOSA, one of the ablest of British philosophers and statesmen, was born near Inverness, in Scotland, October 24th, 1765, and died May 22d, 1832. He was considered a prodigy of learning, while yet a mere boy; and, in after life, was regarded as one of the ablest lawyers, the wisest statesmen, the profoundest philosophers, and the most elegant writers, That Britain has ever produced. His reputation for forensic eloquence was raised to its highest pitch by the splendid speech from which we have taken the following extract. It was delivered in discharge of his duty, as counsel for Mr. Peltier (February 21st, 1803), who was on his trial in England for libel on Napoleon Bonaparte, then First Consul of France.


SIR JAMES MACKINTCSH. 1. In the court where we have now met, gentlemen, Cromwell twice sent a satirist on his tyranny to be convicted and punished as a libeler, and in this court,—almost in sight of the scaffold streaming with the blood of his Sovereign,—within hearing of the clash of his bayonets which drove out Parliaments with scorn and contumely,—a jury twice rescued the intrepid satirist from his fangs, and sent out with defeat and disgrace the usurper's Attorney-general from what he had the impudence to call his court.

2. Even then, gentlemen, when all law and liberty were trampled under the feet of a military banditti,—when those great crimes were perpetrated, in a high place and with a high hand, against those who were the objects of public veneration, which more than anything else upon earth overwhelm the minds of men, break their spirits and confound their moral sentiments, obliterate the distinctions between right and wrong in their understanding, and teach the multitude to feel no longer any reverence for that justice which they thus see triumphantly dragged at the chariot wheels of a tyrant,-even then, when this unhappy country, triumphant, indeed, abroad, but enslaved at home, had no prospect but that of a long succession of tyrants "wading through slaughter to a throne,"-even then, I say, when all seemed lost, the unconquerable spirit of English liberty survived in the hearts of English jurors.

3. That spirit is, I trust in God, not extinct: and, if any modern tyrant were, in the plenitude of his insolence, to hope to overawe an English jury, I trust and I believe that they would tell him “Our ancestors braved the bayonets of Cromwell; we bid defiance to yours !”

4. What would be such a tyrant's means of overawing a jury? As long as their country exists, they are girt round with impenetrable armor. Till the destruction of their country, no danger oan fall upon them for the performance of their duty. And I do trust that there is no Englishman so unworthy of life as to desire to outlive England.

5. But, if any of us are condemned to the cruel punishment of surviving our country,—if, in the inscrutable counsels of Providence, this favored seat of justice and liberty,—this noblest work of human wisdom and virtue, be destined to destruction (which I shall not be charged with national prejudice for saying would be the most dangerous wound ever inflicted on civilization), at least, let us carry with us into our sad exile the consolation that we ourselves have not violated the rights of hospitality to exiles,—that we have not torn from the altar the suppliant who claimed protection as the voluntary victim of loyalty and conscience.


Junius is the assumed name of one of the most extraordinary writers in the whole range of literature. His compositions are in the form of Letters, addressed to various leading men of his day, and were published in a newspapyr, called the “ London Advertiser.” The time, during which they appeared, reaches from January 1769 to January 1772. The whole number of letters, admitted to be his, is about sixty. As specimens of withering rebuke, and caustic satire, clear, condensed, and elegant diction, fine, pointed personal application, with all the grace and power of striking and appropriate metaphor, they are, even at this distant period, the admiration of the literary world. Who he was, has never yet been certainly ascertained, though scores

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