Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen?

As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and death, for his ambition.

Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.-[CITIZENS cry out," None, Brutus-none!"]-Ñone! Then none have I offended.

I have done no more to Cæsar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

[Enter ANTONY and others with CESAR's body.] Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying-a place in the commonwealth as which of you shall not?

With this I depart: That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.-Shakespeare.

AUTUMN.

These lovely days of autumn,
So swiftly gliding by,
May teach us, friends, a lesson,
If to learn it we will try.

How beautiful the forests,

With their varied tints, that vie
With the changing hues of sunset
When the clouds are floating high!

Could the biting frosts of autumn
To the wood such beauty bring,
If the leaves had not been growing
Through the summer and the spring?

Would the sunset's dying glory
Seem to us so passing fair,
If the thunderstorms of summer
Had not purified the air?

Now your spring of life is passing,
Soon the summer will be here;
May its storms but serve to purify
The spirit's atmosphere!

May the tender leaves of virtue
With unfailing vigor grow,

Telling of a life within you,

Which the world can never know.

Then will autumn come upon you
Like the autumn that we see
Calm and radiant with the promise
Of another life to be!

S. U. Dent.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?

What constitutes a State?

Not high-raised battlement or labored mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned;
Not bays and broad-arm ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride!
Not starred and spangled courts,

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No! Men-high-minded men-

With powers as far above dull brutes endued
In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude;
Men, who their duties know,

But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain;
Prevent the long-aimed blow,

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain.
These constitute a state;

And sovereign law, that state's collected will,
O'er thrones and globes elate

Sits empress crowning good, repressing ill.
Smit by her sacred frown,

The fiend discretion like a vapor sinks;
And e'en the all-dazzling crown

Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.
Such was this heaven-loved isle;

Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan shore!
No more shall Freedom smile?

Shall Britons languish and be men no more?
Since all must life resign,

Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave
'Tis folly to decline,

And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

Sir William Jones.

BABY BOYS.

I can't see what our baby boy

Is dood for, anyway;

He don't know how to walk or talk,
He don't know how to play.

He tears up ev'ry single zing

He possibly tan ;

He even tried to break, one day,

Mamma's bestest fan.

He's al'ays tumblin' 'bout ze floor,
An' gives us awful scares;

And when he goes to bed at night
never says his prayers.

He

On Sunday, too, he musses up

My go-to-meetin' clothes,

And once I found him hard at work
A pinchin' Dolly's nose.

Ze ozzer day zat naughty boy

-Now what you s'pose you zink?-
Upset a dreat big bottle

Of my papa's writin' ink.

An' stead of kyin' dood and hard,

As course he ought to done,

He laughed, and crowed, and kicked his feet
As zough he sought 'twas fun.

He even tries to reach up high
An' pull zings off ze shelf.

An' he's al'ays wantin' you of course,
Jus when you wants youself.

I rather dess, I really do,

For how he pulls my turls,
Boy babaies was made a purpose,
For to 'noy us little dirls.

An' I wish zere wasn't no such zings
As naughty baby boys-
Why! why, zats him akyin' now,

He makes a dreful noise

I dess I better run and see

For he has-boo-hoo-hoo!

Fell down ze stairs and killed himself-
Whatever shall I do!

GLAUCUS IN THE ROMAN ARENA.

"Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian!" shouted the people louder than ever.

Glaucus and Olinthus had been placed together in that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals

of the Arena awaited their last and fearful struggle. The religion of the one, the pride of the other, the conscious innocence of both, elevated the victim into the hero.

66

Hark! hearest thou that shout?" said Olinthus. "I hear; my heart grows sick; the gods support me!"

"The gods! O rash young man, in this hour recognise only the one God!"

"Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian." "Hush! already they are clamoring for our blood!"

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"O Heaven!" cried the fervent Olinthus, "I tremble not-I rejoice that the prison-house shall soon be broken.”

The door swung gratingly back-the gleam of spears shot along the walls.

"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time is come; the lion awaits thee."

"I am ready. Olinthus, brother, bless me-and farewell!"

The Christian clasped the young heathen to his breast he kissed his cheek and forehead-he wept aloud.

Glaucus tore himself away.

"Courage!" said one; "thou art young and active. They give thee a weapon, despair not, and thou mayst yet conquer!"

A

And now when the Greek saw the eyes of ten thousand Romans upon him, all fear was gone. red and haughty flush spread over the paleness of his features, and he stood, the very incarnation, vivid and corporeal, of the valor of his land-at once a hero and a god!

The lion had been kept without food for twentyfour hours, and was now moving about its cage with a restless uneasiness which the keeper attributed to the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather that of fear than of rage; its roar was painful and distressed; it hung its head-snuffed the air through