Each of the Four Numbers of "100 Choice Selections" contained in this volume is paged separately, and the Index is made to correspond therewith. See EXPLANATION on Arst page of Contents.

The entire book contains nearly

1000 pages.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS

No. 5.

PRESS ON.-PARK BENJAMIN.

Press on! there's no such word as fail;
Press nobly on! the goal is near;
Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!
Look upward, onward,-never fear!
Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above
Though storm and vapor intervene;
That sun shines on, whose name is love,
Serenely o'er life's shadowed scene.

Press on! surmount the rocky steeps,
Climb boldly o'er the torrents' arch;
He fails alone who feebly creeps;

He wins who dares the hero's march.
Be thou a hero! let thy might

Tramp on eternal snows its way,
And through the ebon walls of night,
Hew down a passage unto day.

Press on! if once, and twice thy feet

Slip back and stumble, harder try;
From him who never dreads to meet
Danger and death, they're sure to fly.
To coward ranks the bullet speeds;
While on their breasts who never quail,
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds,
Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

Press on! if fortune play thee false

To-day, to-morrow she'll be true;
Whom now she sinks, she now exalts,
Taking old gifts and granting new.
The wisdom of the present hour

Makes up for follies past and gone;
To weakness strength succeeds, and power
From frailty springs;-Press on! PRESS ON!

Press on what though upon the ground
Thy love has been poured out like rain?
That happiness is always found

The sweetest that is born of pain.
Oft mid the forest's deepest glooms,

A bird sings from some blighted tree;
And in the dreariest desert blooms
A never-dying rose for thee.

Therefore, press on! and reach the goal,
And gain the prize, and wear the crown;
Faint not! for to the steadfast soul,

Come wealth and honor and renown.

To thine own self be true, and keep

Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil;
Press on! and thou shalt surely reap

A heavenly harvest for thy toil.

SAVED.-JENNIE JOY.

Come! hurry up, Jim; don't you see the moon is comin'

out?

What makes you lag so far behind? D'ye mind what you're

about?

I want to reach that patch of corn while yet the moon is hid Beneath the clouds-now start your pegs, and do as you are

bid.

Jim! are you cryin'?—now for shame, you chicken hearted lad!

Don't want to help me take the corn-don't want to help your dad?

Old Todd won't see us pick the ears--we'll bag five bushel,

clear;

We cannot starve; I ha'n't a cent, I spent the last for beer.

You needn't be afraid, now, Jim! there's not a soul around; 'Tis almost midnight-Todd's asleep, and so's his blooded hound.

I allers gin you credit, lad, for being bold and brave; And I have hearn you say that fears should ne'er make you their slave.

I'll let you have a dozen ears-the largest that we takeTo feed your pig, and some we'll grind to make a Johnnycake.

I owe Sam Stokes a little bill of drinks, and other traps; The rest will have to go to him-and you may taste my

Schnapps.

Now jump the fence and mind your eye! Don't speak above a breath;

If that confounded hound should wake, he'd be our very death.

I'm glad the clouds, have got so thick-the night is pesky

dark;

Now here's the bag-what is it, Jim? I thought you whispered-Hark!

The clouds are scatterin'-there's the moon! Too bad, but

never fear,

We'll fill the sacks, and hurry home, I'm hankerin' fur some

beer-.

What did you say, Jim?-are you sure? I hope it ain't old Todd;

"Look up," d'ye say? "we're surely seen; we cannot hide from God?"

Jim! Jim! my boy, I guess you're right; here, take the empty bags;

"Tis drink that's brought your dad to this, and clothed us both in rags.

It was not fear that made you lag, unless 'twas fear of God; D'ye think he'd hear you if you prayed?—I do not mean old Todd.

"Yes?" well, kneel down-my words are rough, too rough for such as he,

But may be he will hear my boy, and pity even me.

I'll taste no more the damning stuff! Take heart, poor, suffering lad;

Thank God! your prayer has blessed my soul—yes, saved your weak, old dad.

THE WORTH OF ELOQUENCE.

Let us not, gentlemen, undervalue the art of the orator. Of all the efforts of the human mind, it is the most astonishing in its nature, and the most transcendent in

its immediate triumphs. The wisdom of the philoso pher, the eloquence of the historian, the sagacity of the statesman, the capacity of the general, may produce more lasting effects upon human affairs; but they are incomparably less rapid in their influence, and less intoxicating from the ascendency they confer. In the solitude of his library, the sage meditates on the truths which are to influence the thoughts and direct the conduct of men in future times; amid the strife of faction the legislator discerns the measures calculated, after a long course of years, to alleviate existing evils, or produce happiness yet unborn; during long and wearisome campaigns the commander throws his shield over the fortunes of his country, and prepares in silence and amid obloquy the means of maintaining its independence. But the triumphs of the orator are immediate; his influence is instantly felt; his, and his alone, it is

"The applause of listening senates to command,

The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read his history in a nation's eyes!"

"I can conceive," says Cicero, "of no accomplishment more to be desired than to be able to captivate the affections, charm the understanding, and direct or restrain, at pleasure, the will of whole assemblies. This single art has, amongst every free people, commanded the greatest encouragement, and been attended with the most surprising effects. For what can be more astonishing, than that from an immense multitude one man should come forth, the only, or almost the only man who can do what nature has made attainable by all? Or can anything impart to the ears and the understanding a pleasure so pure as a discourse which at once delights by its elocution, enlists the passions by its rhetoric, and carries captive the conviction by its logic?

"What triumph more noble and magnificent than that of the eloquence of one man, swaying the inclinations of the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates? Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so grand,