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at all times hazardous, becomes ridiculous in the topics of ordinary conversation. There remains but one other point of distinction possi. ble; and this must be, and in fact is, the true cause of the impression made on us. It is the unpremeditated and evidently habitual arrangement of his words, grounded on the habit of foreseeing, in each inte. gral part, vr (niore plainly) in every sentence, the whole that he ther intends lu communicate. However irregular and desultory his talk, there is METHOD in the fragments.
Listen, on the other hand, to an ignorant man, though perhaps Milewd and able in his particular calling; vhether he be describing or relating. We immediately perceive that his memory alone is called into action, and that the objects and events recur in the narra. tion in the same order, and with the same accompaniments, however accidental or impertinent, as they had first occurred to the narrator. The necessity of taking breath, the efforts of recollection, and the abrupt rectification of its failures, produce all his pauses, and, with the exception of the “and then,” the “and there," and the still less significant " and so," they constitute likewise all his connections. Our discussion, however, is confined to method, as employed in the formation of the understanding and in the constructions of science and literature. It would, indeed, be superfluous to attempt a proof of its importance in the business and economy of active or domestic life. From the cotter's hearth, or the workshop of the artisan, to the palace, or the arsenal, the first merit, that which admits neither substitute nor equivalent, is, that everything is in its place. Where this charm is wanting, every other merit either loses its name or becomes an additional ground of accusation and regret. Of one by whom it is eminently possessed, we say proverbially he is like clock-work. The resemblance extends beyond the point of regularity, and yet falls short of the truth. Both do, indeed, at once divide and announce the silent and otherwise indistinguishable lapse of time. But the man of methodical industry and honorable pursuits does more: he realizes its ideal divisions, and gives a character and individuality to its moments. If the idla are described as killing time, he may be justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only of the consciousness, but of the conscience. He organizes the hours, and gives them a soul; and that, the very essence of which is to fleet away, and evermore to have been, he takes up into his own permanence, and communicates to it the imperishableness of a spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful servant whose energies, Sisus directed, are thus methodized, it is less truly affirmed that he lives in time than that time lives in him. His days, months, and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the records of cuties per formed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and rerrain extant when time itself shall be no more.
ROBERT SOUTHEY. 1774-1843. (Manual, pp. 427-437.)
308. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.'
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun:
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
In playing there, had found;
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;
And with a natural sigh,
“I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
The ploughshare turns them out!
“Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries :
With wonder-waiting eyes :
And what they killed each other for."
“ It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
" Who put the French to rout;
I could not well make out.
" That 'twas a famous victory.
1 A battle fought near the village of Blenheim, Bavaria, August 2, 1704, in which the English Duke o Marlborough gained a victory over the French and Bavarians. It is called by the French the Battle a Hochstedt
"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
And he was forced to fly;
“ With fire and sword, the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And new-born baby, died;
At every famous victory.
“They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
Lay rotting in the sun;
“Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good prince, Eugene.” “Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!”
Said little Wilhelmine. “Nay – nay - my little girl," quoth he,
“It was a famous victory.
" And everybody praised the duke,
Who this great fight did win.” “And what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin. “Why, that I cannot tell,” said he, “But 'twas a famous victory."
309. THE EVENING RAINBOW. Miid arch of promisel on the evening sky Thou shinest fair, with many a lovely ray, Each in the other melting. Much mine eye Delights to linger on thee; for the das Changeful and many-weathered, seemed to smile, Flashing brief splendor through its clouds awhile, That deepened dark anon, and fell in rain: But pleasant it is now to pause and view Thy various tints of frail and watery hue, And think the storm shall not return again.
310. LORD WILLIAM AND EDMUND. No eye beheld when William plunged
Young Edmund in the stream: No human ear but William's heard
Young Edmund's drowning scream,
“I bade thee with a father's love
My orphan Edmund guard -
Now take thy due reward.”
He started up, each limb convulsed
With agonizing fear -
'Twas music to his ear!
When lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appalls “ What, ho! Lord William, rise in haste!
The water saps thy walls ! ”
He rose in haste - beneath the walls
He saw the flood appear; It hemmed him round - 'twas midnight now
No human aid was near.
He heard the shout of joy! for now
A boat approached the wall : And eager to the welcome aid
They crowd for safety all. “My boat is small,” the boatman cried,
“'Twill bear but one away; Come in, Lord William, and do ye
In God's protection stay.”
Went light along the stream; -
Like Edmund's dying scream!
A child's distressful cry!”
Lord William made reply. “Haste — haste-ply swift and strong the oar;
Haste haste across the stream!” Again Lord William heard a cry,
Like Edmund's dying scream i
“I heard a child's distressful scream,”
The boatman cried again. “ Nay, hasten on - the night is dark
And we should search in vain.”
How dreadful 'tis to die?
A chird's expiring cry?
Beneath the chilly stream:
In vain for help to scream!”
The shriek again was heard: it came
More deep, more piercing loud. That instant, o'er the flood, the moon
Shone through a broken cloud;
And near them they beheld a child;
Upon a crag he stood,
Was spread the rising flood.
The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Approached his resting-place;
And showed how pale his face.
“Now reach thy hand,” the boatman cried,
“Lord William, reach and save!”. The child stretched forth his little hanus,
To grasp the hand he gave.
Then William shrieked; - the hand he touched
Was cold, and damp, and dead! He felt young Edmund in his arms,
A heavier weight than lead!
“ Help! help! for mercy, help!” he cried
“The waters round me fiɔw." “No- William — to an infant's cries
No mercy didst thou show.”
The boat sunk down — the murderer sunk
Beneath th' avenging stream;
Heard William's drowning scream.