Hereditary bondmen! Know ye not

Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

No fire the kitchen's cheerless grate displayed.

Ettiux divine! nature's resplendent robe
And thou, O sun!

Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best seen,
Shines out thy Maker; may I sing of thee!

Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls,
And on the boundless of thy goodness calls.
In world-rejoicing state it moves sublime.

Oft in the stilly night.

For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise?
And Peace, O Virtue! Peace is all thy own.

Be it dapple's bray,

Or be it not, or be it whose it may.

Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys.

And sculpture that can keep thee from to die.
The Muses fair, these peaceful shades among,
With skilful fingers sweep the trembling strings.

In the following exercises the learner is expected to write the ideas conveyed in the poetical extracts, in prose, varying the words and expressions, as well as the arrangement of

*This form of expression, where one mood of the verb is used for another, Is Sometimes imitated by prose writers. Thus, "Sixty summers had passed over his head without imparting one ray of warmth to his heart; without exciting one tender feeling for the sex, deprived of whose cheering presence, the paradise of the world were a wilderness of weeds."-New Monthly Magazine. In this extract, the imperfect of the subjunctive is used without its attendant conjunction for the pluperfect of the potential. Cowper has a similar expression in his fable entitled "The Needless Alarm," where he uses the pluperfect of the indicative for the pluperfect of the potential: thus,

"Awhile they mused; surveying every face,
Thou hadst supposed them of superior race

them, so as to make clear and distinct sentences, * following

Example.

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joy of sense,

as in the

Lie in three words, health, peace and competence.

Same idea expressed in prose.

Health, peace, and competence comprise all the pleasures which this world can afford.

Example 2d.

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way.
Same line transposed in a variety of ways.
The ploughman plods his weary way homeward.
Homeward the ploughman plods his weary way.
His weary way homeward the ploughman plods.
Plods the ploughman homeward his weary way.
His weary way the ploughman plods homeward.
Homeward plods the ploughman his weary way.
The ploughman his weary way homeward plods.
Plods homeward the ploughman his weary way.
Homeward plods the ploughman his weary way.
His weary way the ploughman homeward plods, &c.

The example shows that it is not always necessary t change the language, in order to convert poetry into prose. Of the ten modes in which the above recited line has been transposed, it will be noticed that several of them are entirely prosaic.

It may here be remarked that in the conversion of poetry into

Sir Walter Scott, in a letter to his son, (See Lockhart's Life, Vol. V., p. 54,) has the following language: "You should exercise yourself frequently in trying to make translations of the passages which most strike you, trying to invest the sense of Tacitus in as good English as you can. This will an swer the double purpose of making yourself familiar with the Latin author, and giving you the command of your own language, which no person will ever have, who does not study English Composition in early life." The conversion of verse into prose it is conceived will, at least in a good degree, subserve the same useful purpose of giving command of language; and for this reason the exercises in this lesson, or similar ones, cannot be too strongly recommended, especially to those whose minds have not been disciplined by an attention to the classics.

prose, the animation of the style is often endangered. Poetry admits more ornament than prose, and especially a more liberal use of that figure (Prosopopocia or Personification) by which life and action are attributed to inanimate objects. The exercises, therefore, of the pupil, in converting poetry into prose, will be deemed useful only as tending to give clear ideas and command of language.

The learner is presumed now to be prepared to transpose simple tales and stories from verse into prose, with some additions of his own. Such exercises will be found of much use, not only in acquiring command of language, but also as an exercise of the imagination. In performing these exercises, the greatest latitude may be allowed, and the learner may be permitted not only to alter the language, but to substitute his own ideas, and to vary the circumstances, so as to make the exercise as nearly an original one as he can.

Example.

The following short tale, or story in verse, is presented to be converted into a tale in prose.

GINEVRA.

If ever you should come to Modēna,
(Where, among other relics, you may see
Tassoni's bucket, but 't is not the true one,)
Stop at a palace near the Reggio gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain you, but, before you go,
Enter the house,-forget it not, I pray you,—
And look awhile upon a picture there.

'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,
The last of that illustrious family;

Done by Zampieri, - but by whom I care not.
He who observes it, ere he passes on,

Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up when far away.

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,

Her lips half open, and her finger up,

As though she said "Beware!" her vest of gold
'Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp;

Any volume of poetical extracts will furnish additional exercises for the student. It is therefore deemed inexpedient to present in this volume an additional number of them.

So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart,—
It haunts me still, though many a year has filed,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half eaten by the worms,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent
With scripture-stories from the life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor;

That by the way, -it may be true or false,-
But don't forget the picture; and you will not
When you have heard the tale they old me there
She was an only child, her name Ginevra,
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, all gaiety.

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast,
When all sate down, the bride herself was wanting.
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
"'Tis but to make a trial of our love!"
And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'T was but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing, and looking back and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger,
But now, alas, she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could any thing be guessed,

But that she was not!

Weary of his life, Francesco flew to Venice, and embarking, Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

Donati lived, and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find, he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained awhile
then went to strangers.

Silent and tenantless,

Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, When, on an idle day, a day of search

'Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

99

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 't was said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, "Why not remove it from its lurking-place? 'T was done as soon as said; but on the way It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton

With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,

A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished, -save a wedding ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both -
"Ginevra "

There then had she found a grave'
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!

Conversion of the preceding Story into Prose.

THE LEGEND OF MODENA.*

In an elegant apartment of a palace overlooking the Reggio gate in Modena, which, about fifty years before, belonged to the noble family of Donati, but which now was occupied by a very distant branch of that illustrious race, sat the loveliest of its descendants - the beautiful Beatrice, the flower of Modena. Upon the marble table and embroidered ottomans before her, lay a variety of rich costumes, which her favorito attendant, Laura, was arranging where their rich folds fell most gracefully, and their bright tints mocked the rainbows hues of colored light; for the fair Beatrice was selecting a becoming attire for a masquerade ball, which was to be given during the gay season of the approaching Carnival. But a shadow of discontent rested on her brow, as she surveyed the splendid dresses-they were too common-place- and she turned from them with disdain. Suddenly her eye rested upon an antique picture, hanging on the tapestried wall, which represented a young and beautiful figure in the attitude of

"Inclining forward, as to speak,

Her lips half open and her finger up,

As though she said 'Beware!' her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers and clapsed from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp,

And on her brow-a coronet of pearls.

Pushing aside the costly silks and velvets, she ran to look at the pic ture more closely. The lady's dress was perfect, she thought; it just suited her capricious taste, and one like it she determined to have and wear, at the approaching festival. In vain Laura expostulated, and the difficulty of obtaining such an antiquated costume was brought to her mind, and finally, the legend connected with the portrait was begun. But the wilful Beatrice would not listen, although a destiny, sad as that of the ill-fated lady of the portrait was predicted, if she persevered in her whim. Regardless of remonstrance, Beatrice proceeded to search among the finery of her ancestors for something to correspond with the dress which she determined to have, spite of all their old legends, which she

*This "Legend" was written by a young lady of about thirteen years of age, and presented as an exercise at the public school in this city, unde the charge of the author.