assurance that, throughout America, there is not a bosom which does not beat with joy and gratitude at the sound of your name. You have already met and saluted, or will soon meet, the few that remain, of the ardent patriots, prudent counselors, and brave warriors, with whom you were associated in achieving our liberties. But you have looked round in vain for the faces of many who would have lived years of pleasure on a day like this, with their old companion in arms, and brother in peril.

On

2. Lincoln, and Greene, and Knox, and Hamilton, are gone! The heroes of Saratoga and Yorktown, have fallen before the only foe they could not meet! Above all, the first of heroes and of men, the friend of your youth, the more than friend of his country, rests in the bosom of the soil he redeemed. the banks of his Potomac, he lies in glory and peace. You will revisit the hospitable shades of Mount Vernon; but him whom you venerated as we did, you will not meet at its door. His voice of consolation, which reached you in the Austrian dungeons, can not now break its silence to bid you welcome to his own roof.

3. But the grateful children of America will bid you welcome in his name. Welcome, thrice welcome to our shores; and whithersoever throughout the limits of the continent your course shall take you, the ear that hears you, shall bless you; the eye that sees you, shall bear witness to you; and every tongue exclaim with heartfelt joy, "WELCOME, WELCome, La FAYETTE!"

LESSON CXLI.

DIRECTION.-The following poetry is well adapted for exercise in modulation, and much skill and practice are requisite in order to read or speak it with propriety. In uttering the portions requiring an elevated tone of voice, avoid too shrill or too sharp a sound; but let it be full and commanding.

DEATH, THE FINAL CONQUEROR; OR, THE BARON'S
LAST BANQUET.
A. G. GREENE.

1. O'ER a low couch the setting sun

Had thrown its latest ray,

4

Where in his last strong agony,
A dying warrior lay,-
The stern old Baron RUDIGER,

Whose frame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil
Its iron strength had rent.

2. "They come around me here, and say,
My days of life are o'er,-

That I shall mount my noble steed,
And lead my band no more;

They come, and to my beard they dare

To tell me now that I,

Their own liege lord and master born,—
That I,-ha! ha!-must die.

3. "And what is death? I've dared him oft
Before the warrior's spear,-

Think he's entered at my gate,
ye

Has come to seek me here?

I've met him, faced him, scorned him,
When the fight was raging hot,-

I'll try his might,—I'll brave his power;
Defy, and fear him not.

(°) 4. "Ho! sound the tocsin from the tower,—
And fire the culverin,*-

(0°)

Up with my banner on the wall,-

The banquet board prepare,-
Throw wide the portal of my hall,
And bring my armor there!"

(=) 5. A hundred hands were busy then,—

The banquet forth was spread,-
And rang the heavy oaken floor

With many a martial tread;

* CULVERIN is a long, slender cannon, serving to carry a ball to a great distance.

While from the rich, dark tracery
Along the vaulted wall,

Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear,
O'er the proud, old Gothic hall.

6. Fast hurrying through the outer gate,
The mail'd retainers* poured,

On through the portal's frowning arch,
And thronged around the board.
While at its head, within his dark,
Carved oaken chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern RUDIGER,
With girded falchion, sate.

(°) 7. "Fill every beakert up, my men,
Pour forth the cheering wine;

(0)

(°)

There's life and strength in every drop,-
Thanksgiving to the vine!

Are ye all there, my vassals true?—

Mine eyes are waxing dim ;—
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones,
Each goblet to the brim.

8. "Ye're there, but yet I see you not.
Draw forth each trusty sword,-
And let me hear your faithful steel
Clash once around my board!
I hear it faintly:-(0°) Louder yet!—
What clogs my heavy breath?
(0°) Up all,—and shout for RUDIGER,
'Defiance unto Death!"

(°)

(0°)

9. Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel,
And rose a deafening cry,

That made the torches flare around,

And shook the flags on high :"Ho! cravens! do ye fear him? Slaves! traitors! have ye flown?

* RETAINERS, attendants or adherents.

+ BEAKER, cup or glass.

To meet him here alone?

10. "But I defy him :-let him come!"
Down rang the massy cup,

While from its sheath the ready blade
Came flashing half-way up;

And with the black and heavy plumes
Scarce trembling on his head,
There, in his dark, carved oaken chair,
Sat the old Baron,-DEAD!

LESSON CXLII.

STARVED ROCK; OR, THE LAST OF THE ILLINOIS. CHARLES LANMAN.

1. STARVED ROCK is the unpoetical name of a singular spot on the Illinois river, about eight miles south of Ottawa. It is a rocky bluff, rising from the margin of the stream to the hight of more than a hundred feet, and is only separated from the main land by a narrow chasm. Its length might probably measure two hundred and fifty feet. Its sides are perpendicular, and there is only one point where it can be ascended, and that is by a narrow stair-like path. It is covered with many a cone-like evergreen, and, in summer, encircled by luxuriant grape and ivy vines, and clusters of richly-colored flowers. It is undoubtedly the most conspicuous and beautiful pictorial feature of the sluggish and lone Illinois, and is associated with the final extinction of the Illinois tribe of Indians. The legend, to which I listened from the lips of a venerable Indian-trader, is as follows:

2. Many years ago, the whole region lying between Lake Michigan and the Mississippi was the home and dominion of the Illinois Indians.-For them alone did the buffalo and antelope range over its broad prairies; for them did the finest of rivers roll their waters into the lap of Mexico, and bear upon their bosoms the birchen canoe, as they sought to capture the

wild water fowl; and for them alone did the dense forest, crowding upon those streams, shelter their unnumbered denizens. In every direction might be seen the smoke of the wigwams, curling upward to mingle with the sunset clouds, which told them tales of the spirit land.

3. Years passed on, and they continued to be at ease in their possessions. But the white man from the far east, with the miseries that have ever accompanied him on his march of usurpation, began to wander into the wilderness, and trouble, to the poor red man, was the inevitable consequence. The baneful "fire-water," which was the gift of civilization, created dissensions among the savage tribes, until in the process of time, and on account of purely imaginary evils, the Potawattamies from Michigan determined to make war upon the Indians of Illinois. Fortune smiled upon the oppressors, and the identical rock in question was the spot that witnessed the extinction of an aboriginal tribe.

4. It was the close of a long siege of cruel warfare, and the afternoon of a day in the delightful Indian summer. The sunshine threw a mellow. haze upon the prairies, and tinged the multitudinous flowers with deepest gold; while, in the shadow of the forest-islands, the doe and her fawn reposed in perfect quietness, lulled into a contemporary slumber by the hum of the grasshopper and the wild bee. The wilderness world wore an aspect of a perfect Sabbath. But now, in the twinkling of an eye, the delightful solitude was broken by the shrill whoop, and dreadful struggle of bloody conflict, upon the prairies and in the woods. All over the country were seen the dead bodies of the ill-fated Illinois, when it was ordered by Providence that the concluding skirmish between the hostile parties, should take place in the vicinity of Starved Rock.

5. The Potawattamies numbered near three hundred warriors, while the Illinois tribe was reduced to about one hundred, who were mostly aged chiefs and youthful heroes,—the more desperate warriors having already perished, and the women and the children of the tribe having already been massacred and consumed in their wigwams. The battle was most desper