9. When the paste has thus been formed through these holes, like wire through the steel plate of the wire drawer, a workman takes up the macaroni or vermicelli, as the case may be, and lays it across a line, in strings of two or three yards in length, to dry. The substance, from the kneading which it has received, hangs together

very closely.

WOODWORTH.

LXXXIX.-ORATORY AS AN ART.

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1. One cause of our not excelling in oratory is our neglecting to cultivate the art of speaking of speaking our own language. We acquire the power of expressing our ideas almost insensibly; we consider it as a thing natural to us. We do not regard it as an art; but it is an art, a difficult art, an intricate art; and our ignorance of that circumstance, or our omitting to give it due consideration, is the cause of our deficiency.

2. In the infant, just beginning to articulate, you will observe every inflection that is recognized in the most accurate treatise on elocution. You will observe, further, an exact proportion in its several cadences, and a speaking expression in its tones. I say, you will observe these things in almost every infant. Select a dozen menmen of education, erudition: ask them to read a piece of animated composition. You will be very fortunate indeed if you find one in the dozen that can raise or depress his voice, inflect or modulate it, as the variety of the subject requires.

3. What have become of the inflections, the cadences, and the modulation of the infant? They have not been exercised; they have been neglected; they have never been put into the hands of the artist, that he might

apply them to his proper use. They have been laid aside, spoiled, abused; and ten to one they will never be good for any thing.

4. If we consider the very early period at which we begin to exercise the faculty of speech, and the frequency with which we exercise it, it must be a subject of surprise that so few excel in oratory. In any enlightened community, you will find numbers skilled in some particular science or art, to the study of which they did not apply themselves till they had almost arrived at the stage manhood.

5. Yet with regard to the powers of speech-those powers which the very second year of our existence generally calls into action, the exercise of which goes on at our sports, our studies, our walks, our very meals, and which is never long suspended, except at the hour of refreshing sleep,—with regard to those powers, how few surpass their fellow-creatures of common information and moderate attainments! how very few desire distinction! how rarely does one attain eminence!

6. In common conversation, observe the advantage which the fluent speaker enjoys over the man that hesitates and stumbles in discourse. With half his information, he has twice his importance; he commands the respect of his auditors; he instructs and gratifies them. In the general transaction of business, the same superiority attends him.

7. He communicates his views with clearness, precision and effect; he carries his point by his mere readiness; he concludes his treatise before another man has set about it. Does he plead the cause of friendship?-how happy is his friend. Of charity? how fortunate the distressed. Should he enter the legislature of his country, he proves himself the people's bulwark.

KNOWLES.

THE FOURTH READER.

SANTA CLARA COUN HERS' LIDIAR.

XC.-PASSING AWAY.

1. Was it the chime of a tiny bell,

That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell,

That he winds on the beach so mellow and clear, When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep

She dispensing her silvery light,

And he his notes as silvery quite

While the boatman listens and ships his oar,
To catch the music that comes from the shore?
Hark! the notes on my ear that play,
Are set to words: as they float, they say,
"Passing away!-passing away!"

2. But, no! It is not a fairy's shell,

Blown on the beach, so mellow and clear;
Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell

Striking the hours, that fell on my ear
As I lay in my dream; yet was it a chime
That told of the flow of the stream of Time:
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung,
And a plump little girl for a pendulum swung

(As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring
That hangs in his cage, a canary bird swing);
And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet;
And as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say,
"Passing away!-passing away!"

3. O, how bright were the wheels, that told

Of the lapse of time, as they moved 'round slow!
And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold,
Seemed to point to the girl below.

And lo! she had changed; in a few short hours,
Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers,
That she held in her outstretched hands, and
This way and that, as she dancing swung,
In the fullness and grace of womanly pride,
That told me she soon was to be a bride;

Yet then, when expecting her happiest day,
In the same sweet voice I heard her say,
"Passing away!-passing away!"

4. While I gazed on that fair one's cheek, a shade Of thought, or care, stole softly over,

Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made,
Looking down on a field of blossoming clover.
The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush
Had something lost of its brilliant blush;
And the light in her eye, and the light on the
wheels

That marched so calmly round above her,

Was a little dimmed as when evening steals Upon noon's hot face: yet one couldn't but love her;

For she looked like a mother whose first babe

lay

Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day;
And she seemed in the same silver tone to say,
"Passing away!-passing away!"

5. While yet I looked, what a change there came!
Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan;
Stooping and staffed was her withered frame,
Yet just as busily swung she on.

The garland beneath her had fallen to dust;
The wheels above her were eaten with rust;
The hands that over the dial swept

Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept;

And still there came that silvery tone

From the shriveled lips of the toothless one
(Let me never forget, to my dying day,
The tone or the burden of that lay)-
"Passing away!-passing away!"

REV. J. PIEKFONT.

XCI.-CHOICE EXTRACTS.

1. 'Tis not the richest plant that folds
The sweetest breath of fragrance in;
'Tis not the fairest form that holds

The mildest, purest soul within.

RUFUS DAWS.

2. No blessing of life is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a discreet and virtuous friend; it eases and unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and knowledge, aniinates virtue and good resolutions, soothes and allays passions, and finds employment for the most vacant hours of life.

3. Good name in man or woman

Is the immediate jewel of the soul.

SPECTATOR.

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis somethingnothing;

'Twas mine-'tis his, and has been slave to thousands. But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,

And makes me poor indeed.

SHAKSPEARE.

4. I consider a human soul, without education, like marble in a quarry, which shows none of its inherent beauties till the skill of the polisher fetches out the