Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills, +Bequeathing it as a rich legacy

Unto their issue.

One of the people. We'll hear the will: read it. All. The will, the will; we will hear Cæsar's will. Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad; 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; For, if you should, O, what would come of it!

Citizen. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will, Cæsar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it:

I fear I wrong the honorable men

Whose daggers have stabbed Cæsar. I do fear it.
Citizen. They were traitors: honorable men?
All. The will! the testament!

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar,
And let me show you him that made the will.

[He comes down from the pulpit.]

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent;

That day he overcame the Nervii;

Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through;
See what a rent the envious Casca made:
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursèd steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it.

This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For, when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him; then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Great Cæsar fell.

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

While bloody treason flourished over us.
O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity. These are gracious drops.
Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors.
1st Citizen. O piteous spectacle!

2d Cit. O noble Cæsar!

3d Cit. We will be revenged! Revenge! About! Seek!
Burn! Fire! Kill! Slay! Let not a traitor live.
Ant. Stay, countrymen.

1st Cit. Peace there! hear the noble Antony.

[him.

2d Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we 'll die with Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed are honorable;

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,

That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,

And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,

That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him:
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
+Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on:

I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would truffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

XCVII. THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

FROM JANE TAYLOR.

1. AN old clock, that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; the

hands made a vain effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; and each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation; when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice, protested their innocence.

2. But now, a faint tick was heard below, from the *pendulum, who thus spoke: "I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing for the general *satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged, that it was on the very point of striking. "Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. "Very good!" replied the pendulum; "It is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as every body knows, set yourself up above me, it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! you, who have had nothing to do, all your life, but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen. Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backward and forward, year after year, as I do."

3. "As to that," said the dial, ❝is there not a window in your house, on purpose for you to look through?" "For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and, although there is a window, I dare not stop even for an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and if you wish, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened, this morning, to be *calculating, how many times I should have to tick in the course of only the next twenty-four hours; perhaps some one of you, above there, can give me the exact sum."

4. The minute hand being quick at figures, presently replied, "Eighty-six thousand, four hundred times.' "Exactly so," replied the pendulum. "Well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue any one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect. So, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I'll stop."

5. The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied: "Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself, should have been seized by this sudden weariness. It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favor to give about half a dozen strokes, to illustrate my argument?"

6. The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at its usual pace. "Now," resumed the dial, “may I be allowed to inquire if that exertion is at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least," replied the pendulum; "it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions.” "Very good," replied the dial; "but recollect that, although you may think of a million of strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will be always given you to swing in." “That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum. "Then I hope," resumed the dialplate, "that we shall all return to our duty immediately; for the maids will lie in bed, if we stand idling thus."

7. Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed when, as if with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun, that streamed through a hole in the kitchen, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter.

8. When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock, he declared that his watch had gained half an hour in the night.

MORAL.

This

9. A celebrated modern writer says, "Take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably recollected, when we begin to be "weary in well-doing," from the

thought of having too much to do. The present moment is all we have to do with in any sense; the past is irrecoverable, the future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burden one moment with the weight of the next. Sufficient unto the moment is the trouble thereof. If we had to walk a hundred miles, we still should have to step but one step at a time; and this process continued, would infallibly bring us to our journey's end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always increased. by calculating, in a minute, the exertion of hours.

10. Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that we have not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its sufferings, or encounter all its crosses, at once. One moment comes laden with its own little burdens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last. If one could be borne, so can another and another. Even looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labors, the trials to temper and patience that may be expected. Now this is unjustly laying the burden of many thousand moments upon one. Let any one resolve always to do right now, leaving then to do as it can, and if he were to live to the age of Methuselah, he would never do wrong. But the common error is to resolve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or to-morrow morning, or next time; but now, just now, this once, we must go on the same as ever.

11. It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person to resolve, that the next time he is provoked, he will not let his temper overcome him; but the victory would be to subdue temper on the present *provocation. If, without taking up the burden of the future, we would always make the single effort at the present moment, while there would be, at any one time, very little to do, yet, by this simple process, continued from day to day, every thing would at last be done.

12. It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely because we forget, that when to-morrow comes, then will be now. Thus life passes with many, with resolutions for the future, which the present never fulfills. It is not thus with those, who, "by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honor, and "immortality." Day by day, minute by minute, they execute the appointed task, to which the