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"Oh, how good many of those sweet and noble things that we learned in the High School have been to me when I have been kept in the house all these long months! What pleasure it has been to think them over and over again!" He was dying, but these things out of his school life he recalled with rare gratification even then. Not mathematics or science or Latin or Greek—and he was foremost in all of these studiesonly this! Is it good to do such work? I think so.

Do we as teachers hesitate to begin a work so far reaching and influential because it involves unusual effort? Let us rather think of the end; for, like good St. Christopher, we "labor for eternal life "-for them and for ourselves. In the Heart of Midlothian, when Jeanie Deans makes her touching appeal to Queen Caroline for the life of her sister, she says-and the heart of the world has felt that appeal: "When the hour of death comes, that comes to high and low-lang and late may it be yours!-oh, my lady, then it is not what we have done for ourselves, but what we have done for others, that we think on most pleasantly."

From an Address.

285. THE YOUNG SCHOLAR.

C. D. WARNER.

I should think myself a criminal, if I said anything to chill the enthusiasm of the young scholar, or to dash with any skepticism his longing and his hope. He has chosen the highest. His beautiful faith, and his aspiration, are the light of life. Without his fresh enthusiasm, and his gallant devotion to learning, to art, to culture, the world would be dreary enough. Through him comes the ever-springing inspiration in affairs. Baffled at every turn, and driven defeated from an hundred fields, he carries victory in himself. He belongs to a great and immortal army. Let him not be discouraged at his apparent little influence, even though cvery sally of every young life may seem like a forlorn hope. No man can see the whole of the battle. It must needs be that regiment after regiment, trained, accomplished, gay and high with hope, shall be sent into the field, marching on, into the smoke, into the fire, and be swept away. The battle swallows them, one after the other, and the foe is yet unyielding, and the ever-remorseless trumpet calls for more and more. But not in vain; for some day, and every day, along the line, there is a cry, “They fly, they

fly!" And the whole army advances, and the flag is planted on an ancient fortress, where it never waved before. And even if you never see this, better than inglorious camp-following it is to go in with the wasting regiment, to carry the colors up the scope of the enemy's works, though the next moment you fall and find a grave at the foot of the glacis.

286. THE AMERICAN FLAG.
J. R. DRAKE.

When freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped it pure, celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun
She called her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud!

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,
Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given

To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur-smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on.
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud

Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
The lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With freedom's soil beneath our feet, And freedom's banner streaming o'er us.

287.-TIRED MOTHERS.

MRS. ALBERT SMITH.

A little elbow leans upon your knee,
Your tired knee, that has so much to bear;
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly
From underneath a thatch of tangled hair.
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch

Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours so tight;
You do not prize this blessing overmuch,
Almost you are too tired to pray to-night.

But it is blessedness! A year ago
I did not see it as I do to-day-

We are so dull and thankless; and too slow
To catch the sunshine till it slips away.
And now it seems surpassing strange to me,
That, while I bore the badge of motherhood,
I did not kiss more oft, and tenderly,

The little child that brought me only good.

And if, some night when you sit down to rest,
You miss this elbow from your tiréd knee,
This restless curling head from off your breast,

This lisping tongue that chatters constantly;
If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped,
And ne'er would nestle in your palms again;
If the white feet into their grave had tripped,

I could not blame you for your heartache then!
I wonder so that mothers ever fret

At little children clinging to their gown;
Or that the footprints, when the days are wet,
Are ever black enough to make them frown.

If I could find a little muddy boot,

Or cap or jacket, on my chamber floor;
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot,

And hear its patter in my home once more;

If I could mend a broken cart to-day,

To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky-
There is no woman in God's world could say
She was more blissfully content than I.
But ah! the dainty pillow next my own
Is never rumpled by a shining head;
My singing birdling from its nest is flown;
The little boy I used to kiss is dead!

288.-WISDOM OF THE AGES.

Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the spirit of God dwelleth in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are. . Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. . Abhor that which is evil, cleave to that which is good.-The Bible.

Children are the to-morrow of society (Whately). Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows (Milton). Memory is the scribe of the soul (Aristotle). No canvas ab. sorbs color like the memory (Willmott). Sow good services; sweet remembrances will grow from them (Mme. de Stael). The least and most imperceptible impressions received in our childhood may have consequences very important and of a long duration.- John Locke.

Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life. . Be not wise in thine own eyes; fear the Lord and depart from evil. . The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.-The Bible.

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. . Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.. Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth. . Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners.-The Bible.

Education commences at the mother's knee, and everything seen, every word spoken within the hearing of the child, may tend toward the formation of character. Let parents bear this ever in mind (Ballou). Whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea.- The Bible.

What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason; how infinite in faculties; in form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel; in apprehension how like a god; the beauty of the world—the paragon of animals ! (Hamlet). Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once for all, then closes the case and gives the key into the hand of the Angel of the Resurrection (Holmes). It chanced-eternal God that chance did guide.

In bringing up a child, think of its old age. Children have more need of models than of critics (Foubert). The scenes of childhood are the memories of future years ( Choules). Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined (Pope). The child is father to the man (Wordsworth). A child's eyes, those clear wells of undefiled thought, what on earth can be more beautiful?-Mrs. Norton.

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For with thee is the fountain of light in thy light shall we see light. Then shall I teach transgressors thy ways, and sinners shall be converted unto thee.. Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord. . The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.-The Bible.

The first of all virtues is innocence, the next is modesty. If we banish modesty out of the world, she carries away with her half the virtue that is in it (Addison). Virtue and decency are so nearly related that it is difficult to separate them from each other, but in our imagination (Cicero). The only amaranthine flower that blooms on earth is virtue, the only lasting treasure truth (Cowper). Wisdom sits with children round her knees.

By steps we ascend to God Milton). A man should never be ashamed to own that he has been blind, or in the wrong,

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