in her last days, seemed always deeply affected. Yet it could hardly be at what they actually heard-no, the few notes recalled the most superb soprano of the age in her best days; recalled also the scenes of youth quenched in the gray mists of the dull, declining years. It was worth any money to hear even the hollow echo of a voice which had power to bring back the "tender grace of a day that was dead.'

CHARM OF VOICE.

Haweis.

Amidst the gay life, the beautiful forms, the brilliant colors of an Athenian multitude, and an Athenian street, the repul sive features, the unwieldy figure, the naked feet, the rough threadbare attire of the philosopher Socrates must have excited every sentiment of astonishment and ridicule which strong contrast can produce. It was-so disciples describe it—as if one of the marble satyrs, which sat in grotesque attitudes with pipe or flute in the sculptors' shops of Athens, had left his seat of stone and walked into the plane-tree avenue or the gymnastic colonnade. Gradually the crowd gathered round him. At first he spoke of those plying their trades about him ; and they shouted with laughter as he poured forth his homely jokes. But soon the magic charm of his voice made itself felt. The peculiar sweetness of its tone had an effect which even the thunder of Pericles failed to produce. The laughter ceased— the crowd thickened-the gay youth, whom nothing else could tame, stood transfixed and awe struck in his presence— there was a solemn thrill in his words, such as his hearers could compare to nothing but the mysterious sensation produced by the clash of drum and cymbal in the worship of the great mother of the gods: the head swam-the heart leaped at the sound-tears rushed from their eyes, and they felt that, unless they tore themselves speedily away from that fascinated circle, they should ere long sit down at his feet and grow old in listening to the marvelous music of this second Marsyas.

IMMORTALITY.

The grandest dream the human heart has ever cherished is the dream of a glad Immortality-beautiful beyond compare, and soul-satisfying as nothing else on earth ever has been or can be. The dream of ideal loveliness; of humanity perfected where more than Utopia and the Happy Isles shall be realized; of the pure joys of Jerusalem the golden; of crystal seas, of the river of life, of the Paradise of God! It is a dream, but it goes down with us all glorious to the end;

flushing with more than sunset radiance the clouds that hang over the Valley of the Shadow. Toil grows lighter as we dream. Sorrow is tempered until in its place there comes a solemn gladness. There is gain in very loss-whether it be the loss of wealth, or power, or place, or health, or home, or cherished friends. Loss of life itself to him who gladly dreams this dream, he thinks, brings greatest gain of all. What glory if the dream be true! And what-if it be but a dream? It is the only one which, thus far, has never failed the sons of All else may end in dust and ashes long before the last scene comes. This alone blooms on to the end like the fabled amaranth of the fair gardens it pictures, whose freshness is unfading. The Book of Time and of Eternity, which alone tells the story of an immortality beyond the grave, is, more than all others, the Book of the Dreamer.

men.

COMMIT TO MEMORY.

It is a valuable exercise to copy passages of literature. Sight strikes deeper than sound; to execute form stamps it upon the memory often like a die upon the waxen tablet. Many writers, ancient and modern, have practiced copying the productions of the masters of literature. Demosthenes copied the history of Thucydides seven or eight times in order to acquire his clear, concise and elegant style. Literary taste is cultivated by committing literary productions to memory. Committing makes a deeper impression upon the mind than either reading or copying. It tends to fix the words in the memory, and deepen the channels of thought and expression. It gives, as it were, literary molds in which to run one's own thoughts, or forms literary channels in which our thoughts and sentiments will naturally flow out into expression. This has also been the practice of many who have attained rare excellence in the use of language. The practice of declaiming pieces and giving recitations has been of great value in the cultivation of literary taste and skill. These selections usually present models of style and stimulate thought and expression. The declamations of early years have often done more to shape literary taste and give skill in expression than the entire college course in classics, rhetoric, and literature. Pupils should, therefore, be required to commit many fine selections of prose and poetry. These will cling to the memory, furnishing the mind with fact and sentiment, giving choice vocabulary, and molding forms of expression. Indeed, this is one of the very best means of literary culture. As we have said, it makes the mind familiar

with both thought and expression, the best thoughts and the choicest forms of expression; for, to enrich the mind with the noble thoughts of the gifted sons of genius is to train in the habit of thinking high and noble thoughts; to accustom the tongue to refined and artistic expression is to give the power to clothe the mind's own thoughts in artistic forms. One reason why the Greeks had so fine a literary taste is that they were trained in committing and reciting the Iliad and the Odyssey. Burke and Pitt cultivated the power of oratory by committing and declaiming the orations of Demosthenes. Fox committed the book of Job, and drew from it much of his grandeur and force of expression. Lord Chatham read and re read the sermons of Dr. Barrow until he knew many of them by heart, and they gave inspiration and eloquence to his utterance. So, if you would have taste and skill in literary composition, fill the mind with the choicest productions of the masters of literature, making many of them thoroughly your own by committing them to memory.

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.

Brooks.

A little girl of four years old, with her nurse, was walking at the seaside. They came to an inlet, and the nurse decided to row across, to shorten the walk home. When she reached the opposite side she put the chi'd ashore, and rowed the borrowed boat back. The distance was short, but very rough and difficult for a little girl of four. She struggled on through the coarse grass and sand, climbing hillocks and walking through depths. At last her mother saw her coming and hurried to meet her. She exclaimed, "Were you fright ened, my sweet?" "I felt very lost," was the reply, "but I sang Lead, Kindly Light,' to myself all the way. What an argument this, and things like this, for teaching little children hymns and poetry that have thought in them. The pity of it—that the minds of children are filled so often with nonsense, when it would require no greater effort to give them the inspiration of good literature! Nonsense rhymes are good enough in their time and place; but let the everlasting things be taught as well. A wisely observant school official says: "Where we have a tear her who knows and enjoys these best things in prose and poetry, who can talk of them with appreciation, and quote aptly from memory as one who loves them, we do not need to look much after the work of that teacher. We know it will go right without supervision, at least not far

wrong. It is the other sort that need to be looked after— those who have little thought for such things, little interest in them, and little or no acquaintance with them." This foundation fact underlies all that is best in educational work, and all that is most hopeful in our modern educational progress, from the nursery and kindergarten on through the university.

CHEIRON, THE CENTAUR.

And their hearts yearned for the dear old mountain, as they thought of pleasant days gone by, and of the sports of their boyhood, and their hunting, and their schooling in the cave beneath the cliff. And at last Peleus spoke: "Let us land here, friends, and climb the dear old hill once more. We are going on a fearful journey; who knows if we shall see Pelion again? Let us go up to Cheiron, our master, and ask his blessing ere we start.' So Tiphys, the helmsman, steered them to the shore under the crags of Pelion; and they went up through the dark pine forests towards the Centaur's cave. And they came into the misty hall, beneath the snow-crowned crag; and saw the great Centaur lying, with his huge limbs spread upon the rock; and beside him stood Achilles, the child whom no steel could wound, and played upon his harp right sweetly, while old Cheiron watched and smiled. Then Cheiron leaped up and welcomed them, and kissed them every one. And after supper all the heroes clapped their hands, and called on Orpheus to sing: but he refused, and said, “How can I, who am the younger, sing before our ancient host?" So they called on Cheiron to sing. Achilles brought him his harp; and he began a wondrous song—a famous story of old time, of the fight between the Centaurs and Lapithæ. He sang how his brothers came to ruin by their folly, when they were mad with wine; and how they and the heroes fought, with fists, and teeth, and the goblets from which they drank; and how they tore up the pine trees in their fury, and hurled great crags of stone, while the mountains thundered with the battle, and the land was wasted far and wide; till the Lapithe drove them from their home in the rich Thessa lian plains to the lonely glens of Pindus, leaving Cheiron all alone. And the heroes praised his song right heartily; for some of them had helped in that great fight. . . . Then Orpheus took the lyre, and sang of Chaos, and the making of the wondrous world, and how all things sprang from Love, who cou'd not live alone in the Abyss. And as he sang, his voice rose from the cave, above the crags, and through the tree-tops,

and the glens of oak and pine. And the trees bowed thei heads when they heard it, and the gray rocks cracked and rang, and the beasts of the forest crept near to listen, and the birds forsook their nests and hovered round. And old Cheiron clapped his hands together and beat his hoofs upon the ground, for wonder at that magic song. . . Then they went down to the ship; and Cheiron came down with them, weeping, and kissed them one by one, and blessed them, and promised to them great renown. And the heroes wept when they left him, till their great hearts could weep no more; for he was kind and just and pious, and wiser than all beasts and men. Then he went up to a cliff, and prayed for them that they might come home safe and well; while the heroes rowed away, and watched him standing on his cliff above the sea, his great hands raised toward heaven, and his white locks wav ing in the wind; and they strained their eyes to watch him to the last, for they felt that they should look on him no more.

OF PURE AND HOLY MOTIVE.

Oh, brother schoolmaster, let us remember evermore the exceeding dignity of our calling. It is not, indeed, the holiest of all callings, but it runs near and parallel to the holiest. The lawyer's wits are sharpened, and his moral sense not seldom blunted, by a life-long familiarity with ignorance, chicanery and crime. The physician, in the exercise of a more beneficent craft, is saddened continually by the spec tacle of human weakness and human pain. We have usually to deal with fresh and unpolluted natures. A noble calling, but a perilous. We are dressers in a moral and mental vine. yard. We are under shepherds of the Lord's little ones; our business is to lead them into green pastures, by the sides of refreshing streams. Let us into our linguistic lessons intro duce, cunningly and imperceptibly, all kinds of amusing stories; stories of the real kings of earth, that have reigned in secret, crownless and unsceptred; leaving the vain show of power to gilded toy-kings and make-believe statesmen; of the angels that have walked the earth in the guise of holy men and holier women; of the seraph-singers, whose music will be echoing forever; of the Cherubim of power, that with the mighty wind of conviction and enthusiasm have winnowed the air of pestilence and superstition. Yes, friend, throw a higher poetry than all this into your 1.nguistic work, the poetry of pure and holy motive. Then, in the coming days, when you are fast asleep under the green grass, they will not