"No, for a thousand crowns, not him ;"
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.
Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son-
Turbulent, restless, idle one-

Could he be spared? Nay, He who gave
Bade us befriend him to the grave.

Only a mother's heart could be

Patient enough for such as he;

And so," said John, "I would not dare
To take him from her bedside prayer."
Then stole we softly up above,
And knelt by Mary, child of love.
'Perhaps for her 'twould better be,"
I said to John. Quite silently
He lifted up a curl that lay
Across her cheek in wilful way,

And shook his head : Nay, love, not thee," The while my heart beat audibly.

Only one more, our eldest lad, Trusty and truthful, good and glad, So like his father. 'No, John, no! I cannot, will not, let him ago."

And so we wrote in courteous way,
We could not give one child away;
And afterward toil lighter seemed,
Thinking of that of which we dreamed,
Happy in truth that not one face
Was missed from its accustomed place;
Thankful to work for all the seven,
Trusting the rest to One in heaven.

232.-LADY CLARE.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

It was the time when lilies blow,
And the clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn:
Lovers long betrothed were they :
They two will wed the morrow morn;
God's blessing on the day!

"He does not love me for my birth,

Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well," said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?"

"It was my cousin," said Lady Clare; "To-morrow he weds with me."

་་

"O God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse,

'That all comes round so just and fair: Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,

And you are not the Lady Clare."

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?" Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?” "As God's above," said Alice the nurse,

"I speak the truth: you are my child.
"The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead."
"Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother," she said, "if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
"But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's
When you are man and wife."

"If I'm a beggar born," she said,

"I will speak out, for I dare not lie: Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
"But keep the secret all ye can."
She said, "Not so: but I will know
If there be any faith in man."

"Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse;
The man will cleave unto his right."
'And he shall have it," the lady replied,
"Though I should die to-night.'

"Yet give one kiss to your mother dear!
Alas, my child, I sinned for thee."
"O mother, mother, mother," she said,
"So strange it seems to me.

"Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so;
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go.'

She clad herself in a russet gown-
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down.
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,

Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And followed her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower
"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of all the earth?"

'If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."

"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"For I am yours in word and deed!
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"Your riddle is hard to read."

Oh, and proudly stood she up!

Her heart within her did not fail: She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale.

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn:

He turned and kissed her where she stood:

If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the next of blood

If you are not the heiress born,

And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
Ve two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be-Lady Clare."

233.-HOUR OF PRAYER.

FELICIA HEMANS.

Child, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;
Mother, with thine earnest eye,
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze at eve

Call'd thy harvest-work to leave;-
Pray! Ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee.

Traveler, in a stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone;

Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor on the darkening sea;-
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

Warrior, that from battle won,
Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain,
Weeping on his burial plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie;
Heaven's first star alike ye see,
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

234-WASHINGTON.

C. PHILLIPS.

It matters very little what immediate spot may have been the birthplace of such a man as Washington. No people can claim, no country appropriate him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared! How bright in the brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us! In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if nature was endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new.

Individual instances, no doubt there were splendid exemplifications of some single qualification. Cæsar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely master-piece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master.

As a general, he marshaled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost added the character of the sage! A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime

of blood; a revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it.

If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him: whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created! Happy, proud America! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism.

235.-LIBERTY.

ORVILLE DEWEY.

Liberty, gentlemen, is a solemn thing—a welcome, a joyous, a glorious thing, if you please; but it is a solemn thing. A free people must be a thoughtful people. The subjects of a despot may be reckless and gay if they can. A free people must be serious; for it has to do the greatest thing that ever was done in the world-to govern itself. That hour in human life is most serious, when it passes from parental control, into free manhood: then must the man bind the righteous law upon himself, more strongly than father or mother ever bound it upon him. And when a people leaves the leading-strings of prescriptive authority, and enters upon the ground of freedom, that ground must be fenced with law; it must be tilled with wisdom; it must be hallowed with prayer. The tribunal of justice, the free school, the holy church, must be built there, to entrench, to defend, and to keep the sacred heritage.

Liberty, I repeat it, is a solemn thing. The world, up to this time, has regarded it as a boon-not as a bond. And there is nothing, I seriously believe, in the present crisis of human affairs—there is no point in the great human welfare, on which men's ideas so much need to be cleared up-to be advanced-to be raised to a higher standard, as this grand and terrible responsibility of freedom. In the universe there is no trust so awful as moral freedom; and all good civil freedom depends upon the use of that. But look at it. Around every human, every rational being, is drawn a circle; the space