I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man: Ghost-like I paced around the haunts of my childhood, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? How some they have died, and some they have left me, 198.-WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST? LYDIA MARIA CHILD. Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, and the nice nest I made? "Not I," said the cow, "moo-00! Such a thing I'd never do. I gave for you a wisp of hay, And did not take your nest away. Not I," said the cow, "moo-oo! Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! Will you listen to me? "Not I," said the dog, "bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean as that, now! I gave hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take. Not I," said the dog, "bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean as that, now!" Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, and the nice nest I made? Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! Now, what do you think? Who stole a nest away from the plum-tree, to-day? "Coo-coo! coo-coo! coo-coo! Let me speak a word, too: Who stole that pretty nest from little yellow-breast?" "Not I," said the sheep, "oh, no! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so; I gave wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine. Baa! baa!" said the sheep, "oh, no! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so.' Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! Will you listen to me? "Cluck! cluck! cluck!" said the hen; "don't ask me again; We all gave her a feather, and she wove them together; Cluck! cluck!" said the hen; "don't ask me again." "Chirr-a-whirr! chirr-a-whirr! We'll make a great stir! "I would not rob a bird," said little Mary Green : "I wonder if he knew how sad the bird would feel?" A little boy hung down his head, He didn't like to tell his name. 199.-SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE. OUR NATIONAL BANNER. All hail to our glorious ensign! courage to the heart and strength to the hand, to which, in all time, it shall be entrusted! May it ever wave first in honor, in unsullied glory and patriotic hope, on the dome of the Capitol, on the country's stronghold, on the intented plain, on the wave-rocked topmast. Wheresoever, on the earth's surface, the eye of the American shall behold it, may he have reason to bless it! On whatsoever spot it is planted, there may freedom have a foothold, humanity a brave champion, and religion an altar. Though stained with blood in a righteous cause, may it never, in any cause, be stained with shame. Alike, when its gorgeous folds shall wanton in lazy holiday triumphs on the summer breeze, and its tattered fragments be dimly seen through the clouds of war, may it be the joy and pride of the Ameri can heart. First raised in the cause of right and liberty, in that cause alone may it forever spread out its streaming blazonry to the battle and the storm. Having been borne victoriously across a mighty continent, and floating in triumph on every sea, may virtue, and freedom, and peace, forever follow where it leads the way! AGE OF PROGRESS. Everett. The age of chivalry has gone. An age of humanity has come. The horse, whose importance, more than human, gave the name to that early period of gallantry and war, now yields his foremost place to man. In serving him, in promoting his elevation, in contributing to his welfare, in doing him good, there are fields of bloodless triumph, nobler far than any in which the bravest knight ever conquered. Here are spaces of labor, wide as the world, lofty as heaven. Let me say, then, in the benison once bestowed upon the youthful knight, Scholars, jurists, artists, philanthropists, heroes of a Christian age, companions of a celestial knighthood, "Go forth. Be brave, loyal, and successful!" And may it be our office to light a fresh beacon-fire sacred to truth! Let the flame spread from hill to hill, from island to island, from continent to continent, till the long lineage of fires shall illumine all the nations of the earth, animating them to the holy contests of Knowledge, Justice, Beauty, Love. AN OLD HEMLOCK. Sumner. This I have something more to say about trees; and I have brought down this slice of hemlock to show you. Tree blown down in the year 1852. Twelve feet and a half round, fair girth ;-nine feet, where I got my section, higher up. is a wedge, going to the centre, of the general shape of a slice of apple-pie in a large and not opulent family. Length, about eighteen inches. I have studied the growth of this tree by its rings, and it is curious. Three hundred and forty-two rings. Started, therefore, about A. D. 1510. The thickness of the rings tells the rate at which it grew. For five or six years the rate was slow,-then rapid for twenty years. A little before the year 1550 it began to grow very slowly, and so continued for about seventy years. In 1620 it took a new start and grew fast until 1714; then for the most part slowly until 1786, when it started again and grew pretty well and uniformly until within the last dozen years, when it seems to have got on sluggishly. Look here! Here are some human lives laid down against the periods of its growth, to which they corresponded. This is Shakspeare's. The tree was seven inches in diameter when he was born; ten inches when he died. A little less than ten inches when Milton was born; seventeen when he died. Then comes a long interval, and this thread marks out Johnson's life, during which the tree increased from twenty-two to twenty-nine inches in diameter. Here is the span of Napoleon's career ;-the tree doesn't seem to have minded it. I never saw the man yet who was not startled at looking on this section. I have seen many silent preachers, never one like this. How much more striking would be the calendar counted on the rings of one of those awful trees which were standing when Christ was on earth, and where that brief mortal life is chronicled with the stolid apathy of vegetable being, which remembers all human history as a thing of yesterday in its own dateless existence ! EACH AND ALL. Holmes. That man is not perfect who is so in and for himself alone. An essential part of true manhood is in the relationships that he sustains to other beings, in the midst of whom and with reference to whom his life is lived. Man is not great, nor rich, nor strong, for himself alone. He is not, then, to make these the occasions for lording it over his fellows. The poor, the ignorant, the low, are not stepping-stones, nor lawful plunder; they are brothers to be respected and helped. He must use the advantage of his high position as a means of lifting up those beneath him. He is bound to help the weak by as much as he is stronger than they. His debt to all men is limited only by his superiority to them. Paul saw the law, when he wrote, "I am debtor both to the Greeks and to the Barbarians, both to the wise and to the unwise." Savage. DEFINITE TRAINING. I know well the common censure by which objections to the various futilities of so-called education are met by the men who have been ruined by them,—the common plea that anything does to "exercise the mind upon." It is an utterly false one. The human soul, in youth, is not a machine of which you can polish the cogs with any kelp or brick-dust near at hand; and, having got it into working order, and good, empty, oiled serviceableness, start your immortal locomotive, at twenty-five years old or at thirty, express for the Strait Gate, on the Narrow Road. The whole period of youth is one essentially of formation, edification, instruction. I use the words with their weight in them; intaking of stores, establishment in vital habits, hopes, and faiths. There is not an hour of it but is trembling with destinies,—not a moment of which, once past, the appointed work can ever be done again, or the neglected blow struck on the cold iron. Take your vase of Venice glass out of the furnace, and strew chaff over it in its transparent heat, and recover that to its clearness and'rubied glory when the north wind has blown upon it; but do not think to strew chaff over the child fresh from God's presence, and to bring the heavenly colors back to him—at least in this world. MYSTERY OF LIFE. Ruskin. Of all miracles, far the most wonderful is that of life,—the common, daily life which we carry with us, and which everywhere surrounds us. The sun and stars, the blue firmament, day and night, the tides and seasons, are as nothing compared with it! Life-the soul of the world, but for which creation were not! It is life which is the grand glory of the world; it was, indeed, the consummation of creative power, at which the morning stars sang together for joy. Is not the sun glorious, because there are living eyes to be gladdened by his beams? Is not the fresh air delicious, because there are living creatures to inhale and enjoy it? Are not odors fragrant, and sounds sweet, and colors gorgeous, because there is the living sensation to appreciate them? Without life, what were they all! What were a Creator himself, without life-intelligence -understanding-to know and to adore Him? Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies; Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, IN THE NURSERY. It had happened that amongst our nursery collection of books was the Bible, illustrated with many pictures. And in long dark evenings, as my three sisters with myself sat by the firelight round the guard of our nursery, no book was so much in request amongst us. It ruled us and swayed us as mysteriously as music. One young nurse, whom we all loved, before any candle was lighted, would often strain her eyes to read it for us; and, sometimes, according to her simple powers, would endeavor to explain what we found obscure. We, the children, were all constitutionally touched with pensiveness; the fitful gloom and sudden lambencies of the room by firelight suited |