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Me. My pen shall avenge me — to your great disaster. Ba. And mine shall let you know, sir, who is your

master. Me. I defy you in verse, prose, Latin, and Greek ! Ba. You shall hear from me, sir, in the course of the week.

Imitated from MOLIERE.

XLI. THE TWO HOMES.

AEARTH (the ea like a in far), n., TEN'DRIL, n., a spiral shoot of a climbo

place on which a fire is, made. ing plant. Yon (yon), a., within view.

SOL'EMN (sol'em), a., sacredly serious. Do not say hawnt for haunt (the au is like a in far). Give ou in fount and oi in 12-joic'ing their pure sounds. Do not say acrost for a-cross'. Do not slight the articdation of ask'st. Practice it well.

FIRST SPEAKER.

Seest thou my home? —'tis where yon woods are waving,

In their dark richness, to the summer air ; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving,

Leads dowu the hill a vein of light,-'tis there!

'Mid those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming,

Fringed with the violet, colored with the skies ! My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dreaming,

Under young leaves that shook with melodies.

My home! the spirit of its love is breathing

In every wind that plays across my track; From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing

Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back.

There am I loved, there prayed for ; there my mother

Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother;

Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly.

There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,
All the home-voices meet at day's decline ;

Onc are those tones, as from one heart ascending :

There laughs my home, — sad stranger! where is thine ?

SECOND SPEAKER.

Ask'st thou of mine ? — In solemn peace 't is lying,

Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away; 'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,

And fond hearts wait my step: but where are they?

Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling;

Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air ! I know it not, yet trust the whisper, telling

My lonely heart that love unchanged is there.

And what is home and where, but with the loving?

Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine ! My spirit knoweth, in its weary roving,

That with the dead, where'er they be, is mine.

Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother!

Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene !
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I will believe -- but dark seas roll between.

FELICIA HEMANS. (1795 — 1835.)

XLII.-WARREN'S ADDRESS

AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL.

PBAL, n., a succession of loud sounds, Des'pot, n., a tyrant. as of cannon, &c.

Mar’TYRED, pp., put to death for tho Quail, v. i., to sink in spirit.

truth or for patriotism. The e in the last syllable of leaden and heaven is not sounded.

Stand! the ground's your own, my braves /
Will ye give it up to slaves ?
Will ye look for greener graves ?

Hope ye mercy still ?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle peal !
Read it on yon bristling steel!

Ask it - ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire ?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you! they ’re a-fire !

And, before you, see
Who have done it ! - From the vale
On they come ! — and will ye quail ? —
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust! .
Die we may — and die we must :
But, 0, where can dust to dust

Be consigned so well,
As where heaven its dews shall shed,
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head,
Of his deeds to tell ?

JOHN PIERPONT.

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1. The career of Thomas Arnold, the distinguished instructor of youth, though teeming with the poetry

of common life, was not one of stirring incident, or ro-mănce'; it consisted in laboring to his best in his sacred vocation. Born in England in 1795, he was educated at Winchester College, and in 1827 became head-master of Rugby School. He died in 1842, at the early age of forty-seven.

2. His professional life began at Rugby; and he plunged into fourteen years of uninterrupted toil. Holding labor to be his appointed lot on earth, he harnessed himself cheerfully to his work. A craving for rest was to him a sure sign that neither mind nor body retained its pristine vigor; and he determined, while blessed with health, to proceed like the camel in the wilderness, and die with his burden on his back. His characteristic trait was intense earnestness. He felt life keenly; its responsibilities as well as its enjoyments. His very pleasures were earnest. In nothing was he indifferent or neutral.

3. His principles were few: the fear of God was the beginning of his wisdom, and his object was not so much to teach knowledge, as the means of acquiring it; to furnish, in a word, the key to the temple. He desired to awaken the intellect of each individual boy, and contended that the main movement must come from within, and not from without, the pupil; and that all that could be should be done by him, and not for

him.

4. In a word, his scheme was to call forth in the little world of school those capabilities which best fitted boys for their career in the great world. He was not only possessed of strength, but had the art of imparting it; he had the power to grasp a subject him. self, and then ingraft it on the intellect of others.

5. His pupils were made to feel that there was a work for them to do; that their happiness, as well as their dūty, lay in doing that work well. Hence an

indescribable zest was communicated to a young man's feeling about life; a strange joy came over him on discerning that he had the means of being useful, and thus of being happy. He was inspired with a humble, profound, and most religious consciousness that work is the appointed calling of man on earth; the element in which his nature is ordained to develop itself, and in which his progressive advancement toward heaven is to lie.

6. The three ends at which Arnold aimed, in the order of their relative importance, were first and fore. most to inculcate religious and moral principle, then gentlemanlike conduct, and lastly intellectual ability. To his mind, religion and politics — the doing one's duty to God and to man — were the two things really wanting. Unlike the schoolmasters of his early life, he held all the scholarship man ever had to be infi. nitely worthless in comparison with even a very hum. ble degree of spiritual advancement.

7. He loved tuition for itself, of which he fully felt the solemn responsibility and the ideal beauty, and which he was among the first to elevate to its true dignity. It was the destiny and business of his entire life. His own youthfulness of temperament and vigor fitted him better for the society of the young than of the old; he enjoyed their spring of mind and body, and by personal intercourse hoped to train up and mould to good their pliant minds, while wax to receive, and marble to retain.

8. He led his pupils to place implicit trust in his decisions, and to esteem his approbation as their highest reward. He gained his end by treating them as gentlemen, as reasonable beings, in whose conscience and common sense he might confide; and to this appeal to their nobler faculties, to his relying on their honor, the ingenuous youth responded worthily.

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