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private conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the pātriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good.

3. Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes in the conduct of public affairs. The unfortu. nate victim of these passions can not see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interest. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concen'trated on his consistency, his firmness, himself.

4. The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a pa'triotism which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought of the good and glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, cătching its inspiration from on high, and, leaving at an immeasur. able distance below all lesser, gróveling, personal interests and feelings, -animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itself, — that is public virtue; that is the noblest, the sublimest of all public virtues !

HENRY CLAY. (1777 — 1852.)

- A“ Live while you live," the epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day!”“Live while you live," the Christian preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies.” Lord ! in my view, let both united be: I live to pleasure, while I live to Thee.

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1. It is estimated that during one day's healthful existence no less than sixty hogsheads of pure atmosphere must enter the human lungs. This is allowing but one pint for each inspiration, and but eighteen inspirations for each minute; though it must be clear to all that dūring active exercise it frequently happens that in one minute of time more than twice eighteen inspirations take place, and considerably more than a pint of air enters the lungs at a single inspiration. The fact may be easily tested.

2. Now, this immense volume of air is on purpose to give life to the liquid essence of our food — life to the dead blood. Until acted upon by the atmosphere, the fluid which is traversing the lungs is, to all intents and purposes, dead, and consequently totally incapable of repairing worn structures, of carrying on functions, or of maintaining any vitality in the system; nay, it even contains in its elements a considerable quantity of pernicious poison, brought to the lungs to be given out in the act of breathing, lest it should kill the human făbric. The poison alluded to is carbon'ic acid. To breathe in an atmosphere of carbonic acid is death, as rapid as it is certain.

3. Let us imagine, then, forty individuals to have entered a room of sufficient size to receive them without overcrowding. We may as well consider it an ordinary school-room, and the forty individuals forty industrious pupils. This will give us an opportunity of noticing, among other things, how impure air affects the thinking brain. Suppose them diligently at work, then, in an unventilated apartment, with the door and windows closed. Now, calculating from the same estimates as before, in one minute from the time of entry each of the forty pairs of lungs has performed eighteen respirations, and with every respiration a pint of air has been deprived of a fourth part of its oxygen, and the same volume of carbonic acid has been mingled with the atmosphere of the school-room.

4. In one minute of time, therefore, forty times eighteen pints, that is, seven hundred and twenty pints, — as we are not speaking of adults, we will say six hundred pints of the inclosed air, — have been deprived of no less than a fourth of their creative oxygen; while an equal volume of the destroying acid is floating in the apartment, and influencing the blood at every inspiration. Or,— which will be found, upon calculation, to amount to the same thing, - in one single minute, as much as one hundred and fifty pints upward of eighteen gallons of air — have altogether lost their life-creating power; the deficiency being made up by a deadly poison.

5. Now, since such a change takes place in one minute, let me beg of you to reflect what takes place in ten, what in twenty, what in half an hour; what must be the amount of poison which the lungs of these unfortunate victims are inhaling, after an hour of such confinement. And yet how common it is, not for school-children alone, but for persons of all ages and conditions, to be shut up in low-pitched, badly-venti

lated apartments, for more than five, six, or seven hours together!

6. Allow me to remind you that in the human body the blood circulates once in two and a half minutes. In two and a half minutes all the blood contained in the system traverses the respi'ratory surface. Every one, then, who breathes an impure atmosphere two and a half minutes, has every particle of his blood acted on by the vitiating air. Every particle has become less vital — less capable of repairing structures, or of carrying on functions; and the longer such air is respired, the more impure it becomes, and the more corrupted grows the blood.

7. Permit me to repeat, that, after breathing for two and a half minutes an atmosphere incapable of properly ox'ygenating the fluids which are traversing the lungs, every drop of blood in the human being is more or less poisoned; and in two and a half minutes more even the minūtest part of all man's fine-wrought organs has been visited and acted upon by this poisoned fluid, - the tender, delicate eye, the wakeful ear, the sensitive nerves, the heart, the brain; together with the skin, the muscles, the bones throughout their structure,—in short, the entire being. There is not a point in the human frame but has been traversed by vitiated blood, - not a point but must have suffered injury !

8. Without food or exercise, man may enjoy life some hours; he may live some days. He can not exist a few minutes without air. And yet, what laws are so infringed as the laws of respiration?' In our temples of public worship, in our courts of justice, in our prisons, our mines, our factories, and our schools, ventilation was, until lately, almost disregarded; nay, is still, in many places, entirely disregarded. And as for private dwellings, it may be most unhesitatingly affirmed that even for the wealthier classes of society

not one house in a hundred — perhaps not one in a thousand — is constructed on sound sanitary principles with respect to its ventilation.

9. I allude not so much to lower stories as to dormitories. How rare to find a dormitory whose atmosphere at early morning would not be more tainted than when it was entered for repose the previous night! Yet, be it borne in mind that whenever, after a night's repose, the slightest degree of closeness is perceptible in a chamber, it is an incontrovertible proof that the chamber is not well ventilated; and that, whatever may have been the benefit which the system may have received from sleep, that benefit has been partly neutralized by the ill effects of an impure atmosphere.


PAL'TRY (a as in fall), a., worthless. COURTIER (kürt'yer), n., one who MēA'GER, or MĒA'GRE, A., lean. I courts favor.

In new and stu-pen'dous, give the y sound of long u. The first five stanzas of the following poem afford a remarkably fine exercise in low pitch and a somn, measured delivery. At the sixth stanza the voice should change to a high pitch and the tone of Axultation,

Tread softly), bow the head,
(In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell doth toll,
(Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.
Stranger, however great,

With holy reverence bow ;-
There's one in that poor shed,
One by that paltry bed, -

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! death doth keep his state ;

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