NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY LIBRARY The Giit of Gilbert R. Wfeldy V V ^ V ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ COMMON School Readings; OO^TAIKIMO KEW SELECTIONS IN PROSE* AND POETRY rok DECLAMATION, RECITATION, AND ELOCUTIONARY READINGS IN COMMON SCHOOLS By JOHN SWETT, BDPIBIKTEHDSNT OF PDBUO IMSTBOOTIOH, STATE OF OAAtFOBOTA. NEW YORK: W. H. P. HOPKINS. THE BEST SCHOOL SPEAKERS. NORTHEND'S SERIES. Northend's Child's Speaker. New in 1870. A fresh selection for the smallest order of little folks. Contents are varied between prose, poetry, and dialogne. Also exercises for recitation in concert. Post-paid, 60 cents. Northend's Little Orator. Similar in plan to the "Child's Speaker," and for the same class. Good moral lessons, suggestive thoughts, and entertaining narrative go hand in hand with the cultivation of memory and expression. 60 cents. Northend's National Orator. A compilation for intermediate classes in schools and academies, containing the standard gems of the language that are adapted to elocutionary purposes, many of which are to be found in no other School Speaker. $1.35. Northend's Entertaining Dialognes. A very excellent variety of dialogues, humorous, moral, and classical, in prose and verse, nearly one hundred in all. For exhibitions, parlor entertainments, etc., the work has special value. $1.35. Swett's Common School Speaker. By the late State Superintendent of California. Contains pieces adapted to the tastes and understanding of school children; of modem character, and ex¬ cluding much of the waste matter which in similar books is never used. $1.35. Raymond's Patriotic Speaker. A splendid compilation of the choice literature of the last decade—emphatically a book of the times, carefully collated from the best rhetorical models at the Bar, in the Legislature, on the Platform, and in the Pulpit. The poetical selections breathe the spirit of recent events. Of course the topics of the war are prominent, but both sides are impartially represented. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by H. H. BANCROFT & COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the District of California. s's C. 8. 3. PREFACE This compilation of prose and poetical selections lor declamations, recitations, and elocutionary readings, is designed for use in Grammar Schools and ungraded country schools. The large size and high price of most of the " School Speakers" practically exclude them from schools below the grade of High Schools. A book of medium size, and reasonable price, seems to be needed for our Common Schools. It has been the aim of the compiler to select pieces adapted to the tastes and understanding of school children, to make modern selections not found in other works of a similar character, and to exclude the waste matter, never used by either teachers or pupils, which fills so large a space in many works on elocution. The prose declama¬ tions, selected from American orators, are patriotic and national in their character; and the poetical selections, mostly from American poets, are full of that fervid devotion to freedom which constitutes tl^e life of the iv preface. nation. Many of the selections in this volume have stood the practical test of use in a large grammar school, in which some attention was given to elocution; and its preparation originated in a desire to meet a want felt and expressed by many common school teachers. Sax Fkancisco, Dec., 186$. CLASSIFIED INDEX. PROSE.—PATRIOTIC AND NATIONAL. I'AGH Duties of American Citizens Webster. 15 Elements of the American Government " 30 The Constitution and the Union " 21 The Fourth of July " 56 Bunker Hill Monument " 58 The Union ' " 64 The Constitution " 97 Our Duties to our Country " 110 Character of "Washington " 149 Supposed Speech of John Adams " 153 Purpose of the Monument " 174 Our Duty to Our Country " 106 The Future of America " 188 Character of True Eloquence " 187 Our Country's Origin " 203 Public Schools the Life of the Nation Aium. 124 New England and the Union S. S. Prentiss. 87 Liberty of the Press E. D. Baker. 17 Our Country. " 22 Freedom " 40 Liberty and Slavery " 57 Spirit of the Nation " 66 How to Crush the Rebellion " 65 We Must Fight " 75 Progress of Freedom " 96 Our Nationality T. Starr King. 211 Our Union " 42 Wickedness of the Rebellion " 44 Burial of Baker " 74 Life of Abraham Lincoln George Bancroft. 31 VI INDEX. (jrod in Histoiy PAOt 111 Growth of the American Republic t8 Palmerston and Lincoln 107 Speech at Gettysburg. 33 Dead on the Field of Honor. 43 Farewell Address to the Army 41 The Honored Dead. 77 Our Flag 88 American Industry 151 Loyalty 89 President Lincoln's Last Inaugural 90 Character of Washington 150 Slavery the Comer-Stone 154 Danger of Exasperating tbe Rebels A. A. Sarffent. 161 Love of Country 189 Our Flag 212 National Greatness 7S POETRY.—PATRIOTIC AND NATIONAL. Eve of Election 17 Barbara Frietchie. <1 27 Laus Deo 155 Death of Slavery 157 Not Yet U 16 Wounded ?R Never or Now 61 The Union u 23 Paul Revere's Ride 98 On the War—Biglow Papers 37 Tbe Issues " " u 158 The Little Drummer 62 Sheridan's Ride 46 The Old Continentals 25 Charge of the Light Brigade 83 Crimean Camp Song 95 Dirgo for a Soldier 36 The American Flag 59 The Nation's Dead 39 Company K. u 93 INDEX. vii FAOB The Soldier's Return Anon. 92 After the War " 47 John Burns at Gettysburg F. B. Harle. 33 The Reveille " 23 PROSE.—MISCELLANEOUS. California T. Starr King. 19 Free Schools Eorace Mann. 109 Defense of Common Schools John Connesa. 109 Common School Education Horace Bushnett. 123 Growth of California F. P. Tracy. 152 Story of John Maynard John B. Gough. 175 The Normans F. P. Tracy. 160 Labor OrviUe Dewey. 205 Hard Work Wm. EUery Channing. 204 Our Common Schools Daniel Wdister. 210 Moral Rectitude Newton Bateman, 173 POETRY.—MISCELLANEOUS. Resignation Longfellow. 139 The Day is Done " 128 Children " 130 Maud Muller. Whittier. 103 The Ranger " 120 Thomas Starr King " 75 The Winds Bryant. 192 California Bayard Taylor. 20 Progress..... Frank Soule. 142 Poor and Rich LowM. 166 The Bells. Poe. 126 The Enchanted Isle B. F. Taylor. 168 Babie BeU T. B. AldHch. 202 The Main Truck Morris. 220 A Will and a Way. Saxe. 180 The Family Meeting Sprague. 186 The Fight of Paso del Mar Bayard Taylor. 199 She Prays for Her Boy Anna M. Bates. 198 Battle of Waterloo Byron. 183 Apostrophe to the Ocean " 190 INDEX. PASl Mazeppa Byron. 222 Worth of Woman SchMer. 193 Bugle Song. Tennyson. 222 Hymn to the Flowers Horace Smith. 218 The Dying Tear Tennyson. 201 The Death Bed Hood. 220 Our State 201 True Nobility Swain. 193 Hour of Death Felicia Hemans. 100 Voice of Spring " 146 To-Day and To-Morrow GeraM Massey. 78 Hymn of Nature Pedbody. 101 Story of School 208 The Battle 115 Man's Mission 117 Thanksgiving 206 Once I was Pure 137 Souls, not Stations 141 Katy Lee and Willie Gray 143 What I Live for 181 In the Mines 185 The World Would be the Better for it Cobb. 182 Dirge for the Beautiful 197 Our Baby 225 Kitty 226 Evening 218 What Might be Done 229 The Fatherland 229 The Children 119 Two 226 Up the Hill LueUa Clark. 227 Anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation 91 The Miner. 228 PROSE.—HUMOROUS. Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lecture on Tobacco .Douglas Jerrold. 214 " " " " " Shopping. " 179 " " " " " Umbrellas " 133 " " " " " Shirt Buttons.... " 71 Brimstone Morning at Dotheboys Hall Dickens. 131 IKDEX. IX' PAOC Sam 'Weller's Valentine Dickens. 162 Squeers and Nickleby. " 176 Boarding School Breakfast " 72 Cousin Sally Billiard Jones. 215 POETRY.—HUMOROUS. The Deacon's Masterpiece Holmes. 112 The Treadmill Song " 84 The Height of the Ridiculous " 80 The Comet. " 50 "The Boys" " 70 The Musi# Grinders " 49 Skipper Ireson's Ride Whittier. 81 Pyramus and Thisbe Saxe. 169 Te Pedagogue " 66 How the Money goes 134 Saint Jonathan " 135 Rhyme of the RaiL " 62 The Old Story. Agnes Ilowourd. 145 The Courtin' Lowell. 63 San Francisco 147 French and English Hood. 54 The Modem Belle Stark. 86 A May-Day Welcome Ill 1» INTRODUCTORY REMARKS om ELOCUTIONARY TRAINING IN THE COMMON SCHOOLS. Reapixo is one of tlie essential branches of a public school course of studf. All children must be taught to pronounce words, and to read sentences. This is necessarily a slow process, and too many teachers make it a mechanical one. Too little attention is given to reading as an art, in which the purpose of the reader is to convey ideas to those who listen. Elocutionary training, in its higher departments of declamation, dialogue, recitation of poetry, vocal culture and gesture, should form a part of common school instruction. Elocution, as an art, has been con¬ sidered as lying beyond the province of the common school, and belong¬ ing mainly to the High School, the Academy, and the College. Elocutionary instruction should be given in the common schools, be¬ cause there a greater majority of American children receive their only education. It should be begun in early life, because then the vocal organs are flexible, and susceptible of training. It is a serious defect in our school methods of instruction, that the expressive faculties, compris¬ ing feeling, affection, emotion, passion, imagination, fancy, association, imitation and description, are called so little into action. Elocution, when properly taught, calls into active exercise the expressive faculties, and tends to educate the child as a social being. The practical question which here suggests itself is, how can elocution be taught in the common school? In the primary classes, daily simultaneous exercises should be given, comprising drill on the vowel sounds, varying in pitch, force, and time, and exercises on consonant sounds and combinations, to secure distinct articulation. Every reading exercise should be preceded by a breathing exercise, to flll the lungs to their utmost capacity, and to secure an erect 12 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. attitude, with the shoulders thrown back. Then, as a general exercise of five minutes, for rest or recreation, the whole school should unite in vocal exercises, consisting of lessons on inflection, pitch, time, move¬ ment, force, and the repetition, after the teacher, of select sentences, stanzas, and paragraphs. In most ungraded schools in the country, and in many city schools, two hours of the closing afternoon of each week, may be most usefully devoted to declamation, dialogue, and select read¬ ings. It is not advisable to compel every child in school to take part in these exercises, for there are some who never can become good readers, and others who are so awkward and diffident, that it is cruel to force them upon the school stage with a declamation. Appropriate selections should at first be made by the teacher, for the uncultivated taste of pupils will lead them to choose pieces either altogether too difficult, or utterly worthless when committed to memory. Select at times, for the boys, short, simple prose declamations, which, when learned, remain in the memory as models of ^ure prose and patriotic feeling. If they learn a poem, let it not be made up of doggerel rhymes, or of painful attempts at a low order of wit. A careful selection of pieces will be tlie surest safeguard against the ranting, tearing, overstrained, semi-theatrical style of florid oratory which so painfuUy mars very many school exhibitions. The teacher can take odd moments at the intermission or recess, or before and after school, for the purpose of hearing rehearsals, and giving special instructions. The teacher should instruct his pupils in the ele¬ ments of gestures. Gestures spring naturally from the close sympathy of mind and body. A look of the eye—^an expression of the counte¬ nance—a movement of the hand, often convey more than words can express. The principles of gesture may be easily learned from any»one of several excellent works on elocution, and any teacher who is in ear¬ nest can make a practical application of them sufficient for the ele¬ mentary training of school-boys. The reading and recitation of poetry by girls is an indispensable part of the education of woman, as one of the most efficient modes of disci¬ pline for the taste and imagination. Many of the most exquisite passages of the poets can never be fully appreciated until repeated by the voice of woman. Whatever the number of classes, however pressed for time the teacher may be, some attention should be given to elocution in every school. The advantages are too great to be overlooked. Elocution cultivates a taste for reading; the young scholar becomes familiar with the choicest passages of English literature, which, com¬ mitted to memory, are retained through life. There are no purer models of classical English thap the speeches of Daniel Webster: no more INTEODUCTORT. 13 glowing words spoken for liberty and freedom than those of our own lamented Baker and King. There is Whittier, the bard of Freedom, whose sweetest songs are sung in his old age—let our school-boys and school-girls know hts poems by heart. The patriotic lyrics of Holmes, and Bryant, and Longfellow, and Lowell—they will mould American chsu-acter, and why are they not as valuable in the schoolroom as the multiplication table and the spelling book? It requires no close observer to perceive the effects of poetry on the youthful mind. Childhood delights in the melody of verse, and is pleased with its flowing harmony of sound. In poetry are embodied some of the most beautiful lessons of morality: and they are presented in a manner which arrests the attention and impresses the character. "Let me write the ballads and songs of a people," says one, "and I care not who makes the laws." 'What teacher has not seen the dull eye kindle, the vacant countenance take expression, the face glow with emotion, and the whole boy become lost in the sentiment of his decla¬ mation? The need of elocutionary culture, somewhere in our course of educa¬ tion, is self-evident. Ameiican public speakers, as a class, whether at the bar, on the stump, in the pulpit, or in the lecture-room, are good illustrations of the neglect of early elocutionary training. One stands with his hands in his pockets: one rests his body on his paws, like an Orang-Outang; another offends the eye, by wild, meaningless, uncouth, frantic gesticulations: and a fourth stands stock-still, like a cast-iron city lamp-post. The wonderful melody of the human voice—that is heard in the solemn monotonous and melancholy bass which not unfrequently proceeds from the pulpit: in the hard hacking, in the sharp, shrill, dry, high-pitched tones which too often proceed from the teacher's desk, and in the bawl¬ ing, shouting, yelling, vociferating vehemence of our stump orators at great political mass meetings, who shriek their sentences into the ears of their audiences "Till silence, like a poultice, comes To heal the blows of sound." One speaker has the high, piping, thin, shrill, sharp, piercing note of a steam whistle, and his screech grates on the ear like the filing of a saw: another the gruff, guttural voice of old Falstaff over a pot of sack: a third has the regidar Yankee nasal twang, and the last rants and mouths like a stage-struck school-boy. It is true, the golden age of oratory has been succeeded by that of printing. The orator no longer s'ways the turbulent current of popular 14 COMMON SCHOOL KEAUINGS. opinion; the still, small voice of the newspaper speaks to the millions of the nation in the busy mart, and around the fireside at home. Yet few intelligent American citizens pass through life without being called upon to speak, in the local town-meetings, in political conventions, in the legislature, or before some gatherings of their fellow-citizens. A little school instruction which shall enable them to speak in a natural tone of voice, and with self-possession of manner, will certainly not be out of place in American CJommon Schools. Let elocution be introduced in the public schools, to cultivate a taste for reading, to exercise and strengthen memory, to awaken feeling, to excite imagination, and to train those who are to enter the professions, to become graceful and pleasing speakers. Introduce it as a relief from study, a pleasing recreation, and a source of intellectual enjoyment. lutroduce it as a part of the iesthetic education, so peculiarly appropriate for woman. Make it as a part of the education of man as an expressive being. COMMOl^r SCHOOL EEADIHGS. DUTIES OF AMEKICAN CITIZENS.—DANIEL Websteb. We have indulged in gratifying recollections of the past, in the prosperity and pleasures of the present, and in high hopes for the future. But let us remember that we have duties and obli¬ gations to perform, corresponding to the blessings which we enjoy. Let us remember the trust, the sacred trust, attaching to the rich inheritance which we have received from our fathers. Let us feel our personal responsibility, to the full extent of our power and influence, for the preservation of the principles of civil and religious liberty. And let us remember that it is only reli¬ gion, and morals, and knowledge, that can make men respectable and happy, under any form of government. Let us hold fast the great truth, that communities are responsible, as well as individu¬ als; that no government is respectable, which is not just; that without unspotted purity of public faith, without sacred public principle, fidelity, and honor, no mere forms of government, no machinery of laws, can give dignity to political society. In our day and generation let us seek to raise and improve the moral sentiment, so that we may look, not for a degraded, but for an elevated and improved future. And when both we and our chil¬ dren shall have been consigned to the house appointed for all living, may love of country and pride of country glow with equal fervor among those to whom our names and our blood shall have descended I And then, when honored and decrepit age shall lean against the base of this monument, and troops of ingenuous youth 16 common school readings. shall be gathered round it, and when the one shall speak to the other of its objects, the purposes of its construction, and the great and glorious events with which it is connected, there shall rise from every youthful breast the ejaculation, " Thank God, I—I also—am an American I" NOT TET.—wiluam CULXKN Brtabt. Oh, realm to sudden greatness grown I The age that gloried in thy birth. Shall it behold thee overthrown ? ' ShaU traitors lay that greatness low? No I Land of Hope end Blessing, No! And we who wear thy glorious name, Shall we, like cravens, stand apart. When those whom thou hast trusted, aim The death-blow at thy generous heart ? Forth goes tho battle-cry, and lo 1 Hosts rise in harness, shouting, No! And they who founded, in our land, ' The power that rules from sea to sea. Bled they in vain, or vainly planned To leave their country great and free ? Their sleeping ashes, from below. Send up the thrilling murmur, No! Our humming marts, our iron ways. Our wiud-tossed woods on mountain crest, The hoarse Atlantic, with his bays. The calm, broad ocean of the West, And Mississippi's torrent flow. And loud Niagara, answer. No I For now, behold, the Arm that gave The victory in our fathers' day. Strong, as of old, to guard and save— That mighty Arm which none can stay- On clouds above, and fields below. Writes, in men's sight, the answer. Not Oh, country, marvel of the earth I the eve op election. 17 LIBERTY OF THE PRESS.—E. D. Bakbb. Thb liberty of the Press is the highest safeguard to all free gov¬ ernment. Ours could not exist without it. It is like a great, exulting and abounding river. It is fed by the dews of heaven, which distill their sweetest drops to form it. It gushes from the rill, as it breaks from the deep caverns of the earth. It is aug¬ mented by a thousand affluents, that dash from the mountain top, to separate again into a thousand bounteous and irrigating streams around. On its broad bosom it bears a thousand barks. There genius spreads its purpling sail. There poetry dips its silver oar. There art, invention, discovery, science, morality, religion, may safely and securely float. It wanders through every land. It is a genial, cordial source of thought and inspiration, wherever it touches, whatever it surrounds. Upon its borders, there grows every flower of grace, and every fruit of truth. Sir, I am not here to deny that that river sometimes oversteps its bounds. I am not here to deny that that stream sometimes becomes a dan¬ gerous torrent, and destroys towns and cities upon its bank. But I am here to say that, without it, civilization, humanity, govern¬ ment, all that makes society itself, would disappear, and the world would return to its ancient barbarism. We will not risk these consequences, even for slavery; we will not risk these conse¬ quences even for union; we will not risk these consequences to avoid that civil war with which you threaten us;—that war which you announce as deadly, and which you declare to be in¬ evitable. THE EVE OF ELECTION.—John G. Whittieb. From gold to gray our mild sweet day Of Indian Summer fades too soon; But tenderly above the sea Hangs, white and calm, the Hunter's moon. Along the street the shadows meet Of Destiny, whose hands conceal The moulds of fate that shape the State, And make or mar the common weak COMMON SCHOOL EEADINGS. Around I see the powers that be; I standby Empire's primal springs; And princes meet in every street, And hear the tread of uncrowned kings I Not lightly fall beyond recall The written scrolls a breath can float; The crowning fact, the kingliest act Of Freedom is the freeman's votel For pearls that gem a diadem The diver in the deep sea dies; The regal right we boast to-night Is ours through costlier sacrifice : The blood of Vane, his prison pain Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, And hers whose faith drew strength from death, And prayed her Bussell up to God I Our hearts grow cold, we lightly hold A right which brave men died to gain; The stake, the cord, the ax, the sword. Grim nurses at its birth of pain. The shadow rend, and o'er us bend, O martyrs, with your crowns and palms,— Breathe through these throngs your battle-songs, Tour scaffold prayers and dungeon psalms I Look from the sky, like God's great eye. Thou solemn moon, with searching beam; Till in the sight of thy pure light Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. Shame from our hearts unworthy arts. The fraud designed, the purpose dark; And smite away the hands we lay Profanely on the sacred ark. To party claims, and private aims. Reveal that august face of Truth, Whereto are given the age of heaven. The beauty of immortal youth. • PANEGYRIC ON CALIFORNIA. 19 So shall our voice of sovereign choice Swell the deep bass of duty done, And strike the key of time to be, When God and man shall speak as one I PANEGYRIC ON CALIFORNIA.—Thos. Starr Kikg, 1863. Suppose we were called to name on all the globe, to-day, the community of 400,000 persons most favorably placed, so far as domain and prosperity and prospects are concerned. Let a man turn the globe with compasses in his hand, and hold them suspended, .and deliberate as long as he may. I defy him to fix the point at any other place than Sacramento-—right here at Agri¬ cultural Hall—so that the sweep shall include the 400,000 souls within the jurisdiction of this Society. What other portion of the earth held by one organization of less than half a million will compare in privilege, resources and hopes with the portion of this young, beloved Benjamin of American States, whose autumn- sack is now stufied with grain, while the mouth of it contains a cup of gold ? A line on the Atlantic coast, i-epresentiug the length of our State, would run from Boston, below Chesapeake Bay, below Cape Hatteras, below the batteries of Gilmore on Cnm- niings Point, to the harbor of Port Koyal. And nearly the whole of the area with this vast water front is one symmetrical domain, by reason of the mountains that uprear their five hundred miles of jagged whiteness in its background ; the rivers that flow from the northward and the southward, fed from those snowy springs, to unite in the centre of the State; and the bay that receives their volume, rivaling in its conformation the Bay of Naples. Where else has the Almighty delivered to half a million of people such a line of eternal snow looking down upon such opulent plains? Where else such a fellowship of temperate and tropic climates ? Where else such rainless summers, which turn drouths into harvests? Where else gold in the rocks, and, bending over the mills that crush them, peaches that mock the apples of gold in the garden of the Hesperides? Where else such sweeps of wheat, such armies of noble cattle on a thousand hills, such bloom 20 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. 1 of vineyards; and beneath all snob variety of mineral wealth, which only centuries to come can tap and drain ? "Where else has the Almighty connected such social blessings with material good—freedom, intelligence, schools, multiplying churches and loyalty—deliberate-principled, unconditional, invincible loyalty to the Government and the policy, the freest, the noblest, the worthiest beneath the sun? I do not say this, gentlemen, in boasting. It is only the honest generalization of the map of California and of the facts which your exhibition presents to our eyes this week. In privilege of position, and in regard to re¬ sources and the future, the State of California, in the American Eepublic, is the most favored spot which this globe turns to the sun. CALIFORNIA.—BATARD Tatloe. 0 FAIR young land, the youngest, fairest, far, Of which the world can boast, "Whose guardian planet, evening's silver star, Illumes thy golden coast How art thou conquered, famed in all the pride Of savage beauty still! How brought, 0 panther of the splendid hide. To know thy master's will 7 No more thou sittest on thy tawny hills. In indolent repose; Or pour'st the crystal of a thousand rills Down from thy house of snows. But where the wild oats wrapped thy knees in gold The plowman drove his share. And where, through canons deep, thy streams are rolled. The miner's arm is bare 1 Yet in thy lap, thus rudely rent and torn, A nobler seed shall lie; Mother of mighty men, thou shalt not mourn Thy lost virginity I THE CONSTITUTION AND THE UNION. 21 ! Thy human children shall restore thy grace Gone with thy fallen pines ; The wild, barbaric beauty of thy face Shall round to classic lines I And Order, Justice, Social Law shall cjrb Thy untamed energies; And Art and Science, with their dreams superb, Replace thine ancient ease. The marble sleeping in thy mountains now. Shall live in scuipture rare; Thy native oak shall crown the sago's brow— Thy bay, the poet's hair. Thy tawny hills shall bleed their purple wine, Thy valleys yield their oil; And Music, with her eloquence divine. Persuade thy sons to toil; Till Hesper, as he trims his silver beam. No happier land shall see. And earth shall find her old Arcadian dream Restored again in theet THE CONSTITUTION AND THE UNION.—Daniel Wbbsteb. Fob myself, I propose, Sir, to abide by the principles and the purposes which I have avowed. I shall stand by the Union, and by all whp stand by it. I shall do justice to the whole country, according to the best of my ability, in all I say, and act for the good of the whole country in all I do. I mean to stand upon the Constitution. I need no other platform. I shall know but one country. The ends I aim at shall be my country's, my God's, and Truth's. 1 was born an American; I will live an American; I shall die an American; and I intend to perform the duties incumbent upon me in that character to the end of my career. I mean to do this, with the absolute disregard of personal consequences. 22 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. What are personal consequences? "What is the individual man, ■with all the good or evil that may betide him, in comparison with the good or evil which may befall a great country in a crisis like this, and in the midst of great transactions which concern that country's fate ? Let the consequences be what they will. I am careless. No man can suffer too much, and no man can fall too soon, if he suffer or if he fall in defense of the liberties and Con¬ stitution of his country. OUR COUNTRY—E. D. Bakjbb. [Extract from the speech of Senator Baker, at the great Union Mass Meeting In New York City, after the fall of Fort Sumter.] The majesty of the people is here to-day to sustain the majesty of the Constitution, and I come, a wanderer from the far Pacific, to record my oath along with yours of the great Empire State. The hour for conciliation lias passed, the gathering for battle is at hand; and tjjjf^ country requires that every man shall do his duty. Fellow-citizens, what is that country ? Is it the soil on which we tread ? Is it the gathering of familiar faces ? Is it our l^ury and p<^p and pride? Nay, more than these, is it power/and might and majesty alone? No, our country is more, far more than all these. The country which demands our love, our cou¬ rage, our devotion, our hearts' blood, is more than all these—our country is the history of our fathers—our country is the tradition of our mothers—our country is past renown—our country is present pride and power—Dur co^try is future hope and destiny —our country is greatness, glory, truth, constitutional liberty-— above all, freedom forever! These are the watchwords under which we fight; and we will shout them out till the stars appear in the sky, in the stormiest hour of battle. I have said that the hour for conciliation is past. It may return; but not to-morrow, nor next week. It will return when that tattered flag is avenged. It will return when the rebel traitors are taught obedience and submission. It will return when the rebellious Confederates are taught that the North, though peaceable, are not cowardly— THE BEVEILLE. 23 though forbearing, are not fearful. That hour of conciliation will come back when again the ensign of the Republic will stream over every rebellions fort of every Confederate State. Then, as of old, the ensign of the pride and power, and dignity and majesty, and the peace of the Republic will return. THE UNION.—Oliver Wendell Holmes. ^Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold? Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold? Then nature must teach us the strength of the chain, That her petulant children would sever in vain. N. They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil. Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil. Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves, , And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves; In vain is the strife I When its fury is past. Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last; As the torrents, that rush from the mountains of snow. Roll mingled in peace through the valleys below. J Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky, Man breaks not the medal when Gk>d cuts the die I Though darkened witli sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal I THE REVEILLE.—Frank Bret Hartk. Hare 1 I hear the tramp of thousands. And of armed men the hum; Lo, a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum— Saying " Come, Freemen, come I " Ere your heritage be wasted," said The quick alarming drum. COMMON SCHOOL BEADINOB. " Let me of mj heart take counsel; War is not of Life the sum; Who sliall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall comet" But the drum Echoed " Come! Death shall reap the braver harvest," sail The solemn-sounding drum. " But when won the coming battle, What of profit springs therefrom! What if conquest—subjugation— Even greater ills become ? But the drum Answered " Come 1 You must do the sum to prove it I" said The Yankee-answering drum. " What if, mid the cannon's thunder. Whistling shot and bursting bomb— When my brothers fall around me— Should my heart grow cold and numbf But the drum Answered " Come, Better then in death united, than in Life a recreant—Come 1" Thus they answered—^hoping, fearing. Some in faith, and doubting some, Tiil a trumpet-voice proclaiming. Said, "My chosen people, come!" Then the drum Lo I was dumb. For the great heart of the nation. Throbbing, answered, "Lord, we ccmimF* THE OLD CONTINEJITALS. 25 THE OLD CONTINENTALS.—Gtrr Humphbet McMastek In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not, Wlien the Grenadiers were lunging. And like hail fell tlie plunging Cannon-shot; When the files Of the isles. From the smoky night cncampnaent, bore the banner of the rampant Unicom, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn t Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal. Stood our sires; And the balls whistled deadly. And in streams fiashing redly Blazed the fires; As the roar On the shore. Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder. Cracking amain I Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoniers; And the " villainous saltpetre " Bang a fierce, discordant metre Botmd their ears; As the swift Storm-drift, With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards' clangor On our fianks. Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks! 20 common school ueadino*. Then the old-fashioned Colonel Galloped through the wliite infernal Powder-cloud; And his broad sword was swinging, And his brazen throat was ringing / Trumpet loud. Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath. And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, Hurling death I WOUNDED. Let me lie down, Just here in the shade of this cannon-tom tree,— Here, low on the trampled grass, wliere I may see The surge of the combat, and where I may hear Tlie glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer: Let me lie down. Oh, it was grand I Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; The tempest,—^its fury and thunder were there; On, on, o'er intrenchments, o'er living and dead. With the foe under foot, and our flag overhead: Oh, it was grand I Weary and faint. Prone on the soldier's couch, ah, how can I rest With tliis shot-shattered head, and sabre-pierced breast T Comrades, at roll-call, when I shall be sought. Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought,— Wounded and faint. Oh, that last charge I Right through the dread hell-flre of shrapnel and shell. Through without faltering,—clear through with a yell, Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom. Like heroes we dashed at the mandate of Doom I Oh. that last charge 1 barbara frietchie. It was duty I Some things are worthless, and some others so good That nations who buy them pay only in blood; For Freedom and Union each man owes a part, And here I pay my share all warm from my heart; It is duty I Dying at last I My Mother, dear Mother, with meek, tearful eye, Farewell 1 and God bless you, forever and aye 1 Oh, that I now lay on your pillowing breast. To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest: Dying at last 1 I am no saint I But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins,— " Our Father;" and then says, "Forgive us our sins,"— Don't forget that part, say that st^ongly^ and then I'll try to repeat it, and you'll say. Amen 1 Ah, I'm no saint I Hark,—there's a shout 1 Raise me up, comrades 1 We have conquered, I know 1 Up, up on my feet, with my face to the foe 1 Ah 1 there fiies the Flag, with its star-spangles bright 1 The promise of Glory, the symbol of Right 1 Well may they shout. I'm mustered out 1 0 God of our Fathers 1 our Freedom prolong. And tread down Rebellion, Oppression, and Wrong 1 0 Land of Earth's hope 1 on thy blood-reddened sod, 1 die for the Nation, the Union, and God 1 I'm mustered out 1 BARBARA FRIETCHIE.—JoHir G. Whittieb. Up from the meadows rich with corn. Clear in the cool September morn. The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. COMMON SCHOOL BEADINGS. Round about them orchards sweep. Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. On that pleasant mom of the early fall. When Lee marched over the mountain-wall,' Over the mountains winding down. Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars. Forty flags with their crimson bars. Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town. She took up the flag the men hauled down; In her attic window the staff she set. To show that one heart was loyal yet Up the street came the rebel tread. Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat, left and right. He glanced: the old flag met his sight " Halt 1"—the dust-brown ranks stood fast "Firel"—out blazed the rifle-blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick as it fell from the broken staff. Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; She leaned far out on the window-sill. And shook it forth with a roval wiR BARBARA B^RIETCHIE. " Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,— But spare your country's flag 1" she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came ; The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word " Who touches a hair of yon gray head, - Dies like a dog I March on!" he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet; All day long that free flag tossed Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er. And the Rebel rides on his raids no morei Honor to her 1—and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. Flag of Freedom and Union wave 1 Peace, and order, and beauty, draw Round thy symbol of light and law; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below at Frederick town' 30 COMMOX SCHOOL REA.DIXOS. ELEMENTS OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT. Dil.NIEL ■WEBSTEK. TnE English colonists in America, generally speaking, were men who were seeking new homes in a new world. They brought with them their families and all that was most dear to them. This was especially the case with the colonists of Plymouth and Massachusetts. Many of them were educated men, and all pos¬ sessed their full share, according to their social condition, of knowledge and attainments of that age. The distinctive char¬ acteristic of their settlement is the introduction of the civilization of Europe into a wilderness, without bringing with it the politi¬ cal institutions of Europe. The arts, sciences, and literature of England came over with the settlers. That great portion of the common law which regulates the social and personal relations and conduct of men, came also. The jury came; the habeat corpus came; the testamentary power came; and the law of inheritance and descent came also, except that part of it which recognizes the rights of primogeniture, which either did not come at all, or soon gave way to the rule of equal partition of estates among children. But the monarchy did not come, nor the aristocracy, nor the Church, as an estate of the realm. Po¬ litical institutions were to be framed anew, such as should be adapted to the state of things. But it could not he doubtful what should be the nature and character of these institutions. A general social equality prevailed among the settlers, and an equality of political rights seemed the natural, if not the necessary consequence. After forty years of revolution, violence, and war, the people of France have placed at the head of the fundamental instrument of their government, as the great boon obtained by all their suffering and sacrifices, the declaration that all Frenchmen are equal before the law. Wliat France has only reached by the expenditure of so much blood and treasure, and the perpetration of so much crime, the English colonists obtained by simply chang¬ ing their place, carrying with them the intellectual and moral culture of Europe, and the personal and social relations to which they were accustomed, but leaving behind their political institu¬ tions. It has been said with much vivacity, that the felicity of tne American colonists consisted in their escape from the past. This is true so far as respects political establishments, but no LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 31 turtlier. They brought with them a full portion of all the riclies of the past, in science. In art, In morals, religion, and literature. The Bible came with them. And It Is not to be doubted, that to the free and universal reading of the Bible, in that age, men were much indebted for right views of civil liberty. Tiie Bible is a book of faith, and a book of doctrine, and a book of morals, and a book of religion, of especial revelation from God ; but it is also a book that teaches man his own individual responsibility, his own dignity, and his equality with his fellow-man. The great elements, then, of the American system of government, originally Introduced by the colonists, and which were e-arly in operation, and ready to be developed, more and more, as the progress of events should justify or demand, were :— Escape from the existing political systems of Europe, including its religious hierarchies, but the continued possession and enjoy¬ ment of its science and arts, its literature, and its manners. Home government, or the power of making in the colony the municipal laws which were to govern it; Equality of rights; Eepresentative assemblies, or forms of government founded on popular elections. LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN.—George Bancroft. The choice of America fell on a man born west of the Alle- ghanies, in the cabin of poor people of Hardin County, Kentucky —Abraham Lincoln. His mother could read, but not write'; his father could do neither; but his parents sent him, with an old spelling-book, to sciiool, and he learned in his childhood to do both. When eight years old he floated down the Ohio with his father on a raft which bore the family and all their possessions to the shore of Indiana; and, child as he was, he gave help as they toiled through dense forests to the interior of Spencer County. There in the land of free labor he grew up in a log-cabin, witli the solemn solitude for his teacher in his meditative hours. Of 32 COJIMOIT SCHOOIi KJiADlNGS. Asiatic literature he knew only the Bible; of Greek, Latin, and inediaoval, no more than the translation of iEsop's Fables; of English, John Banyan's Pilgrim's Progress. The Traditions of George F.« and William Penn passed to him dimly along the lines of two centuries through his ancestors, who were Quakers. Otherwise his education was altogether American. The Decla¬ ration of Independence was his compendium of politicrd wisdom, the Life of Washington his constant study, and something of Jefferson and Msidison reached him through Henry Clay, whom he honored from boyhood. For the rest, from day to day, he lived the life of the American people: walked in its light; reasoned with its reason; thought with its power of thought; felt the beatings of its mighty heart; and so was in every way a child of nature—a child of the West—a child of America. At nineteen, feeling impulses of ambition to get on in the world, he engaged himself to go down the Mississippi in a flat- boat, receiving ten dollars a month for his wages, and afterwards he made the trip once more. At twenty-one he drove his father's cattle as the family migrated to Illinois, and split rails to fence in the new homestead in the wild. At twenty-three he was captain of volunteers in the Black Hawk war. lie kept a shop; he learned something of surveying; but of English literature he added to Bunyan nothing but Shakspeare's plays. At twent3'-fivo he was elected to the Legislature of Illinois, where he served eight years. At twenty-seven he was admitted to the bar. In 1837 he chose his home at Springfield, the beautiful center of the richest land in the State. In 1847 he was a member of the National Congress, where he voted about forty times in favor of the principle of the Jefferson proviso. In 1854 he gave his influence to elect from Illinois to the American Senate a Democrat who would certainly do justice to Kansas, In 1858, as the rival of Douglas, he went before the people of the mighty Prairie State saying: "This Union cannot permanently endure, half slave and half free ; the Union will not be dissolved, but the house will cease to be divided and now, in 1861, with no experience whatever as an executive officer, while States were madly flying from their orbit, and wise men knew not where to find counsel, this descendant of Quakers, this pupil of Bunyan, this child of the Great West, was elected President of America JOUN BUKNS, OF GETTYSBUliG. 33 He measured the difiSculty of the duty that devolved upon him, and was resolved to fulfill it. PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S SPEECH AT THE GETTYSBURG CEMETERY. Fourscoee and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper tiiat we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which those who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measures of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of free¬ dom, and that Governmeqt of the people, by the people, and foi the people, shall not perish from the earth. .lOIIN BURNS, OF GETTYSBURG.—F. B. Hartb. Havb you heard the story that gossips tell Of Burns of Gettysburg ?—No ? Ah, well; Brief is the glory the hero earns, Briefer the story of poor John Burns 2* COMMOX SCHOOL READINGS. He was the fellow who won renown— The only man who didn't back down When the rebels rode through his natire towi But held his own in the fight next day, When all his townsfolk ran away. That was in" Jul}', sixty-three. The very day that General Lee, Flower of Southern chivalry. Baffled and beaten backward reeled From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. And it was terrible. On the right Kaged for hours the heady fight. Thundered the battery's double bass— Difficult music for men to face; While on the left—where now the graves Undulate like the living waves. That all day unceasing swept. Up to the pits the rebels kept— Round shot plowed the upland glades. Sown with bullets, reaped with blades; Shattered fences here and there Tossed their splinters in the air; The very trees were stripped and bare; The barns that once held yellow grain Were heaped with harvests of the slain, The cattle bellowed on the plain. The turkeys screamed with might and main And broodiug barn-fowl left their rest With .strange shells bursting in each nest. Just where the tide of battle turns, Erect and lonely stood old John Burns. How do you think the man was dressed? He wore an ancient long buff vest, Yellow as saffron—but his best; And buttoned over his manly breast. Was a bright blue coat with a rolling collar And large gilt buttons—size of a dollar— With tails that country-folk call " swaller." He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, White as the locks on which it sat. JOHN BUENS, OF GETTYSBURG. Never had such a sight been seen, For forty years on the village green, Since old John Burns was a country beau. And went to the " quiltings " long ago. Close at his elbows all that day. Veterans of the Peninsula^ Sunburnt and bearded, charged away; And striplings, downy of lip and chin— Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in— Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore. Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; And liailed him from out their youthful lore, MTth scraps of a slangy repertoire: '• How are you, "White Hat?" "Put her through 1" '• Your head's level," and "Bully for you !" C died him " Daddy "—begged he'd disclose The name of the tailor who made his clothes, -•\ nd what was the value he set on those: While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, Stood there picking the rebels off— With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat. And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 'Tn-as but a moment, for that respect A\'luch clothes all courage their voices checked; And something the wildest could understand, Spake in the old man's strong right hand; And his corded throat, and the lurking frown Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; Until as they gazed, there crept an awe Tlirough the ranks in whispers, and some men saw In the antique vestments and long white hair. The Past of the Nation in battle there. And some of the soldiers since declare That the gleam of his old white h.at afar. Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, That day was their oriflamme of war. Thus raged the battle. Tou know tlie rest: How the rebels, beaten and backward pressed. Broke at the final charge, and r.in. 4t which John Burns—a practical man— COSmON SCHOOL READINGS. Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, And then went back to his bees and cows. This is the story of old John Burns; This is the moral the reader learns: In fighting the battle, the question's whether You'U show a hat that's white, or a feather I DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER.—Geo. H. Bokeh. Close his eyes ; his work is done; What to him is friend or foeman. Rise of moon, or set of sun. Hand of man, or kiss of woman ? Lay him low, lay liim low. In the clover or the snow! What cares he ? he cannot know; Lay him low I As man may, he fought his fight. Proved his truth by his endeavor; Let him sleep in solemn right. Sleep forever and forever. Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the suow 1 What cares he? he cannot know; Lay him low 1 Fold him in his country's stars. Roll the drum and fire tlie volley; What to him are all our wars. What but death-bemocking folly ? Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the snow I What cares he ? he cannot know; Lay him low! Leave him to God's watching eye. Trust him to the hand that made him, Mortal love sweeps idly by— God alone has power to aid him. ON THE WAR. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! "What cares he ? he cannot know; Lay him low I ON THE WAR—Biglow Papers.—James Russell Lowelu You're in want o' sunthin' light an' cute, Rattlin' an' shrewd an' kin' o' jingleish, An' wish, pervidin' it 'ould suit, I'd take an' citify my English. I ken write long-tailed, ef I please,— But when I'm jokin', no, I thankee; Then, 'fore I know it, my idees Run helter-skelter into Yankee. Time wuz, the rhymes came crowdin' thick Ez ofBce-seekers arter 'lection. An' into ary place 'ould stick Without no bother nor objection; But sence the war my thoughts hang back Ez though I wanted to enlist 'em. An' subs'tutes,—they don't never lack, But then they'll slope afore you've mist 'em. Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street I hear the drummers makin' riot. An' I set thinkin' o' the feet Thet follered once an' now are quiet,— White feet as snowdrops innercent, Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, Whose comin' step ther' 's ears thet won't. No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'. Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee ? Didn't I love to see 'em growin'. Three likely lads ez wal could be, Hansome an' brave an' not tu kiiowin'? I set an' look into the blaze Whose natur, jes' like thoirn, keeps climbin', Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways. An' half despise myself for rhymin'. COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth On War's red techstone rang iriie metal, "Who ventered life an' love an' youth For the gret prize o' death in battle ? To him who, deadly hurt, agen Flashed on afore the charge's thunder, Tippin' with fire the bolt of men Thet rived the Rebel line asunder ? 'T ain't right to hev the young go fust, All throbbin' full o' gifts an' graces, Leavin' life's paupers dry ez dust To try an' make b'lieve fill their places: Kothin' but tells us wut we miss, Ther' 's gaps our lives can't never fay in, An' thet world seems so far from this Lef for us loafers to grow gray iu I My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth Will take to twitchin' roun' the corners; I pity mothers, tu, down South, For all they sot among the scorners: I'd sooner take my chance to Stan' At Jedgment where your meanest slave is. Than at God's bar hoi' up a han' Ez drippin' red as yourn, Jeff Davis I Come, Peace I not like a mourner bowed For honor lost an' dear ones wasted. But proud, to meet a people proud. With eyes that tell o' triumph tasted I Come, with han' grippin' on the hilt. An' step thet proves ye Victory's daughterl Longiu' for you, our sperits wilt Like shipwrecked men's on raf's for water. Come, while our country feels the lift Of a gret instinct shoutin' forwards. An' knows thet freedom ain't a gilt Thet tarries long in han's o' cowards I Come, sech ez mothers prayed for, when They kissed their cross with lips tliet quivered, An' bring fair wages for brave men, A nation saved, a race delivered! the nation's dead. THE NATION'S DEAD. Four hundred thousand men, The brave—the good—the true, In tangled wood, in mountain glen. On battle-field, in prison-pen, Lie dead for me and you 1 Four hundred thousand of the brave Have made our ransomed soil their grave, For me and you I Good friends, for me and you I In many a fevered swamp. By many a black bayou. In many a cold and frozen camp. The weary sentinel ceased his tramp. And died for me and you! From "Western plain to ocean tide Are stretched the graves of those who died, For me and you I Good friends, for me and you 1 On many a bloody plain Their ready swords they drew. And poured their life-blood, like the rain, A home—a heritage, to gain. To gain for me and you 1 Our brothers mustered by our side. They marched and fought and bravely died. For me and you 1 Good friend, for me and you I Up many a fortress wall They charged—those boys in blue— 'Mid surging smoke, and volley'd ball, The bravest were the first to fall 1 To fall for me and you I These noble men—the nation's pride— Four hundred thousand men have died. For me and you 1 Good friend, for me and you 1 10 COMMOJ^ SCHOOL READINGS. In treason's prison-hold Their martyr spirits grew To stature like the saints of old, While, amid agonies untold. They btarved for me and you I The good, the patient, and the tried. Four hundred thousand men have died, For me and you I Good friend, for me and you! A debt we ne'er can pay To them is justly due. And to the nation's latest day Our children's children then shall say, " They died for me and you I" Four hundred thousand of the brave Made this, our ransomed soil, their grave^ For me and you I Good friend, for me and you I FREEDOM.—E. D. Bases, j Who ever heard of any man reciting a poem to Slavery? But if you want the noblest and most inspiring poems, save those from heaven, read Milton, read Shelley, read Homer, read Halleck, read Bryant; above all—read Shakspeare. There are poets who sell themselves, with venal spirit, to flatter in the atmosphere of courts; but even they, seduced by the pomp and brilliancy of fashion, cannot break into praise of Slavery. They may praise the despot himself, but the iniquity of slavish servitude they dare not crown with song. The hauteur of the poet will not allow it, and his hand trembles, falters, and is palsied ere he attempt to sweep it in such praise across the lyre of song. But when you talk to him of Freedom, the lip of the poet quivers with inspira¬ tion ; his heart glows, and the numbers break out as the stream dashes from the mountain top to seek the valley below—bright, clear, sparkling, free. And are you ashamed to march in that procession? Shall reproach, shall- malignant slander, shall base GENERAL GRANT TO THE ARMY. 41 misrepresentation make you hesitate ? For me, at least, no; a thousand times, no! Where my youth has trod, my manhood and my age shall march. I am not ashamed to wheel into that great procession. I love Freedom better than Slavery. I will speak her words; I will listen to her music; I will acknowledge her impulses; I will stand beneath her flag; I will flght in her ranks; and, when I do so, I shall flnd myself surrounded by the great, the wise, the good, the br.ave, the noble of every land. If I could stand for a moment upon one of your high mountain tops, far above all the kingdoms of the civilized world, and there might see, coming up, one after another, the bravest and wisest of the ancient warriors and statesmen, and kings, and monarchs, and priests; and if, as they came up, I might be permitted to ask from them an expression of opinion upon such a case as this, with a common voice and in thunder tones, reverberating through a thousand valleys, and echoing down the ages, they would cry: "Liberty, Freedom, the Universal Brotherhood of Man!" I join that shout; I swell that anthem; I echo that praise forever, and forever more. % — 1 z' GENERAL GRANT TO THE ARMY.—1865. Soldiers of the Armies of the United States! By your patriotic devotion to your country in the hour of danger and alarm, your magnificent fighting, bravery, and endurance, you have main¬ tained the supremacy of the Union and the Constitution, over¬ thrown all armed opposition to the enforcement of the laws, and of the proclamations forever abolishing Slavery—the cause and pretext of the Rebellion—and opened the way to the rightful authorities, to restore order and inaugurate peace on a permanent and enduring basis on every foot of American soil. Your marches, sieges, and battles, in distance, duration, resolution, and brilliancy of results, dim the luster of the world's past mili¬ tary achievements, and will be the patriot's precedent in defense of Liberty and the right in all time to come. In obedience to your country's call, you left your homes and families and volun- 4.; COMMON SCHOOL EEADINGS, teered in its defense. Victory has crowned your valor and secured the purpose of your patriotic hearts; and with the grati¬ tude of your countrymen and the highest honors a great and free nation can accord, you will soon be permitted to return to your homes and families, conscious of having discharged the highest duty of American citizens. To achieve these glorious triumphs and to secure to yourselves, your countrymen, and posterity the blessings of free institutions, tens of tliousands of your gallant comrades have fallen and sealed the priceless legacy with their lives. The grave of these a grateful nation bedews with tears, honors their memories, and will ever cherish and support their stricken families. OUR UNION.—Thomas Stakb King.—1861. The Constitution of the United States, we must remember, is not written on parchment; but is stereotyped in granite ranges and river grooves since the tertiary epoch of geology. "Our Union is river, lake, ocean and sky, Man breaks not the medal when God cuts the die." God has cut into the die the branches of the Chesapeake, the windings of the Delaware, the Potomac and the Shenandoah, the trendings of the Alleghanies, and the mighty armlets of the Mis¬ sissippi, that State lines and customs of latitude shall be overruled. It is as if the one word "America," and the constructive motto E Pluribus Unum"—from many one—were stamped in letters for a telescope to discern at the distance of the moon, on the whole land, from the Eocky Mountains to the Hudson. Whoever works for the permanent disunion of our Union, and hopes to succeed, must get something more than a Montgomery Conven¬ tion. He must get up an earthquake that shall pitch half the Mississippi back toward the North Pole, snap the Alleghanies at the center, turn the Ohio out of bed, and choke with ruins every pass of the Eocky Mountains and the Sierras. The only part of the land that seems geological^ and geographically separate is DEAP ON THE FIELD OP HONOR. 43 JSew England; and she is bound by such moral and social bonds to the history, and character, and glory of the nation, that some¬ thing more than an earthquake—a split of the planet itself— would be requisite to drive her off. Then see, still further, what man has cut into the die to strengthen the unity which nature prefigures! What have enterprise and art done to make the work of secession easier ? Have they drawn any boundaries for rival civilizations? Have they built any Chinese walls? Have they developed any supretne antagonisms of natural interests from Aroostook to New Orleans? What are we to do when mad¬ ness raves and foams to break the vital unity which tradition, and language, and nature, and art have been compacting thus for generations? Do? We must rise against it. We must devote ourselves against it. Wo must arm against it. We must fight against it while steel has temper, and while "powder will pour passion through columbiads. UJ5AD ON THE FIELD OF HONOR.—E. H. Chapin. "Dead on the field of honor!" This, too, is the record of thousands of unnamed men, whose infiuence upon other genera¬ tions is associated with no personal distinction, but whose sacri¬ fice will lend undying luster to the nation's archives and richer capacity to the nation's life. And yet these martyrs are remem¬ bered by name. Go visit the mourning homes of the land; homes of wealth and plenty, some of them, but richer now by the consecration of sacrifice. Many are homes of toil and obscu¬ rity, from which the right hand of support has been taken, or the youthful prop. Poor and obscure;—but these the unknown fallen have names, and riches of solemn, tender memory. And what heralding on palatial wall more glorious tlian the torn cap and soiled uniforms that hang in those homes where the dead soldier comes no more? What aristocratic legend refers to a prouder fact than that which shall often be recited in the still summer field where he labored, and by the winter fireside where his place is vacant:—"He fell in the great war for Union and for Freedom!" 44 COMMON SCHOOL BEADTNGS. Sleep, sleep, in quiet grassy graves, where the symbols that ye loved so well shall cover and spread over you—by day the flowers of red, white, and blue, and by night the constellated stars—while out of those graves there grows the better harvest of the nation and of times to come! WICKEDNESS OF THE REBELLION.—Thomas Staek King—1861. We do not stand to receive lectures about peace from the sym¬ pathizers with rebellion; we offer them. It is not for them to call our attention to bloody battle-fields and a groaning treasury, and hearts wrung with anguish, and homes darkened with despair. We press the picture upon them. When I think of what this country was last November,—^how vast its prosperity; how rapid its march to greater opulence; how various the ducts and bands which nature and art had opened and multiplied to sustain a com¬ mon life; when I think of the harmonious play of all the physical and commercial forces that knit a nation, and see how, from East- port to Cape Mendocino, they were in operation as never before on an equal area of the earth, ennobling labor, building up society in the wilderness, promoting education, filling horns of plenty for thousands of homes; when I think of the harvests that were gathered, and the blessings they were to bear to all districts of our land, and to distant shores; of the slight expense of the gov¬ erning power over the immense area, and the insignificance of the military force that was subordinate to it; when I recall the fact that all this peace, and affluence, and happiness was due to one piece of parchment called the Constitution of the United Statefe, and that all which was necessary to its continuance was loyalty to that, and submission to a popular vote honestly thrown and announced, as Northern States had submitted many a time before; a submission, too, which would still leave ample re¬ sources in the hands of defeated States against open acts of ag¬ gression by the Government upon their rights—simply acknow¬ ledgment of the popular will for four short years, and the right of free discussion; and when I think of what the country is now; WICKEDNESS OF THE EEBELLION. 45 the paralysis of commerce; the devastation of industry; the choking of the channels of intercourse; the bitterness and hate; the land groaning with cannon; ports shut up ; peaceful vessels the prey of pirates; hundreds of thousands withdrawn from wealth-producing labor and trained to deal slaughter: yes, the battle-fields that have drunk blood from civil strife; the noble men that have been cut off in an instant from a vista of honor¬ able years; the agonies of wounded and dying; the woe in which thousands of hearts have been steeped; and when I think that every river might now be sweeping only peaceful burdens, and every port might have been open to cheerful intercourse, and every latitude of the sea been safe for proud barks under the stars and stripes, and not a dollar of private property or national treasure oeen wasted by confiscation, or diverted from the chan¬ nels that widen blessings: I can say, with Joseph Holt, of Ken¬ tucky, that " we realize—what I think the popular heart, in its forbearance, has never completely comprehended—the unspealcahle and hellish atrocity of this rehellion. It is a perfect saturnalia of demoniac passion. From the reddened waters of Bull Ran, and from the gory field of Manassas, there is now going up an appeal to God and to millions of exasperated men against those fiends in human shape, who, drunken with the orgies of an infernal ambi¬ tion, are filling to its brim the cup of a nation's sorrow. "Woe, woe to these traitors when this appeal shall be answered!" Do you, apologists for these madmen, sympathizers with their guilt, applauders of their success, accomplices in their crime—do you dare to talk to us of peace, dare take that blessed word on your foul lips, remembering what you have done? Do you dare talk jf peace before the guilt of hreahing peace is punished? Dare t.ilk of peace simply that the ruffian desolators may enjoy an un¬ shadowed victory ? The effrontery of this clamor is as great as it would jiave been for tories in the Revolution to have denounced "Washington and the Congress for desolating the land with blood, appealed for instant terms with Great Britain, and begged to be intrusted by the loyal men with power 1 COMMON SCHOOL BEAHINOS. SHERIDAN'S RIDE.—Thos. Buchanam Read. Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar. Telling the battle was on once more. And Sheridan twenty miles away I And heavier still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled— Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray— And Sheridan twenty miles awayl But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down ; And there, thro' the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass, as with eagle's flight. As if he knew the terrible need. He stretched away with his utmost speed. Hill rose and fell, but his heart was gay. With Sheridan fifteen miles away I Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth. Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating, Uke prisoners assaulting their walls— Impatient to be where the battle-field calls. Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away I Under his spurring feet the road. Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed; And the landscape sped away behind, Like an ocean flying before the wind; aftee the war. And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire. But lo I he is nearing his heart's desire, He is snuffing the smoke of the battle fray, With Sheridan only five miles away 1 The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops. What was done ? What to do ? A glance told him both; Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the leader compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray. By the flash of his eye and his red nostril's play. Ho seemed to the whole great army to say,— "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day 1" Hurrah 1 hurrah I for Sheridan 1 Hurrah 1 hurrah 1 for horse and man 1 And when their statues are placed on higli. Under the dome of the Union sky— The American soldiers' Temple of Fame— There, with the glorious General's name. Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, " Here is the steed that saved the day. By carrying Sheridan into the fight' From Winchester, twenty miles away 1" AFTER THE WAR. " It is two years ago to-day, dearest mother, Since we gave up our only dear onlf. And I bade ' good-by' to a brother. And you bade ' good-by ' to a son; And you know when our eyes were o'erflowin^ How he said: With his life in his hand— And his soul in God's hand—^he was going To save the dear life of his land 1 COMMOX SCHOOL EEADINGS. " How proudly they marched through the village With the flag of their fathers before I The farmer came forth from his tillage, And shut were the shop and the store ; And the cheering and music grew louder. As our patriot boys marched away, I never was sadder nor prouder, Than I was on that midsummer's day. " Oh I he never could know how I missed him, Ere the gleam of his banner was hid I And, weeping, I wished I had kissed him A hundred times more than I did I Ah I could he but know how I love him— Wh}', what are you crying so for ? How proud we all shall be of him. When Willie comes home from the warl" " My child, you behold but the banners, That are waving o'er fields of renown. And you hear but the hearty hosannas, That are swelling from city to town; But through aU the glitter and glory, There's a glimpse of the paU and the shroa^ And a dirge in the jubilant story That bursts from the hearts of the crowd." Oh 1 the visions of death that are sweeping Through the "halls of my spirit to-nightl Of the forms that together are sleeping. Where they fell in the first of the fight; Of the grave of my own darling brother. Who died when the battle was won— 01 the shot pierced the heart of his mother, When it shattered the heart of her son I 01 daughters of true-hearted mothers 1 I am prating as never before. For the day you shall welcome your brothero>v Though mine I shall welcome no more! Tet why all this dread and strange feeling? And what are we weeping so for ? Ah I an ominous cloud is concealing The sunshine of " After the War 1" THE MUSIC GRIXDERS. THE MUSIC GRINDERS.—Oliver ■Wendell Holmes. There are three ways in which men take One's money from liis purse, And very hard it is to tell Which of the three is worse; But all of them are bad enough To make a body curse. You're riding out some pleasant day, And counting up your gains; A fellow jumps from out a bush, And takes your horse's reins, Another hints some words about A bullet in your brains. Perhaps you're going out to dine,— Some filthy creature begs You'll hear about the cannon-ball That carried off his pegs. And says it is a dreadful thing For men to lose their legs. He tells you of his starving wife. His children to be fed. Poor little, lovely innocents. All clamorous for bread,'— And so you kindly help to put A bachelor to bed. You're sitting on your window-seat, Beneath a cloudless moon ; You hear a sound that seems to wear The semblance of a tune. As if a broken fife shotild strive To drown a cracked bassoon. And nearer, nearer still, the tide Of music seems to come. There's something like a human voice. And something like a drum; You sit in speechless agony. Until your ear is numb. 3 COMMOX SCHOOL KEADIX;CH AND ENGLISH. [*5 Staring like a fool And silent as a mummy, There I stood alone, A nation with a dummy. n. Chaises stand for chairs, They christen letters Billies, They call their mothers mares, And all their daughters fillies; Strange it was to hear, I'll tell you what's a good 'un, They call their leather queer, And half their shoes are wooden. m. Signs I had to make For every little notion; Limbs all going, like A telegraph in motion. For wine I reeled about. To show my meaning fully. And made a pair of horns To ask for " beef and bully." IV. Moo I I cried for milk; I got the sweet things snugger, When I kissed Jeannette, 'Twas understood for sugar If I wanted bread. My jaws I set agoing. And asked for new-laid eggs By clapping hands, and crowing. V. If I wished a ride, I'll tell you how 1 got it; On my stick astride, I made believe to trot it. Never go to France Unless you know the lingov If you do, like me. You'll repent, by jingo. 86 common school readings. FOURTH OF JULY, 1851—Daniel Webster. On tlie Fourth of July, 1776, the represent.atives of tlie TJnitea {States of America, in Congress assembled, declared that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independ¬ ent States. This declaration, m.ade by most patriotic and reso¬ lute men, trusting in the justice of their cause, and the protection of Providence—and yet not without deep solicitude and anxiety— has stood for seventy-five years, and still stands. It was sealed in blood. It has met dangers and overcome them; it has had enemies, and it has conquered them; it has had detractors, and it has abashed them all; it has had doubting friends, but it has cleared all doubts away; and now, to-day, raising its august form higher than the clouds, twenty millions of people contemplate it with hallowed love, and the world beholds it, and the conse¬ quences which have followed, with profound admiration. This anniversary animates, and gladdens, and unites all American hearts. On other days of the year we may be party men, indulg¬ ing in controversies more or less important to the public good; we may have likes and dislikes, and we may maintain our politi¬ cal difierences often with warm, and sometimes with angry feel¬ ings. But to-day we are Americans all in all, nothing but Americans. As the great luminary over our heads, dissipating mists and fogs, cheers the whole hemisphere, so do the associa¬ tions connected with this day disperse all cloudy and sullen weather, and all noxious exhalations in the minds and feelings of true Americans. Every man's heart swells within him—every man's port and bearing become somewhat more proud and lofty, as he remembers that seventy-five years have rolled away, and that the great inheritance of liberty is still his; his, undiminished and unimpaired ; his, in all its original glory; his to enjoy, his to protect, and his to transmit to future generations. If Washing¬ ton were now amongst us—and if he could draw around him the shades of the great public men of his own days—patriots and warriors, orators and statesmen—and were to address us in their presence, would he not say to us—"Ye men of tiiis generation, I rejoice and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, a!id sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous—you are happy—you are grateful. The fire of liberty burns brightly LIBKRTY AND SLAVERY. 57 and steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from bursting forth in wild and destructive conflagration. Cher¬ ish liberty as you love it—cherish its securities as you wish to preserve it. Maintain the constitution which we labored so pain¬ fully to establish, and which has been to you such a source of inestimable blessings. Preserve the union of the States, cemented us it was by our prayers, our tears, and our blood. Be true to (lod, your country, and your duty. So shall the whole eastern world follow the morning sun, to contemplate yon as a nation; 80 shall all succeeding generations honor you as they honor us; and so shall that Almighty Power which so graciously protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting blessings upon you and your posterity." LIBERTY AND SLAVERY.—E. D. Baker. In the whole world abroad, even where there is the lowest political degradation, ideas of personal liberty, at the present time grow apace. Beneath the shadow of the throne of Russia; above the ruins of the Inquisition; on the banks of the Seine; around the ashes of Napoleon, and where a British queen pre¬ sides in all her matronly dignity over a free people; every¬ where, ideas of personal liberty fructify and grow. It was the boast of a great Irish orator, long, long ago, that when a slave touched the sacred soil of Britain, the fetters fell from his limbs, and he rose disenthralled before the genius of universal emancipation. Everywhere the great idea of personal liberty develops, increases, and fructifies. Here is the exception. Here, under the American Government, in the land of liberty, the chosen of all freemen, the home of the exile, such is not the case. Here in a land of written constitutional liberty, it is reserved for 11-= to teach the world that under the American Stars and Stripes, slavery marches in solemn procession; that nnder the American flag, slavery is protected to the utmost verge of acquired property; tliat under the American banner, the name of freedom is to be %intly heard; the songs of freedom faintly sung; that while 58 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. Garibaldi, Victor Einauuel, every great and good man in the world strives, struggles, fights; prays, suffers, and dies, sometimes on the scaffold, sometimes in the dungeon, often on the field of battle, rendered immortal by his blood and his valor; that while this triumphal procession marches on through the arches of free¬ dom—we, in this land of all the world—shrink back trembling when freedom is but mentioned. BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT.—Daniel Webster. The Bunker-Hill monument is finished. Here it stands. For. tunate in the natural eminence on which it is placed,—higher, infinitely higher, in its objects and purpose, it rises over the land, and over the sea; and visible, at their homes, to three luin- dred thousand citizens of iJIassachusetts,—it stands, a memorial of the last, an^ a monitor to the present, and all succeeding gen¬ erations. I have spoken of the loftiness of its purpose. If it had been without any other design than the creation of a work of art, the granite, of which it is composed, would have slept in its native bed. It has a purpose; and that purpose gives it char¬ acter. That purpose enrobes it with dignity and moral grandeur. That well-known purpose it is, which causes us to look up to it with a feeling of awe. It is itself the orator of this occasion. It is not from my lip.s, it is not from any human lips, that that strain of eloquence is this day to flow, most competent to move and excite the vast multitudes around. The potent speaker stands motionless before them. It is a plain shaft. It bears no inscrip¬ tions, fronting to the rising sun, from which the future antiqua¬ rian shall wipe the dust. Nor does the rising sun cause tones ot music to issue from its summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the setting of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and be¬ neath the milder effulgence of lunar light, it looks, it speaks, it acts, to the full comprehension of every American mind, and the awakening of glowing enthusiasm in every American heart. Its silent, but awful utterance; its deep pathos, as it brings to our contemplation the 17th of June, 1775, and the consequences vvhit h have resulted to us, to our country, and to the world, from THE AMEBICAK FLAG. 50 the events of that day, and which we know must continue to rain influence on the destinies of mankind, to the end of time; the elevation with which it raises us high above the ordinary feelings of life; surpass all that the study of the closet, or eveu the in¬ spiration of genius, can produce. To-day, it speaks to us. Its future auditories will be through successive generations of men, as they rise up before it, and gather round it. Its speech will be of patriotism and courage; of civil and religious liberty; of free government; of the moral improvement and elevation of man¬ kind; and of the immortal memory of those who, with heroic devotion, have sacriflced their lives for their country. THE AMERICAN FLAG.—J. Rodman Drake. When freedom from her mountain heig Unfurled her standard to the air. She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there I She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldrick of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white, With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven. When strive the warriors of the storm And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven; Child of the sun I to thee't is given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke. And bid its blendings shine afar. The harbingers of victory I COMMOX SCHOOL HEADINGS. Flag of the brave 1 thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high I When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on,— Kre yet the life-blood, warm and wot. Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,— Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn; And ns his springing steps advance. Catch v.-ar and vengeance from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabers rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,— Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas I on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er tlie brave. When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack. Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee. And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home I By angel hands to valor given; Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet I Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet. And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us T NEVER OR NOW. NEVER OR NOW.—Oliver Wendell Holmes. Listen, young heroes I your country is calling! Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true I Now, while the foremost are fighting and falling, Fill up the ranks that have opened for you 1 Tou whom the fathers made free and defended. Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame I You whose fair heritage spotless descended, Leave not your children a birthright of shame 1 Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping Wait not till Honor lies wrapt in his palll Brief the lips' meeting be, swift the hands' clasping— "Off for the warsl" 'tis enough for them all. Break from the arms that would fondly caress you 1 Hark 1 'tis the bugle-blast I sabers are drawn 1 Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you. Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone I Never or now I cries the blood of a nation. Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom Now is the day and the hour of salvation— Never or now I peals the trumpet of doom I Never or now 1 roars the hoarse-throated cannon 1 Through the black canopy blotting the skies; Never or now I flaps the shell-blasted pennon O'er the deep ooze where the Cumberland lies 1 From the foul dens where our brothers are dying. Aliens and foes in the land of their birtli, From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying. Pleading in vain for a handful of earth; From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered, Furrowed and ridged by the battle-fields' plow. Comes the loud summons— too long have you slumbared I Hear the last Angel-trump—Never or now 1 COMMOIT StJHOOL EEADINGS. THE LITTLE DRUMMER.—R. 11. Stohdabd. 'Tis of a little drummer, The story I shall tell, Of how he marched to battle. And all that there befell. Out in the west with Lyon (For once the name was true). For whom the little drummer beat His rat-tat-too I Our army rose at midnight. Ten thousand men as one, Each slinging on bis knapsack, And snatching up his gun; " Forward 1" and off they started. As all good soldiers do, "When the little drummer beats for them The rat-tat-too 1 It was a sight to see them. That early autumn day. Our soldiers in their blue coats. And the rebel ranks in gray. The smoke that rolled between them. The balls that whistled through. And the little drummer as he beat His rat-tat-too I His comrades dropped around him— By fives and tens they fell; Some pierced by Minie bullets, Some torn by shot and shell; They played against our cannon. And a caisson's splinters flew; But still the little drummer beat His rat-tat-too 1 " Where is our little drummer Y" His nearest comrades say. When the dreadful fight is over, And the smoke has cleared away, THE LITTLE DRUMMER. Am tJie rebel corps ■was scattering He urged them to pursue. For furiously he beat, and beat, His rat-tat-too 1 He stood no more among them, For a bullet as it sped. Had glanced and struck his ankle, And stretched him with the dead I He crawled behind a cannon, And pale, and paler grow; But still the little drummer beat His rat-tat-too! They bore him to the surgeon, A busy man was he; " A drummer-boy—what ails him ?" His comrades answered, " See 1" As they took him from the stretcher A heavy breath he drew. And his little fingers strove to beat The rat-tat-too I The ball had spent its fury; " A scratch," the surgeon said. As he wound the snowy bandage Which the lint was staining red. "I must leave you now, old fellow," " 0 take me back with you. For I know the men are missing me, And the rat-tat-too I" TJpon his comrade's shoulder They lifted him so grand, With his dusty drum before him. And his drumsticks in his hand! To the fiery front of battle. That nearer, nearer drew. And evermore he beat, and beat. His rat-tat-too I The wounded as he passed them Looked up and gave a cheer; And one in dying blessed him. Between a smile and tear! 64 COMMOX SCHOOL READINGS. And the graybacks—^they are flying Before the coats of blue, For whom the little drummer beats His rat-tat-tool When the west was red with sunset, The last pursuit was o'er; Brave Lyon rode the foremost, And looked the name he bore 1 And before him on his saddle. As a weary child would do. Sat the little drummer fast asleep, With his rat-tat-too I THE UNION.—Daniel Webster. While the Union lasts, we have high,-exciting, gratifying pros¬ pects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and' dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dis¬ severed, dLscordant,belligerent; on aland rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gor¬ geous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interroga¬ tory as. What is all this worth ? nor those other words of delu¬ sion and folly. Liberty first, and union afterward ; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart. Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable! HOW TO CRUSH THE REBELLION. 65 HOW TO CRUSH THE REBELLION—E. D. Baker—1861. I PROPOSE to do now as we did in Mexico—conquer peace. I propose to go to Washington and beyond. I do not design to remain silent, supine, inactive—nay, fearful—until they gather their bat¬ talions .and advance their host upon our borders or in our midst. I wouhl meet them upon the threshold, and there, in the very State of their power, in the very atmosphere of their treason, I propose that the people of this Union dictate to these rebels the terms of peace. It may take thirty millions; it may take three hundred millions. What, then ? We have it. Loyally, nobly, grandly do the merchants of New York respond to the appeals of the Government. It may cost us seven thousand men. It may cost us seventy-five thousand men in battle ; it may cost us seven hundred and fifty thousand men. What, then ? We have them. The blood of every loyal citizen of this Government is dear to us. My sons, my kinsmen, the young men who have grown up be¬ neath my eye and beneath my care, they are all dear to me; but if the country's destiny, glory, tradition, greatness, freedom, gov¬ ernment, writtenjconstitutional government—the only hope of a free people—demand it, let them all go. I am not here now to speak timorous words of peace, but to kindle the spirit of manly, determined war. I speak in the midst of the Empire State, amid scenes of past suffering and past glory ; the defenses of the Hudson above me; the battle-field of Long Island before me, and the statue of Washington in my very face—the battered and uncon- quered flag of Sumter waving in his hand, which I can almost imagine now trembles with the excitement of battle. And as I speak, I say my mission here to-day is to kindle the heart of New York for war—short, sudden, bold, determined, forward war. The Seventh Kegiment has gone. Let seventy and seven more follow. Of old, said a great historian, beneath the banner of the Cross, Europe precipitated itself upon Asia. Beneath the banner of the Constitution let the men of the Union precipitate themselves upon disloyal, rebellious confederate States. 66 common school beadinos. SPIRIT OF THE NATION.—E. D. Baker—186L The national banners leaning from ten thonsand windows in your city to-day, proclaim yonr affection and reverence for the Union. The ministers of religion, the priests of literature, the historians of the past, the illustrators of the present, capital, science, art, invention, discoveries, the worksof genius—all these will attend us in our march, and we will conquer. And if, from the far Pacific, a voice feebler than the feeblest murmur upon its shore may be heard to give yon courage and hope in the contest, that voice is yours to-day; and if a man whose hair is gray, who is well-nigh worn out in the battle and toil of life, may pledge himself on such an occasion and in such an audience, let me say as my last word, that when, amid sheeted fire and fiame, I saw and led the hosts of New York as they charged in contest upon a foreign soil for the honor of your flag; so again, if Providence shall will it, this feeble hand shall draw a sword, never yet dis¬ honored—not to fight for distant honor in a foreign land, but to fight for country, for home, for law, for government, for consti¬ tution, for right, for freedom, for humanity, and in the hope that the banner of my country may advance, and wheresoever that banner waves there glory may pursue and freedom be established. YE PEDAGOGUE.—John G. Saxe. Bighti learned is ye Pedagogue, Fulle apt to reade and spelle, And eke to teach ye parts of speeches And strap ye urchins weU. For as't is meete to soake ye feet% Ye ailing heade to mende, Ye younker's pate to stimulate, He beates ye other endel YE PEDAGOGUE. Sighte lordly la ye Pe^gogue As any turbaned Turke; For well to rule ye District Schoole It is no idle worke. For oft BehftHinM -worketh tbere In breaste of secrete foes, Of malice fuUe, in waite to pulle Ye Pedagogue his nose I Sometimes he heares, with trembling fears, Of ye ungodly rogue On mischief bent, with felle intent To lick ye Pedagogue I And if ye Pedagogue be smalle, When to ye baltell led, In such a plighte, God sende him mighte To breake ye rogue his heade I Daye after daye, for little paye, He teacheth what he can, And bears ye yoke, to please ye folke, And ye committee-man. Ah I many crosses hath he borne. And many trials founde. Ye while he trudged ye district through, And boarded rounde and rounde I Fulle solemn is ye Pedagogue Among ye noisy churls. Yet other while he hath a smile To giye ye handsome girls; And one,—^ye fairest maide of all,— To cheer his wayning life. Shall be, when Springe ye flowers shall brings^ Ye Pedagogue his wife I COMMON SCHOOL EEADINOS. THE COURTIN'.—James Russell Lowelu God makes sech nights, all white an' stiL Fur 'z you can look or listen, Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten. Zekle crep' np quite unbeknown And peeked in thru' the winder. An' there sot Huldy all alone, 'Ith no one nigh to hendor. The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her. An' little flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser. Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, An' in amongst 'em rusted The ole queen's-arm that gran'tlier Young Fetched back from Concord busted. The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm from floor to ceilin'. An' she looked full az rosy agin Ez the apples she was peelin'. He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, First this one, an' then thet, by spells— All is, he couldn't love 'em. She thought no v'ice hed such a swing Ez hisn in the choir; My 1 when he made Ole Hunderd ring, She knowed the Lord was nigher. She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, A-raspin' on the scraper,— All ways to once her feelins flew Like sparks in bumt-up paper. THE COUKTIN'. He kin' o' I'itered on the mat, Some doubtQe o' the sekle, His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But heru went pity Zekle. An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin' away like murder. '' Tou want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" " Wal—no—I come dasignin' "— " To see my Ma ? She is sprinklin' clo'en Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." To say why gals acts so or so, Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean yes an' say no Comes nateral to women. He stood a spell on one foot fust. Then stood a spell on t'other. An' on which one he felt the wnst He couldn't ha' told ye nuther. Says he, "I'd better call agin;" Says she, "Think likely. Mister;" Thet last word pricked him like a pin. An'—wal, he up an' kist her. "When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, Huldy sot pale ez ashes. An' kin' o' smily roun' the lips An' teary roun' the lashes. The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued Too tight for all expressin'. Tell mother see how metters stood. And gin 'em both her blessiu'. Then her red come back like the tide Down to the Bay o' Fundy, An' all I know is they was cried In meetiu' come nex' Sunday. COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. " THE BOYS."—Oliver Wendell Holmes. Has there any old feUow got mixed with the boys ? If there has, take him out, without making a noise. Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite 1 Old Time is a liar I We're twenty to-night I We're twenty 1 We're twenty I Who says we are more ? He's tipsy,—young jackanapes 1—show him the door I " Gray temples at twenty ?"—^Tes I white if we please; Wliere the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake! Look close,—^you will see not a sign of a flake 1 We want some new garlands for those we have shed,— And the.se are white roses in place of the red. We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told. Of talking (in public) as if we were old;— That boy we call '■ Doctor," and this we call " Judge"; It's a neat little fictiou,—of course it's all fudge. That fellow's the "Speaker,"—^the one on the right; "Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night? That's our " Member of Congress," we say when we chafif; There's the " Reverend " What's his name ?—don't make me laugh That boy with the grave mathematical look Made believe he had written a wonderful book. And the Royal Society thought it was true t So they chose him right in,—a good joke it was too I There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain. That could harness a team with a logical chain; When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, We called him " The Justice," but now he's " The Squire." And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith,— Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith: But he shouted a song for the brave and the free,— Just read on his medal, " My country," " of thee I" ME». CAPDLK'S LECTURE ON SHIRT-BUTTONS. 71 Tou hear that boy laughing ?—Ton think he's aii fun; But the angeis laugh, too, at the good he has done; The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all I Yes, we're boys,—always playing with tongue or with pea; And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men ? Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay. Till the last dear companion drops smiling away ? Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray I The stars of its winter, the dews of its May I And when we have done with our life-lasting toys. Dear Father, take care of thy children, the Boys I MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHIRT BUTTONS.- Douglas Jekkold, " Well, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning ? There—you needn't begin to whistle. But it's like you. I can't speak, that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say yon were the best creature living: now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest f No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long; it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night: besides it isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows! " Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house! You didn't swearf Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a passion? Wer'n'tyou? Well, then, I don't know what a passion is—and I think 1 ought by this time. i '*e lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that. •'But 1 know what I'll do for the future. Every button you have may drop off, and I won't so much as ^ut a thread to 'em. And I should like to know what you'll do then ? Oh, you must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you ? That's a pretty threat fo. a husband to hold out to a wife! And to such a wife as I have 72 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. been too: such a negro-slave to your buttons, as I may say I Somebody else to sew 'em, eh ? No, Caudle, no: not while I'm alive! When I'm dead—and with what I have to bear there's no knowing how soon that may be—^when I'm dead, I say—oh ! what a brute you must be to snore so! " You're not snoring? Ha! that's what you always say; but that's nothing to do with it. You must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you ? Ha 1 I shouldn't wonder. Oh, no I I should be surprised at nothing, now I Nothing at all! It's what people have always told me it would come to,—and now, the buttons have opened my eyes! But the whole world shall know of your cruelty, Mr. Caudle. After the wife I've been to you. Some¬ body else, indeed, to sew your buttons! I'm no longer to be mistress in my own house I Ha, Caudle I I wouldn't have upon my conscience what you have, for the world! I wouldn't treat anybody as you treat—no, I'm not mad! It's you, Mr. Caudle, who are mad, or bad—and that's worse! I can't even so much as speak of a shirt-button, but that I am threatened to be made nobody of in my own house I Caudle, you've a heart like a hearth-stone, you have! To threaten me, and only because a button—a button " "I was conscious of no more than this," says Caudle; "for here nature relieved me with a sweet, deep sleep." BOARDING-SCHOOL BREAKFAST.—CHAELES Dickbms. Mr. Sqdeees had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that mo¬ ment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys. " This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter ?" said Mr. Squeers, looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently so as to get an accurate view of the quantity of fluid contained in it. "That's twopenn'orth. Sir," replied the waiter. " What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London," said Mr. Squeers, with a sigh. "Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will you ?" BOARDING-SCHOOL BREAKFAST. 73 "To the wery top, Sir?" inquired the waiter. " Why, the milk will be drownded." " Never yon mind that," replied Mr. Squeers. " Serve it right for being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, did you?" " Coming directly. Sir." " You needn't hurry yourself," said Squeers; "there's plenty of time. Conquer your passions, bbys, and don't be eager after vittles." As he uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the cold beef, and recognized Nicholas. "Sit down, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers. "Here we are, a breakfasting, you see." Nicholas did not see that any one was breakfasting except Mr. Squeers; but he bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as cheerful as he could. " Oh ! that's the milk and water, is it, William ?" said Squeers. " Very good; don't forget the bread and butter presently." At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five little boys looked very eager, and followed the waiter out with their eyes; meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water. "Ah!" said that gentleman, smacking his lips, "here's rich¬ ness! Think of the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of this, little boys! A shocking thing hunger is, isn't it, Mr. Nickleby?" "Very shocking. Sir," said Nicholas. "When I say number one," pursued Mr. Squeers, putting the mug before the children, "the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink; and when I say number two the boy next him will go in, and so till we come to number five, which is the last boy. Are you ready ?" "Yes, Sir," cried all the little boys, with great eagerness. "That's right," said Squeers, calmly getting on with his break¬ fast ; " keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears, and you've conquered hum.an natur. This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr. Nickleby," said the school¬ master, turning to Nicholas, and speaking with his mouth very full of beef and toast. " Thank God for a good breakfast," said Squeers, when he had finished. " Number one may take a drink." 4 74 COMMON SCHOOL EEADINGC. ■ Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, who gave up at the same interesting mo¬ ment to number three, and the process was repeated till the milk and water terminated with number five. " And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter for three into as many portions as there were children, " you had better look sharp with your breakfast, for the born will blow in a minute or two, and then every boy leaves off." Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to eat voraciously, and in desperate haste, while the schoolmaster (who was in high good-humor after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork and looked smilingly on. BURIAL OF BAKER.—Thomas Stabb Kino. The story of our great friend's life has been eloquently told. We have borne him now to the home of the dead, to the Cemetery which, after fit services of prayer, he devoted, in a tender and tlirilling speech, to its hallowed purposes. In that address, he said: " Within these grounds public reverence and gratitude shall build the tomb of warriors and statesmen • * who have given all their lives and their best thoughts to their country." Could he forecast, seven years ago, any such fulfillment of those words as this hour revealed ? He confessed the conviction before he went into the battle which bereaved us, that his last hour was near. Could any slight shadow of his destiny have been thrown across his path, as he stood here when these grounds were dedicated, and looked over slopes unfurrowed then by the plowshare of death ? His words were prophetic. Yes, warrior and statesman, wise in council, graceful and electric as few have been in speech, ardent and vigorous in debate, but nobler than for all these quali¬ ties by the devotion which prompted thee to give more than thy wisdom, more than thy energy and weight in the hall of Senatorial discussion, more than the fervor of tliy tongue, and the fire of tliy eagle eye in the great assemblies of the people—even the blood WE MUST FIGHT. 75 of thy indomitable heart—when thy country called with a cry of peril—we receive thee with tears and pride. We find thee dearer than when thou earnest to speak to us in the full tide of life and vigor. Thy wounds through which thy life was poured are not " dumb mouths," but eloquent with the intense and perpetual appeal of thy soul. We receive thee to "reverence and grati¬ tude," as we lay thee gently to thy sleep; and we pledge to thee, not only a monument that shall hold thy name, but a memorial in the hearts of a grateful people, so long as the Pacific moans near thy resting-place, and a fame eminent among the heroes of th* republic so long as the mountains shall feed the Oregon. THOMAS STABR KING.—John G. Whittier. The great work laid upon his twoscore years Is done, and well done. If we drop our tears Who loved him as few meu were ever loved, We mourn no blighted hope nor broken plan With him whose life stands rounded and approved In the full growth and stature of a man. Mingle, 0 bells, along the Western slope, With your deep toll a sound of faith and hope 1 Wave cheerily stiU, 0 banner, half way down. From thousand-masted bay and steepled town! Let the strong organ with its proudest swell Lift the proud sorrow of the land, and tell That the brave sower saw his ripened grain. 0 East and West, 0 morn and sunset, twain No more forever 1—has he lived in vain Who, priest of Freedom, made ye one, and told Your bridal service from his lips of gold! WE MUST FIGHT.—E. D. Baker-1861. Snt, how can we retreat ? Sir, how can we make peace I Wh^ shall treat? What Commissioners? Who would go? 76 COMMON SCHOOL llEADINUB. Upon what terms? Where is to be your bonndary-line? Where the end of the principles we shall have to give up ? What wUl become of constitutional government? What will become of public liberty? What of past glories? What of future hopes? Shall we sink into the insignificance of the grave—a degraded, defeated, emasculated people, frightened by the results of one battle, and scared at the visions raised by the imagination of the Senator from Kentucky upon this floor? No, Sir; a thousand times, no! We will rally—if, indeed, our words be necessary— we will rally the people, the loyal people, of the whole country. They will pour forth their treasure, their money, their men, without stint, without measure. The most peaceable man in this body may stamp his foot upon this Senate chamber floor, as of old, a warrior and senator did, and from that single tramp there will spring forth armed legions. Shall one battle determine the fate of empire, or a dozen? the loss of one thousand men or twenty thousand; of one hundred million dollars, or five hundred millions? In a year's peace, in ten years at most, of peaceful progress, we can restore them all. There will be some privation; there will be some loss of luxury; there will be somewhat more need for labor to procure the necessaries of life. When that is said, all is said. If we have the country, the whole country, the Union, the Constitution—free government—with these will re¬ turn all the blessings of well-ordered civilization; the career of the country will be one of greatness and of glory such as, in the olden time, our fathers saw in the dim visions of years yet to rome, and such as would have been ours to-day, if it had not been for the treason for which the Senator too often seeks to apologize. NATIONAL GREATNESS.—John Bkight. I believe there is no permanent greatness to a nation except it be based upon morality. I do not care for military greatness or mili¬ tary renown. I care for the condition of the people among whom f live. There is no man in England who is less likely to speak ir- THE HONOBED DEAD. n reverently of the crown and monarchy of England than I am; but crowns, coronets, miters, military display, the pomp of war, wide colonies, and a huge empire are, in my view, all trifles light as air, and not worth considering, unless with them you can have a fair share of comfort, contentment, and happiness among the great body of the people. Palaces, baronial castles, great halls, stately mansions, do not make a nation. The nation, in every country, dwells in the cottage; and unless the light of your constitution can shine there, unless the beauty of your legislation and excellence of your statesmanship are impressed there in the feelings and condition of tlie people, rely upon it you have yet to learn the duties of government. THE HONORED DEAD.—HENRT WARD Beecher. But how bright are the honors which await those who with sacred fortitude and patriotic patience have endured all things that they might save their native land from division and from the power of corruption! The honored dead I They that die for a good cause are redeemed from death. Their names are gathered and garnered. Their memory is precious. Each place grows proud for them who were born there. There is to be, ere long, in every village and in every neighborhood, a glowing pride in its martyred heroes. Tablets shall preserve their names. Pious love shall renew their inscriptions as time and the unfeeling elements decay them. And the national festivals shall give multitudes of precious names to the orator's lips. Every moun¬ tain and hill shall have its treasured name, every river shall keep some solemn title, every valley and every lake shall cherish its honored register; and till the mountains are worn out, and the rivers forget to flow, till the clouds are weary of replenishing springs, and the springs foi-get to gush, and the rills to sing, shall their names be kept fresh with reverent honors which are in scribed upon the book of National Remembrance 78 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. GROWTH OF THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC.—Gbobgb Bancroft, I.v the fullness of time a republic rose up in the wilderness of America. Thousands of years had passed away before this child of the ages could be born. From whatever there was of good in the systems of former centuries she drew her nourishment; the wrecks of the past were her warnings. "With the deepest senti¬ ment of faith fixed in her inmost nature, she disenthralled religion from bondage to temporal power, that her worship might be worship only in spirit and in truth. The wisdom which had passed from India through Greece, with what Greece had added of her own; the jurisprudence of Koine ; the mediaeval munici¬ palities; the Teutonic method of representation; the political experience of England; the benignant wisdom of the expositors of the law of nature and of nations in France and Holland, all shed on her their selectest influence. She washed the gold of political wisdom from the sands wherever it was found; she cleft it from the rocks; she gleaned it among ruins. Out of all the discoveries of statesmen and sages, out of all the experience of past human life, she compiled a perennial political philosophy, the primordial principles of national ethics. The wise men of Europe sought the best government in a mixture of- monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; and America went behind these names to extract from them the vital elements of social forms, and blend them harmoniously in the free Commonwealth, which comes nearest to the illustration of the natural equality of all men. She intrusted the guardianship of established rights to law; the movements of reform to the spirit of the people, and Jrew her force from the happy reconciliation of both. TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.—Gerald Masset. High hopes that bum like stars sublime Go down in tho skies of Freedom; And true hearts perish in the time We bitterliest need 'em ; TO-DAY AND TO-MOKROW. And never sit we down and say " There is nothing left but sorrow." We walk the wilderness to-day, The promised land to-morrow. Our birds of song are silent now; There are no flowers blooming; But life burns in the frozen bough, And Freedom's spring is coming! And Freedom's tide comes up alway, Although we strand in sorrow, And our good bark—aground to-day, Shall float again to-morrow I Through all the long dark night of years The people's cry ascended, And earth is wet with blood and tears Fre our meek sufferings ended. The few shall not forever sway. The many toil in sorrow. The bars of Hell are strong to-day. But Christ shall rise to-morrow! Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyea With smiling futures glisten, Lo I now the day bursts up the skies. Lean out your souls and listen I The world rolls Freedom's radiant way, And ripens with our sorrow; Keep heart I who bears the cross to-day Shall wear the crown to-morrow I 0 Youth! flame earnest; still aspire With energies immortal; To many a heaven of desire Our yearning opes a porta!; And though Age wearies by the way, And hearts break in the furrow, We'U sow the golden grain to-day—. The harvest comes to-morrow I 80 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. Build up heroic lives, and all Be like the sheathen saber, Ready to flash out God's command, Oh I Chivalry of labor I Triumph and Toil are twins—and ave Joy suns the clouds of sorrow, And 'tis the martyrdom to-day Brings victory to-morrow 1 THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.—Oliver Wendell Holme*. I WROTE some lines once on a time In wondrous merry mood. And thought, as usual, men would say They were exceeding good. They were so queer, so very queer, I laughed as I would die; Albeit, in the general way, A sober man am I. I called my servant, and he came; How kind it was of him. To mind a slender man like me. He of the mighty limb I " These to the printer," I exclaimed. And, in my humorous way, I added (as a trifling jest), " There '11 be the devil to pay." He took the paper, and I watched. And saw him peep within; At the first line he read, his face Was all upon the grin. He read the next; tlie grin grew broad, A nd shot from ear to ear; He read the third; a chuckling noise I now began to hear. SKIPPEK IKESON'S KIDE, The fourth; he broke iuto a roar; The fifth; his waistband split; The sixth; he burst five buttons off, And tumbled in a fit. Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, I watched that wretched man. And since, I never dare to write As funny as I can. SKIPPEK IKESON'S KIDE.-JOHN G. Whittieb. Of all the rides since the birth of Time, Told in story or sung in rhyme,— On Apuleius's Golden Ass, Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass. Witch astride of a human hack, Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,— The strangest ride that ever was sped Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead I Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! Body of turkey, head of owl, Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl. Feathered and ruffled in every part, Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. Scores of women, old and young. Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue. Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing the shrill refrain; " Here's Find Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead 1" Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips. Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, WUd-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some antique vase. COMMON SCHOOL KEAJDllSOS. Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, With conch-shells blowing and fish-homs' twang. Over and over the Msenads sang: " Here's Find Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!" Small pity for him 1—He sailed away From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,— Sailed away from a sinking wreck. With his own town's-people on her deck 1 '• Lay by 1 lay by I" they called to him. Back he answered, " Sink or swim! Brag of your catch of fish again 1" And off he sailed through the fog and rain! Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead I Through the street, on either side. Up flew windows, doors swung wide; Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound. Hulks of old sailors run aground, Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain; '• Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!" " Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,— " What to me is this noisy ride ? What is the shame that clothes the skin To the nameless horror that lives within ? Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck. And hear a cry from a reehng deck I Hate me and curse me,—only dread The hand of God and the face of the dead I" Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead I CHABGE OF THE LIGHT HRIGADE. Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea Said, " God has touched liim I—why should we?" Said an old wife mourning her only son, " Cut the rede's tether and let him run !" So with soft relentings and rude excuse. Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, And gave him a cloak to hide him in, And left him alone with his shame ami sin. Poor Floyd Ireson, for ids hard heart. Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead 1 CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.—Alfred Tenntson. Half a league, half a league. Half a league onward. All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade: Charge for the g ins I" he said. Into the valley of death. Rode the six hundred. " Forward the Light Brigade 1" Was there a man dismayed ? Not though the soldiers knew Some one had blundered; Theirs not to make reply. Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die; Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered : Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well: \ 84 COUMOX SCHOOL KEAOIXUS. Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of hell, Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabers bare, Flashed as they turned in air. Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery smoke. Right through the line they broke • Cossack and Russian Reeled from the saber-stroke. Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not. Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them. Cannon behind them. Volleyed and thundered: Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well. Came through the jaws of death, Back from the mouth of hell. All that was left of them. Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade ? O, the wild charge they made 1 All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made I Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred 1 THE TREAD.MILL SONG.—Oliver Wendell Holmes. The stars are rolling in the sky. The earth rolls on below. And we can feel the rattling wheel Revolving as we go. THE TREADMILL SONG. Then tread away, my gallant boys, And make the axle fly; Why should not wheels go round about, Like planets in the sky ? Wake up, wake up, my duck-legged man, And stir your solid pegs! Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend, And shake your spider legs; What though you're awkward at the trade, There's time enough to learn,— So lean upon the rail, my lad. And take another turn. They've buUt us up a noble wall, To keep the vulgar out; We've nothing in the world to do, But just to walk about: So faster, now, you middle-men, And try to beat the ends,— It's pleasant work to ramble rouud Among one's lionest friends. Here, tread upon the long man's toes. He sha'n't be lazy here,— And punch the little fellow's ribs. And tweak that lubber's ear,— He's lost them both,—don't pull his hair Because he wears a scratch. But poke him in the further eye. That is n't in the patch. Hark 1 fellows, there's the supper-bell, And so our work is done; It's pretty sport,—suppose we take A round or two for fun 1 If ever tbey should turn me out. When 1 have better grown. Now hang me, but I mean to have A trcadmiU of my own nOMHOK SCHOOL BEAOIXOS. THE MODERN BELLE.—Stabk. She sits in a fashionable parlor, And rocks in her easy chair; She is clad in silks and satins, And jewels are in her hair; She winks, and giggles, and simpers, And simpers, and giggles, and winks. And though she talks but little, 'Tis a good deal more than she thinks. She lies a-bed in the morning. Till nearly the hour of noon, Then comes down snapping aud snarling Because she was called so soonl Her hair is still in papers. Her cheeks still fresh with paint; Remains of her last night's blushes. Before she intended to faint. She doats upon men unshaven. And men with " flowing hair," She's eloquent over mustaches. They give such a foreign air I She talks of Italian music. And falls in love with the mooa. And if a mouse were to meet her. She would sink away in a swoon. Her feet are so very little, Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head so very light; Iler color is made of cosmetics (Though this she will never own). Her body's made mostly of cotton, Her heart is made wholly of stone. She falls in love with a fellow, Who swells with a foreign air; He marries her for her money. She marries him for his—hair! NEW ENGLAND AND THE UNION. One of the very best matches— Both are well mated in life; She's got a fool for a husband, He's got a fool for a wife I NEW ENGLAND AND THE UNION.—S. S. Pkentiss. Gi.okious New England ! thou art still true to thy ancient fame, and worthy of thy ancestral honors. On thy pleasant valleys rest, like sweet dews of morning, the gentle recollections of our early life; around thy hills and mountains cling, like gathering mists, the mighty memories of the Eevolution; and far away in the horizon of thy past gleam, like thy own bright northern lights, the awful virtues of our pilgrim sires! But while we devote this day to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that in which our happy lot is cast. We exult in the reflection, that though we count by thousands the miles which separate us from our birthplace, still our country is the same. We are no exiles meeting upon the banks of a foreign river, to swell its waters with our homesick tears. Here floats the same banner which rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. The sons of New England are found in every State of the broad republic! In the East, the South, and the unbounded West, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion; in all its rooms we are at homei, and all who inhabit it are our brothers. To us the Union has but one domestic hearth ; its household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly devolves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; of guarding with pious care those sacred household gods. We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits of no division. In the veins of our children flows northern and southern blood : how shall it be separated?—who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of our nature ? We love the land of our adoption; so do we that of our birth. 88 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. Let us ever be true to both ; and always exert ourselves in main¬ taining the unity of our country, the integrity of the republic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of union! thrice accursed the traitorous lips which shall propose its severance! OUR FLAG.—A. L. Stone. Ringed about with the flame and smoke of rebel batteries, one solitary flag went down, torn and scathed, on the blackened and battered walls of Sumter. Then the slumberous flre burst forth and blazed up from the hearts of the people. The painted symbol of the national life, under which our populations of city and coun¬ try had walked to and fro with tranquil footstep, stirring its peaceful folds with no shouts of chivalrous and romantic deference, had been torn down and trodden under the feet of traitors. Every shred and thread of that mangled symbol was taken into the tender baptism of tbe nation's heart, and hallowed by the stern vow of the nation's consecration. It was torn down from a single flagstafi", and as the tidings of that outrage swept, ringing and thrilling, through the land, ten thousand banners were run up, on every hill-top and in every vale, on church towers and armed fortresses and peaceful private homes, till the heavens over us looked down upon more stars than they kept in their own nightly vault, and more stripes white with wrath and red with vengeance than ever flamed in the east of breaking day. And then the cry went forth. Rally round the Flag, hoys! and every instrument of martial music took up the strain, and church bells pealed it forth, and church choirs sang it as Miriam and Deborah sang of old, and mothers chanted it to their sons, and young wives gave it forth witli dewy eyes and quivering lips, and sisters and sweethearts breathed it as a tender adieu to the brave lads than whom nothing was dearer to them but God and country; and the voices gathered into a mighty chorus that swept over tbe New England hills and across the breadth of midland prairies, and dashed its waves over the summits of tbe mountains, anJ loyalty. 89 down these western slopes, till they met and mingled with the waves of the Pacific—the full unison echoing here through all your streets and homes, Rally round the Flag^ boys ! Rally once again! How well they followed the flag through four fateful years; how high they lifted it amid the tempest of battle; how often they baptized it with brave young blood and blessed it dying; how they bore it on to full and final victory, and planted it where we think no hand of man shall ever assail it again, is a story we need not tell to-day. It has been blackened and torn on many a field and in many a hurtling storm, but never dishonored. It is all the dearer and more sacred for its rents and its wounds. And though so mangled and torn, it is still one whole flag. All the stars are there. Some of them, with mad centrifugal movement, sought to break from their orbit and dismember the glorious constellation. But the centripetal force was mightier yet, and held them fast in that indivisible stellar Union. And coming through such peril of loss, and waving above us to-day so restored and complete, it has for us and mankind lessons of warning and of hope, of fidelity and duty, which are the war's legacy to the nation and to history and which we shall do well to learn and to remember. LOYALTY.—Horace Bushnell. Loyalty, then, is no subject of law or legal definition. It belongs entirely to the moral department of life. It is what a man thinks and feels and contrives, not as being commanded, but of his own accord, for his country and his country's honor—^his great sentiment, his deep and high devotion, the fire of his habitual or inborn homage to his country's welfare. It goes before all constitutions, and by the letter of all statutes, to do and sufibr, out of the spontaneous liberties of right feeling, what the petty constructions and laggard judgments of the State cannot find how to compel. It does not measure itself by what the Consti¬ tution or the laws prescribe. It has no art of contriving, for itself 90 COMMON SCHOOL EEAHINGS. and others, how to hide from the country behind the Constitution. Why the supreme law requires not one of the duties that are so genuinely great and true in loyalty; to volunteer body and life for the country; to stand fast where leaders are incompetent and armies reel away in panic before the foe; to send off to the field, as bravely consenting women do, husbands, sons, and brothers, the props and protectors of home; to wrestle day and night in prayer, as Christian souls are wont, bearing the nation as their secret burden, where, for sex, or age, or infirmity, they cannot do more; to come forward as protectors and helpers of the child¬ ren made fatherless; to give money and work and prepare expe¬ ditions of love to mitigate the hardships of the wounded in their hospitals ; to vote with religious fidelity for what will help aud sjve the country, rising wholly above the mercenary motives and selfish trammels of party—why the supreme law requires not one of these, nor, in fact, any thing else that belongs to a loyal and great soul's devotion; Low then is it the measure and bound of loyalty ? PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LAST INAUGURAL ADDRESS. Fellow-Counteymen :—On the occasion con-esponding to this, four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an im¬ pending civil war. All dreaded it—all sought to avert it. "While the Inaugural Address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in this city seeking to destroy it without war—seek¬ ing to dissolve the Union, and divide efifects, by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war; but one of them would malce war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish: and the war came. One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves—not distributed generally over the Union, but localized over the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was, somehow, the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend THE EMANCIPATION PEOCLAMATION. 91 the Union, even by war: while the Government claimed no right to do more than restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Nei¬ ther anticipated that the came of the conflict might cease with, or even before, the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for un easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men could dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered—that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. ""Woe unto the world because of offenses! for it must be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall suppose that Ameri¬ can slavery is one of those offenses which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war, as the-woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him ? Fondly do we hope—fer¬ vently do we pray—that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bond man's two hundred and fifty years of unre¬ quited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid with another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, " The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether." With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and witii all nations. ANNIVERSARY OF THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION. ■ Fung the flags out, grand and glorious. Red with blood of battles won. Over rebel bands victorious, Let them greet the rising sun. COMMON SCHOOL BEADINUH. On the land and on the ocean Let the banners blossom out, While the guns with grim devotion Thunder Freedom's anthem shout. Gone the gloom of wrong and error, Broken the oppressor's ban; Gone is Slavery's reign of terror. Freedom is the right of man. Labor's mighty diapason Fills the land from sea to sea: On our banners we emblazon Man forever more is free I On the mountain, in the valley, Kaise aloft the stripes and stars; Let the sons of labor rally. Mightier in their strength than Mars I Architect of every nation. Labor is the only king. Working out in lowly station Nobler deeds than poets sing. THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. " Three years I I wonder if she'll know me I I limp a little, and I left one arm At Petersburg; and I am grown as brown As the plump chestnuts on my little farm; And I'm as shaggy as the chestnut burs. But ripe and sweet within, and wholly hers. " The darling I how I long to see her I My heart outruns this feeble soldier pace; But I remember, after I had left, A little Charlie came to take my place; Ah I how the laughing three-year-old brown eyes (His mother's eyes) will stare with pleased surprise I COMPANY K. Supe^ they'll be at the comer watching I I sent them word that I should come to-night; The birds all knew it, for they crowed around. Twittering their welcome with a wild delight; And that old robin, with a halting wing, I saved her life three years ago last spring. Three years—perhaps I am but dreaming, For, like the pilgrim of the long ago, I've tugged a weary burden at my back. Through summer's heat and winter's blinding snow Till now I reach my home, my darling's breast, There I can roll my burden off—and rest." ******* ■When morning came the early rising sun Laid his light fingers on a soldier sleeping Where a soft covering of bright green grass Over two lowly mounds was lightly creeping, But waked him not; his was the rest eternal. Where the brown eyes reflected love supernal COMPANY K. There is a CAp in the closet, Old, tattered, and blue— 01 very slight value It may be to you; But a crown, jewel-studded. Could not buy it to-day. With its letters of honor. Brave "Co. K." The head that it sheltered Needs shelter no more: .Dead heroes make holy The trifles they wore • COMMON SCHOOL BEADINOS. So, like ehaplet of honor, Of laurel and bay. Seems the cap of the soldier, Marked "Co. K." Bright eyes have looked calmly Its visor beneath. O'er the work of the Reaper, Grim Harvester Death I Let the muster-roll, meager. So mournfully say. How foremost in danger Went "Co. K." Whose footsteps unbroken Came up to the town. Where rampart and bastion Looked threat'ningly down I Who, closing up breaches. Still kept on their way. Till guns, downward pointed. Paced "Co. K." Who faltered, or shivered 7 Who shunned battle-stroke f Whose fire was uncertain ? Whose battle-line broke ? Go, ask it of History, Years from to-day. And the record shall tell you. Not "Co. K." Though my darling is sleepinj^ To-day with the dead. And daisies and clover Bloom over his head, I smile through my tears As I lay it away— That battle-worn cap^ Lettered " Co. K." CRIMEAN CAMP SONG. CBIMEAN CAMP SONG.—BATAUD Tatlok. "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated gun of the Camp Allied Grew weary of bombarding. The dark Kedan, in silent scoff. Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny month of tlie Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. There was a pause. The guardman said "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow." They lay along the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon— Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde^ And from the banks of Shannon. They sang of love and not of fame— Forgot was Britain's glory; Each heart recalled a different name. But all sang " Annie Laurie." Voice after voice caught up the song. Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong— Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl—^her name he dared not spealt— Yet, as the song grew louder. Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers. While the Crimean vaUeys learned How English love remembers. 9d COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot and burst of shell. And bellowing of the mortars. And Irisli Nora's eyes are dim, For a singer, dumb and gory 1 And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of "Annie Laurie." Ah I soldiers, to your honored rest Your truth and valor bearing; The bravest are the tenderest— The loving are the daringi PROGRESS OF FREEDOM.-E. D. Bakeb-1860. The Government which our fathers founded will not be broken up by us. No threats of disunion, no hard names, no fear of outside feuds shall drive us from the broad, luminous path of right and duty. In the presence of God—looking up reverently to Him while we say—we Eepublicans declare that Freedom, in this great Government, is the rule, and Slavery but the exception. Slavery is the exception—marked, guarded, hedged in and pro¬ tected; there let it remain. Let it claim its just rights, and pos¬ sess tbem—if we are to be accessory to all its vices and errors— if even public opinion is not to be allowed to visit its dusky cheek too roughly—^let that be so; but beyond what is nominated in the bond, we will not and dare not go. We live in a day of light; we live in an advancing generation. We live in the pre¬ sence of the whole world. We are " like a city set on a hill which cannot he hid." The prayers and tears and hopes and sighs of all good men are with us, of us, for us, and for me, I dare not and will not be false to that position. Here, then, years, many years long gone, I took my stand by Freedom, and where in my earliest youth my feet were planted, there my manhood and my age shall march. And for one, I am not ashamed of Freedom. [ know her power. I rejoice in her majesty. I walk beneath her THE CONSTITUTION. 97 banner. I glory in her strength. I have seen Freedom in history, again and again; with mine own eyes I have watched her again and again struck down on a hundred chosen fields of battle. I have seen her friends fly from her; I have seen her foss gather around her; I have seen them bind her to the stake; I have seen them give her ashes to the winds—regathoring them again that they might scatter them yet more widely, but when her foes turned to exult, I have seen her again meet them face to face, resplendent in complete steel, and brandishing in her strong right hand a flaming sword, red with insuflerable light. And I take courage. The people gather around her. The Genius of America will at last lead her sons to Freedom. THE CONSTITUTION.—Daniel Webstek. Never did there devolve on any generation of men higher trusts than now devolve upon us, for the preservation of this Constitu¬ tion, and the harmony and peace of all who are destined to live under it. Let us make our generation one of the strongest and brightest links in that golden chain which is destined, I fondly believe, to grapple the people of all the States to this Constitution for ages to come. We have a great, popular, constitutional Government, guarded by law and by judicature, and defended by the aflfections of the people. No monarchical throne presses these States together. They live and stand upon a government popular in its form, repre¬ sentative in its character, founded upon principles of equality, and BO constructed, we hope, as to last forever. In all its history it has been beneficent. It has trodden down 00 man's liberty, it has crushed no State. Its daUy respiration is liberty and patriotism. Its youthful veins are full of enterprise, courage, and honorable love of glory and renown. Large before, the country has now, by recent events, become vastly larger. This Eepublic now extends, with avast breadth, across the whole con¬ tinent. The two great seas of the world wash the one ijnd the 6 93 COMMON SCHOOL KBADINOT'- Other shore. We realize on a mighty scale the beautiful descrip- tion of the ornamental edging of the bucklers of Achilles— " Now the broad shield complete, the artist crowned With his last hand, and poured the ocean ronnd. In living silver seemed the waves to roll. And beat the buckler's verge and hound the whole," PAUL REVEKE'S RIDE.—H, W, Longfellow, Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend,—" If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night. Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North-Church tower, as a signal-light,— One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be. Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex vfllage and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm," Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears. Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack-door. The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. And the measured tread of the grenadiers Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. To the belfry-chamber overhead. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride. On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, PAUL KEVERE'S RIDE. Now gazed on the landscape far and near, Then impetuous stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hiU, Lonely, and spectral, and somber, and still. And lo I as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light 1 He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns I A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet: That was all I And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Elindled the land into flame with its heat. It was twelve by the village clock. When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. It was one by the village clock. When he rode into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare. Gaze at him with a spectral glare. As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. Tou know the rest. In the books you have read How the British regulars fired and fled,— How the farmers gave them baU for ball. From behind each fence and farmyard-wall. Chasing tne red-coats down the lane. Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road. And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm 100 COMMON SCHOOL BEAOINOS. To every Middlesex village and farm,— A cry of defiance, and not of fear,— A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore I For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last. In the hour of darkness and peril and need. The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beat of that steed. And the midnight-message of Paul Severe THE HOUR OF DEATH.—Felicia Hemaks. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath. And stars to set—but all. Thou hast all seasons for thine own, 0 Death I Day is for mortal care. Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth. Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer» But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour. Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhehning power, A time for softer tears—but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay. And smile at thee—but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. We know when moons shall wane, Wlien summer birds from far shall cross the soa, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain- But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper wliere the violets lie 1 Is it when roses in our path grow pale ? They have one season—aU are ours to die I HYMN OF NATURE. Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home, A.nd the world calls us forth—and thou art there. Thou art where friend meets friend. Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest— Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the prineelj crest. Leaves have their time to fall. And Bowers to wither at the north-wind's breath. And stars to set—but all. Thou bast all seasons for thine own, 0 Death 1 HYMN OF NATURE.—Peabodt. God of the earth's extended plains! The dark-green fields contented lie: The mountains rise like holy towers. Where man might commune with the sky; The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below. Where shaded fountains send their streams. With joyous music in their flow. God of the dark and heavy deep I The waves lie sleeping on the sands. Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas. Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale Serenely breathes, Depart in peace. God of the forest's solemn shade! The grandeur of the lonely tree. That wrestles singly with tlie gale. Lifts up admiring eyes to thee; C-OMMOX SCUOOL KEADINGS. But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they fon% To wave on high their plumes of green. And fight their battles with the storm. God of the light and viewless air I Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their airy might. The fierce and wintry tempests blow; All—from the evening's plaintive sigh. That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry— Breathe forth the language of thy power. God of the fair and open sky I How gloriously above us springs The tented dome, of heavenly blue. Suspended on the rainbow's rings I Each brilliant star that sparkles through. Each gilded cloud that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to thee. God of the rolling orbs above 1 Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun. And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven. Were kindled at tliy burning throne. God of the world I the hour must come, And Nature's self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay; Her incense fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below. MAUD MULLER. 103 m-VUD MULLER.—John G. Wbittieb. Maud Mulleb, on a summer's day, Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But when she glanced to the far-off town. White from its hill-slope looking down. The sweet song died, and a vague unrest, And a nameless longing filled her breast,— A wish that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid; And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up. And filled for him her small tin cup. And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. "Thanks," said the Judge—" a sweeter draught From a fairer hand, was never quaffed." He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees; COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. Tlien tnlked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, And her graceful ankles bare and brown; And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me I That I the Judge's bride might be I " He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. " My father would wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. ■' I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, .\nd the baby should have a new toy each day. •' .Vnd I'd feed the liungry, and clothe the poor. And all should bless me who left the door." The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill. And saw Maud Muller standing still. " A form more fair, a face more sweet. Ne'er has it been my lot to meet. " And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair. •' Would she were mine, and I to-day Like her, a harvester of hay 1 " No doubtflil balance of rights and wrongs. Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues; MAUD MULLER. 105 " But low of cattle and song of birds, And health, and quiet, and loving words." But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, And his mother vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on. And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon. When he hummed in court an old love-tune. And the young girl mused beside the well. Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower. Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, lie watched a picture come and go: And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Oft when the wine in his glass was red, lie longed for the wayside well instead; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. And the proud man sighed with secret pain, " Ah, that I were free again 1 " Free as when I rode that day. Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." She wedded a man unlearned and poor. And many children played round her door. But care, and sorrow, and childbirth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft, when summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow-lot, And she heard the little spring-brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall. 106 COMMON SCHOOL, READINGS. In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein, And, gazing down with timid grace. She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. The tallow candle an astral burned ; And for him who sat by the chimney iug. Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw. And joy was duty, and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, " It might have been." Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge' God pity them both, and pity us all. Who vainly the dreams of youth recall: For of all sad words of tongue and pen. The saddest are these—" It might have been I" Ah, well 1 for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes; And in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away I 1/ OUR DOTY TO OUR COUNTRY.—Daniel Websteu. OiiR history and our condition, all that is gone before us, and all that surrounds us, authorize the belief, that popular govern¬ ments, though subject to occasional variations, in form perhaps not always for the better, may yet, in their general character, be as durable and permaneut as other systems. We know, indeed, PALUEBSTON AND LINCOLN. 107 that in our country any other is impossible. The principle of free governments adheres to the American soil. It is bedded in it, immovable as its mountains. * And let the sacred obligations which have devolved on this generation, and on us, sink deep into our hearts. Those who established our liberty and our government are daily dropping from among us. The great trust now descends to new hands. Let us apply ourselves to that which is presented to us, as our appropriate object. We can win no laurels in a war for independ¬ ence. Earlier and worthier hands have gathered them all. Nor are there places for us by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other founders of States, '^ur fathers have filled them. But there remains to us a great duty of defense and preservation; and there is opened to us a noble pursuit, to which the spirit of the times strongly invites us. Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be the age of improvement. In a day of peace, let us advance the arts of peace and the works of peace. 'Let us develop the resources of our land, call forth its powers, build up its insti¬ tutions, promote all its great interests, and see whether we also, in our day and generation, may not perform something worthy to be remembered. Let us cultivate a true s[)irit of union and harmony. In pursuing the great objects which our condition points out to us, let us act under a settled conviction, and an habitual feeling, that these twenty-four States are one country. Let our conceptions be enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let us extend our ideas ov^ the whole of the vast field in which we are called to act. Let our object be. Our Country, Our Wliole Country, and Nothing But Our Country. And, by the blessing of God, may that country itself become a vast and splendid monu¬ ment, not of oppression and terror, but of Wisdom, of Peace, and of Liberty, upon which the world may gaze with admiration for¬ ever! PALMERSTON AND LINCOLN.—GEORGE BANCROrT. Palmebston traced his lineage to the time of the Conqueror; Lincoln went back only to his grandfatlier. Palmerston received 108 COMMON SCUOOL READINGS. his education from the best scholars of Harrow. Edinburgh, and Cambridge; Lincoln's early teachers were the silentvforest, the prairie, the river, and the stars. Palmerston was in public life for sixty years; Lincoln but for a tenth of that time. Palmerston was a skillful guide of an established aristocracy; Lincoln a leader or rather a companion of the people; Palmerston was exclusively an Englishman, and made his boast in the House of Commons tliat the interest of England was his Shibboleth; Lincoln thought always of mankind as well as his own country, and served human nature itself. Palmerston, from his narrowness as an Englishman, did not endear his country to any one court or to any one people, but rather caused uneasiness and dislike; Lincoln left America more beloved than ever by all the peoples of Europe. Palmerston was self-possessed and adroit in reconciling the conflicting claims of the factions of the aristocracy; Lincoln, frank and ingenious, knew how to poise himself on the conflicting opinions of the people. Palmerston was capable of insolence toward the weak, quick to the sense of honor, not heedful of right; Lincoln rejected counsel given only as a matter of policy, and was not capable of being willfully unjust. Palmerston, essentially superficial, de¬ lighted in banter, and knew how to divert grave opposition by pl.ayful levity. Lincoln was a man of infinite jest on his lips, with saddest earnestness at his heart. Palmerston was a fair represen¬ tative of the aristocratic liberality of the day, choosing for his tribunal, not the conscience of humanity, but the House of Com¬ mons ; Lincoln took to heart the eternal truths of liberty, obeyed them as the commands of Providence, and accepted the human race as the judge of his fidelity. Palmerston did nothing that will endure; his great achieve¬ ment, the separation of Belgium, placed that little kingdom where it must gravitate to France; Lincoln finished a work which all time cannot overthrow. Palmerston is a shining example of the ablest of a cultivated aristocracy; Lincoln shows the genuine fruits of institutions where the laboring man shares and assists to form the great ideas and designs of his country. Palmerston wa.s buried in Westminster Abbey by the order of his Queen, and was followed by the British aristocracy to his grave, which after a few years will hardly be noticed by the side of the graves of Fox and Cltatham ; Lincoln was followed by the sorrow of his country DEFENCE OP CO^IMO:?. SCHOOLS. 109 across the continent to his resting-place in the llfeart of the Mis¬ sissippi valley, to be remembered through all time'by his country¬ men, and by all the peoples of the world. S MISSION. But ere the set of another sun The hard-fought field must be lost or won; And the living must mingle again in strife. The final struggle for death or life. God grant the right may win the fight Before tlie fall of another night I God grant that there on evening air Tictorious freemen raise their prayer. MAN'S MISSION. Human lives are silent teaching, Be they earnest, mild, and true; Noblest deeds are noblest preaching From the consecrated Few. Poet-priests their anthems singing. Hero-sword on corselet ringing. When Truth's banner is unfurled; Youthful preachers, genius-gifted. Pouring forth their souls uplifted. Till their preaching stirs the world. Each must work as God has given. Hero-hand, or poet-soul; Work is duty while we live in This weird world of sin and dole. Gentle Spirits, lowly kneeling. Lift their white hands up appealing To the throne of Heaven's King; Stronger natures, culminating In great actions, incarnating What another can but sing. Pure and meek-eyed as an angel. We must strive, must agonize; We must preach the saints' evangel, Ere we claim the saintly prize; Work for all, for work is holy; We fulfill our mission solely J18 COMUON SCHOOL BEADIKGS. When, like Heaven's arch above, Blend our souls in one emblazon. And the social diapason Sounds the perfect chord of lovo. Life is combat, life is striving. Such our destiny below. Like a scythed chariot driving Through an onward-pressing foe. Deepest sorrow, scorn, and trial, Will but teach us self-denial; Like the Alchemists of old. Pass the ore through cleansing Are, If our Spirits would aspire To be God's refined gold. We are struggling in the Morning With the Spirit of the Night, But we trample on it scorning, Lo I the eastern sky is bright. We must watch. The day is breaking; Soon, like Memnon's statue, waking With tbe sunrise into sound. We shall raise our voice to Heaven, Chant a hymn for conquest given. Seize the palm nor heed the wound. We must bend our thoughts to earnest, Would we strike the Idols down; With the purpose of the sternest. Take the Cross and leave the Crown. Sufierings human life can haUow, Sufferings lead to God's Valhalla— Meekly bear, but humbly try; Like a man, with soft tears fiowing, Like a God, with conquest glowing; So to live, and work, and diet THE CHILDREN. 119 THE CHILDREN. When the lessons and tasks are all ended. And the school for the day is dismissed, The little ones gather around me To bid me " Good-night" and be kissed. Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in their tender embrace ; Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine of love on my face. And when they are gone, I sit dreaming Of my childhood—too lovely to last— Of joy that my heart will remember While it walres to the pulse of the Past; Ere the world and its wickedness made mo A partner of Sorrow and Sm, When the glory of God was about me. And the glory of gladness within. My heart grows as weak as a woman's. And the fount of my feelings will flow. When I think of the paths, steep and stony, Where the feet of the dear ones must go; Of the mountains of sm hanging o'er them. Of the tempest of Fate blowing wild. Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child I They are idols of hearts and of households, They are angels of God in disguise; His sunlight stiU sleeps in their tresses. His glory still gleams in their eyes. Oh, those truants from home and from heaven. They have made me more manly and mild, And I know now how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child. 1 ask not a life for the dear ones. All radiant, as others have done, But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun. 120 COMMOIf SCHOOL READINGS. I would pray God to guard them from evil— But my prayer would bound back to myself; Ah, a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge— They have taught me the goodness of God. My heart is the dungeon of darkness Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction. My love is the law of the school T shall leave the old house in the autumn. To traverse its threshold no more; Ah, how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door; I shall miss the " Good-nights," and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee; The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning for me. I shall miss them at morn and at even— Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low hum of their voices. And the tramp of their delicate feet- When the lessons of Life are all ended. And Death says: " The school is dismissed I" May the little ones gather around me, To bid me good-night and be kissed. EXTRACTS FROM WHITTIER'S BALLAD, " THE RANGER." Robert Rawlin I—Frosts were falling When the ranger's horn was calling Through the woods to Canada. Gone the winter's sleet and snowing, Gtone the spring-time's bud and blowing. EXTEACTS FROM WHITTIEE'S BALLAD. 121 Gone the summer's harvest mowing, And again the fields are gray. Yet away, he's away 1 Paint and fainter hope is growing In the hearts that mourn his stay. Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer. Does the golden-locked fruit-bearer Through his painted woodlands stray, Than where hillside oaks and beeches Overlook the long, blue reaches. Silver coves and pebbled beaches. And green isles of Casco Bay: Nowhere day, for delay, ■With a tenderer look beseeches, " Let me with my charmed earth stay." On the grain-lands of the mainlands Stands the serried corn like train-bands. Plume and pennon rustling gay ; Out at sea, the islands wooded. Silver birches, golden-hooded. Set with maples, crimson-blooded. White sea-foam and sand-hills gray. Stretch away, far away. Dim and dreary, over-brooded By the hazy autumn day. Gayly chattering to the clattering Of the brown nuts downward pattering Leap the squirrels, red and gray. On the grass-land, on the fallow. Drop the apples, red and yellow; Drop the russet pears and mellow. Drop the red leaves all the day. And away, swift away. Sun and cloud, o'er hiU and hollow, Chasing, weave their web of play. " Martha Mason I Martha Mason I Prithee tell us of the reason "Why you mope at home to-day: Surely smiling is not sinning; Leave your quilling, leave your spinning ; 122 COMMOX SCHOOL EEADING®. What is all your store of linen, If your heart is never gay ? Come away, come away I Never yet did sad beginniug Make the task of life a play. " Vain your calling for Rob RawlinI Some red squaw his moose-meat's broiling. Or some French lass, singing gay. Just forget as he's forgetting: What avails a life of fretting ? If some stars must needs be setting, Others rise as good as they." " Cease, I pray; go your way 1" Martha cries, her eyelids wetting: '• Foul and false the words you say I" When the shadows vail the meadows, And the sunset's golden ladders Sink from twilight's walls of gray— From the window of my dreaming, I can see his sickle gleaming. Cheery-voiced can hear him teaming Down the locust-shaded way; But away, swift away. Fades the fond, delusive seeming. And I kneel again to pray. When the growing dawn is showing, And the barn-yard cock is crowing. And the horned moon pales away; From a dream of him awaking. Every sound my heart is making Seems a footstep of his taking; Then I hush the thought and say, "Nay, away, he's away!" Ah! nly heart, my heart is breaking For the dear ones far away. look up, Martha I worn and swarthy, Glows a face of manhood worthy ; " Robert 1" " Martha 1" all they say. O'er went wheel and reel together, Little cared the owner whither; A COMMON-SCHOOL EDUCATION. 123 Heart of lead is heart of feather, Noon of night Is noon of day I Come away 1 come away I When such lovers meet each other Why should prying Idlers stay ? Quench the timber's falling embers, Quench the red leaves in December's Hoary rime and chilling spray. But the hearth shall kindle clearer. Household welcomes sound sincerer. Heart to loving heart draw nearer. When the bridal bells shall say: Hope and pray, trust alway; Life is sweeter, love is dearer. For the trial and delay 1 A COMMON-SCHOOL EDUCATION.—HOBACB Bushnell. The chartered privileges of education furnished by our Col¬ leges can be more highly valued by no one than myself. But still it should be understood that an educated man is a man alive. Many a boy who does not know Latin from Dutch, and has never seen an^ University but his mother's and the District School, having attained to the distinction of a living soul, is, in the highest sense, educated. Could this, which is the only just view of the case, be once established in the public mind, it would do much to encourage attempts at self-education, and would greatly endear the system of Common Schools. Many years ago, in an obscure country school in Massachu¬ setts, an humble, conscientious, but industrious boy was to be seen, and it was evident to all that his soul was beginning to act and thirst for some intellectual good. He was alive to knowl¬ edge. >1 Next we see him an apprentice on the shoemaker's bench, with a book spread open before him. Next we see him put forth, on foot, to settle in a remote town in this State, and pur¬ sue his fortunes there as a shoemaker, his tools being carefully 124 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. sent on their way before him. In a short time he is busied in the post of County Surveyor for Litchfield County, being the most accomplished mathematician in tliat section of the State. Before he is twenty-five years old we find him supplying the astronomical matter of an almanac published in New York. Next he is admitted to the bar, a self-qualified lawyer. Now he is found on the bench of the Superior Court. Next he becomes a member of the Continental Congress. There he is made a member of the Committee of Six to prepare the Declaration of Independence. He continues a member of Congress for nearly twenty years, and is acknowledged to be one of the most useful men and wisest counsellors of the land. »At length, having dis¬ charged every office with a perfect ability, and honored, in every sphere, the name of a Christian,-he dies regretted and loved by his State and Nation. Now this Eoger Sherman, I maintain, was an educated man. Do you ask for other examples? I name, then, "Washington, who had only a common domestic education. I name Franklin; I name Bittenhouse; I name "West; I name Fulton ; I name Bowditch ; all Common School men, and some of them scarcely that, but yet all edv-cated men, because they were made alive. ' Besides these I know not any other seven names of our countrymen that can weigh against them. These are truly American names, and there is the best of reasons to believe that a generous system of public education would pro¬ duce many such. Let them appear, and if they shall embody so much force, so much real freshness and sinew of character as to decide for themselves what shall be called an education, or shall even be able to laugh at the dwarfed significance of College learning, I know not that we shall have any reasons for repining. PUBLIC SCHOOLS THE LIFE OF THE NATION \ IiTTELLiGENT free laborers are working out the great problem of civilizing this continent; intelligent fighting men are consolida¬ ting its Government; and, underlying all, the public schools are PPBUC SCHOOLS THE LIFE OF THE NATION. 12£ silently forming a sound national character. Free as air, vital as electricity, and vivifying as the sunlight, they act on the organic forces of the n.ation, as these three physical agents build up the life of the globe out of inorganic matter. The insurrection will be put down by the sword and the bayo¬ net; treason will be rooted out by armed men ; but even then the only strength of the Union will be in a public opinion based on an intelligent comprehension of national affairs by the people of the whole nation. Unless the laws of the several States are administered by rulers chosen by electors whose ballots fall vitalized by intelligence, no standing armies, no Constitutions, can hold them in harmonious spheres around the central sun of a representative government. They will shoot off in eccentric orbits into the unfathomable darkness of dissolution and chaos, never to return. It is a Prussian maxim, " Whatever you would have appear in the life of the nation you must put into the schools." If the schools inculcate, with intellectual training, love of country, cor¬ dial submission to lawful authority, moral rectitude some knowl¬ edge of the theory and organic structure of our government, and a true spirit of patriotism, then shall our citizens be truly men, and our electors princes indeed. When I consider the power of the public schools, how they have disseminated intelligence in every village and hamlet and log house in the nation, how they are molding the plastic ele¬ ments of the next generation into the symmetry of modern civili¬ zation, I cannot think that our country is to be included in the long list " Of nations scattered like the chaff Blown from the threshing-floor of God." I hold nothing in common with those faint-hearted patriots who are beginning to despair of the future of our country. The latent powers of the nation are just coming into healthful and energetic action, and, in spite of treason, are moving the republic onward and upward to a higher stand-point of liberty. What though it comes to us amid the stornc of battle, and the shock of contending armies 1 126 COMMON SCHOOL EEADXNGS. " Nat as we hoped!—but what are we I Above our feeble dreams and plans God lays, with wiser hand than man's, The corner-stones of liberty." The Anglo-Saxon race, even in its ruder years, always possessed an inherent power of independence and self-government. Tel me not that now, when this stubborn vitality and surplus energy, expended so long in overrunning the world, are guided by intel¬ ligence and refined by Christianity, this same race is to be stricken with the palsy, because of a two years' war. The two millions of boys now in the public schools, constitute a great " Union League," electrified by intelligence, cemented by the ties of one blood, one language, one course of instruction— strong in its power to perpetuate the Union as the great "Union Leagues " which the citizens of the nation are now organizing for its defense. Long before the coini)Ietion of the Pacific Railroad, these new recruits, dr lled in the public schools, will push their way across the continent, as the Saxons swarmed out from their northern hives, a vast army of occupation, cultivating the " Na¬ tional Homestead," and fortifying the whole line of communica¬ tion by a cordon of school-houses that shall hold it forever as the heritage of free labor, free men, and a free nation. So shall the Northern pioneer go joyful on his way. To wed Penobscot's waters to San Francisco's bay; To make the rugged places smooth, to sow the vales with grain. And bear, with liberty and law, the Bible iu his train; The mighty West shall bless the East, and sea shall answer sea. And mountain unto mountain call. Praise Gou, fob we are free I THE BELLS.—Edgar A. Pob. Hear the sledges with the bells, silver bells— What a world of merriment their melody foretells I How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, in the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight— THE BELLSe 12' Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme. To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the beUs, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding-bells, golden bells. What a world of happiness their harmony foretells 1 Through the balmy air of night how they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes, all in tune. What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats on the moon 1 0, from out the sounding cells. What a gush of euphony voluminously wells 1 How it swells, how it dwells On the Future 1 how it tells of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing of the bells, bells, bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. Hear the loud alarum-bells, brazen bells 1 What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night how they scream out their affright I Too much horrified to speak, they can only shriek, shriek. Out of tune. In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire. In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic lire Leaping higher, higher, higher, with a desperate desire. And a resolute endeavor, now—now to sit or never. By the side of the pale-faced moon. 0, the bells, bells, bells, what a tale their terror tells of Despair 1 How they clang, and clash, and roar! what a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air I Tet the ear it fully knows. By the twanging and the clanging, how the danger ebbs and flows; Tet the ear distinctly tells. In the-jangling, and the wrangling, how the danger sinks and swell.s. By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells— In the clamor and the clangor of the bells 1 Hear the tolling of the bells, iron bells 1 What a world of solemn thought their monody compels t 128 COMMOTT SCHOOL READINGS. In the silence of the night, how we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone I For every sound that floats from the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people—ah, the people; they that dwell up in the steeple All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, in that muffled monotone. Feel a glory in so rolling on the human heart a stone— They are neither man nor woman; they are neither brute nor human, They are ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; and he rolls, roll.s, rolls, rolls, A paean from the bells I and his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! and he dances aind he yeUs; Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Eunic rhyme, To the paean of the bells, of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Eunic rhyme. To the throbbing of the bells, of the bells, bells, bells— To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, as he knells, knells, knells. In a happy Eunic rhyme, to the rolling of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, to the tolling of the bells. Of the bells, bells, bells, beUs, bells, beUs, bells— To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. THE DAY IS DONE.—H. W. Longfellow. The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist. And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist. A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain. And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles rain. THE DAY IS , DONE. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay. That shall soothe this restless feeling. And banish the thoughts of day. Kot from the grand old masters. Not from the bards sublime. Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For like strains of martial music. Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest Read from some humbler poet. Whose songs gushed from his heart. As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor. And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wbnderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care. And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choiee. And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music^ And the cares, that infest the day. Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. 130 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. CHILDREN. —Longfellow. Come to me, 0 ye children 1 For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Fe open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun. Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine^ In your thoughts the brooklet's flow. But in mine is the wind of autumn And the first fall of the snow. Ah I what would the world be to us If the children were no more 7 We should dread the desert behind us Wor.se than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food. Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood,— What to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. Come to me, 0 ye children 1 And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your snnny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings. And the wisdom of our hooks. When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks 1 BRIMSTONE MORNING AT DOTHEBOYS SCHOOL. 131 Ye are better than all the ballads That ever wore sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. BRIMSTONE MORNING AT DOTHEBOYS SCHOOL. Chables Dickers. Mrs. Squeers stood at one of the desks, presiding over an im¬ mense basin of brimstone and treacle, of which delicious compound she administered a large installment to each boy in succession, using for the purpose a common wooden spoon, which might have been originally manufactured for some gigantic top, and which widened every young gentleman's mouth considerably, they being all obliged, under heavy corporal penalties, to take in the whole of the bowl at a gasp. There was a long row of boys waiting, with countenances' of no pleasant anticipation, to be treacled, and another file who had just escaped from the infliction, making a variety of wry mouths indicative of any thing but satisfaction. The whole were attired in such motley, ill-assorted, extraordinary garments, as would have been irresistibly ridiculous, but for the foul appearance of dirt, disorder, and disease, with which they were associated. " Now," said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane, which made half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, " is that physicking over?" "Just over," said Mrs. Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry, and tapping the crown of his head with the wooden spoon to restore him. " Here, you Smike ; take away now. Look sharp." Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs. Squeers. having called up a little boy with a curly head, and wiped her hands upon it, hurried after him into a species of wash-house, where there was a small fire and a large kettle, together with a number of little wooden bowls which were arranged upon a board. Into these bowls Mrs. Squeers, assisted by the hungry servant, 132 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. poured a brown composition which looked like diluted pincush¬ ions without the covers, and was called porridge. A minute wedge of brown bread was inserted in each bowl, and when they had eat their porridge by means of the bread, the boys eat the bread itself, and had finished their breakfast; whereupon Mr. Squeers said, in a solemn voice, " For what we have received may the Lord make us truly thankful!"—and went away to his own. After some half-hour's delay Mr. Squeers reappeared, and the boys took their places and their books, of which latter commodity the average might be about one to eight learners. A few minutes having elapsed, during which Mr. Squeers looked very profound, as if he had a perfect apprehension of what was inside all the books, and could say every word of their contents by heart if he only chose to take the trouble, that gentleman called up the first class. Obedient to this summons, there ranged themselves in front of the schoolmaster's desk half-a-dozen scarecrows, out at knees and elbows, one of whom placed a torn and filthy book beneath his learned eye. "This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby," said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. " We'll get up a Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now, then, Where's the first boy ?" " Please, Sir, he's cleaning the back parlor window," said the temporary head of the plvlosophical class. "So he is, to be sure," rejoined Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode of teaching, Nickleby ; the regular education sys¬ tem. 0-1-e-a-n, clean, verb active, to make bright, to scour. W-i-n, win, d-e-r, der, winder, a casement. When the boy knows this out of book, he goes and does it. It's just the same principle as the use of the globes. Where's the second boy?" " Please, Sir, he's weeding the garden," replied a small voice. "To be sure," said Squeers, by no means disconcerted. " So he is. B-o-t, hot, t-i-n, tin, bottin, n-e-y, ney, bottinney, noun substan¬ tive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned that bottinney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's our system, Nickleby : what do you think of it ?" "It's a very useful one, at any rate," answered Nicholas, signi¬ ficantly. mks. caudle's curtain lecture on umbrellas. 133 " I believe yon," rejoined Squeers, not remarking the emphasis of his usher. " Third hoy, what's a horse ?" " A beast. Sir," replied the hoy. " So it is," said Squeers. " Ain't it, Nicklehy ?" " I believe there is no doubt of that. Sir," answered Nicholas. " Of course there isn't," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows, or else where's the use of having grammars at all?" " "Where, indeed 1" said Nicholas, abstractedly. " As you're perfect in that," resumed Squeers, turning to the boy, " go and look after mine, and rub him down well, or I'll rub you down." MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON UMBRELLAS. Douglas Jerrold. That's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What loere you to do f Why, let him go home in the r.ain, to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could spoil. Take cold, indeed I He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have better taken cold than take our only umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear the rain? And as I'm alive, if it isn't St. Swithin's day! Do you hear it against the windows? Nonsense; you don't impose upon me. You can't be asleep with such a shower as that? Do you hear it, I say? Oh, you do hear it! Well, that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stirring all the time out of the house. Pooh ! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle. Don't insult me. He return the umbrella! Anybody would think you were born yes¬ terday. As if anybody ever did return an umbrella! There—do you hear it? Worse and worse! Cats and dogs, and for six weeks—always six weeks. And no umbrella! But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh, yes; I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow— you knew that; and you did it on purpose. Don't tell me; yon hate me to go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. 134 COMMOJT SCHOOL HEADINGS. But doa't you tliinkit, Mr. Caudle. No, Sir; if it comes down ic buckets-full, I'll go all the more. No; and I won't have a cab. Where do you think the money's to come from ? You've got nice high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed I Cost me six¬ teen pence at least—sixteen pence! two-and-eightpence, for there's back again. Cabs, indeed I I should like to know who's to pay for 'em ; /can't pay for'em, and I am sure you can't, if you go on as you do; throwing away your property, and beggaring your children—buying umbrellas 1 Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle ? I say, do you hear it ? But I don't care—I'll go to mother's to-morrow: I will; and what's more, I'll walk every step of the way,—and you know that will give me my death. Don't call me a foolish woman, it's you that's the foolish man. Ugh! I do look forward with dread for to-morrow! How I am to go to mother's I'm sure I can't tell. But if I die, I'll do it. No, Sir; I won't borrow an umbrella. No; and you shan't buy one. Now, Mr. Caudle, only listen to this: if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it in the street. I'll have my own umbrella, or none at all. Ha! and it was only last week I had a hew nozzle put to that umbrella. I'm sure, if I'd have known as much as I do now, it might have gone without one for me. Paying for new nozzles, for other people to laugh at you. Oh, it's all very well for you—you can go to sleep. You've no thought of your poor patient wife, and your own dear children. You think of nothing but lending umbrellas 1 Men, indeed!—call themselves lords of the creation!—pretty lords, when they can't even take care of an umbrella! HOW THE MONEY GOES. How goes tlie Money?—Well, rm sure it isn't hard to tell; It goes for rent, and water-rates. For bread and butter, coal and grates, Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and hose,— And that's the way the Money goes I SAINT JONATHAN. 135 How goes the Money?—Nay, Don't everybody know the way 7 It goes for bonnets, coats, and capes, Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, crapes. Shawls, ribbons, furs, and furbelows,— And that's the way the Money goes I How goes the Money ?—Sure, I wish the ways were something fewer; It goes for wages, taxes, debts; It goes for presents, goes for bets. For paint, pomades, and eau de rose,— And that's the way the Money goes I How goes the Money ?—Now, Tve scarce begun to mention how; It goes for laces, fe.vthers, rings. Toys, dolls—and other baby-things. Whips, whistles, candies, beUs, and bows,— And that's the way the Money goes I How goes the Money?—Come, I know it doesn't go for rum; It goes for schools and Sabbath chimes; It goes for charity—sometimes; For missions, and such things as those, And that's the way the Money goes I How goes the Money ?—There, I'm out of patience, I declare; It goes for plays, and diamond-pins. For public alms, and private sins, For hollow shams, and silly shows,— And that's the way the Money goes I SAINT JONATHAN.—John G. Saxx, There's many an excellent saint,— St. George, with a dragon and lance; St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint; St. Vitus, the saint of the dance; 136 COMMON SCHOOL RKADINGS. St. Dennis, the saint of the Gaul; St. Andrew, the saint of the Scot; But Jonathan, youngest of all, Is the mightiest saint of the lot I He wears a most serious face. Well worthy a martyr's possessing; But it isn't all owing to grace, ■ But partly to thinking and guessing; In sooth, our American saint Has rather a secular bias. And I never have heard a complaint Of his being excessively pious I He's fond of financial improvement. And is always extremely inclined To be starting some practical movement For mending the morals and mind. Do you ask me what wonderful labors St. Jonathan ever has done To rank with his calendar neighbors ? Just listen, a moment, to one; One day when a flash in the air Split his meeting-house fairly asunder. Quoth Jonathan, " Now—I declare— They're dreadfully careless with thunder I" So he fastened a rod to the steeple ; And now, when the lightning comes round. He keeps it from building and people. By running it into the groumd 1 One morning, while taking a stroll. He heard a lugubrious cry— Like the shriek of a sufierinc soul— In a hospital standing near by; Anon, such a terrible groan Saluted St. Jonathan's ear. That his bosom—which wasn't of ston^— Was melted with pity to hear. ONCE I WAS PORE. That night he invented a charm So potent, that folks who employ it, In losing a leg or an arm. Don't suffer, but rather enjoy it I A miracle, you must allow. As good as the best of his brothers',— And blessed St. Jona.than now Is patron of cripples and mothers I There's many an excellent saint,— St. George, with the dragon and lance; St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint; St. Vitus, the saint of the dance; St. DennLs, the saint of the Gaul; St. Andrew, the saint of the Scot; But Jonathan, youngest of aU, Is the mightiest saint of the lotl ONCE I WAS PURE. OI the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling the sky and the earth below; Over the housetops, over the street. Over the heads of the people you meet. Dancing, Flirting, Skimming along, Beautiful snow! It can do nothing wrong, Flying to kiss a fair Lady's cheek, Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak. Beautiful snow from the heaven above Pure as an angel, as gentle as love 1 01 the snow, the beautiful snow. How the flakes gather and laugh as they go I Whirling about in its maddening fun. It plays in its glee with every one. Chasing, Laughing, Hurrying by, *t lights up the face and it sparkles the eyel 138 1.0MM0N SCHOOL KEADIXGS. And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals that eddy around; The town is alive, and its heart in a glow, To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. How the wild crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humor and song I How the gay sledges, Uke meteors, flash by, Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye; Ringing, Swinging, Dashing they go. Over the crest of the beautiful snow; Snow so pure when it falls from the sky. To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by, To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet. Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. Once I was pure as the snow—but I fell I Fell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell; FeU to be trampled as filth in the street; Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat; Pleading, Cursing, Dreading to die. Selling my soul to whoever would buy. Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread. Hating the living and fearing the dead; Merciful God 1 have I fallen so low ? And yet I was once like the beautiful snow. Once I was fair as the beautiful snow. With an eye like its crystal, a heart like its glow; Once I was loved for my innocent grace— Flattered and sought for the charms of my face; Father, Mother, Sisters all, God, and myself, I have lost by my fall; The veriest wretch that goes shivering by. Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh; For all that is on or above me, I know. There is notliing as pure as the beautiful snow. BESIGNATION. 139 How strange it should be that this beautiful snow Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go I How strange it should be, when the night comes agaia. If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, Fainting, Freezing, Dying alone, Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan To be heard in the crazy town. Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down, To lie and to die in my terrible woe, "With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow RESIGNATION.—H. "W. Longfellow. There is no flock, however watched and tended. But one dead lamb is there 1 There is no flreside, liowsoe'er defended. But has one vacant chair 1 The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, "Will not be comforted 1 Let us be patient 1 These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise. But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. "We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps, "What seem to us but sad. funereaUlapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death I "What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the 1 fe elysian, "Whose portal we call Death. 140 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. She is not dead,—the child of our affection,— But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led. Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Bay after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing. Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives. Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken. May reach her where she lives. Not as a chiid shall we again behold her; For where, with raptures wild. In our embraces we again enfold her. She will not be a child; But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face. And though at times, impetuous with emotimi And anguish long suppressed. The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean. That cannot be at rest,— We wiU be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing. The grief that must have way. souls, not stations. 141 SOULS, NOT STATIONS. Who shall judge a man from manners? Who shall know him by his dress 1 Paupers may be fit for princes, Princes fit for something less. Crumpled shirts and dirty jacket May beclothe the golden ore Of the deepest thoughts and feelings- Satin vests could do no more. There are springs of crystal nectar Ever welling out of stone ; There are purple buds and golden. Hidden, crushed, and overgrown. God, who counts by souls, not dresses, Loves and prospers you and me, "While he values thrones, the highest, But as pebbles in the sea. Man, upraised above his fellows. Oft forgets his fellows then; Masters—rulers—lords, remember That your meanest kinds are men I Men by labor, men by feeling. Men by thought and men by fame. Claiming equal rights to sunshine In a man's ennobling name. There are foam-embroidered oceans. There are little weed-clad rills. There are feeble inch-high saplings, There are cedars on the hills; God, who counts by souls, not stations, Loves and prospers you and me; Por to him all vain distinctions Are as pebbles in the sea. Toiling hands alone are builders Of a nation's wealth and fame; Titled laziness is pensioned. Fed and fattened on the same: 14-2 COMMON SCHOOL BEADIN6S. By the sweat of others' foreheads Living only to rejoice, While the poor man's outraged freedom Vainly lifteth up its voice. Truth and justice are eternal, Bom with loveliness and light; Sunset's wrongs shall never prosper While there is a sunny right; Grod, whose world-wide voice is singing Boundless love to you and me. Sinks oppression writh its titles, As the pebbles in the sea. PROGRESS.—Frank Soulr. Progress, Liberty's proud teacher, Progress, Labor's sure reward * Of a purer faith the preacher. Sanctioned by the world's accord.- Crowned with attributes eternal, Bounteous his liberal hand. Making Flora's gardens vernal,— Spreading harvests o'er the land. In his eye the glance of Mars, In his arm the strength of Jove, Every mighty footstep jars Eingly throne and priestly grov& Gathering in his earnest train Emblems of the sea and main. Rushing steam and snowy sail, Plow and barrow, scythe and flail. Anvil and the glowing forge. Rocker in the golden gorge, implements of Factory room— Spinning-jenny, shuttle, loom, Quarrier's chisel, crow, and sledge. Blasting drill and wrenching wedgp KATIE LEE AND WnXIE GEEY. 143 From the ocean, from the valley. Gathering up the trades of men, Calling Labor's sons to rally To its fit pursuit again. Calling on the muscles brawny Made to labor and to dare— On the arms, embrowned and tawny, On those delicate and fair. Calling all who feel the burden Of the proud oppressor's rod— Calling all to win the guerdon Promised Industry, from God: Freedom for the soul aspiring. Free limbs to the toiling train. Free-will to the mind untiring. Free thoughts to the thinking brain. Burdened with the long oppression Dominant in every zone, Here shall Freedom be Progression, And its entire all our own. Light the torch and raise the altar For the toiling, teeming train: Where the weary hearts that falter. Worshiping, grow strong again. Higher build each towering story, TiU it challenges the world; / O'er it be the " Stars " of glory, And the conquering "Stripes," unfurlett Till afar the gorgeous banner Calls a jubilee to birth. And creation's free Hosanna Floats like light around the earth. KATIE LEE AND WILLIE 6EE1 Two brown heads with tossing curls. Bed lips shutting over pearls. Bare feet white, and wet with dew. Two eyes black and two eyes blue^ 144 COMMON SCHOOL EEADINGS. Little prl and boy were tbey, Katie Lee and 'Willie G-rey. They were standing where a brook, Bending like a shepherd's crook, Flashed its silver, and thick ranks Of green willow fringed the banks ; Half in thought and half in play, Katie Lee and Willie Grey. They had cheeks like cherries red; He was taller—'most a head; She, with arms like wreaths of snow, Swung a basket to and fro As she loitered, half in play. Chattering to Willie Grey. " Pretty Katie," Willie said— And there came a dash of red Through the brownness of his cheek*' " Boys are strong and girls are weak, And I'll carry, so I will, Katie's basket up the hilL" Katie answered with a laugh, " You shall carry only half;" And then tossing back her curls, " Boys are weak as well as girls." Do you think that Katie guessed Half the wisdom she expressed? Men are only boys grown tall; Hearts don't change much, after all; And when, long years from that day, Katie Lee and Willie Grey Stood again beside the brook. Bending like a shepherd's crook,— Is it strange that Willie said— While again a dashing red Crossed the brownness of his cheek— " I am strong and you are weak; Life is but a slippery steep. Hung with shadows cold and deep." THE OLP STOET. 145 " Will you trust me, Katie dear,— Walk beside me without fear ? May I carry, if I wUl, An your burdens up the hill ?" And she answered, with a kugh, " No, but you may carry half." Close beside the little brook. Bending like a shepherd's crook, Washing with its silver hands Late and early at the sands, Is a cottage where to-day Katie lives with Willie Grey. In a porch she sits, and lo I Swings a basket to and fro— Vastly different from the one That she swung in years agone; This is long and deep and wide. And has—rockers at the side! THE OLD STORY.—Agnes Howabd, Come, sit by me, Katy, and tell me Of what he was talking last night. When you stood at the gate till the moonbeams Had quenched all the stars with their light ? You came back with cheeks glowing crimson. And eyelashes glittering with tears. And a smile, which, half sad, half triumphant. Still over your sweet mouth appears. \ Did he talk of the beauty of summer ? Or praise the wild rose'l^perfume? Or speak of our arbors so rustic. Where woodbine and jasmin bloom? " He told you a story ?" Oh I Did he t Well, Katy dear, tell it to me. " You've almost forgot it ?" Already | How very much flattered he'd be | 7 HG COMMOX SCHOOL BHADIXOS. You say that you " think I may guess it." Yes, Katy, the story I know: 'Tis an old tale, yet always a sweet one; I'm certain that you found it so. 'Twas new in the first days of Adam, When, wandering through Eden's fair bowers, In Eve's little ear it was whispered, While she, blushing, played with the flowers. You're blushing, too; what is the matter? Why, what are you crying about ? Your grandfather told your grandmother The very same story, no doubt. Just three little words tell this story What thousands of hearts they have thrilled 1 How many with'joy they have gladdened 1 How many with sorrow have fllledl These three little words are, " I love you!" You see 'tis the very same tale That you heard there last night by the woodl ine^ Beneath the bright moon's silvery vaiL Don't say J "know nothing about it:" You know very well it is true; But, Eaty, my dear, did you tell him The same story that he told you 1 THE VOICE OF SFRING.—MRS. Hemaits I OOME, I come I ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song; Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the wings which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass; By the green leaves opening as I pass. san francisco in early times. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are fashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray on the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves. Come forth, 0 ye children of gladness, come 1 ■Where the violets lie may now be your home. Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye. And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly; With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay. Away from the dwellings of careworn men. The waters are sparkling in wood and glen; Away from the chamber and dusky hearth, The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth; Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains. And youth is abroad in my green domains. 8AN FRANCISCO IN EARLY TIMES-1858. City of the West, Built up in a minute. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Every thing within it: Every nook and corner Filled to overflowing. Like a locomotive. Everybody going I Sandy city streets Piled up full of lumber. Buildings going up Numbers without number; Even hodmen hurry With the bricks they bear; Wagons thunder on Through each thoroughfare. 148 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. Everybody goes Fast as he can dash on, Never minding clothes, Etiquette, or fashion; Dry or muddy season, Rainy day or sunny, Everybody driving Bargains to make money. Englishmen and French, Germans, Irish, Danish, Chattering Chinese, Portuguese, and Spanish; Men of every nation. Birds of every feather. Honest men and rogues Bustled all together 1 Corners of the streets. Auctioneers seen; Bidders gather round, liooking rather green; Auctioneer winks. Speculators grin. As he quickly takes Cash and buyer in I Steamers leave to-day For Atlantic States, Great excitement raised By reducing rates. • On the opposition, Nicaragua Transit, Passengers so crowded Hardly can a man sit. Regular mail steamer Crammed like goose for Christmai^ Bound for Panama, Aspinwall, and Isthmus; Friends shed parting tears, Hack and draymen swear. Caring more for cah Than for mortal fare! CHARACTER OF AVA8HINGT0N. 149 City of the West, Built up in a minute, In a business bustle. Everybody in it: On a race with time, Fast as he can go. Everybody thinks Telegraphing slow! CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.—D.vnibl Webster. America has furnished to the world the character of Washing¬ ton! And if our American institutions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. Washington—"First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen !"—Washington is all our own I The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the Uniteh States hold him, prove them to be worthy of such a countryman; while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honor on his country and its institutions. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the intelligence of Europe and the world, what character of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime; and I doubt not, that, by a sutfrage approaching to unanimity, the answer would be, Washington! I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the reproaches of enemies and the misgiving of friends—I turn to that transcendent name for courage and for consolation. To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty can be combined with law, with order, with the security of property, with the pursuit and advancement of happiness—to him who denies that our institutions are capable of producing exaltation of soul, and the passion of true glory— to him who denies that we have contributed any thing to the stock of great lessons and great examples—to all these I reply by point¬ ing to Washington! 150 ^OUMON SCHOOL KEAUINGB. CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.-Phillips. Sir, it matters very little what immediate spot may be the birthplace of such a man as Washington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him: the boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence ceation. 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 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 I 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 pre¬ paratory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances, no doubt, there were—splendid exemplifications of some single qualification: Caesar was merciful; Scipio was continent; Han¬ nibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely masterpiece 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 comprehen¬ sive 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 1 A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood; a revo¬ lutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the com¬ mand. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory re¬ turned 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 ado¬ ration of a land be might be almost said to have created ? AMEBICAK INDUSTBT. 151 AMERICAN INDUSTRY.—A. L. Stonk. When we seek to fill out the inventory of the country's wealth, we are accustomed to rehearse our continental breadth of terri¬ tory, our double shore-line inviting the tribute of two oceans, the far reaches of our interior navigable waters, the number and magnitude of our internal improvements, the grandeur of our forests, the inexhaustible treasures of our mines, the concrete wealth of our cities, fortresses and navies; but there is one item beside, more seldom named, less magnificent to the ear when we speak of it, but of richer promise and larger copiousness than all—the industry of the people. We are a nation of workers. We have no idlers here. It is our industry, with all its brawny arms, with its manifold arts and inventions—with its mechanic skill and endless train of machinery; with its ten thousand iron nerves subsidizing and economizing labor—with its untiring and ever multiplying enginery, busy in every field of toil, manufacturing every fabric for the comfort and use of man, and keeping the land ajar day and night with its perpetual play—that keeps us so strong in all material wealth. It is this that enabled us, in the stem exigency of war, to keep two million of men under arms, to compensate the loss of their labor, to equip them for war's great ministry, to clothe them and feed them, and transport them by land and by sea, and endure all the waste of war's thriftless husbandry, to pour forth the deep and broad streams of a noble charity, such as the valleys of a continent never ran before, and at the same time to furnish supplies of bread for the granaries of all the world. This is the wonder of the age, the marvel of history. Under so tremendous a draught we are a self-sustaining nation. This achievement of our home-bred industry draws upon us, from abroad, more eager and curious eyes than any other feature or fiict of our national life. All labor of the old world looks to us for instruction. Invention, the world over, turns hitherto study our models, to copy our art, and to learn the secrets of such a vast productiveness. All the sons of toil stretch forth their brown hands to lay hold upon our implements for turning the curse of labor into a blessing and a recreation. All our swarthy workers were ready-made soldiers. They had only to hear the call—" Fall in for country, and libertv and human- 152 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. ity!" and lo! a great army, which for numbers, discipline, endur¬ ance and heroic valor the world had never seen in all its historic fields! The step that tracked a straight furrow through the acres of tillage could move as straight to the deadly charge. The eye that was so sure and true amid the mazes of mechanic skill could glance as keeu and cool along a rifle barrel. The invention that produced its triumphs in mouse-traps and baby-rockers, in sew¬ ing machines and mowers and reapers, and all the enginery ot work, could cast cannon and build Monitors, and revolutionize the whole art of war. GEOWTH OF CALIFORNIA.—F. P. Tract, 1858, A LITTLE more than ten years ago, California lay in the indo¬ lence and silence of that summer noonday in which she had been basking for ages. A few idle villages slept by the shores of her bays; a few squalid ranches dotted the interior with patches of wretched cultivation. There were herds of cattle in her valleys, but they were almost valueless for the want of a market. There were churches, but their chiming bells woke only the echoes of a vast solitude. The sun ripened only the harvest of wild oats on the hills, and the beasts of prey made their lairs in security close by the abodes of men. Seldom did a merchant ship spread her white wings in the offing; seldom did the vaquero in his solitary rounds hear the dip of the oar upon our rivers. Silence, deep and everlasting, brooded over all the land, and the lone oaks on the hills appeared like sentinels keeping guard around the sleeping camp of nature. The cession of the country to the United States by the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, and the discovery of gold in the early part of the year 1848, changed the whole scene as if by the power of magic. As in the Naumachia of old time, the dry arena was instantly converted into a great lake on which contending navies struggled for the mastery; so, instantly on the discovery of gold, GROWTH OF CALIFORNIA. 153 California was filled with people as if they had risen from tiie earth. The port of San Francisco was crowded with vessels. The rivers were alive with the multitudes that made them their highway, and the din of commerce broke forever the silence of centuries. It seemed as if the people had stolen the lamp of Aladdin and wished for the creation, not of palaces merely, but of royal cities, and an empire of which these should be the chief ])l,aces; and at their wish, the cities of our State arose, not by slow, toilsome grow'th, but complete and princely at their very birth. The rattle of the shovel and the pick was heard in every mountain gorge, and a wide stream of gold flowed from the sierra to the sea. The plains, rejoicing in their marriage to industry, bore fruitfully their yellow harvests. Villages, hamlets, farm¬ houses, schools, and churches sprung up everywhere; wharves were built, roads were opened; stage-coaches and steamers crowded all profitable routes; lands, houses aud labor, rose to an enormous value; and plenty, with her blessings, crowned the rolling year. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS IN SUPPORT OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE.—Daniel webstbb. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the begin¬ ning, we aimed not at Independence. But there's a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till Independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the Declaration? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England? Do we mean to submit to the measures of Parliament, Boston port-bill and all ? I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. Sir, the Declaration will inspire the people with increased cour¬ age. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privi¬ leges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held 1* 154 common school headings. under a British king, set before tbein the glorions object of entire Independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of lift. Bead this Declaration at the head of the army: every sword wUl be drSwn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cliug round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the eneihy's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I begun, tliat live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying senti¬ ment; Independence and Independence fobeveb. SLAVERY THE CORNER-STONE OF THE SOUTHERN CON FEDERACY.—Alex. H. Stephens. The new Constitution has put at rest, forever, all agitating questions relating to our peculiar institution—African slavery as it exists among us—the proper status of the negro in our form of civilization. The foundations of our new government are laid, its corner-stone rests upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man. That slavery—subordination to the superior race—is his natural and normal condition. This, our new' government, is the first in the history of the world based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth. The truth may be slow in development, as all truths are, and ever have been, in the various branches of. science. It was so with the principles announced by Galileo; it was so with Adam LAUS DEO. 155 Smith, and his principles of political economy. It was so with Harvey and his theory of the circulation of the blood. It is said that not a single one of the medical profession, living at the time of the announcement of the truths made by him, admitted them. Now, they are universally acknowledged. May we not, there¬ fore, look with confidence to the ultimate universal acknowledg¬ ment of the truths upon which our system rests? It is the first government ever instituted upon principles in strict conformity to nature, and the ordination of Providence, in furnishing the mate¬ rials of human society. Many governments have been founded upon the principle of the enslavement of certain classes; but the classes thus enslaved were of the same race, and in violation of the laws of nature. Our system commits no such violation of nature's laws. The negro by nature, or by the curse against Canaan, is fitted for that condition which he occupies in our sys¬ tem. The architect, in the construction of buildings, lays the foundation with proper materials—the granite—then comes the brick or the marble. The substratum of our society is made of the material fitted by nature for it, and by experience we know that it is best not only for the superior, but for the inferior race that it should be so. It is, indeed, in conformity with the ordi¬ nance of the Creator. LAUS DEO.—John G. Whittier. [On bcnring the bells ring for the Constitutional Amendment abolishing slavery ia the United States.] It is done I Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down. How the belfries rock and reel, How the great guns, peal and pesd, ^ Fling the joy from town to town I Ring, 0 beDsl Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial-hour of crime. Loud and long, that all may hear, Ring for every listening ear Of Eternity and Time 1 COUMOS SCIIOOI. KKADIKGfl. Let us kneel; God's own voice is in that peal, And this spot is holy ground. Lord forgive us 1 What are we, That our eyes this glory see, That our ears have heard the soundl For the Lord On the whirlwind is abroad; In the earthquake He hath spoken; He has smitten with his thunder The iron wall asunder, And the gates of brass are broken I How they pale. Ancient myth, and song, and tale, In this wonder of our days, Wlien the cruel rod of war Blossoms white with righteous law, And the wrath of man is praise I • Blotted out I All within and all about Shall a fresher life begin: Freer breathe the universe As it rolls its heavy curse On the dead and buried sin I It is done I In the circuit of the sun Shall the sound thereof go forth. It shall bid the sad rejoice. It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth! Bing and swing. Bells of joyl on morning's wing Send the song of praise abroad; With a sound of broken chains Tell the nation that He reigns. Who alone is Lord and God I THE DEATH OF SLAVEUY. 157 THE DEATH OF SLAVERY.—William Cullen Brtant. 0 thou great Wrong, that, through the slow-paced years, Didst hold thy millions fettered, and didst wield The scourge that drove the laborer to the field. And look with stony eye on human tears, Thy cruel reign is o'er ; Thy bondmen crouch no more In terror at the menace of thine eye; For He who marks the bounds of guiiiy power, Long suffering, hath heard the captive's cry. And touched his shackles at the appointed hour. And lol they fall, and he whose limbs they galled Stands in his native manhood, disenthralled. A shout of joy from the redeemed is sent; Ten thousand hamlets swell the hymn of thanks; Our rivers roll exulting, and their banks Send up hosannas to the firmament. Fields, where the bondman's toil No more shall trench the soil. Seem now to bask in a serener day; The meadow-birds sing sweeter, and the airs Of Heaven with more caressing softness play. Welcoming man to liberty like theirs. A glory clothes the land from sea to sea. For the great land and all its coasts are free. Great as thou wert, and feared from shore to The wrath of God o'ertook thee in thy priOo Thou sitt'st a ghastly shadow ; by thy side Thy once strong arms hang nerveless eveimore And they who quailed but now Before thy lowering brow Devote thy memory to scorn and shame. And scoff at the pale, powerless thing thou trt And they who ruled in thine imperial name. Subdued, and standing sullenly apart, Scowl at the hands that overthrew thy leign And shattered at a blow the prisoner's chain COUUON SCHOOL BEADIHGS. Qo, then, accursed of God, and take thy place "With baleful memories of the elder time. With many a wasting pest, and nameless crime, And bloody war that thinned the human race; With the black death, whose way Through wailing cities lay. Worship of Moloch, tyrannies that built The Pyramids, and cruel creeds that taught To avenge a fancied guilt by deeper guilt— Death at the stake to those that held them not Lol the foul phantoms, silent in the gloom Of the flown ages, part to yield thee room. I see the better years that hasten by. Carry thee back into that shadowy past. Where, in the dusty spaces, void and vast. The graves of those whom thou hast murdered lie. The slave-pen through whose door Thy victims pass no more. Is there, and there shall the grim block remain At which the slave was sold; while at thy foot Scourges and engines of restraint and pain Moider and rust by thine eternal seat There, mid the symbols that proclaim thy crimes. Dwell thou, a warning to the coming times. THE ISSUES—Biolow Papbbs.—Jambs Kussell Lowbll. It's war we're in, not politics; It's systems wrastlin' now. not parties ; An^ victory in the eend '11 fix Where longest will an' truest heart is. An' wut's the Guv'ment folks about? JTryin' to hope ther's nothin' doin', Au' look ez though they didn't doubt Sunthin' pertickler wuz a brewin*. Ttier s critters yit thet talk an' act Per what they call Conciliation; They'd hand a bulf'lo-drove a tract When they wuz madder than all Bashan THE ISSUES. 159 Conciliate ? it jest means he kicked, No metter how they phrase an' tone it; It means that we're to set down licked, Thet we're poor shotes an' glad to own it I • I More men ? More man I It's there we fail; "Weak plans grow weaker yit by lengthenin': Wut use in addin' to the tail. When it's the head in need o' strengthenin' ? We wanted one tliet felt all Chief From roots o' hair to sole o' stockin', Square-sot with tliousan'-ton belief In him an' us, ef earth went rockin' I Ole Hick'ry wouldn't ha's ood see-saw 'Bout doin' things till they wuz done with,— He'd smash the tables o' the Law In time o' need to load his gun with; He couldn't see but jest one side,— Ef his, 'twuz God's, an' thet wuz plenty; An' so his "Forrardsl" multiplied An army's flghtin' weight by twenty. D'ye s'pose, ef Jeff giv him a lick, Ole Hick'ry tried his head to sof'n So's't wouldn't hurt thet ebony stick Thet's made our side see stars so of'n? "No!" he'd iia' thundered, "on your knees, An' own one flag, one road to glory I Soft-heartedness, in times like these. Shows sof'ness in the upper story I" Set the two forces foot to foot, An' every man knows who'll be winner, Whose faith in God hez ary root Thet goes down deeper than his dinner: Then twill be felt from pole to pole. Without no need o' proclamation. Earth's Biggest Country's gut her soul 4n' risen up Earth's Greatest Nation 160 commox SCaOOL readings. THE NORMANS.-F. P. TKACr, 1858 In 1066, the Normans invaded England, and the battle of Hastings broke, forever, the Saxon and Danish power. But years passed, and several raonarchs filled and vacated the English throne before tliese Norman pioneers had accomplished their work, and molded the nation to their will. They were warriors —not reformers. They were greedy of power, hut impatient of its exercise upon themselves; greedy of wealth, but lavish in its expenditure. They were reckless alike of their own and the life of others. Turbulent, unruly—equally dangerous to the people whom they subdued, and to the princes who led them to conquest. Gallant men, full of deeds of knightly courtesy, yet reddening their hands with the blood of civil broil, and ever ready to maintain their right with their swords. Men of clear intellect and giant will, they acknowledged an uncertain allegiance to their king, and only bowed their necks to the yoke of God, when at the close of life they deemed it necessary to assume the monastic habit, or to do penance of their goods for the salvation of their souls. From these stern and bloody men, " who came in with the Conqueror," or followed in the train of his successors, the noblest families of England are proud to derive their descent; and even we republicans, upon this distant coast, and at this late period of time, do not refuse our admiration to these Norman pioneers, who, through tite mists of the past, loom up like giants before us. Yet our admiration of these old warriors,'the admi¬ ration of the world for them, is not because they shed blood, or amassed or squandered wealth, or swore fealty to their kings, or broke tlieir oaths in rebellion, or committed or abstained from the crimes that were common to their age. The Norman pioneers are enrolled in history among the most illustrious of men, because in the dark and trouidous times in which they lived, in the midst of confusion and blood, with strong hands and un¬ daunted hearts, they laid deep the first foundations of English liberty, and became the fathers of that system of common law which, at the end of eight hundred years, is the protection and the glory of all who speak tlie English tongue. We forget the details of the battle of Hastings, and of an hundred other battles tliat followed it. W*e do not remember what castles were sub- THE DANGER OF EXASPERATING THE REBELS. 161 dued, what cities burned, what districts were wasted with fire and sword, or who was killed, or who made the slaughter on the field of blood; but all of us, who have studied the history of our own freedom, will well remember how the first charter of liberty was wrung from Henry I. at his coronation, and how, with their swords in their hands, the stern old barons compelled its confir¬ mation and extension by King John, in the field between Windsor and Staines, in the form of Magna Charta. True, those charters of liberty were imperfect in their provisions, but a happy facility of interpretation, which in England has generally been used in favor of liberty, has, from their date, made them the safeguard of the rights of the people, and on them, as the lowest of foun¬ dation stones, rests the whole glorious superstructure of the English common law. The Normans were pioneers whose names must be immortal. THE DANGER OF EXASPERATING THE REBELS. A. A. Saboent. In all ages respect for the dead has been held to be a necessary virtue in a brave and generous character. To inflict outrage upon a slain enemy, even, has heretofore been confined to dark corners of the earth. Such practices are too vile and mean to be tolerated in the light of civilization. Hence the fiendish si)irit of the rebel leaders is painfully apparent in the treatment of our heroic dead. They were stripped naked, and left for days unburied. Many were buried in trenches, face downward, as a mark of indignity. Some were boiled, to get the bones for trophies, and heads cut off, that the skulls might be kept for drinking cups. Many human bones were found scattered through the rebel huts, sawed into rings. By acts of violence and crime like these, the rebels signalized their first victory over the army of the Republic. With savage and malignant hate, they tortured, slew, and desecrated. The monstrous treason which was com¬ menced in perjury and theft, was continued in cowardly cruelty and barbarism. Well may I say the climax of malignity 162 COMMON SCHOOI. READINOS. was early reached. But has it ditniaished by long months of forbearance? Let the score of brave officers and men of General Curtis's command, who were slain by the poisoned food left by the retreating rebels, bear witness. Let the fire- ship filled with deadly missiles, sent down upon our vessel, invited by a flag of truce and displaying another, below New Orleans; the throat-cutting of sick and unarmed men at Shiloh, as they lay in their tents; the frequent murder of parties bearing flags of truce; the dismal tales of southern prison-houses; the hanging of Union men; the disregard of age or sef by the rebels in their unrestrained wrath; let these and a thousand other bar¬ barities give testimony how much danger there is of exasperating the traitors in arms. Talk of exasperating men like these! As well might Michael have feared to exasperate the rebellious angels whom he hurled from the battlements of heaven at the fiat of the Almighty. As well might the English have feared to exasperate the Sepoys, who slew in cold blood all whom they overpowered. It is only by sharp and sudden blows you can put down this rebellion; not by faint-heartedness; not by calcula¬ tions how your mortal enemies will regard your measures. SAM WELLER'S VALENTINE.—Charles Dickens. "I've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrassment; "I've been a writin'." " So I see," replied Mr. Weller. "Not to any young 'ooman, I hope, Sammy." " Why, it's no use a sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. " It's a walen- tine." "A what!" exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken by the word. "A walentine," replied Sam. " Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, " I didn't think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o' your father's wicious propensities, arter all I've said to you upon this here wery subject; arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the SAM WELLEB'S VALENTIXE. 163 company o' your own mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought was a moral lesson as no man could ever ha' forgotten to his dyin' day! I didn't think you'd ha' done it, Sammy, I didn't think you'd ha' done it." These reflections were too much for the good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips and drank off the contents. "Wot's the matter now?" said Sam. "Nev'r mind, Sammy," replied Mr. "Weller, "it'll be a wery agonizin' trial to me at my time of life, biit I'm pretty tough, that's vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked ven the farmer said he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him, for the London market." " Wot'll be a trial?" inquired Sam. " To see you married, Sammy—to see you a deluded wictim, aud thinkin' in your innocence that its all wery capital," replied Mr. Weller. "It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere, Sammy," "Nonsenae," said Sam, "I ain't a goin' to get married, don't you fret yourself about that; I know you're a judge o' these things. Order in your pipe, and I'll read you the letter— there." Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections, and began with a very theatrical air— " ' Lovely ' " " Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. " A double glass o' the inwariable, my dear." "Very well, sir," replied the girl; who with great quickness appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared. " They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam. " Yes," replied his father, " I've been here before, in my time Go on, Sammy." " ' Lovely creetur'," repeated Bam. " 'Taint in poetry, is it ?" interposed the father. " No, no," replied Sam. ** Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. " Poetry's uuiiat' - ral; no man ever talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin'day, or Warren's blackin' or Rowland's oil, or some of them low fel¬ lows; never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy Begin again, Sammy. 164 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam once more commenced and read as follows: " ' Lovely creetur i feel myself a damned ' "— " That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth. " No; it aint damned," observed Sam, holding the letter up to the light, "it's 'shamed,' there's a blot there—'I feel myself ashamed.'" " Wery good," said Mr. Weller. " Go on." " ' Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir—.' I forget wot this here word is," said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, in vain attempts to remember. Why don't you look at it, then?" inquired Mr. Weller. "So \am a lookin' at it," replied Sam, "but there's another blot; here's a ' c,' and a 'i,' and a ' d.' " " Circumwented, p'rhaps," suggested Mr. Weller. " No, it ain't that," said Sam, " circumscribed, that's it." " That ain't as good a word as circumwented, Sammy," said Mr Weller, gravely. " Think not ?" said Sam. " Nothin' like it," replied his father. "But don't you think it means more?" inquired Sara. "Veil, p'rhaps it's a more tenderer word," said Mr. Weller, after a few moments' reflection. " Go on, Sammy." "'Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin' but it.'" " That's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. Weller, removing his pipe to make way for the remark. " Yes, I think it's rayther good," observed Sam, highly flat¬ tered. " Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder Mr. Weller, "is, that there ain't no callin' names in it,—no Wenuses, nor nothin' o' that kind; wot's the good o' callin' a young 'oonian a Wenus or a angel, Sammy?" "Ah ! what, indeed?" replied Sam. " You might jist as veil call her a griflSn, or a unicorn, or a king's arms at once, which is wery well known to be a col-lection o' fabulous animals," added Mr. Weller. "Just as well," replied Sam. BAM WELLEE'S VALENTINE. 165 "Drive on, Sammy, said Mr. Weller. Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows; h?j father continuing to smoke with a mixed expression of wisdor and complacency, which was particularly edifying. " ' Afhre I see you I thought all women was alike.' " "So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller, parenthetic ally. "' But now,'" continued Sam, " ' now I find what a reg'lar soft-headed, ink-red'lous turnip I must ha' been, for there ain i nobody like you, though I like you better than nothin' at all. " I thought it best to make that rayther strong," said Sam, looking up. Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed. " ' So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear—as the gen'lem'n in difficulties did,*ven he valked out of a Sunday,—to tell you that the first and only time I see you your likeness was took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colors than ever a likeness was taken by the profeel macheen (wich p'rhaps you may have heerd on Mary my dear), altho' it does finish a por¬ trait and put the frame and glass on complete with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter.'" " I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, dubiously. "No it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid coutesting the point. " ' Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine, and think over what I've said. My dear Mary I will now conclude.' That's all," said Sam. " That's rayther a sudden pull up, ain't it, Sammy ?" inquired Mr. Weller. "Not a bit on it," said Sam; "she'll vish there wos more, and that's the great art o' letter writin'." "Well," said Mr. Weller, "there's somethin' in that; and I wish your mother-in-law'ud only conduct her conwersation on the same gen-teel principle. Ain't you a goin' to sign it ?" " That's the difficulty," said Sam; "I don't know what to sign it I" " Sign it—Veller," said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name. 166 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. " Won't do," said Sam. "Never sign a walentine with your own name." " Sign it' Pickvick,' then," said Mr. Weller; " its a wery good name, and a easy one to spell." "The wery thing," said Sam. "I could end with a werse; wliat do you think ?" " I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. " I never know'd a respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an aflfectin' copy o' werses the night afore he wos hung for a high¬ way robbery; and he wos only a Oambervell man, so even that's no rule." But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had occurred to him, so he signed the letter— " Tour love-sick Pickwick." THE POOR AND THE RICH.—James Russeix Lowku» The rich man's son inherits lands. And piles of brick and stone and gold. And tender flesh that fears the cold. Nor dares to wear a garment old; A heritage, it seems to me, One would not care to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits cares. The bank may break, tlie factory burn. Some breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands would scarcely earn A living that would suit his turn; A heritage, it seems to me. One would not care to bold in fee. What does the poor man's son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; King of two hands, he does his part In every useful toil and art; THB POOR AND TDB RICH. A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What does the poor man's son inherit t Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by toibwom merit, Content that from enjoyment springs, A heart that in his labor sings; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What does the poor man's son inherit ? A patience learned by being poor. Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it; A fellow feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. Oh, rich man's sou, there is a toil That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil. But only whitens, soft white hands; This is the best crop from thy lands; A heritage, it seems to me. Worth being rich to hold in fee. Oh, poor man's son, scorn not thy stat* There is worse weariness than thine,— In being merely rich and great; Work only makes the soul to shine. And makes rest fragrant and benign A heritage, it seems to me. Worth being poor to hold in fee. Both heirs to some six feet of sod, Are equal in the earth at last— Both, children of the same dear OoA Prove title to your heirship vast. By record of a well-filled past! A heritage, it seems to me. Well worth a life to hold in fee. 168 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. THE ENCHANTED ISLE.—BBNJ. F. Taylor. A WONDERFUL stream is the river Time, As it runs through the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, With a broader sweep and a surge sublime, And blends witiKthe ocean of years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers like buds between. And the years in the sheaf, so they come and they go^ On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow. As it glides in the shadow and sheen. There's a musical isle up the river Time, Where the softest of airs are playing; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime. And a song as sweet as a vesper chime. And the tunes with the roses are staying; And the name of this isle is the Long Ago; And we bury our treasures there; There, are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow, There are heaps of dust, but we love them so J There are trinkets and tresses of hair There are fragments of songs, that nobody sings. And a part of an infant's prayer; There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings, There are broken vows and pieces of rings. And the garments she used to wear. There are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air; And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before. When the wind down the river is fair. Oh I remembered for aye, be the blessed isle. All the day of life, till the night; And when evening comes with the beautiful smile. And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile. May that " Greenwood " of soul be in sight. PTEAMCrS AND TQISBl!:. 100 PTRAMUS AND THISBE.—J. G. Saxb. This tragical tale, wluoh, they say, is a true one, Is old; but the manner is wholly a new one. One Ovid, a writer of some reputation, Has told it before in a tedious narration ; In a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness, But which nobody reads on account of its dullness. Toung Peter Ptramus—I call him Peter, Not for the sake of the rhyme or the meter. But merely, to make tlie name completer— For Peter lived in the olden times. And in one of the worst of pagan climes That flourish now in classical fame. Long before Either noble or boor Had such a thing as a Christian name— Toung Peter, then, was a nice young beau As any young lady would wish to know ; In years, I ween. He was rather green, That is to say, he was just eighteen,— A trifle too short, and a shaving too lean. But " a nice young man " as ever was seen. And flt to dance with a May-day queen I Now Peter loved a beautiful girl As ever ensnared the heart of an earl. In the magical trap of an auburn curl,— A little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door, (They slept, in fact, on the very same floor. With a wall between them and nothing more,— Those double dwellings were common of yore,) And they loved each other, the legends say. In that very beautiful, bountiful way. That every young maid. And every young blade. Are wont to do before they grow staid, And learn to love by the laws of trade. 8 170 COMMON SCHOOL EEADINGS. But (a-lack-a-day, for the girl and boy I) A Utile impediment checked their joy, And gave them awhile the deepest annoy— For some good reason which history cloaks, The match didn't happen to please the old folks! So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother Began the young couple to worry and bother, And tried their innocent passion to smother. By keeping the lovers from seeing each other I But who ever heard Of a marriage deterred. Or even deferred. By any contrivance so very absurd As scolding the boy, and caging his bird ?— Now, Peter, who was not discouraged at all By obstacles such as the timid appall, Contrived to discover a hole in the wall. Which wasn't so thick But removing a brick Made a passage—though rather provokingly smalL Through this little chink the lover could greet her. And secrecy made their courting the sweeter. While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Tliisbe kissed Peter,— For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, WUl manage to creep through the smallest of holes I 'Twas here that the lovers, intent upon love, Laid a nice little plot To meet at a spot Near a mulberry-tree in a neighboring grove; For the plan was all laid. By the youth and the maid, (Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones,) To run off and get married in spite of the old ones. In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse. The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house. The mulberry-tree impatient to find. While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind. Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. While waiting aione by the trysting tree, A terrible lion As e'er you set eye on. A MAT DAT WELCOME. 17\ Carae roaricg along quite horrid to see, And caused the young maiden in terror to flee^ (A lion's a creature whose regular trade is Blood—and " a terrible thing among ladies,") And losing her vail as she ran from the wood. The monster bedabbled it over with blood. Now Peter arriving, and seeing the vail All covered o'er. And reeking with gore, Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, And sat himself down to weep and to wail.— For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter. Made up his mind in very short meter. That Thisbe was dead, and the lion had eat her I So breathing a prayer. He determined to share The fate of his darling, " the loved and the lost," And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost I Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau Lying dead by the vail (which she happened to know). She guessed in a moment, the cause of his erring, And seizing the knife Which had taken his life, In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring! moral. Toung gentlemen 1—pray recollect, if you please. Not to make assignations near mulberry-trees. Should your mistress be missing, it shows a weak head To be stabbing yourself, till you know she is dead. Toung ladies 1—you shouldn't go strolling about When your anxious mammas don't know you are out; And remember that accidents often befall From kissing young fellows through holes in the wall I A MAY DAT WELCOME.—THE MAT QUEEN'S SPEECH. Friends, parents, and children, merry welcome to all 1 My rule is supreme in this beautiful hall; COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. The happiest queen that reigns under the sun, I command you to join in the frolic and fun I Dear subjects, from lessons I set you all free, Neither schoolma'am nor master dare contradict me; And puzzling committee-men, sober and glum, Within my dominions will never dare come. Bravo boys I from the school-room I turn you all out To grass, like young calves, to cut capers about; Sweet girls I you may romp till each sunburnt cheek glows With a color that vies with the red of the rose. My books are the fields and the beautiful flowers. My play grounds, the hill-sides; my school-rooms, the bowers, The birds, my musicians; my harps, the green trees; My scholars may laugh and play just as they please. Te mathematicians! no longer perplex Tour heads over uncertain values of X; Leave your slates and your pencils, your blackboards and chalk. And find out the worth of nonsensical talk. Te " old folks I" just think of your merry May-days When you, handsome boys, joined the girls in their plays. When plump little maidens with coquettish arts And sweetest of glances tormented your hearts I Dear fathers and mothers I were not you once young 7 The sweet songs of youth—were they not by you sung? Hearts still are the same as in good days of old. And the same pleasant story forever is told 1 The girls meet you here with the sweetest of glances, Tlie toes of the boys ache to join in the dances. And mothers I if you do not join with us, too, I'll tell the old tale of our fathers and you 1 So young folks and old folks, join all in the fun, The dancers are waiting, the talking is done; And if there's a single sour fault-finder here, We will send him off home with a flea in his ear. moral rectitude. 173 MORAL RECTITUDE.—Newton Bateman. It should be proclaimed in every school that there are original, immutable and indestrucitble maxims of moral rectitude—great lights in the firmament of the soul—which no circumstances can affect, no sophistry obliterate; that to this eternal standard every individual of the race is bound to conform, and that by it the con¬ duct of every man shall be adjudged. It should be proclaimed that dishonesty, fraud, and falsehood are as despicable and crimi¬ nal in the most exalted stations as in the most obscure, in politics as in business; that the demagogue who tells a lie to gain a vote is as infamous as the peddler who tells one to gain a penny ; that an editor, who wantonly maligns an opponent for the benefit of his party, is as vile as the perjured hireling who slanders his neighbor for pay; that the corporation or the man who spawns by the thousand his worthless promises to pay, under the name of banking, Icnowing them to be worthless, is as guilty of obtain¬ ing money under false pretenses as the acknowledged rogue who is incarcerated for the same thing under the name of swindling; that the contractor who defrauds the Government, under cover of technicalities of the law, is as much a thief as he who deliber¬ ately and knowingly appropriates to his own use the property of another. In a word, let it be impressed in all our schools that the vocabu¬ lary of heaven has butewe word for each willful infraction of the moral code, and that no pretexts or subterfuges or sophistries of men can soften the import or lessen the guilt which that word conveys. Tell the school children that the deliberate falsifier of the truth is a liar^ whether it be the prince on his throne or the b%gar on his dunghill; whether it be by diplomatists for reasons of state, or by chiffoniers for tbe possession of the rags in the gutter. Tell them that he who obtains money or goods under false pretenses is a swindler, no more or less, be the man and the circumstances what they may. Tell them that he who irreverently uses the name of the Deity is a blasphemer, whetiier he be a Con¬ gressman or a scullion. Tell them that he who habitually drinks intoxicating liquors to excess is a drunkard, whether it be from goblets of gold in the palatial saloon, or from tin cups in a grog shop. Tell them that he who speaks lightly or sneeringly of the 174 COMMOX SCHOOL READINGS. honor of woman is a calumniator, be his pretensions to gentility what they may. And so with the whole catalogue of vices and crimes, till the line of deraarkation between good and evil shall be graven so deeply u|)on the mind and conscience that it can never be obliterated. Let our public scdiools do this, and the life-giving influence shall be felt through every vein and artery of the body politic. A divine fire will be kindled that shall purge the foul channels of business, finance, .and politics, and consume the subtle network of sophistries like stubble. Let our public schools do this, and a generation of men shall come upon the field of active life who will bring back, in the administration of public and private aflfairs, the purer days of the Republic—men in whom the high crimes and misdemeanor.s, the frauds and peculations, which now dis¬ grace and ruin the country, shall be unknown. PURPOSE OF THE BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT. Daniel Websteb. "We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. "We know, that if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath already been spread over the earth, and which history charges itself with making known to all future times. "We know, that no inscription on entablatures less broad than the earth itself can carry information of the events we commemor.ate, where it has not already gone; and that no structure, which shall not out¬ live the duration of letters and knowledge among men, can pro long the memorial. We come, as Americans, to mark a spot, which must forever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish that whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is not undistinguished, where the first great battle of the Revolu¬ tion was fo ight. We wish that this structure may proclaim the STOKY OP JOHN MATNARD. 176 magnitude and importance of that event, to every class and every age. We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips, and that wearied and withered age may behold it, and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. We wish that labor may look up here, and be proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish that, in those days of disaster which, as they come on all nations, must be expected to come on us also, de¬ sponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of our national power still stand strong. We wish that this column, rising toward heaven, among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, may con¬ tribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of depend¬ ence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object on the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the first to gladden his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit. STORY OF JOHN MATNARD.—John B. Gough. John Matnard was well known in the lake district as a God¬ fearing, honest, and intelligent pilot. He was pilot on a steam¬ boat from Detroit to Buffalo, one summer afternoon—at that time those steamers seldom carried boats—smoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain called out:— " Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down there." Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, " Captain, the ship is on fire." Then "Fire! fire! fire!" on shipboard. All hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin and tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to save the ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot:— " How far are we from Buffalo ?" " Seven miles." m common school eeadinos. " How long before we can reach there ?" "Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steana." " Is there any danger?" "Danger, here—see the smoke bursting out—go forward, if you would save your lives." Passengers and crew—men, women and children—crowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire; clouds of smoke arose. The captain cried out through his trumpet;— "John Maynard!" " Aye, aye. Sir!" " Are you at the helm ?" " Aye, aye. Sir!" "How does she head?" "Southeast by east. Sir." " Head her southeast and run her on shore," said the captain. Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the shore. Again the captain cried out:— " John Maynard!" The response came feebly this time, "Aye, aye. Sir!" " Can you hold on five minutes longer, John?" he said. "By God's help, I will." The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp, one hand disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth set, with his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He beached the ship; -every man, woman, and child was saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to its God. SQUEERS AND NICKLEBY.—Charles Dickens. " Have you any thing to say ?" demanded Squeers again: giving his right arm two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. " Stand a little out of the way, Mrs. Squeers, my dear; I've hardly got room enough." " Spare me. Sir " cried Smike. SqUEEBS AND NICKLEBr. 177 "Oh! that's all, is it?" said Squeers. "Yes, I'll flog you within an inch of your life, and spare you that." " Ha, ha, ha," laughed Mrs. Squeers, " that's a good 'un." " I was driven to do it," said Sraike faintly: and casting an¬ other imploring look about him. " Driven to do it, were you," said Squeers. " Oh ! it wasn't your fault; it was mine, I suppose—eh?" " A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking dog," exclaimed Mrs. Squeers, taking Smike's head under her arm, and administering a cuif at every epithet; " what does he mean by that ?" " Stand aside, my dear," replied Squeers. " We'll try and find out." Mrs. Squeers, being out of breath with her exertions, complied. Squeers caught the boy firmly in his grip ^ one desperate cut had fallen on his body—he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of pain—it was raised again, and again about to fall— when Nicholas Nickleby, suddenly starting up, cried "Stop!" in a voice that made the rafters ring. " Who cried stop ?" said Squeers, turning savagely round. " I," said Nicholas, stepping forward. " This must not go on." " Must not go on!" cried Squeers, almost in a shriek. "No!" thundered Nicholas. Aghast and stupefied by the boldness of the interference, Squeers released his hold of Smike, and falling back a pace or two gazed upon Nicholas with looks that were positively frightful. " I say must not," repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted; " shall not. I will prevent it." Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out of his bead; but astonishment had actually for the moment bereft him of speech. " You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miser¬ able lad's behalf," said Nicholas; " returned no answer to the letter in which I begged forgiveness for him and offered to be responsible tbat he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this public interference. You have brought it upon yourself; uot I." 8» 178 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. " Sit down, beggar!" screamed Squeers, almost beside himself with rage, and seizing Smike as he spoke. "Wretch," rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, " tonch him at your peril! I will not stand by and see it done ; my blood is up, and I have the strength of ten such men as yon. Look to yourself, for by Heaven I will not spare you if you drive me on." He had scarcely spoken when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath and with a cry like the bowl of a wild beast, spat upon him, and struck him a blow across the face with his instrument of torture, which raised up a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with the agony of the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, and, pinning him by the throat, beat the ruflBan till he roared for mercy. The boys—with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to his father's assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear—moved not hand or foot; but Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for .aid, hung on to the tail of her partner's coat and endeavored to drag him from his infuriated adversary; while Miss Squeers, who had been peeping through the keyhole in expectation of a very differ¬ ent scene, darted in at the very beginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstands at the usher's head, beat Nicholas to her hearts content, animating herself at every blow with the recollection of his having refused her proffered love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which (as she took after her mother in this respect) was at no time one of the weakest. Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows no more than if they had been dealt with feathers; but becoming tired of the noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides, he threw all his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishing cuts, and flung Squeers from him, with all the force he could muster. The violence of his fall precipitated Mrs. Squeers completely over an adjacent form, and Squeers, striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his full length on the ground, ■tunned and motionless. MKS. CAUDLE'S CUETAIN LECTURE ON SHOPITNG. 17.) MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHOPPING. Douglas Jekeold. You ougbt to have had a slave—yes, a black slave, and not a wife. I'm sure, I'd better been born a negro at once—much better. What^s the matter now f Well, I like that. Upon my life, Mr. Caudle, that's very cool. I can't leave the bouse just to buy a yard of ribbon, but you storm enough to carry the roof off. Tou didn't storm f—you only spoke f Spoke, indeed ! No, sir; I've not such superfine feelings; and I don't cry out before I'm hurt. But you ought to have married a woman of stone, for you feel for nobody: that is, for nobody in your own bouse. I only wish you'd show some of your humanity at home, if ever so little —that's all. What do you say ? Where's my feelings^ to go a shopping at night f When would you have me go ? In the broiling sun, making my face like a gipsy's ? I don't see any thing to laugh at, Mr. Caudle; but you think of anybody's face before your wife's. Oh, that's plain enough; and all the world can see it. I dare say, now, if it was Miss Prettyman's face—now, now, Mr. Caudle! What are you throwing yourself about for? I suppose Miss Prettyman isn't so wonderful a person that she isn't to be named ? I suppose she's flesh and blood. What? You don't know? Ha! I don't know that. What do you say ? For the love of mercy let you sleep f Mercy, indeed! I wish you could show a little of it to other people. Oh yes, I do know what mercy means; but that's no reason I should go shopping a bit earlier than I do—and I won't.—No; you've preached this over to me again and again; you've made me go to meetings to hear all about it: but that's no reason women shouldn't shop just as late as they choose. It's all very fine, as I say, for you men to talk to us at meetings, where, of course, we smile, and all that—and sometimes shake our white pocket-handkerchiefs—and where you say we have the power of early hours in our own hands. To be sure we have; and we mean to keep it. That is, I do. You'll never catch me shopping till the very last thing; and—as a matter of principle- I'll always go to the shop that keeps open latest. 180 COMMON SCHOOL KEADINGS. WHERE THERE'S A WILL, THERE'S A WAY.—John G. SAXB. It was a noble Roman, In Rome's imperial day. Who heard a coward croaker, Before the battle, say, " They're safe in such a fortress: There is no way to shake it—" "Onl on!" exclaimed the hero, "I'll find a way, or make it I" Is fame your aspiration ? Her path is steep and high : In vain he seeks the temple. Content to gaze and sigh! The shining throne is waiting, But he alone can take it. Who says, with Roman firmness, " I'U find a way, or make it." Is learning your ambition ? There is no royal road; Alike the peer and peasant Must climb to her abode; Who feel the thirst for knowledge In Helicon may .slake it, If he has still the Roman wiR To " find a way, or make it!" Are riches worth the getting ? They must be bravely sought; With wishing and with fretting The boon cannot be bought; To aU the prize is open. But. only he can take it. Who says, with Roman courage, " I'll find a way, or make it I" In Love's impassioned warfare. The tale has ever been. That victory crowns the valiant. The brave are they who win ; ■WHAT I LIVE FOR. 18» Though strong in Beauty's castle, A lover still may take it, Who says, with Roman daring, " I'll find a way, or make it I" "WHAT I LIVE FOR. I LiVB for those who love me; Whose hearts are kind and true,' For the Heaven that smiles above mt And waits my spirit too. For the human ties that bind me. For the task by God assigned me, For the bright hopes left behind me, And the good that I can do. I live to learn their story, Who suffered for my sake. To emulate their glory. And follow in their wake. Bards, poets, martyrs, sages. The noble of all ages. Whose deeds crown history's pages, And Time's great volume make. I live to hold communion With all that is divine. To know there is a union 'Twixt Nature's God and mine- To grow wiser from conviction. To profit by affliction, Heap truths from fields of fiction. And fulfill each bright design. I live to bail that season By gifted minds foretold, When men shaU live by reason, And not alone by gold. 182 common school readings. % When man to man united, And every wrong thing riglited. The whole world shall be lighted As Eden was of old. I live for those who love me, Eor the hearts that love me true, For the Heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit too. For the right that lacks assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance, For the future in the distance. And the good that I can do. THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.—M. H. Cobik If men cared less for wealth and fame. And less for battle-fields and glory; If, writ in humau hearts, a name Seemed better than in song and story; If, men instead of nursing pride. Would lea/n to hate it and abhor it; If more relied on Love to guide. The world would be the better for it. If men dealt less in stoeks and lands. And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; If Love's work had more willing hands. To link this world to the supernal; If men stored up Love's oil and wine. And on bruised human hearts would pour it If "yours" and "mine" would once combine, The world would be the better for it. If more would act the play of life, And fewer spoU it in rehearsal; If Bigotry would sheathe its kuife Till Good became more universal; battle of waterloo. 183 If Custom, gray with ages grown, Had fewer blind men to adore it; If talent shone for Truth alone, The world waul 1 be the better for it. If men were wise in little things— Affecting less in all their dealings— If hearts had fewer rusted strings To isolate their kindly feelings; If men, when Wrong beats down the Right, Would strike together and restore it; If Right made Might in every fight. The world would be the better for it. BATTLE OF WATERLOO.—Btbon. There was a sound of revelry by night. And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush 1 hark 1—a deep sound strikes like a rising km Did ye not hear it ?—No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— But, hark 1—That heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat. And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm 1 arm 1 it is—it is—^the cannon's opening roar I Ah 1 then and there was hurrying to and fro. And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And checks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 184 common school readings. And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated—who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise 1 And there was mounting in hot haste, the steed. The mustering squadron, and the clattering car Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star: While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips—" The foe I they come I they come 1" And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. Over the unreturning brave,—alas 1 Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneatli them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe. And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay. The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. The mom the marslialing in arms—the day Battle's magnificently stern array I The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent. The earth is covered thick with other clay. Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent I m THE MINES. 185 IN THE MINES. Leate the sluice and "torn" uutended, Shadows darken on the river; In the canon day is ended, Par above the red rays quiver; Lay aside the bar and spade, Let the pick-axe cease from drifting, See how much the claim has paid "Where the gold dust has been sifting. Tell no tales of wizard charm In the myths of ages olden. When the sorcerer's potent arm Turned all earthly things to golden; Pick and spade are magic rods In the brawny hands of miners; Mightier than the ancient gods, Laboring men are true diviners. Gather round the blazing fire In the deepening darkness gleaming, "While the red tongues leaping, higher, Seem like banners upward streaming; Stretched around the fiery coals. Lulled into luxurious dreaming. Half-a-dozen hungry souls Watch the iron kettle steaming. Break the bread with ready hand. Labor crowns it with a blessing— Now the hungry crowd looks blan^ Each a smoking piece possessing; Pass the ham along this way. Quick, before the whole is taken; Hang philosophy, we say. If we only save our bacon I Spread the blankets on the ground, We must toil again to-morrow. Labor brings us slumber sound No luxurious couch can borrow; 186 COMMON SCHOOL EEADING8. "Watch the stars drift up the sky, Bending softly down above us, Till in dreams our spirits fly Homeward to the friends who love na. As the needle, frail and shivering. On the.ocean wastes afar, "Veering, changing, trembling, quivering, Settles on the polar star; So, in souls of those who roam. Love's magnetic fires are burning. To the loved ones left at home Throbbing hearts are ever turning. THE EAMILY MEETING.—Chables Spraous. We are all here I Father, mother, Sister, brother. All who hold each other dear; Each chair is filled—we're all at home; To-night let no cold stranger come: It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we're found: Bless, then, the meeting and the spot. For once be every care forgot; Let gentle Peace assert her power. And kind Affection rule the hour ; We're all—all here. We're not all here I Some are away—the dead ones dear. Who thronged with us this ancient hearth. And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. Fate, with a stern, relentless hand. Looked in and thinned our little band: Some like a night-flash passed away. And some sank, lingering, day by day; The quiet graveyard—some lie there— And cruel Ocean has his share— We're not aU here CHARACTER OP TRUE ELOQUENCE. 187 "We are all here 1 Even they—the dead—though dead, so dear; Fond Memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view. How lifelike, through the mist of years, Each well-remembered face appears 1 "We see them as in times long past; From each to each kind looks are cast; "We hear their words, their smiles behold, They're round us as they were of old - We are all here. We are all here 1 Father, mother, Sister, brother. You that I love with love so dear This may not long of us be said; Soon must we join the gathered dead, And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle will be found. Oh I then, that wisdom may we know Which yields a life of peace below; So, in the world to follow this. May each repeat, in words of bliss, "We're all—allfeere/" CHARACTEB OF TRUE ELOQUENCE.—Daniel Websteb. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa¬ sions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions ex¬ cited, nothing is valuable in speech, further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the 188 COMMOXT SCHOOL EEADINGS. potnp of declamation, all may aspire after it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spon¬ taneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory con¬ temptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning ,the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object—this, this is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence,—it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. THE FUTURE OF AMERICA,—Daniel Webster, Ij cannot be denied, but by those who would dispute against the sun, that with America, and in America, a new era com¬ mences in human aftairs. This era is distinguished by free repre¬ sentative governments, by entire religions liberty, by improved systems of national intercourse, by a newly awakened and an unconquerable spirit of free inquiry, and by a diflfusion of knowl¬ edge through the community, such as has been before altogether unknown and unheard of. America, America, our country, onr own dear and native land, is inseparably connected, fast bound up, in fortune and by fate, with these great interests. If they fall, we fall with them; if they stand, it will be because we have upheld them. Let us contemplate, then, this connection which binds the pros¬ perity of others to our own; and let us manfully discharge all the duties which it imposes. If we cherish the virtues and the prin- LOVE OF COUNTUY. 189 ciples of our fathers, Heaven will assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human happiness. Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples are before us. Our own firmament now shines brightly upon our path. Washington is in the clear upper sky. Those other stars have now joined the American constella¬ tion ; they circle round their center, and the heavens beam with new light. Beneath this illumination, let us walk the course of life, and at its close devoutly commend our beloved country, the common parent of us all, to the Divine Benignity. LOVE OF COUNTRY.—Newton Booth. Two ideas there are which, above all others, elevate and dignity a race—the idea of God and of country. How imperishable is the idea of country! How does it live within and ennoble the heart in spite of persecutions and trials, and difficulties and dan¬ gers. After two thousand years of wandering, it makes the Jew a sharer in the glory of the prophets, the lawgivers, the warriors and poets who lived in the morning of time. How does it toughen every fiber of an Englishman's frame, and imbue the spirit of the Frenchman with Napoleonic enthusia.sm. How does the German carry with him even the "old house furniture" of the Rhine, surround himself with the sweet and tender associations of " Fatherland," and wheresoever he may be the great names of German history shine like stars in the heaven above him. And the Irishman, though the political existence of his country is merged in a kingdom whose rule he may abhor, yet still do the chords of his heart vibrate responsive to the tones of the harp of Erin, and the lowly shamrock is dearer to his soul than the fame-crowning laurel, the love-breathing myrtle, or storm-daring pine. Whiit is our country? Not alone the land and the sea, the lakes and rivers, and valleys and mountains—not alone the people, their customs and laws—not alone the memories of the past, the hopes of the future; it is something more than all these combined. It is a divine abstraction. You cannot tell what it is, but let its flag rustle above your he.ad—you feel its li, ing pre- 190 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. sence in your hearts. They tell us that our country must die; that the sun and the stars will look down upon the great Kepiiblic no more; that already the black eagles of despotism are gathering in our political sky. That even now, kings and emperors are casting lots for the garments of our national glory. It shall not be. Not yet, not yet shall the nations lay the bleeding corpse of our country in the tomb. If they could, angels could roll the stone from the mouth of the sepulcher. It would burst the cere¬ ments of the grave and come forth a living jjresence, " redeemed, regenerated, disenthralled." Not yet, not yet shall the Eepublio die. The heavens are not darkened, the stones are not rent ! It shall live—it shall live the incarnation of freedom, it shall live the embodiment of the power and majesty of the people. Bap¬ tized anew, it shall stand a thousand years to come, the Colossus of-the nations—its feet upon the continents, its scepter over the seas, its forehead among the stars! APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.-BTBON. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar. I love not man the less, but Nature more. From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before. To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—^roll I Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain, Man marks the earth with ruin—his control Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. When for a moment, like a drop of rain. He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. Without a grave, nnkneUed, uncoffined, and unknown. APOSTEOPHE TO THE OCEAN. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rook-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals; The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war,— These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Kome, Carthage,—wliat are theyf Thy waters wasted them while they were free. And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:—^not so thou. Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play— Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow— Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time. Calm or convulsed—in breeze or gale or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving;—boundless, endless, and sublime^ The image of Eternity—^the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alonau And I have loved thee. Ocean I and my joy * Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers—they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror,—^'twas a pleasing fear; For I was, as it were, a child of thee. And trusted to thy billows far and near. And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do hera 192 COMMON SCHOOL EEADINaS. THE WINDS.—^William Cuixen Bbtamt. Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played, a few brief hours ago; Te bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow; Ye rolled the round while cloud through depths of bla% Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew ; Before you the eatalpa's blossom flew. Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow. How are ye changed I Ye take the cataract's sound; Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might; The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground: The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight Tlie clouds before you shoot like eagles past; The homes of men are rocking in your blast; Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain. To 'scape your wrath; ye seize and dash them dea4> Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain ; The harvest field becomes a river's bed; And torrents tumble from the hills around; Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned; And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound. Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread. Ye darfupon the deep; and straight is heard A wilder roar; and men grow pale, and pray ; Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray. See, to the breaking mast the sailor clings; Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs. And take the mountain billow on your wings. And pile the wreck of navies round the bay. Why rage ye thus ?—no strife for liberty Has made you mad; no tyrant, strong through fear. Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them fre% And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere: THE WORTH OF WOMAN". ] For ye where bom in freedom where you blow? Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go; Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow, Her isles where summer blossoms all the year. 0 ye wild winds; a mightier Power than yours In chains upon the shore of Europe lies; The sceplered throng, whose fetters he endures, "Watch his mute throes with terror in their eyes; And armed warriors all around him stand. And, as he struggles, tighten every band. And lift tlid heavy spear, with threatening hand. To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise. Tet, Oh I when that wTonged Spirit of our race Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains, And leap in freedom from his prison-place. Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains. Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air. To waste the loveliness that time could spare. To fill the earth with woe, and blot her fair Unconscious breast with blood from human veins. But may he like the Spring-time come abroad. Who crumbles Winter's gyves with gentle might. When in the genial breeze, the breath of Glod, Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light; Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet, The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet; And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet. Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night. THE WORTH OF WOMAN.—TniNSLiTBD from SCHILLBB. Honored be woman; she beams on the sight, Graceful and fair, like a being of light; Scatters around her, wherever she strays, Roses of bliss o'er our thorn-covered ways; Roses of Paradise, sent from above. To be gathered and twined in a garland of love, 194 COMMOX SCHOOL EEADINUC. Man, on passion's stormy ocean, Tossed by surges mountains higli, Courts the hurricane's commotion. Spurns at reason's feeble cry. Loud the tempest roars around liim, Loader still it roars within; Flashing lights of hope confound him, Stuns him life's incessant din. "Woman invites him with bliss in her smile, To cease from his toil, and be happy awhile; Whispering wooingly, come to my bower, Gro not in search of the phantom of power; Honor and wealth are illusory, come; Happiness dwells in the temples of home. Man, with fury, stern and savage. Persecutes his brother man, Reckless if he bless or ravage, Action, action, still his plan. Now creating, now destroying. Ceaseless wishes tear his breast; Ever seeking, ne'er enjoying, Still to be, but never blest. Woman, contented in silent repose. Enjoys in its beauty life's flower as it blows. And waters and tends it with innocent heart; Far richer than man with his treasures of art, And wiser by far in her circle confined. Than he with his science and flights of the mind. Coldly to himself sufficing, Man disdains the gentle arts, Knoweth not the bliss arising From the interchange of hearts. Slowly through his bosom stealing, Flows the genial current on, Till, by age's frost congealing. It is hardened into stone. teue nobility. 195 She, like the harp that instinctively rings, As the night-breathing zephyr soft sighs on the strings, Kesponds on each impulse with ready reply, Whether sorrow or pleasure her sympathy try: And tear-drops and smiles on her countenance play, lake sunshine and showers of a morning in May. Through the range of man's dominion. Terror is the ruling word. And the standard of opinion Is the temper of the sword. Strife exults, and pity, blushing. From the scene despairing flies. Where to battle madly rushing, Brother upon brother dies. Woman commands with a milder control, She rules by enchantment the realm of the soul; As she glances around in the light of her smile, The war of the passions is hushed for awhile. And discord, content from his fury to cease. Reposes entranced on the pillows of peace. TRUE NOBILITY.—Chables Swaih. What is noble? To inherit Wealth, estate, and proud degree ? There must be some other merit Higher yet than these for me Scmetbing greater far must enter Into life's majestic span. Pitted to create and center True nobility in man I What is noble ? 'Tis the flner Portion of our Mind and Heart; Linked to something still diviner Than mere language can impart: 106 COMMOlf SCHOOT, BEAJ)INaS. Ever prompting,—ever seeing Some improvement yet to plan; To uplift our fellow-being, And, like man, to feel for Man 1 "What is noble ? Is the saber Nobler than the humble spade? There's a dignity in labor, Truer than e'er pomp arrayed I He who seeks the Mind's improvement, Aids the world, in aiding Mind; Every great commanding movement Serves not one,—but all mankind. O'er the Forge's heat and ashes, O'er the Engine's iron head, "Where the rapid shuttle flashes, And the spindle whirls its thread, There is Labor lowly tending Each requirement of the hour; There is Genius still extending Science and its world of power I Mid the dust, and speed, and clamor Of the loom-shed and the mill; Midst the clink of wheel and hammer, Great results are growing still I Though, too oft, by Fashion's creatures, Work and workers may be blamed. Commerce need not hide its features I Industry is not ashamed. "What is noble? That which places Truth in its enfranchised will; Leaving steps, like angel traces. That mankind may follow stUlI E'en though Scorn's malignant glances Prove him poorest of bis clan. He's the Noble who advances Freedom and the Cause of Man! DIRGE FOR THE BEAUTIP0L. DIRGE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL. SOFTLT, peacefully. Lay her to rest; Place the turf lightly On her young breast; Gently, solemnly, Bend o'er the bed Where ye have pillowed Thus early her head. Plant a young willow Close by her grave; Let its long branches Soothingly wave; Twine a sweet rose-tree Over the tomb; Sprinkle fresh buds there Beauty and bloom. Let a bright fountain, Limpid and clear, Ifurmur its music, (Smile through a tear,) Scatter its diamonds Where the loved lies. Brilliant and starry. Like angels' eyes. Then shall the bright birds On golden wing, Lingering over. Murmuring sing; Then shall the soft breeie Pensively sigh. Bearing rich fragrance And melody by. Lay the sod lightly Over her breast:— Calm be her slumbers, Peaceful her rest t 198 COMMON SCHOOL KEADINOS. Beautiful, lovely, She was but given. A fair bud to earth, To blossom in heaven. SHE PRATS FOR HER BOY.—Anna M. Batks. She prays for her boy at eve and dawn— The mother prays for the dear one gone; He has wandered so wide and far away From the sunny haunts where he used to play. From the home where he roamed in childish joy. He has gone—yet the mother prays for her boy I She prays for her boy—Oh I I think to-day, How many a message wings its way With the love of an angel pure and deep. From the mother's heart that cannot sleep! As the bird moans o'er its forsaken nest, I fancy that grief broods in her breast; I fancy to-day that all her joy Is to kneel to her God and pray for her boy I Oh I a mother's love—what fount like this Is gushing in earth's wide wilderness! The' from its bright wealth we rove afar. To follow the beaming of many a star. Weary and faint on life's desert track. The heart to that pure wellspring goes back. For those waters sweet it oft will yearn. And sigh, " Oh I days of my youth return I" She prays for her boy—I see her now. With the shadow of care upon her brow; The weary months and years that have sped Have twined in her tresses the silver thread; I fancy she turns from the world's loud glee, And says, "AlasI it is not for me!" I can think how she stands in the place of graves. And thinks of the loved o'er the ocean waves. THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAE. 190 She prays for her boy—oh I lonely heart Be strong in the strife to do thy part, And know that such blessings around thee shed, Must be like incense upon thy head. The mantle of her afiection warm. That would shield thee from the pitiless storm, May be softly folded around thee there. By the Grod who hears thy mother's prayer. She prays for her boy—^and thus it will be. Till her bark goes down Death's tideless sea; But an echo will linger, yes, even then, And seek him out in the haunts of men; It wUl whisper low of Heaven's wide joy. Saying, there thy mother yet prays for her boy 1 THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAR.—BATAKD Taylok. Gusty and raw was the morning, A fog hung over the seas, And its gray skirts, rolling inland. Were torn by the mountain trees; No sound was heard but the dashing Of waves on the sandy bar, When Pablo of San Diego Rode down to the Paso del Mar. The pescador, out in his shallop. Gathering his harvest so wide. Sees the dim bulk of the headland Loom over the waste of the tide; He sees, like a white thread, the pathway Wind round on the terrible wall, Where the faint, moving speck of the rider Seems hovering close to its fall! Stout Pablo of San Diego Bode down from the hills behind ; With the bells on his gray mule tinkling. He sang through the fog and wind. 200 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. Under his thick, minted eyebrows, Twinkled his eye like a star, And fiercer he sang, as the sea-winds Drove cold on Paso del Mar. Now Bernal, the herdsman of Corral, Had traveled the shore since dawn. Leaving the ranches behind him— Good reason he had to be gone I The blood was still red on his dagger. The fury was hot in his brain. And the chill, driving scud of the breakers Beat thick on his forehead in vain. ■With his blanket wrapped gloomily round him, He mounted the dizz3-ing road, And the chasms and steeps of the headland Were slippery and wet, as he trode; Wild swept the wind of the ocean, EoUing the fog from afar. When near him a mule bell came tinkling, Midway on the Paso del Marl " Back 1" shouted Bemal full fiercelj'. And "Backl" shouted Pablo, in wrath; As his mule halted, startled and shrinking, On the perilous line of the pathl The roar of devouring surges Came up from the breakers' hoarse war; And "Back, or you perish 1" cried Bernal, "I turn not on Paso del Marl" The gray mule stood firm as the headland He clutched at the jingling rein. When Pablo rose up in his saddle. And smote till he dropped it again, A wild oath of passion swore Bernal, And brandished his dagger, still red, ■While fiercely stout Pablo leaned forward. And fought o'er his trusty mule's head. They fought, till the black wall below them Shone red through the misty blast; Stout Pablo then struck, leaning further. The broad breast of Bernal at last. ouk state. And, phrensied -with pain, the swart herdsman Closed r«und him his terrible grasp. And jerked him, despite of his struggles, Down from the mule, in his clasp. They grappled with desperate madness On the slippery edge of the wall. They swayed on the brink, and togethei Heeled out to the rush of the fall I A cry of the wildest death anguish Bang faint through the mist afar. And the riderless mule went homeward From the fight of the Paso del Marl ODE STATE. Lonq years ago, a little band Of Pilgrims, from a distant shore. Found a wild home in that cold land "Where the Atlantic's surges roar; They were strong, iron-hearted men. Oppression's stern, unyielding foes; And in each rugged mountain glen The village church and school-house rose. Those Pilgrim sires have passed away. But stiU they live in deathless fame; And Pilgrim mothers of that day Are crowned with an immortal name. They have departed—but have left A glorious legacy behind. Of which we cannot be bereft— The freedom of the human mind. We find a new and pleasant home. From want, and war, and danger free, Spanned with warm skies and crystal dome. Laved by Pacific's calmer sea. The church and school-house, side by side, Were nurseries of New England men; S* 202 COMMOX SCHOOL READINGS. And may tliey be our boast and pride— Adorning every golden glen. Great God I thy kind and bounteous care Hath cast our lot in goodly lands, "With summer skies and valleys fair, And rivers paved with golden sands. God of our Fathers 1 crown and bless This gold land of Pacific's shore, With plenty, peace, and happiness. And liberty, forevermore. BABIE BELL.—T. B. Aldrich. Have you not heard the poet tell. How came the dainty Babie Bell Into this world of ours? The gates of heaveu were left ajar With folded hands and dreamy eyes She wandered out of Paradise I She saw this planet, like a star. Hung in the depths of purple even— Its bridges, running to and fro. O'er which the white-winged seraphs go. Bearing the holy dead to heaven 1 She touched a bridge of flowers—those feet So light they did not bend the beUs Of the celestial asphodels 1 They fell like dew tipon the flowers I And all the air grew strangely sweet! And thus came dainty Babie Bell Into this world of ours 1 It came upon us by degrees; We saw its shadow ere it fell. The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Babie Bell I OUR COUNTRY'S ORIGIN. 203 We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, And all our thoughts ran into tears I And all our hopes were changed to fears— The sunshine into dismal rain I Aloud we cried in our belief: " Oh smite us gently, gently, God I Teach us to bend and kiss the rod, And perfect grow through grief I" Ah, how we loved her, God can tell; Her little heart was cased in ours— They're broken caskets—^Babie Belli At last he came, the messenger. The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Babie Bell? She only crossed her little hands I She only looked more meek and fair I We parted back her silken hair; We laid some buds upon her brow— Death's bride arrayed in flowers 1 And thus went dainty Babie Bell Out of this world of oursl OUB COUNTRY'S ORIGIN.—Daniel Webster. Our fathers came hither to a land from which they were never to return. Hither they had brought, and here they were to fix their hopes, their attachments, and their objects. Some natural tears they shed, as they left the pleasant abodes of their fathers, and some emotions they suppressed when the white cliffs of their native country, now seen for the last time, grew dim to their sigiit. A new existence awaited them here; and when they saw these shores, rough, cold, barbarous, and barren, as then they were, they beheld their country. Before they reached the shore, they had established the elements of a social system, and at a much earlier neriod had settled their forms of religious worship. At 204 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. the moment of their landing, therefore, they possessed institutions of government, and institutions of religion. The morning that beamed on the first night of their repose saw the Pilgrims already established in their country. There were political institutions, and civil liberty, and religious worship. Poetry has fancied nothing in the wanderings of heroes so distinct and characteristic. Here was man indeed unprotected, and unprovided for, on the shore of a rude and fearful wilderness; but it was politic, intelli¬ gent, and educated man. Every thing was civilized but the physi¬ cal world. Institutions containing in substance all that ages had done for human government were established in a forest. Culti¬ vated mind was to act on uncultivated nature; and, more than all, a government and a country were to commence with the very first foundations laid under the divine light of the Christian reli¬ gion. Happy auspices of a happy futurity! Who would wish that his country's existence had otherwise begun? Who would desire the power of going back to the ages of fable ? Who would wish for an origin obscured in the darkness of antiquity? Who would wish for other emblazoning of his country's heraldry, or other ornaments of her genealogy, than to be able to say that her first existence was with intelligence; her first breath the inspira¬ tions of liberty; her first principle the truth of divine religion ? HARD WORK.—Channinq. I HAVE great faith in hard work. The material world does much for the mind by its beauty and order; but it does more for our minds by the pains it inflicts, by its obstinate resistance which nothing hut patient toil can overcome, by its vast forces which nothing but unremitting skill and effort can turn to our use, by its perils which demand continual vigilance, and by its tendencies to decay. I believe that difficulties are more important to the human mind than what we call assistances. Work we all must, if we mean to bring out and perfect our nature. Even if we do not work with the hands, we must undergo equivalent toil in LABOR. 205 some other direction. No business or study which does not pre¬ sent obstubles, tasking to the full the intellect and the will, is worthy of a man. In science, he who does not grapple with hard questions, who does not concentrate his whole intellect in vigor¬ ous attention, who does not aim to penetrate what at first repels him, will never attain to mental force. The uses of toil reach beyond the present world. The capacity of steady, earnest labor is, I apprehend, one of our great preparations for another state of being. "When I see the vast amount of toil required of men, I feel that it must have important connections with their future existence; and that he who has met this discipline manfully, has laid one essential foundation of improvement, exertion, and happi¬ ness in the world to come. You will here see that labor has great dignity. It is not merely the grand instrument, by which the earth is overspread with fruitfulness and beauty, and the ocean subdued, and matter wrought into innumerable forms for comfort and ornament. It has a far higher function, which, is to give force to the will, etficiency, courage, the capacity of endurance and of persevering devotion to far-reaching plans. Alas, for the man who has not learned to work! He is a poor creature. He does not know himself. He depends on others, with no capacity of making returns for the support they give; and let him not fancy that he has a monopoly of enjoyment. Ease, rest, owes its deliciousncss to toil; and no toil is so burdensome as the rest of him who has nothing to task and quicken his powers. LABOR.—Orvillk DEWET. Labor is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not the great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it, then, be built again; here, if anywhere, on the shores of a new world—of a new civilization. But how, it may be asked, is it broken down ? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do, indeed, toil; but they too gene- 206 common school readings. rally do, because they must. Many submit to it, as in some sort a degrading necessity; and they desire nothing so much on earth as an escape from it. This way of thinking is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil! Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and dusty labor-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honor¬ able than that of war; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which mother Nature has embroidered mist, sun, and rain, fire and steam—her own heraldic honors! Ashamed of those tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity! It is treason to nature; it is impiety to heaven : it is breaking heaven's great ordinance. Toil—toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand—is the only true manhood, the only true nobility! THANKSGIVING. OcB hearts are full of memories of the good old Christmas times. When sleigh-bells on our northern hills rang out their merry chimes. Let us call to mind the stories to us in childhood told. And gather up the golden grains of friendship true and old. Those northern hills—our native hills—are shrouded now in snow, But round the firesides of that land warm hearts are in a glow. No biting frosts, no wintry winds, no winter snows can chill The hearts that loved us long ago, the hearts that love us still! As the year brings back Thanksgiving and merry Christmas morn, Our hearts go flocking homeward to the land where we were born. Ring out the merry Christmas bells, and sing the songs we sung Round the firesides of New England in the days when we were young. When we gathered in the kitchen, around the blazing hearth— Father, mother, sister, brother—our hearts all ONE in mirth; When our hearts were all Thanksgiving, and we worshiped God in truth, Contented with the priceless boons of home, and health, and youth. THE DYING YEAi. 207 Ring out tlie jovful Christmas bells t—the same true mother's prayer Ascends to heaven for us to-day, as when we knelt down there. Ring out the bells, raise thanks to God, that memories of home Attend like angels on our steps wherever we may roam. God bless the rough old Granite Land, and Plymouth's sea-washed rock; God bless all wandering children of the hardy Pilgrim stock. New England's wealth lies treasured, not in golJen .stream or glen, But in priceless souls of women, and the iron hearts of men. Our footsteps wander from her, but our pride is still to know We keep the free New England hearts she gave us years ago. Like the needle always turning to the Polar star, at sea, "We are ever drawn. New England, trembling, quivering unto thee I The ties that bind us unto thee, nor time nor space can sever— Our homes are on Pacific's strand, our hearts are thine forever! THE DYING TEAR.—Alfred Tennyson. Ring out wild bells to the wild sky. The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new. Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind. For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor. Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly-dying cause, • And ancient forms of party strife. Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. 208 COilMON SCHOOL EEADIXGS. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhyme*. But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride, in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease. Ring out the narrowing lust of gold, Ring out the thousand woes of old. Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. STORY OF SCHOOL. The red light shone through the open dooi; Prom the round declining sun ; And fantastic shadows, all about, On the dusty floor were thrown. As the factory clock told the hour of five, And the school was almost done. The mingled hum of the busy town Rose faint from the lower plain. And we saw the steeple over the trees, With its motionless, golden vane, And heard the cattle's musical low. And the rustle of standing grain. 8TOKY OF SCHOOL. 209 In the open casement a lingering bee Murmured a drowsy tune, And, from the upland meadows, a song^ In the lulls of the afternoon. Had come on the air that wandered by. Laden with scents of June. Our tasks were finished and lessons said, As we sat all hushed and still. Listening to the purl of the brook. And the whirr of the distant mill. And waiting the word of dismissal, that yet "Waited the master's will. The master was old, and his form was bent. And scattered and white his hair; But his heart was young, and there ever dwelt A calm and kindly air. Like a halo over a pictured saint. On his face marked deep with care. His eyes were closed, and his wrinkled hands Were folded over his vest. As wearily back in his old arm-chair He reclined as if to rest; And the golden streaming sunlight fell On his brow, and down his breast. We waited in reverent silence long. And silence the master kept. Though still the accustomed saintly smile Over his features crept; And we thought, worn out with the lengthened toil Of the summer's day, he slept. So we quietly rose and left our seats. And outward into the sun. From the gathering shade of the dusty room. Stole silently one by one— For we knew, by the distant striking clock, It was timL the school was done. 210 COMMON SCHOOL READINGS. And left the master sleeping alone, Alone in his high-backed chair, With his eyelids and his withered palms Folded as if in prayer, And the mingled light and smile on his face, And we knew not Death was there. Nor knew that just as the clock struck five. His kindly soul away, A shadowy messenger silently bore From its trembling house of clay. To be a child with the Saints of Heaven, And to dwell with Christ alway 1 OUR COMMON SCHOOLS.—Daniel Webster. New England maybe allowed to claim for her schools, I think, a merit of a peculiar character. She early adopted and has con¬ stantly maintained the principle, that it is the undoubted right and tl'.e bounden duty of Government to provide for the instruc¬ tion of all youth. That which is elsewhere left to chance, or to charity, we secure by law. For the ])urpose of public instruction, we hold every man subject to taxation in proportion to his pro¬ perty, and we look not to the question whether he himself have or have not children to be benefited by the education for which he pays. We regard it as a wise and liberal system of police, by which property and life and the peace of society are secured. We seek to prevent, in some measure, the extension of the penal code, by inspiring a salutary and conservative principle of virtue and of knowledge in an early age. We hope to excite a feeling of respectability and a sense of character by enlarging the capa¬ city and increasing the sphere of intellectual enjoyment. By general instruction, we seek, as far as possible, to purify the whole moral atmosphere, to keep good sentiments uppermost, and to turn the strong current of feeling and opinion, as well as the censures of the law and the denunciations of religion, against ini- OUB NATIONAUTT. 211 morality and crime. We hope for a security beyond the law and above the law, in the prevalence of enlightened and well prin- ciplea moral sentiment. We hope to continue and prolong the time when, in the villages and farm-houses of New England, there may be nndistnrbed sleep within unbarred doors. And knowing that our Government rests directly on the public will, that we may preserve it, we endeavor to give a safe and proper direction to that public will. ■ We do not, indeed, expect all men to be philosophers or states¬ men, but we confidently trust, and our expectation of the duration of our system of government rests on that trust, that by the diffusion of general knowledge and good and virtuous sentiments, the political fabric may be secure, as well against open violence and overthrow, as against that slow but sure undermining of licentiousness. OUR NATIONALITY.—Thomas Stabb King. OuB duty is to maintain American nationality. I believe, as devoutly as I bow to the Sermon on the Mount, that God sum¬ mons us to "bend each corporal agent" and all the fibers of the soul to that work now. Our nationality, we repeat, has its charter and seal not in a written constitution so much as in the trend of a coast—the trough of a glorious valley, grooved by the finger of Omnipotence, the most princely domain of the globe—the course and sweep of a history more manifestly providential than any since the deliverance from Egypt and the settlement of Palestine. If we can feel what traditions mean—if we are open to the inspi¬ ration of great characters, noble as any in the secular annals of our planet—if we are not dead to the call of a long-compacted and holy trust, we shall confess that we have one great duty, one supreme privilege, rather, in these terrible days, namely, to devote all that we have, and are, and hope to be, to the maintenance of the nation which God has delivered in its fresh magnificence to the keeping of our valor and patriotism. Make the preservation 212 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. of nationality the goal of all action, the touchstone of all politics. Stand for every thing that serves that. Resist every thing, reject every thing, pour impassioned scorn upon every thing that opposes that. If a man or a party talks State sovereignty, say that the only real sovereignty a State can have is in consenting to fit, like a rib, into the national back-bone. ^ It loses its sove¬ reignty when it sets up to be what God never made it to be—a whole body. If a man or a party talks of the Tennessee River, or the Cumberland, show him the Ohio, into which they flow. If he talks the Ohio, point him to Cairo, where it pours into a mightier tide. ^ If he talks the Yellowstone or the Platte, or the Kansas, or the Arkansas, tell him that the nation holds, to-day, the springs of all these, and that they hurry with their American contributions to the stream over whose mouth the American banner floats secure. If he talks the Sacramento, in the dialect of State sovereignty or secession, tell him that he had better smother his pestilent breath in the muddiest portion of its waves. OUR FLAG.—J. W. "WiNANS. When the first gun was fired on Sumter, the nation was In¬ sulted ; when her flag struck to rebels, the outrage was complete. That flag, like a bright meteor, had penetrated every land and floated upon every sea. Its stars were the coronet of freedom; its stripes were the scourges of oppression. Around its folds twined thickly clustering memories of a nation's greatness, gran¬ deur and benignity. An emblem of glory, it controlled the dearest affections of the heart, and oftentimes brought tears of emotion to the eye or shouts of triumph to the lip. Its glorious beauty sprang from the tracery of woman's gentle hand, while its might prevailed above the roar of battle. Upon that floating drapery the eye of infancy had rested in its first moment of per¬ ception, and unto it had fondly turned the old man's last and dying gaze. v/Aye, and the hero when he fell upon the field crept to its cherished presence and there died in its embrace. When OtTB FLAG. 213 Chatham, iii a burst of startling eloquence, appeaied to the vener¬ able ancestry of England, whose portraits lined the walls of Par¬ liament around him, and, by a strange illusion, wrested their very presence from the portals of the tomb, he evoked no influ¬ ences more august, no holier thrill than that old flag inspires in every patriot breast. Wherever it appears, it is the symbol of power and the shield of safety, ''^ho clings to it, not all the tyrants of the earth can tear from its protection, not even those who tore Becket trembling from the altar. And yet, strange paradox, if to a Roman prastor the panting suppliant could cry in vain, "I am a Roman citizen," what wonder that that flag, although invincible abroad, should be contemned by rebel hearts at home. O, the depth of the disgrace! O, the burning vehe¬ mence of the revenge! y^fot all the efforts of a potent aristocracy could rescue Verres from his doom ; nor can those gloomy mal¬ contents escape who trailed the standard of their country in the dust. But the dishonor of that flag was the salvation of the people. The whole nation sprang to arms. /'The spirit of the fathers' still glowed in the breasts of their descendants. It was Massachusetts who first sounded the tocsiu of alarm, and reared the standard of resistance in the olden time; it was Massachusetts who first sprang to arms in the rebellion of the present hour. Steadily and firmly. State by State, her sisters wheeled into the line of battle, until, from ocean unto ocean, there arose a host more mighty than the armies of Sennacherib. ^TJpon many a bloody field, from Roanoke to Shiloh; through the thick horrors of a civil strife; amid want, privation, and exposure; with a courage no danger could appall, a resolution no impediment could overcome, and a gallantry no opposition could resist, they have again proclaimed before the startled world the power, the prowess, and the perpetuity of these United States. 214 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. MRS, CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON TOBACCO. Douglas Jbrbolu-. Faugh! Pah! Whewgh! That filthy tobacco-smoke! It's " enough to kill any decent woman. You know I hate tobacco, and yet you will d^ it. You donH intend to stay out till two in the morning ? How do you know what you'll do when you get among such people ? Men can't answer for themselves when they get boozing one with another. They never think of their poor wives, who are grieving and wearing themselves out at home. A nice headache you'll have to-morrow morning—or rather this morning; for it must be past twelve. Xou wont have a headache? It's very well for you to say so, but I know you will; and then you may nurse yourself forme. Ha! that filthy tobacco again? No; I shall not goto sleep like a good soul. How's people to go to sleep when they're suffocated ? Yes, Mr. Caudle, you'll be nice and ill in the morning 1 But don't you think I'm going to let you have your breakfast in bed, like Mrs. Prettyman. I'll not be such a fool. No; nor I won't have discredit brought upon the house by sending for soda-water early, for all tlie neighborhood to say, "Caudle was drunk last night." No: I've some regard for the dear children, if you havn't. No: nor yon shan't have broth for dinner. Not a neck of mut¬ ton crosses my threshold, I can tell you. You won't want soda, and you wont wan'throth? All the better. You wouldn't get 'em if you did, I can assure you. Dear, dear, dear! That filthy tobacco! I'm sure it's enough to make ine as bad as you are. Talking about getting divorced,—I'm sure tobacco ought to be good grounds. How little does a woman think, when she marries, that she gives her¬ self up to be poisoned! You men contrive to have it all of your own side, you do. Now, if I was to go and leave you and the children, a pretty noise there'd be. Yes, I see how it will be. Now you've once gone to a tavern, you'll always be going. You'll be coining home tipsy every night; and tumbling down and breaking your leg, and putting out your shoulder; and bringing all sorts of disgrace and expense COUSIN SAILZ DILUABD. 215 upon us. And then you'll be getting into a street fight—oh 1 1 know your temper too well to doubt it, Mr. Caudle—and be knocking down some of the police. And then I know what will follow. It mtist follow. Yes, you'll be sent for a month or six weeks to the treadmill. Pretty thing that, for a respectable tradesman, Mr. Caudle, to be put upon the treadmill with all sorts of thieves and vagabonds, and—^there, again, that horrible tobacco!—and ritfraff of every kind. I should like to know how your children are to hold up their heads, after their father has been upon the treadmill ? No; I won't go to sleep. And I'm not talking of what's impossible. I know it will all happen— every bit of it. If it wasn't for the dear children, you might be ruined and I wouldn't so much as speak about it, but—oh, dear, dear! at least you might go where they smoke good tobacco—but I can't forget that I'm their mother. At least, they shall have one parent. Oh! that hor-hor-i-ble to-bac-co! COUSIN SALLY DILLIARD.—Hamilton C. Jones. Scene—A Court of Justice in North Carolina. A beardless disciple of Themis rises, and thus addresses the Court:—"May it please your worships, and you, gentlemen of the Jury, since it has been my fortune (good or bad, I will not say) to exercise myself in legal disquisitions, it has never befallen me to be obliged to prosecute so direful, marked, and malicious an assault—a more willful, violent, dangerous battery—and finally, a more diabolical breach of the peace has seldom happened in a civilized country; and I dare say, it has seldom been your duty to pass upon one so shocking to benevolent feelings, as this which took place over at Captain Rice's in this county. But you will hear from the witnesses." The witnesses being sworn, two or three were examined and deposed—one said that he heard the noise, and did not see the fight; another that he seen the row, but didn't know who struck first—and a third, that he was very drunk, and couldn't say much about the skrimmage. 216 COMMON SCHOOL BEAOIN6S. Lawtek Chops. I am sorry, gentlemen, to have occupied your time with the stupidity of the witnesses examined. It arises, gentlemen, altogether from misapprehension on my part. Had I known, as I now do, that I had a witness in attendance, who was well acquainted with all the circumstances of the case, and who was able to make himself clearly understood by the Court and jury, I should not so long have trespassed upon your time and patience. Come forward, Mr. Harris, and he sworn. So forward comes the witness, a fat, shuffy old man, a " leetle " corned, and took his oath with an air. Chops. Harris, we wish you to tell about the riot that hap¬ pened the other day at Captain Bice's; and as a good deal of time has already been wasted in circumlocution, we wish you to he compendious, and at the same time as explicit as possible. Hakbis. Adzactly {giving the lawyer a "knowing wink, and at the same time clearing his throat). Captain Rice, he gin a treat, and cousin Sally DiUiard, she came over to our house and axed me if my wife she moutn't go. I told cousin Sally Billiard that my wife was poorly, being as how she had a touch of rheumatics in the hip, and the big swamp was in the road, and the big swamp was up, for there had been a heap of ram lately; but, howsomever, as it was she, cousin Sally Billiard, my wife she mout go. Well, cousin Sally Billiard then axed me if Mose he moutn't go ? I told cousin Sally Billiard that he was the foreman of the crap, and the crap was smartly in the grass; hut howsom¬ ever, as it was she, cousin Sally Billiard, Mose mout go Chops. In the name of common sense, Mr. Harris, what do you mean by this rigmarole ? Witness. Captain Rice, he gin a treat, and con sin Sally Bil¬ liard she came over to our house and axed me if my wife she moutn't go. I told cousin Sally Billiard Chops. Stop, Sir, if you please; we don't want to hear any thing about your cousin Sally Billiard and your wife—tell us about the fight at Rice's. Witness. Well, I will, Sir, if you will let me. Chops. Well, Sir, go on. Witness. Well, Sir, Captain Rice he gin a treat, and cousin Sally Billiard she came over to our house and axed me if my wife she moutn't go COUSIN SALLY DILUAED. £ 1 Chops. There it is again. Witness, please to stop. ' Witness. Well, Sir, what do you want? Chops. We want to know about the fight, and you must not proceed in this impertinent story. Do you know any thing about the matter before the Court ? W itness. To be sure I do. Chops. Well, go on and tell it, and nothing else. Witness. Well, Captain Rice he gin a treat Chops. This is intolerable. May it please the Court, I move that this witness be committed for a contempt; he seems to be trifling with this Court. CouKT. Witness, you are now before a court of justice, and unless yon behave yourself in a more becoming manner, you will be sent to jail; so begin and tell what you know about the fight at Captain Rice's. Witness. \Alarmeii.\ Well, gentlemen. Captain Rice he gin a treat, and cousin Sally Billiard Chops. I hope the witness may be ordered into custody. CoiTET. \After deliberating.'] Mr. Attorney, the Court is of the opinion that we may save time by telling witness to go on in his own way. Proceed, Mr. Harris, with your story, but stick to the point. Witness. Yes, gentlemen. Well, Captain Rice he gin a treat, and cousin Sally Billiard she came over to our house and axed me if my wife she moutn't go. I told cousin Sally Billiard that my wife she was poorly, being as how she had the rheumatics in the hip, and the big swamp was up; but howsomever, as it was she, cousin Sally Billiard, my wife she mout go. Well, cousin Sally Billiard then axed if Mose he moutn't go. I told cousin Sally Billiard as how Mose—he was the foreman of the crap, and the crap was smartly in the grass—but howsomever as it was she, cousin Sally Billiard, Mose he mout go. So they goes on together, Mose, my wife, and cousin Sally Billiard, and they come to the big swamp, and it was up, as I was telling you; but being as how there was a log across the big swamp, cousin Sally Billiard and Mose, like genteel folks, they walked the log; but my wife, like a darned fool, waded through. And thafs all I 'know about the fight. 10 218 COMMON SCHOOL HEADINGS. EVENING. The stream is calmest when it nears the tide, And flowers are sweetest at the eventide, And birds most musical at close of day. And saints divinest when they pass away. Mdrning is lovely, hut a holier charm Lies folded close in Evening's robe of balm. And weary man must ever love her best. For Morning calls to toil, but Night to rest. She comes from heaven, and on her wings doth bear A holy fragrance, like the breath of prayer; Footsteps of angels follow in her trace. To shut the weary eyes of Day in peace. AU things are hushed before her as she throws O'er earth and sky her mantle of repose; There is a calm, a beauty, and a power. That Morning knows not, in the evening hour. " Until the evening" we must weep and toil, Plough life's stern furrow, dig the weedy soil. Tread with sad feet our rough and thorny way. And bear the heat and burden of the day. Oh, when our sun is setting, may we glide Like summer evening, down the golden tide; And leave behind us, as we pass away. Sweet, starry twilight round our sleeping clay I HYMN TO THE FLOWERS.—Horace Smith. Hat-stars 1 that ope your eyes with morn to twmkl* From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle As a bbationl eVMN TO THE FLOWERS. 219 Ye matin worshipers I who bending lowly Before the uprisen sun—God's lidless eye— Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy Incense on high I Ye bright mosaics 1 that with storied beauty The floor of Nature's temple tesselate, What numerous emblems of instructive duty Your forms create I To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply— - Its choir the wind and waves, its organ thunder. Its dome the sky. Your voiceless lips, 0 Flowers, are living preachers. Each cup a pulpit and each leaf a book. Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers. From loneliest nook. " Thou wert not, Solomon I in all thy-glory. Arrayed," the lilies cry, " in robes like ours; How vain your grandeur I Ah, how transitory Are human flowers I" In the sweet-scented pictures, Heavenly Artist I With which thou paintest Nature's wide-spread hall, What a delightful lesson thou impartest Of love to all. Not useless are ye. Flowers I though made for pleasure Blooming o'er fleld and wave, by day and night. From every source your sanction bids me treasure Harmless delight Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining. Far from all voice of teachers or divines. My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining. Priests, sermons, shrines! 220 COMMOX SCHOOL READIXGS. THE DEATH-BED.—Thomas Hood. "We watched her breathing through the nighti Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears. Our fears our hopes belied— We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the mom came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed—she had Another morn than ours. THE MAIN-TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE. Old iRONsroES at anchor lay. In the harbor of Mahou ; A dead calm rested on the bay— The waves to sleep had gone; When little Hal. the captain's son, A lad both brave and good. In sport, up shroud and rigging ran. And on the main-truck stood 1 THE MAIN-TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE. A shudder shot through every vein, All eyes were turned on high 1 There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, Between the sea and sky; No hold had he above, below; Alone he stood in air: To that far height none dared to go: No aid could reach him there. "We gazed;—but not a man could speak I "With horror all aghast. In groups, with paUid brow and cheek, "We watched the quivering mast The atmosphere grew thick and hot. And of a liquid hue;— As riveted unto the spot. Stood officers and crew. ^ The father came on deck:—he gasped, " Oh God I thy will be done I" Then suddenly a rifle grasped. And aimed it at his son: " Jump, far out, boy, into the wave 1 Jump, or I fire 1" he said ; " That only chance your life can save! Jump, jump, boy 1"—He obeyed. He sunk,—^he rose,—^lie lived,—^he moved,— And for the ship struck out: On board, we hailed the lad beloved. With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy. Those wet arms round his neck- Then folded to his heart his boy. And fainted on the deck 222 COMMON SCUOOL EEADING8. THE BUGLE-SONG.—ALFKED Tenntso*. The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old In story; The long light shakes across the lakes And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 0 hark, 0 hearl how thin and clear. And thinner, clearer, farther going! 0 sweet and far from clift" and soar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing I Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 0 love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roU from soul to soul. And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes fiying. And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. MAZEPPA.—Btkon. "Bring forth the horse 1"—^the horse was brought; In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who looked as though the speed of thought Were m his limbs; but he was wild. Wild as the wild deer, and untaught. With spur and bridle undefiled— 'Twas but a day he bad been caught; And snorting with erected mane. And struggling fiercely, but in vain. In the full foam of wrath and dread. MAZEPPA. 233 To me the desert-born was led : They bound me on, that menial throng Upon his back with many a thong; They loosed him with a sudden lash: Away 1 away 1—and on we dash 1— Torrents less rapid and less rash. Away, away, my steed and I, Upon the piuions of the wind. All human dwellings left behind; We sped like meteors through the sky. When with its crackling sound, the night Is checkered with the northern light; Town,—village,—none were on our track, But a wild plain of far extent. And bounded by a forest black; The sky was dull, and dim, and gray. And a low bree^e crept moaning by; I could have answered with a sigh; But fast we fled, away, away. And I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell, like rain, Upon the courser's bristling mane. We neared the wild-wood—'twas so wide, I saw no bounds on either side ;— The boughs gave way, and did not tear My limbs, and I found strength to bear My wounds, already scarred with cold— My bonds forbade to loose my hold. We rustled through the leaves like wind. Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind. By night I heard them on my track: Their troop came hard upon our back. With their long gallop, which can tire The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire; Where'er we flew they followed on. Nor left us with the morning sun. Oh 1 how I wished for spear or sword, At least to die amidst the horde. And perish, if it must be so. At bay, destroying many a foe. 224 COMMOIT SCHOOL READINGS. My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, And throbbed a while, then beat no more. The skies spun like a mighty wheel; I saw the trees like drunkards reel. And a slight flash sprung o'er my eyes, Which saw no further: he who dies Can die no more than then I died, O'ertortured by that ghastly ride A trampling troop; I see them come I In one vast squadron they advance I The sight renerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment with a faint low neigh. He answered, and then fell; With gasps and glazing eyes he lay. And reeking limbs immovable: His first and last career is done I On came the troop—they saw him stoop. They saw me strangely bound along His back with many a bloody thong; They snort—they foam—neigh—swerve asid^ And backward to the forest fly. By instinct, from a human eye. They left me there to my despair. Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch. Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,— Relieved from that unwonted weight. From which I could not extricate Nor him nor me; and there we lay, The dying on the dead. TWO. 225 OUR BABY. Did you ever see our baby— Little Tot ? With her blue eyes sparkling bright, Luscious cheeks of rose and white, Lips of growing niby light— Tell you what, She is just the sweetest baby Of the lot. You don't thiuk so 7 You ne'er saw hei If you could, 'Mong her pretty playthings clattering, While her little tongue was chattering; And her nimble feet a-pattering. Think you would Say with me she is the sweetest, If you should. Every grandma's only darling, I suppose. To her eye (it's not a pity) Is as bright and fresh and pretty, Is as cunning and as witty As my Rose. Heavenly Father I spare them to us Till life's close. TWO. Two buds plucked from the tree; Two birdies flown from the nest Two little babies snatched From a fond mother's breast ■ • lO"* 226 common school readings. Two little snow-white latnbs Gone from the sheltering fold; Two little narrow graves Down in the church-yard cold. Two little drooping flowers, Growing in a purer air, Blooming fragrant and bright In the great Gardener's care; Two httle tender birds, Flown far from fear and harm: Two little snow-white lambs In the good Shepherd's arm. Two little angels more, Singing with voices sweet. Flinging their crowns of gold Down at their Saviour's feet. Free from all earthly care. Pure from all earthly stain— Oh, who could wish them back In this drear world again ? KITTY. Alas! little Kitty—do give her your pity!— Had lived seven years, and was never called pretty Her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue. And her cheeks were so freckled, They looked like the speckled "White lihes, which down in the meadow-land grew; If her eyes had been black, and she'd only had curls. She had been, so she thought, the most happy of girls Her cousins around her, they pouted and fretted. But they were all pretty, and they were all petted* While poor little Kitty, though striving her best To do her childte duty. cp the hill a-berryiitg. Not sharing their beauty, "Was always neglected and never caressed; All in vain, so she thought, was the loving and true. While her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue. But one day, alone mid the clover-bloom sitting. She heard a strange sound, as of wings round her flitting; A light not of sunbeams, a fragrance more sweet Than the winds blowing over The red blossomed clover. Made her thrill with delight from her head to her feet; And a voice, sweet and rare, whispered low in the air, " See that beautiful, beautiful child sitting there I" Thrice blessed little Nitty t She almost looked pretty I Beloved by the angels, she needed no pity I 0, juvenile charmers I with shoulders of snow. Ruby hps, sunny tresses— Forms made for caresses— There's one thing, my beauties I 'tis well you should know; Though the world is in love with bright eyes and soft hair, It is only good children the angels call fair. UP THE HILL A-BERRYING.—Loella Clabk. On a sunny summer morning, Early as the dew was dry. Up the hill I went a-berrying. Need I tell you, tell you why? Farmer Davis had a daughter. And it happened that I knew. On such sunny mornings, Jenny Up the hiU went berrying too. Lonely work is picking berries; So I joined her on the hill. "Jenny, dear," said I, ''your basket's Quite too large for one to filL" 228 COMMON SCHOOOL KEAUINGS. So we staid—we two—to fill it, Jenny talking—I was still— Leading wliere the way was steepest, Picking berries up the hUl. " This is up-hill work," said Jenny " So is life," said I; " shall we Climb it each alone, or, Jenny, Will you come and climb with me V Redder than the blushing berries Jenny's cheek a moment grew ; While, without delay, she answered, " I wUl come and climb with you 1" THE MINER. The eastern sky is blushing red. The distant hill-tops glowing. The river o'er its rocky bed In idle frolics flowing; 'Tis time the pick-ax and tiie .«pade Against the rocks were ringing. And with ourselves the mountain strean A song of labor singing. The mountain air is fresh and cold. Unclouded skies bend o'er us; Banks, rich in hidden dust of gold. Lie temptingly before us. We need no Midas' magic wand. Nor wizard-rod divining; The pick-ax, spade, and brawny hand Are sorcerers in mining. When lab, knife, trowel, microscope, and tweezers, and a copy of Wood^s ** Plant Record," — the collector's complete outfit. Willis's Flora of New Jersey. The most useful book of reference e. White, Cornell University. ** Dear Sir: I have examined your 'Text-book of Agricultural Science,* and it seems to me excellent in view of the pur¬ pose it is Intended to serve. Many of your chapters interested me especially, and all parts of the work seem to combine scientific instruction with practical infor¬ mation in proportions dictoted by sound common sense.*' From President Robinson, 0/ Brown University. ** It is scientific in method as well as in matter, comprehensive in plan, natural and logical in order, compact and lucid in its statements, and must be ui»eful both as a text-book in agricultural colleges, and as a hand-book for intelligent planters and farmers.*' 48 THE NATIONAL SERIES OF STANDARD SCHOOL-BOOKS. NATURAL SCIENCE—CbnMnueA ASTRONOMY. Peck's Popular Astronomy. By Wm. G. Peck, Ph.D., LL.D., Professor of Mathematics, Mechanics, and Astron* omy in Columbia College. 12mo. Cloth. 330 pages. Professor Peck has here produced a scientific work in brief form for colleges, acade¬ mies, and high schools. Teachers who do not want an elementary work — like Stee]e*s Astronomy, for instance — will find what they want in this book. Its discussion of the Stars, Solar System, Earth, Moon, Sun and Planets, Eclipses, Tides, Calendars, Planets and Satellites, Comets and Meteors, Ac., is full and satisfactory. The illustrabtons are numerous and very carefully engraved, so the student can gain an accurate comprehen¬ sion of the things represented. Professor Peck is wonderfully clear and concise in his style of writing, and there is nothing redundant or obscure in this work. It is intended for popular as well as class use, and accordingly avoids too great attention to mathe¬ matical processes, which are introduced in smaller type than the regular text. For higher schools this astronomy is undoubtedly the best text-book yet published. Willard's School Astronomy. By means of clear and attractive illustrations, addressing the eye in many cases by analogies, careful definitions of all necessary technical terms, a careful avoidance of verbiage and unimportant matter, particular attention to analysis, and a general adop¬ tion of the simplest methods, Mrs. Willard has made the best and most attractive elementary Astronomy extant Mclntyre's Astronomy and the Globes. A complete treatise for intermediate classes. Highly approved. Bartlett's Spherical Astronomy. The West Point Course, for advanced classes, with applications to the current wanti of Navigation, Geography, and Chronology. NATURAL HISTORY. Carll's Child's Book of Natural History. Illustrating the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, with applicaticm to the arts. For beginners. Beautifully and copiously illustrated. Anatomical Technology. Wilder & Gage. As applied to the domestic cat. For the use of students of medicine. ZOOLOGY. Chambers's Elements of Zodlogy. A complete and comprehensive system of Zoology, adapted for academic instmction, presentii^ a systematic view of the animal kingdom as a portion of external nature. ROADS AND RAILROADS. Gillespie's Roads and Railroads. Tenth Edition. Edited by Cady Staley, A.M., C.E. 464 pages. 12mo. Clotb. This book has long been and still is tlie standard manual of the principles and prac* tice of Road-making, comprising the location, construction, and improvement of rofuls (common, macadam, paved, -plank, &(;.) and railroads. It was compiled by Wa< Gillespie, LL.D., C.E., of Union College* 49 THE NATIONAL SERIES OF STANDARD SCHOOL-BOOKS. PHONOGRAPHY. Eames's Light-Line Short-Hand. This book presents a practical phonetic system, without shading. It is prepared t« meet the reciuirements of business, corresponding, and verbatim reporting. It is especially adapted to the use of schools and colleges. It gives a vocabulary of more than 4,600 words and phrases. The illustrations are vei-y numerous, and both in variety and quantity are unprecedented. There are 68 pages of engraved short-hand matter for practice-copies. The book is highly endorsed, and the system is the best and shortest known. COMPOSITION AND RHETORIC. Brookfield's First Book in Composition. Making the cultivation of this important art feasible for the sniallest child. By a new method, to induce and stimulate thought. Boyd's Composition and Rhetoric. This work furnishes all the aid that is needful or can be desired in the various departments and styles of composition, both in prose and verse. Day's Art of Rhetoric. Noted for exactness of definition, clear limitation, and philosophical development of subject; the large share of attention given to invention, as a branch of rhetoric, and the unequalled analysis of style. Bardeen's Sentence-Making. Bardeen's Shorter Rhetoric. Bardeen's Complete Rhetoric. The plan of this treatise is wholly novel, and is its most characteristic feature. The author begins with Sentence-Making, which is to rhetoric what carpentry or masonry is to architecture, — not properly a part of it, but to be absolutely mastered, so that the architect's ideas may be carried out with promptness and precision. This " handicraft,'' so to speak, having been acquired, the student is ready to apply it according to the rules of the art. Where first? He is required to converse almost constantly, and he has already learned that it is sometimes difficult to converse well. Let him see that the rules of rhetoric apply primarily to the every-day talk in which he is engaged, and rhetoric becomes a real thing. Accordingly, the author follows with a full and familiar treatment of Conversation. As all must talk, so nearly all must write letters of one kind or another; and the second part of the book is devoted to Letter-Writing. In Itself this subject is treated with incisive directness and practical force, business letters receiving special attention. With the Essay arises a new necessity, —of formal invention. The author clearly shows that a distinct part of what is often called " inspiration " in writing comes from haril labor under fixed rules here laid down; that this labor is indispensable even to respectable writing, and that without this labor no production is worthy to be called an essay. The Oration introduces anew feature, — the oral delivery to an audience, with all the principles of articulation, emphasis, gesture, and other principles usually referred to elocution as a distinct subject. The discussion of extempore speaking is remarkably terse and helpful. Finally comes the Poem, more briefly treated, with the most important directions as to Rhythm and Rhyme. Here we have then six distinct parts, — Sentence-Making, Conversation, Letter- Writing. the Essay, the Oration, and the Poem. When all this is taken into consideration, the book seems small instead of large, nd we must wonder how so much was got into so little space. 50 THE NATIONAL SERIES OF STANDARD SCHOOL-BOOKS. LITERATURE. Gilman's First Steps in English Literature. The character and plan oftliis exquisite little text-book may be best understooa imm an analysis of its contents: Introduction. Historical Period of Inimatuie Eni;lisb, with Chart; Definition of Terms; Lan;;nages of Eurojie, with Chart: Period of Mature English, with Chart ; a Chart of Bible Translations, a Bibliograjdiy <»r Guide toGeneral Reading, and other aids to the student. Cleveland's Compendiums. 3 vols. 12ino. English Litekatuhe. Amehican Literature. English Literature of the XIXth Century. In these volumes are gathered tlie cream (jf the literature of tiie English-speaking people for the school-rooui and the general reader. Their reputation is national. More than 12j,000 copies have been sold. Boyd's English Classics. 6 vols. Cloth. 12mo. Milton's Paradise Lost. Thoms<»n's Seasons Young's Nieech, always systematically arnngcd It is easy to confuse the jmpil by giving him one person op one (yise at a time. This pernicious practice is discarded. Books that beget unsystematic t