by straining after things too high for mortal reach. And we know that, in spite of their hatred of Popery, they too often fell into the worst vices of that bad system, intolerance and extravagant austerity, that they had their anchorites and their crusades, their Dunstans and their De Montforts, their Dominics and their Escobars. Yet when all circumstances are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to pronounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body.

LXIX.-NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.

ISAAC MCLELLAN.

1. New England's dead! New England's dead!
On every hill they lie;

2 The land is holy where they fought,
And holy where they fell;

For by their blood that land was bought,

The land they loved so well.

Then glory to that valiant band,
The honored saviors of the land!

Oh! few and weak their numbers were,

A handful of brave men;

But to their God they gave their prayer,
And rushed to battle then.

The God of battles heard their cry,

And sent to them the victory.

3. They left the plowshare in the mold,
Their flocks and herds without a fold,
The sickle in the unshorn grain,
The corn half garnered, on the plain,
And mustered, in their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress,

To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe,
To perish, or o'ercome their foe.

4. And where are ye, O fearless men?
O, where are ye to-day?

I call the hills reply again

That ye have passed away;

That on old Bunker's lonely height,

In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground,
The grass grows green, the harvest bright,
Above each soldier's mound.

5. The bugle's wild and warlike blast
Shall muster them no more;
An army now might thunder past,
And they not heed its roar.

The starry flag, 'neath which they fought

In many a bloody day,

From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have passed away.

LXX. RAINY DAYS.

A. H. QUINT.

1. It is a rainy day. Sometimes I used to enjoy rainy days at home, and sometimes I did not. They were pleasant when one had a heap of odds and ends of work, and a rainy day was so good a time to finish them up. Or, one wanted a clean day for some special object, and had it then, beginning as soon as breakfast was over, hardly stopping for dinner, and not caring whether "the shades of night were falling fast" or slow. But sometimes the rainy days seemed dismal;

by reason, doubtless, of a moderate fit of the indigoes, warranted not to fade; or, possibly, sometimes from some depressing influence of the air.

2. But, on the whole, I used to like rainy days; not merely for the opportunity for work, but because it was pleasant to make a real visit on one's family, which is rather a rare event. I could both work and have the visit. Some people have an exclusive and forbidden study. I could not. If I locked the door, little feet soon pattered up, and little hands tried the handle. Suppose I said, "Busy now;" then I heard a good-natured, but self-satisfied and triumphant, voice, "Papa, it's ME!" Who could resist that? ME always came in, and ME and papa had the best time imaginable, to the detriment-no-the decided improvement, of writing; and then ME would sit down quietly to play, and not disturb papa.

At

3. Children improve sermons. Besides, there are two ways of thinking and writing. Some people think as the horse-cars journey from Jamaica Plain to Boston. From the stables to the office at Eliot street is the Introduction. the office is "first." They jog along to Hyde's Corner, and the conductor sings out that name, which means "secondly." At Roxbury is the stopping for "thirdly." "Dover street" means "fourthly." And from Boylston street, various halts let out the different parts of the "Application," and the office opposite the Tremont House is "To conclude."

4. And all the way along you must keep on the iron ruts. Get off the track, and there is a terrible jolting over the rough pavement before you get on again. Indeed, on the track, every stoppage loses impetus; and a stop at rising ground is sometimes terrible. That's a good way for those that like it. But I would rather take a seat with some of my people who have fleet horses, as I used to do. You can then start when you please; you can stop of errands; you can take the smoothed roads and dodge the pavements; you can see a little speed on Tremont Road; and your friend drops you at just such part of the city as you wish.

5. However, different people may have different ways, to advantage. And my way was to have few secluded study hours, but to let all hours be study; and to have the freshness of life illumining the cold rows of books—which books

are capital things for a little girl to make houses of. I would as soon think of shutting sun and air out of my study as of keeping out my wife and child.

6. There is a salutary warning in the case of that good minister whose grandchild was always driven from his study. "Mother," said she, "will grandpa be in heaven?" "Why, certainly, my child." "Then it's no use for me to go: as soon as he sees me, he'll say, 'What's that child here for? Go right out of my study!'" I fully believe that that divine's accurate scheme" would have the same resemblance to the real living doctrines of the gospel, as the dry, pressed, squared, and labeled roots and herbs in an apothecary-shop do, to the blooming, fragrant, lovely plants out of which they were manufactured.

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LXXI. THERE IS WORK FOR ALL.

ANONYMOUS.

1. There is work for all in this world of ours,-
Ho! idle dreamers in sunny bowers!
Ho! giddy triflers with time and health!
Ho! covetous hoarders of golden wealth!
There is work for each, there is work for all,
In the peasant's cot, in the noble's hall;

2. There is work for the wise and eloquent tongue,
There is work for the old, there is work for the young;
There is work that tasks manhood's strengthened zeal,
For his nation's welfare, his country's weal;
There is work that asks woman's gentle hand,
Her pitying eye, and her accents bland;
From the uttermost bounds of this earthly ball,
Is heard the loud cry, "There is work for all!"

3. Think on the waste of human life,

In the deadly scenes of the battle-strife ;
Gaze on the drunkard's wife and, child,

List to his ravings, fierce and wild;

Look on the gibbet, with shuddering eye,
As the place where a fellow-man may die ;
Think on the felon in dungeon dim,
He is thy brother-go, work for him;

4. Look on the outcast from virtue's pale,
Pity thy sister, though erring and frail;
Visit the widow, the orphan, the old,

When the wind blows keen, and the nights are cold;
Think of the poor in their low estate,

The toiling poor who make nations great ;
Think of the sick as they helpless lie;
Think of the maniac's frenzied eye;

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5. And remember the grave with its long repose,
Which no work nor device nor wisdom knows ;"
Let the motive be pure, and the aim be right,
What thy hand finds to do, do with all thy might;
For from every clime on this earthly ball

Is heard the loud cry,

66 There is work for all!"

LXXII.-BEAUTIFUL SIGHTS AT SEA.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

1. The most beautiful thing I have seen at sea,—all the more so that I had never heard of it,—is the trail of a shoal of fish through the phosphorescent water. It is like a flight of silver rockets, or the streaming of northern lights through that silent nether heaven. I thought nothing could go beyond that rustling star-foam which was churned up by our ship's bows, or those eddies and disks of dreamy flame that rose and wandered out of sight behind us.

2. 'Twas fire our ship was plunging through,
Cold fire that o'er the quarter flew ;
And wandering moons of idle flame
Grew full and waned, and went and came,
Dappling with light the huge sea-snake
That slid behind us in the wake.