MORAL COURAGE.

SYDNEY SMITH.

A GREAT deal of talent is lost in the world for the want of a little courage. The fact is, that to do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and the danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can. It will not do to be perpetually calculating tasks and adjusting nice chances; it did very well before the flood, where a man could consult his friends upon an intended scheme for a hundred and fifty years, and then live to see its success afterward: but at present, a man waits and doubts and hesitates, and consults his brother and his uncle and particular friends, till one fine day he finds that he is sixty years of age; that he has lost so much time in consulting his first cousin and particular friends, that he has no more time to follow their advice.

TOM BROWN AT RUGBY.

THOMAS HUGHES. EXTRACT.

WITHIN a few moments of their entry, all the boys who slept in dormitory Number 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their own beds and began undressing and talking to one another in whispers ; while the elders, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another's beds with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed

with the novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed, talking and laughing.

"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my hands?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring; "that's your washstand under the window. You'll have to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all." And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his washstand and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and undressing, and put on his nightgown. He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bed-side as he had done every day from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the agony of the strong man.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was towards Arthur, and he

didn't see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fellow who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.

"Confound you, Brown, what's that for?" roared he, stamping with pain.

"Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping onto the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling, “if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it!"

THE TRUE KING.

SENECA. TRANSLATION OF LEIGH HUNT.

'Tis not wealth that makes a King,
Nor the purple coloring;

Nor a brow that's bound with gold,
Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled.

The King is he, who, void of fear,
Looks abroad with bosom clear ;
Who can tread ambition down,
Nor be swayed by smile or frown;
Nor for all the treasure cares,

That mine conceals, or harvest wears.

Or that golden sands deliver,
Bosomed in a glassy river.

What shall move his placid might?
Not the headlong thunder-light,

Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade,
With onward lance, or fiery blade.
Safe, with wisdom for his crown,
He looks on all things calmly down;
He welcomes Fate, when Fate is near,
Nor taints his dying breath with fear.
No to fear not earthly thing,
This it is that makes the King;
And all of us, whoe'er we be,
May carve us out that royalty.

ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

WILLIAM COWPER.

I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,

Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man,
Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore

Some cordial, endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more! My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me?