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grave blots them out forever. But there are other distinctions which even the mace of Death cannot level or obliterate. Can it break down the distinction of virtue and vice? Can it confound the good with the bad, the noble with the base ? All that is truly great, and pure, and God-like, with all that is scorned, and sinful, and degraded ? No! Then Death is not a common leveler.
4. Are all alike beloved in death and honored in their burial ? Is that ground holy where the bloody hand of the murderer sleeps from crime? Does every grave awaken the same emotion in our hearts? and do the footsteps of the stranger pause as long beside each funeral stone? No! Then all are not equal in the grave! And as long as the good and evil deeds of men live after them', so long will there be distinctions even in the grave'.
5. The superiority of one over another is in the nobler and better emotions which it excites'; in its more fervent admonitions to virtue'; in the livelier recollection which it awakens of the good and the great whose bodies are crumbling to dust beneath our feet'! If, then, there are distinctions in the grave, surely it is not unwise to designate them by the external marks of honor. These outward appliances and memorials of respect'—the mourn. ful urn', the sculptured bust', the epitaph eloquent in praise'cannot, indeed, create these distinctions', but they serve to mark them'.
6. It is only when pride or wealth builds them to honor the slave of mammon or the slave of appetite,—when the voice from the grave rebukes the false and pompous epitaph, and the dust and ashes of the tomb seem struggling to maintain the superiority of mere worldly rank and to carry into the grave the baubles of earthly vanity,—it is then, and then only, that we feel how utterly worthless are all the devices of sculpture and the empty pomp of monumental brass..
I PAUSE and think .
As if in merriment: but here all sleep;
Sweet Summer comes and calls', and calls', With all her passionate poetry of flowers, Wed to the music of the soft south wind'; They sleep'! The lonely Autumn sits and sobs Between the cold white tombs, as if her heart Would break; they sleep! Wild winter comes and chants Majestical the mournful sagas learn'd Far in the melancholy North, where God Walks forth alone upon the desolate seas; They slumber still! Sleep on', O passionless dead' ! Ye make our world sublime': ye have a power: And majesty the living never hold.
3. Here Avarice shall forget his den of gold'!
Here Lust his beautiful victim', and hot Hate
No dark terror_here
her imperial tent
h: the sea
V Ve he loves
loves to breathe sculptures stand
On every hill, and look like spirits there
Oh, it is well!
In trees or flowers that were but clay without.
Are ye where great Orion towers and holds
They answer not.
ANONYMOUS. 1. This is a speech, brief, but full of inspiration and opening the way to all victory. The mystery of Napoleon's career was this :under all difficulties and discouragements, “ Press on !" It solves the problem of all heroes'; it is the rule by which to weigh rightly all wonderful successes', and triumphal marches to fortune and genius'.
• 2. It should be the motto of all', old and young', high' and
10w,' fortunate' and unfortunate', so called. “Press on'!” Never despair; never be discouraged; however stormy the heavens, however dark the way, however great the difficulties and repeated the failures, “ Press on !"
3. If Fortune has played false with thee to-day', do thou play true to thyself to-morrow'. If thy riches have taken wings and left thee', do not weep thy life away', but be up and doing', and, retrieve the loss by new energies and action'. If an unfortunate bargain has deranged thy business', do not fold thy arms', and give up all as lost', but stir thyself and work the more vigorously'.
4. If those whom thou hast trusted have betrayed thee', do not be discouraged'; do not idly weep'; but “ Press on'!” find others'; or, what is better', learn to live within thyself". Let the foolishness of yesterday' make thee wise to-day! If thy affections have been poured out', like water in the desert', do not sit down and perish of thirst', but press on': a beautiful oasis is before thee, and thou mayst reach it if thou wilt.
5. If another has been false to thee, do not increase the evil by being false to thyself. Do not say the world has lost its poetry and beauty: 'tis not so; and, even if it be so, make thine owo poetry and beauty by a brave', a true', and, above all, a religious',
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.
Up the mount of glory,
In our country's story :
He who conquers', he who falls'.
In the mines of knowledge;
Win from school?
there for and college':
3. Onward', onward' will we press
Through the path of duty;
Excellence true beauty':
Let us make a heaven of earth.
Hearts and hands together,
In the wildest weather':
For the joys of life', from home.
Draw our souls in union
To the saints' communion':
WHERE SHOULD THE SCHOLAR LIVE?
BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. 1. “WHERE should the scholar live'?” In solitude', or in society'? In the green stillness of the country, where he can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man? I will make answer for him, and say, In the dark, gray town. Oh, they do greatly err who think that the stars are the only poetry which cities have, and therefore that the poet's only dwelling should be in sylvan solitudes, under the green roof of trees. Beautiful', no doubt, are all the forms of nature', when transfigured by the miraculous power of poetry', --hamlets, and harvest-fields, and nut-brown waters'; flowing ever under the forest', vast and shadowy', with all the sight and sounds of rural life.
2. But, after all, what are these but the decorations and painted scenery in the great theater of human life? What are they but the coarse materials of the poet's song? Glorious, indeed, is the world of God around us; but more glorious the world of God within us'. There lies the land of song'; there lies the poet's land'. The river of life that flows through streets tumultuous,