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and we, who are left alone with our love and his great result of work, cannot but rejoice that he has entered on his Father's rest.”— Stopford A. Brooke.

"O dull, one-sided voice,' said I,
Wilt thou make everything a lie
To flatter me that I may die?

"I know that age to age succeeds,
Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds,
A dust of systems and of creeds.

"I cannot hide that some have striven,
Achieving calm, to whom was given
The joy that mixes man with Heaven:
"Who, rowing hard against the stream,
Saw distant gates of Eden gleam,
And did not dream it was a dream;
"But heard, by secret transport led,
Even in the charnels of the dead,
The murmur of the fountain-head -

"Which did accomplish their desire,
Bore and forebore, and did not tire,
Like Stephen, an unquenched fire.

"He heeded not reviling tones,

Nor sold his heart to idle moans,
Though cursed and scorned, and bruised with stones:

"But looking upward, full of grace,

He prayed, and from a happy place
God's glory smote him on the face."

THE TWO VOICES. — Tennyson.

Low Pitch.

"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequences, and catch,
With his surcease, success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,-
We'd jump the life to come.
We still have judgment here;

But in these cases, that we but teach

Bloody instructions, which being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even handed justice
Commends the ingredient of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against the murder bar the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues will
Plead like angels, trumpet-tongued against
The deep damnation of his taking off;

And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other."- Macbeth.

"All he had loved and moulded into thought,

From shape, and hue, and odor, and sweet sound,
Lamented Adonais. Morning sought

Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,
Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,
Dimmed the aërial eyes that kindle day;

Afar the melancholy thunder moaned;

Pale ocean in unquiet slumber lay,

And the wild winds flew around, sobbing in their dismay.'


"The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven !
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar;

Whilst burning through the inmost vail of heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are."— Ibid.

"The Niobe of nations! there she stands,

Chi lless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;

An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress."

"One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made
Its haunts, like flowers by sunny brooks in May,
Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade

Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away.

Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here
Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear,
And armies mustered at the sign, as when
Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East,-
Gray captains leading bands of veteran men
And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast.
Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave
The victory to her who fills this grave;

Alone her task was wrought,
Alone the battle fought;

Through that long strife her constant hope was staid
On God alone, nor looked for other aid.

"She met the hosts of sorrow with a look

That altered not beneath the frown they wore,
And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took,
Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more.
Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath,
And calmly broke in twain
The fiery shafts of pain,

And rent the nets of passion from her path.

By that victorious hand despair was slain. With love she vanquished hate and overcame Evil with good, in her Great Master's name." THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE.-Bryant.

"He did but float a little way

Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play,

Or listening their fairy chime;
His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And putting to the shore
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us ne more!

No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his vessel's keel;

A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land
Where he was seen no more;
O stern word-Nevermore!

"Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;

The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave.

He seemed a cherub who had lost his way

And wandered hither, so his stay

With us was short, and 't was most meet
That he should be no delver in earth's clod,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet
To stand before his God:

O blest word-Evermore!"



And woe are twins! and may not deeply bless
Except together, when the tear one weeps
Falls in the golden cup the other keeps

Hid for this moment in his breast, unshown

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"The melancholy days are come,

The saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds and naked woods,
And meadows brown and sear;
Heaped in the hollow of the grave,
The Autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust,
And to the rabbit's tread.

- Lowell

Till needed most.". - AFTER PARTING. - Miss Greenwell.

The robin and the wren are flown,
And from the shrubs the jay,
And from the woodtop calls the crow
Through all the gloomy day."


"November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

The shortning winter day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The blackening trains o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend."

MODULATION, Continued.


The different kinds or qualities of tone are the Pure Tone, the Orotund, the Aspirated, the Falsetto, the Guttural, and the Trembling.

The Pure Tone is the ordinary tone of a good and welltrained voice, clear, even, smooth, round, flowing, flexible in sound, and producing a moderate resonance in the head. It is the tone to be employed in all ordinary reading, where great passion or violent feeling is not expressed.


"No education deserves the name, unless it develops thought, unless it pierces down to the mysterious spiritual principle of mind, and starts that into activity and growth. There, all education, intellectual, moral, religious, begins; for morality, religion, intelligence, have all one foundation in vital thought; that is, in thought which conceives all objects with which it deals, whether temporal or eternal, visible or invisible, as living realities, not as barren propositions. Here is the vital principle of all growth in learning, in virtue, in intelligence, in holiness. If this fail, there is no hope;

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