military and civil career, and through the difficulties of private life.

6. So intense and incessantly active this peculiar faculty was in him, that one would suppose that his mind was nothing but will-a will so lofty that it towered into sublimity. In him it supplied the place of genius -or, rather, it was almost genius. On many occasions, in the course of his long, eventful life, when his shattered constitution made his physicians despair of preserving him, he seemed to continue to live merely because it was his will; and when his unconquerable spirit departed from his enfeebled and worn-out body, those who knew him well might almost have been tempted to suppose that he had not been vanquished by death, but had at last consented to repose.

7. This man, when he took the command at New Orleans, had made up his mind to beat the English; and, as that mind was so constituted that it was not susceptible of entertaining much doubt as to the results of any of its resolves, he went to work with an innate confidence which transfused itself into the population he had been sent to protect.-Charles Gayarre.

LESSON 53.

'T IS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

'T

IS the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!

2. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
When thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

3. So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

Thomas Moore.

LESSON 54.

THE PAUPER'S DRIVE.

THERE'S a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot,
To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot;
The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs;
And hark to the dirge which the sad driver sings:
Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!

2.

Oh, where are the mourners? Alas! there are none
He has left not a gap in the world now he's gone -
Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man;
To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can :
Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!

3.

What a jolting and creaking, and splashing, and din!
The whip how it cracks, and the wheels how they spin!
How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is hurled!
The pauper at length makes a noise in the world!
Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!

4.

Poor pauper defunct! he has made some approach
To gentility, now that he's stretched in a coach!
He's taking a drive in his carriage at last;
But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast!
Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!

5.

You bumpkins! who stare at your brother conveyed — Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid!

And be joyful to think, when by death you 're laid low, You've a chance to the grave like a gemman to go! Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!

6.

But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad,
To think that a heart in humanity clad

Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end,
And depart from the light without leaving a friend!
Bear soft his bones over the stones!

Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker yet owns.

Thomas Noel.

LESSON 55.

THE LONG AGO.

H! a wonderful stream is the river Time,

As it runs through the realm of tears,
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime,
As it blends in the ocean of years!

2. How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow,
And the summers like birds between,

And the years in the sheaf, how they come and they go On the river's breast with its ebb and flow,

As it glides in the shadow and sheen!

3. There's a Magical Isle up the river Time,
Where the softest of airs are playing.
There's a cloudless sky and tropical clime,
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime,

And the Junes with the roses are straying.

4. 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-oh! we love them so-
And there are trinkets and tresses of hair.

5. There are fragments of songs that nobody sings,
There are parts 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 our dead used to wear.

6. 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 was fair.

7. Oh! remembered for age be that blessed isle,
All the day of life until night;

And when evening glows with its beautiful smile,
And our eyes are closing in slumbers awhile,

May the greenwood of soul be in sight.

B. F. Taylor.

HOW

LESSON 56.

SPEAKING THE TRUTH.

That may seem a

OW shall we speak the truth? strange question, but taking for granted a quick, enlightened conscience, and strong desire for truth in the inward part, there yet remains a necessity for cultivating the art of speaking the truth. Instead of assuming an unimpeachable veracity and trustworthiness as the framework of our whole nature, let us grant that we are human, and thus weak and finite, both mentally and morally.

2. The love and habit of truth needs to be guarded and strengthened in us all, in the line both of conscience and intellect. We need the power of clear perception, careful discrimination, and accurate thinking, as well as integrity of speech. There are lies and there are untruths. There is a fault in the mind as well as in the conscience.

3. "A hundred cats!" said my uncle sarcastically, looking across the table to my aunt, who was giving a glowing account of something she had just witnessed.

"I don't care," was the quick retort; "I saw a hundred cats where you saw but one."

4. There is just that difference in the perceptions of different temperaments, while the fact observed remains the same. The cold, careless, sluggish, fail to see all that really is there. The enthusiastic, impressible, ardent, magnify and duplicate whatever interests them. To see a thing as it is, to have its outlines sharply defined in the