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Thine honor but a dream, and thou
And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep
LESSON CXXIII.--THE WILD BOY.-CHARLES WEST THOMSON.
He sat upon the wave-washed shore
With madness in his eye;
Pass'd unregarded by; 5
He noted not the billows' roll,.
He heeded not their strife,-
And stopped the streams of life.
They speke him kindly,—but he gazed, 10
And offered no reply ;-
And threw the morsel by.
Of darkness hath been cast; 15
His spirit seemed to dwell alone,
With dangers that were past.
So grand,-so gaily bright,
Had vanished from his sight.
Had rent it from its hold,
Its tale of terror told. 25
His kindred there, a numerous band,
Had watched his youthful bloom,
All-all had inet their doom !
LESSON CXXIV.-THE CURE OF MELANCHOLY.-CARLOS WILCOX.
And thou to whom long worshipped nature lends
Nor set the world at naught, nor spurn at fate; 5 None seek thy misery, none thy being hate ;
Break from thy former self, thy life begin ;
And thou shalt feel the good man's peace within,
He dies in triumph or serene delight;
His spirit grows, preparing for its flight:
But heaven comes nearer fast, and grows more bright,
All intervening mists far off are driven ;
Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief ? 20
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ?
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there 25 Its life and beauty; not, when all unrolled,
Leaf after leaf its bosom rich and fair
Wake! thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers,
To take their swist and everlasting flight; 5 Wake! ere the earthborn charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
Some high or humble enterprise of good
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind 15 To this thy purpose,-to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fixed and feelings purely kind,
Strength to complete and with delight review,
LESSON CXXV.-MY NATIVE VILLAGE.JOHN H. BRYANT.
There lies a village in a peaceful vale,
With sloping hills and waving woods around,
Bows the tall grass that covers all the ground;
My earliest sports were on its flowery green,
I climbed its hills to view the pleasant scene,
And mountain shadows cooled the ripened grain,
In the lone path that winds across the plain,
And the bright sun came in among the trees,
And leaves were gathering in the glen below,
Swept softly from the mountains by the breeze,
Fled on the wings of youth's departed years,
The truth of life, its labors, pains, and fears ;
Its flowers and peaceful shades before me rise;
Its summer verdure, and autumnal dyes;
LESSON CXXVI. - THE PRESS.-JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.
Look abroad, over the face of this vast and almost illimitable continent, and behold multitudes which no man can number, impatient of the slow process of education, wrest
ling with the powers of nature, and the obstructions of 5 accident, and, like the patriarch, refusing to let go their
hold, till the day break, and they receive the promised blessing, and the recompense of the struggle.
You will perceive, too, in the remotest corners, where civilization has planted her standard, that there the Press, the 10 mightiest engine, ever yet invented by the genius of man,
is producir.g a moral revolution, on a scale of grandeur and magnificence, unknown to all former generations. By it, information of every transaction of government, and of
all important occurrences, in the four quarters of the world, 15 is transmitted with a degree of speed and regularity, that
the most sagacious could not have foreseen, nor the most enthusiastic have dared to hope for, fifty years ago. By the Press, every cottage is supplied with its newspaper,
and elementary books, in the most useful sciences; and 20 every cradle is supplied with tracts and toy-books, to teac
the infant to lisp lessons of wisdom and piety, long before his mind has power to conceive, or firmness to retain, their meaning
The power of this engine, in the moral and intellectual