trying times, they spring up in the fields, in the village hamlets, and on the mountain tops, and teach the surprised favorites of human law, that bright eyes, skilful hands, quick perceptions, firm purpose, and brave hearts, are not the exclusive appanage of courts.

Our popular institutions are favorable to intellectual improvement, because their foundation is in dear nature. They do not consign the greater part of the social frame to torpidity and mortification. They send out a vital nerve to every member of the community, by which its talent and power, great or small, are brought into living conjunction and strong sympathy with the kindred intellect of the nation; and every impression on every part vibrates, with electric rapidity, through the whole. They encourage nature to perfect her work; they make education, the soul's nutriment, cheap; they bring up remote and shrinking talent into the cheerful field of competition; in a thousand ways, they provide an audience for lips, which nature has touched with persuasion; they put a lyre into the hands of genius; they bestow on all who deserve it, or seek it, the only patronage worth having, the only patronage that ever struck out a spark of "celestial fire," the patronage of fair opportunity.

This is a day of inproved education; new systems of teaching are devised; modes of instruction, choice of studies, adaptation of text-books, the whole machinery of means, have been brought in our day under severe revision. But were I to attempt to point out the most efficacious and comprehensive improvement in education, the engine, by which the greatest portion of mind could be brought and kept under cultivation, the discipline which would reach farthest, sink deepest, and cause the word of instruction not to spread over the surface, like an artificial hue, carefully laid on, but to penetrate to the heart and soul of its objects,-it would be popular institutions. Give the people an object in promoting education, and the best methods will infallibly be suggested by that instinctive ingenuity of our nature, which · provides means for great and precious ends. Give the people an object in promoting education, and the worn hand of labor will be opened to the last farthing, that its children may enjoy means denied to itself.

LESSON CXLVIII.

After a Tempest.-BRYANT.

THE day had been a day of wind and storm;-
The wind was laid, the storm was overpassed,
And, stooping from the zenith, bright and warm,
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope, and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,

Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,
With pleasant vales scooped out, and villages between.

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred,
Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;

For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung

And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward; To the gray oak, the squirrel, chiding, clung, And, chirping, from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves, that kept them dry,
Flew many a glittering insect here and there,
And darted up and down the butterfly,

That seemed a living blossom of the air.

The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where The violent rain had pent them; in the way

Strolled groups of damsels frolicsome and fair; The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay, And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at piay.

It was a scene of peace; and, like a spell,

Did that serene and golden sunlight fall Upon the motionless wood that clothed the dell, And precipice upspringing like a wall,

And glassy river, and white waterfall,

And happy living things that trod the bright

And beauteous scene; while, far beyond them all, On many a lovely valley, out of sight,

Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft, golden light.

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be,
When o'er earth's continents, and isles between,
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,
And married nations dwell in harmony;
When millions, crouching in the dust to one,

No more shall beg their lives on bended knee,
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun
The o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done.

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers,

And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast―
The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers
And ruddy fruits: but not for aye can last
The storm; and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.
Lo! the clouds roll away-they break-they fly;
And, like the glorious light of summer, cast
O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky,
On all the peaceful world the smile of Heaven shall lie.

LESSON CXLIX.

The Rejected.-T. H. BAYLEY.

Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I said?

Sure never was lover so strangely misled.

Rejected! and just when I hoped to be blessed!
You can't be in earnest! It must be a jest.

Remember-remember how often I've knelt,
Explicitly telling you all that I felt,

And talked about poison in accents so wild,
So very like torture, you started-and smiled.

Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I done?
All natural nourishment did I not shun?

My figure is wasted; my spirits are lost;

And my eyes are deep sunk, like the eyes of a ghost.

Remember, remember-ay, madam, you must—
I once was exceedingly stout and robust;
I rode by your palfrey, I came at your call,
And nightly went with you to banquet and ball.

Not have me! Not love me! Rejected! Refused!
Sure never was lover so strangely ill used!
Consider my presents-I don't mean to boast-
But, madam, consider the money they cost!

Remember you've worn them; and just can it be
To take all my trinkets, and not to take me?

Nay, don't throw them at me!—You'll break—do not startI don't mean my gifts-but you will break my heart!

Not have me! Not love me! Not go to the church!
Sure never was lover so left in the lurch!

My brain is distracted, my feelings are hurt;
Oh, madam, don't tempt me to call you a flirt.

Remember my letters; my passion they told;
Yes, all sorts of letters, save letters of gold;

The amount of my notes, too—the notes that I penned,
Not bank notes-no, truly, I had none to send !

Not have me! Not love me! And is it, then, true
That opulent Age is the lover for you?

'Gainst rivalry's bloom I would strive-'tis too much
To yield to the terrors of rivalry's crutch.

Remember-remember I might call him out;
But, madam, you are not worth fighting about;
My sword shall be stainless in blade and in hilt;
I thought you a jewel--I find yoù a jilt.

LESSON CL.

Rhine Song of the German Soldiers after Victory.*—
MRS. HEMANS.

"At the first gleam of the river, they all burst forth into the national chant 'Am Rhein! Am Rhein!" They were two days passing over, and the rocks and the castle were ringing to the song the whole time; for each band renewed it while crossing; and the Cossacks, with the clash, and the clang, and the roll of their stormy war-music, catching the enthusiasm of the scene, swelled forth the chorus, ' Am Rhein! Am Rhein!"

Single Voice.

IT is the Rhine! our mountain vineyards laving,

I see the bright flood shine;

Sing on the march, with every banner waving,
Sing, brothers! 'tis the Rhine!

Chorus.

The Rhine, the Rhine! our own imperial river!

Be glory on thy track!

We left thy shores, to die or to deliver;

We bear thee freedom back.

Single Voice.

Hail! Hail! My childhood knew thy rush of water,
Even as my mother's song;

That sound went past me on the field of slaughter,
And heart and arm grew strong.

Chorus.

Roll proudly on! Brave blood is with thee sweeping,
Poured out by sons of thine,

When sword and spirit forth in joy were leaping,
Like thee, victorious Rhine!

* The chorus of this song may serve as a good exercise for simultaneous reading.