remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved-when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal — would accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness?

No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection — when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness-who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error every defect-extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him?

Covers

Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited-every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being who can never never never return to be soothed by thy contrition!

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet-then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear-more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing.

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender yet futile tributes of regret; but take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living.

QUESTIONS AND COMPOSITION.

What is an ordeal? What are precincts? Name the precincts of this school. What is a survivor? Give names of some survivors. What is it to "brood over"? When do boys brood over anything? What is the dying child compared to? Why is it like a blossom? What is it to "survive"? What is revelry? What is a resentment? Give some simple expression explaining "a compunctions throb." Explain "unrequited." How can you soothe pain? What is a "silvered brow"? What is an "ungracious word"? Explain "knocking dolefully." What is a "chaplet of flowers"? What are "futile tributes"? How may we repay our neglect of those now dead? Who are the living? What general name is applied to the living? Who is my neighbor?

Memorize:

There is no death! What seems so is transition.

This life, its mortal breath,

Is but a suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portals we call Death.

Paraphrase the above.

"Pay close attention to the emotions or feelings the selection

suggests."

"Give due attention to the vocal tones called for by the selection."

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'Lay special stress on those points that are to attract the attention of the audience."

What is the general sentiment suggested by "Love for the Dead "? One of subdued emotion, requiring sustained, quiet, soft, yet

firm intonation. In the first sentence,

"The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced," the chief words requiring special attention are SORROW FOR THE DEAD, ONLY SORROW, REFUSE, DIVORCED; and among these: THE DEAD, ONLY, REFUSE, call for more particular emphasis. Thus,

"The SORROW for THE DEAD is the ONLY SORROW from

which we REFUSE to be DIVORCED," would suggest a proper reading, the emphasis being in proportion to the capitalizing. In the following sentence, the appositeness of the adjective clauses must be attended to. Thus,

"EVERY OTHER wound we seek to heal - EVERY OTHER affliction to forget; but THIS wound we consider it a DUTY to keep open THIS affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude." In the following series of interrogatory sentences, the climax must be indicated by the gradual increasing of the strength and earnestness of tone:

"Where is THE MOTHER who would WILLINGLY FORGET the INFANT that perished like a blossom from her arms, though EVERY RECOLLECTION is a pang?" 'Where is THE CHILD that

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Would WILLINGLY FORGET the MOST TENDER OF PARENTS, though to remember be but to lament?" etc.

In the first part of second paragraph we have a change of tone to that of assertion of a noble principle, requiring strength of coloring and boldness of utterance:

"No, the love which SURVIVES THE TOMB is one of the NOBLEST attributes of the soul. If it has its wOES, it has likewise its DELIGHTS; and when the OVERWHELMING BURST of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the SUDDEN ANGUISH and the CONVULSIVE AGONY over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness-who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may SOMETIMES throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a DEEPER SADNESS Over the hour of gloom, yet wнO would exchange it, EVEN FOR THE SONG OF PLEASURE OF THE BURST OF REVELRY? NO, THERE IS A VOICE FROM THE TOMB SWEETER THAN SONG."

In the third stanza we have the expression of counsel, requiring "grave and sustained tone."

"Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and THERE MEDITATE! THERE settle the account with thy conscience, for EVERY PAST BENEFIT UNREQUITED - EVERY PAST ENDEARMENT UNREGARDED, of that departed being, who CAN NEVER-NEVERNEVER RETURN to be soothed by thy contrition!" Continuing, we again have a climax, requiring same treatment as previously indicated, etc., etc.

THE CARRIER-PIGEON.

CHANGED customs and the progress of science have

almost rendered extinct two features of the romantic Middle Ages, the use of the falcon and the carrier-dove. The former no longer darts upon its timid prey from its dainty perch on jewelled finger of maid or dame. The latter, once the poetic bearer of messages of love, or the swift courier of thrones of state, has been superseded by the prosy telegraph, and its performances, with one

exception, have in recent times been confined to contests of speed for the amusement of the amateur. The carrier-pigeon is a remarkable instance of what can be effected by the natural instinct of the animal kingdom, assisted by cultivation and training. Somewhat larger and heavier than the ordinary dove, it is still further distinguished by the great size of the muscles of the breast, which indicate its powers of flight, and by a bunch of naked skin which hangs across its bill like a hood or cowl.

a distance of

The instinct which makes this bird so valuable is its strong love for home. The manner of training and developing this instinct, as adopted in Turkey, is as follows: As soon as the young birds are able to fly, they are taken in a covered basket to twenty or thirty yards from their cotes. They are then suddenly released. Those that find their way back are retained for further training. The distance is gradually increased from one mile to twenty or thirty miles. Birds that can find their way home from this distance can generally be trusted for any number of miles, limited only by their power of endurance. When first released from its receptacle, the carrier-pigeon flies upward in a spiral until it reaches a height from which it can descry some familiar landmark, by which it immediately directs its course. Should it fail to discover such a point, either by reason of fog or the distance of its home, it either returns, or, losing its way, is never again seen. The speed of the carrier-pigeon is marvellous. Thirty miles an hour is a very easy performance for a good bird, and well authenticated instances of forty, fifty and sixty miles an hour are on record. At the annual contest of the Fanciers' Association of Ghent in 1833 one of the pigeons flew from Rouen to