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LESSON XLII.

THE OAK TREE.

The friends of peace will admire the turn given to this simple and beautiful account of the origin of the oak, its magnitude and use. MARY HOWITT, of the society of Friends, is the author.

Sing for the oak tree,

The monarch of the wood,

Sing for the oak tree,

That groweth green

and good;

That groweth broad and branching,

Within the forest shade;

That groweth now, and still shall grow,
When we are lowly laid!

The oak tree was an acorn once,
And fell upon the earth;
And sun and showers nourished it,
And gave the oak tree birth.
The little sprouting oak tree!

Two leaves it had at first,
'Till sun and showers nourished it,
Then out the branches burst.

The winds came, and the rain fell;
The gusty tempest blew ;
All, all were friends to the oak tree,
And stronger yet it grew.
The boy that saw the acorn fall,
He feeble grew, and gray;
But the oak was still a thriving tree,
And strengthened every day!

Four centuries grows the oak tree,
Nor does its verdure fail;

Its heart is like the iron wood,

Its bark like plaited mail.

Now cut us down the oak tree,
The monarch of the wood;
And of its timbers stout and strong
We'll build a vessel good.

The oak tree of the forest,
Both east and west shall fly;
And the blessings of a thousand lands
Upon our ship shall lie!

For she shall not be a man of war,
Nor a pirate shall she be;

But a noble, Christian, merchant ship,
To sail upon the sea.

LESSON XLIII.

THE PARTED SPIRIT.

The following lines were written by JOHN MALCOLM, an English poet, and are a beautiful illustration of the great mystery implied in the question, "Man giveth up the ghost (or spirit) and where is he?"

Mysterious in its birth,

And viewless as the blast;
Where hath the spirit fled from earth,
For ever past?

I ask the grave below

It keeps the secret well;

I call upon the heavens to show,
They will not tell.

Of earth's remotest strand,

Are tales and tidings known;
But from the spirit's distant land,
Returneth none.

Winds waft the breath of flowers,
To wanderers o'er the wave,
But bear no message from the bowers
Beyond the grave.

Proud science scales the skies,
From star to star doth roam,

But reacheth not the shore where lies
The spirit's home.

Impervious shadows hide

This mystery of Heaven;
But where all knowledge is denied,
Blest HOPE is given.

LESSON XLIV.

ENGLISH TAXES.

The following, though a somewhat ludicrous account of English taxation, is a too faithful picture of an evil, resulting from the incessant wars and unrestrained ambition of England, which is grinding the mass of her people in the dust. The picture is drawn by an Englishman.

Permit me to inform you, my friends, what are the inevitable consequences of being too fond of glory;Taxes-upon every article which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is placed under the foot ;-taxes upon every thing which it is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste;-taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion;-taxes on every thing on earth, and in the waters under the earth;-on every thing that comes from abroad, or is grown at home;-taxes on the raw material-taxes on every fresh value that is added to it by the industry of man ;-taxes on the sauce that pampers his appetite, and the drug that restores him to

health;—on the ermine which decorates the judge, and on the rope which hangs the criminal;-on the poor man's salt, and the rich man's spice;-on the brass nails of the coffin, and the ribbands of the bride;— for bed or board, abed or up, we must pay.

The schoolboy whips his taxed top ;--the beardless youth manages his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road;—and the dying Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has paid seven per cent., into a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent, flings himself back upon his chintz bed, which has paid twenty-two per cent., makes his will on an eight pound stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary, who has paid a license of a hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are handed down to posterity on taxed marble; and he is gathered to his fathers,-to be taxed no more!

LESSON XLV.

THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND.

The account of taxation given in the preceding piece, will account for the fearful struggle now going on in England between the oppressors and the oppressed; and it will also explain the burning lines of the following expression of sympathy by J. G. WHITTIER, of Massachu

setts.

God bless ye, brothers !—in the fight
Ye're waging now, ye can not fail,
For better is your sense of right

Than kingcraft's triple mail.

Than tyrant's law or bigot's ban,

More mighty is your simplest word;

The free heart of an honest man,
Than crosier or the sword.

The great hearts of your olden time
Are beating with you, full and strong;
All holy memories and sublime,
And glorious, round you throng.

The truths ye urge are borne abroad
By every wind and every tide;
The voice of nature and of God,
Speaks out upon your side.

The weapons, which your

hands have found,

Are those which heaven itself has wrought, Light, Truth, and Love,-your battle ground, The free, broad field of thought.

No partial, selfish purpose breaks
The simple beauty of your plan,
Nor lie from throne or altar shakes
Your steady faith in man.

The languid pulse of England starts
And bounds beneath your words of power;
The beating of her million hearts

Is with you at this hour!

Press on the triumph shall be won
Of common rights and equal laws,
The glorious dream of Harrington,
And Sydney's good old cause,

Blessing the cotter and the crown,
Sweetening worn labor's bitter cup;
And, plucking not the highest down,
Lifting the lowest up.

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