world by putting off a duty till to-morrow, saying, “ Then” I will do it." No! this will never answer. "Now" is ours; "then" may never be.

IV. CONSCIENCE.

From JUVENAL.

He that commits a sin, shall quickly find
The pressing guilt lie heavy on his mind:
Though bribes or favor should assert his cause,
Pronounce him guiltless, and elude the laws:
None quits himself: his own immortal thought
Will damn, and conscience will record the fault.

V. CONSOLATIONS OF THE GOSPEL.

Apostrophe. Interrogation and Exclamation.-A. ALEXANDER.

Oh, precious Gospel! Will any merciless hand endeavor to tear away from our hearts this last, this sweetest consolation'? Would you darken the only avenue through which one ray of hope can enter'? Would you tear from the aged and infirm poor the only prop on which their souls can repose in peace'? Would you deprive the dying of their only source of consolation' ? Would you rob the world of its richest treasure'? Would you let loose the flood-gates of every vice, and bring back upon the earth the horrors of superstition, or the atrocities of atheism'? Then endeavor to subvert the Gospel'; throw around you the fire-brands of infidelity'; laugh at religion, and make a mockery of futurity'; but be assured that for all these things' God will bring you into judgment.

VI. THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH.

Apostrophe. Interrogation and Exclamation. EWEY.

Oh death! dark hour to hopeless unbelief! hour to which, in that creed of despair, no hour shall succeed! being's last hour! to whose appalling darkness even the shadows of an avenging retribution were brightness and relief-death!— what art thou to the Christian's assurance? Great hour! answer to life's prayer; great hour that shall break asunder the bond of life's mystery; hour of release from life's bur

den; hour of reunion with the loved and lost-what mighty hopes hasten to their fulfillment in thee! What longings, what aspirations, breathed in the still night beneath the silent stars; what dread emotions of curiosity; what deep meditations of joy; what hallowed impossibilities shadowing forth realities to the soul, all verge to their consummation in thee! Oh death! the Christian's death! what art thou but a gate of life, a portal of heaven, the threshold of eternity!

LESSON CXLIX.

NOTHING AT ALL IN THE PAPER TO-DAY.

[The predominance of the anapestic measure in this poem gives it its light, singsong movement, like that in Lesson XIII., p. 55.

The poem consists of seemingly cool and careless, but really ironical reflections upon the numerous crimes with which our newspapers teem,-now become so common that they almost fail to strike us as any thing "out of the way;" and it is only when some great catastrophe occurs, or some crime comes nearer home to us thau usual (like that alluded to by the writer at the close of the poem), that we are startled out of our apathy.]

1. NOTHING at all in the paper to-day!

Only a murder somewhere or other,
That nobody thinks is out of the way,—
Only a man killing his brother;
Or a drunken husband beating a wife,

With the neighbors lying awake to listen,

Scarce aware he has taken a life,

Till in at the window the dawn-rays glisten:

But that is all in the regular way—

There's nothing at all in the paper to-day.

2. Nothing at all in the paper to-day!

To be sure there's a woman died of starvation,
Fell down in the street-as so many may
In this very prosperous Christian nation:
Or two young girls, with some inward grief
Maddened, have plunged in the inky waters;
Or a father has learned that his son's a thief-

Or a mother been robbed of one of her daughters:

Things that occur in the regular way—
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day.

3. There's nothing at all in the paper to-day,
Unless you care about things in the city-
How great rich rogues for their crimes must pay
(Though all gentility cries out "pity!”)
Like the meanest shop-boy that robs a till.
There's a case to-day, if I'm not forgetting,
The lad only "borrowed," as such lads will-
To pay some money he lost in betting.

But there's nothing in this that's out of the way—
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day.

4. Nothing at all in the paper to-day

But the births and bankruptcies, deaths and marBut life's events in the old survey,

With Virtue begging, and Vice in carriages;

And kindly hearts under ermine gowns,

And wicked breasts under hodden gray;

For goodness belongs not only to clowns,

[riages,

And o'er others than lords does sin bear swayBut what do I read?-"Drowned'! wrecked'!" Did I say There was nothing at all in the paper to-day'?

LESSON CL.

WHICH SHALL IT BE?

A Narrative Poem. Iambic measure.

[The yearnings of parental affection are beautifully portrayed in the following touching story, in which a father and mother, struggling in poverty to support a family of seven children, are represented as receiving, considering, and rejecting the tempting offer of a house and land, if they will give away one child, which they may select, out of the seven. For a similar story, with a like moral, see Fifth Reader, p. 166.]

1.

"WHICH shall it be? which shall it be?"

I looked at John-John looked at me.
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seemed strangely low and weak:

2.

3.

4.

"Tell me again what Robert said!”
And then I, list'ning, bent my head.
"This is his letter:

'I will give

999

A house and land while you shall live,
If, in return, from out your seven,
One child to me for äye is given.'
I looked at John's old garments worn,
I thought of all that John had borne
Of poverty, and work, and care,

Which I, though willing, could not share;
Of seven little children's need,

And then of this.

"Come, John," said I,
"We'll choose among them as they lie
Asleep;" so, walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band.
First to the cradle lightly stepped,
Where Lilian, the baby, slept,
A glory 'gainst the pillow white;
Softly the father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,
And huskily he said: "Not her-not her."

We stooped beside the trundle-bed,
And one long ray of lamplight shed
Athwart the boyish faces there
In sleep so pitiful and fair;

I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek,
A tear undried. Ere John could speak,

"He's but a baby, too," said I,

And kissed him as we hurried by.

5.

Pale, patient Robbie's angel face

Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace:

6.

7.

"No, for a thousand crowns, not him,"
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.

Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son,
Turbulent, reckless, idle one-

Could he be spared? "Nay, he who gave
Bid us befriend him to the grave;
Only a mother's heart can be

Patient enough for such as he;

And so," said John, "I would not dare
To send him from her bedside prayer."

Then stole we softly up above,

And knelt by Mary, child of love.
"Perhaps for her 'twould better be,"
I said to John. Quite silently
He lifted up a curl that lay

Across her cheek in willful way,

And shook his head. "Nay, love, not thee:"
The while my heart beat audibly.

9.

Trusty and truthful, good and glad-
So like his father. "No, John, no-

I can not, will not let him go."

And so we wrote, in courteous way,
We could not drive one child away;
And afterward toil lighter seemed,
Thinking of that of which we dreamed,
Happy in truth that not one face
We missed from its accustomed place;
Thankful to work for all the seven,
Trusting the rest to One in Heaven!

THERE is, in earth, no blessing like affection:
It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues,

And bringeth down to earth its native heaven.-L. E. LANDON.