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the world has ever possessed. Is one column surcharged with the poison of falsehood? Some other column is sure to have the antidote.

Every thing that could be has been done to simplify knowledge, and to bring it within reach of the commonest minds. Could any thing more be done, than has been done? Is it possible that the time can ever come, when knowledge can be obtained without labor, and the mind can be cultivated without effort? It can't be. Labor-effort is the inexorable condition upon which alone, we can have the excellencies of culture. Education is the process of polishing and bringing out the true qualities of Nature. It is taking the rough and ill-shapen ashler, and converting it into a smooth and polished stone; not taking away from its native properties, but showing how smooth and beautiful they may be made. It is a law of the human mind, that "there is no excellency without great labor." "Moreover," says one who "Guesses at Truth," "Since nature, if left to herself, is ever prone to run wild, and since there are hurtful and pernicious elements around us, as well as nourishing and salutary ones;-pruning and sheltering, correcting and protecting, are among the principle offices of education." I have tried to lay before the reader, some good and inspiring thoughts upon a great theme; so far as I have succeeded, I hope these thoughts may nour ish and strengthen your inner life, and quicken you to proper activity. It is thus that both mind and character are

made to grow.

"Character," says the Poet,

"Groweth day by day, and all things

aid it in unfolding, And the bent unto good or evil may be given in the hours of infancy: Scratch the green rind of a sapling, or wontonly twist it in the soil,

The scarred and crooked oak will tell of thee for centuries to come;

Even so may'st thou guide the mind to good,

or lead it to the marrings of evil : For disposition is builded up by the fashioning of first impressions:

Wherefore, though the voice of Instruction waiteth for the ear of reason, Yet with the Mother's milk the young child drinketh Education."

THE CLOSEST SHAVE OF MY LIFE.

BY A LONDON DETECTIVE.

The prison at D-, is, every way considered, under a better organised and surer system of administration than any similar institution I have known. I have seer many, and looked somewhat closely into their methods of management and discipline, and have seen much to approve; but the prison at D, surpasses all the rest. Visitors, of whom very properly, but few are admitted, are amazed at the regularity, the order, and, most singular of all, the air of security and exceeding quiet that prevails.

As we wandered through the chambers in the freer part of the prison, we came to

one,

from the window of which a man was looking so anxiously that he did not hear us enter. When he turned round, his eyes were glistening with tears. The warden said he did nothing but stand at that window at all times when he was unoccupied. He was a sailor, we learned, whose offence was, that he had beaten almost to death, a comrade, for speaking slightingly about his wife. He was in for three years, six months of which had passed, and he was one of the best men about the prison. They had found out that he was accomplished - that there was no better barber anywhere; so he was elevated above his fellows, to the extent of a dignified position and the responsibility of

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When my face was shining with the soap, the warden said, "We will leave you for five minutes, Mr. Is that time enough, Johnson?

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Quite time enough," sir, answered Johnson.

The prisoner and I were left alone. My companions went away in another direction from what we had been pursuing, and the warden swung the door wide open as he passed through, leaving it unclosed. From my position I saw them walk along the top of the wall, until they came to a corner, where they spoke a little with the officer in charge. Then they moved on, officer and all, out of sight.

Upon each corner of the prison wall a guard is always stationed, well armed, to watch that no attempts at escape are made. The moment this one disappeared, I felt a sort of faint shiver of the razor against my lip. Immediately after, my barber ceased operations, walked leisurely to the door and looked out, and returning, paused an instant at the window where we had found him when we had entered. Then he came back to me and resumed his work. I felt vaguely alarmed.

Presently the prisoner spoke. voice was very low, quite a whisper, deed, and he cut his words short. how distinct they were!

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His

in

But

" he asked.

hear you me, sir?"

Yes," said I.

It's a ticklish thing, this shaving, isn't it?" said he. 66 • But my hand is always steady. I can do what I please with a razor just what I please. Be good enough to keep still, very still, just now. I'm close on to a large vein, you see, right in your neck. Keep very still, and don't stir. I know what would happen, and so do you, if you stirred or spoke a word."

Good God! These were hideous words -but the glare of the man's eye, as he came round in front of me, was appalling. I could not have uttered a syllable, if I had died otherwise.

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Now," said he, "listen, but don't move, and he pressed the flat blade against my throat, as if by way of warning. 'I don't like this. I can't stand it. I'm going! And so help me God,

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if you lift a finger to stop me, or make one noise, both of us will have to die! I would a little rather not hurt you; butremember!"

He sprang away, and caught up my coat and hat, which lay near, still keeping the razor in his hand. The moment its frightful contact was removed, my inertness vanished. I leaped up, seized the chair in which I had been sitting, and shouted lustily. He turned upon me like a tiger.

"Ah, you will have it, then," he cried, and rushed toward me.

I thrust him aside with the heavy chair, and lifting it high in the air, brought it down crashing upon him. He sank for a second, but quickly rose again. He was heavier than I, and twice as strong, I suppose. Persons who have thus been in positions of great danger will not be astonished to hear that I forgot, after my first cry, to call out at all. I thought only of defending myself.

This state of things did not last a quarter of a minute. He would have beaten me down soon enough, had I not, in sheer desperation, made use of a trick which I had once before seen successfully employed. I moved my eyes suddenly from him, and stared wildly into the space behind him, pointing, at the same time, and in the same direction, with my arm. By a lucky chance I pointed to the window. I think that movement saved my life. He stopped, irresolute, glanced at the window, flung his hands over his head, gasped, as if he were choking, and, dashing the razor against the stone wall, fell trembling upon his knees. As I stepped swiftly across the floor, he called out to me:

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'Don't go, don't go o!" he said. "Stand there, at the door, if you choose, but wait a minute. It's all over now; and, perhaps, if you hear me, you won't wonder that I was driven mad."

I hardly knew how to act, but as I involuntarily checked my steps, he continued :-" Look out at that window, sir, and you'll see, just over the road, a woman with a child in her arms, standing in a door-way. That's my wife and babymy poor wife and baby. She doesn't

know I'm here - thank God, for that. I came here under a wrong name, and she supposes I'm far away at sea. I am sure

it would break her heart to know the truth. Well, sir, that's my home, I've seen it, and I've seen her, every day, now, these three months. It used to make me crazy, but I bear it better now. But this chance this great chance much for me.

was too

And to think that I came near losing all hope of ever seeing her again!"

Could I doubt those struggling sobs and tears? There was truth in every tone. I looked through the window, and saw, as he told me, a woman standing on a threshold opposite, with a little child. She tossed it up laughingly, once or twice, and disappeared.

"You won't trust me, I know; said the prisoner; "but I want to beg you not to let the warden know of this. It's no use, I know. Well, I swear that I'll be true to home after this. Nothing but three years solitary, now, and who can live through that? No, no; you'll let this go by, won't you? You may believe me-you may indeed."

Feet shuffling along the passages, announced the return of my companions. The prisoner endeavored to calm himself, and I put on an air of unconcern which I think was very successful, under the cir

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he thought the occasion needed. He condemned his own heedlessness in opening so evident an opportunity for guilt, with much more earnestness than he spoke of the event itself.

I could not resist visiting the wife of Johnson. I discovered that his story was true, and learned his real name. She was happy in her ignorance of his real condition. I sought to ascertain whether she was able to sustain herself until he should rejoin her; and then she told me that Mr. the warden of the prison, had also come to her, shown interest in her behalf, for which she could not well account, and assured her of his aid and protection in any need that might come to her. She was most grateful, but wondered why he had done so.

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"It is the custom at the prison at Dto permit prisoners whose terms are within a few weeks of expiration, to work outside the walls, under the supervision of an officer. This privilege is, in most cases, gladly accepted. A few weeks ago, however, it was declined by a man who, as the time of his freedom drew near, appeared more restless under his confinement than any others. On inquiry it was found that this prisoner had a wife and child living directly within view of the walls, and that for nearly three years he had seen her daily, she being all the while ignorant of his imprisonment, and supposing that her husband, who was a sailor, was at sea, on a long voyage. He was unwilling that, at the last moment, the fact should be revealed to her, and, at his own request, he continued within the walls until his liberation, which took place

last week. Excepting on one occasion, his conduct while in prison had been without blemish."

The man who lies down and goes to sleep, instead of doing his work, is not patient, or, if he has patience, it is of the wrong kind, and nobody else has any with him. God has not any, nor anybody else, with the lazy man.

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And the leafy arms of the tall, old trees,
Grand music gave forth to the passing breeze,
With the chirp and hum of the insect world;
Till the banner of love seemed all unfurl'd,
And mercy, and peace, and purity bright,
Came rustling down in their garments of light.
Ah! sweet were the fancies of that spring-time,
Woven in links of the fairest of rhyme;
Bright as the wings of the gay humming bird,
Sweet as the tone of affection's least word,
Clear as the waver in the moonlight so fair,
Pure as a mother's low, gently breath'd

prayer,

Dear as the kiss at the bedside of death,
When the loved is sighing away his breath.
Ah! many the years which have come and gone,
Since I heard that old bell in the Sabbath
Since my feet have trod on the hearthstone

dawn.

wide,

And my mother sat by my father's side,
And brothers and sisters were gather'd there,
In the holy hush of the Sabbath prayer.
Ah! many the years and the changes sad,
Since peals of laughter and music go glad,
Were bursting forth from those hearts fresh
and gay,

Which had never trod upon life's highway.
My parents have gone to the angel land,
And freely they roam in those bowers so grand,
My brothers are there with their radiant eyes,
In which such a world of happiness lies,
They never forget us who wander below;
But ever in anguish, amidst all woe,
Their presence is near us an earnest given
Of bliss that awaits us with them in heaven.
Dear heavenly Father! as here I roam,
I will sigh no more for that childhood home.
For Thou hast been with me along life's way,
And sanctified joy and sorrow each day.
The bitterest cup Thou hast made most sweet,
The dreariest lot Thou hast made complete,
And,circled by thy blest love, divine,
I never again can weakly repine.

Thy angels around, by night have encamp'd, And in my heart's depths have visions enstamp'd;

I know my dear ones are e'er by my side,
They sing me the songs of the glorified,
I wake in the morn with peace in my heart,
I know that their presence shall never depart,
Till op'd are my eyes to see them once more,
In realms of our love the sanctified shore!
East Haddam, Conn.

Strength and wisdom only flower,
When we toil for all our kind.

-[James Russell Lowell.

IN THE NAME OF THE PROPHET---FLIES. Would that all the powers to which they are welcome as food, or unwelcome them at once and forever! as company would join in annihilating Had I my

choice as between them, midges, gnats, fleas, and other strange bedfellows with which travelling (as well as poverty) is calculated to make one acquainted, the one on whom I should first pass extreme sentence would be the common house-fly. In bed or out, sleeping or waking, in hot or cool climates, as soon as summer brings them forth, there they are ever present, ever ready to renew their intolerable persecutions. After suffering from their attacks for some months, one is really almost tempted to consider Domitian a benefactor to his species, or, at any rate, to fancy that the author of "Busy, curious, thirsty fly," etc., if he did not write it in a spirit of bitter mockery, would never have given utterance to a piece of such maudlin sentimentality if he had not been indued with a skin of more than ordinary thickness, or been fortunate enough to live in a country where they confined their visitations to the sugar-basin and cream-jug. Were they to limit themselves to one feeding ground, and simple downright biting, one might perhaps sleep through it and forgive them; but who can endure the determined, pertinacious attacks of a regular man-eating fly? Watch one, as with eager hurried pace, and wings nervously raised and half quivering with excitement, he approaches the face of a person enjoying (perhaps after a disturbed night) the quiet sleep of the early morning. Of a flea's presence he would probably be unconscious till he awakened; the step of a gnat is so light, and his bite so gradual, that, should his humming not have disturbed the sleeper, he, while enjoying his meal, would have left his victim in undisturbed enjoyment of his sleep; he "lives and lets live."

But otherwise it is with the fly; he feeds as he goes, and the titillatory powers of the six feet and extended sucker, would be together too much for the skins of reapers, thick even in proportion to the proverbial hardness of their ilia.

Again and again may the hand, half in sleep, be raised to brush away the intruder; no sooner have the muscles once more become relaxed, and the hand has sunk inactive after a vain attempt to scratch the face he has left, than he renews his attack, to be again driven off by the disturbed slumberer. Again and again will he return with undiminished pertinacity, only giving up the attempt when his victim, at length, resigning himself to his fate, relinquishes further sleep as hopelessly unattainable, and betakes himself to the active business of the day.

Of a truth, no more appropriate or suggestive title could have been devised for the arch-enemy, or one breathing a deeper hatred for the accursed insect, than that of "Beelzebub," "the Lord of Flies," the prince of torturers. In mentioning the fly as nearly ubiquitious, I am bound to acknowledge my debt of gratitude to Venice as a singular exception. Whether it be always so, I cannot undertake to say, but last summer, at any rate, during a stay of more than a week at the hottest period of the year, in a situation apparently favorable to them, not a single one did I ever see in-doors or out.-C. Sim

eon.

THE GHOST WHO WOULD NOT COME. "He was intelligent, well-bred and accomplished. His malady confined him almost to the house. Sometimes he rode out a little, and I accompanied him, either on horseback or on foot; but most of our time was passed at home, I writing, he drawing and studying Persian and Arabic. I cannot tell you, my dear Brevoort, how mournful an event this has been to

me. It is a long while since I have lived in such domestic intimacy with any one but my brother. I first met with this young gentleman in the house in Seville where I am now boarding, and was insensibly interested in his precarious situation, and won by the amiableness and correctness of his manner. I could not have thought that the mere stranger in so short a space of time could have taken such a hold upon my feelings." It was the spirit of this young Englishman that the author

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invokod; and as the anecdote has already found its way into print, I will give it in the words in which I had it from his own lips: "Hall," said Mr. Irving, "was rather sceptical, and prone to speculate dubiously about the reality of future life, and the possibility of spectral visitation. In one of these moods, during a talk about ghosts, he turned suddenly towards me, and asked me somewhat abruptly 'whether I would be willing to receive a visit from him after death, if he should go before me, as he was so likely to do? "Why, Hall," I replied, "You are such a good fellow, and we have lived so amicably together, I don't know why I should fear to welcome your apparition, if you are able to come." "Nay," said Hall, “I am serious, and I wish you to say you will consent, if the thing is practicable." "Well, then," said I, "I am serious too, and I will." "Then," said Hall, "it is a compact; and, Irving, if I can solve the mystery for you, I engage to do it." After his death, the horse of Hall was brought to him at Seville, and one evening he rode him to their old retreat, at Casa Cera, near that city. Here, solemnized by the scene and its associations, and recalling their strange compact, he breathed an appeal for the promised presence of his departed friend. "But," said he, made similar invocations before and since, "he did not come; and though I have they were never answered;" adding, half playfully, half mournfully, "the ghosts have never been kind to me."—Life and Letters of Washington Irving.

of

A HISTORICAL RECTIFICATION. In the print-shops may still be seen occasionally a representation of the Emperor Napoleon brought to a stand-still by one of his own sentinels, in consequence his inability to give the password. The veteran who, in obedience to his orders, was so near running the bayonet into his Majesty, has been recently received at Fontainbleau by the present Emperor, who, according to the French papers, conversed with him a considerable time, and among other questions, asked him,"Though you did not know it was the

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