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“ Ah, my boy, you must get rid of that idea ; it is all wrong! He who refuses to do a sinful or a dangerous thing, even when people say I dare you,' is a true hero ; and be who runs all risks to do something just because he is . dared,” is by far the most cowardly and foolish! Don't look so down-hearted, Winthrop; I want you to be truly heroic: and I know you can do things very bravely sometimes. For instance, if I should say you may not go skating another day during this season, you would bear the punishment without a complaint, I think.”

Yes, sir !” answered the boy, with a touch of the old pride in his voice.

“Mayn't I bear the punishment ?" said Tom. “It was my fault.”

“I haven't given any punishment yet, Tom; I have only given this lesson about true bravery for you all to learn. And now be off, every one of you, and let Winthrop rest, while I go to examine my coat, and if it is entirely ruined, I'll make a subscription among you all to get a new one!” And the kind man smiled as he left them, but his heart was full; and he went to thank God for the safety of his pupil, and to pray that he might become truly brave and noble.


Boys, never be “ dared” into doing what is wrong. Do not take one step aside from the safe and straight path, no matter how many voices say

- I dare you!" Be brave enough to say “I dare not,” to every temptation. And always

Dare to do right! dare to be true!
All the world's scorning can never harm you !
Stand by your conscience, your honour, your faith ;
Stand like a hero, and battle till death!


“The joyous Spring looked out and smiled."

'I HAVE heard the little robin sing
Almost before the days of spring
These many years,-and seen the rills
Leap from the bosom of the hills,
When winter, with his dread array,
March'd to the icy north away ;
Nigh two score times have seen the light
Of gentle spring gild all the night
Of rugged winter. In the track
A sunny gleam is darting back,
And violets lift their gentle eyes,
To greet the soft and balmy skies ;


And I am on those knolls again,
Amid the walks of childhood straying,
And I can hear the sweet refrain
Of songs amid the groves a Maying,
And through the years from childhood's hours
Comes the perfume of early flowers;
And sweeter seems the swelling lay
Of gentle robin's song to-day.
I've seen the glad hills smile with joy,

Beneath the covert of thy wing,
And heard the green woods clap their hands

At thy approach, O gentle spring. For thou art of an angel form,

Just from the groves of love and light, Where springs all beauteous glorious morn

Fears not the gloom of winter's night. Sweet songs on every gentle breeze,

Stir with their notes the budding trees.
The southern hillside, sloping down

Towards the smiling vale,
On which the mellow sunlight rests,

Hath many a glowing tale
Of tenderness, breathed soft and low;

Those flowers are wet with dewy tears,
For upon memory's verdant mead,

Bloom the fair flowers of early years.

There lie our dear ones,- you can see

The track of years around their tomb,


And many a fair-fingered spring

Hath scattered flowers of sweet perfume, Since, sorrowful and sad of heart,

We laid them in their quiet rest, The winter of the voiceless tomb,

A kindly message seems to bear.
I never see the glowing morn,

I never hear the April rain,
But that each household treasure gone,

Is blooming by my side again.

I never see the daisy smile

In its attire of spotless white, The daffa ope its modest eyes,

To greet the morning's early light; I never see the velvet green

Upon the brown earth's lifeless breast, But my glad heart will fondly dream

Of the fair forms we've laid to rest.

I see the resurrection morn,

Beyond the wintry waste of death, And feel the power of that glad spring

Whose glorious sun and genial breath Will stir the dust of every tomb

With life again, and we shall see The loved and lost, in fadeless bloom,

A glorious immortality.

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