19. The distance was nothing, but the power of the sea and wind made the strife deadly. At length, he neared the wreck. He was so near that with one more of his vigorous strokes he would be clinging to it, — when a high, green, vast hill-side of water, moving on, shoreward, from beyond the ship, he seemed to leap up into it with a mighty bound, and the ship was gone!

20. On running to the spot where they were hauling in, I saw some eddying fragments in the sea, as if a mere cask had been broken. Consternation was in every face. They drew him to my very feet — insensible — dead, — beaten to death by the great wave; and his generous heart was stilled forever. -Charles Dickens (abridged).

'TWAS late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass

again;

The first sharp frost had fallen, leaving all the woodlands

gay

With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow-flowers

of May.

2. Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad

and red,

At first, a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped;
Yet, even his noontide glory fell, chastened and subdued,
On the corn-fields and the orchards, and softly pictured

wood.

3. And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night,
He wove, with golden shuttle, the haze with yellow light;
Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill;
And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still.

4. And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of

that sky,

Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew

not why;

And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow

brooks,

Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet

looks.

5. From spire and barn, looked westerly the patient weather

cocks;

But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping

shell,

And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell.

6. The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green

waves of rye.

But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood.

7. Bent low by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere,

Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow

ear;

Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold, And glistened, in the slanting light, the pumpkin's sphere of

gold.

8. There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking

wain

Bore slowly to the long barn floor its load of husk and

grain;

Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at

last,

And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness

passed.

9. And lo! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream,

and pond,

Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond,
Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone,
And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one!

10. As thus, into the quiet night, the twilight lapsed away, And, deeper in the brightening moon, the tranquil shadows

lay;

From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without

name,

Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers

came.

11. Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the

mow,

Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene be

low;

The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before,
And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glim-

mering o'er.

12. Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade,

At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children

played.

13. Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and

fair,

Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown

hair,

The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth

of tongue,

To the quaint tune of some old song, a husking-ballad sung.
J. G. WHITTIER.

MEN

EN often speak of good manners as an accomplishment. I speak of them as a duty. What, then, are good manners? Such manners as the usages of society have recognized as being agreeable to men. Such manners as take away rudeness, and remit to the brute creation all coarseness. There are a great many who feel that good manners are effeminate. They have a feeling that rude bluntness is a great deal more manly than good manners. It is a great deal more beastly. But, when men are crowded in communities, the art of living together is no small art.

2. How to diminish friction, how to promote ease of intercourse, how to make every part of a man's life contribute to the welfare and satisfaction of those around him, how to keep down offensive pride, how to banish the raspings of selfishness from the intercourse of men, how to move among men inspired by various and conflicting motives, and yet not have collisions, this is the function of good manners.

3. It is not effeminate to be refined, and, in this land, no man should plead inability. There may be a peasantry in other countries; there may be a class in foreign lands who have no opportunities; there may be those whose toil is so continuous, whose opportunities for knowing what constitutes good manners are so few, and whose ignorance is so gross, that they are excusable; but this is not the case with any in this country.

4. That a man is a mechanic, is no reason why he should not be a perfect gentleman. I affirm for every American citizen the right to be, not simply a man, but a good mannered man. I have seen men at the anvil who were as perfect gentlemen as men of books or men

of society. I know no reason why a man who tans hides should not be a gentleman. I know no reason why a man who digs in the soil, a man who works in metals and wood, a man who builds, should not be a perfect gentleThere is nothing in mechanical occupations which is incompatible with the highest courtesy.

man.

5. Not only is the violation of good manners inexcusable on ordinary grounds, but it is sinful. When, therefore, parents and guardians and teachers would inspire the young with a desire for the manners of good society, it is not to be thought that these are accomplishments which may be accepted or rejected. Every man is bound to observe the laws of politeness.

6. True politeness is the spirit of benevolence showing itself in a refined way. It is the expression of goodwill and kindness. It promotes both beauty in the man who possesses it, and happiness in those who are about him. It is a religious duty, and should be a part of religious training.

7. There is a great deal of contempt expressed for what is called etiquette in society. Now and then, there are elements of etiquette which, perhaps, might well be ridiculed; but, in the main, there is a just reason for all those customs which come under the head of etiquette. There is a reason which has regard to facility of intercourse. There is a reason in the avoidance of offense. There is a reason in comfort and happiness. And no man who wishes to act as a Christian gentleman can afford to violate these unwritten customs of etiquette.

8. I may speak, also, of a tendency which is bred by our institutions, the want of veneration. There are various ways in which this want of veneration shows itself. We often hear that there is not the same respect shown for the aged that there used to be. We know there is very little respect shown to magistrates and men