down the forests, turned them into cities and fleets, and covered the land with harvests and orchards in their place.

But the question of limiting the hours of labor, — a question for the most part connected with persons of tender years, and a question in which public health is concerned as well as public morals, is one which the State may properly interfere with, as of vast importance. As law-givers, we have errors of two kinds to repair. We have done that which we ought not to have done, and have left undone that which we ought to have done. We have regulated that which we ought to have left to regulate itself, and we have not regulated that which it was our business to have regulated. We have given to certain branches of industry a protection which was their bane. We have withheld from public health and from public morality a protection which it was our duty to have given. We have prevented the laborer from getting his loaf where he could get it cheapest; but we have not prevented him from prematurely destroying the health of his body and mind by inordinate toil. I hope that we are approaching the end of a vicious system of interference and of a vicious system of non-interference.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

THE LAW OF LABOR.

LIFE, as a rule, is all work. The drone of a hive must die. A symmetrical life is one that has realized success through struggle and victory. Pleasure is but a style of rest to body or brain, and is the balm which soothes the strain of labor, and not only refreshes the worker, but gives new zest to work itself.

From "Crisis Thoughts."

13. TRUE NOBILITY.

WHAT is noble? To inherit
Wealth, estate, and proud degree?
There must be some other merit,
Higher yet than these, for me;
Something greater far must enter
Into life's majestic span,

Fitted to create and centre
True nobility in man!

What is noble? 'Tis the finer
Portion of our mind and heart,
Linked to something still diviner
Than mere language can impart;
Ever prompting, ever seeing

Some improvement yet to plan
To uplift our fellow-being,

And like man to feel for Man!

What is noble ? Is the sabre
Nobler than the humble spade?
There's a dignity in labor,

Truer than e'er pomp arrayed!
He who seeks the mind's improvement
Aids the world in aiding mind;
Every great commanding movement
Serves not one, but all mankind.

O'er the forge's heat and ashes,
O'er the engine's iron head,
Where the rapid shuttle flashes,
And the spindle whirls its thread,

There is Labor, lowly tending
Each requirement of the hour;
There is Genius, still extending

Science and the world of power.

'Mid the dust and speed and clamor
Of the loom-shed and the mill,
'Mid the clink of wheel and hammer,
Great results are growing still!
Though too oft by Fashion's creatures
Work and workers may be blamed,
Commerce need not hide its features,-
Industry is not ashamed!

What is noble! That which places
Truth in its enfranchised will,
Leaving steps, like angel traces,
That mankind may follow still!
E'en though Scorn's malignant glances
Prove him poorest of his clan,

He's the noble who advances

Freedom and the cause of man!

CHARLES SWAIN.

14. DON'T GIVE TOO MUCH FOR THE WHISTLE.

WHEN I was a child, says Dr. Franklin, my friends, on a holiday filled my little pockets with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and being charmed with the sound of a whistle in the hands of another boy whom I met by the way, I voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers and sisters and cousins understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth. This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the impressions continuing on my mind; so that often when I was tempted to buy some un

necessary thing, I said to myself, "Don't give too much for the whistle!" As I grew up, came into the world and observed the actions of men, I thought I met with very many who gave too much for the whistle.

When I saw one too ambitious to court favors, wasting his time in attendance at levees, sacrificing his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, I said to myself, "This man gives too much for his whistle." When I saw another, fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect, I said, "He pays, indeed, too much for his whistle."

If I knew a miser who gave up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship for the sake of accumulating wealth, “Poor man," said I, "you do indeed pay too much for the whistle."

When I met a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement of his mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporal sensations, and ruining his health in the pursuit, "Mistaken man,” said I, "you are providing pain instead of pleasure for yourself: you give too much for the whistle."

If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine horses, fine equipage, all above his fortune, for which he contracted debts, and ended his career in prison, "Alas!" said I, "he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle."

In short, I conceived that the greater part of the miseries of mankind were brought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value of things, and by "giving too much for their whistles."

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

15. WHITTLING TYPICAL OF YOUNG

AMERICA.

THE Yankee boy, before he 's sent to school,
Well knows the virtue of that magic tool,

The pocket-knife.

To that his wistful eye

Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby.
His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it,
Then leaves no stone unturned till he can whet it;
And in the education of the lad

No little part that implement hath had.

His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings
A growing knowledge of material things.
Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art,
His chestnut whistle, and his shingle dart,
His elder pop-gun, with its hickory rod,
Its sharp explosion, and rebounding wad,
His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone
That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone,
Conspire to teach the boy.

To these succeed

His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed;

His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win;
His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin;

Or, if his father lives upon the shore,

You'll see his ship, "beam ends upon the floor," Full rigged, with raking mast, and timbers stanch, And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch.

Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven,
Ere long he'll solve you any problem given;
Make any gimcrack, musical or mute,
A plough, a couch, an organ, or a flute;