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7. Teach him that there is a power in the simple truth which no verbal gloss or exaggeration can enhance,—that in there is a well-spring of happiness in a straightforward, unswerving honesty, to which the crooked paths of deceit and cunning can never conduct. Bid him seek for that daily joy, that peace of conscience, that rest of heart, that serene and tranquil old


that favor of God, which attend and crown the life of him, and of him only, who with patient fidelity and enduring rectitude has filled his allotted sphere.

8. Is it said that this is visionary? No, it is not. It is practical and practicable, and that without disturbing the ordinary routine of school work;—not in the form of set lectures or homilies, for that is not the true way to instruct the young in morals; but by the power of a living example in the teacher, and by the earnest and skillful use and improvement of the innumerable incidents and occurences in the daily life of the school and of the community ; by the reverent reading of the simple words of Jesus; by subsidizing the impressive events of Providence, the pomp of nature, the changing seasons, the opening and the dying year; by the timely word when the soul of the pupil is calm and subdued ; by the hint, story, or incident, from the affluent treasures of biography and history; by the power of sympathy, the pathos of sorrow, the might of love, and the inspiration of joy and hope. Oh, there are resources of influence over the ingenuous natures of children, if the teacher's own heart is warm and true, which not one child in a thousand can resist.

9. Grant that all can not be done that has here been marked out; enough can be done to infuse the leaven of truth and rectitude into tens of thousands of minds and hearts, to check the profligate tendencies of the times, and give an impulse in the right direction to a whole generation of the youthful citizens of the state.

10. And grant, too, that a few moments may sometimes be taken from intellectual drill to impress a moral sentiment or enforce the law of love; will the child be the loser? Will he suffer wrong? Is a child all intellect? Is the brain only to be developed? Is life filled with nothing but grammar and rhetoric, arithmetic and geometry; or with beating hearts, wants and woes, rights and wrongs, as well? When will men believe that scholarship alone is powerless to make a good man or a good citizen ?--that with knowledge there must be a disposition to make a right use of it, or it will not add one jot to the welfare of the state — nay,

will only precipitate its ruin?

11. If the increase of brain power, of mere intellectual acquisitions, is to be the exclusive province and result of public education, the blotting of the entire system from the statutes, and the conflagration of all its school houses, would hardly be a calamity. The exclusive culture of the intellectual forces is unnatural, monstrous, criminal. It is lighting a fire which the whirlwind may scatter in devastation among our dwellings. It is evoking a spirit which may prove a demon that will not “down” at our bidding. An incarnate fiend might take the highest honors of a university in science and letters, and, if that were all, be only the more a ficnd.

12. Clear and cold and passionless, pure intellect looks down from its calm heights upon surging, pulsating humanity, immovable as the snow-crowned crest of Mont Blanc while whelming avalanches thunder below. No warm flush of sympathy prompts to fly to the rescue and assuage the woe. Grand and wonderful indeed is reason ; but as one star differs from another in glory, so does the moral and spiritual nature of man transcend the intellectual, in its relations to the happiness and destiny of the race. Without an earnest and practical recognition of this fact, our public schools will fail to achieve their chief end,—that of sending forth from year to year those who shall be, in the best sense, good citizens. To a prompt and cordial submission to rightful authority must therefore be added uncompromising moral rectitude.



1 But this is a digression from the Alps. The road up St. Gothard is a wonderful piece of engineering, mounting apparently inaccessible heights by a series of terraces or tourniquets, so that carriages are very easily driven up. The Reuss flows down, and the sound of the water is heard, the whole distance, though the river is sometimes so deep below the road that one can scarcely see it. Then the rocky walls rise steep and bare on either side, seeming to rest on the deep foundations of the earth, and to support the sky on their summits.

2. I walked a considerable part of the way, to enjoy the wonderful scene more completely.

a good day's journey to the Hospitenthal, or valley of the hospice, on the height of the pass. This valley is a beautiful spot, green and lovely in itself, though at so immense a height, and surrounded by snow-capped pinnacles. We spent the night here.

3. The next morning we started for the Furca Pass, and the Grimsel; but no more carriage roads. I was strongly tempted to walk the whole distance, from the Hospitentha. to Meyringen; but reflected that I was twenty years older than I was twenty years ago, and much heavier than when I was much lighter,--so I finally decided to compromise the

It was

matter by taking one horse for myself and our courier. The rest of the party had each a horse, and two men were employed to take Edie the whole distance, some fifty miles, in a chair.

4. Now, if I were animated by the proper traveler's spirit, I should rise into the sublime, in my description of the appalling dangers from which we miraculously escaped. I should make each particular hair stand on end, by telling you what dizzy heights we scaled by paths scarce a foot in width, along the edges of perpendicular precipices, ten thousand feet or more in depth. I should freeze your blood with horror, by depicting the mountainous masses of rock just tottering to their fall, hy which we had to pass.

I should make you shudder to think of the mighty glaciers we crossed, and the yawning crevices a thousand feet deep, over which we were obliged to jump. I should thrill you with the thunder of the descending avalanche that came within a hair's breadth of burying us five hundred feet deep in snow. I should But enough of these awful adventures, that trip so freely from the pens of summer tourists.

5. In plain prose and rigid truth, the whole journey was exciting in the highest degree. The path does wind along the edge of tremendous precipices, and above it the rocky mountain sides do rise sheer and awful up to heaven. Sometimes the path descends so steeply that it seems impossible to go down without breaking your neck; again it seems to go straight up into the air, and the wonder is, how any fourfooted beast can possibly climb it, without rolling over backwards. If

up, you half believe the mountain is coming down upon you; if you look down, you are struck by the exceeding probability that you may reach the bottom a great deal sooner than you intend. With all this, you have an abiding confidence in your sure-footed and faithful beast, and you know that he will carry you safely through.

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6. I walked about half the whole distance, but it so hap pened that I rode over the worst parts of the way. I felt astonished, delighted, and constantly amazed by the grandeur of the gigantic scenery; and only once did I feel in the least startled with any sense of danger. In one place, in the steep side of an enormous rock, a way is scooped out, just deep enough for a horse to pass, and high enough for the rider if he stoops.

The side of the road towards the abyss is guarded by a wooden railing. Near this spot a beggar girl had placed herself; and as my horse entered this rather critical passage, she came up and spoke in the peculiar, inarticulate whine they all employ, standing between the horse and the rocky side. The horse shied an instant, pressed my leg against the slender railing, and I looked over into what really seemed a fathomless abyss. There was no actual danger, for the horse knew his footing exactly; but the appearance of danger set my blood in motion for a moment, and made my pulse beat at a pretty rapid rate. Agassiz will remember this spot.


1. On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

2. But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

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