Thus spoke the good Josiah in the overflowing of his zeal against the nonsense of the village schools, and his master and mistress gave more and more attention to what he said.

After discussing the subject more fully, the father turned to Fritz and said, "Well, Fritz, what have you gathered from this evening's conversation?"

"That men are foolish to ask alms outside the house, when there is abundance within," answered Fritz.

"What else?"

"That the country children ought to be educated for the field, the barn, the house, and not merely for talk."

"What more?" asked Christopher.

"That school knowledge is to many a child like unaccustomed food upon which he will not thrive."

"Is that all?" said his father.

"That a father's instruction is like the kernel, and the schoolmaster's, at most, like a shell protecting it, and that the common people need common sense most."

Anything more?"

"That the school ought to be an auxiliary to the nursery, where father and mother plant the germs of all virtue and all knowledge."

"It has always appeared to me that cunning is not true wisdom, for only honest men can possess that," said Christopher. "That is so," said Josiah. "True wisdom proceeds from love, and brings blessing and peace to its owner and to all those who depend on him. Cunning proceeds from selfishness and want of love, and brings trouble and suffering upon a man who acts under its influence, and to those whom he rules or serves. If you are anxious to observe the effects of such cunning in a man, go to the poor whom he uses as his tools, and they will tell you how small is his wisdom. One will tell you that he has to praise his lean ox as a fat one, in order to induce some greenhorn to buy; another has to lure a stranger into his net. They will also tell you that they have to speak highly of his

honor and virtue, even when their hearts bleed from his injustice. They must cover his sins and deny his cruelty, at least within his hearing and knowledge.

"But he who indulges in such tricks, or incites others to them, feels flattered if people talk of his keen understanding, merely because he practices his wit day and night in matters with which honest people will have nothing to do. On the other hand, he shows himself often quite foolish and inexperienced in important matters with which honest men are thoroughly familiar. No scoundrel has ever been able to keep that admixture of folly and madness which characterizes vice always under his control, so that it will not ooze out when he least expects it."

"What do you think is the reason that men live so unwisely till their last hour comes?" asked Eliza.

"The neglect of home, without doubt," answered Josiah. "Man must have for his heart a hearth, where the fire never goes out; there he must get strength, rest, and refreshment. After leaving his home, he goes to his work with new courage. Love of mankind is not nurtured in the barren regions of a vagabond life; it requires fostering care in the sanctuary of home, as the noblest and tenderest plants require the greatest care at the hand of the gardener. But when the tender plant of home-grown virtue has taken root, let it be transferred to any soil, and it will thrive. If one behaves well as father, mother, son, you may trust him anywhere, although he may change his relations; since the propelling motive of his actions will always be the same, whether you call it duty, obedience, or tender affection."

"Heed my words, Fritz," said Eliza," and do not scoff at anything which is sacred to thy fellow-men, and necessary to their peace and welfare; which protects good order in society, and renders the last hours of man serene."

"Yes, my son," added Christopher, "you must fear God, love

your parents, and honor your superiors, if you would wish to fare well on earth."

"Do so, my dear boy, with an innocent and simple heart," said Josiah. "Yet never be afraid to search after truth and to stand by it; to oppose him who uses arbitrary power, and wishes to circumvent you with lies in order to effect wrong. Least of all, do not suffer yourself to be blinded by priests, when, under the name of religion, you see them only intent on furthering their own interests. When they teach you immortality, then listen to them in faith and gratitude, for it is God's word. If you hope to be pious, abhor the man who weakens the simple faith of the people in immortality, and ridicules the word of God in his intercourse with the poor and helpless, who are most in want of it. Such a man is like him who despises bread and feeds on husks. Oh, flee from the insane one, who scoffs at that which refreshes and comforts so many thousands of thy brethren. The hope of immortality lies deep in the inmost soul, and he who teaches it teaches the word of God."

"The greatest thing that religion can give us is strength for all that is good and useful," said Christopher. "Religion ought to give me the conviction that on leaving earth I leave nothing, that my soul absorbs its cares, and that my hopes reach beyond this temporal abode; but for this very reason it must enable me to use my strength for the benefit of my family and my race.

"Religion does not call men away from the duties of this earth, but it gives them strength to the last moment to take care of what has been intrusted to them. Did not Christ, when on the cross, show his care for his earthly mother by recommending her to the care of his favorite disciple? I may be misunderstood, and perhaps do not express accurately my idea, when I say that man is not made for religion, but religion for Religion is an essence which takes possession of a man's soul, and leads him away from his own carnal tendencies; it consists rather in powers than in words; it is a storehouse full of good instruments, rather than a saloon filled with charming and fascinating images. That which presents itself to men

man.

as an idol with which to make a constant display, is not religion.

"The way to heaven is by fulfilling all our duties on earth; and the neglect of these can only be retrieved to some extent. while man is well and active, but never on a sick-bed at the approach of death. Our forefathers were wiser in this respect than we. One proof of this is that they generally disposed of their property while still in health. Not only were wife and children remembered, but also servants, institutions, the poor, and everything which the dictates of humanity as well as religion had inspired in their hearts. In our days it is not so. Death is allowed to surprise many, and they are unable to do what they intended for their family and fellow-men. We often hear people say, 'If father or mother had disposed of this or the other matter, we should have been spared much care and vexation.' It is but a shallow excuse that the departed ones were so occupied with spiritual things that worldly ones were forgotten."

"I have known people," said Christopher, "who, unsolicited, have promised to take charge of children soon to become orphans. I have also seen this sacred duty neglected. To understand these seeming contradictions, we must assume that all men have moments in which they make good resolutions; but, unless a man is thoroughly firm and honest, these good resolutions are transitory as the light of the sun when it rises in the splendor of the morning, while the sky, with the exception of a narrow strip along the horizon, is covered with rain clouds. These clouds approach from all sides; the sunlight is extinguished; the whole heavens become gray, and the finer the illumination, the more will the rain fall."

WILLIAM COWPER

1731-1800

WILLIAM COWPER, "the most popular poet of his generation and the best of English letter writers," was born in 1731, at Berkhampstead, in Bedfordshire, England. His father was rector of the parish church in the village. His mother, who was descended from the throne, was a lady of rare worth and beauty. She died when her son was six years of age. Cowper's grief at this bereavement is touchingly described in his "Lines on Receipt of his Mother's Picture." At the age of ten he was sent to Westminster School, where he remained for eight years, diligently storing his mind with the treasures of learning. For the associations of such a school he was by nature wholly unfitted. Always morbidly sensitive, he was often upon the border of insanity, and more than once in his life he seemed hopelessly deranged. The system of "fagging" at the schools, now generally abolished (though it still has in England many defenders, who regard it as a valuable means of discipline), was in Cowper's day at its height. He never recalled his school-days without disgust, and even horror. He became a vehement opponent and critic of the schools, and counseled parents to educate their sons at home.

He

In his "Tirocinium," which is a terrific onslaught upon the then prevailing system of education, he draws a picture of the school as it appeared to a nervous, timid, shrinking youth, who was wholly unable to comprehend the strong, lusty life and spirits of other boys. Cowper is preeminently the home poet of England; yet, strange to say, he can scarcely be said to have ever possessed a home. In 1765, after various failures and discouragements, and when half mad with melancholy, he went to reside with a clergyman, Mr. Unwin, at Huntingdon, where he found congenial friends and surroundings. remained permanently with the Unwin household. Mr. Unwin died in 1767, and his family removed to the village of Olney, in Buckinghamshire, where most of Cowper's voluminous literary work was performed. Mrs. Unwin watched over him as a mother might care for an afflicted child; and Lady Austen, a most valued friend, cheered him with her light-heartedness and encouraged him to continued literary effort. At Lady Austen's solicitation he composed his greatest poem, "The Task." It was she who related to him the story of John Gilpin, which, in a moment of merriment, he retold in rhyme. Cowper