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In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omnipresent. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and naturally flows from his omnipresence; he can not but be conscious of every motion that arises in the whole material world, which he thus essentially pervades, and of every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Several moralists have considered the creation as the temple of God, which he has built with his own hands, and which is filled with his presence. Others have considered infinite space as the receptacle, or rather the habitation, of the Almighty; but the noblest and most exalted way of considering this infinite space is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the sensorium of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their sensoriola, or little sensoriums, by which they apprehend the presence and perceive the actions of a few objects that lie contiguous to them. Their knowledge and observation turn within a very narrow circle. But as God Almighty can not but perceive and know every thing in which he resides, infinite space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, an organ of omniscience.
Were the soul separate from the body, and with one glance of thought should start beyond the bounds of the creation; should it for millions of years continue its progress through infinite space with the same activity, it would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator, and encompassed round with the immensity of the Godhead. While we are in the body, he is not less present with us because he is concealed from us. "O that I knew where I might find him!" says Job. "Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I can not perceive him; on the left hand, where he does work, but I can not behold him; he hideth himself on the right hand that I can not see him." In short, reason as well as revelation assures us that he can not be absent from us, notwithstanding he is undiscovered by us.
In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipresence and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He can not but regard everything that has being, especially such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart, in particular, which is apt to trouble them on this occasion; for, as it is impossible he should overlook any of his creatures, so we may be confident that he regards with an eye of mercy those who endeavor to recommend themselves to his notice, and in an unfeigned humility of heart think themselves unworthy that he should be mindful of them.
In the April readings for the C.Y. F. R. U.,* Prof. Robinson the Arnold Arboretum-that great museum of trees, the purchase of which the city of Boston is now negotiating with Harvard College-opens up to our young folks a subject of importance: Tree Culture. For (since American land is now owned for the most part by individuals in the form of countless farms, and although our law-makers may feel keenly that our rivers and watersupplies are drying up because the forests are cut down, and our climate changing and becoming unhealthful for the same reason, still they can not pass a law forbidding a man to cut down his own trees) the planting of forests and the care of trees in general, must come upon individuals, and from their own spontaneous action in the matter, too.
Therefore, Prof. Robinson addresses the boys. He says, in a letter to a member of the committee on the C. Y. F. R U. readings: "If I can interest the young folks in Tree | Culture, I shall be delighted, for it is here we must hope to
*See "Ways to do Things," in Wide-Awake magazine for April, 1882.
revolutionize the mal-treatment which the trees have received in this land for 200 years." And the work he lays out in this article is work the boys can do, and his instructions are plain and to be confidently followed.
The plans are for the benefit and beautifying of farms and small village places, leaving parks and the replacing of forests to township coöperation and grown men's labor. But still, it is not probable that many trees will be set, or that they will be cared for from year to year, unless the fathers of the young tree-planters take an interest in the matter. Therefore, in the outset, every family in the C. L. S. C. ought to read Prof. Robinson's article; and then each farmer-and the C. L. S. C. counts thousands of farmers and farmer's wives among its numbers-ought to be willing to give his boys a piece of land, large or small, for a tree plantation, and the boys' rights in that piece of land should be respected; the convenience of some crop in the future must not uproot those trees.
Parents lament the early flitting of their sons from the home farm; but let the boys own in the farm, let them feel they are bettering property in which they have a cash interest, and they will feel differently about "putting in" their time, labor and ideas.
Days of pastime, pic-nic days, ought to come into the plans of every family-days in which they will take pleasure together, days which work in upon the household routine with rest for certain overworked sets of nerves and muscles; and what is there better to do than, on some sunny mid-day early in spring, for the whole family, warmly clad and stoutly shod, to go over into the woods and select and dig up the baby trees for the C. Y. F. R. U. tree garden? What a big lesson in botany, to identify beech and birch, oak and maple, ash and walnut, when the signs of difference must be discerned only in bark and bud-sheath, locality, and general appearance! One such trip of examination is of more worth than a school term of book botany away from the living growths. A tree will be an interesting object to the family after that excursion.
A nursery of trees selected under such auspices will not be neglected; and then, presently, what a living text-book it will become-the budding, the unfolding of leaves, leaf forms, tints and shades of color infinite, and no two days alike, and the comparison of the cultivated with the wild growth of the same species.
Then, too, watching the growth of these trees up to the time for permanent transplanting, and discussing as they will the need of a "wind-break" here, the pleasures of a shady grove there, the beauty of a solitary tree yonder, the use of trees all along where any sewerage must flow away, the safeguard of a row along the crumbling banks of streams, the increased value to the farm of a piece of woodland twenty years hence-it will be very strange if this interested household does not enquire more or less closely into the causes which govern climate and the health of neighborhoods, the fertility of land, the barrenness of certain tracts and the frequent recurrence of freshets and floods where once they were unknown. The labor is well worth while for only the gain of our perceptions of beauty and picturesqueness, and the new consciousness of how man may influence so great and miraculous an action of nature as a rainfall, or may lengthen the summer's warmth for a ripening crop.
Something still more special in tree-culture than the general good of the place, may be provided by the family for its young members. They may plant arboretums, or museums of trees, making collections of trees, as they collect stamps and coins. And why not give a boy a deed of a piece of land for an orchard, whose trees he shall buy and set, and take care of, and the fruit of which shall be his own to sell? Why not plant out a nut orchard for a little girl, to be her own, nuts, trees and all? It would be no
mean dowry, no mean sum of money for the young woman, when an acre of black walnut trees were of age and size for manufacturing purposes. Almost any farmer might thus grow and store "means" for a son or daughter. At least, a farmer who planted ten acres ten years ago calculates thus: "The trees are growing an inch a year. When they are twenty years old they will be nineteen inches through. A black walnut tree nineteen inches through is worth fifteen dollars. My two thousand trees, ten years from now, will be worth thirty thousand dollars. If I don't want to cut them all, I can cut half of them, and then raise a bushel of walnuts to the tree-that is, get twenty-five hundred dollars a year for the crop."
spread. House after house, street after street it spread, till every street and every house was ablaze, and the city became one vast fire. Of course the soldiers fled from such a place with all speed.
Now there was no place to fly to except their own homes in their own country far away; for all the neighboring towns and cities were Russian, and of course hated an army which had come to steal their country from them. And, worst of all, the time was winter, and such a winter as has seldom been. So there was no hope for them but in their far-off homes; the fire had destroyed their only shelter; there was no help for it. And thousands of men set out on the long and terrible journey which was to take them there. Then began a story of sufferings past all power to imagine.
What a bright and lovely thing a rose-garden is when the trees are covered with buds aud blossoms from top to bottom, in every shade of pink and crimson and gold, which both men and children can see and smell and pluck. But how very unlovely it is in winter! Look at it when the ground is hard and frozen, the air is bitter and the sky is dull. Where are the roses then? There is nothing to be seen but | leafless sticks, nothing to pluck but sharp, prickly thorns; yet you know that these are rose-trees. And the gardener values them and loves them because of what they are even in their bareness and ugliness. Hidden away in their heart of hearts they contain the graceful leaves of those loveliest of flowers; and when the power is come to them, when the ground is soft and the air is warm, and the sun is pouring its floods of golden glory out of a summer sky, then their hearts will stir within them, the lovely things that lie hidden will creep and creep up the stems, and through the buds and out into the open air, and unfold themselves, till little children's eyes can see and their hands can reach and pluck them. They are ugly now; but for all that, the gardener loves them now, bare, prickly sticks as they are; for see, he is putting warm straw about their roots, dunging about them, and tilling them. He does not judge by their outward appearance. He knows what is in the hearts of them, and he wants to keep their hearts alive; if he has their hearts now, be knows that he shall have their unfolded flowers soon. He loves them, and values them, and cares for them, because of the glory which shall be revealed in them. And God so loves the world. It is fuil of unlovely-looking characters, hard and prickly, and ugly as the frozen rose-sticks. But, be they what they may to our views and feelings, he values all men; he honors all men he loves all men, and bids us try to do the same; for everybody, even the ugliest, hardest, most unlovable-looking people have things hidden down away in their hearts beautiful alike to God and man, but seen, just now, only by God. The whole world is a garden of the Lord's, but in dull cold winter-time, God knows what it can be and will be. And this is what I want you to enjoy to-night, that God knows what is in the heart of man, and this is the reason why, with infinite patience, he cares for and tends and loves the world.
THE MAN WITH THE DRUMMER- They were in a strange land, yet there were no roads nor paths to follow; what roads and paths there were in its vast uncultivated sweeps of land lay deeply hidden in snow. There were not even people to be found to ask the way, nor friendly cottage to offer a moment's rest or warmth. The few straggling woodmen's huts which might lie here and there by their track, like the roads, were buried in snow. No shop offered the means of getting even a crust of bread. They could get no water, not one drop, to quench their raging thirst; springs and streams were all frozen. And so cold was it that melted ice scorched and blistered their mouths like burning coal. Freezing winds searched through their clothes and flesh, chilling their bones to the very marrow. Cold and hungry and thirsty, every mile in the soft sinking snow added the misery of wearying limbs; yet must they hold on, for to halt for even a little rest they knew was certain death. Hour after hour, through long days and longer nights, they struggled on toward home. Pitiless snows fell in thick, blinding storms, settling on them in great masses, adding heavy weight to carry, soaking them to the skin. And with their wearying load, every step sank deeper into the soft, hampering road. Their aching legs | swelled, their soaked feet broke into sores, their lips split and bled, their ears became raw; and strong men cried out in terrible anguish.
But you will see what I mean by these hidden blossoms in the souls of men by a story. It is now just seventy years ago since it happened. Napoleon Bonaparte-a hugely wicked man-went with tens of thousands of soldiers into Russia to steal from the Russians their towns and villages, to have them for himself. But he did not get what he wanted; for difficulties arose, and he had more to fight than could be fought with guns and swords, or the bravest of men. The Russians fought against him, and these he could beat; but heaven and earth fought against him, and these foes were too great or him. The city in which he would have housed his soldiers caught fire, and the fire rapidly
Every hour through days and nights, to one after another the suffering and struggle proved too much; they fell into a deadly sleep and dropped torpid upon the road. One of these was a little drummer-boy. He had a sturdy little heart and had made long and manful efforts to keep up with his big and stronger companions. The burden of his drum, light as it was, was rather against him; but he had kept his legs, till now he could do so no longer. He stopped, staggered a little, dropped his drum, reeled a second, and then fell stretched upon it. It had come to be his turn to die. His party moved on, doubtless a little sad to leave a mere child to die; but times were stern, and they had enough to do to take care of themselves. A second party came along the track, frozen, disabled, haggard as the rest. Some looked at the little drummer, some half stopped, but all passed on. Everybody was silent. A third party straggled up, frozen, disabled, haggard as the rest. But one of this party both looks at the boy and stops. His face is flat, pale, swollen; his big lips look sour; his brow is low and frowning. He seems wearier and more haggard than others, and there is something about his desperate looks which would have alarmed you. His life, you would have thought, must have been a very evil one; and it is very likely it had, for he bears a wretched name among his soldier companions, who themselves are not over particular. But this one man stops by the boy. The sight of the little fellow, after all his brave strugglings, lying there stretched upon his drum, left to die, is too much for him. He feels something rise in his throat. He can not, and-come what will-he will not leave him. In a passion for the boy, he bends forward, lifts him up and rouses him. Unable to speak, he
makes signs to some who are passing to give him help, and the boy, drum and all-for the bewildered little fellow is clinging to his drum-is mounted on this kind man's back. It was a while before he could quite steady himself to start. Then with raw feet and aching limbs he set out, himself and his new burden, to do the rest of the weary way home, and who should say what would be the end?
Before the terrible journey was all over, many of those who had seen and passed the outstretched boy fell down upon the snowy road and died, and only a very, very few of all that set out from the burning city ever reached their journey's end; but whether it was because of the extra warmth which came from those two little legs hanging down on each side of his chest-for two cold bodies can make each other warmer-or whether it was because of the extra thrill and power which so noble an enthusiasm gave to his failing heart-warming and strengthening his spirits and his limbs and all that made him a man-I can not say; be this as it may, you will be very glad to know, that among that very, very few, the man with the drummer-boy was one. He and his burden both reached home.
Perhaps to pass the fallen child was not wicked. We can hardly blame men who feared to increase the awful weariness, difficulties, and dangers of their terrible lot; but if we can not blame, neither can we admire. Their conduct might be human, it was not divine. The heart that thinks most, not of itself, but of another; the man that must try to save, even if in the trial he lay down his own life, that is the lovely and divine, the disposition of the beautiful and blessed God as seen in Christ. "He saved others, himself he could not save." But I have told you the story of this particular man because till that hour he had been counted bad, the worst of his set. Yet all the while he contained, hidden away in his heart of hearts, loveliness, lovely both to God and man. It lay there waiting for the power to touch it into life and bring it out to sight.
O, my dear children, love everybody, honor all men! Secret glories lie in them all, however hard it may be to believe it. God believes it, and that should be enough.—London Sunday Magazine.
MY LOST YOUTH.
Often I think of the beautiful town
Often in thought go up and down
And a verse of a Lapland song,
Is haunting my memory still: "A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And the burden of that old song,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the slips,
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the bulwarks by the shore, And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!
ALL MEMBERS of the class of 1882, who expect to graduate this year, will please send immediately to the office of the C. L. S. C., Plainfield, N. J., a postal card, stating whether they wish genuine or imitation parchment diplomas. In case the former is desired the fee of forty-five cents need not be sent until the report blank, which is to be kept until the course is completed, is returned, but it is important that we should know at once just how many diplomas of each kind to order.
Members of the class of 1882 will please note especially the following:
The report blank sent you in our last envelope is marked "to be returned by June 30, to office C. L. S. C., Plainfield, N. J."
The imitation parchment is substantial, smooth, heavy and socially, in several other territories. paper, and will last-three centuries!
The parchment is more substantial, tough as hide, has a "university" look about it, and will last a little over three
If you expect to graduate this year, but are not able to finish your work by June 30, please keep the report blank until you have done so, returning it as early as possible.
Present members of the class of 1882, who do not expect to graduate with their class, can return the blanks promptly, but we do not want to receive any from graduates until the four years' work can be reported as finished. Plainfield, N. J., April 6, 1882.
AT LAST there is hope that a speedy end will be put to the practice of polygamy among the Mormons. It is indeed time that this great iniquity, which is both destructive of the family and detrimental to purity and virtue, should be made to succumb to the power of law. It is a matter of wonder that its existence has been tolerated in the land go long. Two causes may be assigned for its having been so long unmolested. At the time of its inception the region where it was practiced was so remote from civilization that it grew up almost unnoticed. Of late years, since it has come into greater prominence, the energies of the country have been devoted to crushing out the great rebellion, and to readjusting matters so as to secure national harmony and quiet. As soon as these momentous tasks were accomplished public attention at once began to be directed to this monstrous evil of polygamy. As a result of this a sentiment has been rapidly developed demanding its overthrow. The press, the pulpit, and the platform, were united in their efforts to arouse the slumbering conscience of the nation. Mass meetings were held in all parts of the land denouncing this terrible iniquity, and the people everywhere called upon our legislators to enact measures for its immediate suppression. In answer to this popular demand the Edmunds bill was brought forward, and after much discussion passed both houses of Congress by large majorities, and having been signed by the President, has now become a law.
prove the fact of unlawful cohabitation. This feature of the bill was made necessary, as polygamous marriages take place in the Endowment House, and in the presence of Mormons only, who would not testify so as to convict one of their own number of crime.
The bill does not propose to interfere with Mormonism as a religion, but only with the practice of polygamy, which can not hide from the law under the guise of religion. It disqualities all persons guilty of polygamy or bigamy from voting or holding office in the territories, and also provides that both of these crimes shall be punished by fine and imprisonment. In prosecutions under this law, in order to convict of polygamous practices, proof of performance of the marriage ceremony is not required; it is only necessary to
The enforcement of this law will deprive the Mormons in future of all political control of the territories in which they reside, and will place in the territorial legislatures, and in official positions, the anti-polygamous element, so that the laws against polygamy can be executed in the territories where it abounds. Of late years the territorial legislature of Utah was composed almost entirely of Mormons, and they were becoming powerful politically, as well as religiously
The subject is one difficult to legislate upon so as to mete out justice to all parties. By annulling polygamous mar riages at once, many helpless women who are entangled in this evil system, and many innocent children, will suffer in a greater or less degree. The Edmunds bill, however, seems to make proper provisions to protect the innocent victims of polygamy, while it aims to punish the perpetrators of its crimes. The crushing out of such a gigantic system of vice will doubtless be a matter of time, and will require much wisdom and patient perseverance on the part of those who seek its overthrow by legal measures. The passage of this bill is the beginning of the end, and if its provisions do not prove as effectual as desired, other and more stringent measures will be enacted, and the country will soon have the satisfaction of seeing this foul blot effaced from the national escutcheon.
A REMARKABLE FEATURE of the times is the vast number of productions issued by the press of the times for the entertainment and instruction of chil and young people. Books gotten up in the most attractive style, both within and without, are almost without number; and the monthlies and weeklies devoted to this purpose equal, if indeed they do not surpass in circulation, those designed for adults. While much that has been published is most meritorious and beneficial, there is also much that is of sational character, and not a little that is worthless or pernicious in its tendencies, so that it requires care and discrimination to select from among this mass of literature only that class of works, the perusal of which will be productive of real benefit to the readers, and parents need to exercise watchfulness over the reading habits of their children in order to guard them against publications of an injurious or immoral tendency.
At the last Assembly at Chautauqua, the Chautauqua Young Folks' Reading Union was organized, which has for its chief aim the forming of right habits of reading among young people, and the promotion of a spirit of inquiry and observation among its members. Its required readings" are published in the Wide Awake and in Harper's Young People, and comprise articles on scientific, historical and practical subjects, prepared by competent writers in each of these departments. In addition to these articles the members of the Union are required to read "Stories from History," "Papers on Children's Etiquette," and Faraday's "Chemistry of a Candle." Several other volumes are recommended to be read, and also the other articles in the periodicals in which the required readings are issued.
If this is not deemed sufficient by parents for their children, a more extended course can easily be arranged. Dickens' History of England is admirably adapted to children, and a capital series of historical books is being written by Charlotte M. Yonge, several of which are already published.. Charming books of travel and adventure, writter in an entertaining style, and adorned with engravi abound, from which much desirable and useful know
of other lands can be obtained. Books on science, adapted to the comprehension of children and young folks, are also being issued in large numbers. In fact, interesting and well written books for children, on almost any topic desired, can be obtained, and at very reasonable rates.
The abundance and cheapness of books in our times leave all without excuse who do not furnish their families with a good supply of reading matter. Sometimes men are found who say that they can not afford to purchase books and periodicals for their families, and yet perhaps they will spend twice the amount necessary to furnish plenty of reading matter for the household in some useless luxury. One of the surest methods to preserve the young from viciousness and idleness is to instil into them a taste for reading, and then to gratify it by giving them plenty of healthful literature. Many a boy might by this means be kept from spending his evenings on the streets or in the saloon, and would thus be preserved from ruin. Money expended in books and periodicals of the right kind is never lost or thrown away, but is sure to yield a good return.
NOT WHOLLY new in theory is the method, but the zeal and determination with which it has been applied by the citizens of the college town of Oberlin, Ohio, has no parallel in the history of temperance reform. The facts as they have been given are as follows: Some months ago the citizens of Oberlin, having never failed to succeed in driving out all regular saloons by force of public sentiment, discovered that they had in their midst a masked dram shop under the name of a drug store. Under pressure of public sentiment the liquor-selling druggist signed a pledge, in common with all the other druggists of the place, to sell neither alcohol, spirituous nor fermented liquors in any form whatever. This act of hypocrisy on his part was followed by another, in which he feigned to sell his store, and his pretended successor having signed no agreement, resumed the traffic. Then began, between temperance principle and righteous conviction on the one hand, and the minions of Satan on the other, such a struggle as one might scarcely hope to witness anywhere outside of that staunch old-time anti-slavery town. Public meetings were called, the situation discussed, and all the power of moral suasion invoked. Failing in this, as has often been the case, the people, undismayed, went to work to organize visiting committees to frequent and watch the store throughout all business hours. This measure proved a very serious detriment to the bogus proprietor's traffic. To offset it, roughs and loafers from abroad were imported by the druggist, with a view to making his store so loathsome to decent people that they would be compelled to withdraw from sheer disgust, and thus leave him unmolested, master of the situation. But the people who in ante-war days were not too nice to welcome to their homes the fugitive slave, and to help him on his way to freedom, were not to be deterred from their purpose so easily. Even the resort to burning red-pepper did not avail to drive away the uninvited visitors. Besides, even the throat and eyes of a liquor seller are not proof against red-pepper. The committee on duty were often ordered to leave the premises, which they always promptly and politely did, never failing, however, to return immediately. Thus the struggle continued through weeks, the people daily growing more determined and confident of victory, the druggist ever finding his situation more uncomfortable and more unprofitable. Thus situated, and admitting no doubt as to the final victory of the temperance forces, a third element came in and quickly put an end to the struggle. A fire, we are informed, broke out in the part of the town where the store was located, and it with other buildings was destroyed. The belief of the people that the sale was only a pretended one, was
now corroborated by the former proprietor's coming forward to claim the insurance money.
A brief moral may be drawn from the main facts of the foregoing. There is not in every community such a preponderance of public sentiment against the liquor traffic as in Oberlin, but certain it is that in many towns now cursed by the presence of dram shops, there are enough who profess a sentiment against them to make it uncomfortable for the keepers of these places, and even to make it difficult for them to thrive. The moral purpose of a community does not amount to much if in a state of paralysis. Public sentiment has not much force when it has gone to sleep, and only snores a little now and then. There is need of an awakened, an active public conscience all along the line. It is the sine qua non of temperance success.
BY THE death of Henry W. Longfellow the world has lost one of the foremost literary men of the age. His career as a poet extended over more than half a century. His first poem was written when he was a lad fourteen years of age, and his last one but a few months before his death, which occurred on the 24th of March.
Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807. He entered Bowdoin College in 1821, and graduated with high honors in 1825. After graduating he began the study of law in the office of his father, but the legal profession not proving congenial to his tastes, he abandoned it for a literary career, and was soon afterward chosen professor of modern languages in his alma mater. Before entering on his duties he spent three years in travel and study in foreign lands, in order to qualify himself thoroughly for his professorship. In 1835 he became professor of modern languages and belleslettres in Harvard University, which position he retained until his resignation in 1854. om the time he entered upon the professorship at Harvard, until his death, his home was in the old mansion at Cambridge, which was occupied by Washington as his headquarters during the Revolutionary War, which will now be doubly sacred as a revolutionary relic and as a souvenir of the lamented poet.
In the realm of poetry, during the age in which he lived, Longfellow had few peers. Tennyson and Bryant were his only rivals; the former perhaps excelled him in exquisite finish, and the latter in strength; but in ease of movement, grace of diction, and sweetness and depth of expression, Longfellow is surpassed by none. His poems are free from cynicism and affectation, and are characterized from first to last by a love of truth and humanity. His strong hold on the popular mind is shown by the significant fact that, besides the numerous editions of his works issued in this country and in England, more than thirty translations of his poems have appeared in Germany, and eleven in France, while a number of his poems have been reproduced in the Chinese language. Longfellow was especially popular in England. No American author was ever more widely read in England than he. During his last visit to that country, in 1868, he received the degree of D. C. L. from Oxford University, while Cambridge conferred on him that of LL. D., which had been bestowed on him previously, however, by Harvard University. But so great was his modesty and freedom from ostentation, that he never appended any of these well earned titles to his name.
During his long career as a poet he contributed frequently to the current periodicals of the times, most of his shorter poems being published in this way before appearing in book form. On the fiftieth anniversary of his graduation he prepared a poem entitled "Morituri Salutamus", which was read at the meeting of the survivors of his class and which was excelled by few if any of his previous productions. His last poem was published about two months before his death, and gave no sign of mental decay. His "Voices of