it's time we were moving. We shall never get there

if

you are going to sleep all day."

17. I sat up with a start and rubbed my eyes. The hunter's skiff was gone, the sun was high in the heavens, and the fried bacon sent forth a savory invitation to breakfast. My first night on the

Mississippi was over.

Selected.

LXX. COURAGE

I. Courage! Nothing can withstand
Long a wronged, undaunted land,

If the hearts within her be
True unto themselves and thee,
Thou freed giant, Liberty!

Oh, no mountain-nymph art thou
When the helm is on thy brow,
And the sword is in thy hand,
Fighting for thine own good land.

2. Courage! Nothing e'er withstood
Freemen fighting for their good;
Armed with all their fathers' fame,
They will win and wear a name
That shall go to endless glory,
Like the gods of old Greek story,
Raised to Heaven and heavenly worth,

For the good they gave to earth.

3. Courage! There is none so poor,
None of all who wrong endure,
None so humble, none so weak,
But may flush his father's cheek,
And his maiden's, dear and true,
With the deeds that he may do.
Be his days as dark as night,
He may make himself a light.
What though sunken be his sun?
There are stars when day is done!
4. Courage! Who will be a slave,
That hath strength to dig a grave,
And therein his fetters hide,
And lay a tyrant by his side?
Courage! Hope, howe'er he fly
For a time, can never die!
Courage, therefore, brother men!
Courage! To the fight again!

- B. W. PROCTER.

LXXI. THOUGHTS SHOULD BE FIT TO BE SEEN

One day a lady and her daughter called upon Lucy's mother, and sat with her an hour or more, conversing on various subjects. Lucy's age was not such as to make it proper for her to take part

in the conversation. She sat sometimes listening to what passed, and sometimes making silent observations on the dress or manners of her mother's visitors. After they took leave, she began the following conversation :

Lucy. What a good thing it is that people cannot see one's thoughts!

Mother. It would be inconvenient, sometimes, if they could.

Lucy. Oh, worse than inconvenient! To-day, for instance, I would not have had Mrs. and Miss Gray know what I was thinking of for all the world.

Mother. Indeed! Pray may I know what it might be?

Lucy. Oh, yes, mamma, you may; it was no real harm. I was only thinking what an odd, disagreeable-looking woman Mrs. Gray was, and what a tiresome way she had of telling long stories; and that Miss Gray was the vainest girl I ever saw. I could see all the time she was thinking of nothing but her beauty, and—

Mother. Come, come, no more of this! I have heard quite enough.

Lucy. Well, mamma, but only do suppose they could have known what I was thinking of!

Mother. Well, and what then do you suppose? Lucy. Why, in the first place, I dare say they

would have thought me an impertinent, disagreeable little girl.

Mother. I dare say they would.

Lucy. So what a good thing it is that people cannot see one's thoughts! Is it not?

Mother. I rather think it does not make so much difference as you imagine.

Lucy. Dear me, I think it must make a great deal of difference.

Mother. Did you not say just now that Miss Gray was a vain girl, and that she thought a great deal of her beauty?

Lucy. Yes, and so she does, I am certain.
Mother. Pray, my dear, who told you so?
Lucy. Nobody; I found it out myself.

Mother. But how did you find it out, Lucy? Lucy. Why, mamma, I could see it, as plain as could be.

Mother. So, then, if you could have looked into her heart, and had seen her think to herself, "What

a beauty I am! I hope they admire me," it would have made no alteration in your opinion of her.

Lucy. No, mamma: only have confirmed me in what I thought before.

Mother. Then what advantage was it to her that you could not see her thoughts?

Lucy (hesitatingly). Not much to her, certainly,

just then, at least; not to such a vain-looking girl as she is.

Mother. What do you suppose gives her that vain look?

Lucy. Being so pretty, I suppose.

Mother. No; think again. I have seen many faces as pretty as hers that did not look at all vain. Lucy. True; so have I. Then it must be from her thinking so much about her beauty.

Mother. Right. If Miss Gray has a vain expression in her countenance, or whoever has such an expression, this must be the cause. Now we have come to the conclusion I expected, and I have proved my point.

Lucy. What point, mamma?

Mother. That the thoughts -- at least our habits of thought- - so greatly influence the conduct, manners, and appearance, that our secret weaknesses are betrayed to all discerning eyes.

Lucy. But surely there are some people so deep and artful that nobody can possibly guess what passes in their minds? Not that I wish to be such

a one.

Mother. They may, and do indeed, often succeed in deceiving others in particular instances, but they cannot conceal their true characters. Every one knows that they are deep and artful, and therefore