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In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
Where the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray on the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

Come forth, 0 ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may now be your home.
Ye of the rose cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly;
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay.

TONE OF GLOOM.

(See Tone Drill No. 138.) me of Gloom proclaims the dismal. It is tinged with y, and sometimes there is a mild resentment.)

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November.

THOMAS HOOD.

No sun—no moon !
No morn—no noon-
No dawn—no dusk—no .proper time of day-
No sky—no earthly view-
No distance looking blue-
No road—no street—no “tother side the way”—
No end to any Row-
No indications where the Crescents go

No top to any steeple
No recognitions of familiar people
No courtesies for showing 'em-
No knowing 'em!
No traveling at all—no locomotion-
No inkling of the way—no notion-
“No go”—by land or ocean,

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member-
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds-
November.

TONE OF ASPIRATION.

(See Tonc Drill No. 84.) [As a rule the tone of aspiration suggests noble desire. It is allied to Ambition, Admiration, and is almost synonymous with Emulation.]

American Aspiration.

K. M. HUNTER.

I can conceive of nothing of which it is possible for Human effort to obtain, greater than the destiny which we may reasonably hope to fulfill. If war has its dreams, dazzling in splendid pageantry, peace also has its visions of a more enduring form, of a higher and purer beauty. To solve by practical demonstration the grand problem of increasing social power consistent with personal freedom-to increase the efficiency of the human agent by enlarging individual liberty-to triumph over, not only the physical, but more difficult still, the moral difficulties which lie in the path of a man's progress, and to adorn that path with all that is rare and useful in art, and whatever is highest in civilization, are,

race.

in my opinion, the noblest achievements of which a nation is capable These are the ends to which our ambition should be directed.

If we reverse the old idea of the Deity who presides over our boundaries, let us see so far as we are concerned, that his movements are consistent with the peace of the world. The sword may be the occasional, but it is not the familiar weapon of our god Terminus. The axe and the hoe are his more appropriate emblems. Let him turn aside from the habitations of civilized man, his path is toward the wilderness, through whose silent solitudes, for more than two centuries, he has been rapidly and triumphantly advancing. Let him plunge still deeper into the forest, as the natural gravitation of the tide of population impels him onward. His progress in that direction is one of unmixed beneficence to the human

The earth smiles beneath his feet, and a new creation arises as if by enchantment at his touch.

Household fires illuminate his line of march, and newborn lights, strange visitants to the night of primeval solitude, kindle on domestic altars erected to all the peaceful virtues and kindly affections which consecrate a hearth and endear a home. Victorious industry sacks the forest and mines the quarry, for materials for its stately cities, or spans the streams and saps the mountain to open the way for the advance of civilization still deeper into the pathless forest and neglected wild. The light of human thought pours in winged streams from sea to sea, and the lingering nomad may have but a moment's pause, to behold the flying car which comes to invade the haunts so long secured to savage life. These are the aspirations worthy of our name and race, and it is for the American people to decide whether a taste for peace or the habits of war are most consistent with such hopes. I trust that they may be guided by wisdom in their choice.

“Oh May I Join the Choir Invisible."

GEORGE ELIOT.

Oh may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence: live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge man's search
To vaster issues.

So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing as beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved ;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air.
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better-saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love-

That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever.

This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty-
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.

IRONY.

(See Tone Drill No. 126.) [Strictly speaking Irony has no tone, and yet it may belong to all tones. Foreknowledge of the attitude of the speaker is, usually, the key to Irony. Its intelligibility as a tone rests upon a slight exaggeration of the genuine tone.]

Duluth.

J. PROCTOR KNOTT.

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As I said, Sir, I was utterly at a loss to determine where the terminus of this great and indispensable road should be, until I accidentally overheard some gentleman the other day mention the name of "Duluth.” Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft, sweet accents of an angel's whisper, in the bright joyous dream of sleeping innocence. Duluth.

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