To his anvil first he bound it,
Next his limb he shackled fast,
Then he said unto his townsfolk,
"All your danger now is past,
Place within my reach, I pray you,
Food and water for a time;
Until God shall ease my sufferings
By His gracious will divine."

Long he suffered, but at last

Came a summons from on high,
Then his soul with angel escort,
Sought its home beyond the sky;
And the people of that village,

Those whom he had died to save,
Still with grateful hearts assemble,

And with flowers bedeck his grave.

FRANK MURRAY.

THE STUDY OF ELOCUTION.

Should there be schools of elocution? is a question which sometimes presses on the mind, and I answer, the necessity for schools of elocution is founded on the general law of culture. God has given us organs which need development; there is a law of growth and culture everywhere. The human form is developed, the muscles of the arm are strengthened; this hand, so wonderful in its mechanism, is taught by practice to perform amazing feats. We all remember how diligently we toiled, and how difficult was the task to form those letters in our boyhood's days. But now we write as though it were an act of but a moment's thought. This is the law of culture, as applicable to the human voice as to the hand, and if the hand should be trained, why not much more the voice? The voice is one of Heaven's most wonderful gifts to man.

Animals have speech in a certain sense; they have calls of hunger, they have longings for association, they have throes of agony, and they utter the feelings of pain. But to man God has given the power of articulate speech. How wide is its range! He can express every desire that burns in the human bosom, every aspiration that

arises in the human heart. He can ascend from earth to heaven, away to where the human eye never pierced, and can bring before waiting audiences thoughts God, and of eternity.

There are many reasons why elocution should be to us a matter of great concern. The first, I notice very briefly, is the age in which we live. The ancients were thought excellent elocutionists, but the names were few in number. The world had fewer calls upon them. The history of events has accumulated; the treasures of science and art have been enriched; we have a quantity of matter to make us teachers, and the world calls on us to aid the ignorant and to elevate the lowly. A missionary spirit has gone abroad. Those who have light must give to those who have none. Christian nations are sending out teachers to the ends of the earth, but as they are to teach they should be prepared to teach not only matter, but manner.

The world is calling to-day as it never called before. In ancient times languages were many. Pass a few miles, and a different dialect required a different address; and men studying dialect were unable thoroughly to pursue the study of elocution. But mark how times are changed! The ends of the earth are brought together, and audiences can come from the remotest parts in a few hours; and wherever there is a man who has thoughts to give, and can give them in an attractive manner, multiplied thousands are ready to dwell upon his lips.

Our English language, I am free to say, is that in which man must speak to man, in a way and to an extent that men never spake to men before. Our language is girdling the globe. From nation to nation it is beginning to pass, and an American finds himself at home almost everywhere on this round earth. We are a nation of speakers.

MATTHEW SIMPSON.

ONE IN BLUE AND ONE IN GRAY.

Each thin hand resting on a grave,

Her lips apart in prayer,

A mother knelt, and left her tears

Upon the violets there.

O'er many a rood of vale and lawn,

Of hill and forest gloom,

The reaper Death had reveled in
His fearful harvest home.

The last red Summer's sun had shone
Upon a fruitless fray;—

From yonder forest charged the blue,
Down yonder slope the gray.

The hush of death was on the scene,

And sunset o'er the dead,

In that oppressive stillness

A pall of glory spread.

I know not, dare not question how
I met the ghastly glare

Of each upturned and stirless face
That shrunk and whitened there.
I knew my noble boys had stood

Through all that withering day,-
I knew that Willie wore the blue,
That Harry wore the gray.

I thought of Willie's clear blue eye,
His wavy hair of gold,

That clustered on a fearless brow

Of purest Saxon mold;

Of Harry, with his raven locks,

And eagle glance of pride;

Of how they clasped each other's hand

And left their mother's side;

How hand in hand they bore my prayers

And blessings on the way

A noble heart beneath the blue,

Another 'neath the gray.

The dead, with white and folded hands,

That hushed our village homes, I've seen laid calmly, tenderly, Within their darkened rooms; But there I saw distorted limbs, And many an eye aglare,