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And she but a nurse.

Yet when shall we know

Another like this of the Alamo?

Shout" Victory, victory, victory ho!"
I say 't is not always to the hosts that win;
I say that the victory, high or low,

Is given the hero who grapples with sin,
Or legion or single; just asking to know
When duty fronts death in his Alamo.

es-ca-lade', an attack on a fortified place by means of ladders. The men were dressed in red; hence, "red escalade."

JOAQUIN MILLER.

mant'ling, spreading over.
le'gion, great number.

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,

When Duty whispers low, Thou must,

The youth replies, I can.

-RALPH WALDO EMERSON (Selected).

One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward; Never doubted clouds would break;

Never dreamed though right were worsted, wrong would tri

umph;

Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake! -ROBERT BROWNING (Selected).

State the case of each noun in the stanza beginning "Then that one coward fled."

MEN TO BE HONORED

Two men I honor, and no third: first, the toil-worn craftsman, that with earth-made implement, laboriously conquers the earth, and makes her man's. Venerable to me is the hard hand; crooked, coarse-wherein, notwithstanding, lies a cunning virtue, indefeasibly royal, as of the scepter of this planet.

Venerable, too, is the rugged face, all weather-tanned, besoiled, with its rude intelligence! for it is the face of a man living man-like. Oh, but the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even because we must pity as well as love thee! Hardly laboring brother! Hardly entreated brother! For us was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight limbs and fingers so deformed.

Thou wert our conscript, on whom the lot fell, and fighting our battles wert so marred. For in thee, too, lay a God-created form, but it was not to be unfolded; encrusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and defacements of labor; and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know freedom. Yet toil on, toil on; thou art in thy duty, be out of it who may; thou toilest for the altogether indispensable, for daily bread.

A second man I honor, and still more highly: him who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable; not daily bread, but the bread of life. Is not he too in his duty, endeavoring toward inward harmony, revealing this by act or by word, through all his outward endeavors, be they high or low?

Highest of all is he when his outward and inward behavior are one; when we can name him artist; not earthly craftsman only, but inspired thinker. If the poor and humble toil that we

have food, must not the high and glorious toil in return, that we have light and guidance, freedom, immortality?

Unspeakably touching is it, however, when I find both dignities united; and he that must toil outwardly for the lowest of man's wants, is also toiling inwardly for the highest. Sublimer in this world I know nothing than a peasant saint. Such a one will take thee back to Nazareth itself; thou wilt see the splendor of heaven spring forth from the humblest depths of earth, like a light shining in great darkness.

It is not because of his toils that I lament for the poor. We must all toil or steal (howsoever we name our stealing), which is worse. No faithful workman finds his task a pastime. The poor is hungry and athirst, but for him also there is food and drink; he is heavy laden and weary, but for him also the heavens send sleep, and of the deepest. In his smoky cribs, a clear, dewy heaven of rest envelops him, and fitful glimmerings of cloud-skirted dreams.

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THOMAS CARLYLE (1795-1881) was born in Ecclefechan, a little village in Scotland, where he attended the common school, afterward entering Edinburgh University. From his boyhood he was immensely fond of reading, and the stories told of the amount he accomplished are almost unbelievable. It is not strange, then, that he became a famous "man of letters"—that is, a man of great learning. As historian and essayist few authors have ever equaled him in brilliancy of style. "This was Carlyle's

special gift-to bring dead things and dead people actually to life; to make the past once more the present and to show us men and women playing their part on the stage of life as real flesh-and-blood human

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creatures." Among his greatest works are Sartor Resartus,' ""Past and Present," ," "The History of Frederick the Great," tion," and "Heroes and Hero-Worship."

""The French Revolu

CHOOSING A CLASS OF PEOPLE TO BE EXTERMINATED

In the midst of a queer higglety-pigglety dream last night, I thought the Great Panjandrum appeared to me with the kind offer to have some one class of my fellow beings immediately exterminated; provided I could, without taking too much of his valuable time, decide which particular class it should be. Just seven minutes were given in which to make and announce the decision.

Of course I accepted with alacrity, and at once hastened to run over in my mind such of the obnoxious varieties of human nature as could most speedily be recalled. At first I thought that I would select the people who do not answer letters; but I reflected that sometimes we write letters in haste, which had better be answered at leisure, or even not at all, on the principle that the least said, soonest mended.

Then I dallied for a moment with the idea that it should be those who, hearing us say things in joke, straightway report them as things said in earnest. Surely, thought I to myself, we can't go amiss in having this venomous species obliterated! But as the genial destroyer looked at his watch a little impatiently, I hurriedly recollected other deserving candidates. There were those who always allow for everybody else's being

late at appointments, and so afflict the punctual soul with a quarter of an hour of painful fidgets.

Then there were those who send us lukewarm verses, with a request for an introduction to the favorable notice of the editors of the great magazines; and those who borrow tennisrackets and sheet-music; and the book-store attendants who tag us around with recommendations of the latest inanities; and the brotherhood [sic] of locomotive engineers who agonize the ear at night with gratuitous shrieks as of whistling fiends; and the literary ladies who follow up our plainest observation with praise of how nicely, or prettily, or nobly, or something, it was said.

"Six minutes and three quarters," whispered the Great Panjandrum, punching at me with his scepter, and knocking his little round button at top against the ceiling, as he hastily rose. I made one more rapid snatch among my recollections of people who are with difficulty to be endured, and cried, "Take those who carry a perpetual countenance of cold displeasure, and contrive to make each member of the household, or the company, feel that he is at all times the special object of it! The departing monster nodded benignly over his shoulder and winked, as who should say, "You have chosen well!"

ex-ter'mi-na'ted, abolished.
Great Pan-jan'drum, an imaginary

person invented by the English
dramatist, Samuel Foote; here
used to mean a person of great
importance.

a-lac'ri-ty, cheerful promptitude.
ven'om-ous, poisonous.

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.

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in-an'i-ties, useless or foolish
things.

sic, a Latin word often used after
an expression to call attention
to its doubtful accuracy.
gra-tu'i-tous, uncalled for; without

reason.

be-nign'ly, kindly; graciously.

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