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of common life, was not one of stirring incident, or w for ro-mănce'; it consisted in laboring to his best in his edemin sacred `vocation. Born in England in 1795, he was insiwn Teal educated at Winchester College, and in 1827 became
head-master of Rugby School. He died in 1842, at the early age of forty-seven. and
2. His professional life began at Rugby; and he plunged into fourteen years of uninterrupted toil. Holding labor to be his appointed lot on earth, he harnessed himself cheerfully to his work. "A craving for rest was to him a
sign, that neither mind nor body retained its pristine vigor; and he determined, while blessed with health, to proceed like the camel in the wilderness, and die with his burden on his back. His characteristic trait was intense earnestness. He felt life keenly; its responsibilities as well as its enjoyments. His very pleasures were earnest. In nothing was he indifferent or neutral. A
сх. 3. His principles were few: the fear of God was the beginning of his wisdom, and his object was not so much to teach knowledge, as the means of acquiring
it; to furnish, in a word, the key to the temple. He. maur desired to awaken the intellect of each individual boy,
and contended that the main movement must come from within, and not from without, the pupil; and that all that could be should be done by him, and not for him.
Nan 4. In a word, his scheme was to call forth in the little world of school those capabilities which best fitted boys for their career in the great world. He was not only possessed of strength, but had the art of imparting it; he had the power to grasp a subject him. self
, and then ingráft it on the intellect of others.
5. His pupils were made to feel that there was a work for them to do; that their happiness, as well as their duty, lay in doing that work well. Hence an
indescribable zest was communicated to a young man's feeling about life ; a strange joy came over him on dis- bedemana
filted thus of being happy. He was nispired with a humble, se and most religious consciousness that work
nelia atheis is the appointed calling of man on earth; the element in which his naturè is ordained to develop itself, and in which his progressive advancement toward heaven is to lie.
ked 6. The three ends at which Arnold aimed, in the order of their relative importance, were first and foremost to inculcate religious and moral principle, then gentlemanlike conduct, and lastly intellectual ability. still To his mind, religion and politics — the doing one's dūty to God and to man were the two things really wanting. Unlike the schoolmasters of his early life, he held all the sch Glatshipman, ever had to be infi
really nitely worthless in comparison with even a very hum. meeta ble degree of spiritual advancement:
7. He loved tuition for itself, of which he fully felt the solemn responsibility and the ideäl beauty, and which he was among the first to elevåte to its true dignity. It was the hity and business of his entire life. His own youthfulness of temperament and vigor energ fitted him better for the society of the young than of the old; he enjoyed their spring of mind and body, and by personal intercourse hoped to train up and mould shake to good their pliant minds, while wax to receive, and marble to retain. kech 8. He led his pupils to place implicit trust in his
auortepichas their highest reward. He gained his end by treating them as gentlemen, as reasonable beings, in whose conscience hmomen's peal to their nobler faculties, to his relying on their and common sense he might confide ; and to this ap
honor, the ingenuous youth responded worthily. etabo restrict
9. Once, at Laleham, when teaching a rather dull boy, he spoke somewhat sharply to him, on which the pupil looked up in his face, and said, “Why do you speak so angrily, sir ? - indeed, I am doing the best I can.” Arnold at once acknowledged his error, and expressed his regret for it. Years afterward he used to tell the story to his children, and added, "I never felt so much in my life: that look and that speech I have never forgotten."
10. One of his principal holds was in his boy-sermons; that is, in sermons to which his young congrefcefile
gation could and did listen, and of which he was the citari absolute inventor. The secret of that power lay in its intimate connection with the man himself
. He spoke with both spiritual and temporal authority, and truths x lourde fortolk divine seemed mended by the tongue gf an expounder
whose discourse was a living one, „dóctrine in action,
11. His was the exhibition of a simple, earnest man,
, indeed, a moral supremacy in him; his eyes looked into the heart, and all that was base and mean cowered I rimel before him; and, when he preached, a sympathetic thrill ran through his audience. havingdyni
XLIV.- THE GOOD GREAT MAN.
CÕRSB, n., a corpse.
E'QUA-BLE, a., even ; smooth.
Sound the or in worth like er in her; the th in with as in breathe.
How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits
Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains !
It seems a story from the world of spirits
Or any merits that which he obtains.
For shame, my friend ! - renounce this idle strain !
And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath ;
S. T. COLERIDGE. (1770 — 1834.)
XLV.- THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
IM-PÓST'URE, n., deception ; fraud. | CEM'ENT, n., a substance which makes CHI-ME'RA (ke-me'ra), n., idle fancy.
bodies unite. Friv'O-LOUS, a., trifling ; vain. PRED'I-CATE, v. t., to affirm. Per'JU-RY, n.,
crime of false swearing. IM-BE-CIL'I-ty, n., weakness. PROB'I-TY, n., honesty ; truthfulness. LE-GIT'I-MATE, a., lawful. IN-SEN'SATE, a., senseless ; stupid. Il-LU'SIVE, a., deceiving by false RET-RI-BUẤTION, n., repayment.
show. DE-NAT’U-RAL-IZED, pp., made unnat- AN-NI-HI-LAʼtion, n., destruction. ural.
EF'FI-CA-CY, n., power ; use. *Vaunt'ED (au like a in far), pp., BugʻBEAR, n., an imaginary terror. boasted.
IR-RE-SPON'SI-BLE, a., not answerable
Do not say air for are (like r); govunment for gov'ern-ment; issoo for is'süe.
1. If we wholly perish with the body, what an imposture is this whole system of laws, manners and usages, on which human society is founded! If we wholly perish with the body, those maxims of charity, patience, justice, honor, gratitude and friendship, which sages have taught and good men have practiced, what are they but empty words, possessing no real and binding efficacy?
2. Why should we heed them, if in this life only wo have hope? Speak not of duty. What can we owe to the dead, to the living, to ourselves, if all are, or will be, nothing ? Who shall dictate our duty, if not our ow'r pleasures, if not our own passions ? Speak not of morality. It is a mere chimera, a bugbear of human invention, if the life of man terminates with the grave.
3. If we must wholly perish, what to us are the sweet ties of kindred? what the tender names of parent, child, sister, brother, husband, wife, or friend ? The characters of a dra'ma are not more illusive! We have no ancestors, no descendants; since succession can not be predicated of nothingness. Would we honor the illustrious dead? How absurd to honor that which has no existence !
4. Would we take thought for posterity? How frivolous to concern ourselves for those whose end, like our own, must soon be annihilation! Have we made a promise? How can it bind nothing to nothing? Perjury is but a jest. The last injunctions of the dying,— what sanctity have they, more than the last sound of a chord that is snapped, of an instrument that is broken?
5. To sum up all: If we must wholly perish, then is obedience to the laws but an insensate servitude; rulers and magistrates are but the phantoms which popular imbecility has raised up; justice is an unwarrantable infringement upon the liberty of men, imposition, a ūsurpation ; the law of marriage is a vain scruple; modesty, a prejudice; honor and probity, such stuff as dreams are made of; and the most heartless cruelties, the blackest crimes, are but the legitimate sports of man's irresponsible nature !
6. Here is the issue to which the vaunted philosophy of unbelievers must inevitably lead! Here is