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lated apartments, for more than five, six, or seven hours together!

6. Allow me to remind you that in the human body the blood circulates once in two and a half minutes. In two and a half minutes all the blood contained in the system traverses the respi'ratory surface. Every one, then, who breathes an impure atmosphere two and a half minutes, has every particle of his blood acted on by the vitiating air. Every particle has become less vital — less capable of repairing structures, or of carrying on functions; and the longer such air is respired, the more impure it becomes, and the more corrupted grows the blood.

7. Permit me to repeat, that, after breathing for two and a half minutes an atmosphere incapable of properly ox'ygenating the fluids which are trav'ersing the lungs, every drop of blood in the human being is more or less poisoned; and in two and a half minutes more even the minūtest part of all man's fine-wrought organs has been visited and acted upon by this poisoned fluid, - the tender, delicate eye, the wakeful ear, the sensitive nerves, the heart, the brain; together with the skin, the muscles, the bones throughout their structure,-in short, the entire being. There is not a point in the human frame but has been traversed by vitiated blood, — not a point but must have suffered injury !

8. Without food or exercise, man may enjoy life some hours; he may live some days. He can not exist a few minutes without air. And yet, what laws are so infringed as the laws of respiration? In our temples of public worship, in our courts of justice, in our prisons, our mines, our factories, and our schools, ventilation was, until lately, almost disregarded; nay, is still, in many places, entirely disregarded. And as for private dwellings, it may be most unhesitatingly affirmed that even for the wealthier classes of society

not one house in a hundred — perhaps not one in a thousand — is constructed on sound sanitary principles with respect to its ventilation..

9. I allude not so much to lower stories as to dor. mitories. How rare to find a dormitory whose atmosphere at early morning would not be more tainted than when it was entered for repose the previous night! Yet, be it borne in mind that whenever, after a night's repose, the slightest degree of closeness is perceptible in a chamber, it is an incontrovertible proof that the chamber is not well ventilated; and that, whatever may have been the benefit which the system may have received from sleep, that benefit has been partly neutralized by the ill effects of an impure atmosphere.

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In new and stu-pen'dous, give the y sound of long u. The first five stanzas of the following poem afford a remarkably fine exercise in low pitch and a solemn, measured delivery. At the sixth stanza the voice should change to a high pitch and the tone of axultation.

TREAD softly, - bow the head,

In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell doth toll
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

Stranger, however great,

With holy reverence bow ;-
There's one in that poor shed, -
One by that paltry bed, -

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lol death doth keep his state ;

Enter, - no crowds attend ;
Enter,- no guards defend

This palace gate.
That pavement, damp and cold,

No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting, with meager hands,

A dying head.
No mingling voices sound,

An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed, — again
That short, deep gasp, and then

The parting groan.
0, change!-0, wondrous changel-

Burst are the prison bars,-
This moment, there, so low,
So agonized, - and now

Beyond the stars!
O, change! - stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod ;
The Sun eternal breaks,-
The new immortal wakes,
Wakes with his God!

CAROLINE B. SOUTHEY. (1794 — 1854.)


DE-TACH'MENT, n., a party sent off for | Gait, n., manner of walking.
special duty.

CoN-SPIC'U-ous, a., open to view.
NEIGH'BOR-H00D, n., vicinity. Gaud'y, a., showy.
PORT’LY, a., bulky ; corpulent. O'RI-OLE, n., a bird.
AT'TRI-BUTE, N., a quality.

VOL'UN-TA-RY, a., willing.
Avoid saying feels for fields ; idee for i-de'a ; grav'vl for grav'el.

1. It is now the thirtieth of March. The song-sparrows and bluebirds are here, and have been with us several days. The robins are getting quite numerous; they seem to come in detachments, or possibly they only pass from one neighborhood to another in flocks. Their note is very pleasant, and, after the silent winter, falls with double sweetness on the ear. Their portly persons and warm red jackets make them very conspicuous, flying about among the naked branches, or running over the wilted grass.

2. They are more frequently seen on the ground than any other bird we have, excepting the sparrow; and it is amusing to watch the different gait of the two. The sparrow glides along with great agility and ease;

whether in the grass or on the gravel, his movement is light and free. But the robin usually makes more fuss; he runs by starts, drops his head, moves rapidly for a few feet, and then stops suddenly, with an upward jerk of his head, repeating the same course until he takes flight.

3. The Eu-ro-pe'an robin is a smaller bird than ours, and lives, through the year, as far north as England, cheering his native fields with a simple lay, even during the cold weather. His habits are different from those of our own bird; he builds in grassy banks, and has a trick of scraping dead leaves together before his door, probably with the idea of concealing his nest. With us, the robin never builds on the ground; his nest is placed in trees, where, from its size, it is very conspicuous. Once in a while, how. ever, he builds about a house, but in such a case usually fixes his nest in some spot shaded by a vine or the branches of a tree.

4. For two summers in succession we had a nest on a window-sill of the second story, and this spring two pairs seem to be building about the eaves; but in these instances the spots chosen are screened by Vir. ginia creepers. Passing through one

Passing through one of the village

streets, this afternoon, we saw a robin's nest in a very low and exposed situation. The honest creatures must have great confidence in their neighbors, which, it is to be hoped, will not be abused. The nest was in the corner of an out-building facing the street, and 80 near the side-walk that one could almost reach it across the paling

5. It was entirely unscreened; a stray branch of a locust tree projected, indeed, above it; but if the robins expect the foliage to shelter them, at this early day, they have made a sad miscalculation. The motherbird was on the nest, as we passed, sitting, of course. She slowly moved her large brown eyes toward us, as we stopped to watch her, but without the least expression of fear;- indeed, she must see the village people coming and going all day long, as she sits there on the nest.

6. What a very remarkable instinct is that of a sitting bird! By nature the winged creatures are full of life and activity, apparently needing little repose, flitting the livelong day through the fields and gardens, seldom pausing except to feed, to dress their feathers, or to sing; — abroad, many of them, before dawn, and still passing to and fro across the darkening sky of the latest twilight; - capable, also, when necessary, of a prolonged flight, which stretches across seas and continents.

7. And yet there is not one of these little winged mothers but will patiently sit, for hour after hour, day after day, upon her unhatched brood, warming them with her breast, - carefully turning them, that all may share the heat equally, and so fearful lest they should be chilled, that she will rather suffer hunger herself than leave them long exposed. That it is no unusual drowsiness which comes over them at this time, rendering the duty more easy, is evident, for you seldom

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