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connence of common life, was not one of stirring incident, or in with ro-mănce'; it consisted in laboring to his best in his edom'n sacred vocation. Born in England in 1795, he was instvu Jed educated at Winchester College, and in 1827 became

head-master of Rugby School. He died in 1842, at the early age of forty-seven. i one

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 4 harnessed himself cheerfully to his work. "A craving

for rest was to him a sure 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 enjoy. ments. His very pleasures were earnest. In nothing was he indifferent or neutral. l. ca. **

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. 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

nian 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, bụt had the art of imparting it; he had the power to grasp a subject him. self, and then ingraft 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


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indescribable zest was communicated to a young man's
feeling about life; a strange joy came over him on dis- see
cerning that he had the means of being useful, and
thus of being happy. He was nispired with a humble,
profound, and most religious consciousness that work

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is the appointed calling of man on earth; the element
in which his nature is ordained to develop itself, and
in which his progressive advancement toward heaven'
is to lie. , n

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. et al 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 schilarship/man, ever had to be infinitely worthless in comparison with even a very hume mecha 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 elevate to its true nekignity. It was the desting and business of his entire

henne life. His own youthfulness of temperament and vigor en 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. kern

herrel her 8. He led his pupils to place implicit trust in his decisions, and to esteem his approbation as their highest reward. He gained his end by treating them as

gentlemen, as reasonable beings, in whose conscience , and common sense he might confide ; and to this apWincoln

peal to their nobler faculties, to his relying on their

honor, the ingenuous youth responded worthily. this restrict


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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 congrefreefile gation could and did listen, and of which he was the absolute inventor. The secret of that power lay in its intimate connection with the man, himself. He spoke with both spiritual and temporal auth Hilty, and truths,

ve ürtex murda divine seemed mended by the tongue of an expounder whose discourse was a living onę, - doctrine in action, —and where precept was enforced by example.

11. His was the exhibition of a simple, earnest man, who practiced what he preached, who probed the depths of life, and expressed strongly and plainly his love of goodness and abhorrence of sin. There was, indeed, à moral suprěmacy in him; his eyes looked into the heart, and all that was base and mean cowered l numel before him; and, when he preached, a sympathetic thrill ran through his audience.

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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
When any man obtains that which he merits,
Or any merits that which he obtains.

For shame, my friend ! - renounce this idle strain !
What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain ?
Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain,
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ?
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man ? Three treasures, - love, and light,

And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath ;
And three fast friends, more sure than day or night, -
Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death.

S. T. COLERIDGE. (1770 — 1834.)

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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 ower 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, - an 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

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