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7. Then do the multitude cry out,—“A miracle of genius!" Yes; he is a miracle of genius, because he is a miracle of labor; because, instead of trusting to the resources of his own single mind, he has ransacked a thousand minds; because he makes use of the accumulated wisdom of ages, and takes as his point of departure the very last line and boundary to which science has advanced; because it has ever been the object of his life to assist every intellectual gift of nature, however munificent, and however splendid, with every resource that art could suggest, and every attention diligence could bestow.

8. But some men may be disposed to ask, "Why conduct my understanding with such endless care? and what is the use of so much knowledge?" What is the use of so much knowledge? What is the use of so much life? What are we to do with the seventy years of existence allotted to us? and how are we to live them out to the last? I solemnly declare, that, but for the love of knowledge, I should consider the life of the meanest hedger and ditcher as preferable to that of the greatest and richest man in existence; for the fire of our minds is like the fire which the Persians burn on the mountains,- it flames night and day, and is immortal, and not to be quenched!

9. Therefore, when I say, in conducting your understanding, love knowledge with a great love,— with a vehement love, with a love coëval with life,- what do I say but love innocence; love virtue; love purity of conduct; love that which, if you are rich and great, will sanctify the Providence which has made you so, and make men call it justice; love that which, if you are poor, will render your poverty respectable, and make the proudest feel it unjust to laugh at the meanness of your fortunes; love that which will comfort you, adorn you, and never

quit you, which will open to you the kingdom of thought, and all the boundless regions of conception, as an asylum against the cruelty, the injustice, and the pain that may be your lot in the outer world,— that which will make your motives habitually great and honorable, and light up in an instant a thousand noble disdains at the very thought of meanness and of fraud?

SYDNEY SMITH.

XII. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892) was educated in New York and Brooklyn schools. He was at different times printer, school teacher, editor, carpenter, and Government clerk. The selection used here is one of his best productions.

1. O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is

won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring. But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up for you the flag is hung, for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.

Hear, Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck

You've fallen cold and dead.

3. My Captain does not answer-his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and

done;

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won. Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck where my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

WALT WHITMAN.

XIII. DESTINY OF AMERICA.

GEORGE BERKELEY (1684-1753) was an English writer of philosophy. He was at the age of fifty years made Bishop of Cloyne, Ireland. He was a brilliant writer and thinker, and his works cover a wide field of moral and mental philosophic discussion.

1. THE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time
Producing subjects worthy fame:

2. In happy climes, where, from the genial sun
And virgin earth, such scenes ensue,
The force of Art by Nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true:

3. In happy climes, the seat of innocence,
Where Nature guides, and Virtue rules,
Where men shall not impose for truth and sense
The pedantry of courts and schools:

4. There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts;

The good and great inspiring epic rage,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

5. Not such as Europe breeds in her decay:
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay-
By future poets shall be sung.

6. Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day:
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

GEORGE BERKELEY.

America has furnished to the world the character of Washington. And if our American institutions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind.-Webster.

Thank God! II also am an American.-Webster.

XIV. THE BATTLE OF THE ANTS.

HENRY D. THOREAU (1817-1862) lived for the most of his life in a little hut by Walden Pond, Concord, Massachusetts, where he devoted his time to the study of nature. In seclusion from society he became the friend to all bird and plant life in his vicinity, and as a result he has given to literature several volumes of interesting matter.

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HENRY D. THOREAU.

1. ONE day when I went out to my woodpile, or rather my pile of stumps, I observed two large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch long, and black, fiercely contending with each other. Having once got hold, they never

let

go, but struggled and wrestled and rolled on the chips incessantly.

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2. Looking farther, I was surprised to find that the chips were covered with such combatants; that it was not a duellum, but a bellum a war between two races of ants, the red always pitted against the black, and frequently two red ones to one black. The legions of these myrmidons covered all the hills and vales in my wood-yard, and the ground was already strewed with the dead and dying, both red and black.

3. It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, the only battle-field I ever trod while the battle was raging; internecine war-the red republicans on the one hand, and the black imperialists on the other. On every side they were engaged in deadly combat, yet without any noise that I could hear; and human soldiers never fought so resolutely.

4. I watched a couple that were fast locked in each other's embrace, in a little sunny valley amid the chips, now at noonday prepared to fight till the sun went down or life went out.

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