THE CLASS TREE. (Tune: America.) Grow thou and flourish well Ever the story tell, Of this glad day; Long may thy branches raise To heaven our grateful praise Waft them on sunlight rays To God away. Deep in the earth to-day, Safely thy roots we lay, Tree of our love; Grow thou and flourish long; Ever our grateful song Shall its glad notes prolong To God above. "Let music swell the breeze, And ring... more...

ASSISTANT. 1. I am very much concerned when I see young gentlemen of fortune and quality so wholly set upon pleasure and diversions, that they neglect all those improvements in wisdom and knowledge which may make them easy to themselves and useful to the world. The greatest part of our British youth lose their figure, and grow out of fashion, by that time they are five and twenty. 2. As soon as the... more...

CHAPTER I At the end of a long, straight avenue of symmetrically developed water maple trees (the trunks of all the trees whitewashed to precisely the same height from the ground) the house gleamed creamy-white, directly facing the Pike. Its broad front door came exactly within the middle distance of this vista of maples, as though the long-ago builder had known that Miss Eliza's orderly soul... more...

CHAPTER I THE HONOURABLE HILARY VANE SITS FOR HIS PORTRAIT I may as well begin this story with Mr. Hilary Vane, more frequently addressed as the Honourable Hilary Vane, although it was the gentleman's proud boast that he had never held an office in his life. He belonged to the Vanes of Camden Street,—a beautiful village in the hills near Ripton,—and was, in common with some other great men who... more...

CHAPTER I. DENAS PENELLES. “‘Tell me, my old friend, tell me why You sit and softly laugh by yourself.’ ‘It is because I am repeating to myself, Write! write Of the valiant strength, The calm, brave bearing Of the sons of the sea.’” ––French Rowing Song “And that is why I have written this book Of the things that live in your noble hearts.     You are really the authors of it. I... more...

CHAPTER I. MISS PINSHON. I want an excuse to myself for writing my own life; an excuse for the indulgence of going it all over again, as I have so often gone over bits. It has not been more remarkable than thousands of others. Yet every life has in it a thread of present truth and possible glory. Let me follow out the truth to the glory. The first bright years of my childhood I will pass. They were... more...

Chapter One. The Ghosts’ Pass. “Well, old man, what do we do next?” The speaker, a fine young fellow of some five-and-twenty summers, reclining on the rough grass, with clouds of tobacco-smoke filtering through his lips, looked the picture of comfort, his appearance belying in every way the discontent expressed in his tones as he smoked his pipe in the welcome shade of a giant rock, which... more...

Dear JoanThe Far North calls and I am on my way:—There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail.There gloom the dark broad seas.      *       *       *       *       *The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks. Why write as if I had taken a lifelong vow of separation from the British Isles and all things civilized, when after all it is only one short year out of my allotted span of... more...

CHAPTER I. THE DUBOIS HOUSE. "Well, verily, I didn't expect to find anything like this, in such a wild region", said Mr. Norton, as he settled himself comfortably in a curiously carved, old-fashioned arm-chair, before the fire that blazed cheerily on the broad hearth of the Dubois House. "'Tis not a Yankee family either", added he, mentally. "Everything agreeable and tidy,... more...

IMPERFECT RESPECTABILITIES.   Everybody must have had some trouble in his time with imperfect respectabilities. Nice, well-dressed, well-housed, civil, agreeable people are they. No fault to find with them but that there is some little flaw in their history, for which the very good (rigid) don't visit them. The degree to which one is incommoded with imperfect respectabilities, depends of course a... more...