machetes ringing on the trunks of the mangroves. I at once comprehended that they were felling trees across the narrow creek, to obstruct the pursuit; and I threw aside the paddle, and took my gun again, determined to protect my devoted friends at any hazard. I never forgave myself for my momentary but ungenerous distrust!

Our pursuers heard the sound of the blows, and, no doubt comprehending what was going on, raised loud shouts, and redoubled their speed. Kling! kling! rang the machetes on the hard wood! Oh, how I longed to hear the crash of the falling trees! Soon one of them began to crackle-another blow, and down it fell, the trunk splashing gloriously in the water! Another crackle, a rapid rustling of branches, and another splash in the water! It was our turn to shout now!

I gave Antonio and the Poyer boy each a hearty embrace, as, dripping with water, they clambered back into our little boat. We now pushed a few yards up the stream, stopped close to the slimy bank, and awaited our pursuers. "Come on, now," I shouted, "and not one of you shall pass that rude barrier alive!"

The first boat ran boldly up to the fallen trees, but the discharge of a single barrel of my gun sent it back, precipitately, out of reach. We could distinguish a hurried conversation between the occupants of the first boat and of the second, when the latter came up. It did not last long, and when it stopped, Antonio, in a manner evincing more alarm than he had ever before exhibited, caught me by the arm, and explained hurriedly that the second boat was going back, and that the narrow creek, in which we were, no doubt communicated with the principal channel by a second mouth. While one boat was thus blockading us in front, the second was hastening to assail us in the rear! I comprehended the movement at once. Our deliberation was short, for our lives might depend upon an improvement of the minutes. Stealthily, scarce daring to breathe, yet with the utmost rapidity possible, we pushed up the creek. As Antonio had conjectured, it soon began to curve back toward the estuary. We had pursued our course perhaps ten or fifteen minutes-they seemed hours!-when we overheard the approach of the second boat. We at once drew ours close to the bank, in the gloomiest covert we could find. On came the boat, the paddlers, secure of the success of their device, straining themselves to the utmost. There was a moment of keen suspense, and, to our inexpressible relief, the boat passed by us. We now resumed our paddles, and hastened on our course. But before we entered the principal channel, my companions clambered into the overhanging mangroves, and in an incredibly short space of time had fallen other trees across the creek, so as completely to shut in the boat which had attempted to surprise us.

The device was successful; we soon emerged from the creek, and the

VOL. VII.-36

sea-breeze having now set in, favorably to our course, we were able to put up our sail and defy pursuit. We saw nothing afterward of our eager friends of Tongla Lagoon.

Maria White Lowell.

BORN in Watertown, Mass., 1821. DIED at Cambridge, Mass., 1853.

We never could have thought, O God,
That she must wither up.
Almost before a day was flown,

Like the morning-glory's cup;
We never thought to see her droop
Her fair and noble head,

Till she lay stretched before our eyes,
Wilted, and cold, and dead!

The morning-glory's blossoming
Will soon be coming round—
We see the rows of heart-shaped leaves
Upspringing from the ground;
The tender things the winter killed
Renew again their birth,

But the glory of our morning

Has passed away from earth.

O Earth! in vain our aching eyes
Stretch over thy green plain!

Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air

Her spirit to sustain;

But up in groves of Paradise

Full surely we shall see

Our morning-glory beautiful

Twine round our dear Lord's knee.

Amelia B. Welby.

BORN in St. Michael's, Md., 1819. DIED in Louisville, Ky., 1852.

Richard Salter Storrs.

BORN in Braintree, Mass., 1821.

THE SCHOLAR'S COURAGE.

[Manliness in the Scholar. Chancellor's Oration delivered at the Eighty-sixth Commencement of Union College. 1883.]

WHAT

HAT is implied in such essential manliness of spirit? What principal elements must combine in the temper of the scholar to constitute and complete it? And the answer is not far to find.

Certainly, Courage is essentially involved, and no true manliness can be realized where this is not present:-courage, as denoting not merely that keen instinct of battle which displays itself in stimulating excitements, in the heat of contest, in the crisis which pushes one to self-vindication, or in passionate championship of favorite opinions, but as representing what is ampler than this, and also finer: strength of heart; strength to endure as well as attack, to pursue and achieve as well as to attempt, to sacrifice self altogether, if need be, on behalf of any controliing conviction. A thorough consent of judgment, conscience, imagination, affection, all vitalized and active, with a certain invincible firmness of will, as the effect of such a consent-this is implied in a really abounding and masterful courage. It is not impatient. It is not imperious. It is not the creature of fractious and vebement will-power in man. It is never allied with a passionate selfishness. It is associated with great convictions, has its roots in profound moral experiences, is nourished by thoughts of God and the hereafter. It is as sensitive and gentle in spirit as it is persistent and highly resolved. It forms the base of sympathies, generosities, rather than of defiances. Its language is that of courtesy always, never of petulance, or of egotistic arrogance. A chivalric manner is natural to it, especially toward those who are weak or alarmedas natural as is his carol to the song-bird, or its inter-play of colors to the flowering tulip.

But though courteous, sympathetic, and ready for all genial affiliations, it is sufficient in itself, and quite independent of outward auxiliaries. Once established as an element of character, it is deepened and renewed with all experience. It is only compacted into more complete force before the shock of downright attack, and becomes supremely aspiring and confident when hostile forces rage against it.

Such courage as this is everywhere at home, and is naturally master of all situations. Conspicuous on the battle-field, it may equally be shown in the journal or in the pulpit. It shines on the platform as

clearly as in the senate; is as manifest in the frank and unswerving announcement of principles which men hate, in the face of their hatred, as it is when the tempestuous winds, tearing the wave-tops into spoondrift, have caught the reeling ship in their clutch, and threaten to bury it in the deep. And wherever it is shown, it has in it something of the morally superlative. Men recognize a force which emergencies cannot startle, nor catastrophes overbear; which possesses inexhaustible calmness and strength; with which no intellectual faculties or acquired accomplishments can be compared, but from which all such take a value and splendor not their own.

I think that the American people, as distinctly at least as any other, will always demand this in those who aspire to instruct and to guide them. Our ancestors were sailors, soldiers, explorers-men who worked hard, lived roughly, dared greatly, suffered without flinching, died without moan; who purchased with the sword, not with the pen, the liberties which they wrung from reluctant power, and who set a bloody signmanual to the charters which many of them certainly were not able to read. The stern and salutary training of the nation, on a continent so long remote from the Old World, its severe education in physical hardship, in great and novel political enterprise, in moral struggle, in vast and repeated military contest, has only confirmed this victorious element in the national spirit.

It has come to be a sort of inherited virtue, as if mingled with the iron. and fibrin of the blood; and any scholar, however familiar with manifold knowledges, however apt and copious in speech, who has not this, who is timid in his convictions, vague and hesitant in their expression, unwilling to take risks on their behalf, who fears opposition, is fettered before difficulty, or is daunted in heart by vociferous resistance-will certainly here have lost his chance of moral leadership. He must be free of the times before he can mould them. If his spirit is one that others can master or scare into silence, he may dismiss the thought of any high function, as belonging to him, when he stands in front of diffi cult work, or amid the sharp conflicts of human opinion.