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ful fable has vanished, but the more beautiful reality remains. 

 We hear every where voices from the spirit land, we recognize 

 every where the footsteps of angels ; all around lie those mani- 

 festations of Divine power which refine, and elevate, and purify. 



One of England's true poets, Gerald Massey, who indeed 

 learned in suffering, what he taught in song — himself a poor fac- 

 tory boy, educated by poverty, great by the aid of his struggles, 

 sings thus in one of his " songs for the people :" 



" Come from tlie den of darkness, and the city's soil of sin, 



Put on your radiant manhood, and the Angel's blessing win, 



AVhere wealthier sunlight comes from Heaven, like welcome smiles of God, 



And earth's blind yearnings leap to life, in flowers from out the sod. 



Come worship beauty in the forest dim and hush, 



Where stands magnificence dreaming, and God burneth in the bush. 



Or where the old hills worship with their silence for a psalm, 



Or ocean's weary heart doth keep the Sabbath of its calm. 



Come let us worship beauty with the knightly foith of old. 



O, chivalry of labor, toiling for the age of Gold." 



I am well aware that such thoughts as these are not the daily 

 companions of our farmers, the hourly emotions of all who dwell 

 in the country. The farmer who hoes his corn does not spare the 

 wild weed which grows there on account of its beauty, nor when 

 he is hurrying to save his hay does he watch the sublime beauty 

 of the rolling thunder cloud, but whoever looks down from his 

 lofty pinnacle of self complacency, upon our plain country people, 

 and believes they do not study, do not reflect, do not appreciate 

 what is beautiful and sublime, do not appreciate the great truth 

 that all this beauty was not created without an object, do not 

 refine and cultivate their hearts and brains by the study of it, 

 knows nothing of the hearts of our people, knows nothing of life 

 and its lessons. There are churls, to be sure, who care nothing 

 but for their fields and crops, who think only of manure, and pigs, 

 and potatoes, but they are not representatives (thank Heaven) of 

 our New England farmer. 



There is a wild German story of the adventures of the student 

 Anselmus, in which it is related how an old magician shut him up 

 in a glass bottle and placed it upon a shelf in his study. Poor 

 Anselmus was unhappy enough in his narrow quarters ; but he 

 was not alone ; he found on the shelf beside him, other students ; 

 — Cross Church scholars and law clerks, shut up in bottles too, 



