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you must meet in the class-room, in the Literary Hall, in class meetings, on the campus, at the dining table. In this world good and bad will always be mixed-but not unified. You can easily distinguish them. Then as you value your life form no intimate relations with the bad. In all your necessary relations with such be kind and courteous and a gentleman. Thus you may do them good. But by all means let your intimate, heart to heart relations be with those whose habits are good, whose tastes are refined, whose characters. are manly and radiant with integrity. It is not possible to be intimately associated with the good without being made better. It is not possible to be intimately associated with the bad without being made worse. Lay these things to heart-they are for your life. Evil associations will inevitably fill your mind with foolish, impure and wicked thoughts. Such thoughts by a certain and remorseless law undermine the constitution both of mind and body, and in the end bring in a harvest of sad, fearful, but unavailing regrets. Thousands who have gone before you give bitter testimony to this truth. Profit by their experience. In making friends then, remember that

"The friendships of the world are oft
Confed'racies in vice,-"

and call to mind the words of Young,

"First on thy friend deliberate with thyself;
Pause, ponder, sift; not eager in the choice,
Nor jealous of the chosen: fixing, fix ;-

Judge before friendship, then confide till death."?

Let me again remind you that a college student need not of necessity be bad. Many persons, who can be excused on account of unavoidable ignorance, but many others also, for whom there can be no excuse they should know better-hold that a college is a bad school of morals; that there is what they call "college morality," putting it far below ordinary morality; and that to be upright in morals and manners is too much to expect of a boy while in college. Facts give the lie to this belief, as I hope you will find in many cases, and in your own life, clearly demonstrate. Take at random a hundred young men at college, and I am sure they will weigh more in good morals and fine manners than the same number of young men taken in the same way from other places. And the reason for this is not difficult to see. College students are in a peculiar way hedged in by proper and healthrestraints-live in an atmosphere made pure by good books, sound

and useful learning and intellectual pursuits--are quickened by scholarly associations-are inspired by triumphs in literature, science and art—are stirred up by the constant contact of mind with mind, and heart with heart, to a manly, generous and wholesome rivalry-and are daily and hourly influenced by the example set before them in the quiet, industrious, honorable, useful, and, in many cases, holy life of their instructors. To all this must be added the decidedly good effect of regular, daily, uniform duties-particular duties at particular hoursthus very effectually pre-occupying the mind and heart, and to a considerable extent keeping them from straying into the by-ways, often so enticing to youth, but leading at last to the habitations of demoralization, dishonor, ruin and shame. And yet more. Who can fully estimate the influence, every way for good, in the daily coming together, morning and evening, of students and professors, to the chapel, to unite their prayers for the forgiveness of sins, for the presence and influence of the Holy Spirit, for the protection of Heaven, and for the hope of a glorious immortality? I cannot conceive of conditions and surroundings more favorable for a full, moral, spiritual and intellectual development and establishment of youth than are to be found in a healthy, well regulated college.

I had intended to give you some advice in regard to your studies, but I must not write too long a letter.

Affectionately,

YOUR FATHER.

THE SNOW BIRDS.

The lonesome graveyard lieth,
A deep with silent waves

Of night-long snow, all white, and billowed
Over the hidden graves.

The snow-birds come in the morning,
Flocking and fluttering low,

And light on the graveyard brambles,

And twitter there in the snow.

The Singer, old and weary,

Looks out from his narrow room:

"Ah, me! but my thoughts are snow-birds,
Haunting a graveyard gloom,

"Where all the Past is buried

And dead, these many years,
Under the drifted whiteness

Of frozen falls of tears.

"Poor birds! that know not Summer,
Nor sun, nor flowers fair,—

Only the graveyard brambles,

And graves, and Winter air !"

A RAMBLE THROUGH THE COURT OF CHARLES II.

On a lovely morning in September two hundred and seven years ago, when the "Merrie Monarch" was King of England, I, with a friend, whose name may be called Fitch, started up to London from Hampton Court, where we had both been the guests of Lord Chancellor Clarendon. As I have heard the Lord Chancellor died many years ago, which fact will preclude any of my readers from enjoying his hospitality; and as I apprehend the vicinity of that place has greatly changed within the last two centuries, some description of the spot, as it appeared to Fitch and myself, may prove interesting.

Clarendon, who had now been Chancellor for six years, but was succeeded a year afterwards by Sir Orlando Bridgeman, was accustomed to spend his leisure hours at this spot preparing his notes for the History of the Rebellion. It was then a half-a-day's journey from London. I understand that now the distance may be traveled by railway in less than an hour. There were two courtyards at the time of which I write. The first was that of Cardinal Wolsey, the second of Henry VIII. Wolsey just missed six votes in the Cardinal's College of being made Pope, and lived here in that luxurious way which finally opened the eyes of this Sovereign to the extravagance of his servants. Clarendon told us that the grand staircase which we ascended had been built as a type of Wolsey's superb taste to correspond with his own ideas of regal dignity. There were here also in his time two hundred and eighty beds richly furnished with velvet and silk to accommodate the guests of nobility who visited Wolsey at Hampton Court. Clarendon had preserved everything, as far as he had authority over the disposition of things; but much of the grandeur of the Cardinal's time was gone. Fitch one day pretended to Clarendon that he had known Wolsey well, when the latter had been private tutor in the

family of the Marquis of Dorset. As this had been one hundred and fifty years before, I don't think Clarendon believed him. I'm sure I didn't.

There is a tradition that during the reign of Elizabeth, Shakespeare's tragedies were first acted in the other Court to which Henry VIII has given his name. It was in one room here pointed out to us by Clarendon that James I held his celebrated conference with the conflicting parties of the church and Puritan denominations in which he announced the famous apothegm of "no Bishop-no King "—and where, as his friends boasted," he kept such a revel with the Puritans those two days as was never heard the like; when I have peppered them as soundly as ye have done the Papists."

The occasion of our going up to London was the news of the great fire just then raging; intelligence had come down to Clarendon that much of his property in the city had been burned, and that there was no fair prospect of checking the flames. Clarendon was then unable to accompany us, but gave us a letter of introduction to Samuel Pepys, promising to follow us, if my recollection serves me, the next day. Upon our arrival in London, I left Fitch standing in Smithfield Market inquiring the way to a Barber's shop, and proceeded myself to find Pepys according to the directions which had been given us. When I found him, he was busy preparing memoranda for his celebrated diary, from statistics he had that morning collected concerning there. He kindly permitted me to read a few pages, which, instead of returning, I quietly slipped into my pocket. These are the pages containing the statistics which Pepys in a footnote to his diary stated were lost. They were not lost, for I have them still, pasted between the leaves of my copy of his Diary, which is consequently the only complete edition in existence.

Fitch shortly made his appearance, and we spent the day quietly with our Host. The next morning Clarendon came up to town, and indulged himself in a vast amount of profanity, very needlessly Fitch thought, against the memory of Cromwell. This led to a discussion between Fitch and Clarendon in regard to the merits of the Old Protector. I have forgotten what was said, but I know there wass “high jinks" about it, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could persuade Clarendon to comply with his promise to take us up to the Palace- I remember Fitch had taunted him with the seduction of his daughter Anne Hyde by James, Duke of York, brother of the King, and Clarendon replied that at all events his daughter would be Queen

of England. I enquired how he could have any certain knowledge of this-that Charles was still living, in the prime and vigor of life, and that the prospect of lineal issue of the King would defeat any presumption of the Duke of York. He called me to one side and revealed the particulars of the King's marriage with the Infanta of Portugal. "Charles," said Clarendon, "had once proposed marriage with Frances, eldest daughter of Oliver Cromwell, while the King was an exile with his sister at the Court of William of Orange. He had already obtained the consent of the lady herself, and her mother, but when the news came to the ears of Oliver he had forbidden it saying that 'Charles Stuart would never forgive him for the muder of his father.' That after the Restoration several alliances had been proposed, but none of them suited my scheme to have the husband of my daughter King of England. By means of court-gossip and scandal, I discovered that the daughter of the King of Portugal was suffering from such a natural infirmity that would render it impossible for her, if married to Charles, to defeat the right of the Duke of York. Her father had offered a large dowry with her in marriage, and as Charles was always in need of money, I had no trouble in consummating this union. You will, therefore, see that unless his wife should die, and Charles remarry, an event not very likely to happen, my daughter's claim is secure."

This, so far as my memory serves me, is substantially the history of the transaction as given me by Clarendon. He requested me not to make it public until after his death. I then promised it, and have never disclosed it until the present time.

Fitch and Clarendon having gone through the usual formalities of hand-shaking, and having promised to think no more of their violent dispute in the morning, we set out for our visit to King Charles. The great fire had been burning for a week, and muck of the best portion of the city had been destroyed, and it was only with the greatest difficulty we could find our way through the blinding smoke and hot air. We all three were arrayed in bag-wig and sword-Clarendon, used to to such articles, walked with the easy stateliness that distinguished all the courtiers of that reign. We had much trouble. I, unfortunately, had fastened my sword on the wrong side. Fitch, more resolute than myself, carried his on the shoulder; and thus we entered the presence of the King. I was somewhat embarrassed in the royal presence. Fitch, as if accustomed to the companionship of Kings all his life, stood up bravely. He shook hands with the King, and asked him how about

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