our faith, it is well to employ ourselves serviceably, and to follow along in the line of the truest and most reverent leaders."

Mr. Warren smiled apart at the evident meaning of this statement. "Mr. Coylston is throwing wide open the doors of his church, said Mr. Roberts aside to Dr. Crofts. These two were great friends, although they usually found themselves on opposite sides, in an argument. The doctor nodded significantly.

"He makes out a pretty good case," he answered in an undertone.

Mr. Roberts smiled. He was not to be made afraid lest the doctor should change his allegiance.

"Now, in literature," said Miss Wynne, "you see the influence strikingly. It is called realism; but it is practicality all the same, or perhaps, practicability. But then, it is not as pleasant as romance. I remember agreeing with Grace, one day, that when stories ended well, we said, 'Oh, of course, they are stories; there is nothing else for them to do.' But when they ended badly,—that is, unhappily,—we did not like it at all. In spite of Mr. Hale's 'Hands Off,' that remarkable argument of our own inability to control affairs presented through the story of Joseph, I do think it is nice to have a world in which we can make the evil things knocked over, like a row of nine-pins, by the good ones."

"Would you continue your forcible simile in the case of people?" asked

Mr. Martinas.

Miss Wynne joined in the laugh. "Certainly," she said.

"But then, we like people and things to be like life; and in real life we have death and disaster enough."

"That isn't realism," said Mr. Tipton, almost unconsciously it seemed, and then shut his lips again.

"But things in real life always may come out well, if only one goes on to the end of them. Life is like war, you know," said Miss Upham; something for the better may turn up at any moment. And, in fiction, we just take the liberty of imagining ourselves at the end, and arrange the tableau effectively, to leave the audience in a smile."

"When we are sufficiently educated," said Dr. Crofts, laughing, "we shall know that it is not results that should concern us at all, in comparison with processes and the effects of combinations."

"I am so glad not to have come to that point yet," said Miss Dracut, shrugging her shoulders.

"In one sense, that is the highest philosophy," said Mr. Roberts, "for we should be concerned with what we do, as right, in distinction from wrong, and let consequences follow as they will.”

"Sure that in the long run they will be as certain to come out all right as a novel is," cried Miss Wynne. "Now, haven't I proved my point?" "Not unless you take a very long run in many cases, and modify extensively the popular idea of all right,'" answered Mr. Hardack. "It must include suffering, sometimes unrelieved except by death, misunderstandings

uever explained, injustice never atoned for,-all the slings and arrows by which human beings, sent without armor into the world, may be wounded." "Now, I think you're wrong there, speaking practically," interposed Mr. Warren. "So far as my experience goes, injustice does, in the long run, get known to be injustice; a good many of the slings and arrows make only flesh wounds, and very few are poisoned darts, though there are such things."

"But, suppose a man suffer seventy years from an injustice that is unmasked, finally. Is the unmasking going to make up for all that time? What does? Mrs. Crofts spoke eagerly, as if she herself had known a test case. "The practical takes up life as it finds it, and does not try to explain its puzzles," said Mr. Atterbury. "It tries to remedy evils, instead of calling them blessings in disguise. We cannot explain, often we cannot obviate; but where we can remove one difficulty, it is worth a thousand years' talk about the sublimity of bearing it. It is sublime to endure only what we can't help; for if we can help it, we are fools instead of martyrs."

"Amen to that!" called Mr. Coylston. "That's what we say in regard to our license law."

There was a laugh, for Mr. Atterbury was in favor of this. He quoted "Festina lentè" as his motto, and declared that it would not do to sweep away everything at once. It was remembered that he had once said so in a speech, to which Mr. Tipton had answered that probably there would be a little left after their best efforts.

This evening it was Mr. Tipton who followed up Mr. Coylston's remark by saying that all people were inconsistent. "Only we don't happen to catch sight of them always at that angle," he said. "Here's my friend Atterbury advocating sweeping the world clear of abuses, and one would think that he had laid hand upon the broom. And the next moment we have him crying out that we are making too clean a sweep. But, if these practical people are not going to sweep, what is left for them? They must be up and doing.' To them, repose is ignominious, poetry something belonging only to the youth of the world, assault and battery with the right weapons upon the doomed objects the only existence consistent with human dignity."

"Well," said Miss Upham, demurely, "the world would be a bad place without brooms."

"And brooms swung with right good will, too," added Mr. Hardack. "Long may they swing!" said Mr. Tipton. "But—"

"Ah, Mr. Tipton, you leave a protest," said Mrs. Hardack, “and we want to hear it, too. I move, since the president is just going to tell us that time is up, to-night that you give us an essay the next evening." "I second the motion," cried Mr. Atterbury.

"It is moved and seconded," announced the president, "that Mr. Tipton be asked for an essay next time. Those in favor please make it manifest. Contrary-minded? It is a vote."

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHN DUDLEY

PHILBRICK.

BY MRS. H. B. B. LORD.

More than thirty years since, when I was a youthful teacher, and engaged in teaching in a town not far from Boston, one day there came into my school-room a gentleman that I soon learned was John Dudley Philbrick, a teacher in Boston. He told me he was visiting schools; he would be glad to remain an hour or two (with my permission), and he wished no change in the exercises, or methods of conducting them; he wished to see the school in its every-day appearance. It is not often, I think, one can be so completely disarmed of any apprehension of criticism as I was at that time; and this was owing to his artless, unassuming way, and evident intention to do my school nothing but good. He listened patiently to the recitations in the common branches, giving some useful hints and suggestions. He seemed especially interested in the singing exercise, which I had introduced into the school for the first time that term; and in the reading-lesson he manifested a good deal of interest. I had been trying to make improvement in this class; viz., I had endeavored to show the class the importance of giving the idea of the author to the ear of the hearer; but, as I had never had any elocutionary training, I was not very well able to accomplish much. Yet, Mr. Philbrick gave me much encouragement, and advised me to take a course of lessons in this branch. mentioning Mr. Russell as a good teacher, and who afterward became my teacher. The advice Mr. Philbrick gave me that day as to methods of governing a school and teaching various branches was invaluable to me; and it came from his great teacher's heart in so kindly a manner, I could but feel that it was sincere and given from a sincere desire to help his fellow teachers.

I afterward often met him at "Teachers' Institutes," and I was frequently in his office in Boston; and he always met me with the same cordial smile and the cheerful inquiry, "What can I do for you?" Indeed, his very presence was a help to teachers; while his lovely Christian influence became almost an inspiration. I think I do not over-estimate this fact; and, because there has been so little said of this side of his life in all that has been written, I feel it to be a pleasant privilege to add some of these recollections, although want of space forbids but a small amount of what could be written, and which I so readily recall. Mr. Philbrick did not like flattery; he despised it in every form. I was present at a teachers' meeting at one time, when a question of very little importance came up. After some discussion, which became somewhat personal and a little offensive to some of the teachers present, Mr. Philbrick entered the room; the chairman of the meeting, without any preliminary remarks, began to tell him the

story of the discussion, giving the outlines and his own views upon the subject, and adding, "Now, Mr. Philbrick, as you are the best educator in the country, we call upon you to decide this question." I shall never forget the change that came over the noble countenance of Mr. Philbrick, ranging from some degree of interest at first to one of intense disgust at last; and then, with a flashing eye, yet fixed and calm in manner, he made this reply to the chairman of the meeting: "I beg you, sir, to postpone any further discussion of this subject until some more important developments are reached." He then very cheerfully entered into the useful business of the meeting, bearing his part, and turning the current of thought into a higher channel; and no further mention was made in that meeting of the "best methods of conducting school exhibitions !”

Mr. Philbrick was a practical man,- -a "realist"; he could not become an ideal man, and so any effort on the part of any one to flatter him was lost entirely. His love for the pure and good was as strong as it could well be, -he hated all that was otherwise. In his talks to the young he always endeavored to impress them with the importance of avoiding everything that would lead to bad habits in the future of their lives. I remember, on one occasion, when a fine class of boys were leaving the Phillips School for the High School, at the close of Mr. Philbrick's address to them he gave them this advice: "Boys, never allow your mouths to be fouled with tobacco or any intoxicating liquor, your tongue to be defiled with an oath, or your lips to be stained with a falsehood." While attending the "American Institute," some years since, one or two ladies with myself found ourselves in conversation with a gentleman who stood very high in social circles, and literary ones too, but who had a great fondness for the wine-cup, and who, we soon discovered, had been indulging too freely in the same; he soon began to be silly and troublesome, and we feared he might become disgusting. Just then Mr. Philbrick came toward us, and, with his quick eye, discovered the dilemma. I shall never forget the sad, pained look that came over his countenance, -a mingling of pity and disgust; but with his quick tact the current of conversation was changed, and he soon walked away with the gentleman, whom we saw no more that evening. Mr. Philbrick found an opportunity, before the evening closed, to say, "Mr. sometimes unfortunate."

is

Mr. Philbrick had a warm, generous heart, and he always won friends wherever he was known; this was true of him from his earliest days. His mother told me he never gave her any trouble as a boy, but was always helpful, kind and obedient, truthful and firm for the right, and ready to defend himself and others when a question of right was involved. When in the "old red school-house," he was always ready to help both teacher and schoolmates, by good conduct and obedience added to his willing helpfulness, in time of perplexity. It has been said by one of those schoolmates, "John was a tower of strength among us." One of his classmates in the academy told me he carried the same loving, helpful disposition there with

him, and was ready to help all the needy. And when he entered "college," his great, noble heart went with him, and here he found many and frequent opportunities to aid and assist others; and he was never known to refuse to give aid to any one, as far as he could conscientiously give it. And although his college-life was one of hard labor and struggle with many deprivations, he did not seem to consider it sɔ; but, having met cheerfully and surmounted his own difficulties, looked about him to see if there was not some one needing his assistance. One of his classmates in college said of him, "I suppose Mr. Philbrick did more for other fellows in college than all the rest of us put together." When his Sophomore year was ended and he had by such faithful application mastered (he felt) the hardest part of his college studies, when he had entered upon his Junior year, and was looking forward to a more restful year of study and the opportunity for some recreation, there came to him the crowning sacrifice of all his life, as has been estimated by many of his friends.

One of his classmates at the beginning of the year lost the use, very nearly, of his eyes; indeed, his physician told him he must not look upon a printed page for one year at least; the disappointment was so intense that the president of the college undertook to find some one who would read him through the two remaining years of college-life. As soon as it was made known to the class, Mr. Philbrick, with his usual self-sacrificing spirit, signified his entire willingness to undertake the task; and so, laying aside the pleasant anticipation of more time for reading and recreation, and less close application to study and the details of student life, he took up the burden and cheerfully bore it for the remaining two years of his collegelife, carrying his classmate through with credit and with as high a standing as he had formerly maintained. I had the great pleasure of an acquaintance with this same man (a few years since), who is now an honored minister of the gospel; and he most tearfully and touchingly told me all the facts I have named, and many more; and he added, "It wil! never be known in this life how great that sacrifice was, nor how untiring Mr. Philbrick was in his ministrations to me; never forgetting to read me all and every thing about the lesson, and not leaving it until I had faithfully committed it to memory and had understood it. And, although I could not see his face, his pleasant voice and ready ministrations always uplifted me from the gloom of my darkened hours." When we know that such a life has ceased to be among us,—a life of so much strength and beauty,—aye, that embodied so much that was "lovely and of good report,"--we are led to cry out: "How is the strong staff broken, and the beautiful rod!"