“Zooks!” said old Brigs, on this happy occasion, “I always thought well of the boy, but I’ll eat my hat if ever I thought he _was_ my nephew, and _was to be_ my son. Well! well! well!” And Mr. Brigs looked as pleasing as he knew how. Mrs. Brigs looked pleasing too. Solomon looked saucy at his sister, and she blushed and looked saucy at Solomon. Timothy felt as happy as ever man felt: and all was joy and life and gayety. A few weeks more, and a petition was presented to the Legislature of one of the New England States, signed by one hundred and fifty inhabitants of the village, praying for an act incorporating the “Classical Seminary of S.” and within a few more weeks the “Classical Seminary of S.” was filled with pupils; and Mr. Brigs _lived_ to see his prophecy fulfilled; and _died_ to be mourned by all who had ever known him. * * * * * SPEAK OUT. BY S. D. ANDERSON. Men who battle for the right, ’Mid the darkness of the night, Looking ever for the light— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Rulers at the helm of state, Seek ye for the narrow gate, Through which pass the truly great?— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Ye who preach, and ye who pray, Smother not in mist and spray Thoughts that straggle for the day— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Dreamer, up! strike, for the hour Brings the man, as does the shower From the budding bring the flower— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Young men, linger not behind, With the dead in will and mind, Let the blind be ever blind— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Teachers, ye who plant the seed, Nurse it in its hour of need, With the sunlight of thy deed— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Old men, fathers, would ye see Footprints of the Deity Round the homes of infancy?— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Searchers after truth and right, From the vessel’s topmost height See ye glimpses pure and bright— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Poet, if thy mission be To uplift humanity, Let the world thy spirit see— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Brother, bend ye at a shrine, Differing far from me and mine, If ye think that light divine— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong. Stranger, with thy little band, From a distant father-land, Yearn’st thou for a kindly hand?— Speak out! Fear ye nothing but the wrong.