Eleventh pupil.

     Of all man’s works of art a cathedral is greatest.  A vast
     and majestic tree is greater than that.

     —­H.W.  BEECHER.

Twelfth pupil.

In an agricultural country the preservation or destruction of forests must determine the decision of Hamlet’s alternative:  “to be or not to be.”  An animal flayed or a tree stripped of its bark does not perish more surely than a land deprived of the trees.

     —­FELIX L. OSWALD.

Thirteenth pupil.

By their fruit ye shall know them.  Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?  Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but the corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.  A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.  Therefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

=8.  DECLAMATION.=

A FOREST SONG.

    A song for the beautiful trees! 
      A song for the forest grand,
      The garden of God’s Own land,
    The pride of His centuries. 
    Hurrah! for the kingly oak,
      For the maple, the sylvan queen,
    For the lords of the emerald cloak,
      For the ladies in living green.

    So long as the rivers flow,
      So long as the mountains rise,
      May the forest sing to the skies,
    And shelter the earth below. 
    Hurrah! for the beautiful trees,
      Hurrah! for the forest grand,
      The pride of His centuries,
    The garden of God’s own land.

    —­W.H.  VENABLE.

=9.  ADDRESS.= (BY TEACHER OR SOME ONE INVITED FOR THE OCCASION.)

=10.  DECLAMATION.=

A JUNE DAY.

    Now is the high-tide of the year,
      And whatever of life hath ebbed away
    Comes flooding back with a rippling cheer,
      Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
    Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
    We are happy now because God wills it;
    No matter how barren the past may have been,
    ’Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
    We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
    How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
    We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
    That skies are clear and grass is growing;
    The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
    That dandelions are blossoming near,
      That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
    That the river is bluer than the sky,
    That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
    And if the breeze kept the good news back,
    For other couriers we should not lack;
      We would guess it all by yon heifer’s lowing,—­
    And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
    Warmed with the new wine of the year,
    Tells all in his lusty crowing!