this relic.

HARVARD'S HEROES.

The stranger who enters the nave of St. Paul's Cathedral in London
cannot fail to notice the superb pulpit which stands at the angle of the
choir. It is composed of rare and costly marbles and other precious
stones. But, beautiful and fitting as it is, its greatest value lies in
the circumstance which placed it there. It is a memorial, the tribute of
affection. It was erected by his surviving comrades in arms to a noble
officer of the Indian army. Yet this, from its position a [Greek: ktema
es aei], is only one among numberless like monuments which the traveller
in England meets at every turn. In public squares, in parish churches,
in stately cathedrals,--wherever the eye of the wayfarer can be
arrested, whereever the pride of country is most deeply stirred,
wherever the sentiment of loyalty is consecrated by religion,--the
Englishman loves to guard from oblivion the names of his honored dead.
There is in this both a cause and a consequence of that intense local
pride and affection by which the men of Great Britain are bound to the
scenes of their early lives.

"It will never do for us to be beaten," said the Duke at Waterloo;
"think what they will say of us at home!"--and this simple sentence went
straight to the heart of every man who heard. What they will say at home
is the prevailing thought in each young soldier's heart as he goes into
his first fight. And "home" does not mean for him so much broad England
as it does the little hamlet where he was born, the school where he was
trained, the county in which his forefathers were honored in times gone
by. He thinks of his name, henceforward linked with a glorious victory!
whispered around among the groups who linger in the church-yard after
the morning service. He trusts, that, if he fall nobly, there will be
for him the memorial window through whose blazoned panes the sunlight
will fall softly across the "squire's pew," where as a boy he knelt and
worshipped, or touch with a crimson and azure gleam the marble effigies
of his knightly sires recumbent on their tombs. Or he thinks of a place
among the lettered names high up on the old oaken wall of the
school-room at Winchester or Harrow or Westminster,--that future boys,
playing where he played, shall talk of him whom they never knew as "one
of ours." For he is well aware that he is making fame not for himself
alone, but to be prized where he himself has been most loved and
happiest