The Project Gutenberg eBook of The New McGuffey Fourth Reader, by

Published：2026-07-29 19:25:01 Source: doll feeding sets for christmas Author: New Arrivals

Etext prepared by Dianne Bean,best logic games for boys Phoenix, Arizona, using OmniPage

Pro scanner software donated by Caere.

The New McGuffey Fourth Reader, William H. McGuffey, Compiler

PREFACE

It is now nearly three quarters of a century since the appearanceof the first edition of McGuffey's Readers, compiled by Dr.William H. McGuffey. Revisions have since been made from time totime as the advancement in educational theories and the changesin methods of teaching seemed to demand. No other school text-books have retained the popular favor so long or have exerted sogeneral and so wholesome an influence as has this series ofReaders.

In preparing the present revision the aim of thie compiler hasbeen to introduce such new matter and methods as the experienceand judgment of the best teachers have found most commendable anddesirable. He has at the same time endeavored to preserve thoseessential features which have always distinguished the McGuffeyReaders and have so largely contributed to their success. Whilethe majority of the selections are new to the series, care hasbeen taken to maintain the same high literary and ethicalstandard that has hitherto so distinctly characterized thesebooks. Lessons inculcating kindness, courage, obedience,industry, thrift, true manliness, patriotism, and other dutiesand obligations form no small portion of the contents. Selectionsfrom the masterpieces of English literature include both theolder classical productions, without which no school can becomplete, and also choice extracts from many of the latest andmost popular writers.

The Elocutionary Introduction, by Professor F. TownsendSouthwick, presents in brief scope the most important rules fororal reading and those principles of the art that are mostnecessary for the pupils to master. The teacher should, at thevery onset, become thoroughly familiar with the subjects herepresented, and the pupils should be referred to this discussionof elocutionary principles as often as occasion may require.

The more difficult words are defined, and their pronunciation isindicated by diacritical marks. The object of this is to aid thepupil in the ready preparation of the reading lesson, and not tosupply merely an exercise in the study of words. Shortexplanatory notes are given wherever required for a fullunderstanding of the text. It is assumed, however, that thepupils have already a general knowledge of most of the subjectsalluded to, or that they have ready access to the more commonbooks of reference, and therefore only occasional notes of thischaracter are necessary.

An alphabetical list of the authors of the various selections,together with the brief biographical and critical notes, is givenas an appendix to the volume.

Acknowledgments are due to Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., CharlesScribner's Sons, the Century Company, and other publishers whogenerously permitted the use, in this series, of selections fromtheir copyrighted works.

The selections from Hawthorne, Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, andLucy Larcom are used by special arrangement with and permissionof Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers ofthe writings of these authors.

CONTENTS

[The Elocutionary Introduction and pronunciation markups areomitted in the Project Gutenberg edition because of abundance ofnon-ascii characters.]

SELECTIONS FOR READING

Young Benjamin Franklin — Nathaniel Hawthorne
A Hard Word
A Song — James Whitcomb Riley
The Journey of Life. An Allegory
What I live for
Try Again! — Charlotte Elizabeth
True Manliness
The Miller of the Dee — Charles Mackay
A Boy on a Farm — Charles Dudley Warner
Meddlesome Mattie
The Eagle
The Old Eagle Tree — John Todd
A New Kind of Fun — From the German
Two Ways of telling a Story — Henry K. Oliver
The Blind Men and the Elephant — John G. Saxe
Harry's Riches
A Happy New Year — Margaret E. Sangster
Jeanette and Jo — Mary Mapes Dodge
Watseka. An Indian Legend
Harry and his Dog — Mary Russell Milford
Little Boy Blue — Eugene Field
If I were a Boy
The Tempest — James T. Fields
The Right Way — Frank R. Stockton
An Adventure with Wolves
The Old Oaken Bucket — Samuel Woodworth
The Farmer and the Fox — James Anthony Frowde
Hiawatha's Childhood — H. W. Longfellow
At Rugby School — Thomas Hughes
Somebody's Darling — Marie La Coste
The Captive — John R. Musick
The Star-Spangled Banner — F. S. Key
Our National Banner — Edward Everett
Burning the Fallow — Susanna Moodie
Piccola — Celia L. Thaxter
The Mountain and the Squirrel — R. W. Emerson
Srange Stories of Ants:
  White Ants — Henry Drummond
  Red Ants — Jules Michelet
Dear Country Mine — R. W. Gilder
My Country
The Four MacNicols — William Black
The Blue and the Gray — Ellen H. Flagg
The Captain's Feather — Samuel M. Peck
The Ride to London — Charles Dickens
The Planting of the Apple Tree — W. C. Bryant
The Apple — John Burroughs
The Bugle Song — Alfred Tennyson
The Story of Captain John Smith — John Esten Cooke
On the Banks of the Tennessee — W. D. Gallagher
Good Will — J. T. Trowbridge
The Good Reader
A Legend of Bregenz — Adelaide A. Procter
The Golden Touch — Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Brook — Alfred Tennyson
The Sermon on the Mount — Bible
The Song of Steam — G. W. Cutter
The Gentle Hand — T. S. Arthur
Spring — Henry Timrod
Marion's Men — William Gilmore Simms
The Pied Piper of Hamelin — Robert Browning

FOURTH READER

YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

When Benjamin Franklin was a boy he was very fond of fishing; andmany of his leisure hours were spent on the margin of the millpond catching flounders, perch, and eels that came up thitherwith the tide.

The place where Ben and his playmates did most of their fishingwas a marshy spot on the outskirts of Boston. On the edge of thewater there was a deep bed of clay, in which the boys were forcedto stand while they caught their fish.

"This is very uncomfortable," said Ben Franklin one day to hiscomrades, while they were standing in the quagmire.

"So it is," said the other boys. "What a pity we have no betterplace to stand on!"

On the dry land, not far from the quagmire, there were at thattime a great many large stones that had been brought there to beused in building the foundation of a new house. Ben mounted uponthe highest of these stones.

"Boys," said he, "I have thought of a plan. You know what aplague it is to have to stand in the quagmire yonder. See, I ambedaubed to the knees, and you are all in the same plight.

"Now I propose that we build a wharf. You see these stones? Theworkmen mean to use them for building a house here. My plan is totake these same stones, carry them to the edge of the water, andbuild a wharf with them. What say you, lads? Shall we build thewharf?"

"Yes, yes," cried the boys; "let's set about it!"

It was agreed that they should all be on the spot that evening,and begin their grand public enterprise by moonlight.

Accordingly, at the appointed time, the boys met and eagerlybegan to remove the stones. They worked like a colony of ants,sometimes two or three of them taking hold of one stone; and atlast they had carried them all away, and built their littlewharf.

"Now, boys," cried Ben, when the job was done, "let's give threecheers, and go home to bed. To-morrow we may catch fish at ourease."

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" shouted his comrades, and allscampered off home and to bed, to dream of to-morrow's sport.

In the morning the masons came to begin their work. But what wastheir surprise to find the stones all gone! The master mason,looking carefully on the ground, saw the tracks of many littlefeet, some with shoes and some barefoot. Following these to thewater side, he soon found what had become of the missing buildingstones.

"Ah! I see what the mischief is," said he; "those little rascalswho were here yesterday have stolen the stones to build a wharfwith. And I must say that they understand their business well."

He was so angry that he at once went to make a complaint beforethe magistrate; and his Honor wrote an order to "take the bodiesof Benjamin Franklin, and other evil-disposed persons," who hadstolen a heap of stones.

If the owner of the stolen property had not been more mercifulthan the master mason, it might have gone hard with our friendBenjamin and his comrades. But, luckily for them, the gentlemanhad a respect for Ben's father, and, moreover, was pleased withthe spirit of the whole affair. He therefore let the culprits offeasily.

But the poor boys had to go through another trial, and receivesentence, and suffer punishment, too, from their own fathers.Many a rod was worn to the stump on that unlucky night. As forBen, he was less afraid of a whipping than of his father'sreproof. And, indeed, his father was very much disturbed.

"Benjamin, come hither," began Mr. Franklin in his usual sternand weighty tone. The boy approached and stood before hisfather's chair. "Benjamin," said his father, "what could induceyou to take property which did not belong to you?"

"Why, father," replied Ben, hanging his head at first, but thenlifting his eyes to Mr. Franklin's face, "if it had been merelyfor my own benefit, I never should have dreamed of it. But I knewthat the wharf would be a public convenience. If the owner of thestones should build a house with them, nobody would enjoy anyadvantage but himself. Now, I made use of them in a way that wasfor the advantage of many persons."

"My son," said Mr. Franklin solemnly, "so far as it was in yourpower, you have done a greater harm to the public than to theowner of the stones. I do verily believe, Benjamin, that almostall the public and private misery of mankind arises from aneglect of this great truth,—that evil can produce only evil,that good ends must be wrought out by good means."

To the end of his life, Ben Franklin never forgot thisconversation with his father; and we have reason to suppose,that, in most of his public and private career, he sought to actupon the principles which that good and wise man then taught him.

DEFINITIONS:—In defining words, that meaning is given which isappropriate to them in the connection in which they are used. Thepupil should look in the dictionary for the meaning of all theothers with which he is not perfectly familiar.

Quagmire, soft, wet, miry land. Outskirt, borders. Plague,bother, great trouble. Plight, condition. Wharf, a platform onthe shore of a harbor, river, or lake, extending some way intothe water. Comrades, companions, playfellows. Magistrate, anofficer of the law, justice of the peace. Ringleader, the leaderof several persons acting together. Culprits, wrong-doers.Solemnly, with great dignity. Induce, lead persuade. Benefit,profit, accomodation. Verily, truly.

EXERCISE.—Where is Boston? How long ago did Benjamin Franklinlive? Learn all that you can about his life and work, and repeatit to the class at the next recitation.

A HARD WORD.

"P-o po, p-o po, Popo, c-a-t cat, Popocat—Oh dear, what a hardword! Let me see, Po-po-cat-e-petl. I can never pronounce it, Iam sure. I wish they would not have such hard names ingeography," said George Gould, quite out of patience. "Will youplease tell me how to pronounce the name of this mountain,father?"

"Why, do you call that a hard word to pronounce, George? I knowmuch harder words than that."

"Well, father this is the hardest word I ever saw," repliedGeorge. "I wish they had put the name into the volcano, andburned it up."

"I know how to pronounce it," said Jane. "It is Po-po'ca-ta'petl."

"Po-po' ca-ta'petl," said George, stopping at each syllable."Well, it is not so very hard, after all; but I wish they wouldnot have any long words, and then one could pronounce them easilyenough."

"I do not think so," said his father. "Some of the hardest wordsI have ever seen are the shortest. I know one little word, withonly two letters in it, that very few children, or men either,can always speak."

"Oh, I suppose it is borne French or German word; isn't it,father?"

"No: it is English; and you may think it strange, but it is justas hard to pronounce in one language as another."

"Only two letters! What can it be?" cried both the children.

"The hardest word," replied their father, "I have ever met within any language—and I have learned several—is a little word oftwo letters—N-o, no."

"Now you are making fun of us!" cried the children: "that is oneof the easiest words in the world." And, to prove that theirfather was mistaken, they both repeated, "N-o, no; n-o, no," agreat many times.

"I am not joking in the least. I really think it is the hardestof all words. It may seem easy enough to you to-night, butperhaps you cannot pronounce it to-morrow."

"I can always say it, I know I can;" said George with muchconfidence—"NO! Why, it is as easy to say it as to breathe."

"Well, George, I hope you will always find it as easy topronounce as you think it is now, and that you will be able tospeak it when you ought to."

In the morning George went bravely to school, a little proud thathe could pronounce so hard a word as "Popocatepetl." Not farfrown the schoolhouse was a large pond of very deep water, wherethe boys used to skate and slide when it was frozen over.

Now, the night before, Jack Frost had been busy changing thesurface of the pond into beautiful crystals of ice; and when theboys went to school in the morning they found the pond as smoothand clear as glass. The day was cold, and they thought that bynoon the ice would be strong enough to skate upon.

As soon as school was dismissed the boys all ran to thepond,—some to try the ice, and others merely to see it.

"Come, George," said William Green; "now we shall have a glorioustime sliding."

George hesitated, and said he did not believe it was strongenough, for it had been frozen over only one night.

"Oh, come on!" said another boy: "I know it is strong enough. Ihave known it to freeze over in one night, many a time, so itwould bear: haven't you, John?"

"Yes," answered John Brown: "it did so one night last winter; andit wasn't so cold as it was last night, either."

But George still hesitated, for his father had forbidden him togo on the ice without special permission.

"I know why George won't go," said John; "he's afraid he mightfall down and hurt himself."

"Or the ice might crack," said another; "and the noise wouldfrighten him. Perhaps his mother might not like it."

"He's a coward, that's the reason he won't come."

George could stand this no longer, for he was rather proud of hiscourage. "I am not afraid," said he; and he ran to the pond, andwas the first one on the ice. The boys enjoyed the sport verymuch, running and sliding, and trying to catch one another on itssmooth surface.

More boys kept coming on as they saw the sport, and soon allthought of danger was forgotten. Then suddenly there was a loudcry, "The ice has broken! the ice has broken!" And sure enough,three of the boys had broken through, and were struggling in thewater; and one of them was George.

The teacher had heard the noise, and was coming to call the boysfrom the ice just as they broke through. He tore some boards froma fence close by, and shoved them out on the ice until they camewithin reach of the boys in the water. After a while he succeededin getting the three boys out of the water, but not until theywere almost frozen.

George's father and mother were very much troubled when he wasbrought home, and they learned how narrowly he had escapeddrowning. But they were so glad to know that. he was safe thatthey did not ask him any questions until he was warm andcomfortable again. But in the evening, when they were allgathered together about the cheerful fire, his father asked himhow he came to disobey his positive command.

George answered that he did not want to go on the ice, but theboys made him.

"How did they make you? Did they take hold of you, and drag youon?" asked his father.

"No," said George, "but they all wanted me to go."

"When they asked you, why didn't you say 'No'?"

"I was going to do so: but they called me a coward, and said Iwas afraid to go; and I couldn't stand that."

"And so," said his father, "you found it easier to disobey me,and run the risk of losing your life, than to say that littleword you thought so easy last night. You could not say 'No.'"

George now began to see why this little word"No" was so hard topronounce. It was not because it was so long, or composed of suchdifficult sounds; but because it often requires so much realcourage to say it,—to say "No" when one is tempted to do wrong.

After that, whenever George was tempted to do wrong, heremembered his narrow escape from drowning, and the importance ofthe little word "No." The oftener he said it, the easier itbecame; and in time he could say it, when necessary, without mucheffort.

DEFINITIONS:—Popocatepetl, a volcano in Mexico (sometimesinaccurately pronounced po po cat' a petl). Prounounce, saydistinctly. Syllable, one of the distinct parts of a word.Attracted, drawn. Hesitated, paused. Importance, value. Special,particular.

A SONG*

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
  There is ever a something sings alway:
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
  And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,
  And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain,
  The swallows are twittering carelessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
  Be the skies above or dark or fair;
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear—
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear—
  There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
  In the midnight black or the midday blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,
  And the cricket chirrups the whole night through;
The buds may blow and the fruit may grow,
  And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sere:
But whether the sun or the rain or the snow,
  There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

* From "Afterwhiles." Copyright, 1887. By permission of the
Bowen-Merrill Company, publishers; Indianapolis, Indiana.

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.

AN ALLEGORY.

Once upon a time, a good many years ago, there was a traveler,and he set out upon a journey. It was a magic journey, and was toseem very long when he began it, and very short when he gothalfway through.

He traveled along a rather dark path for some little time,without meeting anything, until at last he came to a beautifulchild. So he said to the child, "What do you here?" And the childsaid, "I am always at play. Come and play with me."

So he played with the child the whole day long, and they werevery merry. The sky was so blue, the sun was so bright, the waterwas so sparkling, the leaves were so green, the flowers were solovely, and they heard so many singing birds, and saw so manybutterflies, that everything was beautiful. This was in fineweather.

When it rained, they loved to watch the falling drops and smellthe fresh scents. When it blew, it was delightful to listen tothe wind, and fancy what it said, as it came rushing from itshome, whistling and howling, and driving the clouds before it,bending the trees, rumbling in the chimneys, shaking the houseand making the sea roar in fury.

But when it snowed, that was the best of all; for they likednothing so well as to look up at the white flakes falling fastand thick, like down frown the breasts of millions of whitebirds, and to see how smooth and deep the drift was, and tolisten to the hush upon the paths and roads.

But one day of a sudden the traveler lost the child. He called tohim over and over again, but got no answer. So he went on for alittle while without meeting anything, until at last he came to ahandsome boy. He said to the boy, "What do you here?" And the boysaid, "I am always learning. Come and learn with me."

So he learned with the boy about Jupiter and Juno, and the Greeksand Romans,—more than I could tell, or he either; for he soonforgot a great deal of it. But they were not always learning;they had the merriest games that ever were played.

They rowed upon the river in summer, and skated on the ice inwinter; they were active afoot and active on horseback; atcricket, and all games of ball; at prisoner's base,hare-and-hounds, follow-my-leader, and more sports than I canthink of: nobody could beat them. As to friends, they had suchdear friends, and so many of them, that I want the time to reckonthem up. They were all young, like the handsome boy, and werenever to be strange to one another all their lives through.

Still, one day, in the midst of all these pleasures, the travelerlost the boy, as he had lost the child, and, after calling him invain, went on upon his journey. So he went on for a while withoutseeing anything, until at last he came to a young man. He said tothe young man, "What do you here?" And the young man said, "I amalways in love. Come and love with me."

But the traveler lost the young man as he had lost the rest ofhis friends, and, after calling to him to come back, which henever did, went on upon his journey. At last he came to amiddle-aged gentleman. So he said to him, "What are you doinghere?" And his answer was, "I am always busy. Come and be busywith me."

The traveler began to be very busy with the gentleman, and theywent on through the wood together. The whole journey was througha wood, only it had been open and green at first, like a wood inspring, and now began to be thick and dark, like a wood insummer; some of the little trees that had come out earliest wereeven turning brown.

The gentleman was not alone, but had a lady of about the same agewith him, who was his wife; and they had children, who were withthem too. They all went on together through the wood, cuttingdown the trees, and making a path among the branches, andcarrying burdens and working hard.

Sometimes they came to a long green avenue that opened intodeeper woods. Then they would hear a very distant little voicecrying, "Father, father, I am another child! Stop for me!" Andpresently they would see a very little figure, growing larger asit came along, running to join them. When it came up, they allcrowded round it, and kissed and welcomed it; and then they allwent on together.

Sometimes they came to several avenues at once; and then they allstood still, and one of the children said, "Father, I am going tosea;" and another said, "Father, I am going to India;" andanother, "Father, I am going to seek my fortune where I can;" andanother, "Father, I am going to heaven."

So, with many tears at parting, they went, solitary, down thoseavenues, each child upon its way; and the child who went toheaven rose into the golden air and vanished.

Whenever these partings happened, the traveler looked at thegentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees,where the day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to comeon. He saw, too, that his hair was turning gray. But they couldnever rest long, for they had their journey to perform, and itwas necessary for them to be always busy.

At last, there had been so many partings that there were nochildren left, and only the traveler, the gentleman, and the ladywent upon their way in company. And now the wood was yellow; andnow brown; and the leaves, even of the forest trees, began tofall.

They came to an avenue that was darker than the rest, and werepressing forward on their journey without looking down it, whenthe lady stopped.

"My husband," said the lady, "I am called."

They listened, and they heard a voice a long way down the avenuesay, "Mother, mother!"

It was the voice of the child who had said, "I am going toheaven!" and the father cried, "I pray not yet. The sunset isvery near. I pray not yet."

But the voice called, "Mother, mother!" without minding him,though his hair was now quite white, and tears were on his face.

Then the mother, who was already drawn into the shade of the darkavenue, and moving away with her arms still around his neck,kissed him and said, "My dearest, I am summoned, and I go!" Andshe was gone. The traveler and he were left alone together.

And they went on and on, until they came very near to the end ofthe wood; so near, that they could see the setting sun shiningred before them through the trees.

Yet once more, while he broke his way among the branches, thetraveler lost his friend. He called and called, but there was noreply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peacefulsun going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old mansitting upon a fallen tree. He said to the old man, "What do youhere?" And the old man said, with a calm smile, "I am alwaysremembering. Come and remember with me."

So the traveler sat down by the side of the old man, face to facewith the serene sunset; and all his friends came softly back andstood around him. The beautiful child, the handsome boy, theyoung man, the father, mother, and children every one of them wasthere, and he had lost nothing. He loved them all, and was kindand forbearing with them all, and they all honored and loved him.

DEFINITIONS:—Scents, smells. Cricket, a game at ball verypopular in England.Solitary, alone. Summoned, called. Allegory, atruth related in the form of a story.

WHAT I LIVE FOR.

I live for those who love me,
  Whose hearts are kind and true,
For the heaven that smiles above me,
  And awaits my spirit, too;
For all human ties that bind me,
For the task my God assigned me,
For the bright hopes left behind me,
  And the good that I can do.
I live to learn their story,
  Who suffered for my sake;
To emulate their glory,
And follow in their wake;
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages,
The noble of all ages,
Whose deeds crown History's pages,
  And Time's great volume make.

I live to hail that season,
  By gifted minds foretold,
When man shall live by reason,
  And not alone by gold;
When man to man united,
And every wrong thing righted,
The whole world shall be lighted
  As Eden was of old.

I live for those who love me,
  For those who know me true;
For the heaven that smiles above me,
  And awaits my spirit, too;
For the cause that needs assistance,
For the wrongs that need resistance,
For the future in the distance,
  And the good that I can do.

DEFINITIONS:—Assigned, allotted, marked out. Emulate, to striveto equal or excel, to rival. Wake, the track left by a vessel inthe water; hence, figuratively, in the trail of. Bard, a poet.Martyr, one who scarifices what is of great value to him for thesake of principle. Sage, a wise man.

TRY AGAIN!

BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

"Will you give my kite a lift?" said my little nephew to hissister, after trying in vain to make it fly by dragging it alongthe ground. Lucy very kindly took it up and threw it into theair, but, her brother neglecting to run off at the same moment,the kite fell down again.

"Ah! now, how awkward you are!" said the little fellow. "It wasyour fault entirely," answered his sister. "Try again, children,"said I.

Lucy once more took up the kite. But now John was in too great ahurry; he ran off so suddenly that he twitched the kite out ofher hand, and it fell flat as before. "Well, who is to blamenow?" asked Lucy. "Try again," said I.

They did, and with more care; but a side wind coming suddenly, asLucy let go the kite, it was blown against some shrubs, and thetail became entangled in a moment, leaving the poor kite hangingwith its head downward.

"There, there!" cried John, "that comes of your throwing it allto one side." "As if I could make the wind blow straight," saidLucy. In the meantime, I went to the kite's assistance; andhaving disengaged the long tail, I rolled it up, saying, "Come,children, there are too many trees here; let us find a more openspace, and then try again."

We soon found a fine, open space, covered with green grass, andfree from shrubs and trees. Then, all things being ready, Itossed the kite up just as little John ran off. It rose with allthe dignity of a balloon, and promised a lofty flight; but John,delighted to find it pulling so hard at the string, stopped shortto look upward and admire. The string slackened, the kitewavered, and, the wind not being very strong, down came the kiteto the grass. "O John, you should not have stopped," said I."However, try again."

"I won't try any more," replied he, rather sullenly. "It is of nouse, you see. The kite won't fly, and I don't want to be plaguedwith it any longer."

"Oh, fie, my little man! would you give up the sport, after allthe pains we have taken both to make and to fly the kite? A fewdisappointments ought not to discourage us. Come, I have wound upyour string, and now try again."

And he did try, and succeeded, for the kite was carried upward onthe breeze as lightly as a feather; and when the string was allout, John stood in great delight, holding fast the stick andgazing on the kite, which now seemed like a little white speck inthe blue sky. "Look, look, aunt, how high it flies! and it pullslike a team of horses, so that I can hardly hold it. I wish I hada mile of string: I am sure it would go to the end of it."

After enjoying the sight as long as he wished, little Johnproceeded to roll up the string slowly; and when the kite fell,he took it up with great glee, saying that it was not at allhurt, and that it had behaved very well. "Shall we come outto-morrow, aunt, and try again?"

"Yes, my dear, if the weather is fine. And now, as we walk home,tell me, what you have learned from your morning's sport."

"I have learned to fly my kite properly."

"You may thank aunt for it, brother," said Lucy, "for you wouldhave given it up long ago, if she had not persuaded you to tryagain."

"Yes, dear children, I wish to teach you the value ofperseverance, even when nothing more depends upon it than theflying of a kite. Whenever you fail in your attempts to do anygood thing, let your motto be,—TRY AGAIN."

DEFINITIONS:—Entangled, twisted in, disordered. Assistance,help, aid. Disengaged, cleared, set free. Dignity, majesticmanner. Disappointments, failures or defeats of expectation.Discourage, take away courage. Glee, joy. Perseverance,continuance in anything once begun. Motto, a short sentence or aword full of meaning.

EXERCISE—What is the subject of this lesson? Why was Johndiscouraged in his attempts to fly his kite? What did his auntsay to him? What may we learn from this? What should be our mottoif we expect to be successful?

TRUE MANLINESS.

I.

"Please, mother, do sit down and let me try my hand," said FredLiscom, a bright active boy, twelve years old. Mrs. Liscom,looking pale and worn, was moving languidly about, trying toclear away the breakfast she had scarcely tasted.

She smiled, and said, "You, Fred, you wash dishes?" "Yes, indeed,mother," answered Fred; "I should be a poor scholar if Icouldn't, when I've seen you do it so many times. Just try me."

A look of relief came over his mother's face as she seatedherself in her low rocking-chair. Fred washed the dishes and putthem in the closet. He swept the kitchen, brought up the potatoesfrom the cellar for the dinner and washed them, and then set outfor school.

Fred's father was away from home, and as there was some cold meatin the pantry, Mrs. Liscom found it an easy task to preparedinner. Fred hurried home from school, set the table, and againwashed the dishes.

He kept on in this way for two or three days, till his mother wasable to resume her usual work, and he felt amply rewarded whenthe doctor, who happened in one day, said, "Well, madam, it's myopinion that you would have been very sick if you had not keptquiet."

The doctor did not know how the "quiet" had been secured, nor howthe boy's heart bounded at his words. Fred had given up a greatdeal of what boys hold dear, for the purpose of helping hismother, coasting and skating being just at this time inperfection.

Besides this, his temper and his patience had been severely.tried. He had been in the habit of going early to school, andstaying to play after it was dismissed.

The boys missed him, and their curiosity was excited when hewould give no other reason for not coming to school earlier, orstaying after school, than that he was "wanted at home."

"I'll tell you," said Tom Barton, "I'll find him out, boys—seeif I don't!"

So, one morning on his way to school, he called for Fred. As hewent around to the side door he walked lightly. and somewhatnearer the kitchen window than was absolutely needful. Lookingin, he saw Fred standing at the table with a dishcloth in hishand.

Of course he reported this at school, and various were thegreetings poor Fred received at recess. "Well, you're a brave oneto stay at home washing dishes!" "Girl boy!" "Pretty Bessie!""Lost your apron, haven't you, Polly!"

Fred was not wanting either in spirit or in courage, and he wasstrongly tempted to resent these insults, and to fight some ofhis tormentors. But his consciousness of right and his love forhis mother helped him.

While he was struggling for self mastery, his teacher appeared atthe door of the schoolhouse. Fred caught his eye, and it seemedto look, if it did not say, "Don't give up! Be really brave!" Heknew the teacher had heard the insulting taunts of histhoughtless schoolmates.

The boys received notice during the day that Fred must not betaunted or teased in any manner. They knew that the teacher meantwhat he said; and so the brave little boy had no further trouble.

II.

"Fire! fire! " The cry crept out on the still night air, and thefire bells began to mug. Fred was wakened by the alarm and thered light streaming into his room. He dressed himself veryquickly, and then tapped at the door of his mother's bedroom.

"It is Mr. Barton's house, mother. Do let me go," he said ineager, excited tones. Mrs. Liscom thought a moment. He was young,but she could trust him, and she knew how much his heart was inthe request.

"Yes, you may go," she answered; "but be careful, my boy. If youcan help, do so; but do nothing rashly." Fred promised to followher advice, and hurried to the fire.

Mr. and Mrs. Barton were not at home. The house had been left incharge of the servants. The fire spread with fearful speed, forthere was a high wind, and it was found impossible to save thehouse. The servants ran about screaming and lamenting, but doingnothing to any purpose.

Fred found Tom outside, in safety. "Where is Katy?" he asked.Tom, trembling with terror, seemed to have had no thought but ofhis own escape. He said, "Katy is in the house!" "In what room?"asked Fred. "In that one," answered Tom, pointing to a window inthe upper story.

It was no time for words, but for instant, vigorous action. Thestaircase was already on fire; there was but one way to reachKaty, and that full of danger. The second floor might fall at anymoment, and Fred knew it. But he trusted in an arm stronger thanhis own, and silently sought help and guidance.

A ladder was quickly brought, and placed against the house. Fredmounted it, followed by the hired man, dashed in the sash of thewindow, and pushed his way into the room where the poor child laynearly suffocated with smoke.

He roused her with some difficulty, carried her to the window,and placed her upon the sill. She was instantly grasped by strongarms, and carried down the ladder, Fred following as fast aspossible. They had scarcely reached the ground before a crash offalling timbers told them that they had barely escaped with theirlives.

Tom Barton never forgot the lesson of that night; and he came tobelieve, and to act upon the belief, in after years, that truemanliness is in harmony with gentleness, kindness, andself-denial.

DEFINITIONS:—Languidly, feebly. Amply, fully. Opinion, judgment,belief. Absolutely, wholly, entirely. Resent, to consider as aninjury. Consciousness, inward feeling, knowledge of what passesin one's own mind.

THE MILLER OF THE DEE.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

There dwelt a miller hale and bold
  Beside the river Dee;
He worked and sang from morn till night,
  No lark more blithe than he;
And this the burden of his song
  Forever used to be,—
"I envy nobody; no, not I,
  And nobody envies me!"

"Thou'rt wrong, my friend!" said good King Hal;
  "Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be;
For could my heart be light as thine,
  I'd gladly change with thee.
And tell me now, what makes thee sing,
  With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad, though I'm the king,
  Beside the river Dee."

The miller smiled and doffed his cap:
  "I earn my bread," quoth he;
"I love my wife, I love my friend,
  I love my children three;
I owe no penny I cannot pay;
  I thank the river Dee,
That turns the mill that grinds the corn,
  To feed my babes and me."

"Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while,
  "Farewell! and happy be;
But say no more, if thou'dst be true,
  That no one envies thee.
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,
  Thy mill my kingdom's fee;
Such men as thou are England's boast,
  Oh miller of the Dee!"

DEFINITIONS:—Hale, hearty, strong. Blithe, happy. Quoth, said.
Fee, wealth, possession.

A BOY ON A FARM.

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.

Say what you will about the general usefulness of boys, it is myimpression that a farm without a boy would very soon come togrief. What the boy does is the life of the farm. He is thefactotum, always in demand, always expected to do the thousandindispensable things that nobody else will do. Upon him fall allthe odds and ends, the most difficult things.

After everybody else is through, he has to finish up. His work islike a woman's,—perpetually waiting on others. Everybody knowshow much easier it is to eat a good dinner than it is to wash thedishes afterward. Consider what a boy on a farm is required todo; things that must be done, or life would actually stop.

It is understood, in the first place, that he is to do all theerrands, to go to the store, to the post office, and to carry allsorts of messages. If he had as many legs as a centiped, theywould tire before night. His two short limbs seem to him entirelyinadequate to the task. He would like to have as many legs as awheel has spokes, and rotate about in the same way.

This he sometimes tries to do; and the people who have seen him"turning cart wheels" along the side of the road, have supposedthat he was amusing himself and idling his time; he was onlytrying to invent a new mode of locomotion, so that he couldeconomize his legs, and do his errands with greater dispatch.

He practices standing on his head, in order to accustom himselfto any position. Leapfrog is one of his methods of getting overthe ground quickly. He would willingly go an errand any distanceif he could leapfrog it with a few other boys.

He has a natural genius for combining pleasure with business.This is the reason why, when he is sent to the spring for apitcher of water, he is absent so long; for he stops to poke thefrog that sits on the stone, or, if there is a penstock, to puthis hand over the spout, and squirt the water a little while.

He is the one who spreads the grass when the men have cut it; hemows it away in the barn; he rides the horse, to cultivate thecorn, up and down the hot, weary rows; he picks up the potatoeswhen they are dug; he drives the cows night and morning; hebrings wood and water, and splits kindling; he gets up the horse,and puts out the horse; whether he is in the house or out of it,there is always something for him to do.

Just before the school in winter he shovels paths; in summer heturns the grindstone. He knows where there are lots ofwintergreens and sweet flags, but, instead of going for them, heis to stay indoors and pare apples, and stone raisins, and poundsomething in a mortar. And yet, with his mind full of schemes ofwhat he would like to do, and his hands full of occupations, heis an idle boy, who has nothing to busy himself with but schooland chores!

He would gladly do all the work if somebody else would do thechores, he thinks; and yet I doubt if any boy ever amounted toanything in the world; or was of much use as a man, who did notenjoy the advantages of a liberal education in the way ofchores. —From "Being a Boy."

DEFINITIONS:—Factotum, a person employed to do all kinds ofwork. Indispensable, absolutely necessary. Perpetually,continually. Centiped, an insect with a great number of feet.Economize, to save. Dispatch, diligence, haste. Penstock, awooden tube for conducting water. Chores, the light work of thehousehold either within or without doors.

EXERCISE.—Call you tell of anything else that a boy on a farmmust do? What advantages has a country boy over a city boy? Whatadvantages has the city boy?

MEDDLESOME MATTIE.

Oh, how one ugly trick has spoiled
  The sweetest and the best!
Matilda, though a pleasant child,
  One grievous fault possessed,
Which, like a cloud before the skies,
Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes, she'd lift the teapot lid
  To peep at what was in it;
Or tilt the kettle, if you did
  But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day,
  And, by mistake, she laid
Her spectacles and snuffbox gay,
  Too near the little maid;
"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on,
As soon as grandmamma is gone."

Forthwith, she placed upon her nose
  The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,
  The snuffbox, too, she spied.
"Oh, what a pretty box is this!
I'll open it," said little miss.

"I know that grandmamma would say,
  'Don't meddle with it, dear;'
But then she's far enough away,
  And no one else is near;
Beside, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this?"

So, thumb and finger went to work
  To move the stubborn lid;
And, presently, a mighty jerk
  The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woeful case!
The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, and chin
  A dismal sight presented;
And as the snuff got further in,
  Sincerely she repented.
In vain she ran about for ease,
She could do nothing else but sneeze.

She dashed the spectacles away,
  To wipe her tingling eyes;
And, as in twenty bits they lay,
  Her grandmamma she spies.
"Heyday! and what's the matter now?"
Cried grandmamma, with angry brow.

Matilda, smarting with the pain,
  And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
  From meddling evermore;
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.

DEFINITIONS:—Qualities, traits of character. Meddling,interfering without right. Forthwith, at once. Spied, saw. Amiss,wrong, faulty. Woeful, sad, sorrowful. TIngling, smarting.Refrain, to keep from.

EXERCISE.—Write the story of Meddlesome Mattie, using your ownwords and not trying to make rhymes. What lesson may be learnedfrom this story? What is a snuffbox? This story was writtenalmost a hundred years ago. Do ladies use snuffboxes now?

THE EAGLE.

The eagle is called the king of the birds. He is a large, fiercebird of prey, of immense strength and great courage; and hesweeps through the air with a majesty and dignity well becomingto his noble title.

The eagle leads a solitary life in the wild places of the earth.He dwells on the crags of mountains or on the lonely peaks ofhuge rocks, at whose base the ocean dashes its waves. He swoopsdown through dark forests, and uninhabited prairies, and gloomyglens, seeking his prey.

The Golden Eagle is a splendid bird. The female at full growth isthree feet and a half in length, while the wings stretch from tipto tip no less than nine feet. The male is not quite so large,but very nearly so. The name "golden" is taken from the color ofthe plumes of the head and neck, which are of a rich golden redhue. The rest of the body is for the most part covered with richblackish brown feathers.

The eagle is well armed for battle and plunder. The beak ispowerful, and bent like a hook, with edges as sharp as a knife.The feet are furnished with four terrible toes, which have longand sharp nails, called talons. The eyes are piercing, and flashforth the proudest glances.

The eagle flies with most graceful ease. On his broad wings,moved by strong muscles, he sweeps boldly through the air, risingin circles till he is all but lost to the sight of the beholder.From this high position he can see far and wide beneath him;his keen eye singles out his prey at a long distance; and down hedives with the suddenness of a flash of lightning.

This terrible suddenness of attack commonly kills the victim onthe instant. The weapon of death is not the beak, but either thewing or the claws; a flap of the wing or a clutch of the talonsis usually enough for the purpose. The eagle kills and eats birdsthat are smaller and weaker than himself, he lives upon the bestof the game, and he drags the best of the fish out of the riveror the sea. He carries off the farmer's poultry, and often alsoyoung pigs or lambs; sometimes, it is said, he has carried off tohis nest even a little boy or girl.

The eagle's nest, or eyrie, is high up on the ledge of someprecipice, where hardly any enemy can come. Of course it is avery large nest; but it is not carefully or nicely built. It is arough affair, like the rook's nest; a lot of sticks and twigs,and heath or grass, with a more comfortable hollow in the middle,which is padded with softer materials. Here the young are reared;and here the male bird brings home prey for the female and theeaglets; bones and flesh are scattered about everywhere. Theeagle is much attached to the spot where he makes his home; hedwells in the same eyrie year after year, and shows little desireto seek his fortunes elsewhere.

DEFINITIONS:—Immense, very great. Majesty, stateliness,elevation of manner. Dignity, grace, loftiness of manner. Title,name. Solitary, living by oneself. Crags, steep, rugged rocks.Base, foot, bottom. Plumes, feathers. Talons, claws. Eyrie, thenest of a bird that builds in a lofty place. Ledge, a ridge orprojection. Rook, a bird resembling a crow, but smaller. Reared,brought up. Eaglets, young eagles.

EXERCISE.—What qualities of the eagle may be admired? Whattraits has he that are not to be admired?

THE OLD EAGLE TREE.

BY JOHN TODD.

In a distant field stood a large tulip tree, apparently of acentury's growth, and one of the most gigantic. It looked likethe father of the surrounding forest. A single tree of hugedimensions, standing all alone, is a sublime object.

On the top of this tree, an old eagle, commonly called the"Fishing Eagle," had built her nest every year, for many years,and, undisturbed, had raised her young. A remarkable place tochoose, as she procured her food from the ocean, and this treestood full ten miles from the seashore. It had long been known asthe "Old Eagle Tree."

On a warm, sunny day, the workmen were hoeing corn in anadjoining field. At a certain hour of the day, the old eagle wasknown to set off for the seaside, to gather food for her young.As she this day returned with a large fish in her claws, theworkmen surrounded the tree, and by yelling and hooting, andthrowing stones, so scared the poor bird that she dropped herfish, and they carried it off in triumph.

The men soon dispersed, but Joseph sat down under a bush near by,to watch, and to bestow unavailing pity. The bird soon returnedto her nest, without food. The eaglets at once set up a cry forfood, so shrill, so clear, and so clamorous that the boy wasgreatly moved.

The parent bird seemed to try to soothe them; but their appetiteswere too keen, and it was all in vain. She then perched herselfon a limb near them, and looked down into the nest in a mannerthat seemed to say, "I know not what to do next."

Her indecision was but momentary; again she poised herself,uttered one or two sharp notes, as if telling them to "liestill," balanced her body, spread her wings, and was away againfor the sea.

Joseph was determined to see the result. His eye followed hertill she grew small, smaller, a mere speck in the sky, and thendisappeared. What boy has not thus watched the flight of the birdof his country!

She was gone nearly two hours, about double her usual time for avoyage, when she again returned, on a slow weary wing, flyinguncommonly low, in order to have a heavier atmosphere to sustainher, with another fish in her talons.

On nearing the field, she made a circuit round it, to see if herenemies were again there. Finding the coast clear, she once morereached the tree, drooping, faint, and weary, and evidentlynearly exhausted. Again the eaglets set up their cry, which wassoon hushed by the distribution of a dinner, such as, save thecooking, a king might admire.

"Glorious bird!" cried the boy, "what a spirit! Other birds canfly more swiftly, others can sing more sweetly, others screammore loudly; but what other bird, when persecuted and robbed,when weary, when discouraged, when so far from the sea, wouldhave done this?

"Glorious bird! I will learn a lesson from thee to-day. I willnever forget hereafter, that when the spirit is determined it cando almost anything. Others would have drooped, and hung the head,and mourned over the cruelty of man, and sighed over the wants ofthe nestlings; but thou, by at once recovering the loss, hastforgotten all.

"I will learn of thee, noble bird! I will remember this. I willset my mark high. I will try to do something, and to be somethingin the world; I will never yield to discouragements."

DEFINITIONS:—Century, the space of a hundred years. Gigantic,very large. Dimensions, size. Sublime, grand, noble. Disperse,scattered. Unavailing, useless. Eaglets, young eagles. Clamorous,loud, noisy. Indecision, want of fixed purpose. Momentary, for asingle moment. Circuit, movement round in a circle. Exhausted,wholly tired out. Nestlings, young birds in the nest.

EXERCISE.—What lesson may be learned from this story? Why is theeagle called the bird of our country? What is meant by theexpression "finding the coast clear"? What is the advantage ofsetting one's mark high? Can you think of any other story whichteaches the lesson that one should never yield todiscouragements?

A NEW KIND OF FUN.

A certain German nobleman provided his son with a tutor whoseduty it was to cultivate the mind. and morals of the youth.

One day as the tutor and his pupil were taking a walk in thecountry, they came to the edge of a wood, where they observed ahalf-felled tree, and saw lying by it a pair of wooden shoes. Theday being warm, the workman, resting from his toil, was coolinghis feet in a neighboring brook. The young nobleman, in a spiritof fun, picked up a few small rounded pebbles and said: "I'll putthese in the old fellow's shoes, and we'll enjoy his grimaceswhen he tries to put them on. It will be great fun."

"Well," said the tutor, "I doubt if you will get much fun out ofthat. He must be a poor man. No doubt his lot is a hard one.Would there be fun in adding to his troubles? I can't helpthinking that if you were to surprise him in a different way, sayby putting a little money in each shoe, you would enjoy hisgrimaces better. You have plenty of money. What do you say? Is itworth trying?"

The boy who, though mischievous, was very kind-hearted andgenerous, caught quickly at the proposal of the tutor, andslipped a silver coin into each shoe. Then they hid behind a treeto watch the outcome of their innocent prank. They had not verylong to wait. An elderly man came back to his work—hard work itwas, too hard for a man of his years—and slipped his right footinto his shoe.

Feeling something hard in the shoe he withdrew his foot andlooked to see what the object might be, when lo! he discoveredthe coin. A look of puzzled amazement came over his sad face,which made the two watchers chuckle with amusement. He turned thecoin over and over in his hand, and gazed at it in astonishment.

As he looked at it he felt with his foot for the other shoe, andslipped that one on. To his great surprise that shoe, too, held acoin. Holding up both silver pieces, and staring at them insilence, he made a most impressive picture, which was by no meanslost upon the two beholders. Then suddenly clasping his handstogether he fell upon his knees and gave thanks for the blessingthat had come upon him.

As he prayed, the boy and his tutor learned from his words thathis poor wife was sick and helpless at hone, and that hisorphaned grandchildren were suffering for food, while he, old andfeeble, was striving by heavy toil to earn a crust. The old maninvoked the blessing of Heaven upon the unknown but generous soulwho had pitied his poverty—the kind heart, whosesoever it mightbe, that could thus beat warm in charity and kindness for thehungry and the poor.

"He has gone," said the old man, "without even waiting to bethanked. But go where he may, far as he may, the earth is notwide enough but that the blessing of an old man shall seek himout and find him. The blessing of the poor flies fast," he cried;"it will overtake him and abide with him to the end of life.

"May the charity of God and the care of His angels go with him,keep him from poverty, shield him froln sickness, guard him fromevil, and ever fill his heart with warmth and joy, as he hasfilled mine this day! I'll work no more to-day. I'll go home tomy wife and children, and they shall join me in calling forblessings upon their kind helper." He put on his shoes,shouldered his ax, and departed.

Then the two watchers had a little dialogue.

"Now I call this the best kind of fun," said the tutor. "Why,boy, what are you sniveling at?"

"You are sniveling, too," said the boy.

"Well, then, both of us are sniveling," said the tutor. "So, yousee, fun may lead to sniveling as well as to laughing. Of all thepleasures of life, those are the most blessed which are expressedby tears rather than laughter."

"Come on!" said the boy.

"Where next?" asked the tutor.

"Why, to follow him, to be sure. I want to know where they liveand who they are. Do you think I will let his wife be sick andhis grandchildren be hungry if I can help it? I have learned anew kind of fun, and I want more of it."

"My dear boy, I don't for a moment think you will stop with onegood joke of this kind. Youth, with a heart like yours, neverdoes things by halves."

So they followed the subject of their joke to his home, and theyoung nobleman, by means of his well-filled purse, found means toenjoy much more of his new-found variety of fun.

DEFINITIONS:—Tutor, teacher. Grimace, distortion of the face.
Impressive, touching. Invoked, called down.

TWO WAYS OF TELLING A STORY.

BY HENRY K. OLIVER.

In one of the most populous cities of New England, a few yearsago, a party of lads, all members of the same school, got up agrand sleigh ride. The sleigh was a very large one, drawn by sixgray horses.

On the following day, as the teacher entered the schoolroom, hefound his pupils in high glee, as they chattered about the funand frolic of their excursion. In answer to some inquiries, oneof the lads gave him an account of their trip and its variousincidents.

As he drew near the end of his story, he exclaimed: "Oh, sir!there was one thing I had almost forgotten. As we were cominghome, we saw ahead of us a queer-looking affair in the road. Itproved to be a rusty old sleigh, fastened behind a covered wagon,proceeding at a very slow rate, and taking up the whole road.

"Finding that the owner was not disposed to turn out, wedetermined upon a volley of snowballs and a good hurrah. Theyproduced the right effect, for the crazy machine turned out intothe deep snow, and the skinny old pony started on a full trot.

"As we passed, some one gave the horse a good crack, which madehim run faster than he ever did before, I'll warrant.

"With that, an old fellow in the wagon, who was buried up underan old hat, bawled out, 'Why do you frighten my horse?' 'Whydon't you turn out, then?' says the driver. So we gave him threerousing cheers more. His horse was frightened again, and ran upagainst a loaded wagon, and, I believe, almost capsized the oldcreature—and so we left him."

"Well, boys," replied the teacher, "take your seats, and I willtell you a story, and all about a sleigh ride, too. Yesterdayafternoon a very venerable old clergyman was on his way fromBoston to Salem, to pass the rest of the winter at the house ofhis son. That he might be prepared for journeying in thefollowing spring he took with him his wagon, and for the winterhis sleigh, which he fastened behind the wagon.

"His sight and hearing were somewhat blunted by age, and he wasproceeding very slowly; for his horse was old and feeble, likeits owner. He was suddenly disturbed by loud hurrahs from behind,and by a furious pelting of balls of snow and ice upon the top ofhis wagon.

"In his alarm he dropped his reins, and his horse began to runaway. In the midst of the old man's trouble, there rushed by him,with loud shouts, a large party of boys, in a sleigh drawn by sixhorses. 'Turn out! turn out, old fellow!' 'Give us the road!''What will you take for your pony?' 'What's the price of oats,old man?' were the various cries that met his ears.

"'Pray, do not frighten my horse!' exclaimed the infirm driver.'Turn out, then! turn out!' was the answer, which was followed byrepeated cracks and blows front the long whip of the 'grandsleigh,' with showers of snowballs, and three tremendous hurrahsfrom the boys.

"The terror of the old man and his horse was increased, and thelatter ran away with him, to the great danger of his life. Hecontrived, however, to stop his horse just in season prevent hisbeing dashed against a loaded wagon. A short distance brought himto the house of his son. That son, boys, is your instructor, andthat 'old fellow' was your teacher's father!"

When the boys perceived how rude and unkind their conductappeared from another point of view, they were very much ashamedof their thoughtlessness, and most of them had the manliness toapologize to their teacher for what they had done.

DEFINITIONS:—Populous, full of inhabitants. Excursion, apleasure trip. Incidents, things that happens, events. Warrant,to declare with assurance. Capsized, upset. Venerable, deservingof honor and respect. Blunted, dulled.

EXERCISES.—Repeat the boy's story of the sleigh ride. Theteacher's story. Were the boys ill-natured or only thoughtless?Is thoughtlessness any excuse for rudeness or unkindness?

THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT.

BY JOHN G. SAXE.

It was six men of Indostan,
  To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the elephant,
  (Though all of them were blind,)
That each by observation
  Might satisfy his mind.

The first approached the elephant,
  And, happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
  At once began to bawl
"God bless me! but the elephant
  Is very like a wall!"

The second, feeling of the tusk,
  Cried: "Ho! what have we here.
So very round, and smooth, and sharp?
  To me 'tis very clear,
This wonder of an elephant
  Is very like a spear!"

The third approached the animal,
  And, happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
  Thus boldly up he spoke:
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant
  Is very like a snake!"

The fourth reached out his eager hand,
  And felt about the knee:
"What most this wondrous beast is like
  Is very plain," quoth he;
"'Tis clear enough the elephant
  Is very like a tree!"

The fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
  Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most:
  Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an elephant
  Is very like a fan!"

The sixth no sooner had begun
  About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
  That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant
  Is very like a rope!"

And so these men of Indostan
  Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
  Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right
  And all were in the wrong!

DEFINITIONS:—Indostan, Hindostan, a county in Asia now commonlycalled India. Quoth, said.

HARRY'S RICHES.

One day, our little Harry spent the morning with his youngplaymate, Johnny Crane, who lived in a fine house, and on Sundaysrode to church in the grandest carriage to be seen in all thecountry round.

When Harry returned home, he said, "Mother, Johnny has money inboth pockets!"

"Has he, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am; and he says he could get ever so much more if hewanted it."

"Well, now, that's very pleasant for him," I returned cheerfully,as a reply was plainly expected. "Very pleasant; don't you thinkso?"

"Yes, ma'am; only—"

"Only what, Harry?"

"Why, he has a big popgun, and a watch, and a hobbyhorse, andlots of things." And Harry looked up at my face with adisconsolate stare.

"Well, my boy, what of that?"

"Nothing, mother," and the telltale tears sprang to his eyes,"only I guess we are very poor, aren't we?"

"No, indeed, Harry, we are very far from being poor. We are notso rich as Mr. Crane's family, if that is what you mean."

"O mother!" insisted the little fellow, "I do think we are verypoor; anyhow, I am!"

"O Harry!" I exclaimed reproachfully.

"Yes, ma'am, I am," he sobbed; "I have scarcely anything—I meananything that's worth money—except things to eat and wear, andI'd have to have them anyway."

"Have to have them?" I echoed, at the same time laying my sewingupon the table, so that I might reason with him on that point;"do you not know, my son—"

Just then Uncle Ben looked up frown the paper he had beenreading: "Harry," said he, "I want to find out something abouteyes; so, if you will let me have yours, I will give you a dollarapiece for them."

"For my eyes!" exclaimed Harry, very much astonished.

"Yes," resumed Uncle Ben, quietly, "for your eyes. I will giveyou chloroform, so it will not hurt you in the least, and youshall have a beautiful glass pair for nothing, to wear in theirplace. Come, a dollar apiece, cash down! What do you say? I willtake them out as quick as a wink."

"Give you my eyes, uncle!" cried Harry, looking wild at the verythought, "I think not." And the startled little fellow shook hishead defiantly.

"Well, five, ten, twenty dollars, then." Harry shook his head atevery offer.

"No, sir! I wouldn't let you have them for a thousand dollars!What could I do without my eyes? I couldn't see mother, or thebaby, or the flowers, or the horses, or anything," added Harry,growing warmer and warmer.

"I will give you two thousand," urged Uncle Ben, taking a roll ofbank notes out of his pocket. Harry, standing at a safe distance,shouted that he never would do any such thing.

"Very well," continued the uncle, with a serious air, at the sametime writing something in his notebook, "I can't afford to giveyou more than two thousand dollars, so I shall have to do withoutyour eyes; but," he added, "I will tell you what I will do, Iwill give you twenty dollars if you will let me put a few dropsfrom this bottle in your ears. It will not hurt, but it. willmake you deaf. I want to try some experiments with deafness, yousee. Come quickly, now! Here are the twenty dollars all readyfor you."

"Make me deaf!" shouted Harry, without even looking at the goldpieces temptingly displayed upon the table. "I guess you will notdo that, either. Why, I couldn't hear a single word if I weredeaf, could I?"

"Probably not," replied Uncle Ben. So, of course, Harry refusedagain. He would never give up his hearing, he said, "no, not forthree thousand dollars."

Uncle Ben made another note in his book, and then came out withlarge bids for "a right arm," then "left arm," "hands," "feet,""nose," finally ending with an offer of ten thousand dollars for"mother," and five thousand for "the baby."

To all of these offers Harry shook his head, his eyes flashing,and exclamations of surprise and indignation bursting from hislips. At last, Uncle Ben said he must give up his experiments,for Harry's prices were entirely too high.

"Ha! ha!" laughed the boy, exultingly, and he folded his dimpledarms and looked as if to say, "I'd like to see the man who couldpay them!"

"Why, Harry, look here!" exclaimed Uncle Ben, peeping into hisnotebook, "here is a big addition sum, I tell you! " He added thenumbers, and they amounted to thirty-two thousand dollars.

"There, Harry," said Uncle Ben, "don't you think you are foolishnot to accept some of my offers?" "No, sir, I don't," answeredHarry, resolutely. "Then," said Uncle Ben, "you talk of beingpoor, and by your own showing you have treasures for which youwill not take thirty-two thousand dollars. What do you say tothat?"

Harry didn't know exactly what to say. So he blushed for asecond, and just then tears came rolling down his cheeks, and hethrew his chubby arms around my neck. "Mother," he whispered,"isn't God good to make everybody so rich?"

DEFINITIONS:—Disconsolate, filled with grief. Reproachfully,with censure or reproof. Chloroform, an oily liquid, the vapor ofwhich causes insensibility. Startled, shocked. Defiantly,daringly. Afford, to be able to pay for. Experiments, actsperformed to discover some truth. Exclamations, expressions ofsurprise, anger, etc. Exultingly, in a triumphant manner.Treasures, things which are very much valued.

A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Coming, coming, coming!
  Listen! perhaps you'll hear
Over the snow the bugles blow
  To welcome the glad new year.
In the steeple tongues are swinging,
There are merry sleigh bells ringing,
And the people for joy are singing,
  It's coming, coming near.

Flying, sighing, dying,
  Going away to-night,
Weary and old, its story told,
  The year that was full and bright.
Oh, we are half sorry it's leaving
Good-by has a sound of grieving;
But its work is done and its weaving;
  God speed its parting flight!

Tripping, slipping, skipping,
  Like a child in its wooing grace,
With never a tear and never a fear,
  And a light in its laughing face;
With hands held out to greet us,
With gay little steps to meet us,
With sweet eyes that entreat us,
  The new year comes to its place.

Coming, coming, coming!
  Promising lovely things—
The gold and the gray of the summer day,
  The winter with fleecy-wings;
Promising swift birds glancing,
And the patter of raindrops dancing,
And the sunbeam's arrowy lancing,
  Dear gifts the new year brings.

Coming, coming, coming!
  The world is a vision of white;
From the powdered eaves to the sere-brown leaves
  That are hidden out of sight.
In the steeple tongues are swinging,
The bells are merrily ringing,
And "Happy New-Year" we're singing,
  For the old year goes to-night.

JEANNETTE AND JO.

BY MARY MAPES DODGE.

Two girls I know—Jeannette and Jo,
  And one if always moping;
The other lassie, come what may,
  Is ever bravely hoping.

Beauty of face and girlish grace
  Are theirs, for joy or sorrow;
Jeannette takes brightly every day,
And Jo dreads each to-morrow.

One early morn they watched the dawn—
  I saw them stand together;
Their whole day's sport, 'twas very plain,
  Depended on the weather.

"'Twill storm! ' cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low,
  "Yes, but 'twill soon be over."
And, as she spoke, the sudden shower
  Came, beating down the clover.

"I told you so!" cried angry Jo:
  "It always is a-raining!"
Then hid her face in dire despair,
  Lamenting and complaining.

But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet,—
  I tell it to her honor,—
Looked up and waited till the sun
  Came streaming in upon her.

The broken clouds sailed off in crowds,
  Across a sea of glory.
Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in—
  Which ends my simple story.

Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine,
  The hopeful are the gladdest;
And doubt and dread, children, believe
  Of all things are the saddest.

In morning's light, let youth be bright;
  Take in the sunshine tender;
Then, at the close, shall life's decline
Be full of sunset splendor.

And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette,
  To shun all weak complaining;
And not, like Jo, cry out too soon—
  "It always is a-raining!"

WATSEKA.

AN INDIAN LEGEND.

Many years ago there lived in the west a tribe of Indians whocalled themselves Illinois. They were not savage and warlike, asthe tribes around them were, but they liked to live in peace,hunting the deer in the great woods, and taking the fish from theshallow streams.

On the bank of a pretty little river that flows into the greatMississippi a small band of these Indians had built theirwigwams. All along the stream were tall oaks and spreading walnuttrees, with here and there a grove of wild plums or a thicket ofhazel bushes. But only half a mile away began the great prairie,where there was neither tree nor bush, but only tall grass; andit stretched like a green sea as far as the eye could reach.

What there was on the other side of the prairie the Indians didnot know. But they had been told that a fierce race of men livedthere who loved only war.

"We will live quietly in our own place," they said, "and thenthese strangers will not molest us."

And so for many years they lived, in a careless, happy way by theside of the pretty river; and few of their young men dared towander far from the friendly shelter of the woods.

One day in summer, when the woods were full of the songs ofbirds, and the prairie of the sweet odors of flowers, theIllinois had a festival under the oaks that shaded their village.The young people played merry games on the greeIr, while theirfathers and mothers sat in the doors of the wigwams and talkedof the peaceful days that were past.

All at once a savage yell was heard in the hazel thicket by theriver; then another from the edge of the prairie; and then athird from the lower end of the village. In a moment all wasterror and confusion. Too well the Illinois knew the meaning ofthese cries. The savage strangers from beyond the prairie hadcome at last.

The attack had been so sudden and fierce that the Illinois couldnot defend themselves. They scattered and fled far into the woodson the other side of the little river. Then, one by one, theycame together in a rocky glen where they could hide from danger.But even there they could hear the yells of their foes, and theycould see the black smoke that rose from their burning wigwams.

What could they do, now that this ruin had at last come uponthem? The bravest among them were in despair. They threw theirbows upon the ground. The warriors were gloomy and silent. Theysaid it was useless to fight with foes so strong and fierce. Thewomen and children wept as though heartbroken.

But at the very moment when all seemed lost, a young girl stoodup among them. She had been well known in the little village. Herthoughtful, quiet ways had endeared her to old and young alike.Her name was Watseka.

There were no tears in Watseka's eyes as she turned her facetoward the gloomy warriors. All her quietness of manner was gone.There was no fear in her voice as she spoke.

"Are you men," she said, "and do you thus give up all hope? Turnyour faces toward the village. Do you see the smoke of ourburning homes? Our enemies are counting the scalps they havetaken. They are eating the deer that you killed yesterday on yourown hunting grounds. And do you stand here and do nothing?"

Some of the warriors turned their faces toward the burningvillage, but no one spoke.

"Very well," said Watseka. "If you dare not, then I will show youwhat can be done. Follow me, women of the Illinois! The strangersshall not laugh because they have driven us so easily from ourhomes. They shall not feed upon the corn that we have raised. Wewill show them what the Illinois can do. Follow me!"

As Watseka spoke, her eyes sparkled with a light which filledevery heart with new courage. With one accord the women and girlsgathered around her.

"Lead us, Watseka!" they cried. "We will follow you. We are notafraid."

They armed themselves with the bows and the hatchets which thewarriors had thrown upon the ground. Those who could find nothingelse, picked up stones and sticks. The boys joined them, theireyes flashing with eagerness. All felt that Watseka would leadthem to victory.

Then it was that courage came into the hearts of the warriors.

"Are we men, and do we let the women and boys thus outdo us?"they cried. "No, we alone will drive our foes from our home. Wealone will avenge our kinsmen whom they have slain. We will fearnothing. We will never rest until we have won back all that wehave lost!"

And so Watseka and the women and boys did not go into battle. Butthe warriors of the Illinois in the darkness of the night creptsilently back through the shadows of the wood. While their foeslay sleepng by the fires of the burning wigwams, they swept downupon them like a thunderbolt from the clear sky. Their revengewas swift and terrible.

And so the Illinois were again at peace, for the fierce warriorswho dwelt on the other side of the prairie dared never molestthem again. And they rebuilt their wigwams by the side of thepleasant river, and there they lived in comfort for many longyears. Nor did they ever forget how the maiden, Watseka, hadsaved them in their hour of greatest need. The story of herbravery was told and retold a thousand times; the warriors talkedof her beauty; the women praised her goodness; other tribes heardof her and talked about the hero maiden of the Illinois; and solong as there were Indians in that western land, the name ofWatseka was remembered and honored.

DEFINITIONS:—Molest, harm. Prairie, a treeless plain. Wigwam, an
Indian house.

HARRY AND HIS DOG.

BY MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

"Beg, Frisk, beg," said little Harry, as he sat on an invertedbasket, at his grandmother's door, eating, with greatsatisfaction, a porringer of bread and milk. His little sisterAnnie sat on the ground opposite to him, now twisting her flowersinto garlands, and now throwing them away.

"Beg, Frisk, beg!" repeated Harry, holding a bit of bread justout of the dog s reach; and the obedient Frisk squatted himselfon his hind legs, and held up his fore paws, waiting for masterHarry to give him the tempting morsel.

The little boy and the little dog were great friends. Frisk lovedhim dearly, much better than he did any one else, perhaps,because he remembered that Harry was his earliest and firmestfriend during a time of great trouble.

Poor Frisk had come as a stray dog to Milton, the place whereHarry lived. If he could have told his own story, it wouldprobably have been a very pitiful one, of kicks and cuffs, ofhunger and foul weather.

Certain it is, he made his appearance at the very door where
Harry was now sitting, in miserable plight, wet, dirty, and half
starved; and there he met Harry, who took a fancy to him, and
Harry's grandmother, who drove him off with a broom.

Harry, at length, obtained permission for the little dog toremain as a sort of outdoor pensioner, and fed him with straybones and cold potatoes, and such things as he could get for him.He also provided him with a little basket to sleep in, the verysame which, turned up, afterward served Harry for a seat.

After a while, having proved his good qualities by barking away aset of pilferers, who were making an attack on the great peartree, he was admitted into the house, and became one of its mostvigilant and valued inmates. He could fetch or carry either byland or water; would pick up a thimble or a ball of cotton, iflittle Annie should happen to drop them; or take Harry's dinnerto school for him with perfect honesty.

"Beg, Frisk, beg!" said Harry, and gave him, after long waiting,the expected morsel. Frisk was satisfied, but Harry was not. Thelittle boy, though a good-humored fellow in the main, had turnsof naughtiness, which were apt to last him all day, and thispromised to prove one of his worst. It was a holidays, and in theafternoon his cousins, Jane and William, were to come and see himand Annie; and the pears were to be gathered, and the childrenwere to have a treat.

Harry, in his impatience, thought the morning would never beover. He played such pranks—buffeting Frisk, cutting the curlsoff of Annie's doll, and finally breaking his grandmother'sspectacles—that before his visitors arrived, indeed, almostimmediately after dinner, he contrived to be sent to bed indisgrace.

Poor Harry! there he lay, rolling and kicking, while Jane, andWilliam, and Annie were busy gathering the fine, mellow pears.William was up in the tree, gathering and shaking. Annie and Janewere catching them in their aprons, or picking them up from theground, now piling them in baskets, and now eating the nicest andripest, while Frisk was barking gayly among them, as if he werecatching pears too!

Poor Harry! He could hear all this glee and merriment through theopen window, as he lay in bed. The storm of passion havingsubsided, there he lay weeping and disconsolate, a grievous sobbursting forth every now and then, as he heard the loud peals ofchildish laughter, and as he thought how he should have laughed,and how happy he should have been, had he not forfeited all hispleasure by his own bad conduct.

He wondered if Annie would not be so good-natured as to bring hima pear. All on a sudden, he heard a little foot on the stair,pitapat, and he thought she was coming. Pitapat came the foot,nearer and nearer, and at last a small head peeped, half afraid,through the half-open door.

But it was not Annie's head; it was Frisk's—poor Frisk, whomHarry had been teasing all the norning, and who came into theroom wagging his tail, with a great pear in his mouth; and,jumping upon the bed, he laid it in the little boy's hand.

Is not Frisk a fine, grateful fellow? and does he not deserve ashare of Harry's breakfast, whether he begs for it or not? Andlittle Harry will remember from the events of this day thatkindness, even though shown to a dog, will always be rewarded;and that ill nature and bad temper are connected with nothing butpain and disgrace.

DEFINITIONS:—Inverted, turned upside down. Porringer, a smallmetallic dish. Remembered, had not forgotten. Plight, condition.Pensioner, one who is supported by others. Pilferers, those whosteal little things. Vigilant, watchful. Inmates, those living inthe same house. Holiday, a day of amusement. Buffeting, strikingwith the hand. Subsided, become quiet. Forfeited, lost.Connected, united, have a close relation.

EXERCISE.—What two lessons may be learned from this story? Is ita good rule to return kindness for unkindness? Do you think thatHarry's dog brought him the pear because he was really grateful?

LITTLE BOY BLUE.*

BY EUGENE FIELD.

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
  But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
  And his musket it molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
  And the soldier was passing fair,
And there was a time when our Little Boy Blue
  Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
  "And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle bed,
  He dreamed of the pretty toys:
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
  Awakened our Little Boy Blue—
Oh, the years are many, the years are long;
  But the little toy friends are true.

Ah, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
  Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
  The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting these long years thro'
  In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
  Since he kissed them and put them there.

* From " A Little Book of Western Verse." Copyright, 1889, byEugene Field. By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons,publishers.

IF I WERE A BOY.

If I were a boy again, and knew what I know now, I would not bequite so positive in my opinions as I used to be. Boys generallythink that they are very certain about many things. A boy offifteen is generally a great deal more sure of what he thinkshe knows than a man of fifty.

You ask the boy a question and he will probably answer you rightoff, with great assurance; he knows all about it. Ask a man oflarge experience and ripe wisdom the same question, and he willsay, "Well, there is much to be said about it. I am inclined onthe whole to think so and so, but other intelligent men thinkotherwise."

When I was a small boy, I traveled from central Massachusetts towestern New York, crossing the river at Albany, and going therest of the way by canal. On the canal boat a kindly gentlemanwas talking to me one day, and I mentioned the fact that I hadcrossed the Connecticut River at Albany. How I got it in my headthat it was the Connecticut River, I do not know, for I knew mygeography very well then; but in some unaccountable way I had itfixed in my mind that the river at Albany was the Connecticut,and I called it so.

"Why," said the gentleman, "that is the Hudson River."

"Oh, no, sir!" I replied, politely but firmly. "You're mistaken.
That is the Connecticut River."

The gentleman smiled and said no more. I was not much in thehabit, I think, of contradicting my elders; but in this matter Iwas perfectly sure that I was right, and so I thought it my dutyto correct the gentleman's geography. I felt rather sorry for himthat he should be so ignorant. One day, after I reached home, Iwas looking over my route on the map, and lo! there was Albanystanding on the Hudson River, a hundred miles from theConnecticut.

Then I did not feel half so sorry for the gentleman's ignoranceas I did for my own. I never told anybody that story until Iwrote it down on these pages the other day; but I have thought ofit a thousand times, and always with a blush for my boldness.

Nor was it the only time that I was perfectly sure of things thatreally were not so. It is hard for a boy to learn that he may bemistaken; but, unless he is a fool, he learns it after a while.The sooner he finds it out, the better for him.

If I were a boy, I would not think that I and the boys of my timewere an exception to the general rule—a new kind of boys, unlikeall who have lived before, having different feelings anddifferent ways. To be honest, I must own that I used to think somyself. I was quite inclined to reject the counsel of my eldersby saying to myself, "That may have been well enough for boysthirty or fifty years ago, but it isn't the thing for me and myset of boys." But that was nonsense. The boys of one generationare not different from the boys of another generation.

If we say that boyhood lasts fifteen or sixteen years, I haveknown three generations of boys, some of them city boys and someof them country boys, and they are all very much alike—so nearlyalike that the old rules of industry and patience andperseverance and self-control are as applicable to one generationas to another. The fact is, that what your fathers and teachershave found by experience to be good for boys, will be good foryou; and what their experience has taught them will be bad forboys, will be bad for you. You are just boys, nothing more norless.

DEFINITIONS:— Assurance, certainty. Route, road. Generation,people living at the same time. Applicable, can be applied.

EXERCISE—Find on the map, Albany, the Hudson River, and the
Connecticut River.

THE TEMPEST.

BY JAMES T. FIELDS.

We were crowded in the cabin;
  Not a soul would dare to sleep
It was midnight on the waters,
  And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
  To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
  Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,
  For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
  And the breakers threatened death.

And as thus we sat in darkness,
  Each one busy in his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
  As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered,
  As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
  Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,
  And we spoke in better cheer;
And we anchored safe in harbor
  When the morn was shining clear.

DEFINITIONS:—Deep, the ocean. Blast, tempest. Breakers, waves ofthe sea broken by rocks. Cheer, state of mind.

THE RIGHT WAY.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

"Oh, Andy!" said little Jenny Murdock, "I'm so glad you camealong this way. I can't get over."

"Can't get over?" said Andrew. "Why what's the matter?"

"The bridge is gone," said Jenny. "When I came across afterbreakfast it was there, and now it's over on the other side, andhow can I get back home?"

"Why, so it is," said Andrew. "It was all right when I came overa little while ago, but old Donald pulls it on the other sideevery morning after he has driven his cows across, and I don'tthink he has any right to do it. I suppose he thinks the bridgewas made for him and his cows."

"Now I must go down to the big bridge, Andy, and I want you to gowith me. I'm afraid to go through all those dark woods bymyself," said Jenny.

"But I can't go, Jenny," said Andrew, "it's nearly school timenow."

Andrew was a Scotch boy, and a fine fellow. He was next to thehead of his school, and he was as good at play as he was at hisbook.

Jenny Murdock, his most particular friend, was a little girl wholived very near Andrew's home. She had no brothers or sisters,but Andrew had always been as good as a brother to her; and,therefore, when she stood by the water's edge that morning, justready to burst into tears, she thought all her troubles over whenshe saw Andrew coming along the road.

He had always helped her out of her troubles before, and she sawno reason why he should not do so now. She had crossed the creekin search of wild flowers, and when she wished to return hadfound the bridge removed, as Andrew supposed, by old DonaldMcKenzie, who pastured his cows on this side of the creek.

This stream was not very wide, nor very deep at its edges, but inthe center it was four or five feet deep; and in the spring thewater ran very swiftly, so that wading across it, either bycattle or men, was quite a difficult undertaking. As for Jenny,she could not get across at all without a bridge, and there wasnone nearer than the wagon bridge, a mile and a half below.

"You will go with me, Andy, won't you?" said the little girl.

"And be late to school?" said he. "I have not been late yet, youknow, Jenny."

"Perhaps Dominie Black will think you have been sick or had tomind the cows," said Jenny.

"He won't think so unless I tell him," said Andrew, "and you know
I won't do that."

"If we were to run all the way, would you be too late?" said
Jenny.

"If we were to run all the way? I should not get to school tillafter copy time. I expect every minute to hear the school bellring," said Andrew.

"But what can I do, then?" said poor little Jenny. "I can't waithere till school's out, and I don't want to go up to theschoolhouse, for all the boys to laugh at me."

"No," said Andrew, reflecting very seriously, "I must take youhome some way or other. It won't do to leave you here, and, nomatter where you might stay, your mother would be very muchtroubled about you."

"Yes," said Jenny, "she would think I was drowned."

Time pressed, and Jenny's countenance became more and moreovercast, but Andrew could think of no way in which he could takethe little girl home without being late and losing his standingin the school.

It was impossible to get her across the stream at any placenearer than the "big bridge"; he would not take her that way, andmake up a false story to account for his lateness at school, andhe could not leave her alone or take her with him.

What was to be done? While several absurd and impracticable planswere passing through his brain, the school bell began to ring,and he must start immediately to reach the schoolhouse in time.

And now his anxiety and perplexity became more intense than ever;and Jenny, looking up into his troubled countenance, began tocry.

Andrew, who had never before failed to be at the school doorbefore the first tap of the bell, began to despair. Was therenothing to be done?

Yes! a happy thought passed through his mind. How strange that heshould not have thought of it before! He would ask Dominie Blackto let him take Jennie home. What could be more sensible andstraightforward than such a plan?

Of course, the good old schoolmaster gave Andrew the desiredpermission, and everything ended happily. But the best thingabout the whole affair was the lesson that the young Scotch boylearned that day.

The lesson was this: when we are puzzling our brains with plansto help ourselves out of trouble, let us always stop a moment inour planning, and try to think if there is not some simple wayout of the difficulty, which shall be in every respect perfectlyright. If we do this, we shall probably find a way more easy andsatisfactory than any which we can devise.

DEFINITIONS:—Particular, not ordinary, worthy of special
attention, chief. Dominie, the Scotch name for schoolmaster.
Reflecting, thinking earnestly. Overcast, covered with gloom.
Account, to state the reasons. Impracticable, not possible.
Anxiety, care, trouble of mind. Devise, plan, contrive.

EXERCISES. Why could not Jenny cross the stream? Would it havebeen right for Andrew to have told an untruth even to help Jennyout of trouble? What did he finally do? What does this lessonteach us to do in case of trouble?

AN ADVENTURE WITH WOLVES.

Some forty years ago I passed the winter in the wilderness ofnorthern Maine. I was passionately fond of skating, and thenumerous lakes and rivers, frozen by the intense cold, offered anample field to the lover of this pastime.

Sometimes my skating excursions were made by moonlight; and itwas on such an occasion that I met with an adventure which evennow I cannot recall without a thrill of horror.

I had left our cabin one evening just before dusk, with theintention of skating a short distance up the Kennebec, whichglided directly before the door. The night was beautifully clearwith the light of the full moon and millions of stars. Light alsocame glinting from ice and snow-wreath and incrusted branches, asthe eye followed for miles the broad gleam of the river, thatlike a jeweled zone swept between the mighty forests thatbordered its banks.

And yet all was still. The cold seemed to have frozen tree, air,water, and every living thing. Even the ringing of my skatesechoed back from the hill with a startling clearness; and thecrackle of the ice, as I passed over it in my course, seemed tofollow the tide of the river with lightning speed.

I had gone up the river nearly two miles, when, coming to alittle stream which flows into the larger, I turned into it toexplore its course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth metoverhead, and formed an archway radiant with frost-work. All wasdark within; but I was young and fearless, and I laughed andshouted with excitement and joy.

My wild hurrah rang through the silent woods, and I stoodlistening to the echoes until all was hushed. Suddenly a soundarose,—it seemed to come from beneath the ice. It was low andtremulous at first, but it ended in one long wild howl.

I was appalled. Never before had such a sound met my ears.Presently I heard the brushwood on shore crash as though from thetread of some animal. The blood rushed to my forehead; myenergies returned, and I looked around me for some means ofescape.

The moon shone through the opening at the mouth of the creek bywhich I had entered the forest; and, considering this the bestway of escape, I darted toward it like an arrow. It was hardly ahundred yards distant, and the swallow could scarcely haveexcelled me in flight; yet, as I turned my eyes to the shore, Icould see several dark objects dashing through the brushwood at apace nearly double in speed to my own. By their great speed, andthe short yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once thatthese were the much-dreaded gray wolves.

The bushes that skirted the shore now seemed to rush past withthe velocity of lightning, as I dashed on in my flight to passthe narrow opening. The outlet was nearly gained; a few secondsmore, and I would be comparatively safe. But in a moment mypursuers appeared on the bank above me, which here rose to theheight of ten or twelve feet. There was no time for thought; Ibent my head, and dashed wildly forward. The wolves sprang, but,miscalculating my speed, they fell behind, as I glided out uponthe river!

I turned toward home. The light flakes of snow spun from the ironof my skates, and I was some distance from my pursuers, whentheir fierce howl told me they were still in hot pursuit. I didnot look back; I did not feel afraid, or sorry, or glad; onethought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my return, and oftheir tears if they never should see me,—and then all theenergies of body and mind were exerted for escape.

I was perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days that I hadspent on my good skates, never thinking that they would one dayprove my only means of safety.

Every half-minute a furious yelp from my fierce attendants mademe but too certain that they were in close pursuit. Nearer andnearer they came. At last I heard their feet pattering on theice; I even felt their very breath, and heard their snuffingscent! Every nerve and muscle in my frame was strained to theutmost.

The trees along the shore seemed to dance in an uncertain light,my brain turned with my own breathless speed, my pursuers hissedforth their breath with a sound truly horrible, when all at oncean involuntary motion on my part turned me out of my course.

The wolves close behind, unable to stop, and as unable to turn onsmooth ice, slipped and fell, still going on far ahead. Theirtongues were lolling out, their white tusks were gleaming fromtheir bloody mouths, their dark shaggy breasts were flecked withfoam; and as they passed me their eyes glared, and they howledwith fury.

The thought flashed on my mind that by turning aside wheneverthey came too near I might avoid them; for, owing to theformation of their feet, they are unable to run on ice except ina straight line. I immediately acted upon this plan, but thewolves having regained their feet sprang directly toward me.

The race was renewed for twenty yards up the stream; they werealmost close at my back, when I glided round and dashed directlypast them. A fierce yell greeted this movement, and the wolves,slipping on their haunches, again slid onward, presenting aperfect picture of helplessness and disappointed rage. Thus Igained nearly a hundred yards at each turning. This was repeatedtwo or three times, the baffled animals becoming every momentmore and more excited.

At one time, by delaying my turning too long, my bloodthirstyantagonists came so near that they threw their white foam over mycoat as they sprang to seize me, and their teeth clashed togetherlike the spring of a fox-trap. Had my skates failed for oneinstant, had I tripped on a stick, or had my foot been caught ina fissure, the story I am now telling would never have been told.

I thought over all the chances. I knew where they would firstseize me if I fell. I thought how long it would be before I died,and then of the search for my body: for oh, how fast man's mindtraces out all the dread colors of death's picture only those whohave been near the grim original can tell!

At last I came opposite the cabin, and my hounds—I knew theirdeep voices—roused by the noise, bayed furiously from theirkennels. I heard their chains rattle—how I wished they wouldbreak them!—then I should have had protectors to match thefiercest dwellers of the forest. The wolves, taking the hintconveyed by the dogs, stopped in their mad career, and after afew moments turned and fled.

I watched them until their forms disappeared over a neighboringhill; then, taking off my skates, I wended my way to the cabinwith feelings which may be better imagined than described. Buteven yet I never see a broad sheet of ice by moonlight withoutthinking of that snuffing breath, and those ferocious beasts thatfollowed me so closely down that frozen river.

DEFINITIONS:—Glinting, glancing, glittering. Zone, belt.
Velocity, swiftness. Fissure, crack.

EXERCISE.—Where is the Kennebec River? In what part of ourcountry is Maine?

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
  When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
  And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it:
  The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell:
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
  And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
  The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;
  For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
  The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
  And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
  And dripping with coolness it rose from the well:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
  The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
  As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
  Though filled with the nectar which Jupiter sips;
And now, far removed from thy loved situation,
  The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
  And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
  The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the well.

DEFINITIONS:—Cataract, a great fall of water. Overflowing,running over. Exquisite, exceeding, extreme. Poised, balanced.Goblet, a kind of cup or drinking vessel. Nectar, the drink ofthe gods. Intrusively, without right or welcome. Reverts,returns.

EXERCISE.—Who was the author of "The Old Oaken Bucket"? Whatdoes the poem describe? and what feeling does it express?

THE FARMER AND THE FOX.

By JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE.

A farmer, whose poultry-yard had suffered severely from thefoxes, succeeded at last in catching one in a trap. "Ah, yourascal!" said he, as he saw him struggling, "I'll teach you tosteal my fat geese!—you shall hang on the tree yonder, and yourbrothers shall see what comes of thieving."

The farmer was twisting a halter to do what he threatened, whenthe fox, whose tongue had helped him in hard pinches before,thought there could be no harm in trying whether it might not dohim one more good turn.

"You will hang me," he said, "to frighten my brother foxes. Onthe word of a fox, they won't care; they'll come and look at me,but they will dine at your expense before they go home again."

"Then I shall hang you for yourself, as a rogue and a rascal,"said the farmer.

"I am only what nature chose to make me," the fox answered. "Ididn't make myself."

"You stole my geese," said the man.

"Why did nature make me like geese, then?" said the fox. "Liveand let live; give me my share, and I won't touch yours."

"I don't understand your fine talk," answered the farmer; "but Iknow that you are a thief, and that you deserve to be hanged."

"His head is too thick to let me catch him so," thought the fox;"I wonder if his heart is any softer! You are taking away thelife of a fellow-creature," he said; "that's aresponsibility—life is a curious thing, and who knows what comesafter it?

"You say I am a rogue—I say I am not; but at any rate, I oughtnot to be hanged—for if I am not, I don't deserve it; and if Iam, you should give me time to repent! I have him now," thoughtthe fox; "let him. get out if he can."

"Why, what would you have me do with you?" said the man.

"My notion is that you should let me go, and give me a lamb, orgoose or two, every month, and then I could live withoutstealing; but perhaps you know better; my education may have beenneglected; you should shut me up, and take care of me, and teachme. Who knows but I may turn into a dog? Stranger things thanthis have happened."

"Very pretty," said the farmer; "we have dogs enough, and more,too, than we can take care of, without you. No, no, Master Fox, Ihave caught you, and I am determined that you shall swing. Therewill be one rogue less in the world, anyhow."

"It is mere hate and unchristian vengeance," said the fox.

"No, friend," the farmer answered; "I don't hate you, and I don'twant to revenge myself on you; but you and I can't get ontogether, and I think I am of more importance in this world thanyou. If nettles and thistles grow in my cabbage garden, I don'ttry to persuade them to grow into cabbages. I just dig them up.

"I don't hate them; on the contrary, I feel a sense of pity forthem. But I feel somehow that they mustn't hinder me with mycabbages, and that I must put them away; and so, my poor friend,I am sorry for you, but I am afraid you must swing."

HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD.

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them.
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

  There the wrinkled old Nokomis
Nursed the little Hiawatha,
Rocked him in his linden cradle,
Bedded soft in moss and rushes,
Safely bound with reindeer sinews;
Stilled his fretful wail by saying,
"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!"
Lulled him into slumber, singing,
"Ewa-yea! my little owlet!
Who is this that lights the wigwam?
With his great eyes lights the wigwam?
Ewa-yea! my little owlet!"

  Many things Nokomis taught him
Of the stars that shine in heaven;
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet,
Ishkoodah with fiery tresses;
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits,
Warriors with their plumes and war clubs,
Flaring far away to northward
In the frosty nights of winter;
Showed the broad white road in heaven,
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows,
Running straight across the heavens,
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows.

  At the door on summer evenings
Sat the little Hiawatha;
Heard the whispering of the pine trees,
Heard the lapping of the waters,
Sounds of music, words of wonder;
"Minne-wawa" said the pine trees,
"Mudway-ashka!" said the water.

  Saw the firefly, Wah-wah-taysee,
Flitting through the dusk of evening,
With the twinkle of its candle
Lighting up the brakes and bushes,
And he sang the song of children,
Sang the song Nokomis taught him:
  "Wah-wah-taysee, little firefly,
  Little, flitting, white-fire insect,
  Little, dancing, white-fire creature,
  Light me with your little candle,
  Ere upon my bed I lay me,
  Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!"

  Saw the moon rise from the water,
Rippling, rounding from the water,
Saw the flecks and shadows on it,
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
"Once a warrior, very angry,
Seized his grandmother and threw her
Up into the sky at midnight;
Right against the moon he threw her.
'Tis her body that you see there."

  Saw the rainbow in the heaven,
In the eastern sky, the rainbow,
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
"'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there;
All the wild flowers of the forest,
All the lilies of the prairie,
When on earth they fade and perish,
Blossom in that heaven above us."

  When he heard the owls at midnight,
Hooting, laughing, in the forest,
"What is that?" he cried in terror,
"What is that," he said, "Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered.
"That is but the owl and owlet,
Talking in their native language,
Talking, scolding, at each other."

  Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in summer,
Where they hid themselves in winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."

  Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges.
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."

  Then Iagoo the great boaster,
He the marvelous story-teller,
He the traveler and the talker,
He the friend of old Nokomis,
Made a bow for Hiawatha;
From a branch of ash he made it,
From an oak bough made the arrows,
Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers,
And the cord he made of deerskin.

  Then he said to Hiawatha:
"Go, my son, into the forest,
Where the red deer herd together,
Kill for us a famous roebuck,
Kill for us a deer with antlers!"

  Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows;
And the birds sang round him, o'er him
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"
Sang the robin, sang the bluebird,
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"

  And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat erect upon his haunches,
Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"

  But he heeded not, nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he.

  Hidden in the alder bushes,
There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw two antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward,
And a deer came down the pathway,
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
And his heart within him fluttered
Trembled like the leaves above him,
Like the birch-leaf palpitated,
As the deer came down the pathway.

  Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
But the wary roebuck darted,
Stamped with all his hoofs together,
Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
Ah! the singing, fatal arrow,
Like a wasp it buzzed, and stung him.

  Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer;
But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed and shouted and exulted,
As he bore the red deer homeward.

DEFINITIONS:—Sinews, tendons. Tresses, long, flowing hair.Ghosts, spirits. Lodges, huts, dwellings. Wigwam, an Indian hutor dwelling. Antlers, the horns of the deer. Palpitated,fluttered, trembled. Fatal, causing death.

AT RUGBY SCHOOL.

BY THOMAS HUGHES.

The little schoolboys went quietly to their own beds, and beganundressing and talking to one another in whispers: while theelder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another'sbeds, with their jackets and waistcoats off.

Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of hisposition. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys hadclearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as itwas strange to him. He could hardly bear to take his jacketoff; however, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then hepaused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of hisbed, talking and laughing.

"Please, Brown," he whispered, "may I wash my face and hands?"

"Of course, if you like," said Tom, staring: "that's yourwash-hand stand under the window, second from your bed. You'llhave to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all."

And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly frombetween the beds out to his wash-hand stand, and began hisablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attentionof the room.

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing andundressing, and put on his nightgown. He then looked round morenervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were alreadyin bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The lightburned clear, the noise went on.

It was a trying moment for the poor, little, lonely boy; however,this time he did not ask Tom what he might or might not do, butdropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every dayfrom his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth thecry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the strongman in agony.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, sothat his back was toward Arthur, and he did not see what hadhappened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence. Then twoor three boys laughed and sneered, and a big, brutal fellow,who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipperand shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a sniveling youngshaver.

Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had justpulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had justtime to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow. "Brown, yourascal! What do you mean by that?" roared he, stamping withpain."

"Never mind what I mean," said Tom, stepping on to the floor,every drop of blood in his body tingling: "if any fellow wantsthe other boot, he knows how to get it."

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this momentthe sixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said.Tom and the rest rushed into bed and finished their unrobingthere, and the old janitor had put out the candle in anotherminute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting the door withhis usual, "Good night, gen'l'm'n."

There were many boys in the room by whom that little scene wastaken to heart before they slept. But sleep seemed to havedeserted the pillow of poor Tom. For some time his excitement andthe flood of memories which chased one another through hisbrain, kept him from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed,his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from springingout of bed and rushing about the room.

Then the thought of his own mother came across him, and thepromise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to forget tokneel by his bedside and give himself up to his Father before helaid his head on the pillow, from which it might never rise;and he lay down gently, and cried as if his heart would break. Hewas only fourteen years old.

It was no light act of courage in those days for a little fellowto say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later,when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the school, thetables turned; before he died, in the Schoolhouse at least, and Ibelieve in the other houses, the rule was the other way.

But poor Tom had come to school in other times. The first fewnights after he came he did not kneel down because of the noise,but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and then stole out andsaid his prayers, in fear lest some one should find him out. Sodid many another poor little fellow.

Then he began to think that he might just as well say his prayersin bed, and then that is did not matter whether he was kneeling,or sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass with Tom,as with all who will not confess their Lord before men; and forthe last year he had probably not said his prayers in earnest adozen times.

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling, which was like tobreak his heart, was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice ofall others which he loathed was brought in and burned in on hisown soul. He had lied to his mother, to his conscience, to hisGod. How could he bear it? And then the poor, little, weak boy,whom he had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had donethat which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.

The first dawn of comfort came to him in vowing to himself thathe would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him,and help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done thatnight. Then he resolved to write home next day and tell hismother all, and what a coward her son had been. And then peacecame to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony nextmorning.

The morning would be harder than the night to begin with, but hefelt that he could not afford to let one chance slip. Severaltimes he faltered, for the Devil showed him, first, all his oldfriends calling him "Saint," and "Squaretoes," and a dozen hardnames, and whispered to him that his motives would bemisunderstood, and he would be left alone with the new boy;whereas, it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that hemight do good to the largest number.

And then came the more subtle temptation, "shall I not be showingmyself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right tobegin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, lettingother boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it,while in public, at least, I should go on as I have done?"However, his good angel was too strong that night, and he turnedon his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved tofollow the impulse which had been so strong, and in which he hadfound peace.

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacketand waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, andthen in the face of the whole room he knelt down to pray. Notfive words could he say,—the bell mocked him; he was listeningfor every whisper in the room,—what were they all thinking ofhim?

He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees.At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still, small voiceseemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, "God bemerciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them over and over,and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to facethe whole world.

It was not needed: two other boys besides Arthur had alreadyfollowed his example, and he went down to the great school with aglimmering of another lesson in his heart,—the lesson that hewho has conquered his own coward spirit has conquered the wholeoutward world; and also that however we may fancy ourselves aloneon the side of good, the King and Lord of men is nowhere withouthis witnesses.

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to beproduced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or alaugh when he knelt down, but this passed off soon, and one byone all the other boys but three or four followed the lead.

—Adapted from "School Days at Rugby."

DEFINITIONS:—Waistcoat, a vest. Overwhelmed, overcome, castdown. Novelty, newness. Ablution, the act of washing. Sneered,showed contempt. Bully, a noisy, blustering fellow, more insolentthan courageous. Tingling, having a thrilling feeling. Leaven, tomake a general change, to imbue. Loathed, hated, detested.Braggart, a boaster. Vowing, making a solemn promise to God.Testimony, open declaration. Faltered, hesitated. Motive, thatwhich causes action, cause, reason. Subtle, artful, cunning.

NOTES.—"Rugby" the scene of this story, is a celebratedgrammar school which was established at the town of Rugby,England, in 1667.

Sixth-form boy. The school was graded into six classesor "forms," and the boys of the highest, or sixth, form wereexpected to keep the smaller boys under them in order.

SOMEBODY'S DARLING.

BY MARIA LA COSTE.

Into a ward of the whitewashed halls,
  Where the dead and dying lay,
Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls,
  Somebody's darling was borne one day;

Somebody's darling, so young and brave,
  Wearing yet on his pale, sweet face,
Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave,

The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.

Matted and damp are the curls of gold,
  Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of delicate mold
  Somebody's darling is dying now.

Back from his beautiful, blue-veined brow,
  Brush all the wandering waves of gold;
Cross his hands, on his bosom now;
  Somebody's darling is still and cold.

Kiss him once for somebody's sake,
  Murmur a prayer soft and low;
One bright curl from its fair mates take;
  They were somebody's pride, you know;

Somebody's hand has rested there;
  Was it a mother's, soft and white?
And have the lips of a sister fair
  Been baptized in the waves of light?

God knows best! he was somebody's love.
  Somebody's heart enshrined him there;
Somebody wafted his name above,
  Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.

Somebody wept when he marched away,
  Looking so handsome, brave, and grand;
Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay;
  Somebody clung to his parting hand.

Somebody's watching and waiting for him,
  Yearning to hold him again to her heart;
And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim,
  And the smiling, childlike lips apart.

Tenderly bury the fair young dead,
  Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab at his head,
  "Somebody's darling slumbers here."

DEFINITIONS:—Bayonet, a short, pointed iron weapon, fitted tothe muzzle of a gun. Darling, one dearly loved. Lingering,protracted. Matted, twisted together. Delicate, soft and fair.Mold, shape. Wandering, straying. Enshrined, cherished. Wafted,caused to float. Yearning, being eager, longing. Tenderly,gently, kindly.

THE CAPTIVE.

BY JOHN R. MUSICK.

There is no more beautiful and thrilling tale of early pioneerdays than the story of Helen Patterson. She was born in Kentucky;but while she was still a child her parents removed to St. LouisCounty, Missouri, and lived for a time in a settlement calledCold Water, which is in St. Ferdinand township. About the year1808 or 1809, her father took his family to the St. Charlesdistrict, and settled only a few miles from the home of theveteran backwoodsman, Daniel Boone.

At the time of this last removal, Helen was about eighteen yearsof age. She was a very religious girl, and had been taught tobelieve that whatever she prayed for would be granted.

Shortly after the family had settled in their new home, bands ofprowling savages began to roam about the neighborhood. TheIndians would plunder the cabins of the settlers during theirabsence, and drive away their cattle, horses, and hogs.

One day business called all the Patterson family to the village,except Helen. She was busily engaged in spinning, when the housewas surrounded by nine Indians. Resistance was useless. She didnot attempt to escape or even cry out for help; for one of thesavages who spoke English gave her to understand that she wouldbe killed if she did so.

She was told that she must follow the Indians. They took suchthings as they could conveniently carry, and with their captiveset off on foot through the forest, in a northwestern direction.The shrewd girl had brought a ball of yarn with her, and fromthis she occasionally broke off a bit and dropped it at the sideof the path, as a guide to her father and friends, who she knewwould soon be in pursuit.

This came very near being fatal to Helen, for one of the Indiansobserved what she was doing, and raised his hatchet to brain her.The others interceded, but the ball of yarn was taken from her,and she was closely watched lest she might resort to some otherdevice for marking a trail.

It was early in the morning when Helen was captured. Her parentswere expected to return to the cabin by noon, and she reasonedthat they would be in pursuit before the Indians had gone veryfar. As the savages were on foot, and her father would no doubtfollow them on horseback, he might overtake them before dark. Theuneasiness expressed by her captors during the afternoonencouraged her in the belief that her friends were in pursuit.

A little before sunset, two of the Indians went back toreconnoiter, and the other seven, with the captive, continued onin the forest. Shortly after sunset, the two Indians who hadfallen behind joined the others, and all held a shortconsultation, which the white girl could not understand.

The conference lasted but a few moments, and then the savageshastened forward with Helen to a creek, where the banks weresloping, and the water shallow enough for them to wade thestream. By the time they had crossed, it was quite dark. Thenight was cloudy, and distant thunder could occasionally beheard.

The Indians hurried their captive to a place half a mile from theford, and there tied her with strips of deerskin to one of thelow branches of an elm. Her hands were extended above her head,and her wrists were crossed and tied so tightly that she found itimpossible to release them. When they had secured her to theirown satisfaction, the Indians left her, assuring her that theywere going back to the ford to shoot her father and hiscompanions as they crossed it.

Helen was almost frantic with fear and grief. Added to theuncertainty of her own fate was the knowledge that her father andfriends were marching right into an Indian ambuscade.

In the midst of her trouble, she did not forget her piousteaching. She prayed God to send down his angels and release her.But no angel came. In her distress, the rumbling thunders in thedistance were unheard, and she hardly noticed the shower untilshe was drenched to the skin.

The rain thoroughly wet the strips of deerskin with which she wastied, and as they stretched she almost unconsciously slipped herhands from them. Her prayer had been answered by the rain. Shehastily untied her feet, and sped away toward the creek. Guidedby the lightning's friendly glare, she crossed the stream half amile above the ford, and hastened to meet her father and friends.

At every flash of lightning she strained her eyes, hoping tocatch sight of them. At last moving forms were seen in thedistance, but they were too far away for her to determine whetherthey were white men or Indians. Crouching down at the root of atree by the path, she waited until they were within a few rods ofher, and then cried in a low voice,"Father! Father!"

"That is Helen," said Mr. Patterson.

She bounded to her feet, and in a moment was at his side, tellinghim how she had escaped. The rescuing party was composed of herfather and two brothers, a neighbor named Shultz, and Nathan andDaniel M. Boone, sons of the great pioneer, Daniel Boone.

She told them where the Indians were lying in ambush, and thefrontiersmen decided to surprise them. They crossed the creek ona log, and stole down to the ford, but the Indians were gone. Nodoubt the savages had discovered the escape of the prisoner, and,knowing that their plan to surprise the white men had failed,became frightened and fled.

Helen Patterson always believed it was her prayers that saved herfather, her brothers, and herself in that trying hour.—From "Stories of Missouri."

DEFINITIONS:—Thrilling, exciting. Veteran, long experienced.Shrewd, artful, cunning. Interceded, stepped in between,prevented. Trail, pathway.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

BY FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
  What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro'the perilous fight,
  O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
 Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave,
  O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mist of the deep,
  Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
  As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
  In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner: oh, long may wave
  O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
  That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more?
  Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
  From the terror of night or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
  O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
  Between their loved homes and wild war's desolation;
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
  Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
  And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
  O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

DEFINITIONS:—Hailed, greeted. Perilous, full of danger.Ramparts, the walls of a fortification. Bombs, shells fired frommortars. Haughty, overbearing. Fitfully, by starts. Discloses,reveals to sight. Havoc, destruction.

NOTE.—This song was composed in September, 1814, at the time ofthe bombardment of Fort McHenry, near Baltimore, by the British.

OUR NATIONAL BANNER.

BY EDWARD EVERETT.

All hail to our glorious ensign! courage to the heart andstrength to the hand, to which, in all time, it shall beintrusted! May it ever wave first in honor, in unsullied gloryand patriotic hope, on the dome of the Capitol, on the country'sstronghold, on the tented plain, on the wave-rocked topmast.

Wheresoever, on the earth's surface, the eye of the Americanshall behold it, may he have reason to bless it! On whatsoeverspot it is planted, there may freedom have a foothold, humanity abrave champion, and religion an altar. Though stained with bloodin a righteous cause, may it never, in any cause, be stained withshame.

Alike when its gorgeous folds shall wanton in lazy holidaytriumphs on the summer breeze, and its tattered fragments bedimly seen through the clouds of war, may it be the joy and prideof the American heart. First raised in the cause of right andliberty, in that cause alone may it forever spread out itsstreaming blazonry to the battle and the storm. Having been bornevictoriously across a mighty continent, and floating in triumphon every sea, may virtue, and freedom, and peace, forever followwhere it leads the way!

BURNING THE FALLOW.

BY SUSANNA MOODIE.

The day was sultry, and toward noon a strong wind sprang up thatroared in the pine tops like the dashing of distant billows, butwithout in the least degree abating the heat. The children werelying listlessly upon the floor, and the girl and I werefinishing sunbonnets, when Mary suddenly exclaimed, "Bless us,mistress, what a smoke!"

I ran immediately to the door, but was not able to distinguishten yards before me. The swamp immediately below us was on fire,and the heavy wind was driving a dense black cloud of smokedirectly toward us.

"What can this mean?" I cried. "Who can have set fire to thefallow?" As I ceased speaking, John Thomas stood pale andtrembling before me. "John, what is the meaning of this fire?"

"Oh, ma'am, I hope you will forgive me; it was I set fire to it,and I would give all I have in the world if I had not done it."

"What is the danger?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that we shall all be burnt up," said John,beginning to whimper. "What shall we do?"

"Why, we must get out of it as fast as we can, and leave thehouse to its fate."

"We can't get out," said the man, in a low hollow tone, whichseemed the concentration of fear; "I would have got out of it ifI could; but just step to the back door, ma'am, and see."

Behind, before, on every side, we were surrounded by a wall offire, burning furiously within a hundred yards of us, and cuttingoff all possibility of retreat; for, could we have found anopening through the burning heaps, we could not have seen our waythrough the dense canopy of smoke; and, buried as we were in theheart of the forest, no one could discover our situation till wewere beyond the reach of help.

I closed the door, and went back to the parlor. Fear was knockingloudly at my heart, for our utter helplessness destroyed all hopeof our being able to effect our escape. The girl sat upon thefloor by the children, who, unconscious of the peril that hungover them, had both fallen asleep. She was silently weeping;while the boy who had caused the mischief was crying aloud.

A strange calm succeeded my first alarm. I sat down upon the stepof the door, and watched the awful scene in silence. The fire wasraging in the cedar swamp immediately below the ridge on whichthe house stood, and it presented a spectacle truly appalling.

From out of the dense folds of a canopy of black smoke—theblackest I ever saw—leaped up red forks of lurid flame as highas the tree tops, igniting the branches of a group of tall pinesthat had been left for saw logs. A deep gloom blotted out theheavens from our sight. The air was filled with fiery particles,which floated even to the doorstep-while the crackling androaring of the flames might have been heard at a great distance.

To reach the shore of the lake, we must pass through the burningswamp, and not a bird could pass over it with unscorched wings.The fierce wind drove the flames at the sides and back of thehouse up the clearing; and our passage to the road or to theforest, on the right and left, was entirely obstructed by a seaof flames. Our only ark of safety was the house, so long as itremained untouched by the fire.

I turned to young Thomas, and asked him how long he thought thatwould be. "When the fire clears this little ridge in front,ma'am. The Lord have mercy on us then, or we must all go."

I threw myself down on the floor beside my children, and pressedthem to my heart, while inwardly I thanked God that they wereasleep, unconscious of danger, and unable by their cries todistract our attention from adopting any plan which might offerto effect their escape.

The heat soon became suffocating. We were parched with thirst,and there was not a drop of water in the house, and none to beprocured nearer than the lake. I turned once more to the door,hoping that a passage might have been burnt through to the water.I saw nothing but a dense cloud of fire and smoke—could hearnothing but the crackling and roaring of flames, which weregaining so fast upon us that I felt their scorching breath in myface.

"Ah," thought I,—and it was a most bitter thought,—"what willmy beloved husband say when he returns and finds that his poorwife and his dear girls have perished in this miserable manner?But God can save us yet."

The thought had scarcely found a voice in my heart before thewind rose to a hurricane, scattering the flames on all sides intoa tempest of burning billows. I buried my head in my apron, for Ithought that all was lost, when a most terrific crash of thunderburst over our heads, and, like the breaking of a waterspout,down came the rushing torrent of rain which had been pent up forso many weeks.

In a few minutes the chipyard was all afloat, and the fireeffectually checked. The storm which, unnoticed by us, had beengathering all day, and which was the only one of any note we hadthat summer, continued to rage all night, and before morning hadquite subdued the cruel enemy whose approach we had viewed withsuch dread.

—Prom "Roughing it in the Bush."

PICCOLA.

BY CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER.

Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear
What happened to Piccola, children dear?
'Tis seldom Fortune such favor grants
As fell to this little maid of France.

'Twas Christmas time, and her parents poor
Could hardly drive the wolf from the door,
Striving with poverty's patient pain
Only to live till summer again.

No gift for Piccola! sad were they
When dawned the morning of Christmas day!
Their little darling no joy might stir;
St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her!

But Piccola never doubted at all
That something beautiful must befall
Every child upon Christmas day,
And so she slept till the dawn was gray.

And full of faith, when at last she woke,
She stole to her shoe as the morning broke;
Such sounds of gladness filled all the air,
'Twas plain St. Nicholas had been there.

In rushed Piccola, sweet, half wild—
Never was seen such a joyful child—
"See what the good saint brought!" she cried,
And mother and father must peep inside.

Now such a story I never heard!
There was a little shivering bird!
A sparrow, that in at the window flew,
Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe!

"How good poor Piccola must have been!"
She cried, as happy as any queen,
While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed,
And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.

Children, this story I tell to you,
Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true.
In the far-off land of France, they say,
Still do they live to this very day.

DEFINITIONS:—Dawned, began to grow light. Befall, happen.
Shivering, trembling from cold. Tiny, very small.

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

The mountain and the squirrel
  Had a quarrel,
  And the former called the latter "Little Prig";
  Bun replied: "You are doubtless very big;
  But all sorts of things and weather
  Must be taken in together
  To make up a year
  And a sphere.
  And I think it no disgrace
  To occupy my place.
  If I'm not so large as you,
  You are not so small as I,
  And not half so spry.
  I'll not deny you make
  A very pretty squirrel track;
  Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
  If I cannot carry forests on my back,
  Neither can you crack a nut."

STRANGE STORIES OF ANTS.

I. WHITE ANTS.

BY HENRY DIAMOND.

The white ant is a small insect, the body being of a yellowishwhite color, and repulsive in appearance. This tiny earth-dwellerlives almost entirely on wood. When a tree is cut down, whiteants immediately swarm toward the food thus unwittingly providedfor them by man.

You might reside in Africa for many years and never see one ofthese ants, for they live underground; but their ravages confrontthe explorer at almost every step. You build a house in Uganda.For a short time you fancy that you have pitched upon the onlyspot in the country where there are no white ants. But one daythe doorposts totter, and lintel and rafters come down with acrash. You look at a section of any one of the wrecked timbers,and find that the whole inside has been eaten away.

The apparently solid logs of the whole house are now all merecylinders of bark, and through the thickest of them you couldpush your little finger. The household furniture—in facteverything made of wood—has been attacked and utterly ruined.Indeed, the ants will gnaw through most substances exceptearthenware, glass, iron, and tin. So greatly are these tinycreatures feared in certain parts of Africa that, in thosedistricts, wooden trunks are never carried by experiencedtravelers.

The white ant is never visible. Why it should not show itself isstrange—it is stone blind. But its modesty is really due to adesire for self-protection; for the moment it shows itself aboveground it finds a dozen enemies waiting to devour it. Still, thewhite ant can never procure food until it does come above thesurface of the soil.

Night is the great feeding time in the tropics, but it is clearthat darkness is no protection to the ant, and yet without comingout of the ground it cannot live. The difficulty is solved thus:It takes earth up with it. White ants may have reached the top ofa tree, and yet they were underground not long ago. They took upsoil with them, building it into tunnel-huts as they movedupward; and in these huts they lived securely, feasting on thewood of the tree, around which they had built solid walls ofearth.

Millions of trees, in some districts, are plastered over with mudtubes, galleries, and chambers. It is not unusual to find a treehaving thousands of pounds of earth packed around it. The earthis conveyed by the insects up a central pipe, with which all thevarious galleries communicate, and which, at the downward end,connects with passages running deep into the ground.

The white ant's method of working is as follows: At the foot of atree the tiniest hole cautiously opens in the soil close to thebark. A small head appears with a tiny grain of earth clasped inits jaws. Against the tree trunk this grain is deposited andthe head is withdrawn. Again the little creature returns withanother grain, which is laid beside the first, tight against it,and the builder once more disappears underground in search ofmore of these unquarried building stones.

A third grain is not placed against the tree, but against theformer grains; a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth grain follow, andthe plan of a foundation begins to suggest itself. The grains areformed into a semicircular wall, and the work is pushed forwardby many thousands of the little masons. As the wall grows higherand higher, it takes the shape of a long perpendicular tunnelrunning up the side of the tree—a marvel of architectural skill.

The way in which the building is done is extremely curious. Eachgrain or stone, as it is brought to the top, is covered withmortar. Without this precaution the wall would crumble into dustbefore reaching half an inch in height; but the insect pours overthe earthen grains a sticky secretion, turning each grain roundand round until it has been overspread with the gluelike liquid.Then the stone is placed with great care in the proper position,and is worked about vigorously for a moment or two until it iswell set.

To every hundred workers in a white-ant colony, which numbersmany thousands of individuals, there are, perhaps, two soldiers.These are larger in build than the laborers, and never performany other work than sentry duty; yet they go about with a certainair of business, as if one were the architect and the other thesuperintendent of the structure being built.

They are stationed at the mouth of the tunnel. Sometimesenemies—other species of ants—draw near, and then the workingwhite ants, being but poor, defenseless creatures, blind andunarmed, would be in danger of death were not their big fightingcomrades on guard. The soldiers rush to the rescue and, with afew sweeps of their scythe-like jaws, clear the field. While theattacking party is carrying off its dead, the builders,unconscious of the fray, quietly continue at their work.

It is not only a tree here and there that exhibits the work ofthe white ant, but in many places the whole forest is so coloredwith dull red columns as to give a distinct tone to thelandscape. The earth tubes crumble into dust in the summer, theclay is scattered over the country by the wind, and in thisway tends to increase and refresh the soil.

Again, during the rains, this ant-raised earth is washed into therivulets and borne away to fertilize distant valleys, or iscarried to the ocean, where, along the coast line, it "sows thedust of continents to be."

II. RED ANTS.

BY JULES MICHELET.

Peter Huber, walking one day in a field near Geneva, saw on theground a strong detachment of reddish colored ants on the march,and bethought himself of following them. On the flanks of thecolumn, as if to dress its ranks, a few sped to and fro in eagerhaste. After marching for about a quarter of an hour, they haltedbefore an ant-hill belonging to some small black ants, and adesperate struggle took place at its gates.

A small number of blacks offered a brave resistance; but thegreat majority of the people thus assailed fled through the gatesremotest from the scene of combat, carrying away their young. Itwas just these which were the cause of the strife—what theblacks most feared being the theft of their offspring. And soonthe assailants, who had succeeded in penetrating into the city,might be seen emerging from it, loaded with the young blackprogeny.

The red ants, encumbered with their living booty, left theunfortunate city in the desolation of its great loss, and resumedthe road to their own habitation, whither their astonishedobserver followed them. But how was his astonishment augmentedwhen at the threshold of the red ants' community, a smallpopulation of black ants came forward to receive the plunder,welcoming with visible joy these children of their own race,which would perpetuate it in foreign lands!

This, then, was a mixed city, where the strong warrior ants livedon a perfectly good understanding with the little blacks. Butwhat of the latter? Huber soon discovered that they were theworkers of the community. It was they alone who did all thebuilding. They alone took care of the young red ants and thecaptives of their own species. They alone administered theaffairs of the city, provided its supplies of food, and waitedupon their red masters who, like great infant giants, allowedtheir little attendants to feed them at the mouth.

The only occupations of the red masters were war, theft, andkidnaping. Nothing did they do in the intervals but wander aboutlazily, and bask in the sunshine at the doors of their barracks.

Huber made an experiment. He wanted to see what would be theresult if the great red ants found themselves without servants.He put a few into a glass case, and put some honey for them in acorner, so that they had nothing to do but take it. Miserable thedegradation, cruel the punishment with which slavery afflicts theenslavers! They did not touch it; they seemed to know nothing;they had become so grossly ignorant that they could no longerfeed themselves. Some of them died from starvation, with foodbefore them.

To complete the experiment, Huber then introduced into the caseone black ant. The presence of this sagacious slave changed theface of things, and reestablished life and order. He wentstraight to the honey, and fed the dying simpletons.

The little blacks in many things carry a moral authority whosesigns are very visible. They do not, for example, permit thegreat red ants to go out alone on useless expeditions, but compelthem to return into the city. Nor are they even at liberty to goout in a body if their wise little slaves do not think theweather favorable, if they fear a storm, or if the day is faradvanced. When an excursion proves unsuccessful, and they returnwithout children, the little blacks are stationed at the gates ofthe city to forbid their ingress, and send them back to thecombat; nay more, you may see them take the cowards by thecollar, and force them to retrace their route.

These are astounding facts; but they were seen by Huber, as heredescribed. Not being able to trust his eyes, he summoned one ofthe greatest naturalists of Sweden, Jurine, to his side, to makenew investigations and decide whether he had been deceived. Thiswitness, and others who made similar observations, found that hisdiscoveries were just as he had described them. Yet, after allthese weighty testimonies, I still doubted, until on a certainoccasion in the park of Fontainebleau, I saw it with my own eyes.

It was half past four in the afternoon of a very warm day. From apile of stones emerged a column of from four to five hundred redor reddish ants. They marched rapidly toward a piece of turf,kept in order by their sergeants, whom I saw on the flanks andwho would not permit any one to straggle.

Suddenly the mass seemed to sink and disappear. There was no signof ant-hills in the turf; but after a while I detected an almostimperceptible orifice, through which we saw them vanish in lesstime than it takes to write these words. I supposed that probablythis was the entrance to their own home; but in less than aminute they showed me that I was mistaken. Out they thronged,each carrying a young captive in its mandibles.

From the short time they had taken, it was evident that they hada previous knowledge of the place, and knew where the infantblacks were kept. Perhaps it was no+ their first journey. Theblack ants whose home had been invaded sallied out inconsiderable numbers. They did not attempt to fight. They seemedfrightened and stunned. They endeavored only to delay the redants by clinging to them. A red ant was thus stopped; but anotherred one, who was free, relieved him of his burden, and thereuponthe black ant relaxed his grasp.

It was, in fact, a pitiful sight. The blacks offered no seriousresistance. The five hundred reds succeeded in carrying off fullythree hundred young ants. At two or three feet from the hole, theblacks ceased to pursue them, and returned slowly to their home.

DEFINITIONS:—Repulsive, disagreeable. Tropics, the warm regionsnear the equator. Precaution, care taken beforehand. Fray, fight.Augmented, made greater. Astounding, overwhelming. Mandibles, themouth organs of insects. Sallied, rushed forth.

DEAR COUNTRY MINE.

BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER.

Dear country mine! far in that viewless west,
And ocean-warded, strife thou too hast known;
But may thy sun hereafter bloodless shine,
And may thy way be onward without wrath,
And upward on no carcass of the slain;
And if thou smitest let it be for peace
And justice—not in hate, or pride, or lust
Of empire. Mayst thou ever be, O land,
Noble and pure as thou art free and strong;
So shalt thou lift a light for all the world
And for all time, and bring the Age of Peace.

—By permission, From "Five Books of Song."

MY COUNTRY.

I love my country's vine-clad hills,
Her thousand bright and gushing rills,
  Her sunshine and her storms;
Her rough and rugged rocks that rear
Their hoary heads high in the air,
  In wild fantastic forms.

I love her rivers deep and wide,
Those mighty streams that seaward glide,
  To seek the ocean's breast;
Her smiling fields, her pleasant vales,
Her shady dells, her flowery dales—
  Abodes of peaceful rest.

I love her forests, dark and lone,
For there the wild-bird's merry tone
  I hear from morn till night;
And lovelier flowers are there, I ween,
Than e'er in Eastern lands were seen
   In varied colors bright.

Her forests and her valleys fair,
Her flowers that scent the morning air,
  All have their charms for me;
But more I love my country's name,
  Those words that echo deathless fame—
The Land of Liberty.

THE FOUR MacNICOLS.

BY WILLIAM BLACK.

This is the true story of how four lads in a fishing village inthe North of Scotland, being left orphans by the drowning oftheir father, learned the great lesson of self-help.

They were the four MacNicols,—Robert, an active, stout-sinewed,black-eyed lad of seventeen; his two younger brothers, Duncan andNicol; and his cousin Neil.

It was a sad evening for Rob MacNicol when the body of his fatherwas brought home to their poor lodgings. It was his firstintroduction to the hard facts of life.

"Neil," said Rob to his cousin, "we'll have to think about thingsnow. We have just about as much left as will pay the lodgingsthis week, and Nicol must go three nights a week to the nightschool. What we get for stripping the nets will not do now."—"Itwill not," said Neil.

"Neil," said he, "if we had only a net; do you not think we couldtrawl for cuddies?" And again he said, "Neil, do you not think wecould make a net for ourselves out of the old rags lying aboutthe shed?" And again he said, "Do you think that Peter the tailorwould let us have his old boat for a shilling a week?"

It was clear that Rob had been carefully considering the detailsof this plan. And it was eagerly welcomed, not only by Neil, butalso by the brothers, Duncan and Nicol.

It was agreed, under Rob's direction, to set to work at once. SoRob bade his brothers and cousin get their rude fishing rods, andhie away down to the rocks at the mouth of the harbor, and seewhat fish they could get for him during the afternoon.

Meanwhile he himself went along to a shed which was used as asort of storage house by some of the fishermen; and here he foundlying about plenty of pieces of net that had been cast aside asworthless.

Rob was allowed to pick out a number of pieces that he thoughtmight serve his purpose; and these he carried home. But then camethe question of floats and sinkers. Enough pieces of cork to formthe floats might in time be found about the beach; but thesinkers had all been removed from the castaway netting.

II.

Rob was a quick-witted lad, and soon formed the plan of riggingup a couple of guy poles, as the salmon fishers call them, onefor each end of the small seine he had in view. These guy poles,with a lump of lead at the lower end, would keep the net verticalwhile it was being dragged through the water.

All this took up the best part of the afternoon; for he had tohunt about before he could get a couple of stout poles; and hehad to bargain with the blacksmith for a lump of lead. Then hewalked along to the point where the other MacNicols were busyfishing.

They had been lucky with their lines and bait. On the rocksbeside them lay two or three small codfish, a large flounder, twogood-sized lythe, and nearly a dozen saithe. Rob washed themclean, put a string through their gills, and marched off withthem to the village.

He felt no shame in trying to sell fish: was it not the wholetrade of the village? So he walked into the grocer's shop.

"Will you buy some fish?" said he; "they're fresh."

The grocer looked at them.

"What do you want?"

"A ball of twine."

"Let me tell you this, Rob," said the grocer severely, "that alad in your place should be thinking of something else thanflying a kite."

"I don't want to fly a kite," said Rob, "I want to mend a net."

"Oh, that is quite different," said the grocer. So Rob had hisball of twine—and a very large one it was. Off he set to hiscompanions. "Come away, boys, I have other work for you."

III.

Well, it took them several days of very hard and constant workbefore they rigged up something resembling a small seine. ThenRob fixed his guy poles to it; and the lads went to the grocer,and got from him a lot of old rope, on the promise to givehim a few fresh fish whenever they happened to have a good haul.Then Rob proceeded to his interview with Peter the tailor, who,after a good deal of grumbling, agreed to let them have his boatfor a shilling a week.

Rob went back eager and joyous. Forthwith a thorough inspectionof the boat was set about by the lads: they tested the oars, theytested the thole pins, they had a new piece of cork put into thebottom. For that evening, when it grew a little more towarddusk, they would make their first cast with their net.

Yes; and that evening, when it had quite turned to dusk, thepeople of Erisaig were startled with a new proclamation. It wasNeil MacNicol, standing in front of the cottages, and boldlycalling forth these words:—

"IS THERE ANY ONE WANTING CUDDIES? THERE ARE CUDDIES TO BE SOLDAT THE WEST SLIP, FOR SIXPENCE A HUNDRED!"

The sale of the cuddies went on briskly. Indeed, when the peoplehad gone away there was not a fish left except a dozen that Robhad put into a can of water, to be given to the grocer as partpayment for the loan of the ropes.

"What do you make it altogether?" said Neil to Rob, who wascounting the money.

"Three shillings and ninepence."

"Three shillings and ninepence! Man, that's a lot! Will you putit in the savings bank?"

"No, I will not," said Rob. "I'm not satisfied with the net,Neil. We must have better ropes all the way round; and sinkers,too."

IV.

One afternoon, about ten days afterward, they set out as usual.They had earned more than enough to pay their landlady, thetailor, and the schoolmaster; and every farthing beyond theseexpenses they had spent on the net.

Well, on this afternoon, Duncan and Nicol were pulling away toone of the small, quiet bays, and Rob was idly looking aroundhim, when he saw something on the surface of the sea at somedistance off that excited a sudden interest. It was what thefishermen call "broken water,"—a seething produced by a shoalof fish.

"Look, look, Neil!" he cried. "It's either mackerel or herring:shall we try for them?"

The greatest excitement now prevailed on board. The youngerbrothers pulled their hardest for that rough patch on the water.

They came nearer and nearer that strange hissing of the water.They kept rather away from it; and Rob quietly dropped the guypole over, paying out the net rapidly, so that it should not bedragged after the boat.

Then the three lads pulled hard, and in a circle, so that at lastthey were sending the bow of the boat straight toward thefloating guy pole. The other guy pole was near the stern of theboat, the rope made fast to one of the thwarts. In a few minutesRob had caught this first guy pole: they were now possessed ofthe two ends of the net.

But the water had grown suddenly quiet. Had the fish dived, andescaped them? There was not the motion of a fin anywhere, and yetthe net seemed heavy to haul.

"Rob," said Neil, almost in a whisper, "we've got them!"

"We haven't got them, but they're in the net. Man, I wonder ifit'll hold out?"

Then it was that the diligent patching and the strong tackletold; for they had succeeded in inclosing a goodly portion of alarge shoal of mackerel, and the weight seemed more than theycould get into the boat.

But even the strength of the younger lads seemed to grow into thestrength of giants when they saw through the clear water a greatmoving mass like quicksilver. And then the wild excitement ofhauling in; the difficulty of it; the danger of the fishescaping; the warning cries of Rob; the possibility of swampingthe boat, as all the four were straining their utmost at oneside!

When that heaving, sparkling mass of quicksilver at last wascaptured, the young lads sat down quite exhausted, wet through,but happy.

"Man! Rob, what do you think of that?" said Neil, in amazement.

"What do I think?" said Rob. "I think, that, if we could get twoor three more hauls like that, I would soon buy a share in CollMacDougall's boat, and go after the herring."

V.

They had no more thought that afternoon of "cuddy" fishing afterthis famous "take," but rowed back to Erisaig; then Rob left theboat at the slip, and walked up to the office of the fishsalesman.

"What will you give me for mackerel?" he said. The salesmanlaughed at him, thinking he had caught a few with rods and flies.

"I'm not buying mackerel," said he; "not by the half-dozen."

"I have half a boat load," said Rob.

The salesman glanced toward the slip, and saw the tailor's boatpretty low in the water.

"I'll go down to the slip with you."

So he and Rob together walked down to the slip, and the salesmanhad a look at the mackeral.

"Well, I will buy the mackerel from you," he said. "I will giveyou half a crown the hundred for them."

"Half a crown!" said Rob. "I will take three and sixpence thehundred for them."

"I will not give it to you. But I will give you three shillingsthe hundred, and a good price too."—"Very well, then," saidRob.

So the MacNicols got altogether two pounds and eight shillingsfor that load of mackerel; and out of that Rob spent the eightshillings on still further improving the net, the two poundsgoing into the savings hank.

VI.

As time went on, by dint of hard and constant work, the sum inthe savings bank slowly increased; and at last Rob announced tohis companions that they had saved enough to enable him topurchase a share in Coll MacDougall's boat.

These MacNicol boys had grown to be very much respected inErisaig; and one day, as Rob was going along the main street, thebanker called him into his office. "Rob," said he, "have you seenthe yacht at the building yard?"

"Yes," said Rob, rather wistfully, for many a time he had stoodand looked at the beautiful lines of the new craft; "she's asplendid boat."

"Well, you see, Rob," continued Mr. Bailie, regarding him with agood-natured look, "I had the boat built as a kind ofspeculation. Now, I have been hearing a good deal about you, Rob,from the neighbors. They say that you and your brothers andcousin are good, careful seamen. Now, do you think you couldmanage that new boat?"

Rob was quite bewildered. All he could say was, "I am obliged toyou, sir. Will you wait for a minute till I see Neil?" And verysoon the wild rumor ran through Erisaig, that Rob MacNicol hadbeen appointed master of the new yacht the Mary of Argyle andthat he had taken his brothers and cousin as a crew.

Rob sold out his share in MacDougall's boat, and bought jerseysand black boots and yellow oilskins for his companions; so thatthe new crew, if they were rather slightly built, looked spruceenough as they went down to the slip to overhaul the Mary ofArgyle.

VII.

Then came the afternoon on which they were to set out for thefirst time after the herring. All Erisaig came out to see; andRob was a proud lad as he stepped on board, and took his seat asstroke oar.

It was not until they were at the mouth of the harbor thatsomething occurred which seemed likely to turn this fine settingout into ridicule. This was Daft Sandy (a half-witted old man towhom Robert MacNicol had been kind), who rowed his boat rightacross the course of the Mary of Argyle, and, as she came up,called to Rob.

"What do you want?" cried Rob.

"I want to come on board, Rob," the old man said, as he now rowedhis boat up to the stern of the yacht. "Rob," said he, in awhisper, as he fastened the painter of his boat, "I promised Iwould tell you something. I'll show you how to find the herring."

"You!" said Rob.

"Yes, Rob," said Daft Sandy; "I'll make a rich man of you. I willtell you something about the herring that no one in Erisaigknows,—that no one in all Scotland knows."

Then he begged Rob to take him for that night's fishing. He haddiscovered a sure sign of the presence of herring, unknown to anyof the fishermen: it was the appearance, on the surface of thewater, of small air-bubbles.

Rob MacNicol was doubtful, for he had never heard of this thingbefore; but at last he could not resist the pleading of the oldman. So they pulled in, and anchored the boats until towardsunset. Then, taking poor Sandy on board of the Mary of Argyle,they set forth again, rowing slowly as the light faded out of thesky, and keeping watch all around on the almost glassy sea.

VIII.

The night was coming on, and they were far away from home; butold Sandy kept up his watch, studying the water as though heexpected to find pearls floating in it. At last, in greatexcitement, he grasped Rob's arm. Leaning over the side of theboat, they could just make out in the dusk a great quantity ofair-bubbles rising to the surface.

"Put some stones along with the sinkers, Rob," the old man said,in a whisper, as though he were afraid of the herring hearing."Go deep, deep, deep!"

To let out a long drift-net, which sometimes goes as deep asfifteen fathoms, is an easy affair: but to haul it in again is ahard task; and when it happens to be laden, and heavily laden,with silver gleaming fish, that is a breakback business for fouryoung lads.

But if you are hauling in yard after yard of a dripping net, onlyto find the brown meshes starred at every point with the shiningsilver of the herring, then even young lads can work like men.Sandy was laughing all the while.

"Rob, my man, what think you of the air-bubbles now? Maybe DaftSandy is not so daft after all. And do you think I would go andtell any one but yourself, Rob?"

Rob could not speak; he was breathless. Nor was their work nearlydone when they had got in the net, with all its splendid silvertreasure. For as there was not a breath of wind, they had to setto work to pull the heavy boat back to Erisaig. The gray dawngave way to a glowing sunrise; and when they at length reachedthe quay, tired out with work and want of sleep, the people wereall about.

Mr. Bailie came along and shook hands with Rob, and congratulatedhim; for it turned out that, while not another Erisaig boat hadthat night got more than from two to three crans, the Mary OfArgyle had ten crans—as good herring as ever were got out ofLoch Scrone.

Well, the MacNicol lads were now in a fair way of earning anindependent and honorable living. And the last that the presentwriter heard of them was this: that they had bought outright theMary of Argyle and her nets, from the banker; and that theywere building for themselves a small stone cottage on the slopeof the hill above Erisaig; and that Daft Sandy was to become asort of major-domo,—cook, gardener, and mender of nets.

DEFINITIONS:—Details, particulars. Lythe, saithe, cuddies, kindsof fish. Thole pins, pins to keep the oars in place. Trawl, tofish with a net. Vertical, upright. Dint, means. Interest,attention. Prevailed, existed. Seething, a stir, a boiling. Told,had a great effect. Thwarts, benches. Crans, barrels. Daft, weak-minded. Major-domo, steward.

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.

BY ELLEN H. FLAGG.

Two soldiers, lying where they fell
  Upon the reddened clay,—
In daytime foes; at night, in peace,
  Breathing their lives away.
Brave hearts had stirred each manly breast;
  Fate only made them foes;
And lying, dying, side by side,
  A softened feeling rose.

"Our time is short," one faint voice said:
  "To-day we've done our best
On different sides. What matters now?
  To-morrow we're at rest.
Life lies behind. I might not care
  For only my own sake;
But far away are other hearts
  That this day's work will break.

"Among New Hampshire's snowy hills
  There pray for me to-night
A woman, and a little girl
  With hair like golden light."
And at the thought broke forth, at last,
  The cry of anguish wild,
That would no longer be repressed,—
  "O God! my wife and child!"

"And," said the other dying man,
  "Across the Georgia plain
There watch and wait for me loved ones
  I'll never see again.
A little girl with dark bright eyes
  Each day waits at the door;
The father's step, the father's kiss,
  Will never meet her more.

"To-day we sought each other's lives;
  Death levels all that now,
For soon before God's mercy seat
  Together shall we bow.
Forgive each other while we may;
  Life's but a weary game,
And, right or wrong, the morning sun
  Will find us dead the same."
And the little girl with golden hair,
  And one with dark eyes bright,
On Hampshire's hills and Georgia's plain,
  Were fatherless that night.

DEFINITIONS:—Anguish, great sorrow or distress. Sought, lookedfor, tried to destroy. Levels, makes all equal or of the sameheight. Repressed, held back, restrained. Foes, enemies.Fatherless, without a living father.

EXERCISE.—In what war did the incident here narrated occur?Where is New Hampshire? Where is Georgia? Where did this battleprobably take place? What is meant by "hair like golden light"?

THE CAPTAIN'S FEATHER.

BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.

The dew is on the heather,
  The moon is in the sky,
And the captain's waving feather
  Proclaims the hour is nigh
When some upon their horses
  Shall through the battle ride,
And some with bleeding corses
  Must on the heather bide.

The dust is on the heather,
  The moon is in the sky,
And about the captain's feather
  The bolts of battle fly.
But hark! What sudden wonder
  Breaks forth upon the gloom?
It is the cannon's thunder,—
  It is the voice of doom.

The blood is on the heather,
  The night is in the sky,
And the gallant captain's feather
  Shall wave no more on high.
The grave and holy brother
  To God is saying mass;
But who shall tell his mother,
  And who shall tell his lass?

THE RIDE TO LONDON.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

I.

When the coach came round with "London" blazoned in letters ofgold upon the boot, it gave Tom such a turn, that he was halfdisposed to run away. But he didn't do it; for he took his seatupon the box instead, and looking down upon the four grays feltas if he were another gray himself, or at all events, a part ofthe turn-out; and was quite confused by the novelty and splendorof his situation.

And really it might have confused a less modest man than Tom tofind himself sitting next to that coachman; for of all the swellsthat ever flourished a whip professionally, he might have beenelected Emperor. He didn't handle the gloves like another man,but put them on—even when he was standing on the pavement, quitedetached from the coach—as if the four grays were, somehow orother, at the ends of the fingers. It was the same with his hat.He did things with his hat, which nothing but an unlimitedknowledge of horses and the wildest freedom of the road couldever have made him perfect in. Valuable little parcels werebrought to him with particular instructions, and he pitched theminto his hat, and stuck it on again, as if the laws of gravitydid not admit of such an event as its being knocked off or blownoff, and nothing like an accident could befall it.

The guard, too! Seventy breezy miles a day were written in hisvery whiskers. His manners were a canter; his conversation around trot. He was a fast coach upon a downhill turnpike road; hewas all pace. A wagon couldn't have moved slowly, with that guardand his key bugle on top of it.

These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as he satupon the box and looked about it. Such a coachman, and such aguard, never could have existed between Salisbury and any otherplace. The coach was none of your steady-going yokel coaches, buta swaggering, rakish London coach; up all night, and lying by allday, and leading a wild, dissipated life. It cared no more forSalisbury than if it had been a hamlet.

It rattled noisily through the best streets, defied theCathedral, took the worst corners sharpest, went cutting ineverywhere, making everything get out of its way; and spun alongthe open country road, blowing a lively defiance out of its keybugle, as its last glad parting legacy.

II.

It was a charming evening, mild and bright. And even with theweight upon his mind which arose out of the immensity anduncertainty of London, Tom could not resist the captivating senseof rapid motion through the pleasant air.

The four dappled steeds skimmed along, as if they liked it quiteas well as Tom did; the bugle was in as high spirits as thehorses themselves; the coachman chimed in sometimes with hisvoice; the wheels hummed cheerfully in unison; the brasswork onthe harness was an orchestra of little bells; and thus they wentclinking, jingling, rattling smoothly on; the whole concern, fromthe buckles of the leaders' coupling reins to the handle of thehind boot, was one great instrument of music.

Yoho, past hedges, gates, and trees; past cottages and burns, andpeople going home from work. Yoho, past donkey chaises, drawnaside into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses,whipped up at a bound upon the little watercourse, and held bystruggling carters close to the five-barred gate, until thecoach had passed the narrow turning on the road. Yoho, bychurches dropped down by themselves in quiet nooks, with rusticburial grounds about them, where the graves are green and daisiessleep—for it is evening—on the bosoms of the dead.

Yoho, past streams, in which the cattle cool their feet, andwhere the rushes grow; past paddock-fences, farms, andrickyards.; past last year's stacks, cut, slice by slice, away,and showing, in the waning light, like ruined gables, odd andbrown. Yoho, down the pebbly dip, and through the merrywatersplash, and up at a canter to the level road again.Yoho! Yoho!

Yoho, among the gathering shades; making of no account the deepreflections of the trees, but scampering on through light anddarkness, all the same, as if the light of London fifty milesaway were quite enough to travel by, and some to spare. Yoho,beside the village green, where cricket players linger yet, andevery little indentation made in the fresh grass by bat orwicket, ball or player's foot, sheds out its perfume on thenight. And then a sudden brief halt at the door of a strangeinn—the "Bald-faced Stag"—an exchange of greetings, a newpassenger, a change of teams.

III.

Away with four fresh horses from the Bald-faced Stag, where thevillage idlers congregate about the door admiring; and the lastteam, with traces hanging loose, go roaming off toward the pond,until observed and shouted after by a dozen throats, whilevolunteering boys pursue them. Now, with a clattering of hoofsand striking out of fiery sparks, across the old stone bridge,and down again into the shadowy road, and through the open gate,and far away, away, into the word. Yoho!

See the bright moon! High up before we know it: making the earthreflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges, trees, lowcottages, church steeples, blighted stumps, and flourishing youngslips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean tocontemplate their own fair images till morning.

The poplars yonder rustle, that their quivering leaves may seethemselves upon the ground. Not so the oak; trembling does notbecome him; and he watches himself in his stout old burlysteadfastness, without the motion of a twig. But, leaving oaksand poplars to their own devices, the stage moves swiftly on,while the moon keeps even pace with it, gliding over ditch andbrake, upon the plowed land and the smooth, along the steephillside and steeper wall, as if it were a phantom Hunter.

Clouds too! And a mist upon the hollow! Not a dull fog that hidesit, but a light airy gauzelike mist, which in our eyes of modestadmiration gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread before.Yoho! Why now we travel like the moon herself. Hiding this minutein a grove of trees; next minute in a patch of vapor; emergingnow upon our clear broad course; withdrawing now, but alwaysdashing on, our journey is a counterpart of hers. Yoho! A matchagainst the moon!

The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when Day comes leapingup. Yoho! Two stages, and the country roads are almost changed toa continuous street. Yoho, past market gardens, rows of houses,villas, crescents, terraces, and squares; past wagons, coaches,carts; past early workmen, late stragglers, and sober carriers ofloads; past brick and mortar in its every shape; and in among therattling pavements, where a jaunty seat upon a coach is not soeasy to preserve! Yoho, down countless turnings, and throughcountless mazy ways, until an old innyard is gained, and TomPinch, getting down, quite stunned and giddy, is in London!

—Adapted from "Martin Chuzzlewit."

DEFINITIONS:—Swells, self-important personages. Guard,conductor. Legacy, something left by will. Boot, a place forbaggage at either end of a stagecoach. Dip, slope. Dowager, anEnglish title for widow.

THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

  Come, let us plant the apple tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Wide let its hollow bed be made;
There gently lay the roots, and there
Sift the dark mold with kindly care,
  And press it o'er them tenderly,
As round the sleeping infant's feet
We softly fold the cradle sheet;
  So plant we the apple tree.

  What plant we in this apple tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest;
  We plant, upon the sunny lea,
A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
  When we plant the apple tree.

  What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs,
To load the May wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
 A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
  We plant with the apple tree.

  What plant we in this apple tree?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon,
And drop, when gentle airs come by,
That fan the blue September sky,
  While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
  At the foot of the apple tree.

  And when, above this apple tree,
The winter stars are quivering bright,
The winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth,
  And guests in prouder homes shall see,
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine,
And golden orange of the line,
  The fruit of the apple tree.

  The fruitage of this apple tree,
Winds and our flag of stripe and star
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar,
Where men shall wonder at the view,
And ask in what fair groves they grew;
  And sojourners beyond the sea
Shall think of childhood's careless day,
And long, long hours of summer play,
  In the shade of the apple tree.

  Each year shall give this apple tree
A broader flush of roseate bloom,
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom,
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower,
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower.
  The years shall come and pass, but we
Shall hear no longer, where we lie,
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,
  In the boughs of the apple tree.

  And time shall waste this apple tree.
Oh, when its aged branches throw
Thin shadows on the ground below,
Shall fraud and force and iron will
Oppress the weak and helpless still?
  What shall the tasks of mercy be,
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears
Of those who live when length of years
  Is wasting this apple tree?

  "Who planted this old apple tree?"
The children of that distant day
Thus to some aged man shall say;
And, gazing on its mossy stem,
The gray-haired man shall answer them:
  "A poet of the land was he,
Born in the rude but good old times;
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes
  On planting the apple tree."

DEFINITIONS:—Greensward, turf or sod green with grass. Mold,crumbling earth. Lea, a grassy field. Cintra, a town in Portugalnoted for its fine climate and its delicious grapes. Line, theequator. Roseate, rose-colored. Verdurous, greenish.

THE APPLE.

BY JOHN BORROUGHS.

The apple is the commonest and yet the most varied and beautifulof fruits. A dish of them is as becoming to the center table inwinter as is the vase of flowers in summer—a bouquet ofSpitzenbergs and Greenings and Northern Spies.

A rose when it blooms, the apple is a rose when it ripens. Itpleases every sense to which it can be addressed,—the touch, thesmell, the sight, the taste; and when it falls in the stillOctober days it pleases the ear. It is a call to a banquet,—itis a signal that the feast is ready. The bough would fain holdit, but it can now assert its independence; it can now live alife of its own.

Daily the stem relaxes its hold, till finally it lets gocompletely, and down comes the painted sphere with a mellow thumpto the earth, toward which it has been nodding so long.

It will now take time to meditate and ripen! What deliciousthoughts it has there, nestled with its fellows under the fence,turning acid into sugar, and sugar into wine!

How pleasing to the touch. I love to stroke its polished rondurewith my hand, to carry it in my pocket on my tramp over thewinter hills, or through the early spring woods. You are company,you redcheek Spitz or you salmon-fleshed Greening! I toy withyou, press your face to mine, toss you in the air, roll you onthe ground, see you shine out where you lie amid the moss and dryleaves and sticks.

You are so alive! You glow like a ruddy flower. You look soanimated I almost expect to see you move! I postpone the eatingof you, you are so beautiful! How compact, how exquisitelytinted! Stained by the sun and varnished against the rains. Anindependent vegetable existence, alive and vascular as my ownflesh; capable of being wounded, bleeding, wasting away, oralmost repairing damages!

How they resist the cold! holding out almost as long as the redcheeks of the boys do. A frost that destroys the potatoes andother roots only makes the apple more crisp and vigorous; theypeep out from the chance November snows unscathed.

When I see the fruit vender on the street corner stamping hisfeet and beating his hands to keep them warm, and his nakedapples lying exposed to the blasts, I wonder if they do not ache,too, to clap their hands and enliven their circulation. But theycan stand it nearly as long as the vender can.

Noble common fruit, best friend of man and most loved by him,following him like his dog or his cow, wherever he goes! Hishomestead is not planted till you are planted; your rootsintertwine with his; thriving best where he thrives best, lovingthe limestone and the frost, the plow and the pruning knife,you are indeed suggestive of hardy, cheerful industry, and ahealthy life in the open air.

Do you remember the apple hole in the garden or back of thehouse, Ben Bolt? In the fall, after the bins in the cellar hadbeen well stocked, we excavated a circular pit in the warm,mellow earth, and covering the bottom with clean rye straw,emptied in basketful after basketful of hardy choice varieties,till there was a tent-shaped mound several feet high, of shining,variegated fruit.

Then wrapping it about with a thick layer of long rye straw, andtucking it up snug and warm, the mound was covered with a thincoating of earth, a flat stone on top holding down the straw. Aswinter set in, another coating of earth was put upon it, withperhaps an overcoat of coarse, dry stable manure, and theprecious pile was left in silence and darkness till spring. Howthe earth tempers and flavors the apples! It draws out all theacrid, unripe qualities, and infuses into them a subtile,refreshing taste of the soil.

As the supply in the bins and barrels gets low, and springapproaches, the buried treasures in the garden are remembered.With spade and ax we go out, and penetrate through the snow andfrozen earth till the inner dressing of straw is laid bare. It isnot quite as clear and bright as when we placed it there lastfall, but the fruit beneath, which the hand soon exposes, is justas bright and far more luscious.

Then, as day after day you resort to the hole, and removing thestraw and earth from the opening, thrust your arm into thefragrant pit, you have a better chance than ever before to becomeacquainted with your favorites by the sense of touch. How youfeel for them reaching to the right and left.

When you were a schoolboy you stowed them away in your pockets,and ate them along the road and at recess, and again at noontime; and they, in a measure, corrected the effects of the cakeand pie with which your mother filled your lunch basket.

—Adapted "Winter Sunshine."

DEFINITIONS:—Meditate, to reflect. Rondure, state of beinground. Exquisitely, with great perfection. Vascular, made up ofsmall vessels. Unscathed, not injured. Vender, seller.

THE BUGLE SONG.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

The splendor falls on castle walls
  And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
  And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying!
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Oh hark! oh hear! how thin and clear,
  And thinner, clearer, farther going!
Oh sweet and far, from cliff and scar
  The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Oh love, they die in yon rich sky,
  They faint on hill, or field, or rivers
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
  And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

DEFINITIONS:—Splendor, light, glory. Summits, mountain, tops,lofty mountains. Cataract, a waterfall. Scar, a bare place on amountain side. Elfland, fairyland.

THE STORY OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH.

BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE.

I.

Captain Smith was born at Willoughby, in England, in the month ofJanuary, 1579. His parents died when he was a mere child, and hewas left alone in the world without any one to take care of him.Yet he was a brave and independent boy, and he soon showed thathe was well able to make his own way in the world. He was fond ofadventure, as most boys are; and while he was still a youth hewandered away to Holland, and spent some time with the Englisharmy which was there.

When he came back to England, he began to train himself for thelife of a soldier. Instead of passing his time in idleness withother young men of WilloughLy, he went out to the woods near byand built a sort of house for himself of the boughs of trees.Here he intended to stay; and as for food, he meant to shootdeer, and live on the venison. In this "Bower," as he called it,he got together as many books on warlike matters as he couldfind; and he spent the greater part of his time in studying them.

Young John Smith had a horse and lance with which he practicedevery day, riding swiftly and trying to strike a ring or otherobject from the bough of a tree to which it had been hung. Healso practiced with his sword to make his eye keen and his wristtough; and he fired at trees with his pistol, to become a goodmarksman. By such means as these he fitted himself for the lifeof a soldier; and then he set out in search of adventures.

He crossed the English Channel and landed in France; but threeFrenchmen who had come over with him in the ship treated him verybadly. They saw that he was but a mere boy, and stole the trunkin which were all his clothing and his money. They left him ingreat trouble, for he was in a strange country without friends.But he kept a brave heart, and soon showed that he could takecare of himself. He wandered on through France, meeting many kindpersons on the way who helped him, until at last he came to thecity of Marseilles on the Mediterranean Sea.

As his plan was to go and fight the Turks, he went on board aship bound for Rome, which was on his way. The ship set sail, butsoon a great storm arose, and the vessel was tossed about, and indanger of being wrecked. Some of the men on board said thatSmith, being a stranger, had brought them bad luck, and that theonly way to escape the storm was to get rid of him; so theyseized him and threw him into the sea.

The waves were running very high at the time, and there was greatdanger of his being drowned. But he was a good swimmer, andstruck out for the nearest land. This was a small island, calledthe Isle of St. Mary's, not far from the coast of Nice, and herehe was thrown on shore by the waves. The weather was very cold,and he had nothing to eat. But soon another ship came in sight;he was seen by the crew; and a boat was sent to take him off ofthe island. As he went on board the ship he was overjoyed to findthat the captain was an old friend of his.

The ship was bound for Egypt; but as Smith was in search ofadventures, he cared nothing for that. He agreed to go to Egypt,and as usual something happened to him on the way. They met withan enemy's ship; a sharp fight took place, and the enemy's shipwas taken. As young Smith had fought bravely, he received abouttwo thousand dollars in gold as his share of the prize money.

This made him quite rich, and he resolved to go on in search offurther adventures. The captain of the ship put him ashore, andhe set out for Transylvania, east of Austria, where there wasfighting between the Christians and the Turks. He had to passthrough a rough, wild country, but he did so safely, and at lastreached the Christian army, and was enrolled as a soldier in it.He soon proved to his friends that he was no common soldier.

II.

The Turks had shut themselves up in a strong castle, where theywere closely besieged by the Christians. From the castle aTurkish lord sent word to the Christian camp that he was ready tofight any soldier that might be sent against him. The Christiansaccepted the offer, and drew lots to see who should meet him. Thelot fell on John Smith, and when the day came he rode forward tomeet his enemy.

The Turk was ready. The two enemies rushed upon each other, butthe fight was soon over. Smith's lance struck the Turk in theforehead and hurled him dead to the ground. Smith then leapedfrom his horse and cut off the Turk's head, and the wholeChristian army shouted with joy.

Very soon a second Turk came out to avenge his friend, and he andSmith rode at each other. Both their lances were shivered inpieces, but Smith fired his pistol and broke his enemy's arm. Hefell from his horse, and Smith, leaping down, struck off hishead, as he had struck off that of the first Turk.

The young soldier was now in high spirits, and he sent achallenge to the Turks. The challenge was accepted by a famousTurk called Bonnymulgro. It was agreed that they were to fighthand to hand with swords, pistols, and battle-axes. They rushedat full gallop toward each other. After firing their pistols theybegan to use their battle-axes.

Bonnymulgro was a strong man and a dangerous enemy. He struckSmith so heavy a blow on the head that he reeled in his saddleand dropped his ax. At this a loud shout rose from the Turks onthe walls, and they shouted louder still, as they saw Smith wheelhis horse and fly, with the big Turk after him. But this was onlya part of Smith's plan. As soon as the Turk caught up with himand raised his ax, the young soldier quickly wheeled his horseand ran his sword through Bonnymulgro's breast. The Turk fellfrom the saddle, still trying to fight. But Smith struck him downand cut off his head, which he held up to show that the fight wasended.

John Smith was now a distinguished soldier, but he was soon tofind that war is not entirely made up of brave deeds and richrewards. A day came when ill-fortune befell him. In a greatbattle in which the Christians were beaten, John Smith waswounded and left on the field. He lay there until night, whensome thieves, who had come to rob the dead bodies of whateverthey could find upon them, heard him groaning from the pain ofhis wound, and stopped. He had on a very rich suit of armor, andfrom this they supposed that he was some great lord. Hence theydid not kill him, but resolved to carry him away and keep himprisoner until he paid a large price for his freedom.

John Smith did not tell them that they were mistaken in this, ashis life depended on his saying nothing. They carried him to acity called Axiopolis, and here they found that he was only apoor soldier. He was, therefore, sold in the slave market as acommon slave, and was sent to a Turkish officer called a tymor,who lived near the Sea of Azov.

The tymor was a very hard master. He stripped off Smith's clothesand ordered him to put on coarse sheepskins. He next shaved hishead and put an iron ring round his neck, after which he orderedhim to go to work with the rest of his slaves. Smith's life wasnow very miserable. He therefore made up his mind to escape assoon as possible.

His work sometimes took him to a lonely barn on the tymor'sestate, where his business was to thresh out grain with a flail.One day while he was at this labor the tymor came to the barn. Hewas in a very bad humor, and when he saw Smith he began to offerhim every insult. This made the young soldier very angry. Helooked around him. No one was in sight, and he had in his handshis heavy flail. At last the tymor struck him with his ridingwhip, at which John Smith returned a deadly blow with his flail.

The great thing now was to get away, and the young fellow did notstop long to think. He took off his coarse sheepskins and clothedhimself in the tymor's suit, then he leaped on that officer'shorse and rode off at full gallop. He meant to make his way toRussia where he was sure that he would be safe; but he did notknow the road.

After wandering about for many days, he came at last to a Russianfortress. There he was received with the greatest kindness; theiron ring was struck from his neck, and not long afterward hewent on his way toward England, "drowned in joy," as he said, athis escape.

III.

Young John Smith soon found that London was no place for a manlike himself. He could not remain idle, and he began to long fornew adventures. He had seen life in Europe and Asia, and now histhoughts were turned toward America. But little was then known ofthat country, and many strange and exciting stories were toldabout it. Now and then sailors had visited it; and when they cameback they reported that the earth was full of gold and preciousstones, and that the rivers ran over golden sands.

James I., who was King of England at that time, gave the right toSir Thomas Gates and others to form a settlement in the NewWorld; and in December, 1606, three small vessels set sail forthe shores of America. John Smith was on board one of thevessels. The ships, with one hundred and five men in them,crossed the ocean in safety, and reached the West India Islands.They then sailed northward along the coast of Florida and theCarolinas, looking for a good harbor.

When they reached the mouth of Chesapeake Bay they were tossed bya terrible storm' but managed to sail into a harbor without beingwrecked. This was in April, 1607, and some time was spent inlooking for a place to make a settlement. Before them was a broadriver, which was called Powhatan by the Indians, and this theysailed up, delighted with the beautiful prospect before them.

Some Indians came down to the shore and stared at the ships asthey sailed by, but the settlers went on up the broad currentuntil they reached a sort of island close to the shore. Here, onthe 13th of May, 1607, the ships cast anchor, and here asettlement was made, and was called, in honor of the king,Jamestown. To-day there is nothing to mark the spot, except anold ruined church.

King James had not told any one the names of the men who were torule over the settlement. The paper containing their names wassealed up in a box which was not to be opened until the shipsreached the end of their voyage. But the time had now come: thebox was opened, and the name of John Smith was found among thosewho were to be councilors.

The colonists soon saw that Smith had more sense and energy thanall the rest. He was the real leader. Nobody had any respect forthe councilors, who were a poor set at the best. They passedtheir time in eating and drinking and idleness. They had seenlittle of the Indians, and very foolishly seemed to care nothingabout them. Besides this, but very little was done toward raisingcorn for food. Smith knew that the woods were full of Indians,and also that the food in the ships would not last always. He,therefore, set out with a few men to visit the king of the Indiantribes, who lived some distance farther up the river.

The name of the Indian king was Powhatan, and he ruled over allthe Indians in eastern Virginia. He received Captain Smith withgreat show of kindness, and the two talked together by means ofsigns; but Smith saw at once that he had a cunning enemy to dealwith.

Having finished his visit, Captain Smith and his men rowed backdown the river; but when they reached Jamestown they found thatsome Indians had made an attack upon the place. No doubt butthat Powhatan had sent them as soon as he knew that Smith was notthere. One of the settlers had been killed by an arrow, andseveral had been wounded. But a cannon shot had been fired fromone of the ships, and as it crashed through the woods thefrightened Indians fled and did not return.

IV.

King James had ordered that the country of Virginia should beexplored, and in the fall, Smith, with a few men, set out forthis purpose. As they were rowing up the Chickehominy River someIndians came down to the bank and made signs of friendship. Theytold Smith that if he wanted a smaller boat to go up higher theywould give him one, and also guides to show him the way.

Smith accepted the offer, and the canoe was brought. He got intoit with one of his men and some Indians; and then, ordering therest of his men not to leave the big boat nor to go ashore duringhis absence, he set off in his canoe to explore the river higherup. He was hardly out of sight when the men disobeyed him andwent on shore. The Indians attacked them suddenly, driving themback to the boat, and taking one of them prisoner. Then theyhastened up the river after Smith.

They soon overtook him; for, after going some distance, he hadstopped and landed, and, taking one of the Indian guides withhim, he had set out on foot to look at the country.

He was going through the woods with his guide when a flight ofarrows came from behind some trees, and the Indians rushed uponhim. He was, indeed, in great danger. He fired his gun at theIndians, and this frightened them so much that he might haveescaped had he not run into a swamp. The ground was so soft thatbefore he knew it he sank to his waist. The Indians then rushedquickly upon him and took him prisoner.

Things now seemed hopeless. He was in the hands of his enemies,and had very little doubt that they would put him to death. Hetried what he could do with their chief. It chanced that he had asmall pocket compass with him, and this he explained to thechief, and made a present of it to him. By this means he gainedsome time, and also the favor of the chief. When, at last, thewarriors bound him to a tree and bent their bows to shoot him,the chief came forward, waving the compass, and ordered themto stop.

After this he was carried through many Indian villages, and wasat last led before Powhatan, their king. His case was soondecided. The Indians hated the whites, and now that they hadtheir leader in their hands they resolved to put him to death. Alarge stone was brought in and Smith's head was laid upon it.Then, at an order from the king, a tall savage raised a club tobeat out his brains. In a moment the club would have fallen, andSmith would have died; but a kind Providence watched over him.

An Indian girl, twelve or thirteen years old, sprang toward him.From her dress, it was plain that she was a princess. The largefeather in her black hair was like that worn by Powhatan, and hermoccasins were embroidered like the old king's. On her arms werebracelets of shells, and from her shoulders fell a robe ofdoeskin, covered with the feathers of birds, and lined with downfrom the breasts of wild pigeons.

This girl was Pocahontas, the favorite daughter of the old king.She was filled with pity for the poor prisoner, and ran and threwher arms about him, looking up to her father as she did so. Theheavy club did not fall. The blow would have killed Pocahontas,as Smith's head was clasped to her breast; and Powhatan orderedthat the prisoner's life should be spared. He was, therefore,unbound, and Powhatan soon showed him that he had nothing tofear. In a few days he was allowed to go back to Jamestown.

Captain Smith had many other adventures while he was in Virginia,but at last a painful accident changed all his plans. As he wasrowing down James River one day some powder in his boat tookfire, and he was terribly burned. His clothes were all in flames,and he jumped into the water in order to put out the fire. But hewas so overcome by the pain that he could not swim, and he wasalmost drowned before his men could help him back into the boat.

There was no surgeon in Jamestown to dress his wounds, and hemade up his mind to go to England and find one. A ship was aboutready to sail, and he at once took passage for home.

That was the last that was seen of John Smith in Virginia. He hadcome over in the spring of 1607, and he went back in the autumnof 1609. It seems a very short time—not three years in all; butin this time he had laid, broad and deep, the foundations of theCommonwealth of Virginia.

—From "Stories of the Old Dominion."

DEFINITIONS:—Venison, the flesh of deer. Ducats, gold coinsworth nearly seven dollars each. Tymor, a Turkish officer. Flail,a wooden club used for beating out grains

EXERCISE.—On the map trace John Smith's various journeys in
Europe. Find England, Holland, the English Channel, France,
Marseilles, the Mediterranean Sea, Rome, Nice, Egypt, Austria,
Transylvania, Turkey, Constantinople, Sea of Azov, Russia, Paris,
Spain, London. Trace the course of John Smith's first voyage to
America. Find the West Indies, Florida, the Carolinas, Chesapeake
Bay, James River, Chickahominy River.

ON THE BANKS OF THE TENNESSEE.

BY WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER.

I sit by the open window,
  And look to the hills away,
Over beautiful undulations
  That glow with the flowers of May;
And as the lights and the shadows
  With the passing moments change,
Comes many a scene of beauty
  Within my vision's range.
But there is not one among them
  That is half so dear to me
As an old log cabin I think of,
  On the banks of the Tennessee.

Now up from the rolling meadows,
  And down from the hilltops now,
Fresh breezes steal in at my window,
  And sweetly fan my brow;
And the sounds that they gather and bring me.
  From rivulet, meadow, and hill,
Come in with a touching cadence,
  And my throbbing bosom fill;
But the dearest thoughts thus wakened,
  And in tears brought back to me,
Cluster 'round that old log cabin
  On the banks of the Tennessee.

To many a fond remembrance
  My thoughts are backward cast,
As I sit by the open window
  And recall the faded past;
For all along the windings
  Of the ever moving years
Lie wrecks of hope and of purpose,
  That I now behold through tears;
And, of all of them, the saddest
  That is thus brought back to me
Makes holy that old log cabin
  On the banks of the Tennessee.

Glad voices now greet me daily,
  Sweet faces I oft behold,
Yet I sit by the open window,
  And dream of the times of old—
Of a voice that on earth is silent,
  Of a face that is seen no more,
Of a spirit that faltered not ever
  In the struggles of days now o'er;
And a beautiful grave comes pictured
  For ever and ever to me,
From a knoll near that old log cabin
  On the banks of the Tennessee.

DEFINITIONS:—Undulations, wavelike motion. Rivulet, a smallstream. Knoll, a round-topped hill of medium height.

EXERCISE.—On the map, trace the course of the Tennessee
River.

GOOD WILL.

BY JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE.

I suppose you all, my boys, are looking for some sort of successin life; it is right that you should; but what are your notionsof success? To get rich as soon as possible, without regard tothe means by which your wealth is acquired?

There is no true success in that: when you have gained millions,you may yet be poorer than when you had nothing; and it is thatsame reckless ambition which has brought many a bright andcapable boy, not to great estate at last, but to miserablefailure and disgrace; not to a palace, but to a prison.

Wealth rightly got and rightly used, rational enjoyment, power,fame,—these are all worthy objects of ambition; but they are notthe highest objects, and you may acquire them all withoutachieving true success. But if, whatever you seek, you put goodwill into all your actions, you are sure of the best success atlast; for whatever else you gain or miss, you are building up anoble and beautiful character, which is not only the best ofpossessions in this world, but also is about all you can expectto take with you into the next.

I say, good will in all your actions. You are not simply to bekind and helpful to others; but, whatever you do, give honest,earnest purpose to it. Thomas is put by his parents to learn abusiness. But Thomas does not like to apply himself very closely."What's the use?" he says. "I'm not paid much, and I'm not goingto work much. I'll get along just as easily as I can, and have asgood times as I can."

So he shirks his tasks; and instead of thinking about hisemployer's interests, or his own self-improvement, gives his mindto trifles,—often to evil things, which in their ruinous effectsupon his life are not trifles. As soon as he is free from hisdaily duties, he is off with his companions, having what theycall a good time; his heart is with them even while his hands areemployed in the shop or store.

He does nothing thoroughly well,—not at all for want of talent,but solely for lack of good will. He is not preparing himself tobe one of those efficient clerks or workmen who are always indemand, and who receive the highest wages.

There is a class of people who are the pest of everycommunity—workmen who do not know their trade, men of businessignorant of the first principles of business. They can never berelied upon to do well anything they undertake. They are alwaysmaking blunders which other people have to suffer for, and whichreact upon themselves. They are always getting out of employment,and failing in business.

To make up for what they lack in knowledge and thoroughness, theyoften resort to trick and fraud, and become not merelycontemptible, but criminal. Thomas is preparing himself to be oneof this class. You cannot, boys, expect to raise a good crop fromevil seed.

By Thomas's side works another boy, whom we will call James,—alad of only ordinary capacity, very likely. If Thomas and all theother boys did their best, there would be but small chance forJames ever to become eminent. But he has something better thantalent: he brings good will to his work. Whatever he learns, helearns so well that it becomes a part of himself.

His employers find that they can depend upon him. Customers soonlearn to like and trust him. By diligence, self-culture, goodhabits, cheerful and kindly conduct, he is laying the foundationof a generous manhood and a genuine success.

In short, boys, by slighting your tasks you hurt yourself morethan you wrong your employer. By honest service you benefityourself more than you help him. If you were aiming at mereworldly advancement only, I should still say that good will wasthe very best investment you could make in business.

By cheating a customer, you gain only a temporary and unrealadvantage. By serving him with right good will,—doing by him asyou would be done by,—you not only secure his confidence, butalso his good will in return. But this is a sordid considerationconspired with the inward satisfaction, the glow and expansion ofsoul which attend a good action done for itself alone. If I wereto sum up all I have to say to you in one last word of love andcounsel, that one word should be—Good will.

DEFINITIONS:—Character, the sum of qualities which distinguishesone person from another. Purpose, intention, aim. Principles,fixed rules. Capacity, ability, the power of receiving ideas.Sordid, base, meanly avaricious.

EXERCISE.—What is meant by the phrase "to apply himself," in thefourth paragraph? What is meant by "a generous manhood," tenthparagraph? By "expansion of soul," twelfth paragraph? Tell whatis meant by "good will," as taught by this lesson.

THE GOOD READER.

It is told of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, that, as hewas seated one day in his private room, a written petition wasbrought to him with the request that it should be immediatelyread. The king had just returned from hunting, and the glare ofthe sun, or some other cause, had so dazzled his eyes that hefound it difficult to make out a single word of the writing.

His private secretary happened to be absent, and the soldier whobrought the petition could not read. There was a page, orfavorite boy-servant, waiting in the hall, and upon him the kingcalled. The page was a son of one of the noblemen of the court,but proved to be a very poor reader.

In the first place, he did not articulate distinctly. He huddledhis words together in the utterance, as if they were syllables ofone long word, which he must get through with as speedily aspossible. His pronunciation was bad, and he did not modulate hisvoice so as to bring out the meaning of what he read. Everysentence was uttered with a dismal monotony of voice, as if itdid not differ in any respect from that which preceded it.

"Stop!" said the king, impatiently. "Is it an auctioneer's listof goods to be sold that you are hurrying over? Send yourcompanion to me." Another page who stood at the door now entered,and to him the king gave the petition. The second page began byhemming and clearing his throat in such an affected manner thatthe king jokingly asked him if he had not slept in the publicgarden, with the gate open, the night before.

The second page had a good share of self-conceit, however, and sowas not greatly confused by the king's jest. He determined thathe would avoid the mistake which his comrade had made. So hecommenced reading the petition slowly and with great formality,emphasizing every word, and prolonging the articulation of everysyllable. But his manner was so tedious that the king cried out,"Stop! are you reciting a lesson in the elementary sounds? Outof the room! But no—stay! Send me that little girl who issitting there by the fountain."

The girl thus pointed out by the king was a daughter of one ofthe laborers employed by the royal gardener; and she had come tohelp her father weed the flower beds. It chanced that, like manyof the poor people in Prussia, she had received a good education.She was somewhat alarmed when she found herself in the king'spresence, but took courage when the king told her that he onlywanted her to read for him, as his eyes were weak.

Now, Ernestine (for this was the name of the little girl) wasfond of reading aloud, and often many of the neighbors wouldassemble at her father's house to hear her; those who could notread themselves would come to her, also, with their letters fromdistant friends or children, and she thus formed the habit ofreading various sorts of handwriting promptly and well.

The king gave her the petition, and she rapidly glanced throughthe opening lines to get some idea of what it was about. As sheread, her eyes began to glisten and her breast to heave. "What isthe matter?" asked the king; "don't you know how to read?" "Oh,yes, sire" she replied, addressing him with the title usuallyapplied to him; "I will now read it, if you please."

The two pages were about to leave the room. "Remain," said theking. The little girl began to read the petition. It was from apoor widow, whose only son had been drafted to serve in the army,although his health was delicate and his pursuits had been suchas to unfit him for military life. His father had been killed inbattle, and the son had a strong desire to become a portraitpainter.

The writer told her story in a simple, concise manner, thatcarried to the heart a belief of its truth: and Ernestine read itwith so much feeling, and with an articulation so just, in tonesso pure and distinct, that when she had finished, the king, intowhose eyes the tears had started, exclaimed, "Oh! now Iunderstand what it is all about; but I might never have known,certainly I never should have felt, its meaning had I trusted tothese young gentlemen, whom I now dismiss from my service for oneyear, advising them to occupy the time in learning to read."

"As for you, my young lady," continued the king, "I know you willask no better reward for your trouble than the pleasure ofcarrying to this poor widow my order for her son's immediatedischarge. Let me see if you can write as well as you can read.Take this pen, and write as I dictate." He then dictated anorder, which Ernestine wrote, and he signed. Calling one of hisguards, he bade him go with the girl and see that the order wasobeyed.

How much happiness was Ernestine the means of bestowing throughher good elocution, united to the happy circumstance that broughtit to the knowledge of the king! First there were her poorneighbors, to whom she could give instruction and entertainment.Then there was the poor widow who sent the petition, and who notonly regained her son, but received through Ernestine an orderfor him to paint the king's likeness; so that the poor boy soonrose to great distinction, and had more orders than he couldattend to. Words could not express his gratitude, and that of hismother, to the little girl.

And Ernestine had, moreover, the satisfaction of aiding herfather to rise in the world, so that he became the king's chiefgardener. The king did not forget her, but had her well educatedat his own expense. As for the two pages, she was indirectly themeans of doing them good, also; for, ashamed of their badreading, they commenced studying in earnest, till they overcamethe faults that had offended the king. Both finally rose todistinction; and they owed their advancement in life chiefly totheir good elocution.

DEFINITIONS:—Petition, a formal request. Articulate, to utterthe elementary sounds. Modulate, to vary or inflect. Monotony,lack of variety. Affected, unnatural and silly.

A LEGEND OF BREGENZ.

BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

Girt round with rugged mountains
  The fair Lake Constance lies;
In her blue heart reflected,
  Shine back the starry skies;

And, watching each white cloudlet
  Float silently and slow,
You think a piece of Heaven
  Lies on our earth below!

Midnight is there: and Silence,
  Enthroned in Heaven, looks down
Upon her own calm mirror,
  Upon a sleeping town:

For Bregenz, that quaint city
  Upon the Tyrol shore,
Has stood above Lake Constance
  A thousand years and more.

Her battlements and towers,
  From off their rocky steep,
Have cast their trembling shadow
  For ages on the deep.

Mountain and lake and valley
  A sacred legend know,
Of how the town was saved one night
  Three hundred years ago.

Far from her home and kindred
  A Tyrol maid had fled,
To serve in the Swiss valleys,
  And toil for daily bread;

And every year that fleeted
  So silently and fast
Seemed to bear farther from her
  The memory of the Past.

She spoke no more of Bregenz
  With longing and with tears;
Her Tyrol home seemed faded
  In a deep mist of years;

Yet, when her master's children
  Would clustering round her stand
She sang them ancient ballads
  Of her own native land;

And when at morn and evening
  She knelt before God's throne,
The accents of her childhood
  Rose to her lips alone.

And so she dwelt: the valley
  More peaceful year by year;
When suddenly strange portents
  Of some great deed seemed near.

One day, out in the meadow,
  With strangers from the town
Some secret plan discussing,
  The men walked up and down.

At eve they all assembled;
  Then care and doubt were fled;
With jovial laugh they feasted:
  The board was nobly spread.

The elder of the village
  Rose up, his glass in hand,
And cried, "We drink the downfall
  Of an accursed land!

"The night is growing darker;
  Ere one more day is flown,
Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold,
  Bregenz shall be our own!"

The women shrank in terror
  (Yet Pride, too, had her part),
But one poor Tyrol maiden
  Felt death within her heart.

Nothing she heard around her
  (Though shouts rang forth again);
Gone were the green Swiss valleys,
  The pasture and the plain;

Before her eyes one vision,
  And in her heart one cry
That said, "Go forth! save Bregenz,
  And then, if need be, die!"

With trembling haste and breathless,
  With noiseless step she sped;
Horses and weary cattle
  Were standing in the shed;

She loosed the strong white charger
  That fed from out her hand;
She mounted, and she turned his head
  Toward her native land.

Out—out into the darkness—
  Faster, and still more fast;—
The smooth grass flies behind her,
  The chestnut wood is past;

She looks up; clouds are heavy;
  Why is her steed so slow?—
Scarcely the wind beside them
  Can pass them as they go.

"Faster!" she cries, "oh, faster!"
  Eleven the church bells chime;
"O God," she cries, "help Bregenz,
  And bring me there in time!"

But louder than bells' ringing,
  Or lowing of the kine,
Grows nearer in the midnight
  The rushing of the Rhine.

She strives to pierce the blackness,
  And looser throws the rein;
Her steed must breast the waters
  That dash above his mane.

How gallantly, how nobly,
  He struggles through the foam!
And see—in the far distance
  Shine out the lights of home!

Up the steep bank he bears her,
  And now they rush again
Toward the heights of Bregenz
  That tower above the plain.

They reach the gates of Bregenz
  Just as the midnight rings,
And out come serf and soldier
  To meet the news she brings.

Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight
  Her battlements are manned;
Defiance greets the army
  That marches on the land.

Three hundred years are vanished,
  And yet upon the hill
An old stone gateway rises
  To do her honor still.

And there, when Bregenz women
  Sit spinning in the shade,
They see in quaint old carving
  The Charger and the Maid.

And when, to guard old Bregenz
  By gateway, street, and tower,
The warder paces all night long
  And calls each passing hour,

"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud,
  And then (oh, crown of fame!),
When midnight pauses in the skies,
  He calls the maiden's name!

DEFINITIONS:—Fleeted, passed quickly. Portents, signs,indications. Jovial, joyful, gladsome. Board, dinner table.Charger, a horse for battle or parade. Serf, slave, serving man.

EXERCISE.—On the map of Europe, find Lake Constance, Tyrol,
Bregenz. What are the mountains called which surround Lake
Constance? Where is the Rhine?

THE GOLDEN TOUCH.

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

I.

Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a kingbesides, whose name was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whomnobody but myself ever heard of, and whose name I either neverknew, or have entirely forgotten. So, because I love odd namesfor little girls, I choose to call her Marygold.

This King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in theworld. He valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composedof that precious metal. If he loved anything better, or half sowell, it was the one little maiden who played so merrily aroundher father's footstool. But the more Midas loved his daughter,the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He thought, foolishman! that the best thing he could possibly do for this dear childwould be to bequeath her the largest pile of glistening coin thathad ever been heaped together since the world was made.

Thus he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this onepurpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at thegold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold,and that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box. Whenlittle Marygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of buttercups anddandelions, he used to say, "Pooh, pooh, child! If these flowerswere as golden as they look, they would be worth the plucking!"

At length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unlessthey take care to grow wiser and wiser) Midas had got to be soexceedingly unreasonable, that he could scarcely bear to see ortouch any object that was not gold. He made it his custom,therefore, to pass a large portion of every day in a dark anddreary apartment, under ground, at the basement of his palace. Itwas here that he kept his wealth. To this dismal hole—for it waslittle better than a dungeon—Midas betook himself, whenever hewanted to be particularly happy.

Here, after carefully locking the door, he would take a bag ofgold coin, or a gold cup as big as a washbowl, or a heavy goldenbar, or a peck measure of gold dust, and bring them from theobscure corners of the room into the one bright and narrowsunbeam that fell from the dungeonlike window. He valued thesunbeam for no other reason but that his treasure would not shinewithout its help.

And then would he reckon over the coins in the bag; toss up thebar, and catch it as it came down; sift the gold dust through hisfingers;` look at the funny image of his own face, as reflectedin the burnished circumference of the cup; and whisper tohimself, "O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man art thou!"

II.

Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure room, one day, asusual, when he perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold;and, looking up, he beheld the figure of a stranger, standing inthe bright and narrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with acheerful and ruddy face.

Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellowtinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he couldnot help fancying that the smile with which the stranger regardedhim had a kind of golden brightness in it. Certainly, there wasnow a brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures than before.Even the remotest corners had their share of it, and were lightedup, when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and sparklesof fire.

As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock,and that no mortal strength could possibly break into histreasure room, he, of course, concluded that his visitor must besomething more than mortal.

Midas had met such beings before now, and was not sorry to meetone of them again. The stranger's aspect, indeed, was sogood-humored and kindly, if not beneficent, that it would havebeen unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief. Itwas far more probable that he came to do Midas a favor. And whatcould that favor be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure?

The stranger gazed about the room; and, when his lustrous smilehad glistened upon all the golden objects that were there, heturned again to Midas.

"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!" he observed. "I doubtwhether any other four walls on earth contain so much gold as youhave contrived to pile up in this room."

"I have done pretty well,—pretty well," answered Midas, in adiscontented tone. "But, after all, it is but a trifle, when youconsider that it has taken me my whole lifetime to get ittogether. If one could live a thousand years, he might have timeto grow rich!"

"What!" exclaimed the stranger. "Then you are not satisfied?"

Midas shook his head.

"And pray, what would satisfy you?" asked the stranger. "Merelyfor the curiosity of the thing, I should be glad to know."

Why did the stranger ask this question? Did he have it in hispower to gratify the king's wishes? It was an odd question, tosay the least.

III.

Midas paused and meditated. He felt sure that this stranger, withsuch a golden luster in his good-humored smile, had come hitherwith both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmostwishes. Now, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had butto speak, and obtain whatever possible, or seemingly impossiblething, it might come into his head to ask. So he thought, andthought, and thought, and heaped up one golden mountain uponanother, in his imagination, without being able to imagine thembig enough.

At last a bright idea occurred to King Midas.

Raising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.

"Well, Midas," observed his visitor, "I see that you have atlength hit upon something that will satisfy you. Tell me yourwish."

"It is only this," replied Midas. "I am weary of collecting mytreasures with so much trouble, and beholding the heap sodiminutive, after I have done my best. I wish everything that Itouch to be changed to gold!"

The stranger's smile grew so bright and radiant, that it seemedto fill the room like an outburst of the sun, gleaming into ashadowy dell, where the yellow autumnal leaves—for so looked thelumps and particles of gold—lie strewn in the glow of light.

"The Golden Touch!" exclaimed he. "You certainly deserve credit,friend Midas, for striking out so brilliant a fancy. But are youquite sure that this will satisfy you?"

"How could it fail?" said Midas.

"And will you never regret the possession of it?"

"What could induce me?" asked Midas. "I ask nothing else, torender me perfectly happy."

"Be it as you wish, then," replied the stranger, waving his handin token of farewell. "To-morrow, at sunrise, you will findyourself gifted with the Golden Touch."

The figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, andMidas involuntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, hebeheld only one yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him,the glistening of the precious metal which he had spent hislife in hoarding up.

IV.

Whether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say.But when the earliest sunbeam shone through the window, andgilded the ceiling over his head, it seemed to him that thisbright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather a singular way onthe white coverimg of the bed. Looking more closely, what was hisastonishment and delight, when he found that this linen fabrichad been transmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purestand brightest gold! The Golden Touch had come to him with thefirst sunbeam!

Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about theroom, grasping at everything that happened to be in his way. Heseized one of the bedposts, and it became immediately a flutedgolden pillar. He pulled aside a window curtain in order to admita clear spectacle of the wonders which he was performing, and thetassel grew heavy in his hand, a mass of gold. He took up a bookfrom the table; at his first touch, it assumed the appearance ofsuch a splendidly bound and gilt-edged volume as one often meetswith nowadays; but on running his fingers through the leaves,behold! it was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all thewisdom of the book had grown illegible.

He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to seehimself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained itsflexibility and softness,although it burdened him a little withits weight. He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygoldhad hemmed for him; that was likewise gold, with the dear child'sneat and pretty stitches running all along the border, in goldthread!

Somehow or other, this last transformation did not quite pleaseKing Midas. He would rather that his little daughter's handiworkshould have remained just the same as when she climbed his kneeand put it into his hand.

But it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midastook his spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose, inorder that he might see more distinctly what he was about. Inthose days, spectacles for common people had not been invented,but were already worn by kings; else, how could Midas have hadany? To his great perplexity; however, excellent as the glasseswere, he discovered that he could not possibly see through them.But this was the most natural thing in the world; for, on takingthem off, the transparent crystals turned out to be plates ofyellow metal, and, of course, were worthless as spectacles,though valuable as gold. It struck Midas as rather inconvenient,that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich enough toown a pair of serviceable spectacles.

"It is no great matter, nevertheless," said he to himself, veryphilosophically. "We cannot expect any great good, without itsbeing accompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touchis worth the sacrifice of a pair of spectacles at least, ifnot of one's very eyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinarypurposes, and little Marygold will soon be old enough to read tome."

V.

Wise King Midas was so exalted by his good fortune, that thepalace seemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. Hetherefore went downstairs, and smiled on observing that thebalustrade of the staircase became a bar of burnished gold, ashis hand passed over it, in his descent. He lifted the door-latch(it was brass only a moment ago, but golden when his fingersquitted it), and emerged into the garden. Here, as it happened,he found a great number of beautiful roses in full bloom, andothers in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom. Verydelicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. Theirdelicate blush was one of the fairest sights in the world; sogentle, so modest, and so full of sweet soothing, did these rosesseem to be.

But Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according tohis way of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he tookgreat pains in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magictouch most untiringly; until every individual flower and bud, andeven the worms at the heart of some of them, were changed togold. By the time this good work was completed, King Midas wassummoned to breakfast; and as the morning air had given him anexcellent appetite, he made haste back to the palace.

What was usually a king's breakfast in the days of Midas, Ireally do not know, and cannot stop now to investigate. To thebest of my knowledge, however, on this particular morning, thebreakfast consisted of hot cakes, some nice little brook trout,roasted potatoes, fresh boiled eggs, and coffee for King Midashimself, and a bowl of bread and milk for his daughter Marygold.

Little Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her fatherordered her to be called, and seating himself at table, awaitedthe child's coming, in order to begin his own breakfast. To doMidas justice, he really loved his daughter, and loved her somuch the more this morning, on account of the good fortune whichhad befallen him. It was not a great while before he heard hercoming along the passage, crying bitterly. This circumstancesurprised him, because Marygold was one of the most cheerfullittle people whom you would see in a summer's day, and hardlyshed a tear in a twelvemonth.

When Midas heard her sobs, he determined to put little Marygoldinto better spirits by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning acrossthe table, he touched his danghter's bowl (which was a china one,with pretty figures all around it), and changed it into gleaminggold.

Meanwhile, Marygold slowly and sadly opened the door, and showedherself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heartwould break.

"How now, my little lady!" cried Midas. "Pray, what is the matterwith you, this bright morning?"

Marygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out herhand, in which was one of the roses which Midas had so recentlychanged into gold.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed her father. "And what is there in thismagnificent golden rose to make you cry?"

"Ah, dear father!" answered the child, between her sobs, "it isnot beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon asI was dressed, I ran into the garden to gather some roses foryou; because I know you like them, and like them the better whengathered by your little daughter. But oh, dear, dear me! What doyou think has happened? Such a sad thing! All the beautifulroses, that smelled so sweetly, and had so many lovely blushes,are blighted and spoilt! They are grown quite yellow, as you seethis one, and have no longer any fragrance! What can have beenthe matter with them?"

"Pooh, my dear little girl,—pray don't cry about it!" saidMidas, who was ashamed to confess that he himself had wrought thechange which so greatly afflicted her. "Sit down, and eat yourbread and milk. You will find it easy enough to exchange a goldenrose like that (which will last hundreds of years), for anordinary one which would wither in a day."

"I don't care for such roses as this!" cried Marygold, tossingit contemptuously away. "It has no smell, and the hard petalsprick my nose!"

The child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with hergrief for blighted roses that she did not even notice thewonderful change in her china bowl. Perhaps this was all thebetter; for Marygold was accustomed to take pleasure in lookingat the queer figures and strange trees and houses that werepainted on the outside of the bowl; and those ornaments were nowentirely lost in the yellow hue of the metal.

VI.

Midas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee; and, as amatter of course, the coffeepot, whatever metal it may have beenwhen he took it up, was gold when he set it down. He thought tohimself that it was rather an extravagant style of splendor, in aking of his simple habits, to breakfast off a service of gold,and began to be puzzled with the difficulty of keeping histreasures safe. The cupboard and the kitchen would no longer be asecure place of deposit for articles so valuable as golden bowlsand golden coffeepots.

Amid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips,and, sipping it, was astonished to perceive that the instant hislips touched the liquid it became molten gold, and the nextmoment, hardened into a lump!

"Ha!" exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.

"What is the matter, father?" asked little Marygold, gazing athim, with the tears still standing in her eyes.

"Nothing, child, nothing!" said Midas. "Take your milk before itgets quite cold."

He took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and touchedits tail with his finger. To his horror, it was immediatelychanged from a brook trout into a gold fish, and looked as if ithad been very cunningly made by the nicest goldsmith in theworld. Its little bones were now golden wires; its fins and tailwere thin plates of gold; and there were the marks of the fork init, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely friedfish, exactly imitated in metal.

"I don't quite see," thought he to himself, "how I am to get anybreakfast!"

He took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it,when, to his cruel mortification, though a moment before, it hadbeen of the whitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indianmeal. Its solidity and increased weight made him too bitterlysensible that it was gold. Almost in despair, he helped himselfto a boiled egg, which immediately underwent a change similar tothat of the trout and the cake.

"Well, this is terrible!" thought he, leaning back in his chair,and looking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was noweating her bread and milk with great satisfaction. "Such a costlybreakfast before me, and nothing that can be eaten!"

VII.

Hoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might avoid what henow felt to be a considerable inconvenience, King Midas nextsnatched a hot potato, and attempted to cram it into his mouth,and swallow it in a hurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimblefor him. He found his mouth full, not of mealy potato, but ofsolid metal, which so burnt his tongue that he roared aloud, and,jumping up from the table, began to dance and stamp about theroom, both with pain and affright.

"Father, dear father!" cried little Marygold, who was a veryaffectionate child, "pray what is the matter? Have you burnt yourmouth?"

"Ah, dear child," groaned Midas, dolefully, "I don't know what isto become of your poor father!"

And, truly, did you ever hear of such a pitiable case, in allyour lives? Here was literally the richest breakfast that couldbe set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutelygood for nothing. The poorest laborer, sitting down to his crustof bread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas,whose delicate food was really worth its weight in gold.

And what was to be done? Already, at breakfast, Midas wasexcessively hungry. Would he be less so by dinner time? And howravenous would be his appetite for supper, which must undoubtedlyconsist of the same sort of indigestible dishes as those nowbefore him! How many days, think you, would he survive acontinuance of this rich fare?

These reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began todoubt whether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing inthe world, or even the most desirable. But this was only apassing thought. So fascinated was Midas with the glitter of theyellow metal, that he would still have refused to give up theGolden Touch for so paltry a consideration as a breakfast. Justimagine what a price for one meal's victuals! It would have beenthe same as paying millions and millions of money for some friedtrout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of coffee!

"It would be much too dear," thought Midas.

Nevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of hissituation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too.Our pretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat a momentgazing at her father, and trying, with all the might of herlittle wits, to find out what was the matter with him. Then, witha sweet and sorrowful impulse to comfort him, she started fromher chair, and, running to Midas, threw her arms affectionatelyabout his knees. He bent down and kissed her. He felt that hislittle daughter's love was worth a thousand times more than hehad gained by the Golden Touch.

"My precious, precious Marygold!" cried he.

But Marygold made no answer.

VIII.

Alas, what had King Midas done? How fatal was the gift which thestranger had bestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touchedMarygold's forehead, a change had taken place. Her sweet, rosyface, so full of affection as it had been, assumed a glitteringyellow color, with yellow tear-drops congealing on her cheeks.Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same tint. Her soft andtender little form grew hard and inflexible within her father'sencircling arms. O terrible misfortune! The victim of hisinsatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human childno longer, but a golden statue!

Yes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, andpity, hardened into her face. It was the prettiest and mostwoeful sight that ever mortal saw. All the features and tokens ofMarygold were there; even the beloved little dimple remained inher golden chin. But, the more perfect was the resemblance, thegreater was the father's agony at beholding this golden image,which was all that was left him of a daughter.

It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever he feltparticularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth herweight in gold. And now the phrase had become literally true.And, now, at last, when it was too late, he felt how infinitely awarm and tender heart, that loved him, exceeded in value all thewealth that could be piled up betwixt the earth and sky!

It would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, inthe fullness of all his gratified desires, began to wring hishands and bemoan himself; and how he could neither bear to lookat Marygold, nor yet to look away from her. Except when his eyeswere fixed on the image, he could not possibly believe that shewas changed to gold. But, stealing another glance, there was theprecious little figure, with a yellow tear-drop on its yellowcheek, and a look so piteous and tender, that it seemed as ifthat very expression must needs soften the gold, and make itflesh again. This, however, could not be. So Midas had only towring his hands, and to wish that he were the poorest man in thewide world, if the loss of all his wealth might bring back thefaintest rose-color to his dear child's face.

IX.

While he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld astranger, standing near the door. Midas bent down his head,without speaking; for he recognized the same figure which hadappeared to him the day before in the treasure room, and hadbestowed on him this disastrous power of the Golden Touch. Thestranger's countenance still wore a smile, which seemed to shed ayellow luster all about the room, and gleamed on littleMarygold's image, and on the other objects that had beentransmuted by the touch of Midas.

"Well, friend Midas," said the stranger, "pray, how do yousucceed with the Golden Touch?"

Midas shook his head.

"I am very miserable," said he.

"Very miserable! indeed!" exclaimed the stranger; "and howhappens that? Have I not faithfully kept my promise with you?Have you not everything that your heart desired?"

"Gold is not everything," answered Midas. "And I have lost allthat my heart really cared for."

"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yesterday?" observed thestranger. "Let us see, then. Which of these two things do youthink is really worth the most,—the gift of the Golden Touch, orone cup of clear cold water?"

"O blessed water!" exclaimed Midas. "It will never moisten myparched throat again!"

"The Golden Touch," continued the stranger, "or a crust ofbread?"

"A piece of bread," answered Midas, "is worth all the gold onearth!"

"The Golden Touch," asked the stranger, "or your own little
Marygold, warm, soft, and loving, as she was an hour ago?"

"O my child, my dear child!" cried poor King Midas, wringing hishands. "I would not have given that one small dimple in her chinfor the power of changing this whole big earth into a solid lumpof gold!"

"You are wiser than you were, King Midas?" said the stranger,looking seriously at him. "Your own heart, I perceive, has notbeen entirely changed from flesh to gold. Were it so, your casewould indeed be desperate. But you appear to be still capable ofunderstanding that the commonest things, such as lie withineverybody's grasp, are more valuable than the riches which somany mortals sigh and struggle after. Tell me, now, do yousincerely desire to rid yourself of this Golden Touch?"

"It is hateful to me!" replied Midas.

A fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor; forit, too, had become gold. Midas shuddered.

"Go, then," said the stranger, "and plunge into the river thatglides past the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase ofthe same water, and sprinkle it over any object that you maydesire to change back again from gold into its former substance.If you do this in earnestness and sincerity, it may possiblyrepair the mischief which your avarice has occasioned."

King Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrousstranger had vanished.

X.

You will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up agreat earthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthenafter he touched it), and in hastening to the riverside. As heran along, and forced his way through the shrubbery, it waspositively marvelous to see how the foliage turned yellow behindhim, as if the autumn had been there, and nowhere else. Onreaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in, withoutwaiting so much as to pull off his shoes.

"Poof! poof! poof!" gasped King Midas, as his head emerged out ofthe water. "Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I thinkit must have quite washed away the Golden Touch. And now forfilling my pitcher!"

As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his veryheart to see it change from gold into the same good, honest,earthen vessel which it had been before he touched it. He wasconscious, also, of a change within himself. A cold, hard, andheavy weight seemed to have gone out of his bosom. No doubt hisheart had been gradually losing its human substance, and beenchanging into insensible metal, but had now been softened backagain into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank ofthe river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed tofind that the delicate flower retained its purple hue, instead ofundergoing a yellow blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had,therefore, really been removed from him.

XI.

King Midas hastened back to the palace; and, I suppose, theservants knew not what to make of it when they saw their royalmaster so carefully bringing home an earthen pitcher of water.But that water, which was to undo all the mischief that hisfolly had wrought, was more precious to Midas than an ocean ofmolten gold could have been. The first thing he did, as you needhardly be told, was to sprinkle it by handfuls over the goldenfigure of little Marygold.

No sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to seehow the rosy color came back to the dear child's cheek!—and howastonished she was to find herself dripping wet, and her fatherstill throwing more water over her!

"Pray do not, dear father!" cried she. "See how you have wet mynice frock, which I put on only this morning!"

For Marygold did not know that she had been a little goldenstatue; nor could she remember anything that had happened sincethe moment when she ran with outstretched arms to comfort herfather.

Her father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved childhow very foolish he had been, but contented himself with showinghow much wiser he had now grown. For this purpose, he led littleMarygold into the garden, where he sprinkled all the remainder ofthe water over the rosebushes, and with such good effect thatabove five thousand roses recovered their beautiful bloom. Therewere two circumstances, however, which, as long as he lived, usedto remind King Midas of the Golden Touch. One was, that the sandsof the river in which he had bathed, sparkled like gold; theother, that little Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge, whichhe had never observed in it before she had been changed by theeffect of his kiss. This change of hue was really an improvement,and made Marygold's hair richer than in her babyhood.

When King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to takeMarygold's children on his knee, he was fond of telling them thismarvelous story. And then would he stroke their glossy ringlets,and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade ofgold, which they had inherited from their mother.

"And, to tell you the truth, my precious little folks," said KingMidas, "ever since that morning, I have hated the very sight ofall other gold, save this!"

—From "A Wonder Book for Boys and Girls."

THE BROOK.

BY ALFRED TENNISON.

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
  I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
  To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
  Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
  And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
  To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
  But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
  In little sharps and trebles;
I bubble into eddying bays,
  I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
  By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
  With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
  To join the brimming river;
For men may come; and men may go,
  But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
  With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
  And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
  Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery waterbreak
  Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
  To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
  But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
  I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
  That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
  Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
  Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
  In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars,
  I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
  To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
  But I go on forever.

DEFINITIONS:—Coot, a kind of wild duck. Hern, a wading bird,heron. Bicker, run with a quivering, tremulous motion. Thorps,small villages. Foreland, headland. Shingly, gravelly.

THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.

And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee,and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judea, and frombeyond Jordan. And seeing the multitudes, he went up into amountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him.

And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying: Blessed are thepoor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed arethey that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are themeek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which dohunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessedare the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are thepeacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake:for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, andshall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward inheaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were beforeyou.

Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost hissavor, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good fornothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.

Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hillcannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under abushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all thatare in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that theymay see your good works, and glorify your Father which is inheaven.

Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: Iam not come to destroy, but to fulfill. For verily I say untoyou, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall inno wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.

Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments,and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in thekingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, thesame shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I sayunto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed therighteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no caseenter into the kingdom of heaven.

Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shaltnot kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of thejudgment: but I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with hisbrother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment….Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and thererememberest that thy brother bath aught against thee; leave therethy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled tothy brother, and then come and offer thy gift….

And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it fromthee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy membersshould perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast intohell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast itfrom thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy membersshould perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast intohell….

Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time,Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lordthine oaths: but I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither byheaven; for it is God's throne: nor by the earth; for it is hisfootstool: neither by Jerusalem; for it is the city of the greatKing. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canstnot make one hair white or black. But let your communication be,Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these comethof evil.

Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and atooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That ye resist not evil:but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to himthe other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and takeaway thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shallcompel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him thatasketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thouaway.

Ye have heard that it bath been said, Thou shalt love thyneighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love yourenemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hateyou, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecuteyou; that ye may be the children of your Father which is inheaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on thegood, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.

For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do noteven the publicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only,what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so? Be yetherefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven isperfect.

—Matthew, Chapter V.

DEFINITIONS:—Revile, reproach, abuse. Tittle, the smallest part.Scribes, those among the Jews who read and explained the law tothe people. Pharisees, a Jewish sect noted for its strictobservance of the law.

EXERCISE.—Point out on the map, Galilee, Jerusalem, Judea,Jordan, Capernaum. The mountain referred to in the firstparagraph was near Capernaum. Which paragraphs in this extractare called "The Beatitudes"? Why? Look in the dictionary for themeaning of the word "beatitude."

THE SONG OF STEAM.

Harness me down with your iron bands,
  Be sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
  As a tempest scorns a chain.
How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight,
  For many a countless hour,
At the childish boasts of human might,
  And the pride of human power!

When I saw an army upon the land,
  A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,
  Or waiting the wayward breeze;
When I saw the peasant faintly reel,
  With the toil which he faintly bore,
As constant he turned at the tardy wheel,
  Or tugged at the weary oar;

When I measured the panting courser's speed,
  The flight of the carrier dove,
As they bore a law a king decreed,
  Or the lines of impatient love;
I could not but think how the world would feel,
  As these were outstripped far,
When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
  Or chained to the flying car.

Ha ha! ha ha! they found me at last,
  They invited me forth at length;
And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast,
  And laughed in my iron strength.
Oh then you saw a wonderous change
  On earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies range,
  Nor wait for wind nor tide.

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er
  The mountain's steep declines
Time, space, have yielded to my power,
  The world, the world is mine!
The rivers the sun has earliest blessed,
  And those where his beams decline,
The giant streams of the queenly West,
  And the Orient floods divine.

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine
  My tireless arm doth play;
Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's decline,
  Or the dawn of the glorious day.
I bring earth's glittering jewels up
  From the hidden cave below;
And I make the fountain's granite cup
  With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,
  In all the shops of trade;
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel
  Where my arms of strength are made;
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint;
  I carry, I spin, I weave;
And all my doings I put into print,
  On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscle to weary, no frame to decay,
  No bones to be laid on the shelf;
And soon I intend you shall go and play,
  While I manage the world myself.
But harness me down with your iron bands,
  Be sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
  As the tempest scorns a chain.

—G. W. CUTTER

THE GENTLE HAND.

BY TIMOTHY S. ARTHUR.

When and where, it matters not now to relate—but once upon atime, as I was passing through a thinly peopled district ofcountry, night came down upon me almost unawares. Being on foot,I could not hope to gain the village toward which my steps weredirected until a late hour; and I therefore preferred seekingshelter and a night's lodging at the first humble dwelling thatpresented itself.

Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I foundmyself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtainedwindows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of goodcheer and comfort. The house stood within an inclosure, and ashort distance from the road along which I was moving withwearied feet.

Turning aside, and passing through the ill-hung gate, Iapproached the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its woodenhinges, and the rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturbthe air until I had nearly reached the porch in front of thehouse, in which a slender girl, who had noticed my entrance,stood awaiting my arrival.

A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound ofthe shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of animmense dog loomed in the doorway. At the instant when he wasabout to spring, a light hand was laid upon his shaggy neck,and a low word spoken.

"Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority, yetin her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would beobeyed; and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal withher hand, and he turned away and disappeared within the dwelling.

"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a heavylooking man took the dog's place in the door.

"How far is it to G——?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, inthe beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night.

"To G——!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first.
"It's good six miles from here."

"A long distance; and I'm a stranger, and on foot," said I. "Ifyou can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful."

I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested onhis shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer.

"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." There was a changein the man's voice that made me wonder. I entered a large room,in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the fire sat two stout lads,who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with no very welcomegreeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a table, and twochildren were amusing themselves with a kitten on the floor.

"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude agreeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay allnight."

The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and thenreplied coldly, "We don't keep a public house."

"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me,and it's a long way yet to G——."

"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of thehouse, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we mustgive him a bed."

So unobtrusively that I scarce noticed the movement, the girl haddrawn to her mother's side. What she said to her I did not hear,for the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed,as she spoke, one small; fair hand rested on the woman's hand.

Was there magic in that touch? The woman's repulsive aspectchanged into one of kindly welcome, and she said: "Yes, it's along way to G——. I guess we can find a place for him."

Many times more during that evening, did I observe the magicpower of that hand and voice—the one gentle yet potent as theother. On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparingto take my departure when my host informed me that if I wouldwait for half an hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G——, as business required him to go there. I was very well pleasedto accept of the invitation.

In due time the farmer's wagon was driven into the road beforethe house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse as arough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubbornendurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the familycame to the door to see us off.

"Dick!" said the farmer in a peremptory voice, giving the rein aquick jerk as he spoke. But Dick moved not a step. "Dick! youvagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply by thepony's ear.

It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmlydisobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him with animpatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast andsharp the strokes were next dealt to the number of half a dozen.The man might as well have beaten the wagon, for all his end wasgained.

A stout lad now came out into the road, and, catching Dick by thebridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, thecustomary language on such occasions, but Dick met this new allywith increased stubbornness, planting his fore feet more firmlyand at a sharper angle with the ground.

The impatient boy now struck the pony on the side of the headwith his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly at its bridle. Itavailed nothing, however; Dick was not to be wrought upon by anysuch arguments.

"Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voicereached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road,and, in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn himaway from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she tookhold of his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he hadno thought beyond her gratification.

And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and asingle low word spoken. How instantly were the tense musclesrelaxed—how quickly the stubborn air vanished.

"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly; orsoftly patted it with a childlike hand. "Now, go along, youprovoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding, yet affectionatevoice, as she drew up the bridle.

The pony turned toward her, and rubbed his head against her armfor an instant or two; then, pricking up his ears, he started offat a light, cheerful trot, and went on his way as freely as if nosilly crotchet had ever entered his stubborn brain.

"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking tomy companion, as we rode away.

He looked at me for a moment, as if my remark had occasionedsurprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he saidbriefly, "She's good! Everybody and everything loves her."

Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of hersoul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brutebeasts? The father's explanation was doubtless the true one. Yethave I ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potencywhich lay in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something ofthe same power, showing itself in the loving and the good, butnever to the extent as instanced in her, whom, for want of abetter name, I must still call "Gentle Hand."

DEFINITIONS:—Vicinity, neighborhood. Unobtrusively, notnoticeably, modestly. Repulsive, repelling, forbidding. Potent,powerful, effective. Host, one from whom another receives food,lodging, or entertainment. Peremptory, commanding, decisive.Availed, was of use, had effect. Ally, a confederate, one whounites with another in some purpose. Tense, strained tostiffness, rigid. Relaxed, loosened. Chiding, scolding, rebuking.Crochet, a perverse fancy, a whim. Instanced, mentioned as anexample.

SPRING.

BY HARRY TIMROD.

Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air
Which dwells with all things fair—
Spring, with her golden sun and silver rain,
Is with us once again!

Out in the woods the jasmine burns
Its fragrant lamps, and turns
Into a royal court, with green festoons,
The banks of dark lagoons:
In the deep heart of every forest tree
The blood is all a-glee;
And there's a look about the leafless bowers
As if they dreamed of flowers.

Already, here and there, on frailest stems
Appear some azure gems,
Small as might deck, upon a gala day,
The forehead of a fay.
In gardens you may note amid the dearth,
The crocus breaking earth,
And, near the snowdrop's tender white and green,
The violet in its screen.

But many gleams and shadows needs must pass
Along the budding grass,
And weeks go by before the enamored South
Shall kiss the rose's mouth;
Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn
In the sweet air of morn:
One almost to see the very street
Grow purple at his feet.

At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by,
And brings, you know not why,
A feeling as when eager crowds await
Before a palace gate
Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start
If, from a beech's heart,
A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say,
"Behold me! I am May!"

MARION'S MEN.

BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.

The partisan had managed admirably, but he was now compelled tofly. The advantage of the ground was no longer with him.Tarleton, with his entire force, had now passed through theavenue, and had appeared in the open court in front. Thenecessity of rapid flight became apparent to Singleton, and thewild, lively notes of his trumpet were accordingly heard stirringthe air at not more than rifle distance from the gathering troopof Tarleton. Bitterly aroused by this seeming audacity,—anaudacity to which Tarleton, waging a war hitherto of continualsuccesses, had never been accustomed,—his ire grew into fury.

"What, men! shall these rebels carry it so?" he criedaloud.—"Advance, Captain Barsfield! Advance to the right of thefence with twenty men, and stop not to mark your steps. Advance,sir, and charge forward. You should know the ground by this time.Away!—Captain Kearney, to you wood! Sweep it, sir, with yoursabers; and meet in the rear of the garden."

The officers thus commanded moved to the execution of theircharges with sufficient celerity. The commands and movements ofMajor Singleton were much more cool, and not less prompt. Hehurried along by his scattered men as they lay here and therecovered by this or that bush or tree: "Carry off no bullets thatyou can spare them, men. Fire as soon as they reach the garden;and when your pieces are clear, take down the hill and mount."

Three minutes did not elapse before the rifles had each pouredforth its treasured death; and without pausing to behold theeffects of their discharge, each partisan, duly obedient, was onhis way, leaping off from cover to cover through the thick woodsto the hollow where their horses had been fastened.

The furious Tarleton meanwhile led the way through the garden,the palings of which were torn away to give his cavalry freepassage. With a soldier's rage, he hurried forward the pursuit,in a line tolerably direct, after the flying partisans. ButSingleton was too good a soldier, and too familiar with theground, to keep his men in mass in a wild flight through woodsbecoming denser at every step.

When they had reached a knoll at some little distance beyond theplace where his horses had been fastened, he addressed his troopas follows: "We must break here, my men. Each man will take hisown path, and we will all scatter as far apart as possible. Makeyour way, all of you, for the swamp, however, where in a coupleof hours you may all be safe.—Lance Frampton, you will ride withme."

Each trooper knew the country, and, accustomed to individualenterprise and the duties of the scout, there was no hardship tothe men of Marion in such a separation. On all hands they glidedoff, and at a far freer pace than when they rode together in abody. A thousand tracks they found in the woods about them, inpursuing which there was now no obstruction, no jostling ofbrother-horsemen pressing upon the same route. Singleton and hisyouthful companion darted away at an easy pace into the woods, inwhich they had scarcely shrouded themselves before they heard therushing and fierce cries of Tarleton's dragoons.

"Do you remember, Lance," said Singleton to the boy,—"do youremember the chase we had from the Oaks when Proctor pursued us?"

"Yes, sir; and a narrow chance it was when your horse tumbled. Ithought they would have caught and killed you then, sir; but Ididn't know anything of fighting in the woods then."

"Keep cool, and there's little danger anywhere," respondedSingleton. "Men in a hurry are always in danger. To be safe, besteady. But hark! do you not hear them now? Some of them have gotupon our track."

"I do hear a noise, sir: there was a dry bush that cracked then."

"And a voice,—that was a shout. Let us stop for a moment andreload. A shot may be wanted."

Coolly dismounting, Singleton proceeded to charge his rifle,which had been slung across his shoulder. His companion did thesame. While loading, the former felt a slight pain and stiffnessin his left arm: "I am hurt, Lance, I do believe. Look here at myshoulder."

"There's blood, sir; and the coat's cut with a bullet. Thebullet's in your arm, sir."

"No, not now. It has been there, I believe, though the wound isslight. There! now mount; we have no time to see to it now."

"That's true, sir, for I hear the horses. And look now, major!There's two of the dragoons coming through the bush, and straighttoward us."

"Two only?" said Singleton, again unslinging his rifle. The boyreadily understood the movement, and proceeded to do likewise;but he was too late. The shot of Singleton was immediate, and theforemost trooper fell forward from his horse. His companion fled.

"Don't 'light, Lance: keep on. There's only one now, and he won'ttrouble us. Away, sir!" It was time to speed. The report of theshot and the fall of the dragoon gave a direction to the wholeforce of the pursuers, whose shouts and cries might now be heardringing in all directions through the forest behind them.

"They can't reach us, Lance," said Singleton, as they hastenedforward. "We shall round that bay in a few seconds, and they willbe sure to boggle into it. On, boy, and waste no eyesight inlooking behind you. Push on; the bay is before us."

Thus speaking, guiding and encouraging the boy, the fearlesspartisan kept on. In a few minutes they had rounded the thickbay, and were deeply sheltered in a dense wood well known at thatperiod by a romantic title, which doubtless had its story. "MyLady's Fancy. We are safe now, Lance, and a little rest will dono harm."

The partisan, as he spoke, drew up his horse, threw himself fromhis back, fastened him to a hanging branch, and, passing down toa hollow where a little brooklet ran trickling along with agentle murmur, drank deeply of its sweet and quiet waters, whichhe scooped up with a calabash that hung on a bough above.

Then, throwing himself down under the shadow of the tree, he layas quietly as if there had been no danger tracking his footsteps,and no deadly enemy still prowling in the neighborhood andhungering for his blood.

—From "Mellichampe."

DEFINITIONS:—Partisan, any one of a body of light troops,designed to carry on a desultory warfare. Audacity, daringspirit. Knoll, a little round hill. Shrouded, hidden. Calabash, adry gourd scooped out.

NOTES.—Marion's Men. During the Revolution, General FrancisMarion was in command of a body of partisan soldiers known by theabove title. They were for the most part poorly clad andequipped, but their bravery, self-denial, and patriotismenabled them to do good service in the cause of freedom.Their deeds have been commemorated in Bryant's well-knownpoem, the first stanza of which is as follows:—

  "Our band is few, but true and tried,
     Our leader frank and bold;
   The British soldier trembles
     When Marion's name is told."

Tarleton. Colonel Tarleton was in command of a portion of theBritish forces in South Carolina during the Revolution. He was anable, brave, but merciless soldier.

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.

A CHILD'S STORY.

BY ROBERT BROWNING.

I.

Hamelin town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, what a pity!

II.

Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles.
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

At last the people in a body
To the town hall came flocking:
"'Tis clear," cried they, "our mayor's a noddy;
And as for our corporation—shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
At this the mayor and corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

An hour they sat in council;
At length the mayor broke silence
"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
I wish I were a mile hence!
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain—
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber door but a gentle tap!
"Bless us," cried the mayor, "what's that?"
(With the corporation as he sat
Looking little though wondrous fat;
Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister
Than a too-long-opened oyster,
Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
For a plate of turtle green and glutinous),
"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat
Anything like the sound of a rat
Slakes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

V.

"Come in!"—the mayor cried, looking bigger:
And in did come the strangest figure!
His queer long coat from heel to head
Was half of yellow and half of red,
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in;
There was no guessing his kith and kin:
And nobody could enough admire
The tall man and his quaint attire.
Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire,
Starting up at the trump of doom's tone,
Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

VI.

He advanced to the council table:
And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper."
(And here they noticed round his neck
A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
To match with his coat of the selfsame check;
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
As if impatient to be playing
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old-fangled.)
"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats:
And as for what your brain bewilders,
If I can rid your town of rats
Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
"One? fifty thousand!"—was the exclamation
Of the astonished mayor and corporation.

VII.

Into the street the piper stepped
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then, like a musical adept,
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives—
Followed the piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
And step for step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished!
—Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,
Swam across and lived to carry
To rat-land home his commentary:
Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
Into a cider-press's gripe:
And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice!
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
So munch on, crunch on, take your nunchion,
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'
And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,
All ready staved, like a great sun shone
Glorious scarce an inch before me,
Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'
—I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

VIII.

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
"Go, cried the mayor, "and get long poles,
Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats!" when suddenly, up the face
Of the piper perked in the market place,
With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

IX.

A thousand guilders! The mayor looked blue;
So did the corporation too.
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!
"Beside," quoth the mayor with a knowing wink.
"Our business was done at the river's brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what's dead can't come to life, I think.
So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you something for drink,
And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

X.

The piper's face fell, and he cried,
"No trifling! I can't wait. Beside,
I've promised to visit by dinner time
Bagdat, and accept the prime
Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in,
For having left, in the caliph's kitchen,
Of a nest of scorpions no survivor:
With him I proved no bargain driver,
With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe after another fashion."

XI.

"How?" cried the mayor, "d'ye think I brook
Being worse treated than a cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

XII.

Once more he stepped into the street
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

The mayor was dumb, and the council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by,
—Could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the piper's back.
But how the mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched council's bosoms beat,
As the piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters
However he turned from South to West,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
"He never can cross that mighty top!
He's forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!"
When, lo, as they reached the mountain side,
A wonderous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,
The door in the mountain side shut fast.
Did I say, all? No! One was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,—
"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
And their dogs outrun our fallow deer,
And honeybees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles' wings:
And just as I became assured
My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!"

XIV.

Also, alas, for Hamelin!
  There came into many a burgher's pate
  A text which says that heaven's gate
  Opes to the rich at as easy rate
As the needle's eye takes a camel in!
The mayor sent East, West, North, and South,
To offer the piper, by word of mouth,
  Whatever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor,
And piper and dancers were gone forever,
They made a decree that lawyers never
  Should think their records dated duly
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear,
 "And so long after what happened here
  On the twenty-second of July,
Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"
And the better in memory to fix
The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it the Pied Piper's Street,
Where any one playing on pipe or tabor
Was sure for the future to lose his labor.
Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
  To shock with mirth a street so solemn;
But opposite the place of the cavern
  They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away,
And there it stands to this very day.
And I must not omit to say
That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people who ascribe
The outlandish ways and dress
On which their neighbors lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterranean prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band
Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

XV.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers
Of scores out with all men—especially pipers!
And whether they pipe us FROM rats or FROM mice,
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

DEFINITIONS:—Corporation, city government. Ermine, furs used forlining the robes of mayors and other high officials. Guilder, asilver coin worth about 40 cents. Adept, one fully skilled inanything. Nunchion, the same as luncheon. Puncheon, a caskcontaining 84 gallons. Poke, pocket. Caliph, a Mohammedan ruler.Stiver, a Dutch coin worth about two cents. Burgher, a citizen ofthe town.

EXERCISE. In your geographies find all the places namedin this poem.

LIST OF AUTHORS.

Arthur, Timothy S. An American writer, born near Newburgh, NewYork, in 1809. Most of his life was passed in Baltimore andPhiladelphia. He wrote more than a hundred volumes, nearly all ofwhich are now forgotten. His best-known work is a temperance taleentitled "Ten Nights in a Bar-room." He died in 1885.

Browning, Robert. An English poet, born near London in 1812. He
was educated at London University, and spent most of his life in
Italy. He was the author of many volumes of poetry. He died at
Venice in 1889.

Bryant, William Cullen. An American poet, born at Cummington,Massachusetts, in 1794; died in New York in 1878. His poemsrelate for the most part to subjects connected with the woods andfields and the beauties of nature. For fifty years he was theeditor of the New York Evening Post.

Burroughs, John. An American writer, born at Roxbury, New York,in 1837. His writings include many delightful essays on out-doorsubjects. Among his best books are "Wake-Robin," Birds andPoets," "Winter Sunshine," and "Fresh Fields."

Cooke, John Esten. An American writer, born at Winchester,Virginia, in 1830. Among his works are a number of interestingstories and sketches of life in Virginia. He died in 1886.

Cutter, George W. An American writer, whose home was in
Washington, D.C. His most popular work is the short poem entitled
"The Song of Steam." He was born in 1801; died in 1865.

Dickens, Charles. One of the most famous of English novelists,born at Landport, near Portsmouth, England, in 1812. His greatestnovel is "David Copperfield," but some of his most pleasing workis found in the "Pickwick Papers." Among his other writings are"The Old Curiosity Shop," "Dombey and Son," "Martin Chuzzlewit,"and "Nicholas Nickleby." His "Christmas Carol" and otherChristmas stories are delightful reading. He died at Gadshill in1870.

Dodge, Mary Napes. An American author, born at New York in 1838.She has been the editor of St. Nicholas since its beginning in1875, and has written several charming stories for children.

Drummond, Henry. A Scottish clergyman, author, and naturalist.His most popular work is "Tropical Africa"; but he also wrotemany sermons, essays, and religious books. He died in 1897.

Elizabeth, Charlotte. An English writer, Charlotte ElizabethBrowne Tonna, born at Norwich in 1790. She wrote some novels, andseveral tracts on religious subjects, and was editor of theChristian Lady's Magazine, but her works are now seldom read. Shedied in 1846.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. A famous American writer and philosopher,born at Boston in 1803; died in 1882. His works are included infourteen volumes of essays, poems, and criticisms.

Everett, Edward. An American statesman and orator, born in
Massachusetts in 1794; died in 1865.

Field, Eugene. A popular American journalist and poet, born in
Missouri in 1850, died at Chicago in 1896. His best poems are
contained in the volumes entitled "Love Songs of Childhood" and
"A Little Book of Western Verse."

Fields, James T. An American publisher and author, born at
Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1817. He wrote a little poetry, and
a few well-known prose works, among which his "Yesterdays with
Authors" is the best. He died at Boston in 1881.

Flagg, Ellen H. An American writer of verses, whose home was inthe South. Her best-known production is "The Blue and the Gray."

Froude, James Anthony. An English writer, born in Devonshire in1818. His writings relate chiefly to historical subjects, andinclude a "History of England" and "Short Studies on GreatSubjepts," both of which are works of the highest order. He diedin 1894.

Gallagher, William D. An American journalist born in Pennsylvaniain 1808. The greater part of his life was spent in Kentucky, andhis best poems relate to Western and Southern subjects. He diedin 1894.

Gilder, Richard Watson. An American editor and poet, born atBordentown, New Jersey, in 1844. He was for many years the editorof Lee Century Magazine. His works are collected in a volumeentitled "Five Books of Song."

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. One of the greatest of American prosewriters, born at Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804. Besides writingsome famous novels, he.was,the author of "The Wonder Book,""Tanglewood Tales," and "Grandfather's Chair," delightful booksfor children. He died at Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 1864.

Hughes, Thomas. An English writer, born near Newbury in 1823. Heis well known in this country as the author of "Tom Brown'sSchool Days at Rugby," an excellent book for boys. He died in1896.

Key, Francis Scott. An American lawyer and author of "TheStar-Spangled Banner," was born in Maryland in 1779; died in1843.

La Coste, Marie. An American writer whose home was in the South.
She is remembered for the single poem, "Somebody's Darling"

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. One of the greatest of Americanpoets, born at Portland, Maine, in 1807. He held for some yearsthe professorship of Modern Languages in Bowdoin College, andlater a similar professorship in Harvard College. Many of hispoems are well known to all young readers. He died in Cambridgein 1882.

Mackay, Charles. A Scottish poet, born at Perth in 1814. He waseditor of the Illustrated London News for several years, andwrote three or four volumes of poems. He died in London in 1889.

Macdonald, George. A Scottish writer, born at Huntly, Scotland,in 1824. He was the author of a number of popular novels, ofseveral books for the young, and of two or three works onreligious subjects.

Michelet, Jules. A famous French historian and miscellaneouswriter, born in Paris in 1798. He died in 1872.

Mitford, Mary Russell. An English author, born in Hampshire in1787. She wrote several dramas and poems besides numerous storiesfor children. Her most popular work is "Our Village." She died in1855.

Musick, John R. An American writer born in Missouri in 1849; diedin 1901. He was the author of several works relating to Americanhistory.

Moodie, Susanna. An English author, born in 1803. She was thesister of the noted historical writer, Agnes Strickland. Her bestbook is "Roughing it in the Bush," a record of experiences in thebackwoods of Canada. She died in 1885.

Peck, Samuel Minturn. An American author, born at Tuskaloosa,Alabama, in 1854. He has written several popular songs and somestories.

Procter, Adelaide Anne. An English poet, daughter of Bryan WallerProcter, born in London in 1825. She wrote one volume of poems,entitled, "Legends and Lyrics." She died in 1864.

Riley, James Whitcomb. An American poet, born at Greenfield,
Indiana, in 1853. Much of his poetry is In Western dialect. He
was author of "Rhymes of Childhood," "Afterwhiles," "A Child
World," "Neighborly Poems," and several other volumes of verses.

Sangster, Margaret E. An American author and journalist, born inNew Rochelle, New York, in 1838, has written many volumes onsocial and religious subjects besides several books of verses.

Save, John Godfrey. An American poet, born at Highgate, Vermont,in 1816. Most of his poems are humorous, and have been verypopular. He died at Albany, New York, 1887.

Simms, William Gilmore (page 248). An American writer, born atCharleston, South Carolina, in 1806. He wrote several novels,most of them relating to life in the South. He was also theauthor of a volume of poems, and of a history of South Carolina.He died in 1870.

Stockton, Frank R.. An American writer, born at Philadelphia in1834. Among his books for children are "Roundabout Rambles" and"Tales out of School:" He has also written a number of novels andseveral volumes of shorter stories for grown-up people.

Tennyson, Alfred. One of the greatest of English poets, born inLincolnshire in 1809. He was made poet-laureate in 1850. Many ofhis poems are well known to young readers' and very popular. Hedied in 1892.

Thaxter, Celia Leighton. An American writer, born at Portsmouth,New Hampshire, in 1835. She wrote "Among the Isles of Shoals,"and some other volumes of prose, but is remembered chiefly forher "Poems for Children." She died in 1894.

Timrod, Henry. An American poet, born in Charleston, SouthCarolina, in 1829. His poems, published in a single volume, havebeen much admired. He died in 1867.

Todd, John. An American clergyman and author, born at Rutland,
Vermont, in 1800. He wrote "Lectures for Children" and the
"Student's Manual," books once popular, but now almost. He died
at Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in 1873.

Trowbridge, John Townsend. An American writer, born at Ogden, NewYork, in 1827. He was the author of a large number of popularbooks for boys, besides several volumes of poetry and somesuccessful novels.

Warner, Charles Dudley. An American author, born at Plainfield,Massachusetts, in 1829. He was the author of many volumes ofessays and sketches, and of "Being a Boy," a book for youngerreaders. He died in 1900.

Woodworth, Samuel. An American author and editor, born atScituate, Massachusetts, in 1785. He wrote several poems, but heis remembered chiefly as the writer of "The Old Oaken Bucket." Hedied at New York in 1842.

End Project Gutenberg etext of The New McGuffey First Reader

Related articles