I love the woods, the fields, the streams,
The wild flowers fresh and sweet,
And yet I love no less than these
The crowded city street;
For haunts of men, where'er they be,
Awake my deepest sympathy.
I see within the city street
Life's most extreme estates;
The gorgeous domes of palaces;
The dismal prison gates;
The hearths by household virtues blest,
The dens that are the serpent's nest.
I see the rich man, proudly fed
And richly clothed, pass by;
I see the shivering, houseless wretch
With hunger in his eye;
For life's severest contrasts meet
Forever in the city street.
Hence is it that a city street
Can deepest thoughts impart,
For all its people, high and low,
Are kindred to my heart;
And with a yearning love I share
In all their joy, their pain, their care.
Mary Howitt.
Questions: Can you put this little poem in prose? Tell what you admire in nature. Then tell what you observe in the city. Tell about the rich and where they live. Also about the poor and how they are housed and clothed. Let us write a composition together.
LESSON II
BREATHE PURE AIR
Some boys were playing hide-and-seek one day, when one of their number thought it would be good sport to hide little Robert in a large empty trunk. He did so and then turned the key in the lock. The little fellow in the chest was very quiet indeed, and they almost forgot about him. After some time they thought of him and some one went to the trunk and asked: "Hello, Robert. Do you want to come out now?" No answer came. They opened the trunk and found poor little Robert nearly dead. The doctor had to be called, and he worked long and hard to restore the poor boy to health.
The air which we breathe out is not fit to be breathed in again. We soon use up, in this way, all the pure air about us. So we must have a fresh supply. As soon as Robert had breathed in all the good air that was in the trunk, there was nothing left but poisoned air. If fresh air had not been given to him by opening the trunk, he could not have lived three minutes longer.