DE LA SALLE SERIES

(Transcriber's Note: Although "ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. LeighHunt" and "A SIMPLE RECIPE. James Whitcomb Riley" wereoriginally shown in the list above, neither work appears in thetext.)

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The object of the Christian Brothers in issuing a new seriesof Readers is to place in the hands of the teachers and pupils ofour Catholic schools a set of books embodying the matter andmethods best suited to their needs. The matter has been writtenor chosen with a view to interest and instruct, to cultivate ataste for the best literature, to build up a strong moralcharacter and to imbue our children with an intelligent love ofFaith and Country. The methods are those approved by the mostexperienced and progressive teachers of reading in Europe andAmerica.

These Readers have also been specially designed to elicitthought and facilitate literary composition. In furtherance ofthis idea, class talks, word study, the structure of sentences,drills on certain correct forms of expression, the properarrangement of ideas, explanation of phrases and literaryexpressions, oral and written reproductions of narrations anddescriptions, and exercises in original composition, all receivethe attention which their importance demands. Thus will thepupils, while learning to read and from their earliest years,acquire that readiness in grasping the thoughts of others andthat fluency in expressing their own, which are so essential to agood English education.

In teaching the art of Reading as well as that of Composition,the principle of order should in a great measure determine thevalue of the methods to be employed. In the acquisition ofknowledge, the child instinctively follows the order of nature.This order is first, observation; second, thought;third, expression. It becomes the duty of the teacher,consequently, to lead the child to observe accurately, tothink clearly, and to express his thoughtscorrectly. And text-books are useful only in so far asthey supply the teacher with the material and the system bestcalculated to accomplish such results.

It is therefore hoped that the present new series of Readers,having been planned in accordance with the principle justenunciated, will prove a valuable adjunct in our Catholicschools.

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[INTRODUCTION]

In this Fifth Reader of the De La Salle Series the plan of thepreceding numbers has been continued. The pupil has now masteredthe mechanical difficulties of learning to read, and has acquireda fairly good working vocabulary. Hence he is prepared to readintelligently and with some degree of fluency and pleasure. Nowis the time to lead him to acquire a taste for good reading. Theselections have been drawn mainly from authors whose writings aredistinguished for their moral and literary value, and whose styleis sure to excite a lasting interest.

In addition to giving the pupil practice in reading andforming a basis for oral and written composition work, theseselections will raise his ideas of right living, will quicken hisimagination, will give him his first knowledge of many things,stimulate his powers of observation, enlarge his vocabulary, andcorrect and refine his mode of expression. A wholesome readinghabit, so important to-day, will thus be easily, pleasantly andunconsciously formed.

The following are some of the features of the book:

GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION.-This Guide is to be referred to againand again, and the diacritical marks carefully taught.Instruction in the vowel sounds is an excellent drill inarticulation, while a knowledge of the diacritical marks enablesthe pupil to master these sounds for himself when consulting thedictionary.

VARIETY OF MATTER.-In the volume will be found the bestsentiments of the best writers. The pupil will find fables,nature studies, tales of travel and adventure, brave deeds fromhistory and fiction, stories of loyalty and heroism, examples ofsublime Christian self-sacrifice, and selections that teachindustry, contentment, respect for authority, reverence for allthings sacred, attachment to home, and fidelity to faith andCountry.

LANGUAGE STUDY.-If reading is to hold its proper place in theclass room, the teaching of it must not be confined to the merereading of the text. In its truest sense, reading is far morecomprehensive. The teacher will question the pupil on what he hasread, point out to him the beauties of thought and language, findout what hold the reading has taken upon his memory, how it hasaroused his imagination, assisted his judgment, directed hiswill, and contributed to his fund of general information. Toassist in this most important work is the object aimed at in thematter given for Language Study. Such study will also give fullerpowers of interpretation and corresponding appreciation of theselection considered simply as literature.

RECITATIONS.-There are some selections marked for recitation.The public recitation of these extracts will banish awkwardnessof manner, beget self-confidence, and lay the foundation forsubsequent elocutionary work. Besides, experience teaches that asingle poem or address based upon some heroic or historic event,recited before a class or a school, will often do more to buildup a noble character and foster a love of history, than a fullterm of instruction by question and answer.

POETRY.-The numerous poetic selections, some of which arepartly analyzed by way of suggestion, will create a love for thehighest and purest forms of literature, will broaden the field ofknowledge, and emphasize the teachings of some of the proseselections. Many of them have been written by American authors.Every American boy and girl should be acquainted with the worksof poets who have done so much for the development of Americanliterature and nationality.

MEMORY GEMS.-"The memorizing of choice bits of prose andpoetry enriches the vocabulary of the pupils, adorns theirmemory, suggests delicate and noble thoughts, and puts them inpossession of sentences of the best construction. The recitationof these expressive texts accustoms the children to speak withease, grace and elegance." ("Elements of PracticalPedagogy.")

BIOGRAPHIES.-Young children enjoy literature for its own sake,and take little interest in the personality of the writer; but asthey grow older, pleasure in the work of an author arouses aninterest in the writer himself. Brief biographical sketches aregiven at the close of the volume as helps in the study of theauthors from whom selections are drawn, and to induce the pupilsto read further.

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[SUGGESTIONS]

WORD STUDY.-The pupil should know how to spell and pronouncecorrectly all the words of the selection he is preparing to read.He should know their ordinary meanings and the special meaningsthey may have in the text. He should be able to write themcorrectly from dictation and to use them in sentences of his own.He should examine if they are primitive, derivative, or compound;he should be able to name the prefixes and suffixes and show howthe meanings of the original words are modified by their use. Heshould cultivate the habit of word mastery. What is read will nototherwise be understood. Without it there can be no good reading,speaking or writing.

EXPRESSIVE READING.-There should be constant drill to securecorrect pronunciation, distinct articulation, proper emphasis,and an agreeable tone of voice, without which there can be noexpressive reading. This is a difficult task, and will take muchtime, trouble and practice; but it has far-reaching results. Itenlarges the sympathy of the pupil and lays the foundation for agenuine love of literature. Do not, then, let the reading lessondrift into a dull and monotonous calling of words. On thecontrary, let it be intelligent, spirited, enthusiastic. Emotioncomes largely from the imagination. The pupil himself must betaught not only to feel what he reads, but to make its meaningclear to others. It is important that children be taught toacquire thought through the ear.

CONCERT READING.-Reading in concert is generally of littlevalue, and the time given to it ill-spent. It does not aid thechildren in getting thought, or in expressing it fluently. As anexercise in teaching reading it is ineffective and oftenpositively harmful. A concert recitation to which specialtraining has been given partakes of the nature of a hymn or asong, and then becomes an element of value. If occasionally theremust be concert reading in the class room, it should always bepreceded by individual mastery of the selection.

POEMS.-In the first lesson, a poem, like a picture, should bepresented as a whole, and never dissected. The teacher shouldfirst read it through, not stopping for note or comment. Heshould then read it again, part by part, stopping, for question,explanation and discussion. Lastly, the whole poem, should beread with suitable emotion, so that the final impression may bemade by the author's own words. It is important that the pupilget the message which the author intended to give. In teaching adescriptive poem, make the pictures as vivid as possible, andthus awaken the imagination. In dealing with a narrative poem,the sequence of events must first be made clear. When this isdone, the aim should be to give fuller meaning to the story bybringing out clearly the causes, motives and results of acts. Allthis will take time. Be it so. One poem well read, well studied,is worth more than a volume carelessly read over. In readingpoetry, be careful that the pupils, while giving the rhythm ofthe lines, do not fall into the singsong tone so common and sodisagreeable.

EXPLANATIONS.-Explanations should accompany every readinglesson, without which there can be no serious teaching of thevernacular. By their means the teacher enters into communicationwith his pupils; he gets them to speak, he corrects their errors,trains their reason, and forms their taste. It has been said thata teacher able to explain selections in prose and poetry "holdshis class in the hollow of his hand." The teacher should insistthat the pupil express himself clearly and correctly, not onlyduring the reading lesson, but on every subject he has occasionto deal with, either orally or in writing, throughout the day'srecitations.

REVIEWS.-As the memory of children, though prompt, is weak,frequent reviews should be held. They are necessary for thebackward pupils and advantageous for the others. Have an informaltalk with the children on what they have read, what they havelearned, what they have liked, and what has interested them. Someimportant parts of the prose and poetry previously studied might,during this exercise, be re-read with profit.

COMPOSITION.-Continue oral and written composition. Thecorrect use of written language is best taught by selecting forcompositions subject-matter that deeply interests the children.If persevered in, this will secure a good, strong, idiomatic useof English. If the words of a selection that has been studiedappear now and then in the children's conversation or writing, itshould be a matter for praise; for this means that new words havebeen added to their vocabulary, and that the children have a newconception of beauty of thought and speech.

See that all written work be done neatly and legibly. Slovenlyor careless habits should never be allowed in any writtenwork.

MEMORY GEMS.-Do not lose sight of the memory gems. Familiarizethe pupil with them. Their value to the child lies more in futuregood resulting from them than in present good. These treasures ofthought will live in the memory and influence the daily lives ofthe children who learn them by heart.

THE DICTIONARY.-The use of the dictionary is a necessary partof education. It is a powerful aid in self-education. Its usewill double the value of study in connection with reading andlanguage. Every Grammar School, High School and College should besupplied with several copies of a good unabridged dictionary, andevery pupil taught how to consult it, and encouraged to do so.The dictionary should be the book of first and last and constantresort.

USE OF THE LIBRARY.-The teacher should endeavor to create aninterest in those books from which the selections in the Readerare taken, and in others of equal grade and quality. Encouragethe children to take books from the library. Direct them in theirchoice. Encourage home reading. The reading of good books shouldbe a part of regular school work; otherwise little or no trueprogress can be made in speaking and writing. The best way tolearn to speak and write good English is to read goodEnglish.

For additional suggestions as to the best means of teachingReading and Language, teachers are referred to Chapters II andIV, Part IV, of "Elements of Practical Pedagogy," by theChristian Brothers, and published by the La Salle Bureau ofSupplies, 50 Second Street, New York.

Acknowledgments are gratefully made to the following authors,publishers, and owners of copyright, who have courteously grantedpermission to use the selections which bear their names:

"Mercedes," Miss Eleanor C. Donnelly, Miss Mary BoyleO'Reilly, Miss Kate Putnam Osgood, Miss P.C. Donnelly, Mrs.Margaret E. Sangster, Mr. Denis A. McCarthy, Mr. James WhitcombRiley, Mr. George Cooper, Mr. J.T. Trowbridge, "Rev. Richard W.Alexander;" University of Notre Dame; The Ladies' Home Journal;Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.; The Educational Publishing Co.;Little, Brown & Co.; The Bobbs-Merrill Co.; P.J. Kenedy &Sons; The Hinds & Noble Co.; Charles Scribner's Sons.

The selections from Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, Hawthorne,Fields, Trowbridge, Phoebe Cary, Charles Dudley Warner, are usedby permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton,Mifflin & Co., publishers of the works of these authors, andto these gentlemen are tendered expressions of sincerethanks.

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[GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION]

NOTE.-This Guide is given to aid the pupil in the use of thedictionary, and will be found to cover all ordinary cases. In thediacritical marking, as in accentuation and syllabication,Webster's International Dictionary has been taken asauthority.

VOWELS

(Transcriber's Note: Equivalent sound shown within round brackets.)

[=a] as in gate--g[=a]te
[^a] as in care--c[^a]re
[)a] as in cat--c[)a]t
[.a] as in ask--[.a]sk
[a.] ([)o]) as in what--wh[a.]t
[:a] as in car--c[:a]r
[a:] as in all--[a:]ll
ai ([^a]) as in air--[^a]ir
ai ([=a]) as in aim--[=a]im
au ([:a]) as in aunt--[:a]unt
[=e] as in eve--[=e]ve
[)e] as in end--[)e]nd
[~e] as in her--h[~e]r
[^e] as in there--th[^e]re
[e=] ([=a]) as in they--th[e=]y
ea ([=e]) as in ear--[=e]ar
ei ([=e]) as in receive--rec[=e]ive
[=i] as in ice--[=i]ce
[)i] as in pin--p[)i]n
[~i] ([~e]) as in bird--b[~i]rd
[:i] ([=e]) as in police--pol[:i]ce
i[e=] ([=e]) as in chief--chi[=e]f
[=o] as in old--[=o]ld
[^o] as in lord--l[^o]rd
[)o] as in not--n[)o]t
[.o] ([)u]) as in son--s[.o]n
[o.] ([u.]) as in wolf--w[o.]lf
[o:] ([=oo]) as in do--d[o:]
oa ([=o]) as in boat--b[=o]at
[=oo] ([o:]) as in moon--m[=oo]n
[)oo] ([o.]) as in foot--f[)oo]t
[=u] as in pure--p[=u]re
[)u] as in cup--c[)u]p
[^u] as in burn--b[^u]rn
[u.] ([o.]) as in full--f[u.]ll
[u:] as in rude--r[u:]de
ew ([=u]) as in new
[=y] ([=i] as in fly--fl[=y]
[)y] ([)i]) as in hymn--h[)y]mn
[~y] ([~e]) as in myrrh--m[~y]rrh

CONSONANTS

c (s) as in cent
c (k) as in cat
ce (sh) as in ocean
ch (k) as in school
ch (sh) as in machine
ci (sh) as in gracious
dg (j) as in edge
ed (d) as in burned
ed (t) as in baked
f (v) as in of
g (hard) as in get
g (j) as in gem
gh (f) as in laugh
n (ng) as in ink
ph (f) as in sulphur
qu (kw) as in queen
s (z) as in has
s (sh) as in sure
s (zh) as in pleasure
ssi (sh) as in passion
si (zh) as in occasion
ti (sh) as in nation
wh (hw) as in when
x (z) as in Xavier
x (ks) as in tax
x (gz) as in exist

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[DEFINITIONS]

Language is the expression of thought by means ofwords.

Words, with respect to their origin, are dividedinto primitive and derivative; and with respect totheir composition, into simple andcompound.

A primitive word is one that is not derived fromanother word.

A derivative word is one that is formed from anotherword by means of prefixes or suffixes, or by some otherchange.

A simple word is one that consists of a singlesignificant term.

A compound word is one made up of two or more simplewords.

A sentence is a combination of words which makecomplete sense.

A syllable is a word or a part of a word pronounced byone effort of the voice.

The diaeresis is the mark (^..) placedover the second of two adjacent vowels, to denote that they areto be pronounced as distinct letters; asreëcho.

RULES FOR THE USE OF CAPITAL LETTERS

The first word of every sentence should begin with acapital.

Proper names, and words derived from them, should beginwith capitals.

The first word of every line of poetry should beginwith a capital.

All names of God and all titles of the Deity, as wellas all pronouns referring to the Deity, should begin withcapitals.

The words I and O should always be capitals.

The first word of a direct quotation should begin witha capital.

The names of the days and of the months shouldbegin with capitals; but not the names of the seasons.

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[HYMN TO ST. LA SALLE.]

Glorious Patron! low before thee
Kneel thy sons, with hearts a-flame!
And our voices blend in music,
Singing praises to thy name.
Saint John Baptist! glorious Patron!
Saint La Salle! we sound thy fame.
Lover of our Queen and Mother,
At her feet didst vow thy heart,
Earth, and all its joys, forsaking,
Thou didst choose the better part.
Saint La Salle, our glorious Father,
Pierce our souls with love's owndart.
Model of the Christian Teacher!
Patron of the Christian youth!
Lead us all to heights of glory,
As we strive in earnest ruth.
Saint La Salle! oh, guard and guideus,
As we spread afar the Truth!
In this life of sin and sorrow,
Saint La Salle, oh, guide our way,
In the hour of dark temptation,
Father! be our spirit's stay!
Take our hand and lead us homeward,
Saint La Salle, to Heaven's brightDay!

Mercedes.

ST. JOHN BAPTIST DE LA SALLE. Founder of the Brothers of theChristian Schools, pointing out the way of salvation to thechildren of all nations.

"Christian Teachers are the sculptors of living angels,moulding and shaping the souls of youth for heaven." MostReverend Archbishop Keane, of Dubuque.

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due	mien	fri'ar
pri'or	Pa'los	por'ter
con'vent	pre'cious

[COLUMBUS AT THE CONVENT.]

Dreary and brown the night comes down,
Gloomy, without a star.
On Palos town the night comes down;
The day departs with stormy frown;
The sad sea moans afar.
A convent gate is near; 'tis late;
Tin-gling! the bell they ring.
They ring the bell, they ask for bread-
"Just for my child," the father said.
Kind hands the bread will bring.
White was his hair, his mien was fair,
His look was calm and great.
The porter ran and called a friar;
The friar made haste and told the prior;
The prior came to the gate.
He took them in, he gave them food;
The traveler's dreams he heard;
And fast the midnight moments flew.
And fast the good man's wonder grew,
And all his heart was stirred.
The child the while, with soft, sweet smile,
Forgetful of all sorrow,
Lay soundly sleeping in his bed.
The good man kissed him there, and said:
"You leave us not to-morrow!
"I pray you, rest the convent's guest;
This child shall be our own-
A precious care, while you prepare
Your business with the court, and bear
Your message to the throne."
And so his guest he comforted.
O wise, good prior! to you,
Who cheered the stranger's darkest days,
And helped him on his way, what praise
And gratitude are due!

J.T. Trowbridge.

By permission of the author.

Where is Palos? What is it noted for?

Who was the "good man" spoken of in the poem?

In the line "The traveler's dreams he heard," who was thetraveler? Relate the story of his dreams. Why are they calleddreams? Did the dreams become facts? In what way?

How did the monks of this convent assist Columbus?

How did the Queen of Spain assist him?

Why is it that in the geography of our country we meet with somany Catholic names?

Memory Gem:

Press on! There's no such word as fail!
Push nobly on! The goal is near!
Ascend the mountain! Breast the gale!
Look upward, onward,-never fear!

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[THE LITTLE FERN.]

A great many centuries ago, when the earth was even morebeautiful than it is now, there grew in one of the many valleys adainty little fern leaf. All around the tiny plant were manyothers, but none of them so graceful and delicate as this one Itell you of. Every day the cheery breezes sought out theirplaymate, and the merry sunbeams darted in and out, playinghide-and-seek among reeds and rushes; and when the twilightshadows deepened, and the sunbeams had all gone away, the littlefern curled itself up for the night with only the dewdrops forcompany.

So day after day went by: and no one knew of, or found thesweet wild fern, or the beautiful valley it grew in. But-for thiswas a very long time ago-a great change took place in the earth;and rocks and soil were upturned, and the rivers found newchannels to flow in.

Now, when all this happened, the little fern was quite coveredup with the soft moist clay, and perhaps you think it might aswell never have lived as to have been hidden away where nonecould see it.

But after all, it was not really lost; for hundreds of yearsafterwards, when all that clay had become stone, and had brokeninto many fragments, a very wise and learned man found the bit ofrock upon which was all the delicate tracery of the little fernleaf, with outline just as perfect and lovely as when, long, longago it had swayed to the breezes in its own beautiful valley.

And so wonderful did it seem to the wise man, that he took thefern leaf home with him and placed it in his cabinet where allcould admire it; and where, if they were thoughtful and cleverenough, they could think out the story for themselves and findthe lesson which was hidden away with the fern in the bit ofrock.

Lesson! did I say? Well, let's not call it a lesson, but onlya truth which it will do every one of us good to remember; andthat is, that none of the beauty in this fair world around us,nor anything that is sweet and lovely in our own hearts, andlives, will ever be useless and lost. For, as the little fernleaf lay hidden away for years and years, and yet finally wasfound by the wise man and given a place with his other rare andprecious possessions where it could still, though silently, aidthose who looked upon it; so we, as boys and girls, men and womenwho are to be, can now, day by day, cultivate all lovely traitsof character, making ourselves ready to take our place in theworld's work. And when that time comes we shall not only be ableto aid others silently, as did the little fern, but may also, byword and deed, lend a hand to each and every one around us.

Mara L. Pratt.

From "Fairyland of Flowers." The Educational PublishingCo.

Break up the following words into their syllables, and placethe accent mark where it belongs in each:

outline, tracery, cabinet, delicate, finally, character,hundreds, centuries, remember, beautiful, possessions. Show thecorrect use of the words in original sentences. The dictionarywill help you in the work.

Name some of the traits of character that will help a boy or agirl to be truly successful in life.

Memory Gems:

The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

Wordsworth.

Truth alone makes life rich and great.

Emerson.

There is a tongue in every leaf-
A voice in every rill-
A voice that speaketh everywhere-
In flood and fire, through earth and air,
A tongue that's never still.

Anon.

_10_

blithe	whistler	mellow
replied	cheery	skylark

[HELPING MOTHER.]

As I went down the street to-day,
I saw a little lad
Whose face was just the kind of face
To make a person glad.
It was so plump and rosy-cheeked,
So cheerful and so bright,
It made me think of apple-time.
And filled me with delight.
I saw him busy at his work,
While blithe as skylark's song
His merry, mellow whistle rang
The pleasant street along.
"Oh, that's the kind of lad I like!"
I thought as I passed by;
"These busy, cheery, whistling boys
Make grand men by and by."
Just then a playmate came along,
And leaned across the gate-
A plan that promised lots of fun
And frolic to relate.
"The boys are waiting for us now,
So hurry up!" he cried;
My little whistler shook his head,
And "Can't come," he replied.
"Can't come? Why not, I'd like to know?
What hinders?" asked the other.
"Why, don't you see," came the reply,
"I'm busy helping mother?
She's lots to do, and so I like
To help her all I can;
So I've no time for fun just now,"
Said this dear little man.
"I like to hear you talk like that,"
I told the little lad;
"Help mother all you can, and make
Her kind heart light and glad."
It does me good to think of him,
And know that there are others
Who, like this manly little boy,
Take hold and help their mothers.

LANGUAGE WORK:

Describe the little lad spoken of in the poem. Do you know anyboy like him?

Tell what this "little man" said to his playmate.

When night came, was the boy sorry that he had missed so muchfun? What kind of man did he very likely grow up to be?

_11_

rid' dle	brand'-new	mys' ter y
un rav' el	like' ness es

[A CONTENTED WORKMAN.]

Once upon a time, Frederick, King of Prussia, surnamed "OldFritz," took a ride, and saw an old laborer plowing his land bythe wayside cheerily singing his song.

"You must be well off, old man," said the king. "Does thisland on which you are working so hard belong to you?"

"No, sir," replied the laborer, who knew not that it was theking; "I am not so rich as that; I plow for wages."

"How much do you get a day?" asked the king.

"Two dollars," said the laborer.

"That is not much," replied the king; "can you get along withthat?"

"Yes; and have something left."

"How is that?"

The laborer smiled, and said, "Well, if I must tell you, fiftycents are for myself and wife; with fifty I pay my old debts,fifty I lend, and fifty I give away for the Lord's sake."

"That is a mystery which I cannot solve," replied theking.

"Then I will solve it for you," said the laborer. "I have twoold parents at home, who kept me when I was weak and needed help;and now, that they are weak and need help, I keep them. This ismy debt, towards which I pay fifty cents a day. The third fiftycents, which I lend, I spend for my children, that they mayreceive Christian instruction. This will come handy to me and mywife when we get old. With the last fifty I maintain two sicksisters. This I give for the Lord's sake."

The king, well pleased with his answer, said, "Bravely spoken,old man. Now I will also give you something to guess. Have youever seen me before?"

"Never," said the laborer.

"In less than five minutes you shall see me fifty times, andcarry in your pocket fifty of my likenesses."

"That is a riddle which I cannot unravel," said thelaborer.

"Then I will do it for you," replied the king. Thrusting hishand into his pocket, and counting fifty brand-new gold piecesinto his hand, stamped with his royal likeness, he said to theastonished laborer, who knew not what was coming, "The coin isgood, for it also comes from our Lord God, and I am hispaymaster. I bid you good-day."

Memory Gems:

The working men, whatever their task,
Who carve the stone, or bear thehod,
They wear upon their honest brows
The royal stamp and seal of God;
And worthier are their drops of sweat
Than diamonds in a coronet.
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power;
Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall;
Who sows a field, or trains a flower,
Or plants a tree, is more than all.

Whittier.

LABOR Millet.

_12_

con' script

in dis pen' sa ble

im' ple ment

in de fea' si bly

[TWO LABORERS.]

Two men I honor, and no third. First, the toil worn craftsman,that with earth-made implement laboriously conquers the earth,and makes her man's. Venerable to me is the hard hand, crooked,coarse, wherein, notwithstanding, lies a cunning virtue,indefeasibly royal, as of the scepter of this planet. Venerable,too, is the rugged face, all weather tanned, besoiled, with itsrude intelligence; for it is the face of a man livingmanlike.

Oh, but the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even becauseI must pity as well as love thee! Hardly entreated brother! Forus was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight limbs andfingers so deformed. Thou wert our conscript on whom the lot felland, fighting our battles, wert so marred. Yet toil on, toil on;... thou toilest for the altogether indispensable,-for dailybread.

A second man I honor, and still more highly; him who is seentoiling for the spiritually indispensable; not daily bread, butthe bread of life. Is not he, too, in his duty; endeavoringtowards inward harmony; revealing this, by act or word, throughall his outward endeavors, be they high or low? Highest of all,when his outward and his inward endeavor are one; when we canname him artist; not earthly craftsman only, but inspiredthinker, that with heaven-made implement conquers heaven forus!

If the poor and humble toil that we may have food, must notthe high and glorious toil for him, in return, that he may havelight and guidance, freedom, immortality?-these two, in all theirdegrees, I honor; all else is chaff and dust, which let the windblow whither it listeth.

Unspeakably touching it is, however, when I find bothdignities united; and he, that must toil outwardly for the lowestof man's wants, is also toiling inwardly for the highest.Sublimer in this world know I nothing than a peasant saint. Sucha one will take thee back to Nazareth itself; thou wilt see thesplendor of heaven spring forth from the humblest depths of earthlike a light shining in great darkness.

Thomas Carlyle.

Laws are like cobwebs, where the small flies are caught, andthe great break through.

Bacon.

_13_

gust	thief	mop' ing
awk' ward	pet' tish ly	in dig' nant
un bear' a ble	med' dle some	en light' ened
	in quis' i tive

[THE GRUMBLING PUSS.]

"What's the matter?" said Growler to the gray cat, as she satmoping on the top of the garden wall.

"Matter enough," said the cat, turning her head another way,"Our cook is very fond of talking of hanging me. I wish heartilysome one would hang her."

"Why, what is the matter?" repeated Growler.

"Hasn't she beaten me, and called me a thief, and threatenedto be the death of me?"

"Dear, dear!" said Growler; "pray what has brought itabout?"

"Oh, nothing at all; it is her temper. All the servantscomplain of it. I wonder they haven't hanged her long ago."

"Well, you see," said Growler, "cooks are awkward things tohang; you and I might be managed much more easily."

"Not a drop of milk have I had this day!" said the gray cat;"and such a pain in my side!"

"But what," said Growler, "what is the cause?"

"Haven't I told you?" said the gray cat, pettishly; "it's hertemper:-oh, what I have had to suffer from it! Everything shebreaks she lays to me; everything that is stolen she lays to me.Really, it is quite unbearable!"

Growler was quite indignant; but, being of a reflective turn,after the first gust of wrath had passed, he asked: "But wasthere no particular cause this morning?"

"She chose to be very angry because I-I offended her," saidthe cat.

"How, may I ask?" gently inquired Growler.

"Oh, nothing worth telling,-a mere mistake of mine."

Growler looked at her with such a questioning expression, thatshe was compelled to say, "I took the wrong thing for mybreakfast."

"Oh!" said Growler, much enlightened.

"Why, the fact is," said the gray cat, "I was springing at amouse, and knocked down a dish, and, not knowing exactly what itwas, I smelt it, and it was rather nice, and-"

"You finished it," hinted Growler.

"Well, I believe I should have done so, if that meddlesomecook hadn't come in. As it was, I left the head."

"The head of what?" said Growler.

"How inquisitive you are!" said the gray cat.

"Nay, but I should like to know," said Growler.

"Well, then, of a certain fine fish that was meant fordinner."

"Then," said Growler, "say what you please; but, now that I'veheard the whole story, I only wonder she did not hangyou."

Fill the following blanks with words that will make completesentences:

Mary - here, and Susan and Agnes - coming. They - delayed onthe road. Mother - to come with them, but she and father -obliged to wait till to-morrow.

Puss said to Growler, "I - not - a drop of milk to-day, and -not - any yesterday."

I - my work well now. Yesterday I - it fairly well. To-morrowI shall - it perfectly.

The boys - their best, though they - the game.

John-now the boys he - last week. He - not - them before.

NOTE.-Let two pupils read or recite the conversational partsof this selection, omitting the explanatory matter, while theother pupils simply listen. If done with expressive feeling andin a perfectly natural tone, it will prove quite an interestingexercise. To play or act the story of a selection helps todevelop the imagination.

_14_

scared	swerve	gur' gle
rip' ples	cur' rent	mum' bling ly

[THE BROOK SONG.]

Little brook! Little brook!
You have such a happy look-
Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and curve and crook-
And your ripples, one and one,
Reach each other's hands and run
Like laughing little children in the sun!
Little brook, sing to me;
Sing about the bumblebee
That tumbled from a lily bell and grumbled mumblingly,
Because he wet the film
Of his wings, and had to swim,
While the water bugs raced round and laughed at him.
Little brook-sing a song
Of a leaf that sailed along
Down the golden-hearted center of your current swift andstrong,
And a dragon fly that lit
On the tilting rim of it,
And rode away and wasn't scared a bit.
And sing-how oft in glee
Came a truant boy like me,
Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody,
Till the gurgle and refrain
Of your music in his brain
Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain.
Little brook-laugh and leap!
Do not let the dreamer weep:
Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softestsleep;
And then sing soft and low
Through his dreams of long ago-
Sing back to him the rest he used to know!

James Whitcomb Riley.

From "Rhymes of Childhood." Used by special permission of thepublishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Co. Copyright, 1900.

BY THE BROOK

ripples, little curling waves film, a thin skinor slight covering.

current, the swiftest part of a stream; also applied toair, electricity, etc.

What do the following expressions mean: tilting rim, liltingmelody, softest sleep, gurgle and refrain, a happiness as keen tohim as pain?

What is a lullaby? Recite a stanza of one.

Insert may or can properly where you see a dashin the following: The boy said, "-I leave the room?" "Mother,I-climb the ladder;-I?"-a dog climb a tree?-I ask a favor?

Copy the following words-they are often misspelled: loving,using, till, until, queer, fulfil, speech, muscle, quite, scheme,success, barely, college, villain, salary, visitor, remedy,hurried, forty-four, enemies, twelfth, marriage, immense,exhaust.

By means of the suffixes, er, est, ness, form three newwords from each of the following words: happy, sleepy, lively,greedy, steady, lovely, gloomy.

Example: From happy,-happier, happiest, happiness. Note thechange of y to i.

_15_

rag'ged	crin'kly	rub'bish
fil'tered	protect'ed	disor'derly
disturbed'	imme'diately

[THE STORY OF THE SEED-DOWN.]

I.

High above the earth, over land and sea, floated theseed-down, borne on the autumn wind's strong arms.

"Here shall you lie, little seed-down," said he at last, andput it down on the ground, and laid a fallen leaf over it. Thenhe flew away immediately, because he had much to look after.

That was in the dark evening, and the seed could not see whereit was placed, and besides, the leaf covered it.

Something heavy came now, and pressed so hard that the seedcame near being destroyed; but the leaf, weak though it was,protected it.

It was a human foot which walked along over the ground, andpressed the downy seed into the earth. When the foot waswithdrawn, the earth fell, and filled the little pit it hadmade.

The cold came, and the snow fell several feet deep; but theseed lay quietly down there, waiting for warmth and light. Whenthe spring came, and the snow melted away, the plant shot up outof the earth.

There was a little gray cottage beside which it grew up. Thetiny plant could not see very far around, because rubbish andbrush-heaps lay near it, and the little window was so gray anddusty that it could not peep into the cottage either.

"Who lives here?" asked the little thing.

"Don't you know that?" asked the ragged shoe, which lay near."Why, the smith who drinks so much lives here, and his wife whowore me out."

And then she told how it looked inside, how life went onthere, and it was not cheering; no, but fearfully sad. The shoeknew it all well, and told a whole lot in a few minutes, becauseshe had such a well-hung tongue.

Now there came a pair of ragged children, running-the smith'sboy and girl; he was six years old and the girl eight, so theshoe said, after they were gone.

"Oh, see, what a pretty little plant!" said the girl. "So now,I shall pull it up," said the boy, and the plant trembled to theroot's heart.

"No, do not do it!" said the girl. "We must let it grow. Doyou not see what pretty crinkly leaves it has? It will havelovely flowers, I know, when it grows bigger."

And it was allowed to stay there. The children took a stickand dug up the earth round about, so it looked like a plowedfield. Then they threw the shoe and the sweepings a little wayoff, because they thought to make the place look better.

"You cannot think," said the shoe, after the children hadgone, "you cannot think how in the way folks are!"

"The children have to give themselves airs, and pretend to bevery orderly," said the half of a coffee-cup; and she broke inanother place she was so disturbed.

But the sun shone warmly and the rain filtered down in theupturned earth. Then leaf after leaf unfolded, and in a few daysthe plant was several inches high.

"Oh, see!" said the children, who came again; "see howbeautiful it is getting!"

"Come, father, come! brother and I have discovered such apretty plant! Come and see it!" begged the girl.

The father glanced at it. The plant looked so lovely on thelittle rough bit of soil which lay between the piles ofsweepings.

The smith nodded to the children.

"It looks very disorderly here," he said to himself, andstopped an instant. "Yes, indeed, it does!" He went along, butthought of the little green spot, with the lovely plant in themidst of it.

II.

pet' als

in' mates

scrubbed

fra' grant

The children ran into the house.

"Mother," said they, "there is such a rare plant growing rightby the window!"

The mother wished to glance out, but the window was so thickwith dust that she could not do so. She wiped off a littlespot.

"My! My!" said she, when she noticed how dirty the windowlooked beside the cleaned spot; so she wiped the wholewindow.

"That is an odd plant," said she, looking at it. "But howdreadfully dirty it is out in the yard!"

Now that the sun shone in through the window it became verylight in the cottage. The mother looked at the ragged childrenand at the rubbish in the room, and the blood rushed over herpale cheeks.

"It is a perfect shame!" she murmured. "I have never noticedthat it was so untidy here."

She hurried around, and set the room to rights, and, when thatwas done, she washed the dirty floor. She scrubbed it so hardthat her hands smarted as if she had burned them in the fire; shedid not stop until every spot was white.

It was evening; the husband came home from work. The wife satmending the girl's ragged dress. The man stopped in the door. Itlooked so strange to him within, and the look his wife gave himwas brighter than ever before, he thought.

"Go-God's peace!" he stammered. It was a long time since sucha greeting had been heard in here.

"God's peace!" answered she; "wel-welcome home!" She had notsaid this for many years.

The smith stepped forward to the window; on the bed beside itthe two children lay sleeping. He looked at them, then he lookedout on the mound where the little plant stood. After a fewminutes he went out.

A deep sigh rose from the woman's breast. She had hoped thathe would stay home that evening. Two great tears fell on thelittle dress.

In a few minutes she heard a noise outside. She went to thewindow to see what it could be. Her husband had not gone away! Hewas out in the yard clearing up the brush-heaps and rubbish.

She became more happy than she had been for a long time. Heglanced in through the window and saw her. Then she nodded, henodded back, and they both smiled.

"Be careful, above all, of the little plant!" said she.

Warm and sunny days came. The smith stayed at home now everyevening. It was green and lovely round the little cottage, andoutside the window there was a whole flower-bed, with manyblossoms; but in the midst stood the little plant the autumn windhad brought thither.

The smith's family stood around the flower-bed, and talkedabout the flowers.

"But the plant that brother and I found is the most beautifulof all," said the girl.

"Yes, indeed it is," said the parents.

The smith bent down and took one of the leaves in his hand,but very carefully, because he was afraid he might hurt it withhis thick, coarse fingers.

Then a bell was heard ringing in the distance. The soundfloated out over field and lake, and rang so peacefully in theeventide, just as the sun sank behind the tree-tops in theforest. And every one bowed the head, because it was Saturdayevening, and it was a sacred voice that sounded.

In a little while all was silent in the cottage; the inmatesslumbered, more tired, perhaps, than before, after the week'stoils, but also much, much happier. And round about, all was calmand peaceful.

But when Sunday's sun came up, the plant opened its bud,-andit bore but a single one. When the cottage folks passed thelittle flower-garden, they all stopped and looked at thebeautiful, fragrant blossom.

"It shall go with us to the house of God," said the wife,turning to her husband. He nodded, and then she broke off theflower. The wife looked at the husband, and he looked at her, andthen their eyes rested on both children; then their eyes grewdim, but became immediately bright again, for the tears were notof sorrow, but of happiness.

When the organ's tones swelled and the people sang in thetemple, the flower folded its petals, for it had fulfilled itsmission; but on the waves of song its perfume floated upwards.And in the sweet fragrance lay a warm thanksgiving from thelittle seed-down.

From "My Lady Legend," translated from the Swedish by MissRydingsvärd.

Used by the special permission of the publishers, Lothrop, Lee& Shepard Co.

Memory Gem:

I want it to be said of me by those who know me best that Ihave always plucked a thistle and planted a flower in its placewherever a flower would grow.

Abraham Lincoln.

_16_

lux'u ry

med'i cine

a bun'dant

wil'der ness

[THE USE OF FLOWERS.]

God might have bade the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak tree, and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.
He might have made enough, enough,
For every want of ours;
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have made no flowers.
The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus flower
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man
Might yet have drunk them all.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made
All dyed with rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night-
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passeth by?
Our outward life requires them not,
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;
To whisper hope-to comfort man
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For whoso careth for the flowers
Will care much more for Him!

Mary Howitt.

Give the plural forms of the following name-words: tree, leaf,copy, foot, shoe, calf, life, child, tooth, valley.

Insert the proper punctuation marks in the followingstanza:

In the country on every side
Where far and wide
Like a leopard's tawny hide
Stretches the plain
To the dry grass and drier grain
How welcome is the rain.

Memory Gem:

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of oceanbear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desertair.

Stanza from Gray's "Elegy."

_17_

deigned	in' va lid	lone' li ness
smoothed	med'i cine	be wil'dered
gen' ius	riv' et ed	soul-sub du' ing

[PIERRE'S LITTLE SONG.]

In a humble room, in one of the poorer streets of London,little Pierre, a fatherless French boy, sat humming by thebedside of his sick mother. There was no bread in the house; andhe had not tasted food all day. Yet he sat humming to keep up hisspirits.

Still, at times, he thought of his loneliness and hunger, andhe could scarcely keep the tears from his eyes; for he knew thatnothing would be so welcome to his poor invalid mother as a goodsweet orange; and yet he had not a penny in the world.

The little song he was singing was his own,-one he hadcomposed, both air and words; for the child was a genius. He wentto the window, and, looking out, saw a man putting up a greatposter with yellow letters, announcing that Madame Malibran wouldsing that night in public.

"Oh, if I could only go!" thought little Pierre; and then,pausing a moment, he clasped his hands; his eyes sparkled with anew hope. Running to the looking-glass, he smoothed his yellowcurls, and, taking from a little box an old, stained paper, hegave one eager glance at his mother, who slept, and ran speedilyfrom the house.

"Who, do you say, is waiting for me?" said the lady to herservant. "I am already worn out with company."

"Only a very pretty little boy, with yellow curls, who saysthat if he can just see you, he is sure you will not be sorry,and he will not keep you a moment."

"Oh, well, let him come!" said the beautiful singer, with asmile; "I can never refuse children."

Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm; and in his handa little roll of paper. With a manliness unusual in a child, hewalked straight up to the lady, and, bowing, said: "I have cometo see you, because my mother is very sick, and we are too poorto get food and medicine. I thought that, perhaps, if you wouldonly sing my little song at one of your grand concerts, somepublisher might buy it, for a small sum; and so I could get foodand medicine for my mother."

The beautiful woman rose from her seat; very tall and statelyshe was;-she took the little roll from his hand, and lightlyhummed the air.

"Did you compose it?" she asked,-"you, a child! And thewords?-Would you like to come to my concert?" she asked, after afew moments of thought.

"Oh, yes!" and the boy's eyes grew bright with happiness; "butI couldn't leave my mother."

"I will send somebody to take care of your mother for theevening; and here is a crown, with which you may go and get foodand medicine. Here is also one of my tickets; come to-night; andthat will admit you to a seat near me."

Almost beside himself with joy, Pierre bought some oranges,and many a little luxury besides, and carried them home to thepoor invalid, telling her, not without tears, of his goodfortune.

When evening came, and Pierre was admitted to the concerthall, he felt that never in his life had he been in so grand aplace. The music, the glare of lights, the beauty, the flashingof diamonds and the rustling of silks, completely bewildered him.At last she came; and the child sat with his eyes rivetedon her face. Could it be that the grand lady, glittering withjewels, and whom everybody seemed to worship, would really singhis little song?

Breathless he waited:-the band, the whole band, struck up alittle plaintive melody: he knew it, and clapped his hands forjoy! And oh, how she sang it! It was so simple, so mournful, sosoul-subduing. Many a bright eye was dimmed with tears, many aheart was moved, by the touching words of that little song.

Pierre walked home as if he were moving on the air. What caredhe for money now? The greatest singer in Europe had sung hislittle song, and thousands had wept at his grief.

The next day he was frightened by a visit from MadameMalibran. She laid her hand on his yellow curls, and, turning tothe sick woman, said: "Your little boy, madam, has brought you afortune. I was offered, this morning, by the first publisher inLondon, a large sum for his little song. Madam, thank God thatyour son has a gift from heaven."

The noble-hearted singer and the poor woman wept together. Asfor Pierre, always mindful of Him who watches over the tried andthe tempted, he knelt down by his mother's bedside and uttered asimple prayer, asking God's blessing on the kind lady who haddeigned to notice their affliction.

The memory of that prayer made the singer even moretender-hearted; and she now went about doing good. And on herearly death, he who stood by her bed, and smoothed her pillow,and lightened her last moments by his affection, was the littlePierre of former days,-now rich, accomplished, and one of themost talented composers of the day.

All honor to those great hearts who, from their high stations,send down bounty to the widow and the fatherless!

Pierre (pe [^a]r'), Peter.

Malibran, a French singer and actress. She died in1836, when only 28 years old.

What does "he walked as if moving on air" mean?

breathless = breath+less, without breath,out of breath; holding the breath on account of greatinterest.

breathlessly, in a breathless manner. Use breath,breathless, breathlessly, in sentences of your own.

Pronounce separately the two similar consonant sounds comingtogether in the following words and phrases:

humming; meanness; is sure; his spirit; send down; this shows;eyes sparkled; wept together; frequent trials.

Memory Gems:

A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.

St. Francis of Assisi.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

Tennyson.

_18_

[SEPTEMBER.]

The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.

Helen Hunt Jackson.

[Footnote: Copyright, Little, Brown & Co.,Publishers.]

sedges, coarse grasses which grow in marshy places.

Tell what the following expressions mean: dewy lanes; best ofcheer; sedges flaunt their harvest.

How do "Asters by the brookside make asters in the brook"?

Give in your own words the tokens of September mentioned inthe poem. Can you name any others?

Memorize the poem. What do you know of the author?

_19_

tat'ter	wreathed	Ken tuck' y
de scend'ed	re cess'	home' stead
en rap' tured	Penn syl va' ni a

["MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME."]

"My Old Kentucky Home" was written by Stephen Collins Foster,a resident of Pittsburg, Pa., while he and his sister were on avisit to his relative, Judge John Rowan, a short distance east ofBardstown, Ky. One beautiful morning while the slaves were atwork in the cornfield and the sun was shining with a mightysplendor on the waving grass, first giving it a light red, thenchanging it to a golden hue, there were seated upon a bench infront of the Rowan homestead two young people, a brother and asister.

High up in the top of a tree was a mocking bird warbling itssweet notes. Over in a hidden recess of a small brush, thethrush's mellow song could be heard. A number of small negrochildren were playing not far away. When Foster had finished thefirst verse of the song his sister took it from his hand and sangin a sweet, mellow voice:

The sun shines bright on the old Kentucky home;
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn top's ripe and the meadows in the bloom,
While the birds make music all theday.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, all bright;
By'n by hard times comes a-knockin' at the door-
Then, my old Kentucky home, goodnight.

On her finishing the first verse the mocking bird descended toa lower branch. The feathery songster drew his head to one sideand appeared to be completely enraptured at the wonderful voiceof the young singer. When the last note died away upon the air,her fond brother sang in deep bass voice:

Weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day,
Well sing one song for the old Kentuckyhome,
For our old Kentucky home far away.
A few more days for to tote the weary load,
No matter, 'twill never be light;
A few more days till we totter on the road-
Then, my old Kentucky home, goodnight.

The negroes had laid down their hoes and rakes; the littletots had placed themselves behind the large, sheltering trees,while the old black women were peeping around the corner of thehouse. The faithful old house dog never took his eyes off theyoung singers. Everything was still; not even the stirring of theleaves seemed to break the wonderful silence.

Again the brother and sister took hold of the remaining notes,and sang in sweet accents:

They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon
On the meadow, the hill and theshore;
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door.
The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight:
The time has come when the darkies have to part-
Then, my old Kentucky home, goodnight.
The head must bow and the back will have to bend
Wherever the darkies may go;
A few more days and the trouble all will end
In the fields where the sugar canegrow.
Then weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day,
We'll sing one song for the old Kentuckyhome,
For our old Kentucky home far away.

As the song was finished tears flowed down the old people'scheeks; the children crept from their hiding place behind thetrees, their faces wreathed in smiles. The mocking bird and thethrush sought their home in the thicket, while the old house dogstill lay basking in the sun.

Mrs. T.A. Sherrard

Louisville Courier-Journal.

_20_

stew' ard	se'quel	Gal'i lee
ab lu' tions	in ter ces' sion

[THE FIRST MIRACLE OF JESUS.]

In the first year of our Lord's public life, St. John tells usin his gospel that "there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee, andthe Mother of Jesus was there. And Jesus also was invited to themarriage." Mary was invited to be one of the honored guestsbecause she was, no doubt, an intimate friend of the family. Shepreceded her Son to the wedding in order to lend her aid in thenecessary preparations.

Jesus also was asked, and He did not refuse the invitation. Hewent as freely to this house of feasting as He afterwards wentpityingly to so many houses of mourning. Though worn and wearywith his long fast and struggle in the desert, He was pleased toattend this merry wedding feast, and by this loving and kindlyact to sanctify the bond of Marriage, which was to become in HisChurch one of the seven Sacraments.

The feast went gayly onward until an incident occurred thatgreatly disturbed the host. The wine failed. The host had notcalculated rightly, or perhaps he had not counted on so manyguests.

Mary, with her motherly heart, was the first to notice theconfusion of the servants when they discovered that the winevessels had become empty; and leaning towards her Son, whispered,"They have no wine." "My hour is not yet come," He answered her,meaning that His time for working miracles had not yet arrived.He knew on the instant what the gentle heart of His Motherdesired. His words sounded like a refusal of the request whichMary made rather with her eyes than with her tongue; but thesequel shows that the Blessed Mother fully believed that herprayer would be granted.

She quietly said to the servants, "Whatsoever He shall say toyou, do ye." They had not long to wait. There were standing closeat hand six great urns of stone, covered with branches, as is thecustom in the East, in order to keep the water cool and fresh.These vessels "containing two or three measures apiece," werekept in readiness for the guests, who were required not only towash their feet before touching the linen and drapery of thecouches, but even during the meal frequently to purify theirhands. Already there had been many of these ablutions performed,and the urns were being rapidly emptied.

"Fill the waterpots with water," said Jesus to theservants.

They filled them up to the brim with clear, fresh water.

"Draw out now, and carry to the chief steward of thefeast."

And they carried it.

When the chief steward had tasted the water made wine, andknew not whence it was, he called the bridegroom and said to him:"Every man at first setteth forth good wine, and when men havewell drunk then that which is worse; but thou hast kept the goodwine until now."

The steward had supposed at first that the host had wished togive an agreeable surprise to the company assembled at his table;but the latter, to his amazement, was at once made aware that awondrous deed had been accomplished-that water had been changedinto wine!

Jesus had performed His first Miracle.

From this beautiful story of the first miracle of Jesus, welearn that Jesus Christ is God, and that Mary, the Mother of God,whose intercession is all-powerful with her Divine Son, has aloving and motherly care over the smallest of our life'sconcerns.

THE FEAST Veronese.

preceded, went before in order of time. The prefixpre- means before. Tell what the following wordsmean:

prefix, predict, prepare, prejudge, prescribe, predestine,precaution, precursor, prefigure, prearrange.

Read the sentences of the Lesson that express commands.

Memory Gems:

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.

Richard Crashaw.

But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is theChrist, the Son of God; and that believing you may have life inHis Name.

Gospel of St. John.

_21_

dec' ades (dek' ads)

di' a dem

[MY BEADS.]

Sweet blessèd beads! I would not part
With one of you for richest gem
That gleams in kingly diadem:
Ye know the history of my heart.
For I have told you every grief
In all the days of twenty years,
And I have moistened you with tears,
And in your decades found relief.
Ah! time has fled, and friends have failed,
And joys have died; but in my needs
Ye were my friends, my blessedbeads!
And ye consoled me when I wailed.
For many and many a time, in grief,
My weary fingers wandered round
Thy circled chain, and always found
In some Hail Mary sweet relief.
How many a story you might tell
Of inner life, to all unknown;
I trusted you and you alone,
But ah! ye keep my secrets well.
Ye are the only chain I wear-
A sign that I am but the slave,
In life, in death, beyond the grave,
Of Jesus and His Mother fair.

Father Ryan.

"Father Ryan's Poems."
Published by P. J. Kenedy & Sons, New York.

From the following words make new words by means of thesuffix -ous: joy, grace, grief, glory, desire,virtue, beauty, courage, disaster, harmony.

(Consult the dictionary.)

Memory Gem:

Mary,-our comfort and our hope,-
O, may that name be given
To be the last we sigh on earth,-
The first we breathe in heaven.

Adelaide A. Procter.

_22_

[THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'SHALLS.]

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still She lives.

Thomas Moore.

TOM MOORE

_23_

ma'am	dis suade'	re spect'a ble
shuf' fled	dan' ger ous	grate' ful
wist' ful ly	mit' tens	outstretched'
res' cue	un daunt' ed	an' ti qua ted

[A LITTLELADY.][^[001]]

Going down a very steep street, where the pavement was coveredwith ice, I saw before me an old woman, slowly and timidlypicking her way. She was one of the poor but respectable oldladies who dress in rusty black, wear old-fashioned bonnets, andcarry big bags.

Some young folks laugh at these antiquated figures; but thosewho are better bred treat them with respect. They find somethingtouching in the faded suits, the withered faces, and theknowledge that these lonely old ladies have lost youth, friends,and often fortune, and are patiently waiting to be called awayfrom a world that seems to have passed by and forgotten them.

Well, as I slipped and shuffled along, I watched the littleblack bonnet in front, expecting every minute to see it go down,and trying to hurry, that I might offer my help.

At the corner, I passed three little school-girls, and heardone say to another, "O, I wouldn't; she will do well enough, andwe shall lose our coasting, unless we hurry."

"But if she should tumble and break her poor old bones, Ishould feel so bad," returned the second, a pleasant-faced child,whose eyes, full of a sweet, pitiful expression, followed the oldlady.

"She's such a funny-looking woman, I shouldn't like to be seenwalking with her," said the third, as if she thought it a kindthing to do, but had not the courage to try it.

"Well, I don't care; she's old, and ought to be helped, andI'm going to do it," cried the pleasant-faced girl; and, runningby me, I saw her overtake the old lady, who stood at a crossing,looking wistfully over the dangerous sheet of ice before her.

"Please, ma'am, may I help you, it's so bad here?" said thekind little voice, as the hands in the red mittens were helpfullyout-stretched.

"O, thank you, dear. I'd no idea the walking was so bad; but Imust get home." And the old face lighted up with a gratefulsmile, which was worth a dozen of the best coasts in Boston.

"Take my arm then; I'll help you down the street, for I'mafraid you might fall," said the child, offering her arm.

"Yes, dear, so I will. Now we shall get on beautifully. I'vebeen having a dreadful time, for my over-socks are all holes, andI slip at every step."

"Keep hold, ma'am, I won't fall. I have rubber boots, andcan't tumble."

So chatting, the two went safely across, leaving me and theother girls to look after them and wish that we had done thelittle act of kindness, which now looked so lovely inanother.

"I think Katy is a very good girl, don't you?" said one childto the other.

"Yes, I do; let's wait till she comes back. No matter if we dolose some coasts," answered the child who had tried to dissuadeher playmate from going to the rescue.

Then I left them; but I think they learned a lesson that dayin real politeness; for, as they watched little Katy dutifullysupporting the old lady, undaunted by the rusty dress, the bigbag, the old socks, and the queer bonnet, both their faceslighted up with new respect and affection for their playmate.

Louisa M. Alcott.

From "Little Women." Little, Brown & Co., Publishers.

dissuade, to advise against; to turn from a purpose byreasons given.

antiquated, grown old; old-fashioned.

Tell what each contraction met with in the selection standsfor.

Use their or there properly in place of the blanksin
the following sentences: The girls were on - way
to the Park. - was an old lady at the crossing.
Our home is -. Katy and Mary said -
mother lived -.

Memory Gems:

Count that day lost
Whose low descending sun,
Views from thy hands
No worthy action done.

Author unknown.

What I must do concerns me, not what people will think.

Emerson.

[001]

Copyrighted by Little, Brown & Company.

_24_

[WHAT HOUSE TO LIKE.]

For Recitation:

Some love the glow of outward show,
Some love mere wealth and try to winit;
The house to me may lowly be
If I but like the people in it.
What's all the gold that glitters cold,
When linked to hard or haughtyfeeling?
Whate'er we're told, the noble gold
Is truth of heart and manly dealing.
A lowly roof may give us proof
That lowly flowers are oftenfairest;
And trees whose bark is hard and dark
May yield us fruit and bloom therarest.
There's worth as sure 'neath garments poor
As e'er adorned a loftier station;
And minds as just as those, we trust,
Whose claim is but of wealth'screation.
Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,
Mere fashion's smile, and try to winit;
The house to me may lowly be
If I but like the people in it.

Anon.

What is meant by "haughty feeling"?

What does the author say "the noble gold" is?

Is "bloom" in the third stanza an action-word or a name-word?Why?

Give in your own words the thought of the fourth stanza.

Use to, too, two, properly before each of the followingwords:

hard, win, people, minds, dark, yield.

What virtues does the poem recommend?

What "lowly flowers are often fairest"?

What "lowly" virtue does the following stanza suggest?

The bird that sings on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all thingsrest.

Montgomery.

Name the two birds referred to.

_25_

sears	flecked	de signed'
strait'ened	il lu'mined

[A SONG OF DUTY.]

Sorrow comes and sorrow goes;
Life is flecked with shine andshower;
Now the tear of grieving flows,
Now we smile in happy hour;
Death awaits us, every one-
Toiler, dreamer, preacher, writer-
Let us then, ere life be done,
Make the world a little brighter!
Burdens that our neighbors bear,
Easier let us try to make them;
Chains perhaps our neighbors wear,
Let us do our best to break them.
From the straitened hand and mind,
Let us loose the binding fetter,
Let us, as the Lord designed,
Make the world a little better!
Selfish brooding sears the soul,
Fills the mind with clouds ofsorrow,
Darkens all the shining goal
Of the sun-illumined morrow;
Wherefore should our lives be spent
Daily growing blind and blinder-
Let us, as the Master meant,
Make the world a little kinder!

Denis A. McCarthy.

From "Voices from Erin."

Angel Guardian Press, Boston, Mass.

_26_

the o lo' gi an	his' to ry	To bi' as
cre at' ed	pro ceed' ed	sep' a ra ted
min' is ter	Au gus' tine	crit' i cise
cat' e ehism	de ter' mined	As cen' sion
	Res ur rec' tion

[AN EVENING WITH THE ANGELS.]

"Well, James," said a kind-voiced mother, "you promised totell Maggie all about the Catechism you heard this afternoon atschool."

"All right, mother," answered sprightly James, "anything atall to make Maggie happy. Let's begin right away."

"Maggie, you said," continued James, "that you never couldfind out when the angels were created. Neither could ourteacher tell me. And I'm told St. Augustine could only make aguess when they were created.

"He thought the angels were created when God separated thelight from the darkness. But that's no matter, anyhow. We're surethere are angels; that's the chief point."

"Are you quite certain?" asked Maggie.

"To be sure I am," said James. "If I met a man in the street Iwould know he must have a father and a mother, although I hadnever heard when he was born."

"That's so," chimed in the proud mother.

"Well, then, mother, many angels have been seen on earth, andthey must have been created some time. Let me tell you some ofthe places where it is said in the Bible that angels have beenseen, and where they spoke, too."

"Now, James," said the father, "let Maggie see if shecan find out some of those places herself. Here is theBible."

With the help of mother and James, Maggie soon found thehistory of Adam and Eve, where it is recorded that an angel witha flaming sword was placed at the gate of Paradise.

"Poor Adam and Eve," said Maggie, "they must have felt verysad."

"Yes," answered Father Kennedy, who dropped in just then, andbeheld his young theologians with the holy Book before them."They felt very sorry, indeed, but they were consoled when toldthat a Savior would come to redeem them."

"So you told us last Sunday," chimed in James. "Then you spokeabout the angels at Bethlehem who sang glory to God in thehighest."

"And there was an angel in the desert when our Lord wastempted," proceeded the father.

"Oh! did you hear papa say the devil was an angel?" exclaimedJames.

"Of course the devil is an angel," said Maggie, glad to tripup her big brother, "but he is a bad one."

"I say yet that there were angels with our Lord after Hisforty days' fast," insisted James.

"So I say, too," retorted Maggie; "but while only one badangel tempted our Lord, many good angels came to ministerunto Him."

"Very well, indeed," said Father Kennedy. "But let's hurryover some other points about the angels. Your turn; Master James,and give only the place and person in each case."

"Well, let me see; there were Abraham and the three angels whowent to Sodom, and the angels who beat the man that wanted tosteal money from the temple, and the angel who took Tobias on along journey."

"Please, Father Kennedy, wasn't it an Archangel?"inquired Maggie, still determined to surpass her brother.

"Never mind that," said the priest. "Go on, James; 'twill beMaggie's turn soon."

"Well, there was an angel in the Garden of Olives, and angelsat the Resurrection of our Lord, and angels at HisAscension."

Here Maggie exclaimed, "Please, Father Kennedy, may I havetill next Sunday to search out some angels? James has taken allmine."

"No," mildly said the delighted clergyman, "your angelis always with you, and James has his, too."

"Father Kennedy, there's a man dying in the block behind thechurch," said the servant from the half-open parlor door. "Excusemy coming in without knocking. They're in a great hurry."

"Good night, children," said the devoted priest, "till nextSunday. May your angels watch over you in the meantime."

archangel ([:a]rk [=a]n' j[)e]l), a chief angel.

archbishop ([:a]rch bish' [)u]p), a chief bishop.

arch, as a prefix, means chief, and in nearlyevery case the ch is soft, as in archbishop. In archangel,architect, and in one or two other words, the ch = k.

arch, as a suffix, is pronounced [:a]rk, andmeans ruler; as monarch, a sole ruler; one whorules alone.

Make a list of all the words of the Lesson that arecontractions. Write after each what it is a contraction of.

earthward = earth + ward (w[~e]rd). ward is herea suffix meaning course, direction to, motion towards. Addthis suffix to the end of each of the following words, andtell the meaning of each new word formed:

up, sea, back, down, east, west, land, earth.

What word is the opposite in meaning of each of thesenew words?

Memory Gem:

The generous heart
Should scorn a pleasure which gives others pain.

Tennyson.

_27_

ebb' ing	spon' sor	judg' ments
el' e ments	tu' te lage

[MY GUARDIAN ANGEL.]

My oldest friend, mine from the hour
When first I drew my breath;
My faithful friend, that shall be mine,
Unfailing, till my death.
Thou hast been ever at my side;
My Maker to thy trust
Consign'd my soul, what time He framed
The infant child of dust.
No beating heart in holy prayer,
No faith, inform'd aright,
Gave me to Joseph's tutelage,
Or Michael's conquering might.
Nor patron saint, nor Mary's love,-
The dearest and the best,-
Has known my being as thou hast known,
And blest as thou hast blest.
Thou wast my sponsor at the font;
And thou, each budding year,
Didst whisper elements of truth
Into my childish ear.
And when, ere boyhood yet was gone,
My rebel spirit fell,
Ah! thou didst see, and shudder too,
Yet bear each deed of Hell.
And then in turn, when judgments came.
And scared me back again,
Thy quick soft breath was near to soothe
And hallow every pain.
Oh! who of all thy toils and cares
Can tell the tale complete,
To place me under Mary's smile,
And Peter's royal feet!
And thou wilt hang above my bed,
When life is ebbing low;
Of doubt, impatience, and of gloom,
The jealous, sleepless foe.
Mine, when I stand before my Judge;
And mine, if spared to stay
Within the golden furnace till
My sin is burn'd away.
And mine, O Brother of my soul,
When my release shall come;
Thy gentle arms shall lift me then,
Thy wings shall waft me home.

Cardinal Newman.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

Explain the following expressions:

Joseph's tutelage; Michael's conquering might; my sponsor atthe font; each budding year; my rebel spirit fell; Peter's royalfeet. Describe the picture.

_28_

quoth	crooned	frisked
beech'-wood	twain	se'rene
frol'icked	wan'dering

[LITTLE BELL.]

Piped the blackbird on the beech-wood spray:
"Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,
What's your name?" quoth he,-
"What's your name? Oh, stop, and straight unfold,
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold!"
"Little Bell," said she.
Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming, golden locks.
"Bonny bird," quoth she,
"Sing me your best song before I go,"
"Here's the very finest song I know,
Little Bell," said he.
And the blackbird piped: you never heard
Half so gay a song from any bird,-
Full of quips and wiles,
Now so round and rich, now soft and slow,
All for love of that sweet face below,
Dimpled o'er with smiles.
And the while the bonny bird did pour
His full heart out freely, o'er and o'er,
'Neath the morning skies,
In the little childish heart below
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine forth in happy overflow
From the blue, bright eyes.
Down the dell she tripped; and through the glade
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade,
And from out the tree
Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear,
While bold blackbird piped, that all might hear:
"Little Bell!" piped he.
Little Bell sat down amid the fern:
"Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return;
Bring me nuts," quoth she.
Up, away, the frisky squirrel hies,-
Golden woodlights glancing in his eyes,-
And adown the tree
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap dropped, one by one.
Hark! how blackbird pipes to see the fun!
"Happy Bell!" pipes he.
Little Bell looked up and down the glade:
"Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid,
Come and share with me!"
Down came squirrel, eager for his fare,
Down came bonny blackbird, I declare!
Little Bell gave each his honest share;
Ah! the merry three!
And the while these woodland playmates twain
Piped and frisked from bough to bough again,
'Neath the morning skies,
In the little childish heart below
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine out in happy overflow
From her blue, bright eyes.
By her snow-white cot at close of day
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray:
Very calm and clear
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen,
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene
Paused awhile to hear.
"What good child is this," the angel said,
"That, with happy heart, beside her bed
Prays so lovingly?"
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft,
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft,
"Bell, dear Bell!" croonedhe.
"Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair
Whispered, "God doth bless with angels' care;
Child, thy bed shall be
Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind,
Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind,
Little Bell, for thee."

Thomas Westwood.

A STUDY OF LITTLE BELL

croft, a small inclosed field, near a house.

croon, to sing in a low tone.

quips, quick, smart turns.

piping, making a shrill sound like that of a pipe orflute.

In the first stanza what are the marks called that encloseLittle Bell? Why are these marks used here?

Name the words of the poem in which the apostrophe is used.Tell what it denotes in each case.

Where does the poem first take us? What do we see there?

In what words does the blackbird address the "pretty maid,slowly wandering" his way? Who is she?

Seated beneath the rocks, what does Little Bell ask theblackbird to do?

Read the lines that describe the blackbird's song. Why did thebird sing so sweetly? What were the effects of his song on "thelittle childish heart below?"

Seated amid the fern, what did Little Bell ask the squirrel todo? Read the lines that tell what the squirrel did. Whatinvitation did the squirrel receive from Little Bell?

Where does the poem bring us "at the close of day?" Tell whatyou see there.

Read the lines that tell what the angel asked.

Read the angel's words in the first two lines of the laststanza. What is their meaning?

What promises did the angel make to this good child? Why didhe make such beautiful promises?

Tell what the following words and expressions of the poemmean: quoth he; straight unfold; dell; glade; hies; showery curlsof gold; bonny bird; hazel shade; void of fear; goldenwoodlights; adown the tree; playmates twain; with folded palms;an angel shape; with angels' care; the bird did pour his fullheart out freely; the sweetness did shine forth in happyoverflow.

Select a stanza of the poem, and express in your own words thethought it contains.

Describe some of the pictures the poem brings to mind.

What is the lesson the poet wishes us to learn from thispoem?

Show how the couplet of the English poet, Coleridge,- "Heprayeth best who loveth best,
All things both great and small,"- is illustrated in the storyof Little Bell.

Write a composition on the story from the following hints:Where did Little Bell go? In what season of the year? At whattime of day? How old was she? How did she look? What companionsdid she meet? What did the three friends do? How did the littlegirl close the day?

In your composition, use as many words and phrases of the poemas you can.

Memorize:

Prayer is the dew of faith,
Its raindrop, night and day,
That guards its vital power from death
When cherished hopes decay,
And keeps it mid this changeful scene,
A bright, perennial evergreen.
Good works, of faith the fruit,
Should ripen year by year,
Of health and soundness at the root
And evidence sincere.
Dear Savior, grant thy blessing free
And make our faith no barren tree.

Lydia H. Sigourney.

_29_

na'bob	ap plaud'ed	un as sum'ing
sad' dler	dif' fi dence	sec' re ta ry
ob scured'	live' li hood	su per cil' i ous

[A MODEST WIT.]

For Recitation:

A supercilious nabob of the East-
Haughty, being great-purse-proud, beingrich-
A governor, or general, at the least,
I have forgotten which---
Had in his family a humble youth,
Who went from England in his patron'ssuit,
An unassuming boy, in truth
A lad of decent parts, and goodrepute.
This youth had sense and spirit;
But yet with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.
One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His honor, proudly free, severelymerry,
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.
"Young man," said he, "by what art, craft, or trade,
Did your good father gain alivelihood?"-
"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
"And in his line was reckoned good."
"A saddler, eh? and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"
Each flatterer, then, as in duty bound,
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
At length, Modestus, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),
"Sir, by your leave, I fain wouldknow
Your father's trade!"
"My father's trade? Heavens! that's too bad!
My father's trade! Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low.
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."
"Excuse the liberty I take,"
Modestus said, with archness on hisbrow,
"Pray, why did not your father make
A gentleman of you?"

Selleck Osborne.

fain, gladly.

archness, sly humor free from malice.

suit (s[=u]t), the people who attend upon a person ofdistinction; often written suite (sw[=e]t).

Write the plural forms of boy, man, duty, youth, family,secretary.

Copy these sentences, using other words instead of those initalics:

He was an unassuming boy, of decent parts andgood repute. His diffidence obscured his merit.Excuse the liberty I take.

Memory Gems:

The rank is but the guinea's stamp,-
The man's the gold for a' that!

Burns.

One cannot always be a hero, but one can always be a man.

Goethe (g[^u]' t[=e]).

_30_

[WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.][^[002]]

For Recitation:

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not!
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea---
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh! spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies.
When but an idle boy,
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy
Here, too, my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand;-
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand.
My heartstrings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And, Woodman, leave the spot!
While I've a hand to save,
Thy ax shall harm it not.

George P. Morris,

[002]

NOTE.-Many trees in our country are landmarks, andare valued highly. The early settlers were accustomed to planttrees and dedicate them to liberty. One of these was planted atCambridge, Mass., and it was under the shade of this venerableElm that George Washington took command of the Continental army,July 3rd, 1775.
There are other trees around whose trunks and under whose boughswhole families of children passed much of their childhood. Whenone of these falls or is destroyed, it is like the death of somehonored citizen.
Judge Harris of Georgia, a scholar, and a gentleman of extensiveliterary culture, regarded "Woodman, Spare that Tree" as one ofthe truest lyrics of the age. He never heard it sung or recitedwithout being deeply moved.

_31_

car' goes	em bar' go	im mor' tal ized
prin' ci ple	col' o nists	rep re sen ta' tion
de ri' sion	pa' tri ot ism	Phil a del' phi a

[THE BOSTON TEA PARTY.]

Shortly before the War of the Revolution broke out, GeorgeIII, King of England, claimed the right to tax the people of thiscountry, though he did not permit them to take any part inframing the laws under which they lived.

He placed a light tax on tea, just to teach Americans thatthey could not escape taxation altogether. But the colonists werefighting for a principle,-that of no taxation withoutrepresentation, and would not buy the tea. In New York andPhiladelphia the people would not allow the vessels to land theircargoes.

The women of America held meetings in many towns, and declaredthey would drink no tea until the hated tax was removed. Theladies had a hard time of it without their consoling cup of tea,but they stood out nobly.

Three shiploads of tea were sent to Boston. On the night ofDecember 16, 1773, a party of young Americans, painted anddressed like Indians, boarded the three vessels lying in theharbor, opened the chests, and emptied all the tea into thewater. They then slipped away to their homes, and were neverfound out by the British. One of the leaders of these daringyoung men was Paul Revere, whose famous midnight ride has beenimmortalized by Longfellow.

When the news of the Boston Tea Party was carried across theocean, the anger of the King was aroused, and he sent a strongforce of soldiers to Boston to bring the rebels to terms. Thisact only increased the spirit of patriotism that burned in thebreasts of all Americans.

George P. Morris, the poet, describes this Tea Party, and theorigin of the tune "Yankee Doodle," in the following verses,which our American boys and girls of to-day will gladly read andsing:

Once on a time old Johnny Bull flew in a raging fury,
And swore that Jonathan should have no trials, sir, by jury;
That no elections should be held, across the briny waters;
"And now," said he, "I'll tax the tea of all his sons anddaughters."
Then down he sate in burly state, and blustered like agrandee,
And in derision made a tune called "Yankee doodle dandy."
"Yankee doodle"-these are facts-"Yankee doodle dandy;"
My son of wax, your tea I'll tax; you Yankee doodle dandy!"
John sent the tea from o'er the sea, with heavy dutiesrated;
But whether hyson or bohea, I never heard it stated.
Then Jonathan to pout began-he laid a strong embargo-
"I'll drink no tea, by Jove!" so he threw overboard thecargo.
Then Johnny sent a regiment, big words and looks to bandy,
Whose martial band, when near the land, played "Yankee doodledandy."
"Yankee doodle-keep it up-Yankee doodle dandy-
I'll poison with a tax your cup, you Yankee doodle dandy."
A long war then they had, in which John was at lastdefeated,
And "Yankee Doodle" was the march to which his troopsretreated.
Cute Jonathan, to see them fly, could not restrain hislaughter;
"That tune," said he, "suits to a T-I'll sing it everafter!"
Old Johnny's face, to his disgrace, was flushed with beer andbrandy,
E'en while he swore to sing no more this Yankee doodledandy.
Yankee doodle,-ho-ha-he-Yankee doodle dandy,
We kept the tune, but not the tea-Yankee doodle dandy.
I've told you now the origin of this most lively ditty,
Which Johnny Bull dislikes as "dull and stupid"-what a pity!
With "Hail Columbia" it is sung, in chorus full and hearty-
On land and main we breathe the strain John made for his teaparty,
No matter how we rhyme the words, the music speaks themhandy,
And where's the fair can't sing the air of Yankee doodledandy?
Yankee doodle, firm and true-Yankee doodle dandy-
Yankee doodle, doodle do, Yankee doodle dandy!

The people of the thirteen original colonies adopted as aprinciple, "No taxation without representation." What did theymean by this? Name the thirteen original colonies.

Are the last syllables of the words principle andprincipalpronounced alike? Use the two words in sentencesof your own.

What does "with heavy duties rated" mean?

Pronounce distinctly the final consonants in the wordscolonists, insects, friend, friends, nests, priests, lifts,tempts.

Write the plural forms of the following words: solo, echo,negro, cargo, piano, calico, potato, embargo.

How should a word be broken or divided when there is not roomfor all of it at the end of a line? Illustrate by means ofexamples found in your Reader.

_32_

scenes	source	seized
re ceive'	poised	nec' tar
re verts'	Ju' pi ter	cat' a ract
ex' qui site	in tru' sive ly

[THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.]

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them toview!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot that my infancyknew;-
The wide-spreading pond,and the mill that stood by it;
The bridge, and the rock where the cataractfell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in thewell:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in thewell.
That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure;
For often, at noon, when returned from thefield,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature canyield.
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom itfell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from thewell:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from thewell.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to mylips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupitersips.
And now, far removed from that loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusivelyswell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in thewell:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in thewell!

Samuel Woodworth.

Make a list of the describing-words of the poem, and tell whateach describes. Use each to describe something else.

Make a list of the words of the poem that you never use, andtell what word you would have used in the place of each had youtried to express its meaning. Which word is better, yours or theauthor's? Why?

_33_

blouse	receipt'ed	coun' te nance
ab sorbed'	con trast' ed	for' tu nate ly
mir' a cle	stock'-still	good-hu' mored ly

[THE BOY AND THE CRICKETS.]

My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy alittle cake which he had fancied in passing. He intended it for achild whose appetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eatonly by amusing him. He thought that such a pretty loaf mighttempt even the sick. While he waited for his change, a little boysix or eight years old, in poor but perfectly clean clothes,entered the baker's shop. "Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife,"mother sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman climbed upon thecounter (this happened in a country town), took from the shelf offour-pound loaves the best one she could find, and put it intothe arms of the little boy.

My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtfulface of the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round,open countenance of the great loaf, of which he was taking thegreatest care.

"Have you any money?" said the baker's wife.

The little boy's eyes grew sad.

"No, ma'am," said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thinblouse; "but mother told me to say that she would come and speakto you about it to-morrow."

"Run along," said the good woman; "carry your bread home,child."

"Thank you, ma'am," said the poor little fellow.

My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put hispurchase into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found thechild with the big loaf, whom he had supposed to be halfway home,standing stock-still behind him.

"What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to thechild, whom she also had thought to be fairly off. "Don't youlike the bread?"

"Oh yes, ma'am!" said the child.

"Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If youwait any longer, she will think you are playing by the way, andyou will get a scolding."

The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed hisattention.

The baker's wife went up to him, and gave him a friendly tapon the shoulder, "What are you thinking about?" saidshe.

"Ma'am," said the little boy, "what is it that sings?"

"There is no singing," said she.

"Yes!" cried the little fellow. "Hear it! Queek, queek, queek,queek!"

My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hearnothing, unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guestsin bakers' houses.

"It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow; "orperhaps the bread sings when it bakes, as apples do?"

"No, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those arecrickets. They sing in the bakehouse because we are lighting theoven, and they like to see the fire."

"Crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?"

"Yes, to be sure," said she good-humoredly. The child's facelighted up.

"Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "Iwould like it very much if you would give me a cricket."

"A cricket!" said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in theworld would you do with a cricket, my little friend? I wouldgladly give you all there are in the house, to get rid of them,they run about so."

"O ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said thechild, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "Theysay that crickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if wehad one at home, mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cryany more."

"Why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could nolonger help joining in the conversation.

"On account of her bills, sir," said the little fellow."Father is dead, and mother works very hard, but she cannot paythem all."

My friend took the child, and with him the great loaf, intohis arms, and I really believe he kissed them both. Meanwhile thebaker's wife, who did not dare to touch a cricket herself, hadgone into the bakehouse. She made her husband catch four, and putthem into a box with holes in the cover, so that they mightbreathe. She gave the box to the child, who went away perfectlyhappy.

When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave eachother a good squeeze of the hand. "Poor little fellow!" said theyboth together. Then she took down her account book, and, findingthe page where the mother's charges were written, made a greatdash all down the page, and then wrote at the bottom, "Paid."

Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper allthe money in his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sumthat day, and had begged the good wife to send it at once to themother of the little cricket-boy, with her bill receipted, and anote, in which he told her she had a son who would one day be herjoy and pride.

They gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him tomake haste. The child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, andhis little short legs, could not run very fast, so that, when hereached home, he found his mother, for the first time in manyweeks, with her eyes raised from her work, and a smile of peaceand happiness upon her lips.

The boy believed that it was the arrival of his four littleblack things which had worked this miracle, and I do not think hewas mistaken. Without the crickets, and his good little heart,would this happy change have taken place in his mother'sfortunes?

From the French of Pierre J. Hetzel.

Jacques (zh[:a]k), James.

In the selection, find ten sentences that ask questions, andfive that express commands or requests.

What mark of punctuation always follows the first kind? Thesecond?

Memorize:

In the evening I sit near my poker and tongs,
And I dream in the firelight's glow,
And sometimes I quaver forgotten old songs
That I listened to long ago.
Then out of the cinders there cometh a chirp
Like an echoing, answering cry,-
Little we care for the outside world,
My friend the cricket, and I.
For my cricket has learnt, I am sure of it quite,
That this earth is a silly, strangeplace,
And perhaps he's been beaten and hurt in the fight,
And perhaps he's been passed in therace.
But I know he has found it far better to sing
Than to talk of ill luck and tosigh,-
Little we care for the outside world,
My friend the cricket, and I.

_34_

For Recitation:

[OUR HEROES.]

Here's a hand to the boy who has courage
To do what he knows to be right;
When he falls in the way of temptation
He has a hard battle to fight.
Who strives against self and his comrades
Will find a most powerful foe:
All honor to him if he conquers;
A cheer for the boy who says "No!"
There's many a battle fought daily
The world knows nothing about;
There's many a brave little soldier
Whose strength puts a legion torout.
And he who fights sin single-handed
Is more of a hero, I say,
Than he who leads soldiers to battle,
And conquers by arms in the fray.
Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted,
And do what you know to be right;
Stand firm by the colors of manhood,
And you will o'ercome in the fight.
"The right!" be your battle cry ever
In waging the warfare of life;
And God, who knows who are the heroes,
Will give you the strength for thestrife.

Phoebe Cary.

From "Poems for the Study of Language." Houghton, Mifflin& Co., Publishers.

Write sentences each containing one of the followingwords:

I, me; he, him; she, her; they, them.

Memory Gems:

For raising the spirits, for brightening the eyes, forbringing back vanished smiles, for making one brave andcourageous, light-hearted and happy, there is nothing like a goodConfession.

Father Bearne, S.J.

Heroes must be more than driftwood
Floating on a waveless tide.
For right is right, since God is God;
And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
To falter would be sin.

Father Faber.

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I havekept the Faith.

St. Paul.

_35_

troll	cel' er y	new' fan gled
thatch	chink' ing	as par' a gus<</td>
im mense'	sauce' pan	de mol' ish ing
sa' vor y	pat' terns	ag' gra va ting

[THE MINNOWS WITH SILVER TAILS.]

There was a cuckoo clock hanging in Tom Turner's cottage. Whenit struck one, Tom's wife laid the baby in the cradle, and took asaucepan off the fire, from which came a very savory smell.

"If father doesn't come soon," she observed, "the appledumplings will be too much done."

"There he is!" cried the little boy; "he is coming around bythe wood; and now he's going over the bridge. O father! makehaste, and have some apple dumpling."

"Tom," said his wife, as he came near, "art tired to-day?"

"Uncommon tired," said Tom, as he threw himself on the bench,in the shadow of the thatch.

"Has anything gone wrong?" asked his wife; "what's thematter?"

"Matter!" repeated Tom; "is anything the matter? The matter isthis, mother, that I'm a miserable, hard-worked slave;" and heclapped his hands upon his knees and uttered in a deep voice,which frightened the children-"a miserable slave!"

"Bless us!" said the wife, but could not make out what hemeant.

"A miserable, ill-used slave," continued Tom, "and always havebeen."

"Always have been?" said his wife: "why, father, I thoughtthou used to say, at the election time, that thou wast afree-born Briton."

"Women have no business with politics," said Tom, getting uprather sulkily. Whether it was the force of habit, or the smellof the dinner, that made him do it, has not been ascertained; butit is certain that he walked into the house, ate plenty of porkand greens, and then took a tolerable share in demolishing theapple dumpling.

When the little children were gone out to play, Tom's wifesaid to him, "I hope thou and thy master haven't had wordsto-day."

"We've had no words," said Tom, impatiently; "but I'm sick ofbeing at another man's beck and call. It's, 'Tom, do this,' and'Tom do that,' and nothing but work, work, work, from Mondaymorning till Saturday night. I was thinking as I walked over toSquire Morton's to ask for the turnip seed for master,-I wasthinking, Sally, that I am nothing but a poor workingman afterall. In short, I'm a slave; and my spirit won't stand it."

So saying, Tom flung himself out at the cottage door, and hiswife thought he was going back to his work as usual; but she wasmistaken. He walked to the wood, and there, when he came to theborder of a little tinkling stream, he sat down and began tobrood over his grievances.

"Now, I'll tell you what," said Tom to himself, "it's muchpleasanter sitting here in the shade, than broiling over celerytrenches, and thinning wall fruit, with a baking sun at one'sback, and a hot wall before one's eyes. But I'm a miserableslave. I must either work or see my family starve; a very hardlot it is to be a workingman."

"Ahem," said a voice close to him. Tom started, and, to hisgreat surprise, saw a small man about the size of his own baby,sitting composedly at his elbow. He was dressed in green,-greenhat, green coat, and green shoes. He had very bright black eyes,and they twinkled very much as he looked at Tom and smiled.

"Servant, sir!" said Tom, edging himself a little fartheroff.

"Miserable slave," said the small man, "art thou so far lostto the noble sense of freedom that thy very salutationacknowledges a mere stranger as thy master?'

"Who are you," said Tom, "and how dare you call me aslave?"

"Tom," said the small man, with a knowing look, "don't speakroughly. Keep your rough words for your wife, my man; she isbound to bear them."

"I'll thank you to let my affairs alone," interrupted Tom,shortly.

"Tom, I'm your friend; I think I can help you out of yourdifficulty. Every minnow in this stream--they are very scarce,mind you-has a silver tail."

"You don't say so," exclaimed Tom, opening his eyes very wide;"fishing for minnows and being one's own master would be muchpleasanter than the sort of life I've been leading this many aday."

"Well, keep the secret as to where you get them, and much goodmay it do you," said the man in green. "Farewell; I wish you joyin your freedom." So saying, he walked away, leaving Tom on thebrink of the stream, full of joy and pride.

He went to his master and told him that he had an opportunityfor bettering himself, and should not work for him anylonger.

The next day, he arose with the dawn, and went in search ofminnows. But of all the minnows in the world, never were any sonimble as those with silver tails. They were very shy, too, andhad as many turns and doubles as a hare; what a life they ledhim!

They made him troll up the stream for miles; then, just as hethought his chase was at an end and he was sure of them, theywould leap quite out of the water, and dart down the stream againlike little silver arrows. Miles and miles he went, tired, wet,and hungry. He came home late in the evening, wearied andfootsore, with only three minnows in his pocket, each with asilver tail.

"But, at any rate," he said to himself, as he lay down in hisbed, "though they lead me a pretty life, and I have to workharder than ever, yet I certainly am free; no man can now orderme about."

This went on for a whole week; he worked very hard; but, up toSaturday afternoon, he had caught only fourteen minnows.

After all, however, his fish were really great curiosities;and when he had exhibited them all over the town, set them out inall lights, praised their perfections, and taken immense pains toconceal his impatience and ill temper, he, at length, contrivedto sell them all, and get exactly fourteen shillings for them,and no more.

"Now, I'll tell you what, Tom Turner," said he to himself,"I've found out this afternoon, and I don't mind your knowingit,-that every one of those customers of yours was your master.Why! you were at the beck of every man, woman, and child thatcame near you;-obliged to be in a good temper, too, which wasvery aggravating."

"True, Tom," said the man in green, starting up in his path."I knew you were a man of sense; look you, you are allworkingmen; and you must all please your customers. Your masterwas your customer; what he bought of you was your work. Well, youmust let the work be such as will please the customer."

"All workingmen? How do you make that out?" said Tom, chinkingthe fourteen shillings in his hand. "Is my master a workingman;and has he a master of his own? Nonsense!"

"No nonsense at all; he works with his head, keeps his books,and manages his great mills. He has many masters; else why was henearly ruined last year?"

"He was nearly ruined because he made some newfangled kinds ofpatterns at his works, and people would not buy them," said Tom."Well, in a way of speaking, then, he works to please hismasters, poor fellow! He is, as one may say, a fellow-servant,and plagued with very awkward masters. So I should not mind hisbeing my master, and I think I'll go and tell him so."

"I would, Tom," said the man in green. "Tell him you have notbeen able to better yourself, and you have no objection now todig up the asparagus bed."

So Tom trudged home to his wife, gave her the money he hadearned, got his old master to take him back, and kept a profoundsecret his adventures with the man in green.

Jean Ingelow.

"Every minnow in the stream (they are very scarce, mind you)has a silver tail." Here we have a group of words in parenthesis.Read the sentence aloud several times, omitting the groupin parenthesis. Now read the whole sentence, keeping inmind the fact that the words in parenthesis are not at allimportant,-that they are merely thrown in by way of explanation.You notice that you have read the words in parenthesis in alower tone and faster time. Groups of words likethe above are not always enclosed by marks of parenthesis; butthat makes no difference in the reading of them.

The following examples are taken from "The Martyr's Boy," page243. Practice on them till you believe you have mastered themethod.

I never heard anything so cold and insipid (I hope it is notwrong to say so) as the compositions read by my companions.

Only, I know not why, he seems ever to have a grudge againstme.

I felt that I was strong enough-my rising anger made me so-toseize my unjust assailant by the throat, and cast him gasping tothe ground.

Memorize:

"Work! and the clouds of care will fly;
Pale want will pass away.
Work! and the leprosy of crime
And tyrants must decay.
Leave the dead ages in their urns:
The present time be ours,
To grapple bravely with our lot,
And strew our path with flowers."

_36_

[THE BROOK.]

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 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 sunbeams 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.

Tennyson.

haunts, places of frequent resort.

coot and hern, water fowls that frequent lakesand other still waters.

bicker, to move quickly and unsteadily, like flame orwater.

thorp, a cluster of houses; a hamlet.

sharps and trebles, terms in music. They arehere used to describe the sound of the brook.

eddying, moving in circles. Why are "eddying bays"dangerous to the swimmer?

fretted banks, banks worn away by the action of thewater.

fallow, plowed land, foreland, a point of land runninginto the sea or other water.

mallow, a kind of plant.

gloom, to shine obscurely.

shingly, abounding with shingle or loose gravel.

bars, banks of sand or gravel or rock forming a shoalin a river or harbor.

cresses, certain plants which grow near the water. Theyare sometimes used as a salad.

_37_

wits	hale	borne
suit' ed	prop' er ly	sit u a' tion

[LEARNING TO THINK.]

Grandpa Dennis is one of the kindest and gentlest, as well asone of the wisest men I know; and although his step is somewhatfeeble, and the few locks that are left him are gray, he is stillmore hale and hearty than many a younger man.

Like all old people whose hearts are in the right place, he isfond of children, whom he likes to amuse and instruct by hispleasant talk, as they gather round his fireside or sit upon hisknee.

Sometimes he puts questions to the young folks, not only tofind out what they know, but also to sharpen their wits and leadthem to think.

"Tell me, Norman," he said one day, as they sat together, "ifI have a cake to divide among three persons, how ought I toproceed?"

"Why, cut it into three parts, and give one to each, to besure," said Norman.

"Let us try that plan, and see how it will succeed. Supposethe cake has to be divided among you, Arthur and Winnie. If I cutoff a very thin slice for you, and divide what is left betweenyour brother and sister, will that be fair?"

"No, that would not be at all fair, Grandpa."

"Why not? Did I not divide the cake according to your advice?Did I not cut it into three parts?"

"But one was larger than the other, and they ought to havebeen exactly the same size."

"Then you think, that if I had divided the cake into threeequal parts, it would have been quite fair?"

"Yes; if you had done so, I should have no cause tocomplain."

"Now, Norman, let us suppose that I have three baskets to sendto a distance by three persons; shall I act fairly if I give eacha basket to carry?"

"Stop a minute, Grandpa, I must think a little. No, it mightnot be fair, for one of the baskets might be a great deal largerthan the others."

"Come, Norman, I see that you are really beginning to think.But we will take care that the baskets are all of the samesize."

"Then it would be quite fair for each one to take abasket."

"What! if one was full of lead, and the other two were filledwith feathers?"

"Oh, no! I never thought of that. Let the baskets be of thesame weight, and all will be right."

"Are you quite sure of that? Suppose one of the three personsis a strong man, another a weak woman, and the third a littlechild?"

"Grandpa! Grandpa! Why, I am altogether wrong. How many thingsthere are to think about."

"Well, Norman, I hope you see that if burdens have to beequally borne, they must be suited to the strength of those whohave to bear them."

"Yes, I see that clearly now. Put one more question to me,Grandpa, and I will try to answer it properly this time."

"Well, then, my next question is this: If I want a man to digfor me, and three persons apply for the situation, will it not befair if I set them to work to try them, and choose the one whodoes his task in the quickest time?"

"Are they all to begin their work at the same time?"

"A very proper question, Norman: yes, they shall all starttogether."

"Has one just as much ground to dig as another?"

"Exactly the same."

"And will each man have a good spade?"

"Yes, their spades shall be exactly alike."

"But one part of the field may be soft earth, and the otherhard and stony."

"I will take care of that. All shall be fairly dealt with. Theground shall be everywhere alike."

"Well, I think, Grandpa, that he who does his work first, ifdone as well as that of either of the other two, is the bestman."

"And I think so, too, Norman; and if you go on in this way itwill be greatly to your advantage. Only form the habit of beingthoughtful in little things, and you will be sure to judge wiselyin important ones."

In the words suit (s[=u]t) and soon (s[=oo]n),have the marked vowels the same sound?

In the two statements,-

I give it to you because it's good;
Virtue brings its own reward;

why is there an apostrophe in the first "it's," and none inthe second?

Let your hands be honest and clean-
Let your conscience be honest and clean-

Combine these two sentences by the word and; rewritethem, omitting all needless words.

Compose two sentences, one having the action-wordlearned; the other the word taught.

Fill each of the following blank spaces with the correct formof the action-word bear:

As Christ - His cross, so must we - ours.
Our cross must be -. "And - His own
cross, He went forth to Calvary."

_38_

elate'

despond'

lu' mi nous

pil' grim age

[ONE BY ONE.]

One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.
One by one thy duties wait thee;
Let thy whole strength go to each;
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these canteach.
One by one (bright gifts from Heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready, too, to let them go.
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee;
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee-
Shadows passing through the land.
Do not look at life's long sorrow;
See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again.
Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown, and holy,
When each gem is set with care.
Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, thy daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.
Hours are golden links, God's token,
Reaching heaven; but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

Adelaide A. Procter.

Choose any four lines of the poem, and tell what lesson eachline teaches.

Name some great works that were done little by little.

What does "Rome was not built in a day" mean?

Tell what is meant by "He that despiseth small faults shallfall by little and little."

What is the real or literal meaning of the wordgem?

Find the word in the poem, and tell what meaning it hasthere.

Explain the line-

"Let no future dreams elate thee."

What is meant by "building castles in the air?"

Study the whole poem line by line, and try to tell yourselfwhat each line means. Nearly every single line of it teaches animportant moral lesson. Find out what that lesson is.

Tell what you know of the author.

_39_

ca noe'	sup' ple	fi' brous
res' in	sin' ews	tam' a rack
ooz' ing	bal' sam	sol' i ta ry
pli' ant	fis' sure	re sist' ance
som' ber	crev' ice	re splen' dent

[THE BIRCH CANOE.]

"Give me of your bark, O BirchTree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch Tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
That shall float upon the river,
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water lily!
Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the summer time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white-skin wrapper!"
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
When the birds were singing gayly,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing.
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots, he cut it,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady,
Make more strong and firm beneath me!"
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance;
But it whispered, bending downward,
"Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"
Down he hewed the boughs of cedar
Shaped them straightway to a framework,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended bows together.
"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch Tree!
My canoe to bind together,
So to bind the ends together,
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Larch with all its fibers
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow,
"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"
From the earth he tore the fibers,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch Tree.
Closely sewed the bark together,
Bound it closely to the framework.
"Give me of your balm, O Fir Tree!
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Fir Tree, tall and somber,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir Tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.
"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!
I will make a necklace of them,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom!"
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog,
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
Saying, with a drowsy murmur,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"
From the ground the quills hegathered,
All the little shining arrows,
Stained them red and blue and yellow,
With the juice of roots and berries;
Into his canoe he wrought them,
Round its waist a shining girdle.
Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
On its breast two stars resplendent.
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its magic,
All the lightness of the birch tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews;
And it floated on the river,
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water lily.

Longfellow.

From "Song of Hiawatha." Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,Publishers.

Moon of Leaves, month of May.

sheer, straight up and down.

Tamarack, the American larch tree.

fissure, a narrow opening; a cleft.

What does Hiawatha call the bark of the birch tree?

Where did he get the balsam and resin? What use did he putthese to?

What are the drops of balsam called? Why?

NOTE.-"The bark canoe of the Indians is, perhaps, the lightestand most beautiful model of all the water craft ever invented. Itis generally made complete with the bark of one birch tree, andso skillfully shaped and sewed together with the roots of thetamarack, that it is water-tight, and rides upon the water aslight as a cork."

_40_

pic' tures	pal' ace	four' teen
fa' mous ly	scul' lion	re past'
in hal' ing	en chant' ed	mat' tress
char' coal	land' scapes	ar' chi tect

[PETER OF CORTONA.]

A little shepherd boy, twelve years old, one day gave up thecare of the sheep he was tending, and betook himself to Florence,where he knew no one but a lad of his own age, nearly as poor ashimself, who had lived in the same village, but who had gone toFlorence to be scullion in the house of Cardinal Sachetti. It wasfor a good motive that little Peter desired to come to Florence:he wanted to be an artist, and he knew there was a school forartists there. When he had seen the town well, Peter stationedhimself at the Cardinal's palace; and inhaling the odor of thecooking, he waited patiently till his Eminence was served, thathe might speak to his old companion, Thomas. He had to wait along time; but at length Thomas appeared.

"You here, Peter! What have you come to Florence for?"

"I am come to learn painting."

"You had much better learn kitchen work to begin with; one isthen sure not to die of hunger."

"You have as much to eat as you want here, then?" repliedPeter.

"Indeed I have," said Thomas; "I might eat till I made myselfill every day, if I chose to do it."

"Then," said Peter, "I see we shall do very well. As you havetoo much and I not enough, I will bring my appetite, and you willbring the food; and we shall get on famously."

"Very well," said Thomas.

"Let us begin at once, then," said Peter; "for as I have eatennothing to-day, I should like to try the plan directly."

Thomas then took little Peter into the garret where he slept,and bade him wait there till he brought him some fragments thathe was freely permitted to take. The repast was a merry one, forThomas was in high spirits, and little Peter had a famousappetite.

"Ah," cried Thomas, "here you are fed and lodged. Now thequestion is, how are you going to study?"

"I shall study like all artists-with pencil and paper."

"But then, Peter, have you money to buy the paper andpencils?"

"No, I have nothing; but I said to myself, 'Thomas, who isscullion at his lordship's, must have plenty of money!' As youare rich, it is just the same as if I was."

Thomas scratched his head and replied, that as to brokenvictuals, he had plenty of them; but that he would have to waitthree years before he should receive wages. Peter did not mind.The garret walls were white. Thomas could give him charcoal, andso he set to draw on the walls with that; and after a littlewhile somebody gave Thomas a silver coin.

With joy he brought it to his friend. Pencils and paper werebought. Early in the morning Peter went out studying the picturesin the galleries, the statues in the streets, the landscapes inthe neighborhood; and in the evening, tired and hungry, butenchanted with what he had seen, he crept back into the garret,where he was always sure to find his dinner hidden under themattress, to keep it warm, as Thomas said. Very soon thefirst charcoal drawings were rubbed off, and Peter drew his bestdesigns to ornament his friend's room.

One day Cardinal Sachetti, who was restoring his palace, camewith the architect to the very top of the house, and happened toenter the scullion's garret. The room was empty; but bothCardinal and architect were struck with the genius of thedrawings. They thought they were executed by Thomas, and hisEminence sent for him. When poor Thomas heard that the Cardinalhad been in the garret, and had seen what he called Peter'sdaubs, he thought all was lost.

"You will no longer be a scullion," said the Cardinal to him;and Thomas, thinking this meant banishment and disgrace, fell onhis knees, and cried, "Oh! my lord, what will become of poorPeter?"

The Cardinal made him tell his story.

"Bring him to me when he comes in to-night," said he,smiling.

But Peter did not return that night, nor the next, till atlength a fortnight had passed without a sign of him. At last camethe news that the monks of a distant convent had received andkept with them a boy of fourteen, who had come to ask permissionto copy a painting of Raphael in the chapel of the convent. Thisboy was Peter. Finally, the Cardinal sent him as a pupil to oneof the first artists in Rome.

Fifty years afterwards there were two old men who lived asbrothers in one of the most beautiful houses in Florence. Onesaid of the other, "He is the greatest painter of our age." Theother said of the first, "He is a model for evermore of afaithful friend."

Peter of Cortona, a great Italian painter andarchitect. He was born in Cortona in the year 1596, and died inRome, in 1669.

Eminence, a title of honor, applied to a cardinal.

galleries, rooms or buildings where works of art areexhibited.

victuals (v[)i]t' 'lz), cooked food for humanbeings.

fortnight (f[^o]rt' n[=i]t or n[)i]t): This word iscontracted from fourteen nights.

Locate the cities of Rome and Florence.

Give words that mean the opposite of the following:

ill, bade, buy, first, old, begin, empty, enter, cooked,merry, bought, friend, inhale, patient, palace, distant,appeared, disgrace, famous, faithful, morning, enchanted.

Recite the words-"Oh, my lord, what will become of poorPeter?"-as Thomas uttered them. Remember he was beseeching agreat cardinal in favor of a poor destitute boywhom he loved as a brother. He felt what he said.

Do you find any humorous passages in the selection? Read them,and tell wherein the humor lies.

Memory Gems:

When a friend asketh, there is no to-morrow.
Spanish Proverb.

Diligence overcomes difficulties; sloth makes them.
From "Poor Richard's Proverbs."

A gift in need, though small indeed,
Is large as earth and rich as heaven.

Whittier.

_41_

vas' sal	roy' al ly	beg' gar y
hom' age	sen' ti nel	dif' fer ence

[TO MY DOG BLANCO.][^[003]]

My dear, dumb friend, low lying there,
A willing vassal at my feet,
Glad partner of my home and fare,
My shadow in the street.
I look into your great brown eyes,
Where love and loyal homage shine,
And wonder where the difference lies
Between your soul and mine!
For all the good that I have found
Within myself or human kind,
Hath royally informed and crowned
Your gentle heart and mind.
I scan the whole broad earth around
For that one heart which, leal andtrue,
Bears friendship without end or bound,
And find the prize in you.
I trust you as I trust the stars;
Nor cruel loss, nor scoff of pride,
Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars,
Can move you from my side!
As patient under injury
As any Christian saint of old,
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold;
More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel,
By day and night your constant joy
To guard and please me well.
I clasp your head upon my breast-
The while you whine and lick myhand-
And thus our friendship is confessed,
And thus we understand!
Ah, Blanco! did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my Master trod
With your humility,-
Did I sit fondly at His feet,
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch Him with a love as sweet,
My life would grow divine!

J.G. Holland

From "The Complete Poetical Writings of J.G. Holland."

[003]

Copyright, 1879, 1881, by Charles Scribner'sSons.

leal (l[=e]l), loyal, faithful.

dungeon (d[)u]n' j[)u]n), a close, dark prison,commonly underground.

Tell what is meant by the terms, dumb friend; willing vassal;glad partner; my shadow; human kind; frolic boy.

What duty does Blanco teach his master?

Memorize the last two stanzas of the poem.

The three great divisions of time are past, present,future. Tell what time each of the following action-wordsexpresses:

found, find, have found, will find, bears, shall bear, hasborne, crowned, will crown, did crown, crowns.

_42_

ab'bot	clois'ter	min'ster
li'brary	chron' i cle

[A STORY OF A MONK.]

Many hundreds of years ago there dwelt in a cloister a monknamed Urban, who was remarkable for his earnest and ferventpiety. He was a studious reader of the learned and sacred volumesin the convent library. One day he read in the Epistles of St.Peter the words, "One day is with the Lord as a thousand years,and a thousand years as one day;" and this saying seemedimpossible in his eyes, so that he spent many an hour inmeditating upon it.

Then one morning it happened that the monk descended from thelibrary into the cloister garden, and there he saw a little birdperched on the bough of a tree, singing sweetly, like anightingale. The bird did not move as the monk approached her,till he came quite close, and then she flew to another bough, andagain another, as the monk pursued her. Still singing the samesweet song, the nightingale flew on; and the monk, entranced bythe sound, followed her out of the garden into the wideworld.

At last he stopped, and turned back to the cloister; but everything seemed changed to him. Every thing had become larger, morebeautiful, and older,-the buildings, the garden; and in the placeof the low, humble cloister church, a lofty minster with threetowers reared its head to the sky. This seemed very strange tothe monk, indeed marvelous; but he walked on to the cloister gateand timidly rang the bell. A porter entirely unknown to himanswered his summons, and drew back in amazement when he saw themonk.

The latter went in, and wandered through the church, gazingwith astonishment on memorial stones which he never remembered tohave seen before. Presently the brethren of the cloister enteredthe church; but all retreated when they saw the strange figure ofthe monk. The abbot only (but not his abbot) stopped, andstretching a crucifix before him, exclaimed, "In the name ofChrist, who art thou, spirit or mortal? And what dost thou seekhere, coming from the dead among us, the living?"

The monk, trembling and tottering like an old man, cast hiseyes to the ground, and for the first time became aware that along silvery beard descended from his chin over his girdle, towhich was still suspended the key of the library. To the monksaround, the stranger seemed some marvelous appearance; and, witha mixture of awe and admiration, they led him to the chair of theabbot. There he gave the key to a young monk, who opened thelibrary, and brought out a chronicle wherein it was written thatthree hundred years ago the monk Urban had disappeared; and noone knew whither he had gone.

"Ah, bird of the forest, was it then thy song?" said the monkUrban, with a sigh. "I followed thee for scarce three minutes,listening to thy notes, and yet three hundred years have passedaway! Thou hast sung to me the song of eternity which I couldnever before learn. Now I know it; and, dust myself, I pray toGod kneeling in the dust." With these words he sank to theground, and his spirit ascended to heaven.

Copy the last paragraph, omitting all marks ofpunctuation.

Close the book, and punctuate what you have written. Compareyour work with the printed page.

Memory Gems:

If thou wouldst live long, live well; for folly and wickednessshorten life.

From "Poor Richard's Proverbs"

The older I grow-and I now stand upon the brink ofeternity-the more comes back to me the sentence in the catechismwhich I learned when a child, and the fuller and deeper becomesits meaning: "What is the chief end of man? To glorify God, andto enjoy Him forever."

Thomas Carlyle.

_43_

dole	man' na	em' blem
re leased'	plumes	breathe
crim' son	feath' ered	soared
dou' bly	hom' i ly	ser'a phim

[THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS.]

Up soared the lark into the air,
A shaft of song, a wingèd prayer,
As if a soul, released from pain,
Were flying back to heaven again.
St. Francis heard; it was to him
An emblem of the Seraphim;
The upward motion of the fire,
The light, the heat, the heart's desire.
Around Assisi's convent gate
The birds, God's poor who cannot wait,
From moor and mere and darksome wood
Came flocking for their dole of food.
"O brother birds," St. Francis said,
"Ye come to me and ask for bread,
But not with bread alone to-day
Shall ye be fed and sent away.
"Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds
With manna of celestial words;
Not mine, though mine they seem to be,
Not mine, though they be spoken through me.
"O, doubly are ye bound to praise
The great Creator in your lays;
He giveth you your plumes of down,
Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown.
"He giveth you your wings to fly
And breathe a purer air on high,
And careth for you everywhere,
Who for yourselves so little care!"
With flutter of swift wings and songs
Together rose the feathered throngs,
And singing scattered far apart;
Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.
He knew not if the brotherhood
His homily had understood;
He only knew that to one ear
The meaning of his words was clear.

Longfellow.

From "Children's Hour and Other Poems." Houghton, Mifflin& Co., Publishers.

ST. FRANCIS PREACHING

lays, songs.

Assisi ([:a]s s[=e]' ze), a town of Italy, where St.Francis was born in 1182.

What does "manna of celestial words" mean?

What is the singular form of seraphim?

Memory Gem:

Every word has its own spirit,
True or false, that never dies;
Every word man's lips have uttered
Echoes in God's skies.

Adelaide A. Procter.

_44_

[GLORIA IN EXCELSIS.]

Gloria in excelsis!
Sound the thrilling song;
In excelsis Deo!
Roll the hymn along.
Gloria in excelsis!
Let the heavens ring;
In excelsis Deo!
Welcome, new-born King.
Gloria in excelsis!
Over the sea and land,
In excelsis Deo!
Chant the anthem grand.
Gloria in excelsis!
Let us all rejoice;
In excelsis Deo!
Lift each heart and voice.
Gloria in excelsis!
Swell the hymn on high;
In excelsis Deo!
Sound it to the sky.
Gloria in excelsis!
Sing it, sinful earth,
In excelsis Deo!
For the Savior's birth.

Father Ryan.

"Father Ryan's Poems." Published by P.J. Kenedy & Sons,New York.

Hofmann.--"Glory to God in the highest; and on earthpeace to men of good will."

_45_

plied	won' drous	ex cite' ment
com mo' tion	vig' or	fo' li age
mar' vel ous	com pas' sion

[THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE.][^[004]]

Once upon a time the Forest was in a great commotion. Early inthe evening the wise old Cedars had shaken their heads and toldof strange things that were to happen. They had lived in theForest many, many years; but never had they seen such marveloussights as were to be seen now in the sky, and upon the hills, andin the distant village.

"Pray tell us what you see," pleaded a little Vine; "we whoare not so tall as you can behold none of these wonderfulthings."

"The whole sky seems to be aflame," said one of the Cedars,"and the Stars appear to be dancing among the clouds; angels walkdown from heaven to the earth and talk with the shepherds uponthe hills."

The Vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was atiny tree, so small it was scarcely ever noticed; yet it was avery beautiful little tree, and the Vines and Ferns and Mossesloved it very dearly.

"How I should like to see the Angels!" sighed the little Tree;"and how I should like to see the Stars dancing among the clouds!It must be very beautiful. Oh, listen to the music! I wonderwhence it comes."

"The Angels are singing," said a Cedar; "for none but angelscould make such sweet music."

"And the Stars are singing, too," said another Cedar; "yes,and the shepherds on the hills join in the song."

The trees listened to the singing. It was a strange song abouta Child that had been born. But further than this they did notunderstand. The strange and glorious song continued all thenight.

In the early morning the Angels came to the Forest singing thesame song about the Child, and the Stars sang in chorus withthem, until every part of the woods rang with echoes of thatwondrous song. They were clad all in white, and there were crownsupon their fair heads, and golden harps in their hands. Love,hope, joy and compassion beamed from their beautiful faces. TheAngels came through the Forest to where the little Tree stood,and gathering around it, they touched it with their hands, kissedits little branches, and sang even more sweetly than before. Andtheir song was about the Child, the Child, the Child, that hadbeen born. Then the Stars came down from the skies and danced andhung upon the branches of the little Tree, and they, too, sangthe song of the Child.

When they left the Forest, one Angel remained to guard thelittle Tree. Night and day he watched so that no harm should cometo it. Day by day it grew in strength and beauty. The sun sent ithis choicest rays, heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, andthe winds sang to it their prettiest songs.

So the years passed, and the little Tree grew until it becamethe pride and glory of the Forest.

One day the Tree heard some one coming through the Forest."Have no fear," said the Angel, "for He who comes is theMaster."

And the Master came to the Tree and placed His Hands upon itssmooth trunk and branches. He stooped and kissed the Tree, andthen turned and went away.

A.Bida.

Many times after that the Master came to the Forest, restedbeneath the Tree and enjoyed the shade of its foliage. Many timesHe slept there and the Tree watched over Him. Many times men camewith the Master to the Forest, sat with Him in the shade of theTree, and talked with Him of things which the Tree never couldunderstand. It heard them tell how the Master healed the sick andraised the dead and bestowed blessings wherever He walked.

But one night the Master came alone into the Forest. His Facewas pale and wet with tears. He fell upon His knees and prayed.The Tree heard Him, and all the Forest was still. In the morningthere was a sound of rude voices and a clashing of swords.

Hofmann.

Strange men plied their axes with cruel vigor, and the Treewas hewn to the ground. Its beautiful branches were cut away, andits soft, thick foliage was strewn to the winds. The Trees of theForest wept.

The cruel men dragged the hewn Tree away, and the Forest sawit no more.

But the Night Wind that swept down from the City of the GreatKing stayed that night in the Forest awhile to say that it hadseen that day a Cross raised on Calvary,-the Tree on which wasnailed the Body of the dying Master.

Eugene Field.

From "A Little Book of Profitable Tales." Published by CharlesScribner's Sons.

[004]

Copyright, 1889, by Eugene Field.

_46_

[THE HOLY CITY.]

Last night I lay a-sleeping; there came a dream so fair;-
I stood in old Jerusalem, beside the Temple there;
I heard the children singing, and ever as they sang
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heaven in answer rang;-
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heaven in answer rang.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing
Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna to your King!
And then methought my dream was changed;-
The streets no longer rang
Hushed were the glad Hosannas the little children sang.
The sun grew dark with mystery,
The morn was cold and chill,
As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill;-
As the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, hark! how the Angels sing
Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna to your King!
And once again the scene was changed-
New earth there seemed to be;
I saw the Holy City beside the tideless sea;
The light of God was on its streets,
The gates were open wide,
And all who would might enter,
And no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night,
Nor sun to shine by day;
It was the New Jerusalem, that would not pass away,-
It was the New Jerusalem, that would not pass away.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, sing, for the night is o'er,
Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna forevermore!

_47_

trea' son	eu' lo gies	de bat' ed
phi los' o phy	in ge nu' i ty	ap pro' pri ate
con' sum ma ted

[THE FEAST OF TONGUES.]

Xanthus invited a large company to dinner, and Aesop wasordered to furnish the choicest dainties that money couldprocure. The first course consisted of tongues, cooked indifferent ways and served with appropriate sauces. This gave riseto much mirth and many witty remarks by the guests. The secondcourse was also nothing but tongues, and so with the third andfourth. This seemed to go beyond a joke, and Xanthus demanded inan angry manner of Aesop, "Did I not tell you to provide thechoicest dainties that money could procure?" "And what excels thetongue?" replied Aesop, "It is the channel of learning andphilosophy. By it addresses and eulogies are made, and commercecarried on, contracts executed, and marriages consummated.Nothing is equal to the tongue." The company applauded Aesop'swit, and good feeling was restored.

"Well," said Xanthus to the guests, "pray do me the favor ofdining with me again to-morrow. I have a mind to change thefeast; to-morrow," said he, turning to Aesop, "provide us withthe worst meat you can find." The next day the guests assembledas before, and to their astonishment and the anger of Xanthusnothing but tongues was provided. "How, sir," said Xanthus,"should tongues be the best of meat one day and the worstanother?" "What," replied Aesop, "can be worse than the tongue?What wickedness is there under the sun that it has not a part in?Treasons, violence, injustice, fraud, are debated and resolvedupon, and communicated by the tongue. It is the ruin of empires,cities, and of private friendships." The company were more thanever struck by Aesop's ingenuity, and they interceded for himwith his master.

From "Aesop's Fables."

Xanthus, a Greek poet and historian, who lived in thesixth century before Christ.

Write the plurals of the following words, and tell how theyare formed in each case:

dainty, sauce, eulogy, feast, city, chief, calf, day, lily,copy, loaf, roof, half, valley, donkey.

What words are made emphatic by contrast in the followingsentence: "How should tongues be the best of meat one day and theworst another?"

Memorize what Aesop said in praise of the tongue, and what hesaid in dispraise of it.

Memory Gem:

"If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man. Thetongue is a fire, a world of iniquity. By it we bless God and theFather; and by it we curse men who are made after the likeness ofGod."

From "Epistle of St. James."

_48_

ap' pe tite

ha rangued'

sus pend' ed

min' strel sy

[THE NIGHTINGALE AND THEGLOWWORM.]

A nightingale, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glowworm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong
As much as I to spoil your song:
For 'twas the self-same Power Divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard this short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
William Cowper.

Why did the nightingale feel "The keen demands ofappetite?"

Do you admire the eloquent speech that the worm made to thebird? Study it by heart. Copy it from memory. Compare your copywith the printed page as to spelling, capitals andpunctuation.

Memory Gems:

I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.

William Cowper.

Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm!
The frame thy wayward looks deride
Required a God to form.
The common Lord of all that move.
From whom thy being flowed,
A portion of His boundless love
On that poor worm bestowed.
Let them enjoy their little day,
Their humble bliss receive;
Oh! do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give!

Thomas Gisborne.

_49_

mar' gin	pitch' er	cup' board
breathed	di' a mond	quiv' er ing

[JACK FROST.]

Jack Frost looked forth one still, clear night,
And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So, through the valley, and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain;
But I'll be as busy as they!"
Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
In diamond beads; and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The glittering point of many a spear,
Which he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.
He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane, like a fairy, crept:
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the morning light were seen
Most beautiful things!-there were flowers and trees;
There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees;
There were cities with temples and towers; and these
All pictured in silvery sheen!
But he did one thing that was hardly fair;
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare.-
"Now, just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he;
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three;
And the glass of water they've left for me,
Shall 'tchick,' to tell them I'm drinking."

Hannah F. Gould.

crest, top or summit.

coat of mail, a garment of iron or steel worn bywarriors in olden times.

bevies, flocks or companies.

sheen, brightness.

tchick a combination of letters whose pronunciation issupposed to resemble the sound of breaking glass.

What did Jack Frost do when he went to the mountain?

How did he dress the boughs of the trees? What did he spreadover the lake? Why?

What could be seen after he had worked on "the windows ofthose who slept?"

What mischief did he do in the cupboard, and why?

Is Jack Frost an artist? In what kind of weather does he work?Why does he work generally at night?

_50_

re' al ize	pen' du lum	dil' i gent ly
sig nif' i cance	auc tion eer'	per sist' ent ly
in ex haust' i ble	un der stood'	hope' less ly
nev er the less

["GOING! GOING! GONE!"]

The other day, as I was walking through a side street in oneof our large cities, I heard these words ringing out from a roomso crowded with people that I could but just see the auctioneer'sface and uplifted hammer above the heads of the crowd.

"Going! Going! Going! Gone!" and down came the hammer with asharp rap.

I do not know how or why it was, but the words struck me witha new force and significance. I had heard them hundreds of timesbefore, with only a sense of amusement. This time they soundedsolemn.

"Going! Going! Gone!"

"That is the way it is with life," I said to myself;-"withtime." This world is a sort of auction-room; we do not know thatwe are buyers: we are, in fact, more like beggars; we havebrought no money to exchange for precious minutes, hours, days,or years; they are given to us. There is no calling out of terms,no noisy auctioneer, no hammer; but nevertheless, the time is"going! going! gone!"

The more I thought of it, the more solemn did the words sound,and the more did they seem to me a good motto to remind one ofthe value of time.

When we are young we think old people are preaching andprosing when they say so much about it,-when they declare sooften that days, weeks, even years, are short. I can rememberwhen a holiday, a whole day long, appeared to me an almostinexhaustible play-spell; when one afternoon, even, seemed anendless round of pleasure, and the week that was to come seemedlonger than does a whole year now.

One needs to live many years before one learns how little timethere is in a year,-how little, indeed, there will be even in thelongest possible life,-how many things one will still be obligedto leave undone.

But there is one thing, boys and girls, that you can realizeif you will try-if you will stop and think about it a little; andthat is, how fast and how steadily the present time is slippingaway. However long life may seem to you as you look forward tothe whole of it, the present hour has only sixty minutes, andminute by minute, second by second, it is "going! going! gone!"If you gather nothing from it as it passes, it is "gone" forever.Nothing is so utterly, hopelessly lost as "lost time." It makesme unhappy when I look back and see how much time I have wasted;how much I might have learned and done if I had but understoodhow short is the longest hour.

All the men and women who have made the world better, happieror wiser for their having lived in it, have done so by workingdiligently and persistently. Yet, I am certain that not even oneof these, when "looking backward from his manhood's prime, sawnot the specter of his mis-spent time." Now, don't suppose I amso foolish as to think that all the preaching in the world canmake anything look to young eyes as it looks to old eyes; not abit of it.

But think about it a little; don't let time slip away by theminute, hour, day, without getting something out of it! Look atthe clock now and then, and listen to the pendulum, saying ofevery minute, as it flies,-"Going! going! gone!"

Helen Hunt Jackson.

From "Bits of Talk." Copyright, Little, Brown & Co.,Publishers.

prosing, talking in a dull way.

In the following sentences, instead of the words in italics,use others that have the same general meaning:

I heard these words ringing out from a room socrowded with people that I could but justsee the man's face. How fast andsteadily the present time is slipping away!

Punctuate the following:

Go to the ant thou sluggard consider her ways and be wise.

_51_

yearn	car' ol	mus' ing
stee' ple	mag' ic al

[SEVEN TIMES TWO.]

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes,
How many soever they be,
And let the brown meadowlark's note, as he ranges,
Come over, come over to me!
Yet birds' clearest carol, by fall or by swelling,
No magical sense conveys;
And bells have forgotten their old art of telling
The fortune of future days.
"Turn again, turn again!" once they rang cheerily,
While a boy listened alone;
Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily
All by himself on a stone.
Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over,
And mine, they are yet to be;
No listening, no longing, shall aught, aught discover:
You leave the story to me.
The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather,
And hangeth her hoods of snow;
She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather:
Oh, children take long to grow!
I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster,
Nor long summer bide so late;
And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster,
For some things are ill to wait.
I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover,
While dear hands are laid on myhead,
"The child is a woman-the book may close over,
For all the lessons are said."
I wait for my story: the birds cannot sing it,
Not one, as he sits on the tree;
The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it!
Such as I wish it to be.

Jean Ingelow.

"Turn again, turn again!" Reference is here made toDick Whittington, a poor orphan country lad, who went to Londonto earn a living, and who afterwards rose to be the first LordMayor of that city.

NOTE.-This poem is the second of a series of seven lyrics,entitled "The Songs of Seven," which picture seven stages in awoman's life. For the first of the series, "Seven Times One," seepage 44 of the Fourth Reader. Read it in connection with this."Seven Times Two" shows the girl standing at the entrance tomaidenhood, books closed and lessons said, longing for the yearsto go faster to bring to her the happiness she imagines iswaiting.

_52_

man' i fold

do mes' tic

pet' tish ly

in grat' i tude

[MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.]

It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after along absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacredmound beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournfulperiod, a great change had come over me. My childish years hadpassed away, and with them my youthful character. The world wasaltered, too; and as I stood at my mother's grave, I could hardlyrealize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whosecheeks she so often kissed in an excess of tenderness.

But the varied events of thirteen years had not effaced theremembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had seenher but yesterday-as if the blessed sound of her well-rememberedvoice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and childhoodwere brought back so distinctly to my mind that, had it not beenfor one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have beengentle and refreshing.

The circumstance may seem a trifling one, but the thought ofit now pains my heart; and I relate it, that those children whohave parents to love them may learn to value them as theyought.

My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become soaccustomed to her pale face and weak voice, that I was notfrightened at them, as children usually are. At first, it istrue, I sobbed violently; but when, day after day, I returnedfrom school, and found her the same, I began to believe she wouldalways be spared to me; but they told me she would die.

One day when I had lost my place in the class, I came homediscouraged and fretful. I went to my mother's chamber. She waspaler than usual, but she met me with the same affectionate smilethat always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back throughthe lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have beenstone not to have been melted by it. She requested me to godownstairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked herwhy she did not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mildreproach, which I shall never forget if I live to be a hundredyears old, she said, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of waterfor her poor, sick mother?"

I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly.Instead of smiling, and kissing her as I had been wont to do, Iset the glass down very quickly, and left the room. After playinga short time, I went to bed without bidding my mother good night;but when alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I rememberedhow pale she looked, and how her voice trembled when she said,"Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sickmother?" I could not sleep. I stole into her chamber to askforgiveness. She had sunk into an easy slumber, and they told meI must not waken her.

I did not tell anyone what troubled me, but stole back to mybed, resolved to rise early in the morning and tell her how sorryI was for my conduct. The sun was shining brightly when I awoke,and, hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my mother's chamber.She was dead! She never spoke more-never smiled upon me again;and when I touched the hand that used to rest upon my head inblessing, it was so cold that it made me start.

I bowed down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness of myheart. I then wished that I might die, and be buried with her;and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine togive, could my mother but have lived to tell me she forgave mychildish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when Istand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifoldkindness, the memory of that reproachful look she gave me willbite like a serpent and sting like an adder.

Memory Gem:

"But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!"

_53_

chide	be dewed'	em balmed'
be tide'	lin' gered	wor' shiped

[THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.]

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize;
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs.
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart;
Not a tie will break, not a link will start.
Would ye learn the spell?-a mother sat there!
And a sacred thing is that old Arm-chair.
In Childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear;
And gentle words that mother would give,
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.
She told me that shame would never betide,
With truth for my creed and God for my guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair.
I sat and watched her many a day,
When her eye grew dim and her locks were gray;
And I almost worshiped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible to bless her child.
Years rolled on; but the last one sped-
My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled:
I learned how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair.
'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow:
'Twas there she nursed me; 'twas there she died;
And Memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it; and cannot tear
My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair.

Eliza Cook.

spell, a verse or phrase or word supposed to havemagical power; a charm.

hallowed, made holy. hollowed, made a hole outof; made hollow. Use these two words in sentences of yourown.

What is meant by "Memory flows with lava tide?"

Write a two-paragraph description of an old arm-chair. Yourimagination will furnish you with all needed details.

Divide the following words into their syllables, and mark theaccented syllable of each:

absurd, every, nature, mature, leisure, valuable, safety,again, virtue, ancient, weather, history, poetry, mother,genuine, earliest, fatigued, business.

The dictionary will aid you.

_54_

crags	break	tongue	thoughts
ha' ven	sail' or	state' ly

[BREAK, BREAK, BREAK!]

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister atplay!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on thebay!
And the stately ships go on
To the haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that isstill!
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Tennyson.

Tennyson

_55_

barns	deaf en ing	i dol' a trous
pon' der	ca lum' ni ate	Be at' i tudes

[GOD IS OUR FATHER.]

The Old Law, the Law given to the Jews on Mount Sinai, tendedto inspire the fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom. Itwas given amidst fire and smoke, thunders and lightnings, andwhatever else could fill the minds of the Jews with fear andwonder. Compelled, as it were, by the idolatrous acts of Hischosen people, by their repeated rebellions, and their endlessmurmurings, God showed Himself to them as the almighty Sovereign,the King of kings, the Lord of lords, whose holiness, power,majesty, and severity in punishing sin, filled their minds withawe and dread.

It was not thus that the New Law, the Law of grace and love,was given to the world. No dark cloud covered the mount of theBeatitudes from which our Lord preached; no deafening thunderswere heard; no angry flashes of lightning were visible. There wasnothing forbidding in the voice, words, or appearance of theDivine Lawgiver. In the whole exterior of our Savior there was asomething so sweet, so humble, so meek and captivating, that thepeople were filled with admiration and love.

One of the most remarkable features of this first sermon thatChrist preached is the fact that He constantly called God ourFather. How beautifully His teachings reveal the spirit of theLaw of love! Listen to Him attentively, and ponder upon Hiswords:

"Take heed that you do not your justice before men, to be seenby them: otherwise you shall not have a reward of your FATHER WHOis in heaven.... But when thou dost alms, let not thy left handknow what thy right hand doth; that thy alms may be in secret,and thy FATHER WHO seeth in secret will repay thee.... Love yourenemies; do good to them that hate you; and pray for them thatpersecute and calumniate you; that you may be the children ofyour FATHER WHO is in heaven, Who maketh His sun to rise upon thegood and bad, and raineth upon the just and the unjust.

"Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow, nor dothey reap, nor gather into barns: and your heavenly FATHERfeedeth them. Are not you of much more value than they?... Ifyou, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to yourchildren, how much more will your FATHER WHO is in heaven givegood things to them that ask Him.... For if you will forgive mentheir offenses, your heavenly FATHER will forgive you also youroffenses. But if you will not forgive men, neither will yourFATHER forgive you your offenses.... Thus therefore shall youpray: OUR FATHER Who art in heaven."

From these and many other similar expressions found in thevery first sermon which Jesus Christ ever preached, we learn thatit is the expressed will of God that we should look upon Him asour loving Father; and that, however unworthy we may be, weshould look upon ourselves as His beloved children. There cannotbe a possible doubt of this, since it is taught so positively byHis only begotten Son, Who is "the Way, the Truth, and theLife."

Henry le Jeune.

Sinai (s[=i]' n[=a]), a mountain in Arabia.

_56_

[HAPPY OLD AGE.]

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried;
"The few locks that are left you aregray;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man;
Now, tell me the reason, I pray."
"In the days of my youth," Father William replied,
"I remembered that youth would flyfast,
And abused not my health and my vigor at first,
That I never might need them atlast."
"You are old, Father William," the young man cried,
"And life must be hastening away;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death!
Now, tell me the reason, I pray."
"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied;
"Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remembered my God!
And He hath not forgotten my age."

Robert Southey.

Tell the story of the poem in your own words. What are some ofthe important lessons it teaches?

_57_

smit' ing	el' o quence	mes' mer ize
ges' ture	vin' e gar	un dy' ing ly

[KIND WORDS.]

Kind words are the music of the world. They have a power whichseems to be beyond natural causes, as if they were some angel'ssong, which had lost its way and come on earth, and sang onundyingly, smiting the hearts of men with sweetest wounds, andputting for the while an angel's nature into us.

Let us then think first of all of the power of kind words. Intruth, there is hardly a power on earth equal to them. It seemsas they could almost do what in reality God alone can do, namely,soften the hard and angry hearts of men. Many a friendship, long,loyal, and self-sacrificing, rested at first on no thicker afoundation than a kind word.

Kind words produce happiness. How often have we ourselves beenmade happy by kind words, in a manner and to an extent which weare unable to explain! And happiness is a great power ofholiness. Thus, kind words, by their power of producinghappiness, have also a power of producing holiness, and so ofwinning men to God.

If I may use such a word when I am speaking of religioussubjects, it is by voice and words that men mesmerize each other.Hence it is that the world is converted by the voice of thepreacher. Hence it is that an angry word rankles longer in theheart than an angry gesture, nay, very often even longer than ablow. Thus, all that has been said of the power of kindness ingeneral applies with an additional and peculiar force to kindwords.

Father Faber.

From "Spiritual Conferences."

Explain: Kind words are the music of the world-An angel's songthat had lost its way and come on earth-Smiting the hearts of menwith sweetest wounds-Putting an angel's nature into us-Hard andangry hearts of men-An angry word rankles longer in the heartthan even a blow.

Mention some occasions when kind words addressed to you madeyou very happy. Which will bring a person more happiness,-to havekind words said to him, or for him to say them to another?

Memorize the first paragraph of the selection.

Memory Gems:

Kindness has converted more sinners than either zeal,eloquence, or learning.

Father Faber.

You will catch more flies with a spoonful of honey than with ahundred barrels of vinegar.

St. Francis de Sales.

_58_

[KINDNESS IS THE WORD.]

Memorize:

"What is the real good?"
I asked in musing mood.
Order, said the law court;
Knowledge, said the school;
Truth, said the wise man;
Pleasure, said the fool;
Love, said the maiden;
Beauty, said the page;
Freedom, said the dreamer;
Home, said the sage;
Fame, said the soldier;
Equity, said the seer;-
Spake my heart full sadly:
"The answer is not here."
Then within my bosom
Softly this I heard:
"Each heart holds the secret:
Kindness is the word."

John Boyle O'Reilly.

sage, a wise man.

seer, one who foresees events; a prophet.

equity ([)e]k' w[)i] t[)y]), justice, fairness.

_59_

va' cant	joc' und	pen' sive	spright' ly
sol' i tude	daf' fo dils	con tin' u ous

[DAFFODILS.]

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales andhills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in thebreeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightlydance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company.
I gazed,-and gazed,-but little thought
What wealth the show to me hadbrought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth.

Milky Way, the belt of light seen at night in theheavens, and is composed of millions of stars.

1st stanza: Explain, "I wandered lonely." To what does thepoet compare his loneliness?

What did the poet see "all at once?" Where? What were thedaffodils doing?

What picture do the first two lines bring to mind? Describethe picture contained in the remaining lines of this stanza.

2d stanza: How does the poet tell what a great crowd ofdaffodils there were? How would you tell it?

How does he say the daffodils were arranged? What doesmargin mean?

How many daffodils did he see? In this stanza, what does hesay they were doing?

3d stanza: What is said of the waves? In what did thedaffodils surpass the waves?

What do the third and fourth lines of this stanza mean?

4th stanza: What does "in vacant mood" mean? "In pensivemood?" "Inward eye?"

How does this inward eye make bliss for us in solitude?

What feelings did the thought of what he saw awaken in theheart of the poet?

What changed the wanderer's loneliness, as told at thebeginning of the poem, to gayety, as told towards the end?

Commit the poem to memory.

_60_

hos' tile	en dowed'	tu' mult
ac' o lyte	ep' i taph	grav' i ty
com' bat ants	pref' er ence	a maz' ed ly
ath let' ic	Vi at' i cum	in her' it ance
cem' e ter y	re tal' i ate	un flinch' ing ly
ir re sist' i ble	un vi' o la ted	con temp' tu ous ly

[THE STORY OF TARCISIUS.]

At the time our story opens, a bloody persecution of theChurch was going on, and all the prisons of Rome were filled withChristians condemned to death for the Faith. Some were to die onthe morrow, and to these it was necessary to send the HolyViaticum to strengthen their souls for the battle before them. Onthis day, when the hostile passions of heathen Rome wereunusually excited by the coming slaughter of so many Christianvictims, it was a work of more than common danger to dischargethis duty.

The Sacred Bread was prepared, and the priest turned roundfrom the altar on which it was placed, to see who would be itssafest bearer. Before any other could step forward, the youngacolyte Tarcisius knelt at his feet. With his hands extendedbefore him, ready to receive the sacred deposit, with acountenance beautiful in its lovely innocence as an angel's, heseemed to entreat for preference, and even to claim it.

"Thou art too young, my child," said the kind priest, filledwith admiration of the picture before him.

"My youth, holy father, will be my best protection. Oh! do notrefuse me this great honor." The tears stood in the boy's eyes,and his cheeks glowed with a modest emotion, as he spoke thesewords. He stretched forth his hands eagerly, and his entreaty wasso full of fervor and courage, that the plea was irresistible.The priest took the Divine Mysteries, wrapped up carefully in alinen cloth, then in an outer covering, and put them on hispalms, saying-

"Remember, Tarcisius, what a treasure is intrusted to thyfeeble care. Avoid public places as thou goest along; andremember that holy things must not be delivered to dogs, norpearls be cast before swine. Thou wilt keep safely God's sacredgifts?"

"I will die rather than betray them," answered the holy youth,as he folded the heavenly trust in the bosom of his tunic, andwith cheerful reverence started on his journey. There was agravity beyond the usual expression of his years stamped upon hiscountenance, as he tripped lightly along the streets, avoidingequally the more public, and the too low, thoroughfares.

As he was approaching the door of a large mansion, itsmistress, a rich lady without children, saw him coming, and wasstruck with his beauty and sweetness, as, with arms folded on hisbreast, he was hastening on. "Stay one moment, dear child," shesaid, putting herself in his way; "tell me thy name, and where dothy parents live?"

"I am Tarcisius, an orphan boy," he replied, looking upsmilingly; "and I have no home, save one which it might bedispleasing to thee to hear."

"Then come into my house and rest; I wish to speak to thee.Oh, that I had a child like thee!"

"Not now, noble lady, not now. I have intrusted to me a mostsolemn and sacred duty, and I must not tarry a moment in itsperformance."

"Then promise to come to me tomorrow; this is my house."

"If I am alive, I will," answered the boy, with a kindledlook, which made him appear to her as a messenger from a highersphere. She watched him a long time, and after some deliberationdetermined to follow him. Soon, however, she heard a tumult withhorrid cries, which made her pause on her way until they hadceased, when she went on again.

In the meantime, Tarcisius, with his thoughts fixed on betterthings than her inheritance, hastened on, and shortly came intoan open space, where boys, just escaped from school, werebeginning to play.

"We just want one to make up the game; where shall we gethim?" said their leader.

"Capital!" exclaimed another; "here comes Tarcisius, whom Ihave not seen for an age. He used to be an excellent hand at allsports. Come, Tarcisius," he added, stopping him by seizing hisarm, "whither so fast? take a part in our game, that's a goodfellow."

"I can't now; I really can't. I am going on business of greatimportance."

"But you shall," exclaimed the first speaker, a strong andbullying youth, laying hold of him. "I will have no sulking, whenI want anything done. So come, join us at once."

"I entreat you," said the poor boy feelingly, "do let mego."

"No such thing," replied the other. "What is that you seem tobe carrying so carefully in your bosom? A letter, I suppose;well, it will not addle by being for half an hour out of itsnest. Give it to me, and I will put it by safe while weplay."

"Never, never," answered the child, looking up towardsheaven.

"I will see it," insisted the other rudely; "I willknow what is this wonderful secret." And he commenced pulling himroughly about. A crowd of men from the neighborhood soon gotround, and all asked eagerly what was the matter. They saw a boy,who, with folded arms, seemed endowed with a supernaturalstrength, as he resisted every effort of one much bigger andstronger, to make him reveal what he was bearing. Cuffs, pulls,blows, kicks, seemed to have no effect. He bore them all withouta murmur, or an attempt to retaliate; but he unflinchingly kepthis purpose.

"What is it? what can it be?" one began to ask the other; whenFulvius chanced to pass by, and joined the circle round thecombatants. He at once recognized Tarcisius, having seen him atthe Ordination; and being asked, as a better-dressed man, thesame question, he replied contemptuously, as he turned on hisheel, "What is it? Why, only a Christian, bearing theMysteries."

This was enough. Heathen curiosity, to see the Mysteries ofthe Christians revealed, and to insult them, was aroused, and ageneral demand was made to Tarcisius to yield up his charge."Never with life," was his only reply. A heavy blow from asmith's fist nearly stunned him, while the blood flowed from thewound. Another and another followed, till, covered with bruises,but with his arms crossed fast upon his breast, he fell heavilyon the ground. The mob closed upon him, and were just seizing,him to tear open his thrice-holy trust, when they felt themselvespushed aside right and left by some giant strength. Some wentreeling to the further side of the square, others were spun roundand round, they knew not how, till they fell where they were, andthe rest retired before a tall athletic officer, who was theauthor of this overthrow. He had no sooner cleared the groundthan he was on his knees, and with tears in his eyes raised upthe bruised and fainting boy as tenderly as a mother could havedone, and in most gentle tones asked him, "Are you much hurt,Tarcisius?"

"Never mind me, Quadratus," answered he, opening his eyes witha smile; "but I am carrying the Divine Mysteries; take care ofthem."

The soldier raised the boy in his arms with tenfold reverence,as if bearing, not only the sweet victim of a youthful sacrifice,a martyr's relics, but the very King and Lord of Martyrs, and thedivine Victim of eternal salvation. The child's head leaned inconfidence on the stout soldier's neck, but his arms and handsnever left their watchful custody of the confided gift; and hisgallant bearer felt no weight in the hallowed double burden whichhe carried. No one stopped him, till a lady met him and staredamazedly at him. She drew nearer, and looked closer at what hecarried. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed with terror, "is thatTarcisius, whom I met a few moments ago, so fair and lovely?"

"Madam," replied Quadratus, "they have murdered him because hewas a Christian."

The lady looked for an instant on the child's countenance. Heopened his eyes upon her, smiled, and expired. From that lookcame the light of faith-she hastened to be a Christian.

The venerable Dionysius could hardly see for weeping, as heremoved the child's hands, and took from his bosom, unviolated,the Holy of Holies; and he thought he looked more like an angelnow, sleeping the martyr's slumber, than he did when livingscarcely an hour before. Quadratus himself bore him to thecemetery of Callistus, where he was buried amidst the admirationof older believers; and later a holy Pope composed for him anepitaph, which no one can read without concluding that the beliefin the real presence of Our Lord's Body in the Blessed Eucharistwas the same then as now:

"Christ's secret gifts, by good Tarcisius borne,
The mob profanely bade him todisplay;
He rather gave his own limbs to be torn,
Than Christ's Body to mad dogsbetray."

Cardinal Wiseman.

From "Fabiola; or, The Church of the Catacombs."

addle, to become rotten, as eggs.

tunic, a loose garment, reaching to the knees, andconfined at the waist by a girdle.

supernatural, = prefix super, meaningabove or beyond, + natural.

-ion, a suffix denoting act, state, conditionof. Define emotion, objection, dejection, conversion,submission, construction, admiration, persecution, observation,revolution, deliberation.

Write a letter to a friend who has sent you a copy of"Fabiola." Tell him how much you like the book, what you haveread in it, and thank him for sending it.

Make a list of the characters in the story of Tarcisius, andtell what you like or dislike in each.

Memory Gems:

The boy, with proud, yet tear-dimmed eyes,
Kept murmuring under breath:
"Before temptation-sacrifice!
Before dishonor-death!"

Margaret J. Preston.

Dare to do right! Dare to be true!
Other men's failures can never save you;
Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;
Stand like a hero, and battle till death.

George L. Taylor.

Heroes of old! I humbly lay
The laurel on your graves again;
Whatever men have done, men may-
The deeds you wrought are not invain.

Austin Dobson.

_61_

a jar'	chal' ice	a thwart'
rap' tur ous	sward	ter' race
jew' eled	ci bo' ri um	por' tal
vil' lain	au da' cious	sac ri le' gious

[LEGEND OF THE WAXEN CIBORIUM.]

A summer night in Remy-strokes of the midnight bell,
Like drops of molten silver, athwart the silence fell,
Where 'mid the misty meadows, the circling crystal streams,
A little village slumber'd,-locked in quiet dreams.
A lily, green-embower'd, beside a mossy wood,
With golden cross uplifted, the small white chapel stood,
But in that solemn hour, the light of moon and star
Upon its portal shining, revealed the door ajar!
And lo! into the midnight, with noiseless feet, there ran
From out the sacred shadows, a mask'd and muffl'd man,
Who bore beneath his mantle, with sacrilegious hold,
The Victim of the altar within Its vase of gold!
To right-to left,-he faltered; then swift across the sward,
(Like dusky demon fleeing), he bore the Hidden Lord;
By mere and moonlit meadow his rapid passage sped,
Till, at an open wicket, he paused with bended head.
Behold! a grassy terrace,-a garden, wide and fair,
And, 'mid the wealth of roses, a beehive nestling there.
Across the flow'ring trellis, the villain cast his cloak,
Upon the jeweled chalice, the moonbeams, sparkling, broke!
O sacrilegious fingers! your work was quickly done!
Within the hive (audacious!) he thrust the Holy One,
Then gath'ring up his mantle to hide the treasure bright-
Plunged back into the darkness, and vanish'd in the night.

Forth in the summer morning, full of the sun and breeze,
Into his dewy garden, walks the master of the bees.
All silent stands the beehive,-no little buzzing things
Among the flowers, flutter, on brown and golden wings.
Untasted lies the honey within the roses' hearts,-
The master paces nearer,-he listens-lo! he starts,
What sounds of rapturous singing! O heaven! all alive
With strange angelic music, is that celestial hive!
Upon his knees adoring, the master, weeping, sees
Within a honeyed cloister, the Chalice of the bees;
For lo! the little creatures have reared a waxen shrine,
Wherein reposes safely the Sacred Host Divine!...
O little ones, who listen unto this legend old
(Upon my shoulder blending your locks of brown and gold),
From out the hands of sinners whose hearts are foul to see,
Behold! the dear Lord Jesus appeals to you and me.
He says: "O loving children! within your hearts prepare
A hive of honeyed sweetness where I may nestle fair;
Make haste, O pure affections! to welcome Me therein,
Out of the world's bright gardens, out of the groves of Sin.
"And in the night of sorrow (sweet sorrow), like the bees,
Around My Heart shall hover your wingèd ministries,
And while ye toil, the angels shall, softly singing come
To worship Me, the Captive of Love's Ciborium!"

Eleanor C. Donnelly.

From "The Children of the Golden Sheaf." Published by P.C.Donnelly.

mere, a waste place; a marsh.

trellis, a frame of latticework.

waxen, made of wax. en is here a suffix meaningmade of. Use golden, leaden, wooden, in sentencesof your own.

Synonyms are words which have very nearly the same meaning.What does revealed mean? cloister? Find as manysynonyms of these two words as you can. Consult yourdictionary.

_62_

stalked	ep'au lets	be hind' hand
se date'	trudg' ing	com pos' ed ly
fid' dler	strut' ted	ap pro ba' tion
re sumed'	af firmed'	dis a gree' a ble
whith er so ev' er

[LITTLE DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY.]

Daffy-down-dilly was so called because in his nature heresembled a flower, and loved to do only what was beautiful andagreeable, and took no delight in labor of any kind. But, whileDaffy-down-dilly was yet a little boy, his mother sent him awayfrom his pleasant home, and put him under the care of a verystrict schoolmaster, who went by the name of Mr. Toil. Those whoknew him best, affirmed that this Mr. Toil was a very worthycharacter, and that he had done more good, both to children andgrown people, than anybody else in the world. Nevertheless, Mr.Toil had a severe countenance; his voice, too, was harsh; and allhis ways seemed very disagreeable to our friendDaffy-down-dilly.

The whole day long, this terrible old schoolmaster sat at hisdesk, overlooking the pupils, or stalked about the room with acertain awful birch rod in his hand. Now came a rap over theshoulders of a boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play; now hepunished a whole class who were behindhand with their lessons;and, in short, unless a lad chose to attend constantly to hisbook, he had no chance of enjoying a quiet moment in theschoolroom of Mr. Toil.

"I can't bear it any longer," said Daffy-down-dilly tohimself, when he had been at school about a week. "I'll run away,and try to find my dear mother; at any rate, I shall never findanybody half so disagreeable as this old Mr. Toil." So, the verynext morning, off started poor Daffy-down-dilly, and began hisrambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for hisbreakfast, and very little pocket money to pay his expenses. Buthe had gone only a short distance, when he overtook a man ofgrave and sedate appearance, who was trudging along the road at amoderate pace.

"Good-morning, my fine little lad," said the stranger; "whencedo you come so early, and whither are you going?"Daffy-down-dilly hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessedthat he had run away from school, on account of his great disliketo Mr. Toil; and that he was resolved to find some place in theworld where he should never see nor hear of the old schoolmasteragain. "Very well, my little friend," answered the stranger, "wewill go together; for I, also, have had a great deal to do withMr. Toil, and should be glad to find some place where his namewas never heard."

They had not gone far, when they passed a field where somehaymakers were at work, mowing down the tall grass, and spreadingit out in the sun to dry. Daffy-down-dilly was delighted with thesweet smell of the new-mown grass, and thought how muchpleasanter it must be to make hay in the sunshine, under the bluesky, and with the birds singing sweetly in the neighboring treesand bushes, than to be shut up in a dismal schoolroom, learninglessons all day long, and continually scolded by Mr. Toil.

But, in the midst of these thoughts, while he was stopping topeep over the stone wall, he started back, caught hold of hiscompanion's hand, and cried, "Quick, quick! Let us run away, orhe will catch us!"

"Who will catch us?" asked the stranger.

"Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered Daffy-down-dilly."Don't you see him among the haymakers?"

"Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This is not Mr. Toil,the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer;and people say he is the more disagreeable man of the two.However, he won't trouble you, unless you become a laborer on thefarm."

They went on a little farther, and soon heard the sound of adrum and fife. Daffy-down-dilly besought his companion to hurryforward, that they might not miss seeing the soldiers.

"Quick step! Forward march!" shouted a gruff voice.

Little Daffy-down-dilly started in great dismay; and, turninghis eyes to the captain of the company, what should he see butthe very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a smart cap andfeather on his head, a pair of gold epaulets on his shoulders, alaced coat on his back, a purple sash round his waist, and a longsword, instead of a birch rod, in his hand! Though he held hishead high and strutted like a rooster, still he looked quite asugly and disagreeable as when he was hearing lessons in theschoolroom.

"This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffy-down-dilly, in atrembling voice. "Let us run away, for fear he will make usenlist in his company!"

"You are mistaken again, my little friend," replied thestranger, very composedly. "This is not Mr. Toil, theschoolmaster, but a brother of his, who has served in the armyall his life. People say he's a very severe fellow, but you and Ineed not be afraid of him."

"Well, well," said Daffy-down-dilly, "but, if you please, sir,I don't want to see the soldiers any more."

So the child and the stranger resumed their journey; and, byand by, they came to a house by the roadside, where some peoplewere making merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with smileson their faces, were dancing to the sound of a fiddle.

"Let us stop here," cried Daffy-down-dilly to his companion;"for Mr. Toil will never dare to show his face where there is afiddler, and where people are dancing and making merry. We shallbe quite safe here."

But these last words died away upon Daffy-down-dilly's tongue,for, happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should hebehold again, but the likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle bowinstead of a birch rod.

"Oh, dear!" whispered he, turning pale, "it seems as if therewas nobody but Mr. Toil in the world. Who could have thought ofhis playing on a fiddle!"

"This is not your old schoolmaster," said the stranger, "butanother brother of his, who was bred in France, where he learnedthe profession of a fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, andgenerally calls himself Mr. Pleasure; but his real name is Toil,and those who have known him best, think him still moredisagreeable than his brother."

"Pray let us go a little farther," said Daffy-down-dilly. "Idon't like the looks of this fiddler."

Thus the stranger and little Daffy-down-dilly went wanderingalong the highway, and in shady lanes, and through pleasantvillages; and, whithersoever they went, behold! there was theimage of old Mr. Toil.

He stood like a scarecrow in the cornfields. If they entered ahouse, he sat in the parlor; if they peeped into the kitchen, hewas there. He made himself at home in every cottage, and, underone disguise or another, stole into the most splendidmansions.

"Oh, take me back!-take me back!" said poor littleDaffy-down-dilly, bursting into tears. "If there is nothing butToil all the world over, I may just as well go back to theschoolhouse."

"Yonder it is,-there is the schoolhouse!" said the stranger;for, though he and little Daffy-down-dilly had taken a great manysteps, they had traveled in a circle, instead of a straight line."Come; we will go back to school together."

There was something in his companion's voice that littleDaffy-down-dilly now remembered; and it is strange that he hadnot remembered it sooner. Looking up into his face, behold! thereagain was the likeness of old Mr. Toil; so the poor child hadbeen in company with Toil all day, even while he was doing hisbest to run away from him.

When Daffy-down-dilly became better acquainted with Mr. Toil,he began to think that his ways were not so very disagreeable,and that the old schoolmaster's smile of approbation made hisface almost as pleasant as the face of his own dear mother.

Nathaniel Hawthorne.

"Little Daffy-down-dilly and Other Stories." Houghton, Mifflin& Co., Publishers.

How will the following sentences read if you change thename-words from the singular to the plural form: The oldschoolmaster has a rod in his hand. The boy likes his teacher.The girl goes cheerfully on an errand for her mother. The pupilattends to his book, and knows his lesson perfectly. Under theblue sky, and while the bird was singing sweetly in tree andbush, the farmer was making hay in his meadow. The man won'ttrouble him unless he becomes a laborer on his farm. The captainhad a smart cap and feather on his head, a laced coat on hisback, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword instead ofa birch rod in his hand.

From points furnished by your teacher, write a shortcomposition on "Our School." Be careful as to spelling, capitals,punctuation, paragraphs, margin, penmanship, neatness and generalappearance.

Memory Gems:

Evil is wrought by want of thought,
As well as want of heart.

Hood.

It is not where you are, but what you are, that determinesyour happiness.

_63_

su' macs	char' coal	of fi' cial
fres' coes	in i' tial	rest' less ly

[IN SCHOOL DAYS]

Still sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumacs grow
And blackberry vines are running.
Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jackknife's carved initial;
The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!
Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.
It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.
For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were mingled.
Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;
As restlessly her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered.
He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing:
"I'm sorry that I spelt the word;
I hate to go above you,
Because,"-the brown eyes lower fell,-
"Because, you see, I love you!"
Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing!
He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,
Like her,-because they love him.

Whittier.

From "Child Life in Poetry." Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,Publishers.

John G. Whittier.

_64_

Mars	so' lar (ler)	Ve' nus
plan' ets	Mer' cu ry	di am' e ter
com' pass es	sat' el lite	tel' e scope
grad' u al ly	in' ter est ing	cir cum' fer ence

[THE SUN'S FAMILY]

"Please tell me a story, Frank" said Philip, as the two boyssat in the shade of a large tree.

"I have heard and read many wonderful stories. I will try torecall one," said Frank.

"Let me see. Well-perhaps-I think that the most wonderfulstory I have ever read is that of the solar system, or the sun'sfamily."

"Solar system!" repeated Philip. "That certainly sounds hardenough to puzzle even a fairy. Please tell me all about it."

"That I should find much too hard" answered Frank. "But I'lltry to tell you what little I know. You see the sun there, don'tyou--the great shining sun? Do you think the sun moves?"

"Of course it moves," said Philip. "I always see it in themorning when I am in the garden. It rises first above the bushes,then over the trees and houses; by evening it has traveled acrossthe sky, when it sinks below the houses and trees, out of sighton the other side of the town."

"Now that is quite a mistake," said Frank, "You think that thesun is traveling all that way along the sky, whereas it is reallywe-we on this big ball of earth-who are moving. We are whirlingaround on the outer surface, rushing on at the rate-let methink-at the rate of more than one thousand miles a minute!"

"Frank, what do you mean?" cried Philip.

"I mean that the earth is moving many times faster than a ballmoves when shot from the mouth of a cannon!"

"Do you expect me to believe that, Frank! I can hardly believethat this big, solid earth moves at all; but to think of it withall the cities, towns, and people whirling round and round fasterthan a ball from the mouth of a cannon, while we never feel thatit stirs one inch,-this is much harder to believe than all thatthe fairies have ever told us."

"Yes, but it is quite true for all that," replied Frank.

"I have learned much about the motions of the planets, andviewed the stars one night through a telescope. As I lookedthrough this instrument, the stars appeared to me much largerthan ever before. The earth is a planet, and there are besidesour earth seven large planets and many small ones, which alsowhirl around the sun. Some of these planets are larger than ourworld. Some of them also move much faster.

"The sun is in the middle with the planets moving around him.The one nearest to the sun is Mercury."

"It must be hot there!" cried Philip.

"I dare say that if we were in Mercury we should be scorchedto ashes; but if creatures live on that planet, God has giventhem a different nature from ours, so that they may enjoy whatwould be dreadful to us.

"The next planet to Mercury is Venus. Venus is sometimes seenshining so bright after sunset; then she is called the eveningstar. Some of the time, a little before sunrise, she may be seenin the east; she is then called the morning star.

"Venus can never be an evening star and a morning star at thesame time of the year. If you are watching her this eveningbefore or after sundown, there is no use getting up earlyto-morrow to look for her again. For several weeks Venus remainsan evening star, then gradually disappears. Two months later youmay see her in the east-a bright morning star.

"Our earth is the third planet, and Mars is the fourth fromthe sun. Now let us make a drawing of what we have been talkingabout.

"First open the compasses one inch; describe a circle, andmake a dot on its circumference, naming it Mercury. Write on thiscircle eighty-eight days; this shows the time it takes Mercury totravel around the sun. Make another circle three and one-halfinches in diameter and make a dot on it. This represents Venus.It takes Venus two hundred twenty-five days to journey around thesun.

"The next circle we have to draw is a very interesting one tous. The compasses must be opened two and one-half inches. Thepath made represents the journey we take in three hundredsixty-five days.

"One more circle must be drawn to complete our little plan.This circle must be eight inches in diameter. You see Mars ismuch farther from the sun than our earth is. It takes him sixhundred eighty-seven days to make the trip around the sun. Theother planets are too far away to be put in this plan."

"O, Frank, you have missed the biggest of all-the moon!" saidPhilip.

"O, no, no!" exclaimed Frank. "The moon is quite a littleball. It is less than seven thousand miles around her, while ourearth is twenty-five thousand miles around."

"Is that a little ball, Frank?"

"Yes, compared with the sun and the planets. The moon is whatis called a satellite-that is, a servant or an attendant. She isa satellite of our earth. She keeps circling round and round ourearth, while we go circling round and round the sun.

"How fast the moon must travel! If I were to go rushing rounda field, and a bird should keep flying around my head, you seethat the movements of the bird would be much quicker thanmine."

"I can't understand it, Frank," said Philip. "The moon alwayslooks so quiet in the sky. If she is darting about likelightning, why is it that she scarcely seems to move more than aninch in ten minutes?"

"I suppose," said Frank, after a thoughtful silence, "thatwhat to us seems an inch in the sky is really many miles. Youknow how very fast the steam cars seem to go when one is quitenear them, yet I have seen a train of cars far off which seemedto go so slowly that I could fancy it was painted on thesky."

"Yes, that must be the reason; but how do people find outthese curious things about the sun and the stars-to know howlarge they are and how fast they go?" asked Philip.

"That is something we shall understand when we are older,"said Frank. "We must gain a little knowledge every day."

"Is the earth the only planet that has a moon?" askedPhilip.

"Mercury and Venus have no moons. Mars has two, and Jupiterhas four, but we can see them only when we look through atelescope." replied Frank.

"Are all the twinkling stars which one sees on a fine clearnight, planets?" inquired Philip.

"Those that twinkle are not planets; they are fixed stars,"said Frank. "A planet does not twinkle. It has no light of itsown. It shines just as the moon shines, because the sun gives itlight."

"But our earth does not shine!" said Philip.

"Indeed it does," explained Frank. "Our earth appears to Venusand Mars as a shining planet."

"There must be many more fixed stars than planets, then, foralmost every star that I can see twinkles and sparkles like adiamond. Do these fixed stars all go around the sun?" askedPhilip.

"O, Philip! haven't you noticed that they are called fixedstars to show that they do not move like planets? The wordplanet means to wander. These fixed stars are sunsthemselves, which may have planets of their own. They are so veryfar away that we cannot know much about them, except that theyshine of themselves just as our sun does.

"We know that our sun gives light and heat to the planets andsatellites with which he is surrounded. We know that without hiswarm rays there would not be any flowers or birds or any livingthing on the earth. So we can easily imagine that all other sunsare shining in the same way for the worlds that surroundthem."

Make a drawing of the sun and the three planets nearest it, asdirected in the lesson.

Fill each blank space in the following sentences with thecorrect form of the action-word draw:

My boys like to - .

Yesterday they - the picture of an old mill.

They are now - a picture of the solar system.

The lines on the blackboard were - by John.

He - well.

_65_

dew' y	clos'es	ca ress'
twined	wreaths	weath'er
brook' let	togeth'er

[WILL AND I]

We roam the hills together,
In the golden summer weather,
Will and I;
And the glowing sunbeams bless us,
And the winds of heaven caress us,
As we wander hand in hand
Through the blissful summer land,
Will and I.
Where the tinkling brooklet passes
Through the heart of dewy grasses,
Will and I
Have heard the mock-bird singing,
And the field lark seen upspringing,
In his happy flight afar,
Like a tiny winged star-
Will and I.
Amid cool forest closes,
We have plucked the wild wood-roses,
Will and I;
And have twined, with tender duty,
Sweet wreaths to crown the beauty
Of the purest brows that shine
With a mother-love divine,
Will and I.
Ah! thus we roam together,
Through the golden summer weather,
Will and I;
While the glowing sunbeams bless us,
And the winds of heaven caress us,
As we wander hand in hand
O'er the blissful summer land,
Will and I.

Paul H. Hayne.

closes, small inclosed fields.

Write about what you and Will saw, heard, anddid, as you roamed together over the hills, through thewoods, along the brooklet, on a certain bright, clear day inearly summer. You are a country boy and Will is your city cousin.If you begin your composition by saying, "It was a beautifulafternoon towards the end of June," keep the image of the day inmind till the end of the paragraph; tell what made the daybeautiful,-such as the sun, the sky, the trees, the grass. Inother paragraphs tell the things you saw and heard in the orderin which you saw and heard them. Give a paragraph to what you didin the "closes" of the cool forest, and why you plucked the wildflowers. Conclude by telling what a pleasant surprise you gavemother on your return home; and how she surprised you two hungryboys during supper.

In your composition, use as many of the words and phrases ofthe poem as you can.

_66_

themes	her' e sy	ramp' ant
a chieved'	es cort ed	po ta'toes
trem' u lous	lux u' ri ous	cre du' li ty
in cred' i ble	phe nom' e non	pre ma ture' ly

[CHRISTMAS DINNER AT THECRATCHITS'.]

Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit.

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, dressed out but poorly in atwice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap; and shelaid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of herdaughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchitplunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting thecorners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property,conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into hismouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired. And now twosmaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming thatoutside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it fortheir own; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onions,they danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit tothe skies, while he (not proud, although his collar nearly chokedhim) blew the fire, until the potatoes, bubbling up, knockedloudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

"What has ever kept your precious father, then?" said Mrs.Cratchit. "And your brother, Tiny Tim? And Martha wasn't as latelast Christmas Day by half an hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits."Hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" saidMrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off hershawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night, and had to clearaway this morning, mother!"

"Well, never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs.Cratchit. "Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm,Lord bless ye!"

"No, no! There's father coming," cried the two youngCratchits, who were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"

So Martha hid herself, and in came the father, with at leastthree feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging downbefore him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, tolook seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for TinyTim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limb supported by aniron frame.

"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, lookinground.

"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.

"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his highspirits; for he had been Tim's blood-horse all the way fromchurch, and had come home rampant. "Not coming upon ChristmasDay!"

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only injoke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door,and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled TinyTim, and bore him off to the wash-house, that he might hear thepudding singing in the copper.

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when shehad rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughterto his heart's content.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he getsthoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangestthings you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped thepeople saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and itmight be pleasant to them to remember, upon Christmas Day, whomade lame beggars walk and blind men see."

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembledmore when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong andhearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and backcame Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by hisbrother and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bobcompounded some hot mixture in a jug, and put it on the hob tosimmer, Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits wentto fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in highprocession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose therarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a blackswan was a matter of course-and in truth it was something verylike it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy hissing hot;Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor; MissBelinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hotplates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at thetable; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, notforgetting themselves, and, mounting guard upon their posts,crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek forgoose before their turn came to be helped. At last the disheswere set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathlesspause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carvingknife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, andwhen the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmurof delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excitedby the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle ofhis knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked.Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes ofuniversal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashedpotatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family;indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying onesmall atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't eaten it all atlast! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits inparticular were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! Butnow, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit leftthe room alone-too nervous to bear witnesses-to take the puddingup and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should breakin turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall ofthe backyard and stolen it, while they were merry with thegoose-a supposition at which the two young Cratchits becamelivid. All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Halloa! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of thecopper. A smell like a washing day! That was the cloth. A smelllike an eating house and a pastry cook's next door to each other,with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! Inhalf a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered-flushed, but smilingproudly-with the pudding like a speckled cannon ball, so hard andfirm, smoking hot, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck intothe top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too,that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs.Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that, now theweight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubtsabout the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say aboutit, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding forso large a family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. AnyCratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, thehearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug beingtasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put uponthe table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all theCratchit family drew round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit calleda circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stoodthe family display of glass,-two tumblers and a custard cupwithout a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well asgolden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out withbeaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered andcracked noisily. Then Bob proposed: "A Merry Christmas to us all,my dears. God bless us!"

Which all the family re[:e]choed.

"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool.Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved thechild, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that hemight be taken from him.

Charles Dickens.

declension, a falling downward.

copper, a boiler made of copper.

rallied, indulged in pleasant humor.

ubiquitous (u b[)i]k' w[)i] t[)u]s), appearing to beeverywhere at the same time.

eked out, added to; increased.

bedight, bedecked; adorned.

re[:e]choed (reëchoed): What is the mark placedover the second ë called, and what does itdenote?

NOTE.-"A Christmas Carol," from which the selection is taken,is considered the best short story that Dickens wrote, and one ofthe best Christmas stories ever written. The Cratchits were verypoor as to the goods of this world, but very rich in love,kindness, and contentment.

_67_

[WHICH SHALL IT BE?]

Which shall it be? Which shall it be?
I looked at John, John looked at me;
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seemed strangely low and weak:
"Tell me again what Robert said,"
And then I, listening, bent my head-
This is his letter: "I will give
A house and land while you shall live,
If in return from out your seven
One child to me for aye is given."
I looked at John's old garments worn;
I thought of all that he had borne
Of poverty, and work, and care,
Which I, though willing, could not share;
I thought of seven young mouths to feed,
Of seven little children's need,
And then of this.
"Come, John," said I,
"We'll choose among them as they lie
Asleep." So, walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band:
First to the cradle lightly stepped,
Where Lilian, the baby, slept.
Softly the father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,
And huskily he said: "Not her!"
We stooped beside the trundle-bed,
And one long ray of lamplight shed
Athwart the boyish faces there,
In sleep so pitiful and fair;
I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek
A tear undried. Ere John could speak,
"He's but a baby too," said I,
And kissed him as we hurried by.
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace-
"No, for a thousand crowns, not him!"
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.
Poor Dick! bad Dick, our wayward son-
Turbulent, restless, idle one-
Could he be spared? Nay, He who gave
Bade us befriend him to the grave;
Only a mother's heart could be
Patient enough for such as he;
"And so," said John, "I would not dare
To take him from her bedside prayer."
Then stole we softly up above,
And knelt by Mary, child of love;
"Perhaps for her 'twould better be,"
I said to John. Quite silently
He lifted up a curl that lay
Across her cheek in wilful way,
And shook his head: "Nay, love, not thee,"
The while my heart beat audibly.
Only one more, our eldest lad,
Trusty and truthful, good and glad,
So like his father. "No, John, no!
I cannot, will not, let him go."
And so we wrote in courteous way,
We could not give one child away;
And afterwards toil lighter seemed,
Thinking of that of which we dreamed,
Happy in truth that not one face
Was missed from its accustomed place,
Thankful to work for all the seven,
Trusting the rest to One in Heaven!

Anonymous.

Write the story of the poem in the form of a composition. Tellof the great affection of parents for their children. Even in thepoorest and most numerous families, what parent could think ofparting with a child for any sum of money?

Tell about the letter John and his wife received from a richman without children who wished to adopt one of their seven. Tellabout the offer the rich man made. What a great temptation thiswas!

The parents considered the offer, looked into each other'sfaces and asked, "Which shall it be?" Not the baby. Why? Not thetwo youngest boys. Why? Not the poor helpless little cripple.Why? Not the sweet child, Mary. Why? Not Dick, the wayward son.Why? Not, for worlds, the oldest boy. Why?

Tell the answer the parents sent the rich man.

_68_

Dor'o thy	in her'it ance	Cap pa do' ci a
ob' sti na cy	The oph' i lus	ex e cu' tion ers

[ST. DOROTHY, MARTYR]

The names of St. Catherine and St. Agnes, St. Lucy and St.Cecilia, are familiar to us all; and to many of us, no doubt,their histories are well known also. Young as they were, theydespised alike the pleasures and the flatteries of the world.They chose God alone as their portion and inheritance; and He hashighly exalted them, and placed their names amongst thoseglorious martyrs whose memory is daily honored in the holySacrifice of the Mass.

St. Dorothy was another of these virgin saints. She was bornin the city of Cæsarea, and was descended of a rich andnoble family. While the last of the ten terrible persecutions,which for three hundred years steeped the Church in the blood ofmartyrs, was raging, Dorothy embraced the faith of Christ, and,in consequence, was seized and carried before the Roman Prefectof the city.

She was put to the most cruel tortures, and, at length,condemned to death. When the executioners were preparing tobehead her, the Prefect said, "Now, at least, confess your folly,and pray to the immortal gods for pardon."

"I pray," replied the martyr, "that the God of heaven andearth may pardon and have mercy on you; and I will also pray whenI reach the land whither I am going."

"Of what land do you speak?" asked the judge, who, like mostof the pagans, had very little notion of another world.

"I speak of that land where Christ, the Son of God, dwellswith his saints," replied St. Dorothy. "There is neithernight nor sorrow; there is the river of life, and thebrightness of eternal glory; and there is a paradise ofall delight, and flowers that shall never fade."

"I pray you, then," said a young man, named Theophilus, whowas listening to her words with pity mingled with wonder, "ifthese things be so, to send me some of those flowers, when youshall have reached the land you speak of."

Dorothy looked at him as he spoke; and then answered:"Theophilus, you shall have the sign you ask for." There was notime for more; the executioner placed her before the block, and,in another moment, with one blow, he struck off the head of theholy martyr.

"Those were strange words," said Theophilus to one of hisfriends, as they were about to leave the court; "but theseChristians are not like other people." "Their obstinacy isaltogether surprising," rejoined his friend; "death itself willnever make them waver. But who is this, Theophilus?" hecontinued, as a young boy came up to them, of such singularbeauty that the eyes of all were fixed upon him with wonder andadmiration. He seemed not more than ten years old; his goldenhair fell on his shoulders, and in his hand he bore four roses,two white and two red, and of so brilliant a color and rich afragrance that their like had never before been seen. He heldthem out to Theophilus. "These flowers are for you," said he;"will you not take them?" "And whence do you bring them, my boy?"asked Theophilus. "From Dorothy," he replied, "and they are thesign you even now asked for." "Roses, and in winter time!" saidTheophilus, as he took the flowers; "yea, and such roses as neverblossomed in any earthly garden. Prefect, your task is not yetended; your sword has slain one Christian, but it has madeanother; I, too, profess the faith for which Dorothy died."

Within another hour, Theophilus was condemned to death by theenraged Prefect; and on the spot where Dorothy had been beheaded,he too poured forth his blood, and obtained the crown ofmartyrdom.

Cæsarea (s[)e]s [.a] r[=e]' [.a]), an ancientcity of Palestine. It is celebrated as being the scene of manyevents recorded in the New Testament.

Memory Gem:

Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave.

A line from Lowell's "0de."

_69_

[TO A BUTTERFLY.]

I've watched you now a full half hour
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little butterfly, indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!-not frozen seas
More motionless!-and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard ground is ours;
My trees they are, my sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now!

Wordsworth.

self-poised, balanced.

What is a sanctuary? In the Temple at Jerusalem, what was theHoly of Holies? Why are the sanctuaries of Catholic churches sosupremely holy?

Why are "sweet childish days" as long "As twenty days arenow?"

Tell what you know of the author's life.

Memorize the poem.

_70_

re tort' ed	quizzed	in cred' i ble
man u fac' ture	sat' ire	vi o lin' ist
com pre hend'	me lo' di ous ly	hu' mor
ex hib' it	a chieve' ments	for' ests

[THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND.]

In the room of a poet, where his inkstand stood upon thetable, it was said, "It is wonderful what can come out of aninkstand. What will the next thing be? It is wonderful!"

"Yes, certainly," said the Inkstand. "It'sextraordinary-that's what I always say," he exclaimed to the penand to the other articles on the table that were near enough tohear. "It is wonderful what a number of things can come out ofme. It's quite incredible. And I really don't myself know whatwill be the next thing, when that man begins to dip into me. Onedrop out of me is enough for half a page of paper; and whatcannot be contained in half a page?

"From me all the works of the poet go forth-all these livingmen, whom people can imagine they have met-all the deep feeling,the humor, the vivid pictures of nature. I myself don'tunderstand how it is, for I am not acquainted with nature, but itcertainly is in me. From me all things have gone forth, and fromme proceed the troops of charming maidens, and of brave knightson prancing steeds, and all the lame and the blind, and I don'tknow what more-I assure you I don't think of anything."

"There you are right," said the Pen; "you don't think at all;for if you did, you would comprehend that you only furnish thefluid. You give the fluid, that I may exhibit upon the paper whatdwells in me, and what I would bring to the day. It is the penthat writes. No man doubts that; and, indeed, most people haveabout as much insight into poetry as an old inkstand."

"You have but little experience," replied the Inkstand."You've hardly been in service a week, and are already half wornout. Do you fancy you are the poet? You are only a servant; andbefore you came I had many of your sorts, some of the goosefamily, and others of English manufacture. I know the quill aswell as the steel pen. Many have been in my service, and I shallhave many more when he comes-the man who goes through themotions for me, and writes down what he derives from me. I shouldlike to know what will be the next thing he'll take out ofme."

"Inkpot!" exclaimed the Pen.

Late in the evening the poet came home. He had been to aconcert, where he had heard a famous violinist, with whoseadmirable performances he was quite enchanted. The player haddrawn a wonderful wealth of tone from the instrument; sometimesit had sounded like tinkling water-drops, like rolling pearls,sometimes like birds twittering in chorus, and then again it wentswelling on like the wind through the fir trees.

The poet thought he heard his own heart weeping, but weepingmelodiously, like the sound of woman's voice. It seemed as thoughnot only the strings sounded, but every part of theinstrument.

It was a wonderful performance; and difficult as the piecewas, the bow seemed to glide easily to and fro over the strings,and it looked as though every one might do it. The violin seemedto sound of itself, and the bow to move of itself-those twoappeared to do everything; and the audience forgot the master whoguided them and breathed soul and spirit into them. The masterwas forgotten; but the poet remembered him, and named him, andwrote down his thoughts concerning the subject:

"How foolish it would be of the violin and the bow to boast oftheir achievements. And yet we men often commit this folly-thepoet, the artist, the laborer in the domain of science, thegeneral-we all do it. We are only the instruments which theAlmighty uses: to Him alone be the honor! We have nothing ofwhich we should be proud."

Yes, that is what the poet wrote down. He wrote it in the formof a parable, which he called "The Master and theInstrument."

"That is what you get, madam," said the Pen to the Inkstand,when the two were alone again. "Did you not hear him read aloudwhat I have written down?"

"Yes, what I gave you to write," retorted the Inkstand. "Thatwas a cut at you, because of your conceit. That you should noteven have understood that you were being quizzed! I gave you acut from within me-surely I must know my own satire!"

"Ink-pipkin!" cried the Pen.

"Writing-stick!" cried the Inkstand.

And each of them felt a conviction that he had answered well;and it is a pleasing conviction to feel that one has given a goodanswer-a conviction on which one can sleep; and accordingly theyslept upon it. But the poet did not sleep. Thoughts welled upfrom within him, like the tones from the violin, falling likepearls, rushing like the storm-wind through the forests. Heunderstood his own heart in these thoughts, and caught a ray fromthe Eternal Master. To Him be all the honor!

Hans Christian Andersen.

Pipkin, a small pipe; a small jar made of bakedclay.

Write as many synonyms as you know, or can find, of the wordsvivid, exhibit, comprehend. Consult the dictionary.

What one word may you use instead of "laborer in the domain ofscience?"

Seek in your dictionary the definition of the wordparable. Relate one of our Lord's parables.

By means of the prefixes and suffixes that you have learned,form as many words as you can from the following: man, do, late,loud, art, room, blind, easy, heart, humor, vivid, maiden,famous, service, furnished.

_71_

[THE WIND AND THE MOON.]

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out.
You stare in the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about,
I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."
The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep on a heap
Of clouds, to sleep
Down lay the Wind and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."
He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high in the sky,
With her one ghost eye,
The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again."
The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.
"With my sledge and my wedge
I have knocked off her edge.
If only I blow right fierce and grim,
The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."
He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread:
"One puff more's enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum, will go the thread."
He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone,
In the air nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Far off and harmless the shy stars shone;
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!
The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down, in town,
Like a merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar,-
"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage-he danced and he blew;
But in vain was the pain
Of his bursting brain;
For still the broader the moon-scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks, and blew.
Slowly she grew, till she filled the night,
And shone on her throne
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.
Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath, good faith!
I blew her to death-
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"
But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair;
For, high in the sky,
With her one white eye,
Motionless, miles above the air,
She had never heard the great Wind blare.

George MacDonald.

down (7th stanza), a tract of sandy, hilly land nearthe sea.

glimmer, fainter.

glum, dark, gloomy.

What is a suffix? What does the suffix less mean?Define cloudless, matchless, motionless.

What class of people does Mr. Wind remind you of?

_72_

mi' ter	can'on	car' di nal
dis course'	di' a logue	cour'te ous ly

[ST. PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH.]

St. Philip Neri, as old readings say,
Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day,
And being ever courteously inclined
To give young folks a sober turn of mind,
He fell into discourse with him, and thus
The dialogue they held comes down to us.
Saint.-Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, toRome?
Youth.-To make myself a scholar, sir, I come.
St.-And when you are one, what do you intend?
Y.-To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end.
St.-Suppose it so; what have you next in view?
Y.-That I may get to be a canon too.
St.-Well; and what then?
Y.- Why then, for aught I know,
I may be made a bishop.
St.- Be it so,-
What next?
Y.- Why, cardinal's a high degree;
And yet my lot it possibly may be.
St.-Suppose it was; what then?
Y.- Why, who can say
But I've a chance of being pope one day?
St.-Well, having worn the miter and red hat,
And triple crown, what follows after that?
Y.-Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure,
Upon this earth, that wishing can procure:
When I've enjoyed a dignity so high
As long as God shall please, then I must die.
St.-What! must you die? fond youth, and at the best,
But wish, and hope, and may be, all the rest!
Take my advice-whatever may betide,
For that which must be, first of all provide;
Then think of that which may be; and indeed,
When well prepared, who knows what may succeed,
But you may be, as you are pleased to hope,
Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope.

St. Philip Neri, born in Florence, Italy, in 1515. Wentto Rome in 1533, where he founded the "Priests of the Oratory,"and where he died in 1595.

triple crown, the tiara; the crown worn by our HolyFather, the Pope.

Use correctly in sentences the words canon, cannon,cañon.

NOTE.-It will prove interesting if one pupil reads the firstsix lines of the selection, and two others personate St. Philipand the Youth.

The whole selection might be given from memory.

_73_

mag' ic	sta' mens	de sert' ed
pet' als	pic' tures	dis cour' aged
liq' uid	sat' is fied	per se ver' ance

[THE WATER LILY.]

There was once a little boy who was very fond of pictures.There were not many pictures for him to look at, for he livedlong ago near a great American forest. His father and mother hadcome from England, but his father was dead now. His mother wasvery poor, but there were still a few beautiful pictures on thewalls of her house.

The little boy liked to copy these pictures; but as he was notfond of work, he often threw his drawings away before they werehalf done. He said that he wished that some good fairy wouldfinish them for him.

"Child," said his mother, "I don't believe that there are anyfairies. I never saw one, and your father never saw one. Mindyour books, my child, and never mind the fairies."

"Very well, mother," said the boy.

"It makes me sad to see you stand looking at the pictures,"said his mother another day, as she laid her hand on his curlyhead. "Why, child, pictures can't feed a body, pictures can'tclothe a body, and a log of wood is far better to burn and warm abody."

"All that is quite true, mother," said the boy.

"Then why do you keep looking at them, child?" but the boycould only say, "I don't know, mother."

"You don't know! Nor I, neither! Why, child, you look at thedumb things as if you loved them! Put on your cap and run out toplay."

So the boy wandered off into the forest till he came to thebrink of a little sheet of water. It was too small to be called alake; but it was deep and clear, and was overhung with talltrees. It was evening, and the sun was getting low. The boy stoodstill beside the water and thought how beautiful it was to seethe sun, red and glorious, between the black trunks of the pinetrees. Then he looked up at the great blue sky and thought howbeautiful it was to see the little clouds folding over oneanother like a belt of rose-colored waves. Then he looked at thelake and saw the clouds and the sky and the trees all reflectedthere, down among the lilies.

And he wished that he were a painter, for he said to himself,"I am sure there are no trees in the world with such beautifulleaves as these pines. I am sure there are no clouds in the worldso lovely as these. I know this is the prettiest little lake inthe world, and if I could paint it, every one else would know it,too."

But he had nothing to paint with. So he picked a lily and satdown with it in his hand and tried very hard to make a correctdrawing of it. But he could not make a very good picture. At lasthe threw down his drawing and said to the lily:

"You are too beautiful to draw with a pencil. How I wish Iwere a painter!"

As he said these words he felt the flower move. He looked, andthe cluster of stamens at the bottom of the lily-cup glitteredlike a crown of gold. The dewdrops which hung upon the stamenschanged to diamonds before his eyes. The white petals flowedtogether, and the next moment a beautiful little fairy stood onhis hand. She was no taller than the lily from which she came,and she was dressed in a robe of the purest white.

"Child, are you happy?" she asked.

"No," said the boy in a low voice, "because I want to paintand I cannot."

"How do you know that you cannot?" asked the fairy.

"Oh, I have tried a great many times. It is of no use to tryany more."

"But I will help you."

"Oh," said the boy. "Then I might succeed."

"I heard your wish, and I am willing to help you," said thefairy. "I know a charm which will give you success. But you mustdo exactly as I tell you. Do you promise to obey?"

"Spirit of a water lily!" said the boy, "I promise with all myheart."

"Go home, then," said the fairy, "and you will find a littlekey on the doorstep. Take it up and carry it to the nearest pinetree; strike the trunk with it, and a keyhole will appear. Do notbe afraid to unlock the door. Slip in your hand, and you willbring out a magic palette. You must be very careful to paint withcolors from that palette every day. On this depends the successof the charm. You will find that it will make your picturesbeautiful and full of grace.

"If you do not break the spell, I promise you that in a fewyears you shall be able to paint this lily so well that you willbe satisfied; and that you shall become a truly greatpainter."

"Can it be possible?" said the boy. And the hand on which thefairy stood trembled for joy.

"It shall be so, if only you do not break the charm," said thefairy. "But lest you forget what you owe to me, and as you growolder even begin to doubt that you have ever seen me, the lilyyou gathered to-day will never fade till my promise isfulfilled."

The boy raised his eyes, and when he looked again there wasnothing in his hand but the flower.

He arose with the lily in his hand, and went home at once.There on the doorstep was the little key, and in the pine tree hefound the magic palette. He was so delighted with it and soafraid that he might break the spell that he began to work thatvery night. After that he spent nearly all his time working withthe magic palette. He often passed whole days beside the sheet ofwater in the forest. He painted it when the sun shone on it andit was spotted all over with the reflections of fleeting whiteclouds. He painted it covered with water lilies rocking on theripples. He painted it by moonlight, when but two or three starsin the empty sky shone down upon it; and at sunset, when it laytrembling like liquid gold.

So the years passed, and the boy grew to be a man. He hadnever broken the charm. The lily had never faded, and he stillworked every day with his magic palette.

But no one cared for his pictures. Even his mother did notlike them. His forests and misty hills and common clouds were toomuch like the real ones. She said she could see as good any dayby looking out of her window. All this made the young man veryunhappy. He began to doubt whether he should ever be a painter,and one day he threw down his palette. He thought the fairy haddeserted him.

He threw himself on his bed. It grew dark, and he soon fellasleep; but in the middle of the night he awoke with a start. Hischamber was full of light, and his fairy friend stood near.

"Shall I take back my gift?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he cried. He was rested now, and he did notfeel so much discouraged.

"If you still wish to go on working, take this ring," said thefairy. "My sister sends it to you. Wear it, and it will greatlyassist the charm."

He took the ring, and the fairy was gone. The ring was setwith a beautiful blue stone, which reflected everything brightthat came near it; and he thought he saw inside the ring the oneword-"Hope."

Many more years passed. The young man's mother died, and hewent far, far from home. In the strange land to which he wentpeople thought his pictures were wonderful; and he had become agreat and famous painter.

One day he went to see a large collection of pictures in agreat city. He saw many of his own pictures, and some of them hadbeen painted before he left his forest home. All the people andthe painters praised them; but there was one that they likedbetter than the others. It was a picture of a little child,holding in its hands several water lilies.

Toward evening the people departed one by one, till he wasleft alone with his masterpieces. He was sitting in a chairthinking of leaving the place, when he suddenly fell asleep. Andhe dreamed that he was again standing near the little lake in hisnative land, watching the rays of the setting sun as they meltedaway from its surface. The beautiful lily was in his hand, andwhile he looked at it the leaves became withered, and fell at hisfeet. Then he felt a light touch on his hand. He looked up, andthere on the chair beside him stood the little fairy.

"O wonderful fairy!" he cried, "how can I thank you for yourmagic gift? I can give you nothing but my thanks. But at leasttell me your name, so that I may cut it on a ring and always wearit."

"My name," replied the fairy, "is Perseverance."

Jean Ingelow.

Name the different objects you see in the picture. What didthe artist desire to tell? What is the central object? Where isthe scene of the picture placed? What time of the day and of theyear does it show?

Describe the boy. How old is he? What impresses you most abouthim?

Suppose your teacher took the class to this lake for a day'souting. Write a composition on how the day was spent.

_74_

[A BUILDER'S LESSON.]

Memorize:

"How shall I a habit break?"
As you did that habit make.
As you gathered, you must lose;
As you yielded, now refuse.
Thread by thread the strands we twist
Till they bind us, neck and wrist;
Thread by thread the patient hand
Must untwine, ere free we stand.
As we builded, stone by stone,
We must toil, unhelped, alone,
Till the wall is overthrown.
But remember, as we try,
Lighter every test goes by;
Wading in, the stream grows deep
Toward the center's downward sweep;
Backward turn, each step ashore
Shallower is than that before.
Ah, the precious years we waste
Leveling what we raised in haste:
Doing what must be undone
Ere content or love be won!
First, across the gulf we cast
Kite-borne threads, till lines are passed,
And habit builds the bridge at last!

John Boyle O'Reilly.

Memory Gem:

Habit is a cable. Every day we weave a thread, until at lastit is so strong we cannot break it.

_75_

in ured'	ru' di ments	nine' ti eth
ma tur' er	ac' cu ra cy	in ad vert' ence
an' ec dotes	e ner' vate	in cor' po ra ted
dig' ni fied	in junc' tion	pre var i ca' tion

[WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER.]

Some of the most interesting anecdotes of the early life ofWashington were derived from his mother, a dignified matron who,by the death of her husband, while her children were young,became the sole conductress of their education. To the inquiry,what course she had pursued in rearing one so truly illustrious,she replied, "Only to require obedience, diligence, andtruth."

These simple rules, faithfully enforced, and incorporated withthe rudiments of character, had a powerful influence over hisfuture greatness.

He was early accustomed to accuracy in all his statements, andto speak of his faults and omissions without prevarication ordisguise. Hence arose that noble openness of soul, and contemptof deceit in others, which ever distinguished him. Once, by aninadvertence of his youth, considerable loss had been incurred,and of such a nature as to interfere with the plans of hismother. He came to her, frankly owning his error, and shereplied, while tears of affection moistened her eyes, "I hadrather it should be so, than that my son should have been guiltyof a falsehood."

She was careful not to enervate him by luxury or weakindulgence. He was inured to early rising, and never permitted tobe idle. Sometimes he engaged in labors which the children ofwealthy parents would now account severe, and thus acquiredfirmness of frame and a disregard of hardship.

The systematic employment of time, which from childhood he hadbeen taught, was of great service when the weight of a nation'sconcerns devolved upon him. It was then observed by those whosurrounded him, that he was never known to be in a hurry, butfound time for the transaction of the smallest affairs in themidst of the greatest and most conflicting duties.

Such benefit did he derive from attention to the counsels ofhis mother. His obedience to her commands, when a child, wascheerful and strict; and as he approached to maturer years, theexpression of her slightest wish was law.

At length, America having secured her independence, and thewar being ended, Washington, who for eight years had not tastedthe repose of home, hastened with filial reverence to ask hismother's blessing. The hero, "first in war, first in peace, andfirst in the hearts of his countrymen," came to lay his laurelsat his mother's feet.

This venerable woman continued, till past her ninetieth year,to be respected and beloved by all around. With pious grief,Washington closed her eyes and laid her in the grave which shehad selected for herself.

We have now seen the man who was the leader of victoriousarmies, the conqueror of a mighty kingdom, and the admiration ofthe world, in the delightful attitude of an obedient andaffectionate son. She, whom he honored with such filialreverence, said that "he had learned to command others by firstlearning to obey."

Let those, then, who in the morning of life are ambitious offuture eminence, cultivate the virtue of filial obedience, andremember that they cannot be either fortunate or happy while theyneglect the injunction, "My son, keep thy father's commandments,and forsake not the law of thy mother."

L.E. Fournier.

conductress, a woman who leads or directs.

The suffix -ess is used to form femininename-words.

Tell what each of the following words means:

ab' bess	ac' tress	duch' ess
li' on ess	count' ess	po' et ess
song' stress	au' thor ess	di rect' ress

Use the following homonyms in sentences:

air, ere, e'er, heir; oar, ore, o'er; in, inn; four, fore;vain, vein; vale, veil; core, corps; their, there; hear, here;fair, fare; sweet, suite; strait, straight.

_76_

na' tal

a main'

toc' sin

re count' ed

[WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.]

'Tis splendid to have a record
So white and free from stain
That, held to the light, it shows no blot,
Though tested and tried amain;
That age to age forever
Repeats its story of love,
And your birthday lives in a nation's heart,
All other days above.
And this is Washington's glory,
A steadfast soul and true,
Who stood for his country's honor
When his country's days were few.
And now when its days are many,
And its flag of stars is flung
To the breeze in radiant glory,
His name is on every tongue.
Yes, it's splendid to live so bravely,
To be so great and strong,
That your memory is ever a tocsin
To rally the foes of wrong;
To live so proudly and purely,
That your people pause in their way,
And year by year, with banner and drum,
Keep the thought of your natal day.

Margaret E. Sangster.

By permission of the author.

_77_

Brit' on (un)	ant' lers	wrin' kled
vet' er an	im mor' tal

[THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL.]

He lay upon his dying bed,
His eye was growing dim,
When, with a feeble voice, he called
His weeping son to him:
"Weep not, my boy," the veteran said,
"I bow to heaven's high will;
But quickly from yon antlers bring
The sword of Bunker Hill."
The sword was brought; the soldier's eye
Lit with a sudden flame;
And, as he grasped the ancient blade,
He murmured Warren's name;
Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold,
But what is richer still,
I leave you, mark me, mark me well,
The sword of Bunker Hill.
"'Twas on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton's band;
A captain raised his blade on me,
I tore it from his hand;
And while the glorious battle raged,
It lightened Freedom's will;
For, son, the God of Freedom blessed
The sword of Bunker Hill.
"Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke,-
A smile-and he was dead;
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade,
Upon that dying bed.
The son remains, the sword remains,
Its glory growing still,
And twenty millions bless the sire
And sword of Bunker Hill.

William R. Wallace.

_78_

es' say	buoy' ant	in sip' id
fe quent' ing	scowl' ing ly	sug ges' tion
in tel' li gence	sin' gu lar ly	so lic' i tude
com pet' i tor	phi los' o pher	ve' he ment ly
tre men' dous ly	ex pos tu la' tion	ig no min' i ous ly

[THE MARTYR'S BOY.]

It is a youth full of grace, and sprightliness, and candor,that comes forward with light and buoyant steps across the opencourt, towards the inner hall; and we shall hardly find time tosketch him before he reaches it. He is about fourteen years old,but tall for that age, with elegance of form and manliness ofbearing. His bare neck and limbs are well developed by healthyexercise; his features display an open and warm heart, while hislofty forehead, round which his brown hair naturally curls, beamswith a bright intelligence. He wears the usual youth's garment,the short toga, reaching below the knee, and a hollow spheroid ofgold suspended round his neck. A bundle of papers and vellumrolls fastened together, and carried by an old servant behindhim, shows us that he is just returning home from school.

While we have been thus noting him, he has received hismother's embrace, and has sat himself low by her feet. She gazesupon him for some time in silence, as if to discover in hiscountenance the cause of his unusual delay, for he is an hourlate in his return. But he meets her glance with so frank a look,and with such a smile of innocence, that every cloud of doubt isin a moment dispelled, and she addresses him as follows:

"What has detained you to-day, my dearest boy? No accident, Itrust, has happened to you on the way."

"Oh, none, I assure you, sweetest mother; on the contrary, allhas been so delightful that I can scarcely venture to tellyou."

A look of smiling, expostulation drew from the open-heartedboy a delicious laugh, as he continued: "Well, I suppose I must.You know I am never happy if I have failed to tell you all thebad and the good of the day about myself. But, to-day, for thefirst time, I have a doubt whether I ought to tell you all."

Did the mother's heart flutter more than usual, as from afirst anxiety, or was there a softer solicitude dimming her eye,that the youth should seize her hand and put it tenderly to hislips, while he thus replied:

"Fear nothing, mother most beloved, your son has done nothingthat may give you pain. Only say, do you wish to hear allthat has befallen me to-day, or only the cause of my late returnhome?"

"Tell me all, dear Pancratius," she answered; "nothing thatconcerns you can be indifferent to me."

"Well, then," he began, "this last day of my frequentingschool appears to me to have been singularly blessed. First, Iwas crowned as the successful competitor in a declamation, whichour good master Cassianus set us for our work during the morninghours; and this led, as you will hear, to some singulardiscoveries. The subject was, 'That the real philosopher shouldbe ever ready to die for the truth.' I never heard anything socold or insipid (I hope it is not wrong to say so) as thecompositions read by my companions. It was not their fault, poorfellows! what truth can they possess, and what inducements canthey have to die for any of their vain opinions? But to aChristian, what charming suggestions such a theme naturallymakes! And so I felt it. My heart glowed, and all my thoughtsseemed to burn, as I wrote my essay, full of the lessons you havetaught me, and of the domestic examples that are before me. Theson of a martyr could not feel otherwise. But when my turn cameto read my declamation, I found that my feelings had nearlybetrayed me. In the warmth of my recitation, the word 'Christian'escaped my lips instead of 'philosopher,' and 'faith' instead of'truth,' At the first mistake, I saw Cassianus start; at thesecond, I saw a tear glisten in his eye, as bendingaffectionately towards me, he said, in a whisper, 'Beware, mychild, there are sharp ears listening.'"

"What, then," interrupted the mother, "is Cassianus aChristian? I chose his school because it was in the highestrepute for learning and morality; and now indeed I thank God thatI did so. But in these days of danger we are obliged to live asstrangers in our own land. Certainly, had Cassianus proclaimedhis faith, his school would soon have been deserted. But go on,my dear boy. Were his apprehensions well grounded?"

"I fear so; for while the great body of my school-fellowsvehemently applauded my hearty declamation, I saw the dark eyesof Corvinus bent scowlingly upon me, as he bit his lip inmanifest anger."

"And who is he, my child, that was so displeased, andwherefore?"

"He is the strongest, but, unfortunately, the dullest boy inthe school. But this, you know, is not his fault. Only, I knownot why, he seems ever to have had a grudge against me, the causeof which I cannot understand."

"Did he say aught to you, or do?"

"Yes, and was the cause of my delay. For when we went forthfrom school into the field by the river, he addressed meinsultingly in the presence of our companions, and said, 'Come,Pancratius, this, I understand, is the last time we meethere; but I have a long score to demand payment of fromyou. You have loved to show your superiority in school over meand others older and better than yourself; I saw yoursupercilious looks at me as you spouted your high-flowndeclamation to-day; ay, and I caught expressions in it which youmay live to rue, and that very soon. Before you leave us, I musthave my revenge. If you are worthy of your name let us fairlycontend in more manly strife than that of the style and tables.Wrestle with me, or try the cestus against me. I burn to humbleyou as you deserve, before these witnesses of your insolenttriumphs.'"

The anxious mother bent eagerly forward as she listened, andscarcely breathed. "And what," she exclaimed, "did you answer, mydear son?"

"I told him gently that he was quite mistaken; for never had Iconsciously done anything that could give pain to him or any ofmy school-fellows; nor did I ever dream of claiming superiorityover them. 'And as to what you propose,' I added, 'you know,Corvinus, that I have always refused to indulge in personalcombats, which, beginning in a cool trial of skill, end in anangry strife, hatred, and wish for revenge. How much less could Ithink of entering on them now, when you avow that you are anxiousto begin them with those evil feelings which are usually theirbad end?' Our school-mates had now formed a circle round us; andI clearly saw that they were all against me, for they had hopedto enjoy some of the delights of their cruel games; I thereforecheerfully added, 'And now, my comrades, good-by, and may allhappiness attend you. I part from you, as I have lived with you,in peace,' 'Not so,' replied Corvinus, now purple in the facewith fury; 'but-'"

The boy's countenance became crimsoned, his voice quivered,his body trembled, and, half-choked, he sobbed out, "I cannot goon; I dare not tell the rest!"

"I entreat you, for God's sake, and for the love you bear yourfather's memory," said the mother, placing her hand upon herson's head, "conceal nothing from me. I shall never again haverest if you tell me not all. What further said or didCorvinus?"

The boy recovered himself by a moment's pause and a silentprayer, and then proceeded:

"'Not so!' exclaimed Corvinus, 'not so do you depart! You haveconcealed your abode from us, but I will find you out; till thenbear this token of my determined purpose to be revenged!' Sosaying, he dealt me a furious blow upon the face, which made mereel and stagger, while a shout of savage delight broke forthfrom the boys around us."

He burst into tears, which relieved him, and then went on:

"Oh, how I felt my blood boil at that moment; how my heartseemed bursting within me; and a voice appeared to whisper in myear the name of 'coward!' It surely was an evil spirit. I feltthat I was strong enough-my rising anger made me so-to seize myunjust assailant by the throat, and cast him gasping on theground. I heard already the shout of applause that would havehailed my victory and turned the tables against him. It was thehardest struggle of my life; never were flesh and blood so strongwithin me. O God! may they never be again so tremendouslypowerful."

"And what did you do, then, my darling boy?" gasped forth thetrembling matron.

He replied, "My good angel conquered the demon at my side. Istretched forth my hand to Corvinus, and said, 'May God forgiveyou, as I freely and fully do; and may He bless you abundantly.'Cassianus came up at that moment, having seen all from adistance, and the youthful crowd quickly dispersed. I entreatedhim, by our common faith, now acknowledged between us, not topursue Corvinus for what he had done; and I obtained his promise.And now, sweet mother," murmured the boy, in soft, gentleaccents, into his parent's bosom, "do you think I may call this ahappy day?"

"Fabiola"-Cardinal Wiseman.

spheroid (sf[=e]'), a body or figure in shape like asphere.

vellum, a fine kind of parchment, made of the skin of alamb, goat, sheep or young calf, for writing on.

theme, a subject or topic on which a person writes orspeaks.

score, bill, account, reckoning.

supercil'ious, proud, haughty.

styles and tables, writing implements for schools. Thetables or tablets were covered with wax, on which the letterswere traced by the sharp point of the style, and erased by itsflat top.

cestus, a covering for the hands of boxers, made ofleather bands, and often loaded with lead or iron.

"If you are worthy of your name." Reference is heremade by Corvinus to the pancratium, an athletic exerciseamong the Romans, which combined all personal contests, such asboxing, wrestling, etc.

Cassianus, St. Cassian, who, though a Bishop, opened aschool for Roman youths. Having confessed Christ, and refusing tooffer sacrifice to the gods, the pagan judge commanded that hisown pupils should stab him to death with their iron writingpencils, called styles.

ay or aye, meaning yes, is pronounced[=i] or [:a][)i]; meaning ever, and usedonly in poetry, it is pronounced [=a].

Read carefully two or three times the opening paragraph of theselection, so that the picture conveyed by the words may beclearly impressed on the mind. Then with book closed write out inyour own words a description of "The Martyr's Boy."

_79_

[THE ANGEL'S STORY.]

Through the blue and frosty heavens
Christmas stars were shining bright;
Glistening lamps throughout the City
Almost matched their gleaming light;
While the winter snow was lying,
And the winter winds were sighing,
Long ago, one Christmas night.

Rich and poor felt love and blessing
From the gracious season fall;
Joy and plenty in the cottage,
Peace and feasting in the hall;
And the voices of the children
Ringing clear above it all.
Yet one house was dim and darkened;
Gloom, and sickness, and despair,
Dwelling in the gilded chambers,
Creeping up the marble stair,
Even stilled the voice of mourning,-
For a child lay dying there.
Silken curtains fell around him,
Velvet carpets hushed the tread,
Many costly toys were lying
All unheeded by his bed;
And his tangled golden ringlets
Were on downy pillows spread.
The skill of all that mighty City
To save one little life was vain,-
One little thread from being broken,
One fatal word from being spoken;
Nay, his very mother's pain
And the mighty love within her
Could not give him health again.

Suddenly an unseen Presence
Checked those constant moaningcries,
Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering,
Raised those blue and wonderingeyes,
Fixed on some mysterious vision
With a startled, sweet surprise.
For a radiant angel hovered,
Smiling, o'er the little bed;
White his raiment; from his shoulders
Snowy dove-like pinions spread,
And a starlike light was shining
In a glory round his head.
While, with tender love, the angel,
Leaning o'er the little nest,
In his arms the sick child folding,
Laid him gently on his breast,
Sobs and wailings told the mother
That her darling was at rest.
So the angel, slowly rising,
Spread his wings, and through theair
Bore the child; and, while he held him
To his heart with loving care,
Placed a branch of crimson roses
Tenderly beside him there.
While the child, thus clinging, floated
Towards the mansions of the Blest,
Gazing from his shining guardian
To the flowers upon his breast,
Thus the angel spake, still smiling
On the little heavenly guest:
"Know, dear little one, that Heaven
Does no earthly thing disdain;
Man's poor joys find there an echo
Just as surely as his pain;
Love, on earth so feebly striving,
Lives divine in Heaven again.
"Once, in that great town below us,
In a poor and narrow street,
Dwelt a little sickly orphan;
Gentle aid, or pity sweet,
Never in life's rugged pathway
Guided his poor tottering feet.
"All the striving, anxious fore-thought
That should only come with age
Weighed upon his baby spirit,
Showed him soon life's sternestpage;
Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow
Was his only heritage."

"One bright day, with feeble footsteps
Slowly forth he tried to crawl
Through the crowded city's pathways,
Till he reached a garden-wall,
Where 'mid princely halls and mansions
Stood the lordliest of all.
"There were trees with giant branches,
Velvet glades where shadows hide;
There were sparkling fountains glancing,
Flowers, which in luxuriant pride
Even wafted breaths of perfume
To the child who stood outside.
"He against the gate of iron
Pressed his wan and wistful face,
Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure
At the glories of the place;
Never had his brightest day-dream
Shone with half such wondrous grace.
"You were playing in that garden,
Throwing blossoms in the air,
Laughing when the petals floated
Downwards on your golden hair;
And the fond eyes watching o'er you,
And the splendor spread before you,
Told a House's Hope was there.
"When your servants, tired of seeing
Such a face of want and woe,
Turning to the ragged orphan,
Gave him coin, and bade him go,
Down his cheeks so thin and wasted
Bitter tears began to flow.
"But that look of childish sorrow
On your tender child-heart fell,
And you plucked the reddest roses
From the tree you loved so well,
Passed them through the stern cold grating,
Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'
"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure
And the gentle voice he heard,
In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,
Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;
In his hand he took the flowers,
In his heart the loving word.
"So he crept to his poor garret;
Poor no more, but rich and bright;
For the holy dreams of childhood-
Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light-
Floated round the orphan's pillow
Through the starry summer night.
"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;
All too weak to rise he lay;
Did he dream that none spake harshly,-
All were strangely kind that day?
Surely then his treasured roses
Must have charmed all ills away.
"And he smiled, though they were fading;
One by one their leaves were shed;
'Such bright things could never perish,
They would bloom again,' he said.
When the next day's sun had risen
Child and flowers both were dead.
"Know, dear little one, our Father
Will no gentle deed disdain;
Love on the cold earth beginning
Lives divine in Heaven again;
While the angel hearts that beat there
Still all tender thoughts retain."
So the angel ceased, and gently
O'er his little burden leant;
While the child gazed from the shining,
Loving eyes that o'er him bent,
To the blooming roses by him.
Wondering what that mystery meant.
Thus the radiant angel answered,
And with tender meaning smiled:
"Ere your childlike, loving spirit,
Sin and the hard world defiled,
God has given me leave to seek you,-
I was once that little child!"

In the churchyard of that city
Rose a tomb of marble rare,
Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,
With her buds and blossoms fair,-
And a humble grave beside it,-
No one knew who rested there.

Adelaide A. Procter.

Kaulbach.

Enlarge the following brief summary of the Angel's Story intoa composition the length of which to be determined by yourteacher. Use many of the words and forms of expression you findin the poem.

THE ANGEL'S STORY

A poor little boy, to whom a child of wealth had in pity givena bunch of "reddest roses," died with the fading flowers.Afterwards he came as a "radiant angel" to visit his dyingfriend, and in a spirit of gratitude bore him to heaven.

_80_

al' ti tude	as tound' ing	ve loc' i ty
vag' a bond	mus tach' es	hes i ta' ting ly
par' a lyzed	tre men' dous	ex tra or' di na ry

[GLUCK'S VISITOR.]

It was drawing toward winter, and very cold weather, when oneday Gluck's two older brothers had gone out, with their usualwarning to little Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that hewas to let nobody in and give nothing out. Gluck sat down quiteclose to the fire, for it was raining very hard. He turned andturned, and the roast got nice and brown.

"What a pity," thought Gluck, "that my brothers never askanybody to dinner. I'm sure, when they have such a nice piece ofmutton as this, it would do their hearts good to have somebody toeat it with them." Just as he spoke there came a double knock atthe house door, yet heavy and dull, as though the knocker hadbeen tied up. "It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody elsewould venture to knock double knocks at our door."

No; it wasn't the wind. There it came again very hard, andwhat was particularly astounding the knocker seemed to be in ahurry, and not to be in the least afraid of the consequences.Gluck put his head out the window to see who it was.

It was the most extraordinary looking little gentleman he hadever seen in his life. He had a very large nose, slightlybrass-colored; his cheeks were very round and very red; his eyestwinkled merrily through long, silky eyelashes; his mustachescurled twice round like a corkscrew on each side of his mouth,and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt color, descendedfar over his shoulders. He was about four feet six in height, andwore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude, decoratedwith a black feather some three feet long. He wore an enormousblack, glossy-looking cloak, which must have been very much toolong in calm weather, as the wind carried it clear out from thewearer's shoulders to about four times his own length.

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the appearance of hisvisitor that he remained fixed, without uttering a word, untilthe old gentleman turned round to look after his fly-away cloak.In so doing he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammedin the window, with its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.

"Hello!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way toanswer the door. I'm wet; let me in." To do the little gentlemanjustice, he was wet. His feather hung down between hislegs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella; andfrom the end of his mustaches the water was running into hiswaistcoat pockets, and out again like a mill stream.

"I'm very sorry" said Gluck, "but I really can't."

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.

"I can't let you in, sir. My brothers would beat me to death,sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"

"Want?" said the old gentleman. "I want fire and shelter; andthere's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing onthe walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say."

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of thewindow that he began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold.When he turned and saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring,and throwing long, bright tongues up the chimney, as if it werelicking its chops at the savory smell of the leg of mutton, hisheart melted within him that it should be burning away fornothing.

"He does look very wet," said little Gluck; "I'll justlet him in for a quarter of an hour."

As the little gentleman walked in, there came a gust of windthrough the house that made the old chimney totter.

"That's a good boy. Never mind your brothers. I'll talk tothem."

"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't letyou stay till they come; they'd be the death of me."

"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm sorry to hear that.How long may I stay?"

"Only till the mutton is done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it'svery brown." Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen andsat himself down on the hob, with the top of his cap up thechimney, for it was much too high for the roof.

"You'll soon dry there; sir," said Gluck, and sat down againto turn the mutton. But the old gentleman did not drythere, but went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, sothat the fire fizzed and sputtered and began to look very blackand uncomfortable. Never was such a cloak; every fold in it ranlike a gutter.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, at length, after watching thewater spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor;"mayn't I take your cloak?"

"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.

"Your cap, sir?"

"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman, rathergruffly.

"But-sir-I'm very sorry," said Gluck, hesitatingly,"but-really-sir-you're putting the fire out."

"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then."

Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; itwas such a strange mixture of coolness and humility.

"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman. "Can'tyou give me a little bit?"

"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.

"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman; "I've hadnothing to eat yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss abit from the knuckle!"

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite meltedGluck's heart.

"They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can giveyou that, but no more."

"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.

"I don't care if I do get beaten for it," thought Gluck.

Just as he had cut a large slice out of the mutton, there camea tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman jumped; Gluckfitted the slice into the mutton again, and ran to open thedoor.

"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz,as he walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face.

"Aye; what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans,administering an educational box on the ear, as he followed hisbrother.

"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz, when he opened the door.

"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off,and was standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with theutmost velocity.

"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, andturning fiercely to Gluck.

"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck, in greatterror.

"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.

"My dear brother, he was so very wet!"

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but, at thatinstant, the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on whichit crashed with a shock that shook the water out of it all overthe room. What was very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touchedthe cap, than it flew out of Schwartz's hand, spinning like astraw in a high wind, and fell into the corner at the farther endof the room.

"Who are you sir?" demanded Schwartz.

"What's your business?" snarled Hans.

"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began, verymodestly, "and I saw your fire through the window, and beggedshelter for a quarter of an hour."

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz."We've quite enough water in our kitchen, without making it adrying house."

"It's a very cold day, sir, to turn an old man out in, sir;look at my gray hairs."

"Aye!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm.Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit ofbread before I go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothingto do with our bread but to give it to such fellows as you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Outwith you."

"A little bit," said the old gentleman.

"Be off!" said Schwartz.

"Pray, gentlemen."

"Off!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he had nosooner touched the old gentleman's collar than away he went afterthe rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into thecorner on the top of it.

Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old gentleman toturn him out. But he also had hardly touched him, when away hewent after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against thewall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, allthree.

Then the old gentleman spun himself round until his long cloakwas all wound neatly about him, clapped his cap on his head, verymuch on one side, gave a twist to his corkscrew mustaches, andreplied, with perfect coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a verygood morning. At twelve o'clock to-night, I'll call again."

John Ruskin.

NOTE.-"The King of the Golden River," from which the selectionis taken, is a charming story for children. It was written in1841, for the amusement of a sick child. It is said to be thefinest story of its kind in the language.

_81_

elf	en cir' cled	jerk
hur' ri cane	rein'deer	min' i a ture
tar' nished

[A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.]

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through thehouse
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse:
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick!
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! now, Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
Now, dash away! dash away! dash away, all!"
As dry leaves, that before the wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too;
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;
His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face, and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump,-a right jolly old elf-
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And, laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Clement C. Moore.

_82_

a chieved'	es poused'	thral' dom
al li' ance	ter rif' ic	Del' a ware
Com' mo dore	re cip' i ents	New' found land
can non ad' ing	par tic' i pa ted	char ac ter is' tic

[COMMODORE JOHN BARRY.]

The story of the American Navy is a story of glorious deeds.From the early days of Barry and Jones, when it swept the decksof King George's proud ships with merciless fire, down to theglories achieved by Admirals Dewey and Schley in our war withSpain, the story of our Navy is the pride and glory of ourRepublic. The glowing track of its victories extends around theworld.

Of the many distinguished men whose names and whose deedsadorn the pages of our country's history, there is none moredeserving of our gratitude and admiration than Commodore JohnBarry. His name and fame will live in the naval annals of ourcountry as long as the history of America lasts.

Commodore Barry, the founder of the American Navy, was born inCounty Wexford, Ireland, in the year 1745. At the age of fourteenhe left home for a life on

"The sea, the sea, the open sea,
The blue, the fresh, the ever free."

On board trading vessels he made several voyages to America.He spent his leisure hours in reading and study, and in this waysoon acquired a general and practical education. By fidelity toduty, he advanced so rapidly in his profession that at the age oftwenty-five we find him in command of the Black Prince,one of the finest merchant vessels then running betweenPhiladelphia and London.

When the Revolution broke out between the Colonies andEngland, our gallant Commodore gave up the command of his ship,and without delay or hesitation espoused the cause of his adoptedcountry. Congress purchased a few vessels, had them fitted outfor war, and placed the little fleet under the command of CaptainBarry. His flagship was the Lexington, named after thefirst battle of the Revolution; and Congress having at this timeadopted a national flag, the Star-spangled Banner, theLexington was the first to hoist this ensign offreedom.

From the time of the fitting out of the Lexington downto the time of the declaration of peace, which assured theliberation of the Colonies from the thraldom of Great Britain,Commodore Barry was constantly engaged on shore and afloat.Though he actually participated in upwards of twenty sea fights,always against a force superior to his own, he never once struckhis flag to the enemy. The field of his operations ranged all theway from the capes of the Delaware to the West Indies, and as fareast as the coast of Maine and Newfoundland. His victories werehailed with joy throughout the country, and Barry and his menwere publicly thanked by General Washington.

During the darkest days of the War, while Washington wasspending the winter of 1777 in camp at Valley Forge, with ourbrave soldiers perishing for want of provisions, blankets,clothing and tents, an incident occurred which shows howsupremely loyal and devoted Commodore Barry was to the Americancause. The British troops were occupying Philadelphia. Lord Howe,their commander, offered our great sea fighter a bribe of fiftythousand guineas and the command of a ship of war, if he wouldabandon the American cause and enter the service of England.Barry's indignant reply should be written in letters of gold: "Ihave engaged in the service of my adopted country, and neitherthe value nor the command of the whole British fleet can seduceme from it."

General Washington had the utmost confidence in the pluck anddaring and loyalty of Barry. He selected him as the best andsafest man to be trusted with the important mission of carryingour commissioners to France to secure that alliance andassistance which we then so sorely needed.

On his homeward trip, it is related that being hailed by aBritish man-of-war with the usual questions as to the name of hisship, captain, and destination, he gave the following bold andcharacteristic reply: "This is the United States shipAlliance: Jack Barry, half Irishman and half Yankee,commander: who are you?" In the engagement that followed, Barryand his band of heroes performed such deeds of valor that after afew hours of terrific cannonading, the English ship was forced tostrike its colors and surrender to the "half Irishman and halfYankee."

This illustrious man, who was the first that bore the title ofCommodore in the service of our Republic, continued at the headof our infant Navy till his death, which took place inPhiladelphia, on the 13th of September, 1803. During life he wasgenerous and charitable, and at his death made the children ofthe Catholic Orphan Asylum of Philadelphia the chief recipientsof his wealth. His remains repose in the little graveyardattached to St. Mary's Catholic church.

Through the generous patriotism of the "Friendly Sons of St.Patrick," a society of which General Washington himself was amember, a magnificent monument was erected to the memory ofCommodore Barry, in Independence Square, Philadelphia, under theshadow of Independence Hall, the cradle of American liberty. MissElise Hazel Hepburn, a great-great-grandniece of the Commodore,had a prominent part at the ceremonies of the unveiling, whichtook place on Saint Patrick's Day, 1907.

There are gallant hearts whose glory
Columbia loves to name,
Whose deeds shall live in story
And everlasting fame.
But never yet one braver
Our starry banner bore
Than saucy old Jack Barry,
The Irish Commodore.

What is meant by the Congress of the U.S.? What two bodiescompose it? What is the number of senators, and how are theychosen?

Which was the most notable sea fight of Commodore John PaulJones?

Where did Admiral Dewey specially distinguish himself? AndAdmiral Schley?

What countries does the island of Great Britain comprise?

What does "never struck his flag" mean?

Name the capes of the Delaware. Locate Newfoundland.

Recite the two famous replies of Commodore Barry given in theselection.

COMMODORE JOHN BARRY

_83_

sau' cy	ig nored'	rev' eled
plain' tive	dis traught'	wea' ri some
rol' lick ing	mis' chie vous	frec'kle-faced

[THE BOY OF THE HOUSE.]

He was the boy of the house, you know,
A jolly and rollicking lad;
He was never tired, and never sick,
And nothing could make him sad.
Did some one urge that he make less noise,
He would say, with a saucy grin,
"Why, one boy alone doesn't make much stir-
I'm sorry I am not a twin!"
"There are two of twins-oh, it must be fun
To go double at everything:
To hollo by twos, and to run by twos,
To whistle by twos, and to sing!"
His laugh was something to make you glad,
So brimful was it of joy;
A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast,
But it never troubled the boy.
You met him out in the garden path,
With the terrier at his heels;
You knew by the shout he hailed you with
How happy a youngster feels.
The maiden auntie was half distraught
At his tricks as the days went by;
"The most mischievous child in the world!"
She said, with a shrug and a sigh.
His father owned that her words were true,
And his mother declared each day
Was putting wrinkles into her face,
And was turning her brown hair gray.
But it never troubled the boy of the house;
He reveled in clatter and din,
And had only one regret in the world-
That he hadn't been born a twin.

There's nobody making a noise to-day,
There's nobody stamping the floor,
There's an awful silence, upstairs and down,
There's crape on the wide hall door.
The terrier's whining out in the sun-
"Where's my comrade?" he seems tosay;
Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog.
There's no frolic for you to-day.
The freckle-faced girl from the house next door
Is sobbing her young heart out;
Don't cry, little girl, you'll soon forget
To miss the laugh and the shout.
How strangely quiet the little form,
With the hands on the bosom crossed!
Not a fold, not a flower, out of place,
Not a short curl rumpled and tossed!
So solemn and still the big house seems-
No laughter, no racket, no din,
No starting shriek, no voice piping out,
"I'm sorry I am not a twin!"
There a man and a woman, pale with grief,
As the wearisome moments creep;
Oh! the loneliness touches everything-
The boy of the house is asleep.

Jean Blewett.

From the Toronto Globe.

_84_

[BIOGRAPHIES]

Cook, Eliza, was born in London, England, in the year1817, and was the most popular poetess of her day. When a younggirl, she gave herself so completely up to reading that herfather threatened to burn her books. She began to write at anearly age, and contributed poems and essays to variousperiodicals. She is the author of many poems that will live. Shedied in 1889.

Cowper, William, is one of the most eminent and popularof all English poets. He was born in the year 1731. His motherdying when he was only six years old, the child was sent awayfrom home to boarding school, where he suffered so much from thecruelty of a bigger boy that he was obliged to leave that schoolfor another. At the completion of his college course he expressedregrets that his education was not received in a school where hecould be taught his duty to God. "I have been graduated," hewrites, "but I understand neither the law nor the gospel." Hislongest poem is "The Task," upon which his reputation as a poetchiefly depends. He died in the year 1800.

Dickens, Charles, one of the greatest and most popularof the novelists of England, was born in 1812. By hard,persistent work he raised himself from obscurity and poverty tofame and fortune. After only two years of schooling he wasobliged to go to work. His first job was pasting labels onblacking-pots, for which he received twenty-five cents a day! Henext became office boy in a lawyer's office, and then reporterfor a London daily paper. He learned shorthand by himself from abook he found in a public reading-room. In 1841, and again in1867, he lectured in America. He died suddenly in 1870, and isburied in Westminster Abbey.

Donnelly, Eleanor Cecilia, began to write verses whenshe was but eight years old. Her early education was directed byher mother, a gifted and accomplished lady. Her pen has ever beendevoted to the cause of Catholic truth and the elevation ofCatholic literature. Besides hundreds of charming stories andessays, she has published several volumes of poems. Her writingson sacred subjects display a strong, intelligent faith, and atender piety. She is a writer whose pathos, originality, grace ofdiction, sweetness of rhythm, purity of sentiment, and sublimityof thought entitle her to rank among the first of our Americanpoets. Miss Donnelly has lived all her life in her native city ofPhiladelphia, where she is the center of a cultured circle ofadmiring friends, and where she edifies all by the practice ofevery Christian virtue and by a life of devotedness to the honorand glory of Almighty God.

Gould, Hannah F., an American poetess, has written manypleasant poems for children. "Jack Frost" and "The Winter King"have long been favorites. She was born in Vermont in the year1789, and died in 1865.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, was born in Salem, Mass., on July4, 1804. When still quite young he showed a great fondness forreading. At the early age of six his favorite book was Bunyan's"Pilgrim's Progress." At college he was a classmate ofLongfellow. Among his writings are a number of stories forchildren: "The Tanglewood Tales," "The Snow-Image," "The WonderBooks," and some stories of American history. His volumes ofshort stories charm old and young alike. His Book, "The ScarletLetter," has made him famous. It was while he lived at Lenox,Mass., among the Berkshire Hills, that he published "The House ofthe Seven Gables." He visited Italy in 1857, where he began "TheMarble Faun," which is considered his greatest novel. He died in1864, and is buried in Concord, Mass. Hawthorne possessed adelicate and exquisite humor, and a marvelous felicity in the useof language. His style may be said to combine almost everyexcellence-elegance, simplicity, grace, clearness and force.

Hayne, Paul Hamilton, an American poet, was born inSouth Carolina in the year 1831. In 1854 he published a volume ofpoems. His death occurred in 1886. He was a descendant of theAmerican patriot, Isaac Hayne, who, at the siege of Charleston in1780, fell into the hands of the British, and was hanged by thembecause he refused to join their ranks and fight against hiscountry.

Holland, Josiah Gilbert, a popular American author whowrote under the assumed name of Timothy Titcomb, was bornin Massachusetts in the year 1819. He began life as a physician,but after a few years of practice gave up his profession and wentto Vicksburg, Miss., as Superintendent of Schools. He wrote anumber of novels and several volumes of essays. In 1870 he becameeditor of Scribner's Magazine. He died in 1881.

Hunt, Leigh, editor, essayist, critic, and poet, and anintimate friend of Byron, Moore, Keats, and Shelley, was bornnear London, England, in 1784, and died in 1859.

Jackson, Helen Hunt, a noted American writer of proseand poetry, and known for years by her pen name of "H.H." (theinitials of her name), was born in Massachusetts in the year1831. She is the author of many charming poems, short stories,and novels. Read her "Bits of Talk" and "Bits of Travel." Shelived some years in Colorado, where her life brought to hernotice the wrongs done the Indians. In their defense she wrote "ACentury of Dishonor," The last book she wrote is "Ramona," anIndian romance, which she hoped would do for the Indian what"Uncle Tom's Cabin" had done for the slave. Mrs. Jackson died inCalifornia in 1885.

"Mercedes" is the pen name of an able, zealous, anddevoted Sister of one of our great Teaching Communities. She haswritten several excellent "Plays" for use in Convent Schoolswhich have met the test of successful production. Her "WildFlowers from the Mountain-side" is a volume of Poems and Dramasthat exhibit "the heart and soul and faith of true poetry." Acompetent critic calls these "Wild Flowers sweet, their hues mostdelicate, their fragrance most agreeable." Mercedes has alsoenriched the columns of The Missionary and otherpublications with several true stories, in attractive prose, ofedifying conversions resulting from the missionary zeal of priestand teacher. Her graceful pen is ever at the service of everycause tending to the glory of God and the good of souls.

Moore, Thomas, was born in the city of Dublin, Ireland,in the year 1779, and was educated at Trinity College. Hismatchless "Melodies" are the delight of all lovers of music, andare sung all over the world. Archbishop McHale of Tuam translatedthem into the grand old Celtic tongue. Moore is the greatest ofIreland's song-writers, and one of the world's greatest. As apoet few have equaled him in the power to write poetry whichcharms the ear by its delightful cadence. His lines display anexquisite harmony, and are perfectly adapted to the thoughtswhich they express and inspire. His grave is in England, where hespent the later years of his life, and where he died in 1852. In1896, the Moore Memorial Committee of Dublin erected over hisgrave a monument consisting of a magnificent and beautiful Celticcross.

Moore, Clement C., poet and teacher, was born in NewYork in 1779. In 1821 he was appointed professor in a Seminaryfounded by his father, who was Bishop Benjamin Moore of theProtestant Episcopal diocese of New York. He died in 1863.

Morris, George P., poet and journalist, wrote severalpopular poems, but is remembered chiefly for his songs andballads. He was born in Philadelphia in the year 1802, and diedin New York in 1864.

McCarthy, Denis Aloysius, poet, lecturer andjournalist, was born in Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary,Ireland, in the year 1871, and made his elementary andintermediate studies in the Christian Brothers' School of hisnative town. Since his arrival in America in 1886, he haspublished two volumes of poems which he modestly calls "A Roundof Rimes" and "Voices from Erin." "His poetry," says adistinguished critic who is neither Irish nor Catholic, "issoulful and sweet, and sings itself into the heart of anyone whohas a bit of sentiment in his make-up." Mr. McCarthy is atpresent Associate Editor of the Sacred Heart Review ofBoston. He lectures on literary and Irish themes, and contributespoems, stories, essays, book reviews, etc., to various papers andmagazines.

Newman, Cardinal John Henry, was born in London in1801, and studied at Trinity College, Oxford. In 1824 he became aminister of the Church of England, and rose rapidly in hisprofession. In 1845 he abandoned the English ministry, renouncedthe errors of Protestantism, and entered the Catholic Church, ofwhich he remained till death a most faithful, devoted, andzealous son. He was ordained priest in 1848, was made Rector ofthe Catholic University of Dublin in 1854, and in 1879 was raisedto the rank of Cardinal by Pope Leo XIII. Cardinal Newman'swritings are beyond the grasp of young minds, yet they willprofit by and enjoy the perusal of his two great novels, "Lossand Gain" and "Callista." The former is the story of a convert;the latter a tale of the third century, in which the beautifulheroine and martyr, Callista, is presented with a master's art.Newman is the greatest master of English prose. In this field heholds the same rank that Shakespeare does in English poetry. Tohis style, Augustine Birrell, a noted English essayist, pays thefollowing graceful and eloquent tribute: "The charm of Dr.Newman's style baffles description. As well might one seek toanalyze the fragrance of a flower, or to expound in words thejumping of one's heart when a beloved friend unexpectedly entersthe room." This great Prince of the Church died the death of thesaints in the year 1890.

O'Reilly, John Boyle, patriot, author, poet andjournalist, was born on the banks of the famous river Boyne, inCounty Meath, Ireland, in the year 1844. In 1860 he went over toEngland as agent of the Fenian Brotherhood, an organization whosepurpose was the freedom of Ireland from English rule. In 1863 hejoined the English army in order to sow the seeds of revolutionamong the soldiers. In 1866 he was arrested, tried for treason,and sentenced to death. This was afterwards commuted to twentyyears' penal servitude. In 1867 he was transported to Australiato serve out his sentence, whence he escaped in 1869, and madehis way to Philadelphia. He became editor of the BostonPilot in 1874. He is the author of "Songs from theSouthern Seas," "Songs, Legends and Ballads," and of other works.He died in 1890. All through life the voice and pen of BoyleO'Reilly were at the service of his Church, his native land, andhis adopted country. Kindness was the keynote of his character.In 1896 Boston erected in his honor a magnificent memorialmonument.

Riley, James Whitcomb, called the "Hoosier Poet," wasborn in Indiana in the year 1852. In many of his poems there is astrong sense of humor. What he writes comes from the heart andgoes to the heart. He has written much in dialect. His home is inIndianapolis.

Ruskin, John, one of the most famous of Englishauthors, was born in London in 1819, and educated at Oxford. Hespent several years in Italy in the study of art. He wrote manyvolumes of essays and lectures, chiefly on matters connected withart and art criticism. In his writings we find many beautifulpen-pictures of statues and fine buildings and such things. His"Modern Painters," a treatise on art and nature, established hisreputation as the greatest art critic of England. He died in1900.

Sangster, Mrs. Margaret E., editor and poet, was bornin New Rochelle, N.Y., on the 22d of February, 1838, and educatedin Vienna. She has successfully edited such periodicals asHearth and Home, Harpers' Young People, and Harpers'Bazaar, in which much of her prose and poetry has appeared.She is at present (1909) the editor of The Woman's HomeCompanion.

Southey, Robert, an eminent English poet and author,was born in the year 1774. He began to write verse at the age often. In 1792 he was expelled from the Westminster School forwriting an essay against corporal punishment. He then entered oneof the colleges of Oxford University, where he became an intimatefriend of Coleridge. While residing at Lisbon he began a specialstudy of Spanish and Portuguese literature. In 1813 he wasappointed poet-laureate of England, and in 1835 received apension from the government. He died in 1843. Southey, Coleridgeand Wordsworth are often called "The Lake Poets," because theylived together for years in the lake country of England, and intheir writings described the scenery of that beautifulregion.

Tennyson, Alfred, is considered the greatest poet ofhis age, and one of the great English poets of modern times. Hewas born in the year 1809, and educated at Cambridge University.In 1850 he gave to the world "In Memoriam," his lament for theloss by death of his friend, Arthur H. Hallam. In 1851 hesucceeded Wordsworth as poet-laureate of England. His poems, longand short, are general favorites. His "Idyls of the King," "ThePrincess," "Maud," and "In Memoriam" are his chief long poems.These are remarkable for beauty of expression and richness ofthought, of which Tennyson was master. He died in 1892, lamentedby the entire English-speaking world, and was buried inWestminster Abbey. Tennyson always loved the sea, the music ofwhose restless waves awakened an answering echo in his heart.

Wallace, William R., was born at Lexington, Ky., in theyear 1819. As a poet he is best known as the author of "The Swordof Bunker Hill."

Westwood, Thomas, an English poet, was born in the year1814, and died in 1888. He wrote several volumes of poetry, oneof which was "Beads from a Rosary."

Whittier, John G., called the "Quaker Poet," was bornin Massachusetts in the year 1807. His parents were Quakers andwere poor. When young he learned to make shoes, and with themoney thus earned he paid his way at school. He was a boy ofnineteen when his first verses were published. His poems wereinspired by current events, and their patriotic spirit gives thema strong hold upon the public. "Snow-bound" is considered hisgreatest poem. Whittier loved home so much that he never visiteda foreign country, and traveled but little in his own. He gavethirty of the best years of his life to the anti-slaverystruggle. While other poets traveled in foreign lands or studiedin their libraries, Whittier worked hard for the freedom of theslave. Of this he wrote-

"Forego the dreams of lettered ease,
Put thou the scholar's promise by;
The rights of man are more than these."

Mr. Whittier died in the year 1892.

Wiseman, Cardinal Nicholas Patrick, was born in theyear 1802 in Seville, Spain, of an Irish family settled there.His family returned to Ireland, where he was educated. When hewas sixteen he entered the English College, Rome, and wasordained priest in 1825. In 1840 he was appointed CoadjutorBishop, and in 1850 the Pope named him Archbishop of Westminster,and at the same time created him a Cardinal. He was a profoundscholar, an eloquent preacher, and a brilliant writer, and is theauthor of many able works. He was one of the founders of theDublin Review. He died in 1865. His "Fabiola or the Churchof the Catacombs," from which some selections have been taken forthis Reader, is one of the classics of our language. It waswritten in 1854.

Woodworth, Samuel, editor and poet, was born inMassachusetts in 1785, and died in 1842. With George P. Morris,he founded the New York Mirror. "The Old Oaken Bucket" isthe best known of his poems.

For sketches of other authors from whom selections are takenfor this book, see the Third and the Fourth Reader of theseries.

NOTE.-Many trees in our country are landmarks, and are valued highly. The early settlers were accustomed to plant trees and dedicate them to liberty. One of these was planted at Cambridge, Mass., and it was under the shade of this venerable Elm that George Washington took command of the Continental army, July 3rd, 1775.
There are other trees around whose trunks and under whose boughs whole families of children passed much of their childhood. When one of these falls or is destroyed, it is like the death of some honored citizen.
Judge Harris of Georgia, a scholar, and a gentleman of extensive literary culture, regarded "Woodman, Spare that Tree" as one of the truest lyrics of the age. He never heard it sung or recited without being deeply moved.

Copyright, 1879, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

Copyright, 1889, by Eugene Field.

DE LA SALLE SERIES

FIFTH READER

WILLIAM McKINLEY PRESIDENT 1897-1901

(REVISED EDITION, 1922)

BY THE BROTHERS OF THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS, ST. JOSEPH'S NORMAL INSTITUTE, POCANTICO HILLS, N.Y. LA SALLE INSTITUTE, GLENCOE, MO.

CONTENTS

_2_

_3_

_4_

_5_

VOWELS

CONSONANTS

_6_

RULES FOR THE USE OF CAPITAL LETTERS

_7_

_8_

_9_

_10_

_11_

_12_

_13_

_14_

_15_

I.

II.

_16_

_17_

_18_

_19_

_20_

_21_

_22_

_23_

_24_

_25_

_26_

_27_

_28_

_29_

BY THE BROTHERS OF THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS,
ST. JOSEPH'S NORMAL INSTITUTE, POCANTICO HILLS, N.Y.
LA SALLE INSTITUTE, GLENCOE, MO.