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TABLE OF CONTENTS.

The Select inns in I'oetri/ (ire. Prinfiul hi Itatitn.

iisaiifl
'•.and
re.

I'A(iK.

Rkadincj Lkssons — lNTK(»i)r«T()KY .. S. II. (Jlavk ix

Canada, Maple Land A. S 1

TiiK DiscoNTKXTKi) Pkn'dulum TaneTajjlov 2

U'ynken, B/i/nken and Nod Ewjene Field .. .. 5

TnK Dkrvisii AND theCamkl .. .. Cofton (5

OiiKViN'o Okokks 8

Rkaihn(} Lksson I >S. II. Clark 10

Tlie Crocus Song Mrs. (lould 13

TllK Flax Ilann Andersen .. .. 13

Sj;eak Genii i/ David Hales 19

What Camk OK W()NDKKtN(} ., .. Daaent 20

RKAr)iN(f Lksson rr N. //. Clark 25

'J'kk National Ban NKit 27

TiiK CAi'TuriK OK A Wi[Ar,K Cooper 20

I liawalJia— Sailing Longfelluni 32

ThkOlivhTrkk 39

Hiawatha — Picture Writing . . . . Longfellow 41

RKADiNd Lkssox III S. II. Clark 47

Thk 8KSTiNf:L's Pouch 49

A Hindu Fable . . . . . .

Thk Emi'Kkou's Watck

TlIH BitAVK TnilEK HUNURKI)

Rkai)IN(} Lksson IV

A Sermon

Thor's Visit to Jotunhkim

Daybreak

The Story ok .Ioskimi- I. ..
The Fairies of Caldon Lon\ .
The Story of .Toski'h -II . .
Reading Lesson V

,S'. //. Clark

Longfellow ,
(renesis . .
Mary How it I .
Genesis . .
S. II. Clark .

52
51
5G
58
00
62
05
66
09
78
75

TabLiE of Contents.

March of the Men of Harlech

J^ITTI.K 'J'OM, TIIK ClMMNKY SwKKI'

Tlie Wreck of the J[eiii)erun . .
Pkochastination

Duthie 77

Kingi/ey 79

Lony/eHow 83

The Better Land Ilemana 93

Fl<()KKNCE Nl(JHTIN<iALK 91

Santa Filomma Jjonf/feUotr 90

Rkai)IN(} Lkshon VI .S. //. Clark 98

The fJKNEUous Cloud 100

The DafoiUls Wordsu-orfh . . . . . . 102

A Swim fou Lifk 103

The lirook Song Riley 10(5

Bruce and the Spider 108

The Tkavkled Fiuxis 110

Twenty Years Af/o 113

Readinc l.Essox Vrr S. 11. Clark 114

Christmas Eve 117

The HoKATii 119

The Battle of Blenheim Southey 121

Conquest of Peru 121

Lo7'd Ullin's Daughter Campbell 120

The Blue-Jay Adapted from ^'^ Mark

Twain'' 128

Tlis Voice of Spring Ilemans 131

Reai)IN(} Lesson VII S. II. Clark 135

The Clad ness of Nature Bryant 137

The House THAT Accused iLis Master 138

2 lie Sol it 7ule of Alexander Selkirk .. Cowper 142

An April Day 144

How THE Mountain was Clad . , . . BJomsfJerne 145

The Rapid Sangster 149

Androclpts AND the Lion Andreiv Lang .. .. 150

Reading Lesson IX S. Jl. Clark 155

Ulrica Miss Machar 158

The Fringed Gentian . . . . . . . . Bryant 163

The Child's Dkeam OF A Star .. .. Dickens 164

Hohenlinden .. ..... Campbell 168

The Song Sparrow Sir J. D. Edgar .. .. 170

Readino Lesson X S. U. Clark 130

The Pine Tree Siiillinu 178

Tablk op Contents.

Vll

77
70
83

93
91
96
98
100
102
103
lOG
108
110
113
114
117
119
121
121
12()

128
181
135
137
138
142
144
145
149
150
155
158
103
104

, 108
170

, 130
178

Paok.

The liarrfnot Bon Whittier 109

TiiK WhitkSiiu' Dickni), 181

Thiilvudreen Diclceu, 185

Bn-Ei'HALrs Andrew Lmuj .. .. 180

Questions

William Ti:m • •• •• ^■•^'

JackinthePuli>!f Whittier 193

j{;,.^j, ElizaCook 100

T/ie Three Bells Whittier 190

CuKisToniKU CoH'Miu'.s Crompton 198

Columbus' First Voi/aye Brnton 203

Cowper 204

Jldnilioriie 213

". Markaii 222

llcmans 223

{Adapted) 227

. . Lon-ell 234

John Gil pill

Dafkydowndilly

Under the Ilolhj Boiit/h

Ti/rolese Evening Ifi/inn

RXW AM) lIlS FlUKNDS

The Sinyiny Leaves

August C'«^'« Thaxter . . . . 237

The Horses o/ Oravelotte Gerok 238

Bruin and tiik Cook Roherts 239

Roland the Shield Bearer Uldawl 240

TiiK OoLUKX Touch Jlawthome 253

GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO READING

LESSONS.

It Is believed that the readinj,' h'ssous contnined in tliia .m-ries are tlie Hrst
attempt to present, in an orderly and pliiiosopliic manner, tiie difilenltles Iht;
l»npils hav(! in learniiiKto read.

Tliere is very little donht that the re.uIinK' lesson hardly i)ays for the time
spent u|M»n it. All anthorities an; ajjfrecd tliat, e.\cei)t in rare eases, pupils do
not rt!ad any l»etter at tli(> end of tiie sehool year tlian tlusy do at the hej^'-inninjj,
exeept tiiat they may proiionnee witli a litth; more faeiiity. or are posae.ssed of
a somewliat \vid(!r vocahidary. In many eiasM-rooms reading? Ijeeomes a lesson
in composition, spelling', definition, and tiie lii<c.

TIk! method in vo^'ne in certain districts of tellinj? pupils altont " InrttH--
tions,"and "Time,".ind '• Ivinds of Emphasis," is certainly laidty. on the
oilx-r hand, very little more proj^ress has l)een made by tliose wlio, in ji very
general ;ind vajrue manner, tell tlie ])n])ils to " pet tiie thon^rht." As a result
of tlie mt'lli();l3 lieretofore in u.»e, it has licen found impossible for tlie tcaclier
in any piven j^rade, to determine how much rt^al kno\vl«;dK'e of rcadinj,' a pupil
luul who hiul just been promoted from a lower ^rade.

In the lessons iiere pn!sented,it is impressed upon thci)Upil not only tliat lie
must j^et the tli()U;,'lit, but he is shown iiow to pet it. Tin; various dlHiculties
of rtiadinjJT are presented one at a time, and further, are so graded tliat the least
difllcuil shall precede the more coinphtx. It is well known that tiie reading
l(!3^i»n, as a reatlinp lesson, pets little or no preparation by the ]>upils. |{y the
method here, laid down can^ful preparation is a necessity; and tlie lesson wliich,
as a rule, is very ill prepared, may now be studied at home with a very detinite
ol).ject in view, and more important still, the pupil can lie held resiKinsilile for
detinite results.

It must be rememlicred tliat the younp pupil knows nothinpof inflections,
emphasis, etc., and cares still less about them. While tlie teacher may be
thoroughly conversant with llie whole ranpe of tecliiii(iiie in reiulinp, lieshoiild
try to avoid the use of technical terms with tlu; pu|)il3, especially with the
younper ones. This is the very essence of the present metluKl, whicli is based
upon a well-established psycholopical law: If the thoupht i8r^pht,the^;xpress-
ion will be riplit. Talkiiip to pupils alnait technique only confuses them, and
in many ca.3es results in pross affectations. TIk; mind is taken from the tlioupht
to the form of its expression. We must n-member that shyness, and other
forms of self-consciousness (whicli so often mar the readinp) are really but
signs that the pupil's mental action is awy. Tlio reading may be more (juickly

Third Rkadeu.

iind iiiorc pfnitaiifiitly improved by criHlic'illiit,' tti*' Ai'lf-(-on8('ioiiAneHH thnn by
ifsoi-tiii^' to tecbiiW'iil (Irill.s. Miikt; tint pupil want to read, iiiul the chnncus
jirt! Htrontfly In fuvor of liln lo.siiiK Helf-i-onsflousneHH.

While it 1h not |io.<(4ibl(! in the Hp:u-(> iiilotted tin; author of tlicHi; nrticlen to
kIvc tliu fui'cHt possible instruction, yet tiiesf! lessons will serve iitlelinite • ar-
IiuHc, by prcBcntinf? to the pupils, In a rntiotml order, the vuriouHdilTiculties
everyone has to overcome in learning to read. There may be certain ))hases of
teclini(|ue tliat a teacher may miss in this series of lessons, but it is certain,
that if they are carefully tauf,'ht, the pupils will improve not only alctnjf th»!
particular line laid down in each lesson, l)ut aluuK the whole line of reading in
general.

Very little la said in tills book concerning the emotions, etc. It is believed
tluit it is wiser to defer any attempt to ^I't intense feeling and emotion until a
later period.

This method is iiitrodiuMd in the hope tliat the measure of a pupil's proRress
will not be {^auKcd Ity the number of lessons he covers in a K'ven period. It is
better to prepare carefully and ))liilos(>phically six or eight lessons in one-half
of tlu! school year, tlian to eude.ivor to cover three times as many in the usual
hurried fashion. TIk! teacher may be sure that wlien the tirst six or eight
lessons are thus carefully ]>repared, the progress thereafter will l)e more rapid.
'J'liere is no doui)i th.it the jtupil who will si)end two years in this graded work
will be able to rea<l any ordinary selection with ease, Mid witli pleasure to tlie
listener.

In conclusion, it is urged (1) that the teacher use additional examples under
each new iiriuciplc, in order that tlie pupil may have the principle imjiresscd
upon him by selecting new extunplea for himself and by reading them aloud in
da.ss ; (2) that the same lesson ho repeated as many times, with the same or new
illustrations, as may be nticessary to assure the teacher that tlie class lias
thoroughly grasped the spirit of the lesson ; and (.3) that the teacher will insist
upon most careful and adequate preparation. So, and so only, can we hope to
teach reaxllng.

The main objects of the lessons in this liook ai"e two. First: To develoj)
what may be termed the lof.ricul side of rei diiig ; in other w<n'ds, tlie intellec-
tual side. The greatest stress should be laid on getting the sense, which is, of
course, the basis of all reading. The emotional side need not be altogether
neglected, but should be always subsidiary to the intellectual. If the teacher
succeed in getting the expression vital, notliing more should be expected. To
get the sense and to express it with earnestness is the first step. Second : The
teacher is urged not to follow meciianically the order of the general reading
lessons. If Lesson XX offer a better opi)ortunity than, let us say, Lesson X for
illustrating the principle laid down in any of the special lessons, the former
should be used, no matter what the preceding general lesson may have been.
The teacher should he acquainted with the pedagogical possiiiilities of all the
general lessons, and sliould use such as are best adajited at the moment to assist
the pupils in mastering the principle in any given special reading lesson,
irrespectiveof their place in the liook. I have found much good in keeping a
little note-hook on the following plan : I give a page to each of the steps, and
every example I come c.cros9, no matter in what book— history, geography,
reader— is noted. Thu'<;

Notes on Reading Lessons.

KXAMIM.KS (tV r«»NTRA«T.

Hook. 1*a«}K. PAKAdHAni.

's MiHtc.ry, , . . 2r»0 3

rt " . . . . 10» 1

K.'.idrr (3) .... 87 •

Ii. ihisway, the teacher lins always plenty of Illustrative matter on Imml.

While I am not in entire sympathy >vilh tlie inctiiud that compels teiu-liers
tooovcr a ccitiiln number ot'realinK lessims in a ^'vcn tinic, yd I urn sensible
that it would be ns*-lcss to attempt to ciian^'e all this at once. Heco^nizinf^ the
futility of sueli an efl'urt, I advist! the teacln-r to conform to this arldtrary and
luiscientitic method until the conmuniity iseducated to the newer meth<xl. The
best results may be obtained, under the, circmnstances, by fcdlowln^ some such
plan as this: Ile^'inwith the tirst special lesson aa soon ns i>ossihlc. Then,
haviiij,' dwelt on that as lon^' as necessary, piuss to the re^'idar remllnt; lessons,
bearing in mind that until the second special lesson, the prin<-iple of ihe tlrst
should hn constantly reiterated. For the 'jntlrc time (say a month), between
the first and second sjM'cial lessons let the teacher revert to the former again
and again. Let the corrections l»c madeoverandoverbyaskingsucluiuestions
a», " Is that the way you would s-y It If you were talking V " or, " You are not
trying to make us see the jticture," and soon. After the second special lesson
has been taken up in class, and before tlu^ third, the end»!avor of the teacher
should be to enforce the principles of the lirst two lessons. Thia plan should
bo ke])t up until the last lesson has been taught.

NOTES ON READING LESSONS.

LK8S0N ONE.
The object of this lesson is to Impress ujum the mind of the pupil the fact
that the words have no meaning nnless iht^y stimulule thought. T(x) nuich
stress cannot he laid on this lesson t)y the teacher. Nothing is so conducive to
good reading as jmictice after the manner here laid down. It is, perhaps, need-
less to say that the teat-her should be on his guard not to teach inflections or
pauses as such. No other aim should he held in mind than that of getting the
pupil to see clearly and to express forcibly.

, I-KSSON TWO.

In this lesson we begin exercises in what mlglit be called " mental techni-
que. ■' It must be borne in mind that tliese lessons are planned with the ol)ject
of presenting one element at a time, and the pupil must not he expected to read
well where he lias had no previous drill. In this lesson, therefore, the pupil
should be heldresponslbleforwhathe haslcariiedin the first and second lessons
only. It nuist further be remembered that all corrections should be made by
putting such questions as, "Is that the whole picture?" or, "Have you not

Xll

Thtrt) Readeb.

•t !i

ill'

Kivmi us more tiiun one picture?" Never tell a pu|)il to make a pause liere or
a i)ause there, or to reiul faster or in<jre slowly. Such <'orn!i'tioiis are useless.
W(! must learn to rely upon the thlnkiuf? to jjovern the rate of speed, or the
ienjfth and fre(|Uf iicy of the i)auses.

It mi^'ht l)( well tohf^ar in mind that in colloquial siieech pauses are less
frequent. 1 1 ^ther words, t)»e groups are lonurer.

LESSON THR2E.

This lesson deals with the succession of ideas. The lesson itself shows
plainly the end to he attained. Nothing,' will so much helr> the pupils to car.-y
a lout,' and intricate sentence in mind as drills such as are suj,'gested liere.

It is not i'or a moment contended that all the inflections a:-: risinjr in long
sentences. The falling iiiHection will often occur where tl?e phrase, for some
reason oi- another, is i)articularly important, even though the sentence does not
conclude! wiUi the phrase. This, liowever, the teacher can easily determine for
himself. For tJie present, it is suflficient if the hahitofcontiirually dropping the
voice at the end of every phrase can he even partially overcoirie. It is sug-
gested that the teacher find a dozen or more simplt; sentences of from twenty
tollfty words in length, and as the al)ility of the pupils increases, these sen-
tences he given them as additional exercises in " succession of ideas.'' I should
say this drill should he carried on throughout the school year.

In Llie examples in this lesson it is not tlie ])auRe that mars the contitiuity.
hut the falling inflection. If tiie inflection rises the pause may l)e prolonged
indefinitely without marring the sense.

1 1

LKSSON POUR.

In this lesson we enter upon the study of Siihordinate phrases. It is well to
r^memher that the common rule about 'dropping the voice i'r.d reading faster "
do«'s not always apply to the rea^ling of subordinate, ideas. The whole ((uestion
is, How much is the idea worth? If It is u:iim|)ortant, perhaps the rule will
ai»ply ; l)ut there are many cases where the interjected piirase or sentence is
very important, and in sucli cases the time may b'j very much slower than it is
when reading the principal sentence, grammatically speaking. Much time
should he given to exercises under this head. It is the first step towards intro-
ducing variety into the reading. Instructions to pupils, trilling them how to
read such examples, should l)e avoided at all times. The one object should be
to get the i)upil to feel subordinate ideas and their relation to the principal
ideas.

LESSON FIVE.

We lieve come to the study of transitions. These arc of many kinds, and
on I3' a few examples can be given. If, liowever, the underlying ide:i in this
lesson is impressed uikju the pupil, there will be little trouble about tr.insitions
under other circumstances. The study of transition i.s another aid to variety
In readint^. . .

, _ LKJSON SIX. .

Very little comm.ent is necessary except to warn the teacher .tgaint speak,
ing about the varit)us/i:i«<i'.s of emphasis. No matter what the kind, the thought
will find its natural channel if the conditions be right. It is true that some-,
times a word is made prominent by infloctiou (rising, falling, circumflex).

»»■

NoTKS ON Revdino Lessons.

xi:i

aomotimoa l)y slower tinio, sonirtimoa ity foiTe alone, lint Id us reineinluT.
tliesv! vmious forms jirc the results of various fornis of tliinkiiif;. (Jet that
right, ttie rest will follow.

It is further worth noting that the hosi authorities use "eni])haRis" as
signifying any means of making the tliougiit stand out. Henee I would urge
the, ti-aeher not to use the term " emphasis " at all. If a pupil err, tell him he
has not given you the central, or leading, idea.

LESSON SEVEN.

The task of teaching pupils to read with feeling is full of difflvulties. In
the seventh aad eighth lessons, I have tried to remove some of these, hut ihe
sympathctiecooiterali(jn of the teacher is needed here more than in any <»ther
j)artof the work. The imagination nuist be 8timul!i*^cd, the child's every day
experience must be drawn upon, or failure is inevitable. Above everything
else, do not ask pupils to represent emotions that are beyond their cxj)erience.
such as intense pathos, great solemnity, etc. Reserve these for the upper
grades of the high school. Again ; avoid the baser emotions, such as auger,
hate, joa'ousy. I have not the sp;;"e to enlarge on this, but the whole trend of
the best psychology is in favor of my admonition. Select extracts in which
the characters manifest Himi)le, noble, inspiring, and uiilifting feeling. I'atri-
oti«m, self-sacrifice, love of nature, these are the themes with whiclv ihe
imagination of the pujjils should come ir.to contact.

I heartily a<lvise tht; teacher to gather a dozen or more extracts and speeches
(from this book and elsewhere) under three or four signilicant he.'vls, such as
patriotism, love of nature, etc., and to keep the class at each phra.-^e until defi-
nite results are attained. I lave no hesitation in deprecating the method that
compels teache.s to teach any lesson simply because it follows the i)receding
lesson, numeri .1/ speaking. The proper method is hinted at In the intnMlue-
tion. I would now add a few words to justify the method there suggested. In
many readers there may be two patriotic selections ; (^ne at the beginning, oiu-
at till' end. Probably a year will intc-rveiie between these two, l3itnf)tgood
peda'cogy to take up these lessons in succession? To kei j) the pupils in a
liatrioticmood for five consecutive days must be certainly iirodiutivc of better
results than cpii be obtained by the other method of le.^son one, lesson two,
lesson three. So also with other einotious. In conclr.sion, I niiu:ht add that
when a certain emotion is present in only one or two paragraphs of a .selection,
only those ])aragraplis need be prepared.

M-:S.S()N KKJHT.

The most important fact to ba borne In iniii<l in endeavoring to develop
the pupil's sympathy with what he des"ribes is this: Iinitaliou of sounds, and
of gestures, and of movement, is a very low order of .^rt. \\ e can't imitate
thunder, but we can show in niir voices the awe that it inspires. When we
unconsciously hurry our reading under the impulse the imagination receives
from contemplating, ve .shall say, the rapid movement of a cavalry charge, v/e
do so not in imitation of, but in sympathy with, the ])icture. This is not jiri-
marily a (juestion of art, but of nature. It is only igin.raiit teaching that says to
a pupil," Is thatthe way the thunder roars ?" or " Re;ul more rapidly ; don't you
sec that >ou are describing the flight of the horses ?" Furthermore, if we read

XIV

Thihd Readeu.

slowly ji passiiKis (It^si'riliiiiK 11 fuiuM-al pHH-essioii, tin-re in no coiiscioiiH imita-
tion of slowness, but a sympathy with the solemnity, statclincas anddif^nity of
the occasion.

A very little observation will show us whether the imitation is conscious or
sympatlietic. In the form(;r case, the voice will be expressing? merely speed or
slowness. In the latter, there will he speed or slowness, too, but ccomi)anied
by an indefinable and yet recof^nizable quality oi voice, which is the expres-
sion of our sympathy. This is an infallible criterion.

Lastly, it must be urired that we ^ive more time to this work. The imagi-
nation cannot be develop«d in a week or a month; and unless there is imaf,'i-
nation, there can be no sympathy. It is difficult to restrain one's self and not
dwell louffcron the value of the trainin.t? of im.iKinalion. I have no hcsitaliou
in sa^'infj: that that feature of education is the most nef,'lected. Such training
as is here suggested will do, in many cases, much to bring about a more favor-
able condition of affairs. Butit takes time and plenty of it. The teacher should
read to the class quite often such passages as arc likely to stimulate the imagi-
nation. Make tne class follow attentively, and get them to give l)ack the pic-
ture as far as possible in minutest detail. Do this again and again and im-
provement must follow. Just in proportion as the imagination is stimulnted
may we hope for a better class of reading. We have no time to teach any stibjirt
poorly! , -^

.■■ LKSSON NINK. y. ^ '/ - ' ,;../,,., ■

Contrasts are of two kinds : logical and emotional. The former arc largely
antitheses, as such, '■ I said John, not Charles," and will need but casual atten-
tion. The pupils will pcM'ceive (hem without difficulty. The other class needs
nuich care. Perhaps thvi mostimpm'tant fact concerning these that the teacher
nuist bear in nund, is that their successful rendition dejjcnds upon the, pupils
keeping Ixttb parts of tlie contrasts in mind, the Jirst serving as a backy round
or relief for the second. Just as contrasts In literature afford variety and relief,
so the reading aloud of contrasts gives great variety in vocal expression.

'^1

LESSON TEN.

The climax is a v(n'y important feature in reading. It stimulates the inia
ginatioi: and feelings, and, through them, the voice. It should be remoml)ered
that no definite metb<Ml of expressing a climax vocally Citn 1)e laid down. In
one case tlie pitch may rise; in another it may fall. Sometimes the IVjree
incrciises; at other times it diminishe.?. Hence, the admonition so often given
mv'^ nc repeated: Don't tell the pupil to raise his voice, or to speak louder.
Work at his imagination. If there be a climax there, It will come out in bis
expression.

FreqjiPiit drills in climax will (k» nnich to give flexibility, power, and range
to the voice. And that, too, in a far more rational way than through any
mecbanical exercises in pitch and force.

— -S, //, Clark,

Vowel Table.

VOWEL TABLE.

10.

12.

(3 lue, police, ^'Eoliiiii, bee, sea, eitlier,

peo|)le, key, iield, (iiiuy.

1 ill, pretty, spirit, woiueii, busy,

hymn, sieve, build.

ci-:i - 1 . .age, ache, aim, gaol, say, great,
veiu, obey, bouquet.

G met, any, l)ury, said, says, tV^athei*,

leopard, friend, guess.

ci shall, plaid, guarantee.

G.. . ...earl, her, earth, thii'd, word,

excursion, myrrh.

ci ask, vast, gi'ass, past.

<i art, balm, alms, arch, carijet,

farther.

l^i. ...... .up, done, honey, ugly, dungeon,

docs, blood, young.

O ...... . ou^ tloll^ want, wash, cauliiiower,

yacht, George, what.

ci all, ball, war, fornnn*, Pani, raw,

fought.

= 12-14. pole, go, sew, beau, yeoman, hoe,
oil, brooch, soul, crow, owe.

! f

r ;■

XVI

Thikd Keadek.

\:\. U. .pull, imt, wolf, book, would.

1 1. 00 woo, bloom, to, do, rule, true, shoe,

rue, fruit.

15. d = ^^- I -idol, ivy, ^)J, I'bynie, aye, lie, isle,

sign, liigh, buy, dye. ' "

H). OW-=^ 11. bow, cow, thou, our, plough.

17. Ol-^ i I - ^ .coin, eoil, boy." "

1 8. "U. = y -It. use, volume, feud, dew, knew, blue,

suit, future, ewe, beauty, view,
:.;V you.

, shoe,

0, isle,

THIRD READER,

, blue,
view.

CANADA ! MAPLE LAND !

Canada! Ma))l(> land ! Land of jjjicat inouiitain !

Lake-land aFid Jliver-land ! Tjand 'twixr. Iho seas !
(iiant us, God, licarts that siro, largo as our lun'itago,

Spirits as free as the hrecvA^ !

(irant us Tliy fear that wo walk in humility —
Fear that is reverent — not fear that is l)as(» ;

Grant to us i-ighteousnoss, wisdom, prosperity,
Peace — if unstained by disgraces

(Jrant us Thy love and the love of our country ;

(irant us Thy strength, for our strengths in Thy name
Shield us fiom danger, fi'om every adversity,

Shicild us, () Father, from shame !

Last born of Nations ! tlu; ofTspring of freedom !

Heir to wide prairies, thick forests, red gold !
God grant us wisdom to value our l)irthright,

Courage to guard what we hold !

A C.

,.^

Tjiiki) Readek.

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

I ;
! I

i .

An old elook tliat had stood for fifty years in a
fanner's kitchen without giving its owner any eause
of cc^niphiint, eai'ly one surmner's morning, before
tlie family was stirring, suddenly stopi)ed. Upon
this, the dial-plate (if wo may credit the fahle) changed
countenance with alarm; the hands made an inef-
fectual effort to continue their course, the wheels
remained motionless with surprise, the weights hung
speechl(\ss; each mend)er felt disposed to lay tlic^
blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a
foi'mal incpiiry into the cause of the stoppage ; when
hands, wheels, weights, with one voice, protc^sted
their innocence. But now a faint tick was heard
below the pendulum, who thus spoke : —

" I confess myself to be the sole cause of the pre-
sent stoppage, and am willing, for the gc^neral satis-
faction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that 1
am tired of ticking."

Upon hearing this the old clock became so enraged
that it was on point of strik}>/(/.

" Lazy wire ! " exclaimed the dial-plate.

"As to that," replied the pendulum, '4t is vastly
easy for you. Mistress Dial, who have always, as
everybody knows, set yourself above me — it is vastly
easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of lazi-
ness! — you have had nothing to do all your life
but to stare people in the face, and to amuse your-
self with wat(;liing all that goes on in the kit(ihen!
Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut

i ill

TiiK Discontented pENDrrj-M.

S 111 fi

' causo
before

Upon
laiiged

u iuef-

tsliuug
Lay the
Ltuted a
; when
■otested
,s heard

the pre-
{d Hati.-^-
s, that 1

(^iiraged

is vastly
ways, as
is vastly
I of hizi-
jrour hfc*
ise your-
kit(ihen!
o be shut

11]) foi* life in this dai'k closet, and \vm«»" backwards
and forwards, year after year, as 1 do !"

"As to tliat," said the dial, "is there not a window
ill your house on puri)ose for you to look thi'ough ?"

" But what," resumed the pendulum, " although
tb(M*e is a window, I dai'e not stop even for an instant
to look out. Besides, I am really weary of my way
of lite; and, if you pkuise, I'll tell you how I took
this disgust at my emi)loyiuent. Tliis morning I
happened to be calculating how many times I should
hav'(^ to tick in the course of onlvthe next twenty-
four hours — perhaps some of you abov^e there can
give me the exact sum ! "

"The minute-hand, being quirk at fifjures^ instantly
replied, " Eighty-six thousand f(mr hundred times! "

"Exactly so," replicnl the pendulum. "Well, T
appeal to you all, if the thought of this was not
enough to fatigue one. And wluni I b«'gan to mul-
tiply the strokes of one day by those of months and
years, really it is no wonder if I felt discoui'aged at
the prospect. So, aftcn* a gi-eat deal of reasoning
and hesitation, thought I to myself, I'll stop !"

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance
dui-ing his harangue ; but, resuming its gravity, at
last replied, "Dear Master Pendulum, I am regally
astonisluMl that such a useful, industrious person as
yourself should have been overcome by this sugges-
tion. It is true you have done a great deal of work
in your time ; so have we all, and are likely to do ;
and though this may fatigue us to ihhf/c of, the
(luestion is, will it fatigue us to dtf / Would you

Tiiiui) Keadeh.

liir

now do mo tho favor to ^ivo about lialf-a-dozou
strokes to illustrato my ai*<»'inrioiit ?"

The pendulum complied, and tieked six times at
its usual pace.

" Now," resumed tlK^ dial, " was the exertion at all
fati«ijuuig to you if"

"Not hi the h^astl" rc^plied the pen(hdum; *'it is
not of six strokes that I complain, nor of .s/.r///, hut

of 1u'lU}(»lS,''^

"Very good," i'ei)lied the dial; "but recollect,
that though ycm may th'n^h of a million strokes in an
instant, you are recpiired to e.rcrnfe but onc^; and
that, however often yon may liereafter have to swing,
a mouK^ut Avill always l)e giv(>n you to swing in."

"That consideration staggers mt^, I confess," said
the pendulum.

"Then, I hope," ad(hMl the dial-plate, "we shall all
inune(hat(*ly return to our duty ; for the maids will
lie m bed till noon if we stand idling thus."

Upon this the weights, wlio had never been
accused of lif/ht conduct, used all their influence in
urging him to proc^eed ; when, as with one consent,
the wheels began to turn, the hands b(>gan to move,
the pendulum to wag, and, to its credit, it ti(?ked as
loud as ever; while a beam of the rising sun, that
stn^amed through a hole in the kitchen shuttei',
shining full upon the dial-plate, made it brighten up
as if nothing had been the matter.

Wlien the farmer came down to breakfast, he
declared, upon looking at the clock, that his watch
had gain(Hl half an houi* in the night.

—Jane Tdi/lnr.

AVynken, Blynken and Xoi*.

lo'/ou

lOS

s at

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN AND NOD.

at all

*' it is

'//, hut

^.olloct,

s in an

■i

ir, and

swing,

■;^

; in."

■:.■

s," said

.hall all
ids will

V been
enee in
eoiisent,
o move,
ie.ked as
;un, that
shutter,
i;hten up

fast, he
LIS wateh

,; Taylor.

Wvuktui, lUyiikon and N<m1, one ni,i:;hl,

Sail(Mi olFiu a wiMwIeii slioe —
Sail«Ml on ariv(M* of misty light,

Into a livor of dew :
" WluM'o are you going, and wiiat do yon wish V

The old moon askeil tiie three ;
" We liave couw to fish for tlie heiiing fish

That live in this iK'autiful .sea;

Nets of silver and gold have we,"

Said AVvnken and Blynken and Nod.

The old moon laughe<l and sang a song,

As they rocked in a wooden shoe
And the wind that sped them all night long

Kutlled the waves of dew ;
Th(5 little stars were the herring-tish

That lived in that beautiful sea ;
" Now cast your nets, wherever you wish —

But never afear(>d are we,"

So cried the stars to the fisheruien three,
Wynken, Blynktiu and Nod.

All night long th'iir nets they thnnv

For the fish in the twinkling foam —
And down fi'om the sky came the wooden shoe.

Bringing the fishesmien home. \ '.-

'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be, ' ' * ^ ^^f

And some folks thought 'twas a dream they dreanu,'<l

Of sailing that beautiful sea ;

But I shall name you the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

■Tfll-ilWTnWW

Third Reader.

AVyiikcii and I'lyTikon nvo two lilfl«' cyps,

And Nod is a little; liead,
And the \v<»«)deu shoes that sailed the skies

Is a weo one's trundle IhmI ;
So shut your eyes whih; mot In i- sin«;s

()£ wonderful sights that he,
And you shall seo the beautiful things

As you rock on the misty sea,

Where the old shoe roeked tln^ lishei'uien three,
Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

— Euyeiu: Fie.hl.

THE DERVISH AND THE CAMEL.

■^

iia

A Dcrv^isli, Avliilo jouriioyiiit^ alone in the desert,
was met by two merchants. ** Vou have lost ti
caiuel," said he to them. "We have," thoy replied.

"Was the camel blind in his I'ight eye, and lame in
one of his legs?" asked the Dervish. "He w^as,"
answered the merchants.

"Had ho lost a front tooth !" asked the Dervish.
" He had," was the reply.

" And was he not loaded with honey on one side,
and wheat on the other!" "Most certainly," was
the answer; "and as you have seen him so lately,
you can, doubtless, tell us where he may be found."

" My friends," said the Dervish, " I have neither
seen your camel, nor even heard of him, except from
you."

"A strange assertion, indeed!" said the mer-

The J)EiivisH and thk Camki.

/</.

lesert,
lost a
eplied.
amein

) was,"

•ervisli.

Lie side,
y," was
) lately,
found."
iieitlier
)pt from

le mer-

cluints; "but where are tlu^ j»'\vels wliidi I'ornu'd a
part of liis lnird(»n !"

"I have He(»ii neither your canu'l nor your jrvvels,"
replied the Dervish.

He was luwv seized ]>y them, and liurri<Ml ])et'oi'<'
the Cadi. After the strictest inciuiry, liowever, no
rvid(Mice was foun<l agahist liim, cither of falsehood
or of tliet't.

They wei'e then aluHit to pro<*eed ngniust ]\\m as
a soreerei', when tlic^ Dervisli, with perfect conipos-
lU'e, thus addressed tlie court: —

"I have been greatly anmsed with your i>roc(H'd-
iugs, and I confess there has been some ground for
yoiu" suspicions ; Imt I have passed many years in
this desert, and even here I find ample scoj)e for
observation.

"I saw the track of a camel, and I knew it had
strayed from its owner; because there was no mark
of any human footstep to be S(Mni on the same route.

" I perceived tlie animal was l)lind in one eye, as
it had cropped the herbage only on one side of its
patli.

'M knew that it was lame from the faint impi'es-
sion that one of its feet had made in the sand.

" I concluded that the camel had lost one tooth ;
because wherever it gi-azed, the herbage was left
uncropped in the centre of the bite.

" As to what composed the burden of the beast, I
had only to look at the ants canying away the wheat
on the one side, and at the clustering flies that were
devouring the honey on the other."

TlllllD KEaJ)KI{.

OBEYING ORDERS.

11!^

i.:'i

titi;i

Tlin story is told, in a Fmicli ih'\vs|>ji|mm', of a
jjoor lal)or<'i' nam^'d I*i<'i"i"«', who lived near I*5iris
with his wil'(3 and tlicir tlircn cliildrcii. Briii*;'
industrious, iru^Ml, and sober, ho suvcd all his si)ar('
inonoy, uutil he was nblo to buy the tiny cottage in
whi<*h they lived.

Jt was a tiny cottai^e, iijdeed, Imilt of stone, with
a ]*(Ml-tile(l roof, standin*;' in ji well-kept little ^'ar-
deu, and covered witli ei-eepin<^' plants. l*iei"i*(i and
his wif(^ woi'ked very hard, and saved every fai'tliin^-
they could, until tlie little cottage was paid foi*.
Wlien the last of the UKMKy was paid ovei-, th(^y
made a little feast iu honor of tlie occasion.

All this had ha}>peiied just before the war between
Fi'anco and (xerniany broke out iu ISTO. Then
l*ierr(i Avas called oTit to serve in the army; for he
had been a soMier ])efore, and now every man who
had been trained to tight was needed. As a gunner,
he had Innm famous for his skill in hitting a mark.

The viUage wln^re Pierre lived had fallen into t\m
hands of the Germans, and the people had fled ; Init
the French guns were pounding away at it fi'om a
fort on the higher gi'ound across the liver, tiying to
drive out those of the enemy who had taken posses-
sion of it. : / - V ^ ';i :

Pi(^rre was a gunner at that fort, and one wintry
day he was standing by his gun, when General Noel,

OlJFA'IXG OUDKUS.

', of a

Paris

IJriiiK

; Sparc

aj?i> in

', witli
ie pir-
ro and
rtliiiij;"
id t'oi".

•, tlH^y

»t\VO(Ml
TIUMI

for he
111 who
.innier,
, mark,
ito tho
d ; but
from II
vm^ to
[)osses-

wintry
il Noel,

llie <M>minand('i", caiiM? up and lookrd <'an'f'nlly at
thi) villa^^n tlir<>n<;h his tiold-n^lnss.

"(iimuer," he said sharply, witlioiit looking at

Pi(MTO.

*MMMierai," HTiswenMl Pin-i'o, sahitiii*^.
** Do you see the l>ri<l«;<» over there ?"
" I see it very well, sir."

"An<l that Utth) eottuge there, at the left, iu a
thicket of shrubs !"
Pierre turned j)al(^
"I s<»e it, sir."
" IVh a nest of Prussians. Try it with a slicll, my

man.

l*ien'e tm'iied paler still, an<l in spites ol: the cold
wind that made the otViccrs shiver iu tlieir ^I'cat-
coats, one mi«.':ht ha\'e seen bi*;* drops of swcut stand-
ing out on his forehead; but nobody noticed the
gunner's emotion. He aimed his piece carefully,
and fired.

The offieers, with tlicir glassies, watched the effect
of the shot after the smoke had clear<'d. *' Well li it,
my man! well hit!" exchiimed the general, looking
at Pierre with a smile. " Th«3 cottage couldn't have
been very solid. It is comph^tely smashed."

He was surprised to see great tears running down
the gunner's clieeks.

""What's the matter, man!" the general asked,
rather roughly.

"Pardon m(>, general," said Pierre, in a low tone.
" It was my own cottage — everything I had iu the
world."

J'liiiii; Keadek.

READING LESSON I.

We are goiiio^ to study liovv to read; and the fii'st
thing Ave must kii(>w is, AVhat is reading !

If we were togetht^r iu tlie school-room, I could
tell you what I liave to sav ; but since we are so far
ajjart, I uiust write it. Now, before we answer th«^
lirst (question, let us try to get an answer to another :
What is speaking! Speaking ia telling someone
what I fini thinking or feeling. So, if you were in
my school I could tell you the tlunights I hav^e about
reading. But you are not, and so I 2nust write
them. Now we are ready to answiM* the (piestion.
What is reading 1 Reading is getting thought from
Hie printed or written page.

Let us go a little further. Suppose I want to teach
you reading through the printed i)age, wliat do I do ?
[ first think over very carefully what I have to say,
and then I choose and write the words that will give
you my meaning. But remember, you must study
my words and think about them as carefully as I did
when I wrote them.

Have you been attentive so far I Let us see. Can
you tell me what speaking is f what reading is f If
you can't, dou't you see you haven't been paying
attention ? ,,.. „,^„ ,.,,.,,,,

Getting thought from the printed page should be
just like listening carefully to my speaking. Yes,
you must be more careful in reading, because I am
not there to explain things to you, or to repeat my

-ft

KEADIX(r LeSS(*N \.

1 give

words. Yon have only tlie ]»fiiite(( woitIs, and if you
don't listen very caret'nlly to what th(y say, you
won't nndci'stand nie. Now let us see whether this
is clear. Hei-(^ is a sentence; can you see Avhat I see!
''The next day, whicli was Saturday, the king eaUed
his generals and some of his friends to the royal tent,
and told th(}ni, in a quiet voice, that at daybreak on
Tn«'sday he was going to retui'u to London and give
up the wai*.'^

Now take your eyes off the book and tell your
teaclier i\V you saw, and tell it in just the order the
pictui'es occur on the page. If you miss any steps,
you must read again and again until you s(^e tli(^
wlioh^ tlumght soclearlv that it seems real; then 1
am sure you will be able to tell it correctly. You
need not use my words; just use your own language.

WIhmi you have done this you 'dv^^ ready to take
the next step. Koiid the seiitence to the class so that
you make them see just what you see. Be sure you
nevcn* forget this.

You must reniemV)er that unless you tr/f to niakc^
thtMU see the pictur(\s you hav^e in mind, they will bt^
very likely not to understand you.

Now, wdiat have we been doing ! First, we studied
the meaning of the woi-ds; second, ^^'^) got several
pictures; and thii-<l, w^e tried to give those j)ictui'i\s
to otluM's. 8o w^e see tliei'e are two ki nds of reading :
One for ourselves, the other, for others. The first
kind nuist always go before the second: for if we
haven't anything in our minds to tell, how can we
give it to others !

ih< II III! iiimt'MlitJti*'

r;i

Third Reader.

Let us r(M»ioml>er, then, tliat rcadiiiji; for (►tliers is
just like talkiiijz; to them, and unless wo get from the
l»age just the thought the wi'iter has in mind we ean't
give that thought to another. Sometimes it is not
easy to g(^t this thought ; but if you will study eare-
fully, it will get to be clearer and clearer, until at last
it is just as easy to understand as if it had been your
own. I want to give you a short drill, and then our
first lesson will be over. '' In the summer the grass
is green, but it turns brown in the fall." Can you
imagine how green grass looks? how brown gi'ass
looks"? Do you notice that fall is the time when
grass is brown I Again : " He was a very tall man,
with light, cuiiy hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes.
His shoulders were stooped like those of a farmer or
of one who had been digging in the mines." Close
your eyes and then call up the i)icture of this man.
Do you see him as a real man! Now read this
sentence aloud so ttiat your classmates may get tln^
same picture that you have.

These are the three things we have learned in our
first lesson, and they are very, very important: We
uiimt get the thought; we must hold the thought;
and we must (j/ive the thought. This is reading
aloud.

We shall not have another less( )n for some tmu\ but
until we do I want you to be getting these pictures
from ev(M'y thing you read; from your geography
lesson, your history lesson, and even your arithmetic
lesson. I am sure you will get these lessons better
than you ever did before. _«?. //. ciark.

*'-^'

TiiE Flax.

THE CROCUS'S SONG.

J)()Nvu ill my solitude under tlie snow,
AVlieio nothing cl)eoring can reacli nio ;

Jlt'i'c, witliout liglit to see liow to grow,
111 trust to nature to teach me.

T will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown,

Jjockcd in so gloomy a dwelling ;
My leaves shall run up, and my roots sliall run down,

While the bud in my bosom is swelling.

Soon as the frost will get out of my be<l,

J'rom this cold dungeon to five me,
T will })i'er up with my little l)right head —

All will l)e joyful to see me. > ,

Then from my heart will young petals di\erge ,

As rays of the sun from their focus ;
1 from the darkness of earth will emerge!,

A happy and beautiful Crocus ! '^ >^

Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower ^

This little lesson may borrow, —
Patient today, through its gloomiest hour,

We come out the bri^rhter to-morrow.

-Gould.

THE FLAX.

Tho flax WHS ii). full bhxmi; it had pretty littie
))liio flowers as delicate as the wings of a moth, or
«'veii luoi'e so. Tlie sim shone, and the showers
\v;it(MAHi it; and that was just as good for the flax
as it is for little ehildi'en to be washed and then
kissed by their mother. They look much prt^ttier
Tor it, and so did the flax.

Tjiuu) Keadek.

" P(M)plo say tliut I look excocMlingly well," said
the llax, ^' and that I am so lino and loii^, that I
shall make a beautiful piece of linen. How fortu-
nate I am! it makes me so hapi)y; it is such a
l)leasant thing to know that sonK^thing can be madi*
of me. How the sunsliine cheers me, and how
sweet and refi'esliiiig is the rain! my haj)])iness
()V(Mpow(^i'S me ; no onii in the world can fe(4 haj)-
pier than I do."

One day some people came, who took hold of the
flax and pulled it up by the roots ; this was painful.
Then it was laid in water as if tlu^y intended to
drown it ; and, after that, placed it near a fire as if
it were to be roasted; all this was very shocking.

" We caimot expect to be happy always," said tli(^
flax; "])y experiencing evil as W(41 as good we be-
come wise." And certainly there was ph^ity of
evil in store for the flax. It was steeptnl, and
roasted, and broken, and combed; indeed, it scarcely
kni^w what was done to it.

At last it was put on the spinning-wheel. " Whirr,
whirr," went the wheel so quickly that the flux
coiild not collect its thoughts. .

^* AVell, I have been very happy," he thought in
the nudst of his pain, " and must be contented with
the past;" and contented he remained till he was
put on the loom, and became a beautiful piece of
white linen. All the flax, even to tlie last stalk,
was used in making this one piece. " How wonder-
ful it is that, after all I have suffered, I am made
something of at last ; I am the luckiest person in

Thf. Flax.

IT)

tluit I
fortu-
;ucli a
) iiiacle
1 how
)piness
A luip-

. of the

)aiiifnl.

idtnl to

re as if

king.

5aid th(^
we be-
nt y of
(1, and
scarcely

Whirr,
the tlax

►ught in
tiul with
I he was
piece of
st stalk,
AVoiKhn'-
,ni made
)erson in

the world — so strong and fiiu^; and how white, and
what a length! Tiiis is something ditl'erent from
1 K^ing a mere plant and bearing flowers. Then I had
no attention, nor any water unless it rained. Now
I am watcliod and taken care of. Every morning
the maid turns me ov^ei*, and I liavo a shower-bath
from the watering-pot every evening. Yes, and tlic
clergyman's wife noticed me, and said I was th(^ l)est
])i(M'o of linen in the whole parish. I cannot ])e
happier tlian I am now."

After some time, tht^ linen was taken into the
liouse, placed under the scissors, and (^it and torTi
into pieces, and then pricked with neiMlles. This
certainly was not pleasant ; but at last it was made
into garments.

" See, now, then," said the flax, " I have become
something of impin-tance. This was my desti»iy ; it
is quite a ]>l(\ssing. Now I shall be of some use in
the world, as ev(M'y one ought to b<^ ; it is the only
way to be happy."

Years passed away; and at last the linen was so
worn it could scarcely hold together.

" It nuist end very soon," said the pii^'es to each
otlier. *' Wo would gladly have held together a little
longer, but it is useless to expect unpossibihties."

And at length they fell into rags and tatters, and
thought it was all over with them, for they were
torn to shreds, and steeped in water, and made into
a pulp, and di'iiMl, an<l they knew not what b(\si(h\s,
till all at once they found themselvi^s In^autiful
white paper.

Thihd IIeadek.

" W(41, now, this is a surprise ; a glorious sur-
l)rise, too," said tlie paper. " I am now finer than
ever, and I shall be written upon, and who can tell
what fine things I may have written upon me t
This is wonderful luck ! " -

And sure enough, the most heautiful stoi'ies
and i)oetry were written upon it, and only once was
thei'e a hlot, which was very fortunate. v , ^ .

Then people heard the stories and poetry read,
and it made them wiser and better; for all that Avas
written had a good and sensible meaning, and a
great blessing was contained in the words on the
paper*.

" I never imagined anything lik(^ this," said the
pax^er, ''^ when I was only a little blue fiower, grow-
ing in the fields. How could I fancy that I should
ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy
to men ! I cannot understand it myself, and yet it
is r(nilly so. Heaven knows I have done nothing
mys(^lf, l)ut what I was ol)liged to do with my weak
l)()wers for my own preservation; and yet I have
been promoted from one joy and honor to anothiM*.
Each time I think that the song is ended ; and ihon
som(^thing higher and l)etter begins for me. I su[)-
pose now I shall be sent on my ti'avels about the
world, so that people may read me. It cannot be
otherwise; indeed it is more than probable; fori
have more splendid thoug]>ts written upon me than
I liad pi'etty fiowers in olden tuners. I am hap})ier
than ever."

But the paper did not go on its travels. It was

The Flax.

BllV-

tliaii

■'-

1 toll

-■

iiie?

,'^1

orii>s

) was

t ^vas
111(1 a

(1 iho

ii'l'OW-

should

1(1 joy
yet it

3thiiig

weak

have

ioth(M'.
illh(Mi
I sup-
iit the

not he
; for I
e than
ia])i>ier

It was

sent to the piinter, and all the words writt(Mi npon
it were set up in type, to make a hook, or rather
hundi-eds of hooks; for so many more persons
could derive pleasure and profit from a printed
]KM)k than from the written paper ; and if the paper
had heen sent ahont the world, it would have Ixm^u
worn out ])efore it had got half through its journey.

"This is certainly the wisest plan," said the
written paper; " I really did not think of that. I
sludl r(^niain at home and he held in honor, like
some old grandfather, as I really am to all these
new hooks. Tliey will do some good. I eould not
have wandered ahout as they do. Yet he wdio
wrote all this has lo()k(^(l at nu^ as every word flowed
from his pen upon my surface. I am the most
honored of all."

Then the paper was tied in a hundle Avith other
paj)ers, and thrown into a tuh that stood in the
washhouse.

" After work, it is well to rest," said the paper,
" and a very good opportunity this is to coll(M*t one's
thoughts. Now I am al)le, for the first time, to
think of my real (condition ; and to know one's self
is true progress. What will l)e done with me now,
I wonder f No douht I shall still go forward."

Now it happened one day that all the paper in the
tuh was takcm out, and laid on the h(»arth to be
hurnt. People said it (nmld not l)e sold at the shop,
to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been
wi'itten upon. The cliildr(Mi in the house stood
I'ound the stove ; for they want(Ml to see the paper

ruiKJ) JIeadkk.

])uni, Ixvanso it fiiuiUHl u}> so prottily, uiid aftor-
wards, ainoiig tlio aslios, so many rod si)arks could
(iould be seen running ono ni'U'v the otlier, ]u)ve and
tliei'o, as quick as tlie wind. Tliey called it " scMMUg
the children come out of school," and the last f'pai'k
was the schoolmaslcr. They often thought the last
spark had come; and one would cry, "There goes
the schoolmaster;" Imt the next inoment another
sptirk would a])p<'ar shining so l)eauti fully. How
they would like to know where the sparks all went
to! Perhaps we sludl find out some <hiy, Imt we
don't know ]iow.

The whole bundle of ])ap(M' had been placed on the
fire," and was sc^on alight. "Ugh ! " ci'ied the paper,
as it bui'st into a bright flame ; " ugh ! " It was cer-
taiidy not very pleasant to be biu'iiing; but when
the whole was wrapped in iiames, the flames mounted
up into the air higher than the flax had ever been
able to raise its little blue flower ; and they glistened
as the white linen never c(mld have glisttMied. All
the written lett(M's became quite red in a moment,
and all the words and thoughts tnrne(l into fire.

"Now I am mounting straight up to the sun," said
a voice in the flames ; and it was as if a thousand
voices echoed the words; and the flames darted up
through the chinmey and went out at the top.
Then a number of tiny l)eings, as many in luunber
as the flowers on the flax had been, and invisible to
mortal eyes, floated above them. They wiM-e even
lighter and more delicate than the flowers from
which they were born; and as the flames were

Speak (i i:\tl v.

11)

tifter-
coiild
•e and
wooing
rpavk
le last

goos
iiotluM'

How

1 wriit
Hit Ave

on the
papei',
as cev-
t wlicni
ounted

istened
d. All
umient,
ire.

," said
[ousand
rted up
he top.
nunihev
isihle to
've even
rs from
es were

<'xtlnguislH'd, and nothing remained of the i)aptM'
Imt black ashes, these httle things daneed upon it;
and wliciK'ViM' they touched it bright red s) Kirks
a[)iM'ar('d.

— lliiua L'lirixfiiin Aiulfi'seii.

SPEAK GENTLY.

Spoak tjojitly ; it is ])etter fiir

To lulo by love than fear :
Speak getjtly ; let no harsh worJs mar

1'he good we might do liere.

Sjteak gently to the little child ;

Its love he sure to gain ;
T(^ach it in accents soft and mild ;

\\, may not long rcunain.

Sjjcak gently to the aged on(^ ;

Grieve not the care-worn heart : ,
The sands of life are nearly run ;

Let such in peace depart.

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor ;

Let no harsh tone he heard ;
They have enough tlu^y must endure,

Without an unkind word.

Sp(!ak gently to the erring ; know
They must have toiled in vain ;

Perhaps unkindness made tluMii so;
Oh, win them hack again !

Sp(»ak gently : 'tis a little thing
DioppfMl in the heait's deep well;

The good, the joy, which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.

-David Bates.

r|i

Thiki) Kradkii.

WHAT CAME OF WONDERING.

TIkm'o was oiifo a man wlio luul tlir(M) sous ; and
lluMr iiaim\s wore I^ct^T, William, and John. The
man was vorypooi*; so he told his sons over and
over again that thoy mnst go ont into the woi'ld
and try to earn theii' l)r«'ad, for at liome thci'o was
notliing to ]>e looked for hnt starvation.

Solium miles distant from the poor man's cottage^
stood the king's i)alace. Over against the windows
of the palace grew an oak, so tall, and hirge, and
thiek, that it kept the sun's rays from entering.

It was always dark in the rooms of the palaee;
and this made the king very miserable. He liad
offered large sums of money to any one who should
cut down the oak. No person could do it, for as
soon as one chip was struck off, two grew in its
place.

The king also wished a well to be dug Avliich
should never be without water. Many had tried to
dig such a well, ])ut all liad failed, for the i>alace
stood on a hill, and ihcy had not dug a few inches
befoi'e they came upon the hard, dry rock.

As the king had set his heart on having the oak
cut down, and the well dug, he caused it to be pro-
clahned throughout his kingdom that he who could
do these things should marry the princess, his daugh-
ter, and rule over half the kingdom. Many a man
came to try his luck, but every stroke given to the

,.'-"s^

What (-amk of \Vi)NI)Kkin(i.

lii

; and
Tho
r aii<l
"vvorld
•e AVtis

[)tta^o
iidovvs

i^, and

J?.
)alaco ;

had
should

for as
ill its

^vhich
lied to
palace
inches

ho oak

1 )o pvo-

could
daugh-

a man

1 to the

oak made it stouter; while tht; I'ock lu'caiiie lianUu*
at every touch of the spa(h\

The three l)r()thers resolved to set out for the jjal-
aco to see whc^ther they iui«;iit not suc<mmmI. On
their way tiny had to pass a lii'-wood, and alon^
one side of it i\tM^ a steep hill. Tliey heaid soini^
one hewing and hacking in the wood near the top
of the hill.

"I wonder," said Jack, " who is hewing ui> there ! "
— "You are always so clever with your wonder-
ings!" said his hi'others; "what is it hut a wood-
man felling a tree!" — "Still I should like to see,"
said Jack, and up he went.

"Oh! if you are such a child, it \vill do you good
to go and take a lesson !" shouted his hrotlicis aft<'i*
liini. Jack heedeil not, but climbed to the place
where the noise seemed to come from ; and what do
y(m think he saw? Why an axe that stood Ihere
hacking of itself at the ti-mik of a tree.

"Good moi'uing!" said Jack. "80 you stand
here alone, and Ih'w, do you ?" — "Yes ; here I have
stood hewing a long time, w^aiting for you!" said
the axe. " Here I am at last," said Jack, as Ik^ pulh m 1
the head off its haft, and put both head and haft
into his wallet.

" When he joined his brothers t^ ey laughed at
him, and asked what funny thing he saw on the top
of the hill. " Oh, it was only an axe I heard," said
Jack.

They w^alked on, and came to a turn in the road
where there was a ste(^p spur of the rock. There

»)«)

Third Keadek.

they heard something'; <li^^iii^ niMl shov^olliiii;:, *' I
wonder," .said Jack, "what it is that is di^K'''?^ «""'
sh<)v<*irnii< yonder on the roek." — '* Vou aro always
so ck'ver with your wondei-ings!" again r(^}>lied Ids
hi'othei's. " Ilavo you never heard a woodpecker
sti'lkiii*;- a hollow treo with its pointed hill ?"

"AVell, weii," said Jack, "I sliall go and see what
it really is." Ho went, and what do you think he
saw? Why, a si)ade stood thti'e digging and sho-
velling, "(lood day!" said Jack; "so you stand
liei'e ah)ne, do you!" — " Yes; I have heen Avniting
a long time for you," snid the spade. " Here 1 am
at last," said Jack, as he took it up, knocked it otf
its handle, and ])ut it into his wallet. '

"What strange thing did you see on th(^ rock i "
sneeringly asked his brothers, as Jack o\ertook
them. " Oh ! oidy a spade," said he.

The brothers continued their journey. Pi'(>sently
they came to a little brook, and being thirsty, they
lay down on its bank to have a drink. "How
pleasant this water is!" said Jack; "I wonder
where it comes from?" — "I wonder if \im are
right ill your head f " said his brothers at once.
"You are quit) crazy with your woiiderings.
Where the watev comes from! Huve you never
heard how it rises from a spring in the earth ? " —
" Still, I wish to go and see where this brook comes
from," said Jack.

So he followed the windings of the brook towards
its k^ource, in spite of the laughter of his brothers.
A long way up the hillside, what do you think he

*^-

What (Lvmk of \\ Ondeiung.

sjf aiul
Iwavs
I'd Ills

) Avhat
Ilk lu'
(I slio-
staiKl
raitiiij^
1 am
il it off

•ock I "
crtook

seiitly
y, they

" How
hv()iid(^v
ou ai'ti
t once.
Icrings.
never
til ! "—
c conies

towards
rotliers.
liink he

■1

saw ? Wliy, a ^reat waluiit slirll, and out of that
tla» water trickle<l.

"(lood-dav! " said Jack, "an<l so you lit^ h<M'e
alone, and the water trickhiii;: out of you." — *' Yes,"
iiid the wahiut; "and I have Jain liei'o many years
witli the water trickliii<^ out ot me, waitin*;- tor
ViUi." — "IJenilamI" said Jack, as he took a hit
of moss, and piu^-gecl the lioUi tliat the water mi«;ht
not run out. Theu ho i)ut tlie walnut shell into his
wallet, and I'an to join his l>i'<)thers.

" \ h\\{^ you tVmnd where the brook comes fi'om ?"
asked i?eter and WilHe, in the same ])reath. "A
rai'(^ si«;ht it nuist have been I " — "After all, it was
only a h<»le it ran out of," said Jack. His brothers
lau.i;hc(l, and thou,i;ht Jack yery foohsh.

At hist they reached the king's palace, and saw
the mighty oak. Many of the king's subjects had
come from eveiy (|uarterof the land, to see whether
tliey might not succeed in felling the oak and
digging the well, and so obtain theinxmiiscd reward.
Hut all had failed, and the otik was much larger
and the rock much hardier than at lii'st.

Accordingly, the king had declared that if any
one tried to fell the oak, or dig the well, and failed
to do either, he should have his ears cut off, and Ije
banished to a desert island, far from home and
friends. The brothers were not scared by the
threat of this sev(n*e ininishment in case of failure.
They J«>termined to try.

Peter, being tlie eldest, took up the axe and
struck a great blow at the root of the oak. For

Thikd Kkader.

eveiy chip that fhnv off, two grew in its plii('(\ It
would not do. Th(5 king's soldiers seized Peter, cut
ott* his ears, and sent liim away to the desei't island.
William next tried, hut he also failed, and met the
same fate. . ^ , .;

It was now Jack's turn to try. " If you will
have your ears cut off, you had better get it dom^
at once, and save ti'ouble," said the king, who w^as
angry with him on account of the failure of his
l)rothers.

" I should like to try first,'' said Jack. He took
the axe out of his wallet, and fitted it to its Jiaft.
"Hew away!" said he to his axe; and away it
hewed, making great chips fly to the right and left,
so that the king and his attendants were ghid to
stand far off. In a few minutes the oak f(41 with a
great crash, and the people shouted as if they would
rend the sky.

Jack then took the spade out of his wallet, and
fitted it to its handle. " Dig away! " said he to his
spade ; and it dug aw^ay, breaking the rock into
splinters. In d short time the well was made, broad
and deep. Jack took the walnut slu^ll from his
wallet, laid it in a corner of the well, and pulled out
the bit of moss. " Trickle and run ! " said Jack,
and the water gushed out, and filled the well to
overflowing.

Thus Jack felled the oak and dujr the well. Tl

king was geatly pleased, and gave Jack what he
had promised.

But Jack did not forget his brothers, though

•A
^' C

KEAi)iN(i Lesson II.

•c. It

81*, cut

island,
let the

)U will

it d()iK'<

lio was

of his

ae took
its haft,
tiway it
md h'ft,
j»la(l to
I with a,
y would

llet, and
10 to his
o('k into
(», l)i'oad
roni his
iilled out
dd Jack,
well to

lell. Thi'
what h«'

. thouii'h

■1

tornierly they ha<l laughed aii<l jeered at him. lie
[)leaded with the king to recall theui from the desert
island. If lie eould, he would have restored their
ears. Peiiiaps it was well they had lost them, else
they would hav(^. iK'Mi-d evtny day tlu^ people saying
to ea<'h other: ^' Att<n- all, Jack was not so much
out of his mind wIk^ji he took to wondering."

—Daicnt.

READING LESSON II.

You reni(nnl)er that in our last lesson we learned
that vv(5 must lirst g(^t the thought before we could
j'cad. Now we are to study how to gi't the thought.

Did vou ever noticti how you think ? If vou hear
the word *'Car," what do you think of ! Some, of a
horse car; some, of an electiic car; and some, of a
steam car. So you see the word "Car" by itself
<l()esn't give us a veiy clear jiicture. The words, " I
saw," don't mean very much either. Foi*, mdess we
know what you saw, we get nothing to think al)out.
The two Avords " in a " don't mean much, and by
this time you know why.

Iji't us i)ut all these words together and add a
word or two : " I saw a man in a steam car." Now
we have a clear picture. What do we learn from
this? We learn that a single word doesn't give us
a clear pi(^tur(>, and that it takes three, and foui-, and
c5ome times many w^ords, to gi\'e us a picture. We
can think "I saw a num," or "in a steam car," but
we get a complete sentence only when we put these

Thikd IIeadek.

two gi'oiips of words together. We iiotiee also that
while it takes just a moment to see a picture, it
often takes nianv words to describe it.

What we hav^e dojui is called gi'ouping; that is,
I'eading' several words together just as we read the
syllables of a woi'd. Let us try some examples,
"('hai'les gave a sled to his brother." Here there
are two groups: One ending at "sled," the other, at
"brother." " I went to King Street with my sister
to buy a new hat." Here we have three groups.
C.-an you pick them out !

The last thing we are to learn in this lesson is
that every gi'onj) of words has a picture in it, and
that we must not read aloud any word until we ba ■
got the thought or the picture in the group.

Pick out the groups in the following sentence, and
then read aloud, but be sure you pay attention to
tli(^ picture in each group: "When-our-school-closes
f <)!• - the - summer - vacation, some - of - us-go - to - the -
countiy^, others -go -to - the -lakes, some -go - to - the-
mou n t ai n s, and-many-stay-in-the-city.

For to-morrow's lesson I want you to bring in the
grou})S in the following examples, putting hyphens
bi^fween the woi'ds of each group, just as we did in
the sentence about the summer vacation :

Stanza 1 of " Canada, Maple I^and."
Stanza 2 of " Wynken, Blynken, and Nod."
First 10 lines of " The Flax."

I should like you to keep on studying grouping for
a week or so, and in every reading lesson you have

'.i

The British National Banner.

that
e, it

it is,

I the

pies.

:here

er, at

dster

imps.

oil is
, ciiid
1m ■

e, and

)11 to

loses
-the-
the-

the
(hens
(lid in

iig for
I have

T want yon to be sure to get the groups. In this
way, yon AviU get a great many more i)ictur(*s from
your reading lesson than yon have ever got })efort».

— S. //. Clark.

THE BRITISH NATIONAL BANNER.

Britain owes its renowned Union Jack, as probjihly
also its name, to King Jam(\s the First. The flag of
England was, previous to his reign, a red cross — that
of St. George — on a white h(4d ; the iiag of Scotland
a, white diagonal cross — that of St. Andrew — on a
blue field. That the flag might be formed for the
united countiies of England and Scotland, the King,
in !()()(), ordered the red cross of St. George bordered
with white to represent its white field, to be so placed
on the flag of Scotland that the two crosses shoiiM
have but one central point. This flag was first
lioisted at sea on April 12, 1606, and was first us(m1
as a military flag by the troops of both nations on
the ratification of the legislative union of England
and Scotland, on May 1, 1607.

On the Parliamentary union of Great Britain and
Ireland the red diagonal cross of St. Patrick was
placed side l>y side with the white cross of St. An-
drew so as to form one cross, the white next to the
mast being uppemiost, and the red cross in the fly,
while to it on the red side a naiTow l)order of white
was added to represent the white field of the flag of
Irehuid, and upon these was placed the bordered

Third KEAi^EK.

cross of 8t. (leorge, as iii the pj-mioiis fiag. The
three crosses thus combined constitute the present
Union Jack.

It's only a .small bit of l)Uiitiiig —

It's only an old colored rag —
Yet thousands liav(; died for its honor,
' And shed their best blood for tin; Hag.

It's charged with the cross of 8t. Andrew
Which of old Scotland's heroes had led,

It carries the cross of St. Patrick,

For wliich Ireland's bravest have bled.

Joitr'd with these is the old English ensign —

St. George's red cross on white field,
Hound which from King Richard to Wolseley,

Britons conquer or die, but ne'er yield.

It flutters triumphant o'er ocean,

As free as the wind and the wave :
And the bondsman from shackle unloosen'd,

'Neath its shadow no longer a slave.

It tloats over Malta and Cyprus —

Over Canada, India, Hong Kong,
And Britons, where'er their Hag's Hying

Claim the rights that to Britons belong.

We hoist it to show our devotion

To our Queen, to our country and laws :

It's the outward yet visible emblem
Of advanccFuent and liberty's cause.

You may call it a small bit of bunting —

You

may say

it's an old color'd rag —

'■-■«
■M

But freedom has made it majestic,
And time has einiobled the Hag.

The (IvrTURE of the Whale.

THE CAPTURE OF THE WHALE.

"Tom," cried Baruntable, stavtiiig, "tluM'e is the
\Ao\v of a whale!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" returned the cockswain ; "liere is
liis spout, not half a mile to seaward."

" The fellow takes it coolly, too. He's in no liurry
to get an offing."

" 'Tis a fill-hack ! " exclaiuKHl tlu^ lieut(niant. "He
will soon make headway, and be off."

"No, sir; 'tis a right-whale," answered Tom. " \
saw his spout. He threw up a pair of as pretty
rainbows as a Christian would wish to look at."

Barnstable laughed, and exclaimed in joyous tones,
"Give sti'ong way, my hearties! Let us have a
sti'oke of a har2)oon at the impudent rascal !"

Tlie iiK^n sliout(Ml, and the whale-boat sprang for-
ward like a courser for the goal.

Th(4r a})proacli was utterly luinoticed by the mon-
ster of the deep, who continued to amuse himself
with tlu'owing the water in two spouts high into
the air, occasionally flourishing his tail with grace-
ful l)ut teri'ific force, until the hardy seamen were
within a few hundred feet of him, when he suddenly
cast Ids head downwards, and reared his inmiense
body above tlio water, waving his tail violently, and
l)roducing a Avhizzing noise like the rushing of winds.
After this exhi)>ition of his terrible strength, the
monster sank again into the sea, and slowly disap-
j)eared.

Thiud Keadkh.

"Which Wiiv (li'l h(^ liead, Tom?" erunl Bai'ii-
stable, the moment the whale was out of sight.

"Pretty much up and down, sir," returned the
coekswam, whose eye was gradually brightening
with the excitement of the sport. "He'll soon run
his nose against the bottom if he stands long on that
course, and will be glad to get another snufif of pure
air. Send her a few fathoms to starboard, sir, and
I promise we shall not be out of his track."

Ill a few minutes the water broke near them, and
another spout was cast into the air, when the huge
animal ruslunl for half his length in the same dii'ec-
tiou, and fell on the sea with a sound and foam
equal to that which is produced by the launching of
a vessel for the fii'st time. After this the whale
rolled heavily, and seemed to rest from further
efforts.

His slightest movements were closely watched })y
Barnstable and his cockswain ; and when he was in
a state of rest, a few long strokes sent the boat
directly up to the whale, with its bows pointing
towards one of the fins which was exposed to view.
The cockswain poised his harpoon, and then darted
it from him with a \dolence that buried the iron in
tlie body of their foe.

Long Tom shouted, "I've touched the fellow's
life ! It must be more than two foot of blubber
that stops my iron fi*om reaching the life of any
whale that ever swum the ocean."

"I})elieve you have saved yourself the trouble of
using the bayonet," said the commande?'. "Feel

i ^

; bi

I VI

Thk ('aitiike of the Whale.

Vdvw-

\ tlio

Bimig'

11 run
a that
I pure

aii<l

n, and

^ (lirec-
L foam
hiug of

further

4ied l)y

i was ill

le boat

x)Uitiiig

view.

1 darted
iron ill

fellow's
])lul)l)ev

[^ of any

'ouble ol'

"Fe«'l

your line, Master ( -otlin. Can we haul alongside of
oil]' (Miciuy ! I like not the course he is steorinji^, as
lio tows us from the sehoonor."

"'Tis the creatur's way, sir," said the cockswain.
"You know thc^need the air in tlieir nostrils wlicii
tli(^y run, the same as a man. But lay hold, l)oys,
and let us haul up to him."

The seamen now seized their whale-lim\ and
slowly drew their boat to within a tVw fei^t of the
tail of the fish, whose pro^'i'ess became less rapid as
he ^-I'cw weak fi'om the loss of blood. From a state
of perf(H't rest the terrihle monster then thrinv his
tail on hi<;h as when in sport, till all ^\'as hid fi'om
\new in a j)yi*a]ni(l of foam that was d(M»})ly (IvcmI
widi blood. The roarin<!:s of the fish were like the
bellowin^s of a lierd of bnlls; and to one who was
i^noi'ant of the fact, it would have app* ared as if a
thonsand monsrers were en^'a<>'(Ml in deadly conibat
Ix^hind the bloody mist.

Oraduallv these efforts subsided, and the discol-

If little labor, littlo are awv naiiis ;
Mail's fortunes an» according' to his pains.

Iferrick.

Thiiid Header.

..)

HIAWATHA'S SAILING.

"Givo mo of your l)ai'k, O P>ir('li-Tree 1
Of youi' yollow l)}irk, O JJiicli-Trcc !
rrrowing })y tlio lusliitig river,
Tall juul stately in tlio valley !
I a light canoo will build ine,
T^uild a swift Clieemaun for sailing,
That shall float upon the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autunui,
Like a yellow water-lily !

" Tjay aside your cloak, O Biiv i Tree !
Jjiiy aside your white-skin wra}>per,
For the Suiinnei'-tiiiie is coming.
And the sun is warm in lieaven.
And you need no white-skin wi'apper !"

Tluis aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitaiy foi'est.
By the rushing Taquamenaw,
When the birds were singing gaily,
'In the jSFoon of Leaves were singing,
■'< And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, " liehold me!
Geezis, the great sun, ])ehold me !"

And the tree with all its branch(\s
Hustled in the breeze of morning.
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
/'Take my cloak, O Hiawatha !"

( By ^nniasion oj' aiede & Co., Winnqjctj.J

H I A W ATH A 'S S A TLING.

With his knife the tree ho girdU'd ;
Just iHMiouth its lowest branches,
'list alM)vo the roots, ho cut it,
Till the sap (uinie oo/inuf outward ;
l)owii tlie trunk from top to Ixjttoni,
Sheer he cleft the hark asunder,
With a w«)od<Mi wed<^(! ho raised it,
Stripptnl it from the trunk uni)roken.

"(Jive me of your houghs, O Cedar !
Of your stroi.j^ and jtliant hi'anches,
AFy canoe to make more steady.
Make more strong and fuin beneath nu?!"

Through the summit of the Cedar
Went, a sound, aery of horror,
Went a imiiinur <»f resistance;
But it whispered, bending dowfiward,
"Take my lK)Ughs, () iliawatlia !'

Down he hewed the bouglis of cedar,
Sliaped them straightway U) a framewoik,
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 UirchTree !
My (;anoe to bind together,
So to bind tiie ends together,
That the water may not entei-.
That the river may not wet me !"

And the Larch, with all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of mornin

J5»

Touclied its forehead with its tassels,
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow.

((

Take them all, O Hiawatha ! '

Til I HI) Keadek.

Kroiii tln' cHith Ix^ toi'(; till? fil)r('H,
Toro tlui toii^'li lootH of till' l^ircli-TiTc,
CloHi'ly Hrwcd i]ui l)jiik toj^rtlicr,
HouikI it closely to tlic fi-anie\vork.

"(Jivf? me of your Iwilin, () Fii-Tivw !
Of your 1>hImiui and your resin,
So to close the .seams toj^etlier
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me !"

And the Fir-Tree, tall and somhre,
Sol)l)ed thifui^h all its i'oIk's of «larkness,
Rattled likc^ a shore with jx'hhles,
Answered wailinj;, answered weepinj^,
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha !"

And ho took the tears of halsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-Tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fi:
Made each crevice safe from water.

"(Jive me of your quills, O Hed<,'<'hoj; !
All your (luills, () Kagh, the Hedgehog I
I will make a necklace of them,
Mak(» a girdle for my In'auty,
And two ytars to deck her bosom !"

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy ej'es looked at him^
Shot his shining quills like arrows,
Saying, with a drowsy murnmr,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"

HiawathaM Sailing.

From the i(roun<l tho qiiill« li*' ;,'iitlu»ro«l,
All tlio little .sliiiiin<,' arrows,
Stained tliein rod and blue and yellow
VVitli the juieo of r<M)ts and iMTiies ;
Into his caiKHj lie wrought them,
Hound its waist a shining girdle,
Kound its 1)owh a gleaming neeklaee,
(hi its breast two stars resplendent.

Thus tlu^ I)ii-cii Ciinoe was l)uil<led
In the valley, l>y the river,
In the lM)som of the forest ;
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its magie,
All the lightness of the birch ti-ee,
All th(! t<»iighness of tlu^ eedar,
All tiie larch's supph^ sinews;
And it floated on th(^ river
Jiik<? a yellow leaf ii Autumn,
Jjiko a yellow water lily.

Paddles none liad TTiawatha,
Paddles none he had or needed,
For his thoughts as jiaddles served him,
And his wishes served to guide him ;
Hwift or slow at will he glided,
Veered to right or left at pleasure.

Then he called aloud to Kwasind,
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Saying, "Help me clear this river
Of its sunken logs and and sand-bars."

Straight into the river Kwasind
Plunged as if he were an otter,
Dove as if he were a beaver,

TmiU) liEADER.

Stood up to his waist in water,
To liis anii-pits in the river,
Swam and sliouted in tlie river,
'l'u<^«^ed at siink(!n loi^s and branches,
With Ills hands lie scooped the sand-l)ars,
Witli his feet the ooze and tangle^

And thus sailed my Hiawatlia,
Down the rusiiing '^raquamenaw,
Sailed through all its })en(ls and windings,
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,
While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.

Up and down the river went they,
Tn and out among its islands,
Cleared its ])ed of root and sand-har,
Dragged the dead trees from its channel,
Made its passage safe and certain,
Made a pathway for the people,
From its sjjrings among the mountuinu.
To the waters of Pauwating,
To the bay of Taquamenaw.

— Henry W'adnwortk Lo,igf'ellow.

To nie the world's an open book,

Of sweet and pleasant poetry ;
T read it in the running brook

That sings its way towards the sea ;
It whispers in the leaves of trees.

The swelling grain, the waving grass,
And in the cool, fresh evening breeze

'I^hat crisp the wavelets as they pass.

The Olive Tkep:.

THE OLIVE TREE.

Ton years luxd passed siiK'cOecrops came toGreeee.
In tliat sliort time *'lie liad niad(^ mild a ru<>xed
people, and sn])dued tliem to tlie useful and the
good." Instead of swamps and foi'ests there wert»
fi'uitful fields; instead of eavt^s and hovels there
were pleasant little homes; instt^ad of bloodshed
there was peace and quiet ; and on the highest hill,
where flourished once the oak and pine, was now a
market place, and round the hill was built a sti'ong
stone wall, so none might enter the y(mng city with-
out leave.

King Cecrops sat within the market place con-
sulting with liis chiefs, when, lifting u}) his eyes, he
saw two sti'angers standing in their midst.

The elder of the two was white with years, l)ut
straight and tall ; the young(^i* was a w^oman, quiet
and grave, with noble hi'ow, an<l eyes of wondrous
beauty.

" The godsl)e with you," said the eldei* of the two,
" and what fair city have we here f "

To this the King replied: "]\Iost noble strangei's,
how you came within our waUs we cannot tell, but,
1 )eing in, we bid you welcome. This, our city, we have
built but lately, and it has not yet received a name."

"Then name it after me," said the tall sti'anger.
" I am Poseidon, and I rule the sea. Give my name
to your city, and the wealth of all the woi'ld is yoni's.
Your ships shall sail to evcny land, and all shall
know you as the mistress of the seas."

r. n

Third Reader.

King Cecrops Imwed, Imt ovo ho ooiild reply the
woman spoke. " I am Athena, and I Avisdom ])i-ing^
But name your city after me and I sliall eome to
dwell with you, and you shall sway the hearts and
minds of men until the end of time."

Then Cecrops and his council w^ere divided in their
views, for some cried "Wealth," and some cvuhI
"Wisdom." So they asked the gods to give an
(exhibition of their power.

Poseidon struck the hard bare rock, and from
the yawning cleft there sprang a noble steed, Avitli
golden mane and tail, and body white as milk.

Athena struck the grassy sod, and, to the sound
of music, slowly rose a stately tree, with slender
])rancli(^s, snow-white blossoms, and green leaves.

Poseidon placed his arm about the neck of his
fair gift, and said: "A friend in peace and Avar;
the noble steed will bear your burdens, and trans-
port you faster than the wind."

Athena, smiling, ])ent the olive branch, and whis-
pered low: "Lo! here is beauty, here is food and
shelter, here is fruit whose oil will he a boon to all
the world."

Then all, with one accord, cricnl : " Wisdom and
the olive tree ! Our citv shall be Athens."

Ho it grew and prospered like Athena's tree, and
if to-day you visit the famed city you will find a
broken temple where once stood the market place,
and some will show you the cleft rock whence sprang
Posiedon's steed, and, best of all, your eyes may rest
upon the spot where grew the first green olive tree.

Hiawatha.— Picture- Wiuting.

HIAWATHA.-PICTURE-WRITINa.

Tn those days said Hiawatha,

" Lo ! how all things fade and pei'ish !

From the memory of the old men

Fade away the great traditioiis,

The achievements of the warriors,

The adventures of the hunters,

All the wisdom of the Medas,

All the craft of the Wal)enos,

All the marvellous dreams and visions

Of tlu; Jossakeeds, the Prophets !

"Great men die and are forgotten,

Wise men speak ; their words of wisdom

Perish in the ears that hear then..

Do not reach the generations,

That, as yet unljorn, are waiting

Tn the great mvsterious darkness
Of the speechless days that shall be !

"On the grave-posts of our fathers
Are no signs no figui s painted ;
Who are in those graves we know not,
Only know they are our fathers.
Of what kith they are and kindled,
From v/hat old, ancestral Totem,
Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver,
They d(;scended, this we know not,
Only know they are our fathers.

" Face to face, we speak together.
But we cannot speak when absent,
Cannot send our voices from us

Third Keadrk.

To the friends that dwell afai" ott";
Cannot send a secret message,
But the bearer learns our scM-ret,
May prevent it, may In'tray it,
May reveal it unto others."

Thus said Hiawatha, walking
In the Solitary forest,
Pondering, musing in the forest,
On the welfare v)f his people.

From his pouch he took his colors.
Took his paints of different colors,
On the smooth bark of a bii'ch-tree
Painted many shapes and figures,
Wonderful and mystic figures,
And each figure liad a meaning.
Each some word or thought suggested.

Gitche Manito the Mighty,
He the Master of Life, was painted
As an egg, with points projecting
To the four winds of the lieavens.
Everywhere is the Great Spirit,
Was the meaning of this symbol.

Gitche Manito the Mighty,
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil,
As a serpent was depicted,
As Kenabeek, the great serpent.
Very crafty, very cunning,
Is the creeping Spirit of Evil,
Was the meaning of this symbol.

Life and Death he drew as circles.
Life was white, but Death was darkened ;

Hiawatha. — Picture- Writing.

Sun and ni(K)n and stars ho painted,
Man and In'ast, and iish and n^})tile.
Forests, mcjun tains, lakes, and rivera.

For the earth lie drew a strai<]fht line,
For the sky a bow above it ;
White the space Ijt^tween iov day-tini(%
Filled with little stars for night-time ;
On the left a point for sunrise.
On the right a point for sunset,
On the top a point for noon-tide,
Anvl for rain and cloudy weather
Waving lines descending from it.

Footprints pointing towards a wigwam
We)"e a sign of invitation.
Were a sign of Guests assembling ;
Bloody hands, with palms uplifttMl
W(>r(>i a symbol of destruction.
Were a hostile sign and symbol.

All these things did Hiawatha
Show unto his wondering people.
And interpreted their meaning.
And he said : " Behold, your grave posts
Have no mark, no sign, nor symlw)!.
Go and paint them, all with figur(\s,
Each one with its household symbol,
With its own ancestral Totem ;
So that those who follow after
May distinguish them and know them."

And they painted on the grave-posts
Of the graves yet unforgotten.

Third Reader.

Eaeli his own ancestral Totem,
Each tlio symbol of liis liouscljold ;
Figures of tht; Bear and Reindeer,
Of the Tui'tle, Crane, and Beaver,
Each inverted as a token
That the owner was departed,
That the chief who bore the symlx))
Jjiiy beneath in dust and ashes.

And tlie Jossakeeds, the pi'opliets,
Tlie Wabenos, the magicians.
And the medicine-men, the Medas,
Painted upon ])ark and deer-skin
Figures for the songs they cljanted,
For each song a separate symbol,
Figures mystical and awful,
Figures strange and briglitly colored ;
And each figure had its meaning,
Each some magic song suggested.

The Great Spirit, the Creator,
Fhisliing light through all the heaven ;
The Great Serpent, tlie Kenabeek,
With his bloody crest erected,
Creeping, looking into heaven ;
Tn the sky the sun, that listens.
And the moon eclipsed and dying ;
Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk,
And the cormorant, bird of magic ;
Headless men that walk the heavens,
Bodies lying pierced with arrows,
Bloody hands of death uplifted,
Flags on graves, and great war-captains
Grasping both the earth and heavens !

Hiawatha. — Picture-Whiting.

4.")

Sucli iis those tlie slwipos tlicy jMiiiitcd
On tlio ])iich-l)ai'k and the drci-skin ;
Songs of war and songs of liunting,
Songs of nuMlicine and of magic,
All were written in these figures,
For each figure had its meaning,
Each its separate song recorded.

Nor forgotten was the Love-Song,
The most subtle of all mcilicines.
The most potent spell of magic.
Dangerous more than war or liunting !
Thus the Tx)ve-Song was recorded.
Symbol and interpretation.

Fiist a human figure standing.
Painted in the brightest scaiOet ;
'Tis the lover, the musician.
And the meaning is, "My j)ainting
Makes me powerful over others."

Then the figuie seated, singing,
Playing on a drum of magic.
And the interpretaticm, "Listen !
'Tis my voice you hear, my singing !"

Then the same red figure seatt^d
In the shelter of a wigwam.
And the meaning of the symbol,
" I will come and sit beside you
In the mystery of my passion !"

Then two figures, man and woman,
Standing hand in haiid together,
With their hands so clasped together
That tlie^ seem in one united ;

Thikd Reader.

And the words tlius rcprpsoiitod
Are, T see your heart witliin you,
And your cheeks are red with blushes!"

Next the maiden on an island,
In the centre of an island ;
And the song this shape suggested
Was, "Though you were at a distance*,
Were upon some far-off island,
Such the spell I cast upon you,
Huch the magic power of passion,
I could straightway draw you to me !"

Then the figure of the maiden
Sleeping, and the lover near her,
Whispering to her in her slumbers,
Saying, "Tliough you were far from me
In the land of Sleep and Silence,
Still the voice of love would reach you !"

And the last of all the figures
Was a heart within a circle.
Drawn within a magic circle;
And the image had this meaning :
" Naked lies your heart before me,
To your naked heart I whisper ! "

Thus it was that Hiawatha,
In his wisdom taught the people
All the mysteries of painting.
All the art of Picture-Writing,
On the smooth bark of the birch-tree.
On the white skin of the reindeer,
On the grave-posts of the villager

^Henry Wadstvorth LoiigJ'e'loxv,

Headinu Lesson 111.

READING LESSON III.

Read to yourself this littln sentence : " RoImm'! has
a shite." Is that a (•oiii})h^te ])ictiire ? Voii see that
it is. Now read this siMiteuee: " Ro})ert has a slate
and a pencil." Ilei'H you note that Kohei't has two
things, so the S(Mitenee is not eoniplete when we
come to the word "slate." Although wo have a
clear picture, yet we have not the whole picitiire.
How do we know this ? In the first sentence thert^
was a pei'iod after "slate," hut in the second sen-
tence there w^as none, and because th(>re wasn't, we
kept on readinjj^ and found thei-e was another gi'oup
of words giving ns the pictui'e of something else
liob«n't had. Now, this teaches lis that if we want
to read just as we speak, we must ^e careful to get
not only one i)i(^tnre or two, hut all the pictures in
the sentence.

Let mo show you how we often make mistak(»s in
our reading because we don't pay attention to what
I have just shown you. Suppose Ave have this sen-
tence : " I saw a cat, and a mouse, and a rat." Now
some pupils are careless and they read, "I saw a
cat," just as if that were the whole sentence. Then
they look a little further and see the next gi'oup,
" and a mouse," and tlu^y read that. Then they see
the rest of the sentence, "and a rat," and they read
that. But we know that is not the way to read.
We must first read the whole sentence silently until

MMMNwfiiaEUi

TiiiiU) Rkadek.

we g(^t tln^ |»ictur<5 in viuAi K''<>'UN 'i^'^^ tluMi we shall
be sure to rea<l tli(^ seiiteiH'e just us oiit^ of lis vvoiiM
speak it it* he n^ally saw the eat, the i"at, and tlni
mouse, at llui same time.

Here is a veiy good exauiple for you to study.
Head it through slowly and (faret'ully, and don't try
to read it aloud until you see clearly the pictui-(^ in
each group. If you do as 1 ask, you will get a
comph^te i)i(^ture of the way in which the young
soldier prepares to go to hattk; : —

" Rut whon the gray dawn stole into his Iciif,

.11(5 rose, and clad himself, and gii'fc his s\v<u'.l,
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent."

Can you not see the young waiTior rising from
his couch, di'essing himseh, girding on his swoi'd,
and so forth ! If you can, then I am sure you will
be able to uiake others see it as a complete jticturi^,
without breaking it up into many pieces, just as we
used to do in the first book. You see, he didn't rise
and stop ; and then dress himself and stop ; and
gird his swoi'd and stop ; but one action followed
the other, just as each car in a long., moving train
follows another. Each cai' is like a group of words,
and the whole train is like a eoniidete sentence.

S. U. Clark.

Tender-handed stroke a jiettle,
And it stings you fo' your pains,

Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk rernains.

—Aaron Htll.

The Sentinel's PorcH.

THE SENTINEL'S POUCH.

Privato William Banm, of tlio Prussian army, as
hi) stood iK'('rin<j^ into tlic darkness, was almost wisli-
iii<^ that th(^ Austi'ians and Hnssians, whoso camp-
fii'(\s ho could see alon^ the othci* side of the valley,
would make an attack, and give him something (4se
to do than shiver in the wet.

But they did not; and Baum, growing colder and
wetter every minute, wished himself back in his
snug little apple-oi'chard at tlie foot of th(^ "(riant
iMcmntains," where he used to be in bed every night
before the village clock tolled ten, after a good sup-
of brown l)read and cabbage.

" If the king had to be out in a night of this sort,"
he said aloud, "he'd soon be as tired of war as I

am.

"And how do you know^ he hasn't?" l)roke in a
sharp voice, close beside him.

At once Baum was himself again. Tlie fii'st sign
of a stranger approaching his post r(M'alled him to
his duty as a soldier.

His nmsket was at his shouldei- in a moment, and
his voice rang out clear and stern, —

" Stand! Who goes there ! "

" A friend," replied the unknown.

"Advance, fnend, and giv(^ th(»*pass-word."

"'The Prussian eagle.'"

" Pass, friend ; all's well."

aaei''

Thtki) Readeh.

T>(it iiistoiid of passing: on tho strnn f!:or on mo close
up to tlui sentry, wlio could Just lu.'ikc out by a stray
^Icain of nioonli^lit, that liis visitor was wi-apiuMJ iu
a horsc^maii's cloak, and had a hat drawn over his
ey(^s iu such a way as to hid(^ his face.

" You sccHi to have ratluM* (hinii) (quarters hcr(»,
coini'adc," said he. "Why don't you have a sniokc
to wai'ni yourself a bit?"

"Smoke!" replied the seiitry. "Why, wIktc do
you come from, brother, not to know that smokini;-
on duty is foibidden f"

"J^)ut suppose the kin^j^ave you leave to smoke!"
said th(^ sti'anjj^er.

"The kin^'!" answei-ed the soldiei", <iji'utfly. "What
would my captain say f Long before the king could
hear of it, the drumm<M''s cane would make ac(]uaint-
ance with my back."

"Pooh! the captain's not hei*e to see you. Out
with your pipe, man. I'll tell no tales."

"Look here, you rascal! " cried the soldier, in an
angry tone, " I half suspect you're some fellow who
wants to get me into trouble. Now, if that's so, you
had better be off befoivi worse comes of it; for if
you say any more I'll give you a cuff you won't
like."

" I'd like to see you try it," said the other, with a
laugh.

The soldier's only reply was a blow which, sent
the stranger's battered old hat flying into the air,
while he himself staggered back several paces.

"Very good," said he, recovering himself, and

The Skntinfj/s Porcir.

speaking in ({uito a differiMit toiio. "You'll liear of
this to-inon'ow, my inan, and ^ct wiiat yon (l(»s(»rvo,
never tear, (lood-ni^ht to yon."

He stooiMMl as ho spok<», and j)i<*kini»; n]) sonu^thinj;'
from the groniid, vanislied into tlu^ darkiH>ss.

The sudden change in liis unknown visitor's tone
and manner, and his ])ai'tin<»' thnnit, eaused soitn'
uiK'asiness to Baum. IIc^ began to fear that lie had
insuiti'd an oflHeer of liigli rank — a colonel at the
veiy least, perhaps even a geixM'al.

"However," thought he, "he doesn't know my
nanK\ that's one comfort; and he won't find it very
easy to dc^scribe the spot where I was posted, seeing
that the night is so dark."

But the next moment he gav(^ a terrible start, for
he had just missed his tobacco-poueh, Avhi<*h usually
liung at his belt ; and he remembered having seen
the stranger pick up scnnething as lu^ wiMit off. ft
must hav^e been the 2)oueh, and his name was upon
it in full.

Thei'e was not much sleep for poor Baum that
night, although he was relieved from guard half an
hour later. He tried to keep up his coui'age by
t(^lling himself over and over again that the g(^neral
could hardly punish him for obeying onhM's; but
even this did not comfort liim much, for in thosc^
days there were very few things which a g(^n(M'al
could not do to a private sohher.

The next moniing, sure enough, a corporal and
four men came to con(hi(5t Private William Baum
to headquarters ; and wIkmi lie ';ot there he found

¥smmmm

Third Reader.

all the generals standing around a little lean, bright-
eyed man, in a very shabby dress, whom Baum
knew at once to be the king himself — Frederick the
Great of Prussia.

*' Gentlemen," said Frederick, and with a sharp
glance at the unlucky sentry, '' what does a I^i'ussian
soldier disserve who strikes his king!"

"Death," answered the generals with one voice.

"Good !" said Frederick. "Here is the man."

And he held out a tobacco-pouch marked with
the name of "William Baum."

"Mercy, sire, mercy !" cried Baum, falling on his
knees. " I never thought it was your majesty with
whom I was speaking."

"No, I don't suppose you did," said the king,
clapping him on the shoulder ; " and I hope all my
soldiers will obey orders as well as you do. I said
you should get what you deserve, and so you sluill ;
for I'll make you Sergeant this very day."

And the king kept his word.

A HINDU FABLE.

It was six men of Hindustan,
To learning much inclined,

Who went to see the elephant,
(Though all of them wei'e blind),

That each by observation
Might satisfy liis mind.

A Hindu Fable.

The Firxt approached the el(»|)liant,

And happening to fall
Against liis broad and sturdy side.

At once l>egan to })a\vl, — .
" T clearly see the elephant

Is very like a wall ! "

The Second, feeling round the tusk,
Cried, " Ho ! what have we here,

So very round, and smooth, and sharp !
To me it is quite clear.

This wonder r2 an elephant
Is very like a spear ! "

The Third approached the animal.

And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands.

Thus boldly up and sj)ake :
" I see," quoth he, ''the elephant

Is very like a snake !"

The Fourth reached out his eager hand.

And felt about the knee ;
"What most this wondrous beast is like

To me is plain," said he :
*' 'Tis clear enough the elephant

Is very like a tree ! "

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Ha,id, " Even the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most ;
Deny the fact who can,

This marvel of an elephant
Is very like a fan ! "

Thihd JIeadek.

The Si.rth no .sooner li.ul bcj^un
About tho l)oa«t to grope,

Than, seizing on tlie swinging tail.
That fell witliin his scope —

" I see," (piotli lie, " the ele])hant
Is very like a rope ! "

And so tlM'ses men of Hindustan

Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stifl'and strong.
Though each was partly in the right

And all were in the wroni;.

THE EMPEROR'S WATCH.

Herr Alfred Krupp succeeded his fatli(n' in 1848
as the owner and manager of a small iron fomidry
at Essen in Prussia. He had only a few workmen,
and little money to pay them with; l)ut he knew
his work, and was always ready to adopt any new
invention which ho saw to bo useful.

Bef»)re he died, in 1887, his iron and steel foun-
dries gave work to more than twenty thousand peo-
ph^, and he was the owner of many iron and coal
mines. He was the first to use steel for making
camion, and he made steel cannon for the most of
the countries of Europe.

The Emperor William I. of Germany was a great
friend of Herr Krupp's, and used often to visit his

The Empekok's Watch.

foundry, and watch his liu>i:o steam -harnniers at
work on the great Ijlocks of steel which were Ix'ing
luinimered into the sliape of l)ig guns. One day, as
he went round the works along with some of liis
attendants, the owner pointed out to him a very
large steam-hammer which weigh(Ml fifty tons.

The man who had charge of this hammer was a
very clever workman, and the great gunmaker was
very proud of him. As they came up to him Hin-r
Krupp said to the Emperor, " This is Fritz and his
big hammer. He manages it so w^ell that he can
l)ring it down with all its force, and yet stop it a
tenth part of an inch above the anvil."

The emperor took out his watch — a beautiful
gold watch set with diamon<ls — and laid it on the
centre of the anvil. Then, with a smile, he ord(U-ed
Fritz to let fall the hammer and stop it before it
could touch the watch.

The emperor's attendants who stood by looked
on with surprise, and Fritz himself did not seem at
all willing to take the risk. But Herr Krupp urged
him to make the trial, and at his master's order he
"let go."

Down came the great blo(^k of steel with all its
force; but before it reached the watch, it was
stopped a if it had been a feather, and there it
remained, , > close to the watch that not even a
baby's fingi r could have been put between.

" Bravo ! well done ! " cried the delighted empei'or,
while those who stood by drew a h)ng breath, and
looked very glad to see the trial so well over. Hei'r

Third Readek.

Krui)^) iDoked inoro i)r()U(l than ever of his work-
man's skill.

He stooped down to lift the watch from the anvil ;
bnt the emperor stopped him. " No, no ; that wateli
belongs to Fritz. He has fairly earned it by the skill
he has shown." When he said this, a hearty eheer
burst from the workmen near, and rang through the
whole building.

Herr Krupp was not to be beaten in kindness by
the emperor ; so he took out his purse and handed
it to tho blushing Fritz along with the emperoi''s
watch, saying, as he did so, " Take this for the little
ones at home." Then another cheer rang through
the building, while the good old emperor himself
clapped his hands.

THE PRAVE THREE HUNDRED.

King Xerxes of Persia decided that Gree(*e must
be subdued. With a mighty army he crossed the
sea, and marched toward the mountain pass by
which alone he could reach his enemies. Messen-
gers were sent in a«.lvance to every city and state to
dcnnand earth and water in token of submission.
But the people of Greece were too brave and too
fond of liberty to yield without a struggle. So they
bade the messengers return to the king and tell him
they were resolved to be free.

Then there was a stir throughout all the land.
The men made haste to arm themselves, while the

Thk JJuave Thuee Hi!NI)«i',I).

women and cliildi'ou continued to pray to their gods
that their country might l)e si)ared.

Among the Greeks was none nioi-e ])rave than
Leonidas, the captain of a band of 8i)artans. AVith
Ills three hundred trusted companions he took up
his position in the j^ass towards which the Persian
army was niarcliing. Soon the heavy tramp of
armed soldiers made him aware that his enemies
were near. On they came, thousands and tens of
thousands, and yet Leonidas did not stir. He knew
that he must surely die with all his iKjble band, ])ut
he would hold the pass until his countrymen could
come to his assistance.

8(jme one brought him woi'd that the Pei|sian
])ownien were so many that their arrows would hide
the sun. "So much the better," he replied, "for
then we shall fight in the shade."

The Persians came forward and strov^e to break
through the little company, but the Si)artans met
them with their spears. The bodies of the slain
were heaped about them until the Persians had to
clamber over their own dead.

For two whole days they fought, and yet the
heroes stood their ground. Then the Persian king
learned of anotlier road by which he could cross
the mountains, and reiivh his enenues from the rear.
Soon the clash of arms told Leonidas that he was
surrounded by his foes. Yet he did not yield. The
spears of the Spartans were shattered, but they still
had swords and daggers. Another day they kept
up the unequal war, but when the hour of sunset

gg^'

Third Keadek.

canu', Leonidas hikI all his hand were slain. In the
place where they stood thcM'c^ was hut a heap of dead
bodies bristhn^ witli spears and arrows. Twenty
thousand Persians had fallen before that handful of
brav(^ men.

Thus it was that Xerxex entered Greec^e. But he
could not subdu(3 a peojih^ so brave as these. His
fleet was scattered, and his army of a million men
was driv(Mi back.

At Th(vi*mopyUe the brave three hundred were
buried, and over their grave was ei'(H'ted a monu-
ment on which was written tht3se words :

Go pas«er-by, at Sparta tell,
OlxHlient to her laws we fell.

READING LESSON IV.

*' When I was in Paris (I mean Paris, Ontario) 1
saw a great many pretty things."

Read this sentence carefully and you will find
something we have not had before : a group of words
in parenthesis.

You notice, we slioidd have very good sense with-
out this grouD. Read it : '' Wluui I was in Paris I
saw a great many pretty things."

So you see, the words " I mean Paris, Ontario "
are not as important as the rest of the sentence. You
might say they were thrown in after you had thought
of the other idea.

Heading Lesson 1\'.

Now, I want you to rrad tlu^ seiitciUM' aloud, leav-
ing out the group, " I mean Paris, Oiitai'io." After
you liav^e done this five or six times, then read the
whole sentence, keeping hi mind that the words in
l)areiithesis are not very important, l)ut just thrown
in to let people knoAV that you mean Paris in Ontario,
and not some other Paris.

The groups that are thrown hi am not always put
in parentliesis. But that does not mak<^ any differ-
ence in the I'eading. Here are a few examples.
I want you to j)ractice on them just as you did on
the first exani})le in this lesson.

1. "The king of England, who was a very })rave
man, won several victories over the French." .

2. " The largest school in our city, which is AVin-
nip^'g, has more than five hundrcMl childr(>n in it."

3. "During the Christmas vacation, which lasts
ten days, I went to see my grandmother."

4. " Frank did all his mother asked him to d(^; Imt
William, because he was careless and disolxMlient,
gave his mother and teacher a great deal of
trouble."

This last example makes very ch^ar what we have
l)een studying in this lesson. You see plainly that
the words, "b(M'ause he was careless and disob(;di(^nt,"
are put in simply to explain Avhy AVilliam gave a
great deal of trouble.

You must be veiy careful about this kind of sen-
tence, because there are a gi'eat many of tlu^ni on
every page, and you are sure to miss them if you
are careless.

TlilKD liEADEll.

There are two things I want you to do before we
have another lesson. First : For a few days, I should
like you to bring in four or ^\i^ examples (and I want
some good ones) of this kind of sentence, taken from
any i)art of your reading book. Second: I want
you to prepare, and very carefully too, for a lesson
to be read aloud in class, the following stanzas :
Stanza five of " The Burial of Sir John Moore."
Stanza four of "The Village Blacksmith."

—S. H. Clark.

A SERMON.

Whatsoe'er vou find to do,

Do it, boys, with all your might ;
Never be a little true.
Or a little in the right.

Trifles even

Lead to heaven,
Trifles make the life of man ;

So in all things.

Great and small things,
Be as thorough as you can.

Let no speck of falsehood dim

Spotless truth and honor bright ;
Who will love and honor him
That says any lie is white ?
He that falters,
Twists or alters
In his tale the slightest part.
May deceive me,

A Sekmon.

E.ut, belie vo rne,
He will never v.''m my heart.

Help the weak if you are strong' ;
Tjove the old if you are young ;
Own a fault if you are wrong ;

If you're angiy hold youv tongiK^ ;
In each duty
Lies a beauty
If your eyes you do not shut,
Just as sui'ely
And s(H_'ur(«ly
As the kernel in the nut.

If you think a word will please,

Hpeak it, if it be but true ;
Kindness you can show with ease,
Though no deed is asked from you.

VV^ords may often

Soothe and soften
Gild a joy or heal a pain ;

They are treasure.s.

Yielding pleasures
It is wicked to retain.

Whatever thing you find to do,
Do it, then, with all 3'^our might ;

Let your prayers be strong and true

Prayer, my lads, will ke^p you right.

So in all things,

Great and small thinijrs.
Be a Christian and a mau ;

And for ever,

Changing never.
Be as thorough as you can.

"5^

(52

Tiiiiti-) Keaukk.

THOR'S VISIT TO JOTUNHEIM.

Tlior, 11 10 God of tlio Northmen, hud hoard of
Jotiiiilioini, tho couutiy of tlio (Jiant Skiymir, and
nui<l(^ n[) liis mind to ^o tlioi'o, in ordor to try his
sti'ongth. So ho sot out, taking with him his ham-
mer, Miohiir, and two of his s(M-vants. Thoso wcn'e
Thialfi, th{^ swiftost of foot, and Loki, tho groat
oator, and tlioy trav^oUod toward ITtgard, tlio oapital
of Jolnnhoim.

WIkmi night foil th(\y woro in a groat forest. Look-
ing ahont in the gloom to find sholtoi", tli<y camo
upon what seemed to Ih^ a hnge Imilding with a door
that took up tho whole breadth of one end. All
night long tliey lay nnable to shH^j), on aeeonnt of
l(md thnndor wliieli sho^^- the building like an
eartlKpiake. When the daylight eame, they fonnd
that the thunder was only the snoi-ing of Bkrymir,
and that tlu^ Imilding was tho giant's glov^e.

Skrymir knew Thor, and pro[)osed that they
shonld ti'avel together. And so they travelled to-
gether all day. When night eame they eneamped,
and the giant lay down to rest under an oak tree.
Thor tried to open his bag of provisions, bnt found
that the giant had tied it np so tight that he eonld
not nntie a single knot. In a rage he swung ^liol-
nir and dealt the slo'^ping giant a mighty blow.
Skrymir awokc^, and said that lu^- thcmghtaleaf had
fallen on his breast. By and by they all lay (i>)wn
again, but the giant sn<>red so loud that Thor eonld

Tiioii's Visit to JoriNHEiM.

(;:i

got no sleep. So lie grasi)otl his ini,u:lity luunin<n'
with both hands and strnck tli«» mant «Mi!:ain. Skrv-
mil* opened his (^yes, ami said tliat n hnnch of moss,
t'allin<^ from the trees, must liave jiwakeiird liim. A
litllelM'fonulayhghtTliorpnt I'oilli nil liis sti-<Mi«;-|li,
and daslied th(^ mighty weapon against the giant's
skuU. Upon this tlie giant awoke, an<l remarked
that an aeorn liadfall(>n ni)on ]iis liead.

It was now near moi-ning, and all four started on
tlu'ir journey. They liad gone hut a litth^ way whru
Skrymir turned to the Northward, leaving TIkh*
and his companions to eontinue towai'd tlu^ east.
A short distance tVom them lay tlie city of Utgard,
and soon they were in tln^ pi'esenee of th(^ King.

Tlu^ King told them they fould not stay in the
city nnless they excelled in some thing. Where-
ui)on Loki pi'oposed a match at eating; ThiaKi
offei'cd to rnn a race; and Tlior said he would trva
(h'iidving ])out with anyone. ; ^ ^

A trough tilled with meat liaving heen set on
the hall tloor, Loki placed himself at one end. The
King commanchMi Logi to come out and compete
with liim. Each hegan to eat as fast as ho could,
until they met in the mi<hlle of the trongli. But it
was fonnd that Loki liad eaten only the fl(»sh, whereas
Log! liad devonred flesh, bones, and trough.

The King n(\\t commandiMl thatlfugi should run
a race with Thialfi' Tlu^y started, bnt llugi so far
outsti'ipped his competitor flat he was able to turn
bark after reaching the goa^i, and meet Thialti not
far from the starting-place. i

IT-

rmui) JIkadee^

Thru said tli<' Iviiig to Thor: "Tt wei'c better I'or
you to liave stayed at hotne, if yon lum ofiit no bet-
ter than your .servants." He them haih- his eup-
b(»arer to bi'in^ out the great dr-nkin^-horn. It
was not very hirge, })ut was of ^rc^at ieui^L "Now,"
eoutiniKuI tlui King, " any one of my siibjeets ou^jhl
to eni})ty this at a single draught, l»ut even the
weakest ean do it in tlii'ee.

Thor di'ank h)ng and deep, but Uie hcwti see iif»d
neai'ly as full as before ; after a mn^ond tml it «hh d
be eai'i'ied without sinlling; and wlu^n lie liad s«»t it
down the third time, lie found the wal r ou\} a
little diminish(Hl.

"You ai*e not very thirsty, or you would «'\ink
more," said the King. "You may now ti\, to lift
my eat from the grc^Uid."

Thor put foi'th his great strength three times, but
notwithstanding his efforts, he could not do more
than lift one of the eat's feet from the ground.

"I will give you one moi'e trial," said the King;
"you may wrestle with my old nurse Ella." Thor
wrestled migiitily with the the toothless old erone,
but the more he struggled, the firmer she stood; and
at last he was fon^ed down upon one knee.

The King here interfered, and the contests ceased.
The travellers were well entei'tained, and on the
morrow set out for home. Toward iiiglit they over-
took a traveller who turned out to be Bkrymir, and
they encamped in the very wood where they had
passed their first night together. To the giant Thor
related the story of his failure.

AVHREAK.

'^Nay," Slid IliO >^iaiit, ^'Imt you lmv(^ piM-t'oi'UKMl
jgMMfe mad wu^iMtMlul (1«mmIs. Ohscrvo mo clost'lv."
dl4 pnty ami saw tluit Skrymir and llu^ King
cm© ifciid th • samo ]hm*s()Ii.

*Now'," siiid Vat) King, **i haviudl along diMM'ivod
ytm, i •<h1 my walb^t with ii'on wiro .so tluit yon
fH)ivki iiot. u. . de it. Behold thoso threo chusms in the
luouiitaiii ; they are the marks of Miolnir, tho migldy
haiiinier, for I movod aside as each blow fell. Loki
<1« v(»un I ill the food; but Logi ^vas fir«^, and eon-
sir ^hI Irongli and all. Ilugi was Thought; and no
^» tin ean kcH^p pace with thought. One end of that
iiovu was in the ^oa; and the very oeeau has been
lowered by your deep drinking. It was wondei't'ul
to see sueh lifting and wrestling; for the cat is the
seipent that encompasses the earth, and the luirse
Ella is Old Age, whom nonc^ can overcome.

DAYBREAK.

A wiful camo up out of the sea,

And .said, "O mists, make room for me."

Tt liailed the .ships, and cried, "Sail on,
Ye mariners, the night is gone."

And hurried landward, far away.
Crying, "Awake ! it is the day."

It said unto the forest, " Shout !
Hang all your leafy banners out ! "
6

Third Reader.

It touched the woofl-birfl's folded wing,
And said, "O bird, awake and sing."

And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer,
Your chirion blow ; the day is near."

it whispered to tlie fields of corn,

" How down i\nd hail the coming morn."

It shouted through tlu^ ])elfry-tower,
"Awake, O bell ! proclaim the liour."

Tt crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
And said, "Not yet ! in quiet lie."

— Henry Wadatoorth Longjt'.lUno.

THE STORY OF JOSEPH.^!.

Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his chil-
di'c3ii, because he was the sou of his old age : and he
made him a coat of many colors. And his brethi'eu
saw that their father loved him more thau all his
brethren ; and they hated him and could not speak
peaceably imto him. And Joseph dreamed a dream,
and he told it to his brethren : and they hated him
yet the more. And he said unto them, Hear, I
pray you, this dream which I have dreamed: for,
behold, we were binding sheaves in the field, and lo,
my sheaf arose, and also stood upi'ight ; and, behold,
your sheaves came round about, and made obeisance
to my sheaf. And his brethren said to him, Slialt

viiim'X'iKm.Wif^^^Wrii^^S^^^^^^

.W^i-

The Stoky of Joseph.

thou, iiidcod i"«'igu over us! or shalt thou indeed
have doniiiiion over us? And they hated him yet
the more for his dreams and for his words. And he
dreamed yet another dream, and told it to his breth-
ren, and said, Behold, I have di-eamtnl yet a di'eam ;
and, behold, tlio sim and the moon and eleven stars
made obeisance to me. And he told it to his father,
and to his brc^thi'en; and his father rel)uk(Mi liim,
and said unto him, Wliat is this dream that thou
hast dreamed ! Shall I and thy mother iiud thy
brethren indeed itonie to bow down ourselves to thee
to the earth! And his bi'ethreu envied him; but
his fathe - kej)t the saying in mind.

And his brethi-en went to feed their father's flock
in Shechem. And Israel said unto Joseph, Do not
thy brethren feed the flock in Shechem I come, and
I will send thee unto them. And he said to him.
Here am I. And he said unto him. Go now, see
whether it be well with thy bi'ethren, and well with
the flock; and bring me word again. So he sent
him out of the vale of llel)ron, and he caniw to She-
chem. And a certain man found him, and, l)ehold,
lie was wandering in the field : and the man asked
him, saying, What K^eekest thou? And he said, I
seek my brethren : tell me, I pray thee, where they
are feeding the flock. And the man said. They are
departed hence : for I heard them say. Let us go to
Dothan. And Joseph went after his brethen, and
fomid them in Dothan. And they saw him afar off,
and before he came near unto them, they conspired
against him to slay him. And they said one to

J7^

()S

Third Reader.

another, Behold, this dreamer cometh. Come now
thi^refore, and let us slay him, and cast him into one
of the pits, and we will say, An evil beast hath
devoured liim: and wo shall see what will become
of his dreams. And Reuben heard it, and doUvered
hin] out of their hands; and said, let us not take;
his life. And Reuben said unto them, Shed no
blood ; cast him into this pit that is in the wilder-
ness, but lay no hand upon him: that he might
deliver him out of their hands, to restore him to his
father. And it came lo pass, when Josej)li was
come unto his brethrfMi, that they stript Josex)li c)f
his coat, the coat of many colors that was on liini;
and they took him, and cast him into the pit : and
the pit was empty, tln^re w xs no water in it. And
they sat doYvii to eat bread : and they lifted 4) tlunr
eyes and looked, and, behold, a travelling coinpany
of Ishmaelites came from Gilead, ^^ itli their camels
bearing spicery and balm and myrrh, going to carry
it down to Egypt. And Judali said unto his breth-
riMi, What profit is it if we slay our brother and
conceal his blood ! Couie, and let us sell him to the
Ishmaelites, and let no*- our hand be upon him ; for
he is our brother, our flesh. And his brethren
hearkened unto him. And there passed by Mi<lian-
ites, merchantmen; and they drew and lifted up
Joseph out of the pit, and sold Joseph to the Ish-
maelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they
brought Joseph into Egypt. And Reuben retui-ned
unto the pit; and, behold, Joseph was not in the pit ;
and he rent his clothes. And he returnc^d unto his

The Faieies of Caldon Low.

brethren, and said, The child is not ; and I, whither
shall I go I And they took Joseph's coat and killed
a he-goat, and dipped the coat in the blood; and
they sent the coat of many colors, and they l)ronght
it to their father ; and said. This have we foiuid :
know now whether it be thy son's coat or not. And
he knew it, and said. It is my son's coat; an evil
beast hath devom'td him ; Joseph is without donbt
torn in pieces. And Jacob rent his garments, and
put sackcloth upon his lions, and monrned his son
many days. And all his sons and all his daughters
rose up to comfort him ; but he refused to bo com-
forted ; and he said. For I will go dowai to the grave
to my son, mourning. And his father wept for him.
And the Midianites sold him into Egypt unto Poti-
pliar, an officer of Pharoah's, the captain of the

guard.

— Genesis,

THE FAIRIES OF CALDON LOW.

" And where have you been, my Mary,
And wliere have you been from me ? "

" I've been to the top of Caldon Low
The midsummer night to see ! "

" And what did you see, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon Tx)vv ? "

"T saw the glad sunshine come down,
Anti I saw the merry winds blow."

—IMP

Thikd Reader.

" And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon hill ? "

" I heard the drops the water made,
And the ears of the green corn fill."

" Oh ! tell me all, my Mary-
All, all that ever you know ;

For you must liave seen the fairies
Last night on the Caldon Low."

" Then take me on your knee, mother ;

And listen, mother of mine :
A hundred fairies danced last night.

And the harpers they were nine ;

"And their harp-strings rung so merrily
To their dancing feet so small ;

But oh ! the words of their talking
Were merrier far than all."

"And what were the words, my Mary,
That then you heard them say ? " —

" I'll tell you all, my mother ;
But let me have my way.

" Some of them played with the water.

And rolled it down the hill ;
* And this,' they said, ' shall speedily turn

The poor old miller's mill ;

" * For there has been no water

Ever since the first of May ;
And a busy man will the miller be

At the dawning of fbe day.

■I^i:;- '• . i'.'^

The Fairies of Caldon Low.

" 'Oh ! the miller, how he will laugh
When he sees the mill-dam rise !

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh
Till the tears fill both his eyes ! '

" And some they seized the little winds

That sounded over the hill ;
And each put a horn unto his nunith,

And blew both loud and shrill ;

"'And there,' they said, ' tlu' merry winds ^o

Away from every horn ;
And they shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow's corn.

"'Oh ! the poor blind widow,

Though she has been blind so long,
She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone,

And the corn stands tall and strontr.'

"And some they brought the brown lint-seed.
And flung it down from the Tx)w ;

•And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise.
In the weaver's croft shall grow.

" ' Oh ! the poor, lame weaver,

How he will laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field

All full of flowers by night !'

" And then outspoke a brownie.

With a long beard on his chin ;
'T have spun up all the tow,' said he,

* And I want some more to spin.

; ;1

111

^^^

Third Eeader.

"'I've spun a piece of hempen eloth,
And I want to spin another ;

A Httle slieet for Mary's bed,
Anfl an apron for her mother.'

" With tliat I could not help but lau^h,
And I laughed out loud and free ;

And then on the top of the Caldon Low
There was no one left but me.

" And all on the top of the Caldon I^)w
The mists wore cold and grey,

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.

" But, coming down from the hill-top,

I heard afar below,
How busy t';e jo^V miller was,

And how the wheel did go.

" And I peeped into the widow's field.
And, sure enough, were seen

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn,
All standing stout and green.

" And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
To see if the flax were sprung ;

And f met the weaver at his gate.
With the good news on his tongue.

" Now this is all I heard, mother,

And all that T did see ;
So, prithee, mak(^ my bed, mother,

l'\)r I'm tired as T can be."

—Mary Iloioitt.

The Story of Joseph.

THE STORY OF JOSEPH, U.

Then Josopli could not refrain himself before all
them that stood by him ; and he cried, Cause every
man to go out from me. And there stood no man
with him, while J< )seph made himself known unto his
brethren. And he wept aloud ; and the Egyptians
heard, and th(^ house of Pharaoh heard. And Joseph
said unto his brethren, I am Josi^ph ; doth my father
yet live f And his bn^hrc^n could not answer him ;
for they W(n'3 troubU><l at his presence. And Joseph
said unto his brt^lnvn. Come near to me, I pray
you. And they came near. And he said, I am
Joseph your brother, whom ye sold into Eg5q)t.
And now be not grieved, nor angiy with your^elv^es,
that ye sold me hither : for God did send me before
you to prestn"V(> life. For these two years hath the
famine biH>n in the land: and there are yet five
years in the which there shall be neither ploughing
nor hai'vest. And God sent me befoi-e you to })re-
stM've y(^)u a remnant in the earth, and to save you
alive by a great deliverance. So now it was not
you that sent me hither, but God: and he hatli
made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his
house, and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Haste
ye, and go up to my father, and say unto him. Thus
saith thy son Joseph, God hath made me lord of all
Egypt : come down unto me, t-arry not : and thou
shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou slialt be
near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy

Thikd Reader.

f children's children, and thy flocks and thy herds, and
all that thou hast : and there will I nourish thee ;
for there are yet five years of famine; lest thou
come to poverty, thou, and thy household, and all
that thou hast. And, Ix'liold, your eyes see, and the
eyes of my brother Benjamin, that it is my mouth
that speaketh unto you. And ye shall tell my father
of all my glory in Egypt, and of all that ye have
seen ; and ye shall haste and bring down my fathqr
hither. And he fell upon his brother* Benjamin's
neck, and wept ; and B(^iijamin wept upon his neck.
And he kissed all his brethren and we})t ui)on them:
and after that his brethren tidked with him. '■'

And the fame thereof was heard in Pharaoh's
house, saying, Joseph's brethren are como : and it
pleased Pharaoh well, and his servants. And Pha-
raoh said unto Joseph, Say unto thy brethrtiu. This
do ye; lade your beasts, and go, get you into the
land of Canaan; and take your father and your
households, and come unto me : and I will give you
the good of the land of Egypt, and ye shall eat the
fat of the land. Now thou art commanded, tliis do
ye, take you wagons out of the land of Egypt for
your little ones, and for your wives, and bring your
father, and come. Also regard not your stuif ; for
the good of all the land of Egypt is yours. And
the sons of Israel did so : and Joseph gave them
wagons, according to the commandment of Pha-
raoh, and gave them p]*o\dsions for the way. To all
of them he gave each man changes of i*aim<Hit; but
to Benjamin he gave three hundred pieces of silver,

'i»-i

Reading Lesson V.

and five changes of raiment. And to his father he
sent after this manner; ten asses laden with the
good things of Egv^t, and ten sht-asses laden with
corn and bread and victuals for his father bv the
way. So he sent his brethren away, arid they
departed : and he said unto them, See that ye fall
not out by the way.

And they went up out of Egypt, and came into
the land of Canaan unto Jacob their father. And
they told him, saying, Joseph is yet alive, and he is
ruler over all the land of Egypt. And his lieart
fainted, for he believed them not. And they told
him all the words of Joseph, which he said unto
them : and when he saw the wagons which Joseph
had sent to carry him, the spirit of Jacob their
father revived : and Israel said, It is enough ; Joseph
my son is yet alive : I ^dll go and see him before I

Ciie. —Genesis.

II ■ ■ ^.

READING LESSON V,

Suppose you were very busy studying your read-
ing lesson, and you were just about to read aloud a
sentence like this :

"There's a good time coniini?, ]M>ya,
A good time coming ! "

But when you came to the second *' good," let us
suppose somebody knocks at the door and you say,
" Come in." What has happened in your reading 1
You have broken off one thought suddenly and

Third Reader.

anotlKM* has couh) in its place. Li't us s(h' how such
a stiiitoiicc^ would look :

" Tlioiv's a ^(kmI time eoining, )><>ys,
■ A good — Come in."

Now, what is the diffoi'onco between this souteiice
aiul those we studied in our last h'ssou I It is this:
In the former lesson the new thought that was
thrown in was really a part of the i)rincipal thought ;
but in this the new thought has no conuection with
the pi'ineipal idea. In the previous lesson tlu^ gi'ouj)
that was thi'own in was a kind of explanation ; i'l
this lesson the first picture is driven entirely out ot
mind by the second.

Breaks in the thought are of many kiuds, and it
is very necessary that you shoidd be on th(^ look-
out for them. Here is an example of a kind you
will find quite often :

" 'Halt ! ' The dust-brown ranks stood fast.
'Fire ! ' out blazed the liHe-blast."

The words "halt" and " fire" are commands given
by the general ; and the sentence that follows each
of these words tells us what happened after the
commands were given.

Another kind of break is found in those selec-
tions in which there are two or more persons speak-
ing. As in this : " Frank said, ' Will you go to
school with me 1 ' and his brother said, ^ No, I don't
like it.' 'Not like school !' replied Frank, who was
very much surpriseil, *I would rather go there than
anywhere I know.' " You can see plainly that there

.,^,„^;vr«.VM^'xr:,«f.«.^S«l^«P^^,^^^

]\[.\it<n (IF THE Men of Hahi.f.cu.

is a bivak when tho ivador rluuigt's from ono person
to unotlun*.

Tho last kind oi break wo, siiull speak about in
this lesson is that which oeeui's between the stanzas
of a po(»ni or betwi-on tho paragraphs of a prose
seleetion. T \uhh\ not give any examples liere, for
you will find them on ev^ery page (►f your reader.
All I nee(l do is tell yon that the new paragi'aph or
the new stanza generally l)egins with a new thought,
so you must bo sure to get that new thought, and
hold it well in min<l, before you try to express it.

In closing this lesson I want to show you that you
may learn how to r(»ad such examples as we have
had, if you will but be cart^ful. You nnist be sure
to get each new picture before you utter a word.
Take the first example. You have read the first
line, "There's a good time coming, l)oys,'^ and you
are just about to repeat it. Now think what you
are going to bay, and" just as you come to the word
"good," imagine you hear a knocking, and say,
" Come in." If you will only think what the words
mean and see the pictur(\ there will be no trouble
about reading the example well.

—S. II. VI ark.

MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH.

Mei! of Harlech ! in the hollow,
Do you hear, like rushing billow.
Wave on wave that surging follow
Battle's distant sound ?

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Thihi) Reader.

'Tis the tramp of Saxon foenien,
Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen. — ■
Be they knights or liinds or yeomen,
Tliey shall bite the ground !

Loose the folds asunder,

Flag we corujuer under !
The placid sky, now bright on high.
Shall launch its boits in thunder.
Onward ! 'tis our country needs us.
He is bravest, he who leads us !
Honor's self now proudly heads us t
Camb'-ia, God, and Right !

Rocky steeps and i)asses narrow „..
Plash with spear and flight of ari-ow.
Who would think of death or sorrow ?

Death is glory now !
Hurl the reeling horsemen over !
Let the eai-th dead foemen cover !
Fate of friend, of wife, 6i lover, s^

Treuibles on a blow !

■§^ / t ; Strands of life ai-e riven ;

Blow for blow is given
: '/ III dead y lock or battle shock,

■ And mercy shrieks to heaven !

Men of Harlech ! young or hoary,
Would you win a name in story ?
Strike for home, for life, for glory !
Cambria, God, and Right !

-Williatn Dtithie.

Little Tom, the Chbtney Sweep.

LITTLE TOM, THE CHIMNEY SWEEP.

Tom and his master did not go into Harthover
House by tlie great iron gates, as if they had been
(hikes or bishops, but round the back way, and a
very long way round it was; and into a Httle back
door, and then in a passages tli(3 housekec^per met
them, in such a flowered chintz dressing-gown, that
Tom mistook her for my huly herself: and she gave
Grrimes soh^mn orders about '^ You will take care of
this, and take care of that," as if he were going up
the chimneys, and not Tom.

And Grimes listened, and said every now and
then, under his voice, "You'll mind that, you littl(i
beggar!" and Tom did mind, at least all that h(^
could. i\nd then the housekeep^n* turned them into
a grand room, all covered up in sheets of brown
paper, and bade them begin, in a lofty and tremend-
ous voice: and so after a whimper or two, and a
kick from his master, into the grate Tom went, and
up the chimney, while a house-maid stayed in the
room to wiitch the furniture.

How many chinuieys he swept I cannot say; but
he swept so many that he got quite tired, and puzzled
too, for they were not like the town flues to which
he was used, but such as are to be found in old
country-houses, large and crooked (»himneys, which
had been altered again and again, till they ran into
one another,

«■

Third Reader.

80 Tom fuii'ly lost his way in them ; not that ho
eared mueh for that, though he was in pitchy <hii'k-
ness, for he was as much at home in a chimney as a
mole is under ground; but at last, coming down as
ho thought the right chinmey, he came down tiie
wrong one, and found himself standing on the
hearthrug in a I'oom the lik(i of which he had never
seen before.

Tom had never soon the like. He had never been
in gentlefolks' rooms but when tlie carpets were all
up and the curtains down, and the furniture huddliMl
together under a cloth, and the pictures covered with
aj irons and dusters ; and he had often enough won-
dered what the I'oonis were like when they were all
ready for the quality to sit in. And now he saw, and
lie thought the sight very pretty.

The room was all dressed in white ; white window
curtains, white bed curtains, white furniture, and
white walls, with just a few lines of pink here and
there. The carpet was all over gay little flowers, and
the walls hung with pictures in gilt frames, which
amused Tom very much. There were pictures of
ladies and gentlemen, and pictures of dogs and
horses. The horses he liked, but the dogs he did not
care for much, for there were no bull-dogs amongst
them, not even a terrier.

But of the two pictures which took his fancy the
most, one was a man in long garments, with little
children and their mothers round him, who was
laying his hand upon the children's heads. That
was a very pretty picture, Tom thought, to hang in

Little Tom, the Chimney Sweep.

a lady's room ; for he could see that it was a hidy's
room by the dressts which lay about.

The other picture was that of a man nailed to a
a cross, which surprised Tom much. He fanci^xi
that he had seen gomethiiig like it in a shop window.
But why was it there I '* Poor man," thought Tom,
" and he looks so kind and quiet. But why should
the lady have such a sad picture in her room !
Perhaps it was some relation of hers, who had been
murdered by savages in foreign parts, and she kept
it there for a remembrance." And Tom felt sad,
and awed, and turned to look at something else.

The next thing Tom saw, and that, too, puzzl(3d
him, was a washing-stand, with jugs and basins,
and soap and brushes and towels, and a large bath
full of clean water. "What a heap of things all for
washing! She must be a very dirty lady," thought
Tom, " to want as much scrubbing as all that. But
she must be very cunning to put the dirt so well out
of the way afterwards, for I don't see a speck about
the room, not even on the ^ery towels." '

And then, looking towards the bed, he saw that
dirty lady, and held his breath with astonish-
ment.

Under the snow-white coverlet upon the snow-
white pillow, lay the most beautiful little girl Tom
had ever seen. Her cheeks were almost as white as
the pillow, and her hair was like threads of gold
spread all about over the bed. She might have
been as old as Tom, or maybe a year or two older,
])ut Tom did not think of that ; he thought only of

; I

; f

Thikd Reader.

her delicate skin and golden hair, and wondered if
she were a real live person, or one of the wax dolls
he had seen in tlu^ shops. Bnt when he saw her
l)i'eathe, h(^ made nj) his niiiid that she was alive,
and stood staring at her as if she had been an angel
out of heaven.

"No, she cannot be dirty; she never could have
been dirty," thought Tom to himself, and then he
thought, "Are all people like that when they are
washed r^ And he looked at his own Avrist, and
tried to rub the soot off, and wondered if it ever
would come off. "Certainlv I should look much
prettier then, if I grew at all like her.''

And looking round, he suddenly saw, standing
close to him, a little ugly, black, ragged figure, with
bleared eyes and grinning white teeth. He turned
on it angrily, "What did such a little black ape
want in that sweet young lady's room!" And
behold, it was himself, I'eflected in a great mirror,
the like of which he had never seen before. - -

And Tom, for the first time in his life, found out
that he was dirty, and burst into tears of shame and
anger, and turned to sneak up the chimney again
and hide ; and upset the fender and threw the fire-
irons down, with a noise as of two thousand tin
kettles tied to ten thousand mad dogs' tails.

Up jumped the little white lady in her bed, and
seeing Tom, screamed as shrill as any peacock. In
rushed a stout old nurse from the next room, and
seeing Tom likewise, made up her mind that he
had come to rob, plunder, destroy, and burn j and

The Wreck of the Hespekus.

(laslied at liiiii, as he lay over tlio foiidoi*, so fast
that she eaught him by the jacket.

But she did not hold hiiii ; Tom would have })eeii
ashamed to face his friends forever if he had been
stui)id enough to be caught by an old woman; so
he doubled under the good lady's arm, across the
room, and out of th(3 window in a moment.

He did not need to drop out, though he would
have done so bravely enough, for all under the win-
dow spread a tree, with gi'eat leaves, and sweet white
flowers, almost as big as his head. It was a mag-
iiolia ; and down he went, like a cat, and aci'oss the
garden lawn, and over the iron railings, and up tlu^
park towards the wood, leaving the old nurse to
scream murder and lire at the window.

- — Charles King sley.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed tlie wintry sea ;
And th(^ skipper had taken his little daughter,

To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now West, now South.

■■

run; I) liKADKJj.

Then uj) and spuki! an old sailor,
Had .sailed tin; Spanish Ahiin,

" l pray thco put into yonder port,
For I fear a liurrieane.

" Last ni<(ht, tlie moon liad a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see ! "

The skipper, lie hlew a whirt'from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder l)lew the wind,
A gal(! from the North-eji.st ;

Tlu! snow fell hissing in the ])i-in(',

And the l^illows frothed lik(> yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength ;
She shuddered and paused, h'ke a frighted steed,

Then leaped her cable's h>ngth.

"Come hitluH- ! conu; liither ! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so ;
Vov I can weatlier tlie roughest gale

That ever wind did blow."

Jle wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat

Against the stinging blast ;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring,

O say what may it be ? "
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! "

And he steered for the open sea.

The Wreck of the Hespehus.

" O father ! T hoar the sound of guns,

O say wha. may it 1x3 ? "
" Somo ship in distress that cannot live

In such an angry sea 1 "

" O father ! Tsee a gleaming light,

O say what may it 1k5 '( "
But the father answered never a woi-d,

A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stitf and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands u,nd prayed

That saved she might be ; '
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wavt;

On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear.
Through the whistling sleet and snow.

Like a slieeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's W(X3,

And ever the fitful gusts between

A sound came from the land ;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows.
She drifted a dreary wreck,

Amd a whooping bill<nv swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

Third Reader.

81io Htruck wlicro tho whito and Wocvy wavos

Tjookcd soft RH carded v/ool,
Hut tlio cruel rcKrk.s, they ^ored her side

Like tlie horns of an an<;ry hull,

IFer rattlin*^ shi'ouds, all sheathed in ice,
With. th(i masts went by the iMuird ;

Like a V(\ssel of <^lass, she stove and sajik
llo ! ho ! the breakers roared !

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-lK»ach,

A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,

Jjashed close to a driftin<^ mast.

Th(! salt sea was frozen on her breast,

Tho salt tears in her eyes ;
And he saw her hair, lik(^ th(^ brown sea-weed,

On the billows fall and rise.

Such was tho wreck of the Hesperus,
Tn the midnij^ht and the snow !

Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Wo(» !

—Henry Wadstvoi'th Long^fellow.

PROCRASTINATION.

Ono day a favmor, called Bernard, had been to
his county town to attend the market there ; and,
having finished his business, there still remained
some hours before he required to return to his home.
Under these circumstances, having nothing par-
ticular to do, he thought he might as well get an

'K0CUA8TINATI()X.

Opinion from a hiwyor. IT«> had often iKsird |)oo])]<'
speaking of a certain Mr. WiscMnan, vvlioso r('[)uta-
tion was so groat that ovon the judge did not like
to decide contrary to his opinion. The fanntM',
therefore, asked for Mr. Wiseman's address, an<l
without d<^lay ma(h> liis way to his house.

He found a hirge numl)er of p(M)pl(^ waiting to
ask the advice of the kiarned and ch'vt^r hiwyei", and
he h{i(1 to wait a long time. At hist his turn came,
and he was shown into the room. Mr. Wiseman
asked him to sit down, and then, setthng his spec-
tacles on his nose so as to get a comfortable look at
him, Ijegged him to state his business.

"Upon my word, Mr. Lawyer," ^aid the fai*mer,
nneasily twisting his hat in his hand, *' I can't say
that I have any particular business with you; but
as I happened to be in town to-day, I thought I
should be losing an opportunity if I did not get an
op'niion from you."

"I am much obligr/1 by your confidence in mc^,"
replied J^he lawyer. " You have, I suppose, some
lawsuit going on !"

"A lawsuit!" said the farmer, *' T should rather
think not! There is nothing T hato so nuicli, and
I have never had a quarrel with any one in my
life." - •

"Then, I suppose, you want some family property
fairly and justly divided ! "

" I beg your pardon, sir ; my family lives with
me in peace, and we have no neeci to think of divid-
ing our property." ;/ 4^;^ ;:

%-,.i-'-'-.

Third Reader.

" Perhaps, then, yon want some agi-eemeut drawn
np abont the sale or pnrchase of something f"

"Not at all! I am not rich enough to be pur-
chasing proT>erty, and not poor enough to wish to
sell any."

" Then what on earth do you want me to do, my
fricud V said the astonished lawj^ei*.

"•'Well, Ml-. Wiseman, I thought I had alread)^ told
you that," replied Bernard, with a sheepish laugh ;
"what I want is an opinion — I am ready to pay for
it. You see, here I am in town, and it would be a
gi'eat pity if I were to lose the opportunity."

^he lawyer looked at him and smiled ; then tak-
ing up ^us pen, he asked the farmer what his name
was. " Peter Bernard," said he, quite pleased that
the lawyer at last understood what he wanted.

"Your age!"

"Forty years, or somewhere about that."

"Your profession ?"

"My profession ! Ah, yes ! you mean ^^hat do 1
do ! I am a farmer."

The lawyer, still smiling, wrote two lines on a piece
of paper, folded it up, and gave it to his strange
client. " '

" Is that all," ciied Bernard ; "well, well ! so much
the better. I daresay you are too busy to write
nnudi. Now, how much does that cost, Mr. Law-
yer!"

"Half-a-crown."

Bernard paid the money, well-contented, gave a
bow and a scrape, and went away delightM that he

Procrastination.

had got his ojrwion, "When he reached home it was
four in the afternoon ; he was tired witli his jour-
ney, and he resolved to have a good rest. It h.ap-
penod, however, that his hay had been cut for some
days, and was now completely dry; and one of his
men came to ask if it should he earned in and
housed that night." ^

" This night ! " said the farmer's wife, " whoever
heard of such a thing I Your master is tired, and
the hay can just as well be got in to-moiTow." The
man said it was no business of his, but the weather
might v'hange, and the horses and carts were ready,
and the laborers had nothing to do.

To this the angry wife replied that the wind was
in a favorable quarter, and that they could not any-
way get the work done before nightfall.

Bernard, having listened to both sides of the ques-
tion, didn't Know how to decide, when suddenly he
remembered the paper the lawyer had given him.
" Stop a minute !" cried he ; "I have an opinion — a
famous opinion — an opiidon that cost me half-a-
crown. That's the thing to put us straight. You
are a grand scholar, my dear ; tell us what it says."
His wife took the paper, and, with some little diffi-
culty, read out these two lines:

"Peteh Beiinakd, never put off till to-morkow
what you can do to-day."

'^ There's the very thing ! " cried the fanner.
*' Quick ! out with the men and the carts, and we'll
have the hay in at once."

! 1 1I

Third Reader.

V His wife still grumbled, but it was of no use;
Bernard was obstinate, he declared that he was not
going to pay half-a-crown for nothing, and that, as
he had got an opinion from his lawyer, he would
follow it whatever happened. In fact, he set the
example himself, and urging his men to the greatest
expedition, he did jiot retiuii to his home till all the
hay was safely housed. . , - '

Whatever doubts his wife might have entertained
as to his wisdom, were fully put at rest by the
result; for th« weather changed suddenly during
the night ; an unexpected storm burst over the val-
ley; and when she woke in the morning she saw
running through the meadows, a brown and turbid
flood, carrying in its current the newly-cut hay of
her neighbors. All the fanners close by lost their
hay, and Bernard alone had saved his. Having
experienced the benefits which followed obedience
to the advice of the lawyer, Bernard, from that day
forward, never failed to regulate his conduct by the
same rule, and in course of time he became one of
the richest farmers of the district. Nor did he for-
get the service which Mr. Wiseman had rendered
him, for he sent him every year a present of two fat
fowls, in remembrance of his valuable advice ; and,
whene er he had occasion to speak to his neigh-
bors about lawyers, he always said that " after the
Ten Commandments, there was nothing that should
be more strictly followed that the opinion of a good
lawyer."

The Bettek Land.

THE BETTER LAND.

"I liear thee speak of the \)etU}v IhikI ;
Thou cair.st its children a hai)py band :
Mother ! oli, where is that radiant shore ?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no moi-e ?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle bouglis ?"
" Not there, not there, my child !"

" Is it where the feathery palm-trees ris(^
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ?
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
AVhere fragrant forests perfume the breeze ; '
And strange, bright birds, on their starry 4ings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?"
" Not there, not there, my child ! "

" Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ?
Where the burning rays of the ruby shnie.
And the diamond lights up the secret mine.
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand,—
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? "
"Not there, not there, my child !"

" Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy.

Ear hath not Iieard its deep songs of joy

Dreams cannot picture a world so fair

Sorrow and death may not enter there :
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ;
For Ijeyond the clouds, and beyond tlie tomb-
It is there, it is there, my chihl ! "

—Mrs. Hemans.

TiiiKD Eeadeh.

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.

WlKMi Fk)

Niirlitinirak

littl(

iKMi r loronce iMgutinji^aie was a very lime gir.,
and living in a village in Derbyshire, everybody
noticed liow kind she was to other people and to
ai 1 i 1 nals. E very person and every animal loved her ;
she made friends with even the shy squirrels.

There lived near the village an old shepherd
named Roger, who had a favorite sheep-dog called
Cap. One day Florence was riding with a friend,
and she saw Roger feeding his sheep. But Cap was
not there, and the sheep W(M'e running about in all
directions. Florence and her friend stopped to ask
the shepherd what had become of his dog.

" Oh," ho replied, " Cap will never be of any more
use to me. He will have to be killed."

" Killed ! " said Florence. " Roger, how wicked
of you to say so ! What has poor Cap done ! "

"//e has done nothing," replied Roger; "but a
cruel boy threw a stone at him y(^sterday and broke
one of his legs." And the old shepherd wiped away
the tears which filled his eyes. " Poor Cap ! " he
said, " he was as knowing as a human being."

Florence and her friend rode on to the shepherd's
cottage, and went in to see the poor dog. Wlien
the girl called hhn "poor Cap," he began to wag
his tail. Then he crawled from under the table
and lay down at her feet. She took hold of one of
his paws, patted his rough head, and talked to him
while her friend examined the injured leg.

Floheuce Nightincule.

of
m

It was badly swollen, and it liurt hiiri voiy much
to have it touched; but though he moaned witli
pahi, ho licked the hands that were hurting him, tor
he knew that it was meant kindly.

"It's only a bad bruise, no bones broken," said
Florence's friend. "Rest is all Cap needs; he will
soon be well again."

"I am so glad !" said Florence. " But (.'an we do
nothing for him f he seems in such pain."

"Plenty of hot water to bathe his leg would l)oth
ease the pain and help to cin*e him."

Florence lighted the fire, got ready some hot water,
and began to bathe the poor dog's leg. It was not
long before he began to feel less pain, and he tri(Ml
to show his thanks by his looks and by wagging
his tail.

On their way back they met the old shepherd
coming slowly homeward.

"O Eoger!" cried Florence, "yon ai*e not to lose
poor old Cap. We have found that his leg is not
broken after all."

" Weil, I'm very glad to hear it," said the old man ;
" and many thanks to you for going to see hini.'^

The next morning Florence was up early to bathe
Cap's leg, and she found it much better. The follow-
ing day she bathed it again, and in two or thi'ee days
the old dog was able to look after the flock again.

This happened many years ago, and that kind-
hearted little girl grew up to be the kindest and
bravest of women. She spent her youth in learning
how to nui'se the sick, and how to manage hospitals,

Thikd Reader.

During the Crimean War slio wont out at the
head of a band of trained inirses to take eare of our
wounded soldiers, wlio were very badly off for want
of proper care and good hospitals. 8he soon had
ten thousand si(*k men to look after, and she eouhl
scarcely find time for rest or sleep. At one time her
hard work made her very ill.

Since then she has done a great deal to improve
our hospitals at home. Her wliole life had been
spent in helping the sick, and especially those who
are poor. . " :^ :ycL:: . -.■';-'■.: '^^ :■,...■■ ;;'>;^,' :;::.:■ :.- . ■^■•■'=<-^;

SANTA FILOMENA.

:;^.<

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thouglit,

Our hearts, in glad surprise,

To higher levels rise.

The tidal waves of deeper souls,
Into our inmost being rolls.
And lifts us unawares
Out of all meaner cares.

Honor to those whose words or deeds
Thus help us in our daily needs.
And by their overflow
Raise us from what is low !

Thus thought I, as by night I read
Of the great army of the dead.
The trenches cold and damp,
The starved and frozen camp, —

le
Lir
ut
id
Id
er

Santa Filomena.

The wounded from tlio battle-plain,

In drear;y hosi)itals of pain,
The cheerless corridors,
The cold and stony floors.

Lo ! in that liouse of misery

A lady with a lamp T see

Pass throuirh the ^dimmerin«< i^loom
And flit from room to room.

ISS.

And slow, as in a dream of blis,'.,
I'lu^ speechless sufferer turns to kiss
Her shadow, as it falls
Up(m the darkening walls.

As if a door in heaven should bo
C)})ened, and then closed suddenly,
The vision came and went,
The light shone and was spent.

On England's annals, through the long
H(M'eafter of her speech and song,
That light its rays shall cast
From portals of the past.

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand
In th(^ great history of the land,

A noble type of good,

Heroic womanhood.

Nor even shall be wanting lu^-e
The palm, the lily, and tho spear,

The symbols that of yore

Saint Filomena bore.

— Ilenrfi Wadsworth Longfellow.

=?«=

Tniiii) T?EAi)EU.

READING LESSON VI.

Let us look at the following sentence : " I heard
William say it." Can yon read the sentence now !
I should say you could not, and my reason is, that
you ai'e not quite sure of its meaninjj:. L(»t us see
what that meaning is.

One jxM'son might mean that he had heard William
say it, hut that you had not. How would you rea<l
the sentence then? Another person might mean,
*' I am sure William said it, for I was there to hear
him." How would you express that ! Again, a
third person might mean that he was sure George
or John had not said it, but 'William. How would
you read that!

We learn from this another reason why we nnist
use gr^at care in preparing our reading lesson. You
see, if we do not, we shall not stop to consider just
what the sentence means, and then in reading we
shall not express the author's meaning. Let us try
a few more examples. In each make up your mind
just what you want to say, and then say it as if you
meant it.

Example 1. — " I like geogi'aphy better than I do
history." Now, if you have been talking to a friend
about the studies you like best, and he has just said,
"I like geography as well as I do history," how
would you read the above example ! Of course, you
see that the main idea in your mind would be to tell
him that you liked geography not only as well as.

Keadino Le:sson \'1.

ist

l)U

•y
1(1

;)U

do
1(1

11
as,

but better tliaii history. Well then, now you may
read the exani2)le.

ExA^iPLE 2. — " I should rath(>r be a lawyer than a
doctor." Suppose hi this ease a fTiend has said,
"My father wants me to be a doetor." How would
you then read the sent(Mic(v?

Example >\. — "Qu(M»n Victoida has rei^iuMl longer
than any otliei* ni( march who ever sat upon the
English throne." Suppose you are tvlUiig this to
your classmates, and that vou have not been talking
about Queen Victoria before, but you want only to
give tli(*m a piece of information.

Let us renu^mber, then, that every sentence has a
a principal, or, as we sometimes say, a central id(^a.
We need be extremely careful to get that central idea,
and if we liave been, we notice that certain words
will stand out very prominently in our reading.
This is tiTie because reading is just like speaking.
If some one asks you where you are going, and you
are going to school, what do you think off You
don't think of each word of your answer; you think
only one idea — school. So you say, "I am going
to school," and you make the word "school" very
prominent, or important. " School " is the central
idea.

Until our next lesson I want you to study every
sentence of every reading lesson, bearing in mind
this very important fact regarding the c(mtral id(ia.
Every sentence has such a central idea, and until
you have found it you cannot read the sentence.

' S.ir. Clark.

KXt

Thihd Keadek.

THE GENEROUS CLOUD.

"All things are l)oautiful to-iii<j:lit, oxcopt inys(»lf,"
said a dull, crecpint;' mist, that hovered over a swamp.
"Th(5 moon and the l)n<;ht stars a/e beautiful; the
hills, aud the woods, and the rivers are beautiful;
but how hideous / look ! And what is my birth-
phice? A swamp, which men hate and avoid!"
Thus IxMnoaning hei'si^lf, the mist eontinued to creep
sluggishly over the siu'fac(i of the marsh.

Suddenly, an evening bin^eze came dancing ovc^r
the hills, fresh and full of life. At his approach tlu^
mist began to rise, brightcniing as she rose, for the
moon shone full upon her. The breeze then laid
hold of her, and bore her swiftly on his wings far
up into the sky ; and she became a (?loud.

Meanwhile the sun arose, and m<*n looked forth
from their cottages on the fields sparkling with dew ;
they looked also to the sky, and saw a glorious cloud
sailing over the distant hills. " We may hope for
rain to-day," they said ; and went cheerfully to their
labors.

The heat increased, and the men grew weary ; th(»
earth was hard and dry, and scar(*ely could their
spades turn up the flinty soil. The Cloud meanwhile
moved her beauty across the heavens, yet not with
pride; for she remembered her lowly birtliplace:
slie longed to prove her gratitude by doing good.

The weary men looked upward. " AVould," they
said, " that yonder cloud might bring us rain ; for

The Generous Cuh i>.

101

tlu^ strciiins are dry, mid oiir cattli^ arc^ in immmI ot*
watci-." "Othat I could help you!" oxclaimcMl tli«'
Cloud. Scarcely had she spoken ^vllen the ))reeze
came back a<^ain, and, liastcniinjj: toward the cloud,
said to her, " Thy wisli is heard ; but art thou will-
ing to become a sacrifice ? "

The cloud hesitat(Ml for a mouKMit. Rhe thou^-lit
of h(M: beauty and freedom, floating to and fro in
the cl(»ar sky, and reflecting tha brightness of the
sun. But again faint voices reached liin* tVom the
earth: " We are perishing, we and our children and
our cattle. O beauteous cloud, wilt thou not revive
us!" "I am willing," said the cloud.

Forthwith the wind drew nigh, and drove her
with haste across the heavens. Her l)eauty vanished :
she became black and fearful to look ui)on ; and her
brother, the wind, roared behind her with a terriblii
voice. The loftiest trees bent under the tempest,
and men hastened to their homes for shelter.

In a moment the wind was hushed. Lightning
gleamed from the cloud ; thunder was heard ; and
then a torrent of rain descended. The earth drank
it in, the dry clods be^'^ame soaked, and the thirsty
fi(^lds revived.

Soon the sun broke forth, lighting the earth with
beauty, and causing the rain-drops to glitter in his
beams. Across the bosom of the cloud rested a
beauteous rainbow, emblem of that love which made
her willing to become a sacrifice for the good of men.
And a sacrifice she was; for, as the sky gi-ew more and
more brigiit, she melted away, and was no more seen.

■I

102

TllIKl) T?EAI)FJl,

THE daffod: S.

I wjiiulrrcd lonely as a, cloud

That floats on lii^li o'er val«'s aii<l IijIIh,
AVJH'ii all at onco 1 saw a crow* I,

A liost of <;jol(i('?i (lallodils ; ^

15«'sido tli<i Jako*b(ni(»atli tlics tn»<»s,
Fluttering and dancin*^ in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on tho milky way,

Tlu^y streitched in nt^ver-tnulini^ line
Alonj^ tho inar<^in of a bay :

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced ; but, they
Out-did 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 had brought

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood.

They flash upon that iiiward eye
Which is the bliss ot solitude ;

And then my heart with pleasure fills

And dances with tlie daffodils.

— William Wordstvorth,

A Swim fok Life.

KKJ

A SWIM FOR LIFE.

u rni

The hunt is ovor, yoniiK^ttu*. Tho (l<H»r must
litive taken to tlio liills. Tho^e is no nso in watch-
ing longer."

Tliis speech was welcome enough to Joe Benton,
for he had stood on a rocky point on the shore of
tlie lake, watching for the d(H^r sin(;e daylight, and
it was now nearly noon. Joe put his rifle into the
skiff, an<l rowed tow^ard the small island Avhere the
party of deer-hunters was encamp^Mi. The other
hunters decided to spend the rest of the day in
duck-shooting farther up the lake; hut Joe was
tu*ed, and he offered to keep house while the othoi's
were away. i

The early twilight was coming on, and Joe nuist
have been dozing a little, when he was startled ])y
hearing the baying of hounds. He ran down to the
beach w^here his skiff was moored, and listened.

As he looked out on the lake he saw there a sight
to gladden a hunter's eyes. Not a hundred yards
away a huge buck was swimming along near the
bank ; but he liad already seen the boy, and inst(3ad
of striking out into the lake, he was skirting the
shore, so as to avoid the island.

There was no time to be lost. Without going back
to get his rifle, Joe jumped into his boat, and rowed
so as to head off the deer from the land and drive
him into the lake. The buck tossed his antlers, and

1()4

Thuid Keader.

K.«

now started boldly to^'^ards the opposite shore of
the lake. Joe (30uld easily keep alongside j but how
wa^ he to kill his game ? He wished for his Win-
chester rifle, which was standing in a comer of the
hut with its chambers full of cartridges I

There was a way of killing a swimming deer whi(»h
he had heaid of, but had never tided. This was to
drov-^n it, by catching its hind legs and forcing its
head below the surface.

Rowing close to the deer, he dropped his oars,
and, as the animal gave a great plunge, he caught
one of its hind legs with his light hand; but he
could not reach the other leg.

The animal turned furiously upon its pursuer, and
threw both front feet and half its body upon the
gunwale. The little boat capsized, and Joe fell into
the water.

In a moment he came to the surface, half-bUnded
by his sudden plunge. The boat was floating bot-
tom up some yards away. Joe began to swim to-
waivls it.

An angiy snort behind him caused him to turn
his head. There, coming towards him, not ten feet
away, was the buck, its eyes flashing angiily. Joe
knew that an old buck when brought to bay some-
times shows fight. On land, deer are timid, shy
(5i*eatures ; but here the case w^as different. The
buck was a much better swimmer than the boy,
and seamed to know it.

Joe saw that the deer would be upon him before
he could reach the boat. Just before the angry

A SwiM FOR Life.

105

creatuve reacli(Ml liiiii, lio timicd and divod, and took
several rapid strokes und(n' water. VVlieii lie rose
to the surface, he was elosi^ to the deer, and Avith a
great effort, he flung hmiself upon the buck's back,
and grasped its antlers.

Then began a struggle in the like of which Joe
had never before taken part. The animal threw
itself about furiously in its endeavor to get 7 Id of
its rider. But the boy had a strong hold with both
hands and knees, and clung with desj)erate tenacity.

At first Joe enjoyed his wild ride. But he soon
be(^ame exhausted. A few more struggles on the
deer's part would compel him to let go, Fortu-
nately the animal was also gi-owing tired, and would
need all its strength to reach the shore. But now a
new danger arose. Suppose it should not hav(^
strength enough to carry him ashore ? H(^ hims(*lf
felt unable to swim a dozen yards.

They were nowuot more than a quarter of a mile
from land, but the bu<;k was gi^owing very weak.
Joe slipped off its back, and holding himself up by
placmg one hand on its antlers, he swam alongside.
They now made a little more headway. The dcMu-
made no effort to harm its companion in danger.
Joe was dizzy and weak, but he could see the bank
not more than a hundred yards away. Would they
ever reach it I Every few yards the deer's head
went under water, and it was evident that it could
swim but little further with the boy's weight to
support.

A feehng of pity made Jo(^ let go the deer, and

Sift

106

Thihd IIeadek.

the two swam slowly along, side Ijy side. The boy's
strength was almost gone and the water was gurg-
ling in his ears, when he heard a shout behind him,
and he was caught by a strong arm and drawn into
a boat

As Joe lay against the side of the boat, a man on
the seat next him raised his rifle, but the boy struck
up the barrel.

" The deer belongs to me if to anybody," he said.

*• and I want to let him go."

Joe's friends, the party of duck-lmnters, looked at
him with suiprise ; but no one offered to molest the
buck, which climbed ashore ainl disappeared in the
woods.

That evening, when Joe told his story, the general
opinion was that he had done right.

" When Joe is tellmg of this day's work," said one
old hunter, " to point to a pair of antlers would not
be so good an ending to his story, as to say that he
saved the life of the deer that towed him ashore."

THE BROOK SONG.

Little Brook ! Little Brook !
You have such a happy look —
8uch 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.

The Bkuok JS(^ng.

107

Little Brook, .sing to me,
Hing about a bumble l)ee,
That tumbled from a lily-bell, and grumbled mumbiingly,
J3e<^;ause lie 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 braided centre of your current swift and
strong,
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 m,4ody.
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 :
Hing him ail the songs of summer till he sinks in softest sleep ;
And then sing soft and low
Through his dreams of long aga—
Sing back to him the rest he used to know.

—James Whit comb Riley.

Fancies, like wild flowers, in a night may grow.

But thoughts are plants whose stately growth is slow.

T"^

108

Thuid IIeadek.

BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.

King Bruce of Scotland flung liiinself down in a lonely mood

to think ;
'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, but his heart was

beginning to sink,
For he liad been trying to do a great deed to make his people

glad.
He had tried and tried, but couldn't succeed, and so he became

quite sad.

He flung himself down in low despair, as grieved as man

could be ;
And after a while as he pondered there, "I'll give it all up,"

said he.
Now, just at the moment a spider dropped, with its silken

cobweb clew,
And the king in the midst of his thinking stopped to see what

the spider would do.

'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome, and it hung by a rope

so fine,
That how it could get to its cobweb ho»ne King Bruce could

not divine.
Tt soon began to cling and crawl straight up with strong

endeavor,
But down it came with a slipping sprawl, as near to the ground

asi ever ;

Up, up it ran, not a second it stayed, to utter the least

complaint.
Till it fell still lower, and there it lay, a little dizzy and faint.
Its head grew steady — again it went, and travelled a half -yard

higher,

BllUCE AND THE SPIDEii.

109

Twas a delicate th.vad it had to tread, and a road wliere its
feet would tire.

Again it fell and swung Ix^low, but again it quickly mounted,
Till up and down, now fast, now slow, nine brave att^Mupts
were counted.

" Sure," cried tlu; king, « that foolish thing will strive no more
to climb.

When it toils so hard to reach and cling, anfl tumbles every
time."

But up the insect w(>nt once more, ah me, 'tis an anxious
minute,

He's only a foot from his cobweb door, oh, say will he lose or
'/in it ?

Steadily, steadily, inch by inch, higher and higher he got.
And a bold littK^ run, at the very last pinch, put him into 1
native spot.

" Bravo, bravo !" the king cried out, "all honor to those who

The spider up there defied despair ; he conquered, and why

shouldn't I?"
And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind, and gossips tell the tale
That he tried once more as he tried before, and that time he

did not fail.

!,
?

ing

Pay goodly heed, all you who read, and Ixjwaiti of sayi
"I can't,"

'Tis a cowardly word, and apt to lead to Idleness, Folly and
Want.

Whenever you find your heart despair of doing some goodly
thing.

Con over this strain, try bravely again, and remember tl
S[)ider and King.

—Eliza Cook.

110

Thikd Rijadek.

THE TRAVELED PROGS.

Forty miles apart, as the stork flies, stand tlie
gi'eat cities of Ozaka and Kioto, in Japan. Tlie ont^
is a city of ditches and bridgcvs ; the other is a city
of green hills set with flowers.

In the good old days long, long ago, there lived
two frogs, one in a well in Kioto, the other in a
pond in Ozaka.

Now it is a saying in Japan that the frog in the
well knows not the ocean ; and the Kioto frog had
so often heard this said by the maids who came to
draw water, that he made up his mind to go abroad
and see the world and the ocean.

" I'll see for myself," said Mr. Frog, as he packed
his bag and wiped his spectacles, " what this ocean
is that th(^y talk abont. I don't believe it is half so
deep as my well, where I can see the stars even in
daylight."

The frog told his family of his plan. Mrs. Frog
cried at first, to think of his going, but drying her
eyes with her paper handkerchief, she tied up a little
l)ox full of boiled rice and snails for him to carry,
and he took his staff and set out.

" Good-bye," he cried, with a tear in his eye, as he
walked away.

"Good-bye; do not walk too fast," called Mrs.
Frog and the children together.

Old Mr. Frog, being now on dry land, saw that
the other animals did not h^ap, but walked, and not

THK TltAVELHD FllOGS.

ill

wishing to be laugliod at, lie, too, began to walk up-
right on his hind legs.

Now it happened about this time that the frog in
Ozaka, by the ocean, had became tired of his life on
the edge of the lotus-flowered pond.

" Alas ! this dull lif e,'^ said he. " If out of the mud
can come the lovely lotus, why shouldn't a frog he-
come a man ? If my son should go abroad and sc^c
the world, why shouldn't he be as wise as anylKxly 1
I'll try it. I'll send my son to Kioto at once."

Well, you must know that the old frog from
Kioto and the young frog from Ozaka each started
from his own home the same day, and by and by
they met on a hill half way between the two cities.

Both were footsore and \ovy tiied, because of
their unfroglike manner of walking, for the yoimg
frog had also thought best to walk like other tra-
vellers he met.

"Good morning," said the young fi-og to the ol<l
one, falling on all fours, and bowing his head to the
ground three times, as the young should always
meet the old.

" (rood day," said the old frog. " I am from the
well of Kioto. I started out to see the ocean at
Ozaka, but I am so tired that I think I'll give it up
and just take a look from this hill."

"I am from the lotus-pond of Ozaka," said the
young frog, " and I set out to see the city of Kioto."

" Well," said the old frog, wiping his face, " sup-
pose we save ourselves the trouble of this long
walk. This hill is half way between the two cities.

\V2

Third Keader.

#1
I

M
■X-
-'■),

If we look fi'om liere, I can see Ozaka and this
ocean they talk about, and you can see Kioto and
th(^ hills."

" Happy thought ! " cried the young frog.

Then they both stood up on their hind legs, and
stretching upon their toes, h(4d ea(4i othei* up, rolb^d
their goggle eyes, and looked, as they supposed, at
the places they wished to see.

Now, as every one knows, a frog's eyes are in
front when his head is down, and bt?hiiid wln^n he
stands up, so each was really looking back upon his
own town lnst(^ad of ahead upon the other town.

Long and carefully they looked, until their legs
and toes were so tired that they dropped down again
upon all fours.

"Dear nie," said the old frog. "For all that I
can see, Ozaka looks just liki^ Kioto, and as for the
ocean, I did not see any. I don't Ix^Ueve there is
any ocean."

"For my part," said the young frog, " I shall not
go any farther, for I see that Kioto is as like Ozaka
as one grain of rice is like another."

Thereupon each said he was glad he had not taken
a longer walk all for nothing, and after shaking
hands and exchanging many compliments, the two
took leave of each other.

Dropping again into a frog's hop, they leaped
back in half the time they had taken to walk, the
one to his well, and the other to his ditch, each sui'e
that he had seen the world and learned a great deal
about it.

Twenty Yeaiis Ago.

113

TWENTY YEARS AGO.

I'vo wandered in the villa,i,'e, T(mi, I've sat ])eneath tlu^ tree,
Upon the school-houso playing-ground, which shcltcr'd you
and me, [know,

But none wen^ there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to
That play'd with us upon tiie green, some twenty years ago.

TIk; grass is just as green, Tom, — })arefooted boys at play
Were sporting just as wo did then, with spirits just as gay ;
But master sleeps upon the hill, which, coatcnl o'er with snow,
Afforded us a sliding-place, just twenty years ago.

The old school-house is alter'd now, the benches are replaced

By new ones very like the same our pen-knives had defaced ;

But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and
fro, —

Its music just the same, dear Tom, as twenty years ago.

The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading
beech,

Is very low, — 'twas once so high that we could almost reach ;

And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,

To see how much that I had changed since twenty years ago.

Near by the spring, upon the elm, you know I cut your name, —
Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, — and you did wiine
the same ; [but slow.

Some heartless wretch hath peel'd the bark — 'twas dying sure,
Just as the one whose name we cut, died twenty years ago.

My eyelids had been dry, Tom, but tears came in my eyes,
I thought of her I loved so well — those early broken ties ;
I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew
Upon the graves of those we loved some twenty years ago.

114

TmitD Keadek.

And Himw avv. in the? cliurchyard laid — .sonui sleep iNMicatli tho

Hca,

But few ani left of all our class, except iri<; you ami mo ;

And when our time shall c;om(^, U'om, and we ar<5 eailM to j^o,

I hope 1/hey'll lay us where wo play'd just twenty years aj^o.

READING LESSON VII.

If your class were to have a contest with aiiothoi
class, let lis say in spelling, and your class were to
come out victorious, you would, no doubt, feel very
joyful over the result. Now, let us suppose that
after tho victory one of the nicaibers of the class
should get up on his seat and wave his hand above
his head, crying: "Three cheers for our class!"
Would there be any difference between the way in
which ho sj)oko those words and the way in which
he would read the same words if they came in a
sentence like this: "If we win I shall give three
cheers for our class."

Of course, you will see at once that there would
be a great deal of difference. In the first place, he
wuLild be very joyful, and perhaps excited, and this
joy and excitement would get into his voice, and he
would call out, " Three cheers for our class," with a
great deal of feeling, or emotion; and everybody
would see at once just how rejoiced he was. Now,
what is it that causes that feeling, or emotion ? I
do not think that there will be much difficaJty in

Readin(V Lesson VTI.

115

aiiswoiin^ this (question. He wus vciy much oxcittMl
boforo tlio siH'lliii^ <M)iit(».st cainooiT, and now that it
has b(H»n dccidiMl in your favoi", tlicro is a fecliiiLC of
^wiit joy that conies over tlio whok) ])ody, and it is
ahnost impossihk) to keep back tlie expression of
tliat joy. In other words, lie has been moved.

I want to impr(>ss now upon you that as you go
on with your study of reading, you will find that
there is a great deal of emotion in many of the
l)assages you will be called upon to rea<l, and the
only way to discover what the emotion is, must be
by getting a very clear picture. But remember that
the picture itself is not very likely to move you
unless you enter into the spiiit of the picture just
as you entered into the spirit of the spelling contest.
Do you see what I mean 1 One might say the words,
" Three cheers for our class," and not express very
much emotion. One might have a V(3ry clear pic-
ture of the whole spelling match, and yet not be
very much moved. But if you close your eyes and
let the picture get hold of you, I think there will be
no trouble about the emotion. Let me see whether
I can make clear to you what 1 mean by letting the
picture get hold of you.

Suppose we take this line from one of the extracts
in your book, ""Wolsey on His Fall" : — '* Farewell,
a long farewell to all my greatness ! " Who speaks
those words 1 is the first questioi.. The answer is:
An old man who has been for years one of the lead-
ing men in the court of Henry YIII. He has used
every effort to gain gi*eat power, and has forgotten

1 * t*

■^

ll'i

rillUJ) JllUDKlt.

bis God, ami now at lust tlio kiiij^ lius cast liini off.
Just after Wolsey has bocu in I'o lined of his loss of
power, ho utters the words that I quoted above.
Just think how much tlu;so words mean to this poor
num. Tliink how much he must suffer, and then
try to feel as much as you cau what it would mean
to you if everything you had hoped for and strug-
gled f ( )r were to be taken away from you. Of course,
I know tluit you have not been so ambitious as
Wolsey, but yet I thiiik you will have no trouble in
imagining just how you would feel if everything you
cared for were to be taken away from you. W(?ll,
this is all that you need feel in order to read with
emotion the lines of Wolsey. Just think this ov(>r
for a few minutes, and then see how much regi"(^t
you can fc^el as you utter these words. Bo sure
that you get the meaning of the words ; be sure you
get hold of the picture; try to imagine just how
you would feel if you were very sadly disappointed,
and then utter the words of Wolsey.

This, then, is what I mean by telling you to let
the i)ic+ure get hold of yon. Wlien you were rejoiced
over the result of tho spelling contest, joy possessed
you. When Wolsey learned of his fall, sorrow and
regret possessed him. So with all emotions. You
must think over the wliole story ; you must think
over all the events eoniiected with it until you really
feel somewhat as the speaker felt whose words you
are reading. Then there will be no trouble about
the expression.

—S. U. Clark.

CmuaxMAs Eve.

117

CHRISTMAS EVE.

'Twas tlio night })eforo Christmas, whon all through tho housd

Not a creature was stirring, not oven a nu)U.se ;

Tho stockings wero liung ])y tlio chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nichohis soon would bo there;

Tlio children were nestled all snug in th(»ir hed^,

While \iMion.s cr sugar-plums danced in their heads ;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in iny cap,

Had just settl(;d our brains for a long wintiM-'s nap ;

When out in tho lawn there arose such a clattcM-,

I Ki)r'ang from the bed to hco what was tho matter.

Away to tho window I flew like a Hash,

Tore ojK'n tho shutters and threw up tho sash.

The moon on tho breast of tho new-fallen snow,

Gave tho lustre of mid-day to objects billow,

Wlu^n 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, I);'sher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer ! and Vixen !

On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Donder and Jilitzen !

To the top of the porch ! to the top of tho wall !

Now dash away ! dash away I dash away all !"

As Jry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to tho sky ;

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew.

With a sleigh full of toys, and St. Nitjholas t<M).

And t'?en in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

Tho prancing and pawing of each little lKK>f —

118

Third Eeader.

:^^ .

«<^j

As I drew in my head and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came witli a bound.

He was dress'd all in fur from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot ;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedlar 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 of his chin was as v/hite as the snow ;

The stump of his pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a v/reath ;

He had a broad face and a little round belly.

That shook when he laugh'd like a bowlful of jolly.

He was chubby and plump, and a right jolly old elf,

And I laugh'd 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 work,

And fillod 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 "-ight,

*' Happy ClK'istmas to all, and to all a good-night I"

So should wo live that every hour
May die as dies the natural llovver,-
A self -re\ivi tig thing of power ;
That every thoug.it and every deed
May hold witliin itself the seed
Of future good and future meed.

The HoiiATii.

119

THE HORATII.

It is more than twenty-fivo hundrod years ago.
The All )ans are at war with Eome. The armies have
come face to fare, and wait the order to eniz-aixe in
battle. In niimbei's and skill of ainns the opposing
forces are erp.nd. They are equal, t( )0, in courage and
determination. Everything points to a hard and
bitter struggle — all the more bitter, perhaps, because
the two nations are bound together by many mar-
riage ties.

The days pass by, and yet no order has imm
given. The soldiers are becoming impatient, and it
is wliispered that the leaders are afraid. At last
one morning a single horseman dashes outward
from the spears of Eome. It is the king, and he
carries in his hand an olive branch. The Alban
general rides forth to meet him bearing nothing ])ut
a simple shield.

If you could draw near them, you would hear the
Roman thus address his foe: "My noble enemy!
Our armies now are ready to advance. We both well
know that neither wiU recede, but having taken
ground, will stand or die. Then, why court death
for all our noble sons, and bring black miseiy to our
happy homes, if peace can be arranged without a
struggle? Let us not all fight, but rather l(;t us
i^hooso from out our number tlu-ee from either side,
and let the victory go to him whose thi-ee shall

Si'!

120

Thikd Reader.

To this the Alban chief replies: "Most noble
King of Eome ! Your words are wise, and as you
say, so let it be. To-morrow, at this time, we shall
settle our long quarrel."

Now there is rivalry among the warriors of either
side, for all covet the honor of engaging in the con-
flict. At last three Roman brothers — the Horatii —
are chosen. Their father, when he hears of it, offers
thanks to his gods that his children are selected;
the mother weeps' to think her sons are worthy of
such honor. The Albans, no less brave, have named
three brothers — the Curiatii — warriors noted for
their courage and their skill.

At the appointed hour the six go forth between
the armies of the contending powers, while cheer?-
and counter-cheers are given to nerve the heroes
for the fight.

But what is this! Instead of fighting they lay
down their weapons and embrace. The six are
children of twin sisters, and have been, since child-
hood, closest friends.

And now they have unclasped, and buckling on
their armor, wait the signal to begin. The bugles
sound, the bright swords flash, and steel meets steel.
The struggle has begun.

The minutes pass ; the six still hold thoii* ground.
The shields have warded many a stroke, but now
aiid then a bloody thrust is given. See now, the
Roman has forced the Alban to his knee ; but see
again, the brother Roman totters and gi'ows faint !
Was ever war so equal ?

After Blenheim.

121

At last two of the Eomans fall. A cheer goes up
from all the Alban host, and many Eomans turn
away their eyes. The king is pale and sad; the
father hides his eyes ; a low and bitter wail is heard
throughout the disappointed host, for how can one
face three ?

But now Horatius sees how matters stand. The
three are wounded while he still is fresh. Like
lightning flash, he turns as if to flee, while cries of
" Coward " rend the air. Yet, look ! he turns again
upon his foes, who have been separated by his ruse.
He rushes on the first, who falls an easy victim;
the second coming to the rescue meets the same
hard fate ; the third, now weak from loss of blood,
can offer no defence. Horatius thrusts the bloody
sword-point to his heart, and cries : " Thus perish
every enemy of Rome."

Then the Eoman arniy, wild with joy, flock round
him, and with shouts and clapping bear him from
the field. The Alban chief presents his sword to
Tullus, King of Eome.

AFTER BLENHEIM.

It was a summer ovoning,
01(1 Kaspar's work was done,

And ho Ijcforo his cottage dtx>r
Was sitting in the sun,

And by liini sported on the green

His little grandchild Wilhelniine.

IIT-

122

Third Beader.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,

Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found ;

He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Wlio stood expectant by ;
And then the old man shook his head,

And with a natural sigh :
" 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
" Who fell in the great victory.

\"i\

\ ?

" I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about ;

And often when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out I

For many thousand men," said he,

" Were slain in that great victory."

"ISTow tell us what 'twas all about,"

Young Peterkin, he cries ;
And little Wilhelmine looks up,

With wonder-waiting eyes ;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
" Who put the French to rout ;

Put what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out ;

Put everybody said," quoth he,

" That 'twas a famous victory.

After Blenheim.

123

" My father lived at Blenheim then,

Yon little stream hard by ;
They burnt his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly ;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

" They say it was a sliocking sight

After the field was won ;
For many thousand lM)dies here

Lay rotting in the sun ;
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won,

And our good Prince Eugene."
" Why, 'twas a very, wicked thing !"

Said little Wilhelmine.
"Nay — nay — my little girl," quoth lie,

" It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke.

Who this great fight did win."
" But what good came of it at las-t ?"

Quoth little Peterkin.
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But '^was a famous victory."

— Robert Fiouthey.

But truth shall conquer at the last.
For round and round we run.

And ever the right comes uppermost
And ever is justice done.

—Mackay.

1 ><n.

!t.>

124

Thiiu) IIeadee.

CONQUEST OP PERU.

'■■ if

Many years ago there lived in Peni, that country
so rich in mmerals that it was called the " land of
gold," a very peculiar people ruled over by an Inca.
These people were very clever in many ways. They
knew how to build beautiful houses and temples,
and strong bridges, and they could weave fine
cloths, and do exquisite work in bronze and silver
and gold. Yet, they had no written language, and
kept all their accounts, and recorded their history
by means of knotted cords. They worshipped the
sun, as the Mexicans did, and their Incas they
believed to be the children of the sun. Everything
in the land belonged to the Inca. There was no
money, no pi^ivate property. Every year the lands
were propoi'tioned out to the people, and so were
the animals and the produce of the soil.

The people seem to have Hved very peaceably,
like one large family, until one of their Incas died,
leaving the greater part of his kingdom to Atahu-
alpa, a favorite younger son, when, by right of birth,
it should have gone to the elder one, Huasear. Then
a civil war broke out. The Spaniards heard of this
war and thought it would be a good time to invade
Peru, and conquer it for themselves.

The first Spanish captain to set out was Francisco
Pizarro, an ignorant man of low bkth, but gi'eedy

Conquest of Peku.

ll>5

for gold and ambitious for power. In ir)oO lio com-
menced his long and dangerous journey towards
Cuzco, the capital of Peru. When still at some dis-
tance from the city he met Atahaali)a, on liis way
hack, after having defeated and kilUxi his brother
Iluascar. Messengers were sent from PizaiTO to the
Inca, who received them kindly, and sent them back
Avith costly gifts, and a promise that he would visit
their leader on the morrow.

He came, wearing the famous royal head-dress oi
the Incas, and borne on a magnificent litter, plated
with gold and silver, and adorned with paroquet
feathers. With him came a body-guard of five thou-
sand men, apparently unarmed. Pizarro, not at all
alarmed by the size of the Inca's army, immediately'
demanded that the Peruvians should at once gi\^e
up their country and their religion. Of course the
Inca refused, and without a moment's warning, the
Spaniards, uttering thek terrible war-cry, rushed on
the unamied Peruvians. Owing to the suddenness
of the attack, hundreds of them were killed, while
not a Spaniard was so much as wounded. Those
who carried the litter were all slain, and the Inca
was taken prisoner.

As soon as the people knew that their ruler had
been captured they gave up everything. We, to-
day, cannot underi^tand why the eleven millions of
people, who then lived in Peru, did not at once rise
and destroy the few hundred pluixderers who had
come upon them. They do not seem to have lacked
in courage, but without a leader they were perfectly

IT"

m ^

'I -■

126

Third Reader.

helpless. AtaliUcilpa was at last promised his free-
dom in retmn for a large ransom. However, after
receiving the amount promised, the Spaniards did
not keep tludr word, and the unfortmiate Inea suf-
fered a cru(;l death.

After this conquest by PizaiTo, the Peruvians
were too disheartened to make any further resist-
ance, and Spain ruled Peru for nearly three hundred
years.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A (jhieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Ci'ies, " Boatman, do not tarry !

And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

*(-,

r it*

" Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water ? "

"Oh ! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

" And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together.

For should he find us in the glen.
My blood would stain the heather.

" His horsemen hard behind us ride ;

Should they our steps discover,
Then who would cheer my bonny bride,

When they have slain her lover ? "

Loud Ullin's Daughteh.

127

ree-
fter
did
suf-

ans
;ist-
Ired

Out spoke tlie lianly Higlilaiul wight,
"I'll go, my cliic^f — I'm icatly :

It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady :

" And, by my word ! the bonny binl

In danger shall not tarry ;
So, though the waves are raging white,

I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking ;

And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,

Adown the glen rode armed men,
Tiieir trampling sounded nearer.

" O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather,

I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

Tlie boat has left a stormy land,

A stoi-my sea before her —
When, oh ! too strong for human hand.

The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing ;

Ijord Ullin reached that fatal shore —
His wrath was changed to wailing.

128

Tiiiui) Keadeii.

««

For Moio (Iisnmy<Ml througli .storm and shade,

His cliiNl ho did discover :
Ono lovely arm sho strotchod for aid,

And Olio was round lior lover.

"Como Lack ! como back ! " lio oi'itMJ, in ^lief,

" Across this stonnj' water ;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter ! — Oh ! my daugiiter ! "

"IVas vain : the loud waves lashed the slujre,

ll(!turn or aid pn;venting :
The waters wild went o'er his child —

And ho was left lamenting.

■Thomas L'limphell.

THE BLUE JAY.

Said «Tim Baker, *' There's more to a blaejay than
to any other creature. He has more kinds of feel-
ing than any other creature ; and mind you, what-
ever a bluejay feels, he can put into wovds. No
common words either, but out-and-out book-talk.
You never see a jay at a loss for a word.

"You may call a jay a bird. Well, so he is,
because he has feathers on him. Otherwise he is
just as human as you are.

"Yes, sir; a jay is eveiything that a man is. A
jay can laugh, a jay can gossip, a jay can feel
ashamed, just a'" well as you do, may be better.
And there's another thing : in good, clean, out and
out scol -ling, a bluejay can beat anything alive.

The Bh'e Jay.

129

tiau

l301-

lat-
No
ilk.

is,
3 is

eel
;er.
Jid

"Seven years ago the last man about here hut
me moved away. There stands his house—a log
house with just one big room and no more : no (jell-
ing, not! ing between the rafters and the floor.

"Well, one Sunday morning I was sitting out
here in front of my cabin, with my cat, taking tlie
sun, when a blue jay flew down on that house wii^h
pu acorn in his mouth.

" * Hello,' says he, * I reckon here's something.'
When he spoke the acorn fell out of his mouth and
rolled down the roof. He didn't care j his mind was
on the thing he had found.

" It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cooked his
head to one side, shut one eye, and put the other to
the hole, like a possum looking down a nig.

"Then he looked up, gave a wink or two with
his wings, and says, * It looks like a hole, it's
placed like a hole — and — if I don't think it is a
hole ! '

" Then he cocked his head down and took another
look. He looked up with joy, tliis time winked his
wings and his tail both, and says> * If I ain't in luck !
Why, it's an elegant hole ! '

" So he flew down and got that acorn and dropped
it in, and was tilting his head back with a smile
when a queer look of surprise came over his face.
Then he says, * Why, I didn't hear it fall.'

" He cocked his eye at the hole again and took a
long look ; rose up and shook his h(Hid; went to the
other side of the hole and took another look from
that side ; shook his head again. No use.

130

THiiii) Keader.

" So, after thinking awhilo, lie says, * T iH'ckoii it's
all right. I'll try it, any way.'

"80 he flew off and brought anothoj* acorn and
dr<)pi)ed it in, and tried to get his eye to the hole
(^uick enough to see what became of it. Iln was too
late. He got another acorn and tried to see wh^re
it went, but he couldn't.

"He says, * Well, I nev(M' saw such a hole as this
before. I reckon it's a nc^w kind.' Then he got
angry and walked up and down the roof. 1 never
saw a bird take on so.

" When he got through he looked in the hole for
half a minute; then he says, *Well, you're a long
hole, and a deep hole, and a queer hole, but I have
started to fill you, and I'll do it if it takes a hundred
years.'

" And with that away he went. For two hours
and a half vou never saw a bird work so hard. He
did not stop to look in any more, but just i J\r
acorns in and went for more.

" Well, at last he could hardly flap his wings he
was so tired out. So he bent down for a look. He
looked up, pale with rage. He says, * I've put in
enough acorns to keep the family thirty years, and
I can't see a sign of them.'

"Another jay was going by and heard him. So
he stopped to ask what was the matter. Our jay
told him the whole story. Then he went and looked
down the hole and came back and said, * How many
tons did you put in there ? '

Not less thpn two,' said our jay,

U i

The Voice op Spring.

131

*' Tho other jay lookod aicaiii, l)ut could not make
it out ; so ho gave a yell and three more jays eame.
They all talked at onco for awhile, and then called
in more jays.

"Pretty soon the air was blue with jays, and every
jay put his eye to th(^ hole and told what he thought.
Th(^y looked -the house all over, too. The door was
partly open, and at last one old jay happened to
look in. There lay the acorns all over the floor.

" lie flapped his wings and gave a yell, * Come
here, everybody! Ha! li^* He*s been trying to till
a house with acorns.'

" As each jay took a look, the fun of the thing
struck him, and how he did laugh. And for an hour
after they roosted on the housetop and trees, and
laughed like human beings.

*' It isn't any use to tell me a blue- jay hasn't any
fun in him. I kno^^ better."

— Adapted from Samuel L. Clemens ( Mark Twain),

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

I come, I come ! Ye have called me long.
I come o'er the mountains with light and song I
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening, as I pass.

•5i

^7^

■#

132 Thihd Keadek.

I liavo breathed on tho soutli, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from their forest-bowers,
And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains ; —
P»ut it is not for me, in rey hour of bloom
To speak of tlie ruin or the tomb !

T have looked o'er the hills of the stormy iiorth.

And the larch has hung all his tassels forth.

The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures fi-ee,

And the pine has a fringe of softer greeM,

And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
' .? And called out each voice of the deep-blue sky ; ■

Vy- From the night-bird's lay through the starry time f?p
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, i h

To the swan's wild note, by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain ;
They are sweeping on the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain-brows,
They are flinging spray o'(;r tlie forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves !

Away from the dwelling of care-worn men !
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen.
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth !
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth.
Their light stems tlu'ill to the wild- wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

—Mrs. Hemant.

^:7'

Reading Lesson VIII.

135

READING LESSON VIII.

In onr last lesson wo luid examples in which yon
were to pnt yourself in somebody else's place, feel
his emotions, and then sj)eak the words as if yon
were he. In this lesson we are to deal with the
same thing, emotion. But not the emotion of an-
other : our own emotion. Let me tell you a story :

The other day, a little child came to its mother,
saying, "Oh mother I I just saw a beautiful toy in
the window : I wish you would buy it for me." The
sivcet voice teas full of j)leading. 'The mother was
very poor, and hardly earned enough to pay for
fuel. How could she spare even the feiv, pennies for the
toy 1 But, she said to herself, " This is Christmas
time ; " and the tears came into her eyes. The little
one saw the tears, and said : " What are you ciying
for, mother % " And then the rnother hiujged her child
to her breast^ and kissed her again and again, saying
over and over, "Because I love you! Because I
love you ! "

Wlien Christmas moaning dawned the little toy
was on the mantel and the child was happy. But
when the time for breakfast came the child asked
her mother why she did not eat; and the mother
answered, "I'm not hungiy, darling; don't mind
me," and she smiled tenderly on the sweet face,
upturned to kiss her.

After you have read this simple tale two or three
times, I think you will begin to feel some sympathy
with the loving mother who would do without her

r-T^

^m^

136

Third Eeader.

food to give joy to her little child. When you read
the sentences I have put in italics, if you have really
tried to see the pictures, I am sure you will feel
some sympathy that will make your reading so
different from the reading of, let us say, the first
sentence in this lesson. Take the line, " The sweet
voice was full of pleading." Can't you imagine
some sweet child- voice pi eading for the toy % Well,
then, listen to that voice, and after you have, then
read, " The sweet voice was full of pleading." You
will find that your voice will be so f uU of sympathy
that it will say not only the words, but also will
express love, and tenderness, and sympathy. You
will think, perhaps, some such thought as, " She
was such a lovely child, and she wanted the toy so
much. It made me feel sorry to hear her ask for
it." There is another sentence in italics that I want
you to think about. When you read, "And the
tears came into her eyes," can you not feel some-
thing of the sadness of that mother, as she tliiiiks
how much she would like to buy the toy, and yet
there is nothing to buy it with % Wlien you express
your feeling, your voice will say, "And the mother's
heart was sad when she thought that her dai'ling
could have no little gift at Christmas, when it
seemed everyone should be made happy. How dis-
appointed the sweet one would be when she found
out how many toys her playmates had while she
had not one ! " All these thoughts will run through
your mind, if you will only think about this scene
long enough, and then your voice will express that

The Gladness of Nature.

137

sympathy with the picture you are describing with-
out which you can never be a good reader. Let us
then close this lesson by reminding you that the
best way to develop our feeUngs as we read is
through sympathy, sympathy, syrap^^thy.

There are several other phrases and sentences in
this story that I want you to study systemati-
cally for to-moiTow's lesson. Then, after you have
grasped the idea of this lesson, be sure, in every
selection you read hereafter, that you do not fpil to
pay particular attention to sympathy.

—S. If. Clark.

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature lauglis around —

And even tlie deep blue heavens l(K)k glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky ;

The ground-scjuirrel gaily chii-ps by his den.
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

Tlie clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows at play in the })right green vale,

And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in the aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

—William Cullen Bryant.

138

Third Reader.

THE HORSE THAT AOOUSED HI2 MASTER.

About three hundred years ago there lived in one
of tlie rich old Baltic seaports of Germany a wealthy
merchant, whose name was Hasselt. He had a large
number of ships that sailed to many ports in differ-
ent parts of the world, and carried in their holds
goods of every kind.

Mr. Hasselt lived in a large and splendid house,
the walls of which were hung with tapestiy, the floors
covered with the softest caipets, and the rooms filled
witt the most valuable paintings and carvings. His
stables were filled with a large number of horses; but
there was one gray horse of great speed, and this
horse was his master's favorite. His name was
Windswift ; and there was no horse in all Germany,
his master thought, that could outrun him.

One day the merchant was riding through a dense
forest, when he was suddenly attacked by three high-
waymen. One of the robbers seized his horse's rein,
another was making at him with his sword, and the
third barred the way with a long spear.

One word to the gallant gray, and he shook him-
self free from the robber who held the rein, knocked
over the second, and galloped past the spearman.
He fled with the swiftness of the wind till he brought
his master safe within the gates of the city. There,
at the door of his master's house, he stood, white
with foam, as if he had galloped through a snow-

The Horse That Accused His Master. 139

storm, breathing hard, panting, trembling, but happy
that he had saved the life of his dear master.

The merchant stroked and patted his brave horse,
and spoke many words of gratitude and kindness to
him. " Good hoi*se ! Brave horse ! " he cried, " you
shall never be worked hard all your life ; and you
shall have three feeds of com every day, as long
as you live ! "

But, bythis terrible ride, the horse had over-heated
himself very much ; and he caught a severe chill.
In a short time his joints grew stiff, and one of his
legs became lame. His master was very busy, work-
ing hard in. his office, or running dowai to the port
to look after his ships ; and he, unfortunately, did not
find time to look after his old friend the gi*ay steed.

So Windswift was left to the servants ; and the
gi'oom forgot to give him his three feeds of corn, or
thought it was too much for him. So in time he
came down to only one meal a day. Not long after,
the poor horse became blind ; and his master had to
choose another horse to ride. Thus in time it came
about that the merchant gradually thought less and
less of the friend who had saved his life.

At last the merchant forgot him altogether ; and
the groom and stable-boys began to think it a trouble
to look after this poor, old, worn-out and useless
beast. One day the groom went to his master and
asked what should bo done with an old horse that
was fit for nothing. " O ! sell him ! " said the busy
merchant, without looking up from his desk.

The groom tried to sell him ; but he found that

.'*'

t|;

140

Third Reader.

no one would purchase an old, lame, and blind horse.
Then he went again to his master, and again asked
what should be done with an old horse that was fit
for nothing. "Do what you like!" replied the
merchant, who was busier than ever, and (;ould not
be troubled to think at that moment.

So the groom took a thick cudgel and drove the
faithful old horse out of the stable. Seven long
hours did the poor animal stand by the stable-door,
his head drooping, and his whole appearance showing
the deepest sadness ; and there, too, he passed the
night, upon hard stones, all in the cold and the
snow.

In the morning he went stumbling and groping
about for any food that he might find, smelling on
this side and on the other. At last he made his way
into the heart of the town, to a square, in the middle
of which stood a high belfry-tower.

Now this belfiy-tower had been built by a man
who loved right and justice ; and he had built it at
his own cost, so that if any person had suffered wrong
from his neighbor, he might go to the tower, seize
the rope, ring the bell, and call the magistrates of
the town together to try his case.

As luck would have it, the poor horse made his
way into this belfry-tower; and he kept smelling
about for something to eat. In the course of smell-
ing and sniffing about, he got hold of the bell-rope
with his teeth. Thinking it might be something
good to eat, he pulled at the rope ; and the bel]
began to ring.

The Horse That Accused His Master. 141

Upon this, the magistrates hastened from their
houses and their phices of business, and went to the
belfry-tower. Here they saw no man — nothhig but
an old blind horse.

" What is the meaning of this ! " said one ; and
they all looked asti)nished at each other. At length
one of the magistrates said: "Oh! I remember!
This is the old gray horse of Merchant Hasselt — the
horse that saved his life. He has been turned out
of house and home; and, as it seems to my dull wits,
1 fancy he must have come to the tower to ask for
justice."

"And justice he shall have!" cried the rest of
the magistrates. So they ordered Mr. Hasselt to
be brouglit before them. The busy merchant was
thunder-strucli when he saw his poor old friend
standing by the bell-rope — standing before his
brother-merchants in the place af the accuser.

He was struck to the heart. ^His conscience, which
liad long been asleep, now l)egan to accuse him in
sharpest and bitterest tones. He tried to make ex-
cuses to the magistrates ; but they, who had long
known the story how the gallant gray had saved his
master's life, would not allow him to go on — and
would not so much as give him a hearing.

"Master Hasselt," said the chief magistrate, "you
shall yourself lead back your faithful horse to his
stable ; you shall feed, nm'se, and tend him so long
as he lives ; and all this you shall do in the most
faithful manner — on penalty of being called upon
to pay a heavy fine ! "

142

Third Readeb.

That the story might not be forgotten, and that
the young citizens of the place — both boys aiul
girls — should learn how bla('k a thing ingi'atitude
is, and should know that wo ought to keep faith
even with animals that cannot speak — the magis-
trates ordered a marble tablet to be placed on the
tower and the story of the merchant and the horse
to bo engi'aved upon the marble. And there it stands
to this very day — for the help of dumb animals,
and for the comfort and encouragement of all good
men.

■ lir,
^1

THE SOLITUDE OP ALEXANDER SELKIRK.

I am monarch of all I survey ;

My right there is none to dispute ;
From the centre all round to the sea

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

Solitude where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face ?

Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

1 am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech ;

I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain

My form with ind' Terence see ;
They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.

The Solitude of Alexander Selkuik. 143

Society, Frientlship, and Love,

Divinely lx?stow'd upon man,
Oh, had I the wings of a dovo

How 8(K)n would I taste you again.
My sorrows I then miglit assuage

In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Ye winds tliat have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more ;
My fiiends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me ?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is the glance of the mind !

Compared with the speed of its flight.
The tempest itself lags behind, >

And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land

In a moment I seem to be there ;
But alas ! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest.

The beast is laid down in his lair ;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought f
Gives even affliction a grace

And reconciles man to his lot.

'—William Cowper.

144

Thiiid Readeb.

AN APRIL DAY.

All (lay the low-hung clouds havc^ (hopped

Their garnered fulness down ;
All day that soft gray mist hath wrapped

Hill, valley, grove, and town.
There has not been a sound to-day

To break the calm of nature :
Nor motion, I might almost say,

Of life, or living creature ;
Of waving Iwugh, or warbling bird,

Or cattle faintly lowing ;
I could have half-believed I heard

The leaves and blossoms growing.

1 stood to hear— I love it well—

The rain's continuous sound ;
Small ^Irops, but thick and fast they fell,

Down straight into the ground.
For leafy thickness is not yet

Earth's naked breast to screen,
Though every dripping branch is set

With shoots of tender green.

Sure, since I looked at early morn,

Those honeysuckle buds
Have swelled to double growth ; that thorn

Hath put forth larger studs ;
That lilac's cleaving cones have burst,

The milk-white flowers revealing ;
Even now, upon my senses first

Methinks their sweets are stealing.

Down, down they come,— those fruitful stores !
Those earth-rejoicing drops !

How THE Mountain was (Jlad.

A nioiiKMitary clolugo pours,

Tht!ii tliiriH, (h'croaHi'H, .stops ;
And, ere the dimples on the stream

Have circled out of Hi^^ht,
Ix> ! from the west a parti n«j; ^deam

Hn^aks forth of amber light.
Hut yet behold ! abrupt and loud

Comes down the glittering rain :
The farewell of a passing cloud,

The fringes of her tiain.

~- Chaucer,

HOW THE MOUNTAIN WAS CLAD.

There was a deep gor«ij(^ ])etwe(Mi two irionntains.
Through this gorge a large full stream flowed heav-
ily over a rough and stony bottom. Both sides
were high and steep, and one side was bare; but
close to its foot, and so near the stream that the
latter sprinkled it with moisture every spring and
autumn, stood a group of fi'fsh-looking trees gazing
upward and onward, yet unable to advance this way
or that.

"What if we should elothe the mountain," said
Juniper one day to the foreign oak, to which it stood
nearer than all others. The oak looked dow^n to
find out who it was that spoke, and then it looked
up again without deigning a rt^ply. The river rushed
along so violently that it worked itself into a white
foam; the north wind forced its way through the
gorge, and shrieked in the clefts of the rocks ; the

146

Third Readeh.

naked mountain, with its great weight, hung lieavily
ov^er and felt cold. " What if wo should clothe the
n^ountain," said the juniper to the fir on the other
side. " If anybody is to do it I suppose it must be
W(^," said the fir, taking hold of its beard and glanc-
ing toward the birch. " What do you think !" But
the birch peered cautiously up the mountain, wliich
hung over it so threateningly that it seemed as if
it could scarcely breathe. " Let us clothe it in God's
name ! " said the birch. And so, though there were
but these three, they undertook to clothe the moun-
tain. The juniper went first.

When they had gone a little way they met the
heather. The juniper seemed as though about to
pass it. "Nay, take the heather along," said the
fir. And the heather joined them. Soon it began
to glide on before the juniper. ^* Catch hold of me,"
said the heather. The jumper did so, and where
there was only a wee crevice the heather thrust in a
finger, and where it first had placed a finger, the
juniper took hold with its whole hand, They
crawled and crept along, the fir laboring on behind,
the birch also. " This is well worth doing," said the
birch. ; .

But the mountain began to ponder on what man-
ner of insignificant objects these might be that were
elambeinng up over it. And after it had been con-
sidering the matter a few hundred years, it sent a
little brook down to inquire. It was yet in the time
of the spring freshets, and the brook stole on until
it reached the heather, "Dear, dear heather, cannot

How THE Mountain was Clad.

14'

you let me pass ? I am so small." The lieather was
very busy; only raised itself a little and pressed
onward. In, under, and onw^ard went the brook.
"Dear, dear juniper, cannot you let me pass! 1
am so small." The juniper looked sharply at it ; but
if the heather had let it pass, why, in all reason, it
must do so too. Under it and onward went the
brook ; and now came to the spot where the fir stood
puffing on the hill-side. "Dear, dear fir, cannot
you let me pass ! I nm really so small," said the
brook, and it kissed the fir's feet and made itself so
very sweet. The fir became bashful at this, and
let it pass, but the birch raised itself before the
brook asked it : " Hi, hi, hi ! " said the birch, and
grew. "Ha, ha, ha!" said the brook, and grew.
" Ho, ho, ho ! " said the brook, and flung the heather
and the juniper and the fir and the birch flat on
their facey and backs, up and down these great hills.
The mountain sat up for many hundred years mus-
ing on whether it had not smiled a little that day.

It was plain enough the mountain did not want
to be clad. The heather fretted over this until it
grew green again, and then started forward. "Fresh
courage ! " said the heather. ■

The juniper had half raised itself to look at the
heather, and continued to keep this position, until
at length it stood upright. It scratched its head,
and set forth again, taking such a vigorous foothold
that seemed as though the mountain must feel it.
"If you will not have me then I will have you."
The fir crooked its toes a little to find out whether

148

Thikd Eeadek.

they were whole, then lifted one foot, found it whole,
then the other, which proved also to be whole, then
both of them. It first investigated the ground it
had been over ; next, where it had been lying, and,
finally, where it should go. After this, it began to
wend its way slowly along, and acted as though it
had never fallen. The bu^ch had become most
wretchedly soiled, but now rose up and made itself
tidy. Then they sped onward, faster and faster up-
ward, and on either side in •sunshine and in rain.
"What in the world can this be," said the mountain
all glitteiing with dew, as the summer sun shone
down on it. The birds sang, the wood-mouse piped,
the hare hopped along, and the eimine hid itself
and screamed.

Then the day came when the heather could peep
with one eye over the edge of the mountain. "Oh
dear, oh dear, oh dear," said the heather, and away
it went. " Dear me I what is it the heather sees ! "
said the juniper, and moved on until it could peer
up. "Oh dear, oh dear ! " it shrieked, and was gone.
"What's the the matter with the juniper to-day ?"
said the fir, and took long strides onward in the
heat of the sun. Soon it could raise itself on its toes
and peep up. "Oh dear!" Branches and needles
stood on ei) 1 in wonderment. It worked its way
forward, came up, and was gone. " Wliat is it all
the others see, and not II" s^id the birch; and
lifting well its skirts it tripped after. It stretched
its whole head up at once. " Oh — oh — is not here
a great forest of nr and heather, of juniper and

The Rapid.

149

birch standing on the tablehind waiting for us!"
said the birch; and its leaves quivered in the sun-
shine so that the dew trembled. "Ay, this is what
it is to reach the goal ! " said the juniper.

— lijornstjerne.

THE RAPID.

All peacefully gliding, the waters dividing,
The indolent bateau moved slowly along ;
The rowers, light-hearted, from sorrow long parted.
Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and sontr •
'' Hurrah for the Rapid ! that merrily, merrily

Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way ;
Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,

Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."

More swiftly careering, the wild Rapid nearing,

They dash down the stream like a terrified steed ;
The surges delight them, no terrors affright them, -

Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed :
" Hurrah for the Rapid ! that merrily, merrily

Shivers its arrows against us in play ;
Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,
Our spirits as light as its feathery '5pray."

Fast downward they .e dashing, each fearless eye flashing,

Though danger awaits them on every side ;
Yon rock- see it frowning ! they strike — they are drowning !
But dowi vard they speed with the merciless tide.
No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily

Shivers their bark in its maddening play ;
Gaily they entered it— heedlessly, recklessly,
Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray !

— Charles Sangater.

150

Third Reader.

ANDROOLES AND THE LION.

Many hundred years ago there Hved in the north
of Africa a poor Roman slave called Androcles. His
master held great power and authority in the coun-
tiy, but he was a hard, cruel man, and his slaves
led a very unhappy life. They had little to eat,
had to work hard, and were often punished and tor-
tured if they failed to satisfy the master's caprices.
For long Androcles had borne with the hardships
of his life, but at last he could bear it no longer, and
he made up his mind to run away. He knew that
it was a great risk, for he had no friends in that
foreign country with whom he could seek safety and
protection ; and he was aware that if he was over-
taken and caught he would be put to a cruel death.
But even death, he thought, would not be so hard
as the life he now led, and it was possible that he
might escai)e to the sea-coast, and somehow some
day get back to Rome and find a kinder master.

So he waited till the old moon had waned to a
tiny gold thread in the skies, and then, one dark
night, he slipped or of his master's house, and,
creeping through the deserted foi*um and along the
silent town, he passed out of the city into the vine-
yards and cornfields lying outside the walls. In
the cool night air he walked rapidly. From time to
time he was startled by the sudden barking of a
dog, or the sound of voices coming from some late
revellers in the villas which stood beside the road
along which he hurried. But as he got further into

Androcles and the Lion.

151

the country these sounds ceased, and there was
silence and darkness all round him. When the sun
rose he had already gone many miles away from
the town in w^hich he had been so miserable. But
now a new terror oppressed him — the teiTor of great
loneliness. He had got into a wild, barren country,
where there was no sign of human habitation. A
thick growth of low trees and thorny mimosa bushes
spread out before him, and as he tried to thread his
way through them he was severely scratched, and
his scant garments torn by the long thorns. Besides,
the sun was very hot, and the trees were not high
enough to afford him any shade. He was worn out
with hunger and fatigue, and he longed to lie down
and rest. But to lie down in the fierce sun would
have meant death, and he struggled on, hoping to
find some wild berries to eat, and some water to
quench his thirst. But when he came out of the
scrub-wood, he found he was as badly off as before.
A long, low line of rocky cliffs rose before him, but
there were no houses, and he saw no hope of find-
ing food. He was so tired that he could not wander
fur'iher, and seeing a cave which looked cool and
dark in the side of the cliffs, he crept into it, and,
stretching his tired limbs on the sandy floor, fell
fast asleep.

Suddenly he was awakened by a noise that made
his blood run cold. The roar of a wild beast sounded
in his ears, and as he started trembling and in terror
to his feet, he beheld a huge, tawny lion, with great
glistening white teeth, standing in the entrance of

152

Third Reader.

the cave. It was impossible to fly, for the lion
barred the way. Immovable with fear, Androcles
stood rooted to the spot, waiting for the monster to
spring on him and tear him limb from limb.

But the lion did not move. Making a low moan
as if in great pain, it stood licking its huge paw,
from which Androcles now saw that bl(X)d was flow-
ing freely. Seeing the poor ainmal in such pain,
and noticing how gentle it seemed, Androcles forgot
his own terror and slowly approached the lion, who
held up his paw as if asking the man to help it.
Then Androcles saw that a huge thorn had entered
the paw, making a deep cut, and causing gi*eat
pain and swelling. Swiftly but firmly he drew
the thorn out, and pressed the swelling to tiy to
stop the flowing blood. Relieved of the pain, the
lion quietly lay down at Androcles' feet, slowly
moving his great bushy tail from side to side as a
dog does when it feels happy and comfortable.

From that moment Androcles and the lion became
devoted friends. After lying for a little while at
his feet, licking the poor wounded paw, the lion got
up and limped out of the cave. A few minutes
later it returned with a little dead rabbit in its mouth,
which it put down on the floor of the cave beside
Androcles. The poor man, who was starving with
hunger, cooked the rabbit somehow, and ate it. In
the evening, led by the lion, he found a place where
there was a spring, at w hich he quenched his dread-
ful thirst.

And so for three years Androcles and the lion

Androcles and the Lion.

153

id-

lived together in the cave; wandering about tlie
woods together by day, sleeping together at night.
For in summer the cave was cooler than the woods,
and in winter it was warmer.

At last the longing in Androcles' heart to live
once more with his fellow-men became so great that
he felt he could remain in the woods no Hnger, but
that he must return to a town, and take his chance
of Ixnng caught and killed as a runaway slave. And
so one morning he left the cave, and wandered away
in the direction where he thought the sea and the
large towns lay. But in a few days he was (cap-
tured by a band of soldiers, who were patrolling the
country in search of fugitive slaves, and he was put
in chains and sent as a prisoner to Rome.

Here he was cast into prison and tried for the
crime of having run away from his master. He was
condemned as a punishment to be torn to pieces by
wild beasts on the first public holiday, in the great
circus at Rome. ^

When the day arrived, Androcles was brought out
of his prison, dressed in a simple, short tunic, and
with a scarf round his right arm. He was given a
lance with which to defend himself — a forlorn hope —
as he knew that he had to fight with a powerful lion
which had been kept without food for some days to
make it more savage and bloodthirsty. As he stepped
into the arena of the huge circus, above the sound
of the voices of thousands on thousands of specta-
tors, he could hear the savage roar of the wild beasts
from their cages below the fioor on which he stood.

^ss^m

154

Third Reader.

Suddenly tli(i silence of expeetation fell on the
spectators, for a signal had been given, and the cage
containing the lion with which Androcles had to
fight had been shot np into the arena from the floor
Ik'Iow. a moni(^nt later, with a fierce spring and a
savage roar, the great animal had sprung out of its
cage into the arena, and with a bound had rushed at
the spot where Androcles stood trembling. But sud-
<lenly, as he saw Androcles, the lion stood still, won-
dering. Then, quickly, but quietly it approached
him, and gently moved its tail and licked the man's
hands, and fawned upon him like a great dog. And
Androcles patted the lion's head, and gave a sob of
recognition, for he knew that it was his own lion,
with whom he had lived and lodged all those months
and years.

And seeing this strange and wonderful meeting
between the man and the wild beast, all the people
marvelled, and the emperor, from his high seat
al)ove the arena, sent for Androcles, and bade him
tells his story and explain this mystery. And the
emperor was so delighted with the stoiy, that he said
Androcles was to be released and to be made a free
man from that hour. And he rewarded him with
money, and ordered that the lion was to belong to
him^ and to accompany him wherever he went.

And when the people in Rome met Androcles
walking, followed by his faithful lion, they used to
point at them and say, " That is the lion, the guest
of the man, and that is the man, the doctor of the

lion. — Andrew Lang.

said

free

with

ig to

Reading Lesson IX.

READIlSfG LESSON IX.

1.j5

IHJ.

Have you not noticed liow iniicli })righter the sun-
hght seems to be after a thunder-shower f how
keenly we enjoy a victory after defeat seems cer-
tain 1 Why is this ? Because the clouds by their
blackness make us appreciate the sunlight ; and the
fear of losing the contest makes us doubly glad
when we win. If we had sunshine aU the time how
monotonous it would be, and how little we should
notice it ! And you must see that, if the other side
in a contest were very weak, we should not derive
much pleasm'e from the outcome. All nature is full
of these contrasts : joy and sorrow, light and dark-
ness, success and failure, are always round us. So
literature, which deals with nature, contains thesc^
contrasts, too. ■ ' . :?f

In literature, the contrast is used to impress upon
us some idea or picture more complete-y than could
be done by merely describing it. This is done by
placing before us the idea and its opposite: it is
like placing a dark screen behind a white marble
statue. This being so, we can easily see how neces-
sary it is for us to recognize these contrasts in order
that we may present them with our voices to the
listeners. -

Let us take a few simple examples. Our grand-
parents tell us that it took them sixty days to cross
the ocean from England to America; and now, we
know, it takes but six. The best way to show how

156

Thihd Reader.

gi'oat ail advance this ceiitivy has made in boat-
building would 1)0 by contrasting the past and the
ju'e.sent. We might say : " It took my grandparents
sixty days, in a sailing vessel, to cross the ocean, but
now we go by steam in six.''

Again : " Last week I was sleighing and skating
in Winnipeg ; but to-day I am plucking violets and
japonicas in the gardens of Savannah."

In both examples you observe that the concluding
idea of the sentence is made more striking be(;ause
of the contrast it makes with the first part. Be sure
to bear this in mind. A contrast is made up of two
ideas, and you must have both of them in mind or
your reading will be a failure. Do you not see that
this is ti'ue ? If you were to say, " I am plucking
violets in Savannah to-day, there would be very
little emotion shown in your voice : you would be
making just an ordinary statement. But if you
were thinking of the great change you had made,
how strang(^ it was that you should be in the midst
of winter one day, and in the midst of spring the
next, then the contrast would be such a pleasant
one that your voice would be full of joy, and youi*
joy would be largely the result of the contrast. If
you had violets all the year round, perhaps you
would hardly notice them. • -.

Here are two more examples of contrast, more
difficult to express,- but more beautiful than ti^e
others.

Imagine a noble warrior whose whole life is de-
voted to good deedn. Imagine Iiim as ho speaks the

o #1

Reading Lesson IX.

157

ide,
idst
the
;aTit
^our
If
|you

lore
tixe

de-
the

'5'^;'

following words doacripfive of the old-time toiima-
meiit. Then imagine how grat<'fnl he would f(M»l
for the relief after the hrive struggle, a relief so
beautifully d(\seribed by the author :

" My good l)la(le carves t»:o cas(|ues of men,

My tougli lancet thrustoth sure, ^

My strength is as the atroiigth of ten,

Because my heart is pure.
The shattering truni})et shrilleth high,

Tlie hfird brands sliiver on the steel.
The splintered sj)ear-shafts crack and tiy, i

The liorse and rider reel. ^t

They reel, they roll, in clanging lists,

..\nd when the tide of com! »;it stands,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers.

That lightly rain from Ijidies' hands."

" Sir Ottf a/tod. "—Tehnyson.

In this next example, we have the picture of a
king, who is punished for his pride by being depnved
of all his power, wealth, and friends. See what a
powei-ful contrast he makes as he, who should be
master, rides in mock state amid the spendor of his
f30urtiers. The word " he " in the first line does not
I'oier to the king, but to another. ^

"Then he departed with them o'er the sea.

Into the lovely land of Italy,

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made -^

By the mere passing of that cavalcade, j:

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state,

:'J\

158

Thibd Readftr.

Upon a piebald steed, with sliamhling ,'ait.

His cloak of foxtails flapping in tiio wimd.

The solemn ape d«'muivly perched iKrhi ul.

King Robert rode, making huge merrin»*'nt

Tn all the country towns through which he went."

—'■'■ Kiug Robert of Sicily -IjONGFIXLOW
•^ —8. i f^hn-k.

ULRICA.

The little village of Saxonliausen in < i^ermai y
was in commotion. A procdamatiom had jnst h .'n
sent out, offering free land to all German who
would settle in the new British \3olony of Nova
Scotia. Many of the villagers were eager to go,
none more so than Conrad Ludovic, a poor sick lad
who earned a bare living by carving little wooden
figures. - , :/

Ulrica was going — Ulrica the orphan girl to whom
he had been b«»trotlied for six years. She was going
with her uncle. Could Conrad but save enough
money for the passage, he would go too ; and in the
new country they would be married, and would live
in comfort and happiness. All day long, and far
into the night, Conrad sat at his bencdi carvdng; but
the work was too hard for his strength, and shortly
before the time for sailing he was laid low with
sickness.

It was then that Ulrica made up her mind to take
the land for which Conrad had applied. In a few
years she could have the house built and the land

Ulrica.

159

den

Dllgll

L tlie
live
L far
but
lovtlv
witli

take

few

land

l#-4l, , ' ^I'lb wliut slie and Conrad tojz:etlier conld
1, ♦MK iigh V ould soon be raised to pay for liis
pt^>.^/:^ to Nov^ Scotia.

TL. >yage was over, and all wore safely landed
at Halit'u .^ an^l taken to the site of the new settle-
ment. A discouraging site it was. Nothing could
hi i^een but forest. Not a tree had been felled; the
>\h'.>le of the coast was rockv and wild. But the
(" ionists set to woi'k bi'avely to clear the land and
* J put up h( >uses. Ulrica's land was a little distance
h\>ni the chief settlement, in a lonely spot at the
edge of the forest. Her house was finished long
before any of the others ; for all the settlers liked
the brave girl, and helped Iku* as well as they could.
In the same way her land was the first cleared, and
a i)romising crop of flax an<l turnips and barley
soon grew upon it.

Ulrica had worked hard, but she had been unable
to raise enough money to pay for Conrad's passage,
and he was still in Germany. As she sat on her
cottage door-step one afternoon and thought it all
over, her brave heart was heavy within her.

A sharp "Hallo " broke in upon her meditation,
and turning quickly she saw a man approaching
from the forest with an axe on his shoulder. She
recognized him as Carl Stanford, who had come out
in her ship, but had disappeared soon after landing.
He asked her for food, and she led him into the
little kitchen.

"Get me some food as quickly as possible," said
Carl, seating himself wearily, " for I must be off to

160

Thikd Keadep.

tbo settlement ; I have news to tell." And then lie
told how the old French settlers had been driv^en
from G rand Pre by the English soldiers. " The
buildings and barns were burned to the ground," he
said. "Not one is standing; but the cattle and
horses and slun^p are still feeding there by thou-
sands. That is why I have come here. If I can
raise a party of men we can bring back hundreds of
the cattle. Unless wo make haste, the English will
have them ; but there is time yet. Only last night
I left them feeding in tlie meadows."

"Only last night," replied Ulrica. "How did you
get there ! " The man glanced down at his roughly-
shod feet. "They brought me," he said. "But the
mountains ? They say there are mountains between
us and the French country." "Mountains have
b9en climbed," said the man. "And the rivers and
the thick forests ? " said the girl. "All rivers do not
cross the tratik, and paths have been marked through
the deepest forest. With this axe 1 cut plenty of
marks on the trees."

When Carl had gone, Ulrica went out for a piece
of rope. Returning to the kitchen she coiled it up
closely, and tied it in a handkerchief, along with a
loaf of barley bread. With this bundle in her hand,
she stepped out into the moonlight, and plunged
into the dark woods." She was bound for the mea-
dows of Grand Pre, to bring back a cow to sell for
Conrad's passage-money. -.— _-^_^.

Her way at first lay tlu'ough a forest of tall pines,
where walking was easy. In the bright moonlight

;• 1

Ulkica.

IGl

liiged
mea-
11 f or

)iixes,
[light

she could easily see the whiter marks that liad Ihhmi
cut on the trees.

It was in the deep woods, not ten miles from hei'
honu^, that ITlvica's courage first failed her. The
soft plmnage of an owl in its noiseless flight brushed
agai)ist h(?r face. She started and uttered a loud
cry. The ciy echoed and re-echoed through th<'
forest, till the girl was filled with tturor, and sank
to her knees on the ground.

And then came another horror. In her sudden
fright she had lost sight of the markings on the
trees! ■ : . .;■ ; - - -,.'::, v -^-v-

It did not occur to her that with daylight sIk?
could find these marks again. She forgot evxny-
thing but that she was alone in the great woods,
and lost. Closing her eyes in terror, she leaned
back against a great tree. Her face touched some-
thing rough on the smooth bark. She put up her
hand to feel what it was, and f()un<l that it was one
of the marks that Carl Stanford had cut. In her
fright she had never thought of sec^king it on the
tree under which she rested. Her courage retiu'ued,
and watching the white chippings well, she set out
on her way again.

It was late in the afternoon when she I'eached the
quiet village of Grand Pre, which but a few days
ago had been the home of hundreds of happy pea-
sants. The cattle had run away to a great open
meadow some miles distant, and the herd was so
large that Ulrica dared not venture among them.
Close at hand, however, there was one fine cow feed-

102

Third Readek.

ing quietly on a patch of cabbages. Ulrica went up
to it and patted it kindly. Then, having shut the
gate of the enclosure, so that the animal could not
escape, she looked about for a place of rest. She
went into a cellar, and having eaten some of her
bariey bread, she soon fell asleep.

The last object she sa vr before going to sleep was
a very red brick in the wall in front of her, and she
could not help wandering why it seemed so differ-
ent from the others.

The sun was up when she awoke half dazed,
hardly kno^\ing whether she was awake or dream-
ing. There was the red brick still before her. 81 le
walked up to it, and to her astonishment she found
that it was loose. Taking it out she found beliiud
it one — two — three- — twenty gold pieces. Slie
wrapped them in her handkerchief, and went out to
look for her cow. Fastening her ro])e to its horns,
the resolute girl then led it a^ong the 7'oad towards
her home.

Two hours before this a l)arty of the Germans
had started fi*om the settlement. All through the
day they travelled, and about midnight, as they
stopped to rest, they heard the tinkling of a bell.
'^That is a French cow-bell," said Carl Stanford.
"But the French pastures aro many miles away,
man," said half a dozen voices. *' It is a French
bell," said Carl, "and I am going to f^nd out what
it is doing here ; " and with that he started, followed
by the others in the direction of the sound. Soon the
tinkling came nearer and nearer, till they saw in

To THE Fkinged Gentian.

163

the moonlit forest the great sleek cow led by Ulrica.
For a moment no one sp^ke. Then a cheer, loud
and long, burst from every man.

The morning after Ulrica reached the settlement,
she handed the captain of the ship two of the gold
pieces to pay for Conrad's passage.

The month of May brought Conrad,, much im-
proved in health by the voyage. In the little church
of St. John he and Ulrica were married. Her small
cabin was soon changed for the best house i i the
town, planned and built by Conrad himself.

To this day farmers in that neighborhood trace the
pedigree of their best cows to Ulrica's French prize.
The cow-bells there are still made after the pattern
of the one that tinkled so mysteriously in the forest
a hundred years ago. And some of the richest
families in the province are not ashamed to trace
their ancestry back to that peasant girl.

— Mi88 Machar.

I nans
n the
they
])ell.
Iford.
Lway,
•ench
Iwhat
lowed
m the
liw in

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.

Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heavens' own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night :

Thou comest not, when violets lean
O'er wandering brooks and spi-ings unseen,
Or columbines, in purple dressed,
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

,j-™t"v-»,*-»V%V«

1G4

Thikd Keader.

Thou waitftHt late and com'st alone,
When woods are bare, and birds are flown.
And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged Year is near his end ;

Then doth thy sweet and (juiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky ;
Blue — blue, as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.

— Williavi Cullen Bryant.

A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR.

There was once a child, and he strolled, about a
good deal, and thought of a number of things. He
had a sister, who was a child too, and his constant
(companion. These two used to wonder all day long.
They wondered at the beauty of the flowers ; they
w lered at the height and blueness of the sky;
they wondered at the goodness and the power of
God, who made the lovely world.

They used to say to one another sometimes,
" Supposing all the children upon earth were to die,
wruld the flowers, and the water, and the sky be
soi ; y r' They believed they would be sorry. " For, "
said they, *'the buds are the children of the flowers,
and tlie little playful streams that gaml)ol down the
liillsides are the children of tlie water; and the
smallest bright specks, playing at hide-and-se^V m

A Child's Dream of a Star.

165

mes,
die,

'or,"

^ers,

lithe

tlie

the sky all iiiglit, must surely be the children of th(»
stars ; and they would always be giieved to see their
playmates, the childrc^n of men, no more."

There was one elc^ar- shining star that used to
come out in the sky before the rest, near the church
spire, above the gi-aves. It was larger and more
beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and
every night tli<y watched for it, standing hand-in-
hand at a window. Whoever saw it first ciied
out, " I see the star ! " And often they ciied out
])oth together, knowing so well when it would rise,
and where. So they gi'ew to be such friends with
it, that, before lying down on their beds, they always
looked out once again, to bid it good-night; and
when they were turning round to sleep they used to
say, " Grod bless the star ! "

But while she was still very young — oh, very,
very young! — the sister drooped, and came to be so
weak, that she could no longer stand at the window
at night ; and then the child looked sadly out by
himself, and when he saw the star, turned round
and said to the patient, pale face on the bed, "I
see the star!" and then a smile wonld come upon
the face, and a little, weak voice used to say, "God
l^less my brother and the star ! "

And so the time came, all too soon! when the
child looked out alone, and when there was no face
on the bed ; and when there was a little grave among
the graves, not there before; and when the star
made long rays down towards him, as he saw it
through his tears.

aaiBi

- -Si****!! P •'l***-'^

1()G

Third Reader.

Now, these rays were so bright, aiul they seemed
to make such a shining way from earth to leaveii,
that when the child went to his soHtaiy bed, he
dreamed about the star; and dreamed tliat, lying
where he was, he saw a train of people taken up
that sparkling road by angels. And the star, open-
ing, showed him a great world of light, where many
more such angels waited to receive him.

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their
Ijeaming eyes upon the people who were carried up
into the star; and some came out from the long
rows in wliich they stood, and fell upon the people's
necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away
with them down avenues of light, and were so happy
in their company, that, lying in his bed, he wept
for joy.

But there wei-e many angels who did not go with
them, ar\d among them one he knew. The patient
face that once had lain upon the be 1 was glorified
and radiant, but his heart found out his sister amoug
all the host. His sister's angel lingered near the
entrance of the star, and said to the leader among
those who had brought the people thither, " Is my
brother come?" And he said, "No." She was
turning hopefully away, when the child stretched
out his arm, and cried, "O sister, I am here! Take
me ! " And th(>n she turned her beaming eyes upon
him, and it was night; and the star was shining
into the room, making long rays down towards him,
as he saw it thrc^ugh his tears. Frc nn that hour forth,
the child looked out upon the star as on the Home

A Child's Dream of a Stak.

KiT

ith
ient
lified
oiig
the
oiig
my
was
lied
ake
pon
ling
lim,
irth,
ome

he was to go to when his time should eome ; and he
thought that he did not belong to the earth alone,
but to the star too, because of his sister's angel gone
before. There was a baby born to be a brother to
the child ; and whilst he was so little that he never
yet had spoken a word, he sti'etched his tiny foi-m
out on the bed, and died.

Again the child di'eamed of the open star, and of
the company of angels, and the train of people, and
the rows of angels, with their beaming eyes all
turned upon those people's faces. Said his sister's
angel to the leader, '* Is my brother come?" And
he said, "Not that one, but another." As the child
beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he cried, "O
sister, I am here! Take me!" And she turned
and smiled upon him, and the star was shining.

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his
l)Ooks, when an old servant came to him, and said,
" Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on
her darling son!" Again at night he saw the star,
and all the former company. Said his sister's angel
to the leader, " Is my bi'other come t" And h«> said,
"Thy mother!" A miglity cry of joy went foj-lli
through all the star, because the mother was reunit-
ed to her two children. And he stretched out his
arms, and cried, "() mother, sister, and brother, I

am here! Take m»^!" And thev answered him,
" Not yet," and the star was shining.

He grew to be a man whose hair was turning gi'ay,
and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy
with gi'ief, and with his face bedewed with tears,

168

Third Reader.

when the star opened oiiee again. Said his sister's
angel to the leader, ^'Is my brother come?" And
he said, "Nay, but his maiden daughter." And the
man who had been the child saw his daughter,
newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those
three, and he said, "My daughter's head is on my
sist(>i''s bosom, and her ami is round my mother's
neck, and at hf^r feet there is the baby of old time,
and I can bear the parting from her — God be
pi-aised ! " And the star was shining.

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his
face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow, and his
back was })ent. One night, as he lay upon his bed,
his chil(h*en standing around, he cried, as he had
cried so long ago, "I see the star I" They whis-
pered to one another, " He is dying." And he said,
" T am. My age is falling from me like a garment,
and I move towards the star as a child. And, O
my Father, now I thank Thee that it lias so often
opened, to receive those dear ones who await me !"
And the star was shining j and it shines upon his

gi'ave.

-Charles Dickens.

HOHENLINDEN.

On Linden, when tlie sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

HoHENLINDEN.

But Linden «aw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night, ^^ ,
: Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast array 'd,
Each horseman drew liis battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Tlien rush'd the steed, to battle driven, '
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash 'd the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow.
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon.level sun
Can pierce the war- clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, '
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.

The coml)at deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave !
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry !

Few, few, shall part, where many im^t I
The snow shidl }ye their winding sheet,
And eveiy turf l)eneath their feet
Shall })e, a soldier's sepulchre.

'-Thomas CttmpbelL

1()9

170 Third Readek.

THE CANADIAN SONG SPARROW.

From tlio leafy maple lid^'es,
From the tliickots of the cedar,
From the alders by the river,
From the bending \vill()\v branches,
From the hollows and the hillsides,
Through the lone Canadian forest,
Coin(\s the melancholy music,
Oft i-epeated, — never changing, —
" All-is- vanity-vanity- vanity."

Where the fanner ploughs his furiow,
Sowing seed with hope of harvest,
In the orchard white with blossom,
In the early field of clover,
Comes the little brown-clad singer
Flitting in and out of bushes,
Hiding well behind the fences.
Piping forth his song of sadness,- -
" Poor-hu-raanity-manity-manity,"

— Sir J. IJ. Edgar.

READING LESSON X.

Read tlie following sentence carefully to yourself.
Notice each clause, and try to discover if there is
not something here that we have not had befort'. I
vv^ant to ask vou not to read more than that sen-
tence until you have studied over it for some time.
'^ It is an outrage to bind a Roman citizen ; to scourge

Re.vding LE8S0N X.

171

is
1

n\-
le.

are

liim is an atrocious cnmo; to put him to death is
abuost parricidt ; but to crucify him — ^ hat shall 1
call it?"

We have here another method used by writers
and speakers for makiug an idea mori) striking. In
this case the speaker is condemning one ^vho has
caused the crucifixion of a Eoman. The orator
desires to impress upon the judges the seriousness
of the off«'nce. How does he do it f Instead of
speaking at once about the crucifying of the Aictim,
he begins by showing that a far less serious punish-
ment was a grave offence against the Roman law.
He says, " It is an outrage to bind a Roman (dti/.cn."
Then he goes another step, saying: "To scourge
him is an atrocious crime." Worse still : " To put
him to death " (by any means) " is almost parri-
cide." And now, having shown that less extreme
methods of punishment were great crimes, the orator
is ready for his final statement: "But to crucify
him — what shall I call it ? " In other words, the
speaker seems to have exhausted his vo(*ai> alary in
giving names to lower crimes : when he comes to a
name with which to describe the crime of crucif>'ing
a Roman, he finds his vocabulary does not have one
strong enough. Do you not see how powerful an
effect such an arraignment of clauses must have?
It is much stronger than if the speaker had said
merely, " I know no word to describe the crime of
crucifying a Roman citizen."

Analyze the following sentence, and explain how
ti:e thought is made more striking by this kind of

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j>f-

172

Third Reader.

li'

an*angement. " I know it, I concede it, I confess it,
I proclaim it."

This method of increasing the effect is called
<.'limax. Whenever, for any reason, a speaker or
writer keeps on adding thought to thought, making
each succeeding idea stronger than the preceding,
we have a climiix. Although you may never have
calh?d it by this name you have used it many times.
If you were determined to do a certain thing you
might say, " I can do it, I will do it, I must do it."
Well, that is a climax. Or von might say, **You
can't have it for ten dollars, for fifty dollars, for a
hundred dollars." That is another climax.

Note this example : " If I were an American, as I
I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop were
landed in my country, I never would lay down my
arms! never! never! never!" This, too, is a cli-
max, each of the last three " nevers " being stronger
than the preceding. If you will put yourself in the
position of the speaker, you will feel that each
"never" after the first is the result of stronger,
more intense feeling. If you will think jf it in this
way you will notice the effect in your expression.

We shall close this lesson with two illustrations.
Your teacher will tell you the story from which
these extracts are taken, and then you will prepare
them very carefully, taking particular pains to note
the climax in each.

"When a wind from tlie landF they liad ruin'd a^'oke from

' sleep,
And the water ])egan to heave and the weather to uioan,

The Pine Tree Shilling.

173

igs,

And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,
And a wave like a wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,
Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and
their flags.

And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-sliatterM navv
of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down hy the island <-ra<rf
To be lost evermore in the main."

— " TJis Aerewflre."— Tennysox.

' And thro' the centuries let a people's voice
In full acclaim,
A people's voice.
The proof and echo of all huniaii fame,
A people's voice, when thej rejoice

At civic revel and pomp and game,
Attest their great commander's claim
With honor, honor, honor, honor to him.
Eternal honor to his na.me."

— " Odeon the Death of WeUingto,,. "-TKmysoN.

—S. H. Clark.

THE PINE TREE SHILLING.

Captain John Hull was the mint-master of Massa-
chusetts and coined all the money that was made.
His was a new line of business ; for, in the earlier
days of the colony, the ciuTent coinage consisted of
the gold and silver money of England, Portugal,
and Spam. These coins being scarce, the people
were often forced to barter their com.modities in-
stead of seUing them. For instance, if a man wanted

174

Third Beadek.

to buy a coat, he exchanged a bear-skin for it ; if he
wished for a barrel of molasses, he might purchase
it for a pile of pine boards. Musket bullets were
used instead of farthings. The Indians had a sort
of money called wampum, which was made of clam
shells ; and this strange sort of specie was likewise
taken in pajTuent of debt by English settlers. Bank
bills had never been heard of. There was not money
enough of any kind, in many parts of the country,
to pay their ministers ; so that they had sometimes
to take quintals of fish, bushels of corn, or cords of
wood, instead of silver and gold.

As the people gi'ew more numerous, and their
trade with one another increased, the want of cuiTent
money was still more sensibly felt. To supply the
demand, the general court passed a law for estab-
lishing a coinage of shillings, sixpences, and three-
pences. Captain Hull was appointed to manufacture
this money, and was to have about one shilling to
every twenty to pay him for Ins trouble in making
them.

Hereupon all the old silver in the colony was
handed over to Captain John Hull. The battered
silver cans and tankards, I suppose, and silvei*
buckles, and broken sj^oons, and silver hilts of
swords that had figured at court, — all such curious
old articles were doubtless thrown into the melting-
pot together. But by far the greater pai*t of the
silver consisted of bullion from the mines of South
America, which the English buccaneers had taken
from the Spaniards, and brought to Massachusetts.

The Pine Tree Shilling.

175

.ken
itts.

All this old and new silver being melted down and
coined, the result was an immense amomit of splen-
did shillings, sixpences, and threepences. Each had
the date of 1()52 on one side, and the figure of a
pine-tree on the other side. Hence they were called
pine-tree shillings. And for every twenty shillings
that he coined, you will remember, C^iptain John
Hull was entitled to put one shilling in his own
pocket. The magistrates soon began to suspect that
the mint-master would have the best of the bargain.
They offered him a large sum of money if he would
give up that twentieth shilling which he was con-
tinually dropping into his pocket. But Captain
Hull dt^'^dared that he was perfectly satisfied with
the shilling. And well he might 1 ►e ; for so dili-
gently did he labor, that in a few years his pockets,
his money-bag, and his strong-box were overflow-
ing with pine-tree shillings. This was probably the
case when he came into possession of his grand-
father's chair ; and, as he had worked so hard at the
mint, it was certaiidy proper that he should liave a
comfortable chair to rest himself on.

When the mint-master was gi'own very rich, a
young man, Samuel Sewell by name, came courting
his only daughter. His daughter — ^whose name I
do not know, l)ut we will say Betsy — was a fine,
hearty damsel, by no means so slender as some
young ladies of our own day. On the contrary,
having always fed heartily on pumpkin-pies, dough-
nuts, Indian puddings, and other Puritan dainties,
she was as round and plump as a pudding. With

17()

Tried Readee.

this round, rosy Miss Betsy did Samuel Sewell fall
in love. As he was a young man of good char-
acter, industi'ious in his business, and a member of
the Church, the mint-master veiy readily gave his
consent.

"Yes, you may take her," said he in his rough
way; "and you will find her a heavy burden
enough."

On the wedding day we may suppose that honest
John Hull dressed himself in a plain coat, all the
buttons of which were made of pine-tree shillings.
The buttons of his waistcoat were sixpences; and
the knees of his small-clothes were buttoned with
silver threepences. Thus attired, he sat v/ith gi-eat
dignity in his gi'andfather's chair; and, being a
portly old gentleman, he completely filled it from
olbow to elbow. On the opposite side of the room,
between her bridesmaids, sat Miss Betsy. She was
blushing with all her might, and looked like a full-
blown peony, a great red apple, or any other round
and scarlet object.

There, too, was the bridegi'oom, dressed in a fine
pm'ple coat and gold-lace waistcoat, with as much
other finery p>s the Puritan laws and customs would
allow him to put on. His hair was cropt close to
his head, because Oovernor Endicott had forbidden
any man to wear it below his ears. But he was a
very personable young man; and so thought the
bridesmaids and Miss Betsy herself

The mint-master was also pleased with his new
son-in-law, especially as he had said nothing at all

ffit

The Pine Tree Siiillinc;.

177

tine
liiich
lonld
;e to

Lden
tas a
the

Inew

Lt all

about her portion. So wI^mi th(^ niarriagi^ ('(M^Mnony
was over, Captain Hull whisjx'nnl a word or two to
his men-servants, who immediately went out, and
soon returned lugging in a large pair of scales. They
were such a pair as wholesale merchants use for
weighing ; a bulky commodity was now to be
weighed in them.

"Daughter Betsy," said the mint-master, "go into
one side of the scales."

Miss Betsy — or Mrs. Sewell, as we must now call
her — did as she was bid, like a dutiful child, with-
out any question of a why or wherefore. But what
her father could mean, uidess to make her husband
pay for her by the pound (in which case she would
have been a dear bargain), she had not the least
idea.

"And now," said honest John Hull to his ser-
vants, "bring that box hither."

The box to which the mint-master pointed was a
huge, square, iron-bound oaken chest; it was big
enough, my children, for all four of you to play
hide-and-seek in.

The servants tugged with might and main, ])ut
could not lift this enormous receptacle, and wer(^
finally obliged to drag it across the floor.

Captain Hull then took a key out of his girdl(%
unlocked the chest, and lifted the ponderous lid.
Behold ! it was full to the brim of bright, pine-tree
shillings, fresh from the mint, and Samuel Sew^ell
began to think that his father-in-law had got pos-
session of all the money in Massachusetts treasury.

18 -

178

Third Reader.

But it was the niiiit-nuister's lioiKJst share of the
coinage

Then the serv^ants, at Captain Hull's command,
heaped double handt'uls of shillings into one side
of the scales, 'while Betsy remained on the other.
Jingl(3, jingle went the shillings, as handful after
handful was thrown in, till, plump and ponderous
as she was, they weighed the young lady from the
floor.

" There, son Sewell," cried the honest mint-mas-
ter, resuming his seat in his grandfather's chair,
*'take these shillings for my daughter's portion.
Use her kindly, and thank Heaven for her ; for it is
not eveiy wife that's worth her weight in silver ! "

The children laughed heartily at this legend, and
would hardly be convinced but grandfather had
made it out of his own head. He assured them
faithfully, however, that he had found it in the
pages of a grave historian, and merely had tried to
tell it in a somewhat funnier stylo.

"Well, grandfather," remarked Clara, "if wed-
ding-portions now-a-days were paid as Miss Betsy's
was, young ladies would not pride themselves upon
an airy figure, as many of them do."

If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows that thou wouklst forget, —
If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills ! No tears
Dim the sweet look that nature wears.

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The B.ut£FooT Boy.

179

THE BAREFOOT BOY.

Blessings on thee, little man—
Barefttot boy, with cheek of tan !
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes ;
With thy red lip, redder still,
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ;
With the sunshine on thy face.
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ;
From my heart I give thee joy !
I was once a barefoot boy !

Oh, for boyhood's painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor's rules ;
Knowledge, never learned of schools, '
Of the wild bee's morning chase.
Of the wild flower's time and pkce,
Flight of fowl, and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood ;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell.
And the ground-mole sinks his well ;

How the robin feeds her young.
How the oriole's nest is hung ;
Where the whitest lilies blow,'
Where the freshest berries grow.
Where the ground-nut trails its 'vine ;
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ;
Of the black wasp's cunning way.
Mason of his walls of clay.

180

Third Reader.

oil, for h()yh<M)frH time of June,
Crowding yoars in one brief moon.
When all things I h(>arfl or saw
Me, their master, waitefl for !
L was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees ; ^
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade ;

Tjjiughed the brook for my delight.
Through the day and through the night.
Whispering at the garden- wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall ;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel-pond,
Mine the walnut-slopes beyond.

Oh, for festal dainties spread.
Like ray bowl of of milk and bread —
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood.
On the door-stone, gray and rude !
O'er me, like a regal tent.
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Ijooped in many a wind-swung fold ;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs' orchestra ;
And, to light the noisy choir.
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. "

I was monarch : pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy !

Cheerily then, my little man.
Live and laugh, as boyhood can !
Though the flinty slopes be hard.
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,

The White Ship. IS I

Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew ;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat.

All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison-cells of pride,
Jjose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shcxl,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil ;
Happy, if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground ;
Happy, if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy !

— John G reeiilea/ miittier.

THE WHITE SHIP.

King Henry I. went over to Normandy with his
son Prince WiUiam and a great retinue to have the
prince acknowledged as his successor and to contract
a marriage between him and the daughter of the
Count of Anjou. Both these things were triumph-
antly done, with gi*eat show and rejoicing ; and on
the 25th of November, in the year 1120, the whole
retiime prepared to embark for the voyage home.

On that day, there came to the king, Fitz- Stephen,
a sea-captain and said, " My liege, my father served

182

Thikd Keadek.

your f athor all his life upon the sea. He steered the
sliip with the golden boy upon the prow, in which
your father sailed to concjuer England. I liav^e a fair
vessel in the harbor here, called * The White 8hip/
manned by fifty sailors of renown. I i)ray you, Sire,
to let your sei*vant have tlie honor of steeling you
in ' The White Ship ' to England."

" I am sorry, friend," replied the king, " that my
ship is already chosen, and that I cannot, therefore,
sail with the son of the man who served my father.
But the prin(5e and his company shall go along with
you in the fair White Sliip manned by the fifty
sailors of renown." An hour or two afterward, the
king set sail in the vessel he had chosen, accom-
panied by other vessels, and, sailing all night with
a fair and gentle wind, arrived upon the coast of
England in the morning. While it was yet night,
the people in some of these ships heard a faint, wild
cry come over the sea, and wondered what it was.

Now the prince was a dissolute young man of
eighteen, who bore no love to the English, and who
had declared that when he came to the throne he
would yoke them to the plough like oxen. He went
aboard The White Ship with one hundi-ed and forty
youthful nobles like himself, among whom were
eighteen noble ladies of the highest i*ank. All this
gay company, with their servants and the fifty
sailors, made three hundi-ed souls aboard the fair
Wliite Ship.

" Give three casks of wine, Fitz- Stephen," said the
prince, " to the fifty sailors of renew n. My father

The White 8hu'.

ISPi

this

fifty

fair

the
ither

tho king has stiilcd out of the hai-lxu*. What tiiiK'
is thoro to iimko meny hcn^, uiid yet ivach Kiigiand
with tno rt'st t "

" Prinoo," said Fitz-Htophen, ** before moniing my
fifty and The Wliito Ship shall overtake the swiftest
vessel in attendance on your fatlier th(^ king, if we
sail at nii<lnig]it." Then the prince eonminnded to
make meiiy ; and the sailors drank out tlie three
easks of win(^ ; and tlie ])i*inee and all the nobh^
eompany (huiced in the moonlight on the d«M*k ot*
The Wliite Ship.

Wlien, at last, she shot out of the harbor, there
was not a sober seaman on board. But the sails
were all set, and the oars all going imM'i'ily. Fitz-
Stephen had the helm. The gay young nobles and
the l^eautiful ladi<'s wrap[)ed in mantles of various
bright colors to protect them from the cold, talked,
laughed and sang. The pi-ince encouraged the fifty
sailors to row yet harder, for the honoi of The
White Ship.

Crash ! A terrific cry broke from three lumdred
hearts. It was the cry the people, in the distant
vessels of the king, heard faintly on the water. The
Wliite Ship had struck upon a rock, — was tilling, —
going down ! Fitz-Stephen hurried the pi-ince into
a boat with some few nobles. "Push off,'' fi^
whispered, "and row to the land. It is not far oif,
and the sea is smooth. The rest of us must die.''
But as they rowed fast away from the sinking ship,
the prince heard the voice of his sister calling for
help. He never in his life had been so good as he

184

TiiiKD Reader.

m '

was then. He ciied in agony, "Rov back at any
lisk ! I cannot bear to leave her ! "

They rowed back. Aj-; the pi .i.ce held out his arm
to catch his sister, snch numbers leaped into the
boat that it was overset. And in the same instant.
The White Ship went down. Only two men floated.
They both clung to the mainyard of the ship, which
had broken from the mast and now supported them.
One asked the other who he was. He replied, " I
am a nobleman, — Godfi-ey by name, son of Gilbert.
And you 1" — " I am a poor butcher of Rouen,'" was
the answer. Then they said together, "Lord be
merciful to us both ! " and tided to encourage each
other as they drifted in the cold, benumbing sea on
that unfortunate November night.

By and by another man came swimming toward
them, whom they knew, when he pushed aside his
long wet hair, to be Fitz- Stephen. " Where is the
prince ? " said he. " (xoiie, gone ! " the two cried to-
gether. "Neither he, nor his brother, nor his sister,
nor the king's niece, nor her brother, no}' any of all
the brave throe hundred, noble or commoner, except
us three, has risen above the water ! " Fitz- Stephen,
with a ghastly face, cried, " Woe ! woe to me ! " and
sank to the bottom.

The other two clung to the yard for some hours.
At length the young noble said faintly, " I am ex-
hausted, and chilled with the cold, and can hold
no longer. Farewell, good friend ! God preserve
you!" So he dropped and sank; and, of all the
biilliant crowd, the poor butcher of Rouen alone

any

The Ivy Green.

185

was saved. In the morning some fisheiTQen saw
him floating in his sheep-skin coat, and got him
into their boat,— the sole relater of the dismal tale.
For three days no one dared to carry the intelli-
gence to the king. At length they sent into his
pi-esenco a little boy who, weeping bitterly and fall-
ing at his feet, told him that The White Ship was
lost with all on board. The king fell to the ground
like a dead man, antl never, never aftei-ward was
seen to smile.

—Charlek Dickeng.

THE IVY GREEN.

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green,

That creepeth o'er ruins ok. :
Oi right choice food are his meals, I ween.

In his cell so lone and cold.
The walls must be crumbled, the stone decayed,

To pleasure his dainty whim ;
And the mouldering dust that years have made

Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,

And a staunch old heart has he ;
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings '
' To his friend, the huge Oak-tree ! '♦

And slyly he traileth along the ground, - a

And his leaves he gently waves,
As he joyously hugs and crawleth around

18G Thikd Eeader.

The ricli mould of dead men's graves.

Creeping where grim death lias been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Whole ages have fied, and their works decayed,

And nations have scattered been,
But the stout eld Ivy shall never fade

From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant, in its lonely days,

Shall fatten upon the past,
For the stateliest building man '^an raise
Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping on, where time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

— Charles Dickens.

BUCEPHALUS.

The most famous horse, perhaps, who ever lived,
was one belonging to Alexander the Great, and was
called Bucephalus. When the king was a boy, Buce-
phalus was brought before Philip, King of Mace-
don, Alexander's father, by Philonicus, the Thes-
salian, and offered for sale for the large sum of
thirteen talents. Beautiful though he was, Philip
wisely declined to buy him before knowing what
manner of horse he was, and ordered him to be led
into a neighl)oring field, and a groom to mount him.
But it was in vain that the best and most experi-
enced riders approached the horse ; he reared up
on his hind legs and would suffer none to come
near him. So Philonicus the Thessalian was told

BUCEPHALU.^.

187

to take his horse back whence he came, for the king
would have none of him.

Now the boy Alexander stood by, and his heart
went out to the beautiful creature. And he cried
out, "What a good horse do we lose for lack of
skill to mount him ! " Pliihp the King heard these
words, and his soul was vexed to see the horse
depart, but yet he knew not what elso to do. Then
he turned to Alexander and said : " Do you think
that you, young and antried, can ride this horse bet-
ter than those wlio have grown old in the stables!"
To which Alexander made answer, "This horse I
know I could ride better than they." "And if you
fail," asked Philip, "what price will you pay for
your good conceit of yourself?" And Alexander
laughed out and said gaily, " I will pay the price of
the horse." And thus it was settled.

So Alexander drew near to the horse and took
him by the bridle, tmiiing his face to the sun so
that he might not be frightened at the movements
of his own shadow, for the prince had noticed that
it scared him greatly. Then Alexander stroked his
head and led him forwards, feeling his temper all
the while, and when the horse began to get uneasy,
the prince suddenly leapt on his back, and gradually
curbed him with the bridle. Suddenly, as Buceph-
alus gave up trying to throw his rider, and only
pawed the ground impatient to be off, Alexander
shook the reins, and bidding him go, they flew like
lightning round the course. This was Alexander's
first conquest, and as he jumped down from the

1H8

Third Reader.

horse his father exclaimed, •' Go, my son, and seek
for a kingdom that is worthy, for Macedon is too
small for such as thee."

Henceforth Bucephalus made it clear that he
served Alexander and no one else. He would sub-
mit quietly to having the gay trappings of a king's
steed fastened on his head, and the royal saddle put
on, but if any groom tried to mount him, back would
go his ears and up would go his heels, and none
dared come near him. For ten years after Alex-
ander succeeded his father on the throne of Mace-
don (b.c. 336), Bucephalus bore him through all his
battles, and was, says Pliny, " of a passing good and
memorable service in the wars," and even when
wounded, as he once was at the taking of Thebes,
would not suffer his master to mount another horse.
Together these two swam rivers, crossed mountains,
penetrated into the dominions of the Great King,
and further still into the heart of Asia, beyond the
Caspian and the river Oxus, where never European
army had gone before. Then turning sharp south,
he crossed the range of the Hindoo Koosh, and
entering the country of the Five Rivers, he prepared
to attack Poms, king of India. But age and the
wanderings of ten years had worn Bucephalus out.
One last victory n^ear the Hydaspes or Jelum, and
the old horse sank down and died, full of years and
honors (b.c. 326). Bitter were the lamentations of
the king for the friend of his childhood, but his
grief did not show itself only in weeping. The most
splendid funeral Alexander could devise was given

Questions. j^gg

hiJ'C^fT'/'"^ a gorgeous tomb erected over
his body. And more than that, Alexander resolved
that the memory of his old horse should be ket,
green in these burning Indian deserts, thou^ds o
miles from the Thessalian plains whei; he was born
.so^i^uud his tomb the king built a city, ^d itTs

"BUCEPHALIA."

— Andrew La

ng.

QUESTIONS.

Can you put the spider's web back in pla^e
Ihat once had been swept awav ?

Can you put the apple again on the bough
which fell at our feet tcHiay ?

. Can you put the lily-cup back on the stern
And cause it to live and grow ?
Can you mend the butterfly's broken wing
Ihat you crushed with a ha^ty blow ?

Can you put the bloom again on the grape.

And the grape again on the vine ?
Can you put the dew-drops back on the flowers

And make them sparkle and shine ?

Can you put the petals back on the rose ?

If you could, would it smell as sweet ?
Can you put the flour again in the husk

And show me the ripened wheat ?

Can you put the kernel back in the nut
Or the broken egg in the shell ?

11)0 Thikd Keadeh.

Can you put the honey back in the comb,
And cover with wax each cell ?

You think that ray questions are trifling, dear ?

Ijet me ask you another one :
Can a hastv word be ever unsaid,

Or an unkind deed be undone ?

WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON.

The snn already shone biightly as William Tell
entered the town of Altorf, and he advanced at
once to the public place, where the first object that
caught his eyes was a handsome cap, embroidered
with gold, stuck upon the end of a long pole. Sol-
diers were walking around it in silence, and the
people of Altorf, as they passed, bowed their head
to the symbol of authority. The cap had been set
up by Gessler, the Austrian commander, for the
purpose of discovering those who were not submis-
sive to the Austrian power, which had ruled the
people of the Swiss Cantons for a long time with
great severity. He suspected that the people were
about to break into rebellion, and with a view to
learn who were the most discontented, he had placed
the ducal cap of Austria on this pole, publicly pro-
claiming that every one passing near, or within
sight of it, should bow before it, in proof of his
homage to the duke.

Tell was much sm'prised at this new and strange
attempt to humble the people, and leaning on his

n Tell
jed at
it that
idered
Sol-
id the
head
en set
or the
bmis-
ed the
with
e were
lew to
placed

y p^o-

.vithin
of his

(trange
Ion his

AViLLiAM Tell and His Son.

191

fross-bow, gazed scornfully on them and the sol-
diers. Berenger, captain of the guard, at leugth
observed this man, who alone amidst the cringing
crowd eaiTied his head erect. He ordered him to
be seized and disarmed by the soldiers, and then
conducted him to Gessler, who put some questions
to him, which he answered so haughtily that Gessler
was both surprised and angry. Suddenly, he was
struck by the likeness between him and the boy
Walter Tell, whom he had seized and put in prison
the previous day for uttering some seditious words;
he immediately asked his name, which he no sooner
heard than he knew him to be the archer so famous
as the best marksman in the Canton. Gessler at
once resolved to punish both father and son at the
same time, by a method which was perhaps the most
refined act of torture which man ever imagined. As
soon, then, as the youth was brought out, the gov-
ernor turned to Tell and said, *' I have often heard
of thy great skill as an archer, and I now intend to
put it to the proof. Thy son shall be placed a dis-
tance of a hundred yards, with an apple on his head.
If thou strikest the apple with thy arrow I will par-
don you both ; but if thou refusest this trial thy son
shall die before thine eyes.'*

Tell implored Gessler to spare him so cruel a trial,
in which he might perhaps kill his beloved boy with
his own hand. The governor would not alter his
purpose ; so Tell at last agreed to shoot at the apple,
as the only chance of caving his son's life. Walter
stood with his back to a linden tree. Gessler, some

19li

Third Reader.

distance behind, watched every motion. His cross-
bow and one arrow were handed to Tell ; he tried
the point, broke the weapon, and demanded his
quiver. It was brought to him, and emptied at his
feet. He stooped down, and taking a long tin)e to
choose an arrow, managed to hide a second in his
girdle.

After being in doubt a long time, his whole soul
beaming in his face, his love for his son rendering
him almost powerless, he at length roused himself
— drew the bow — aimed — shot — and the apple,
struck to the core, was carried away by the arrow.

The market-place of Altorf was filled by loud
cheers. Walter flew to embrace his father, who,
overcome by his emotions, fell fainting to the
ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view.
Gessler stood over him, awaiting his recovery, which
speedily taking place, Toll rose, and turned away
from the governor with horror, who, however,
scarcely yet believing his senses, thus addressed
him — " Incomparable archer, I will keep my pro-
mise; but what needed you with that second arrow
which I see in your girdle I " Tell replied that it
was the custom of the bowmen of Uri to have
always one arrow in reserve. "Nay, nay," said
Gessler, "tell me thy real motive; and, whatever it
may have been, speak frankly, and thy life is
spared." "The second shaft," replied Tell, "was
to pierce thy heart, tyi*ant, if I had chanced to harm
my son."

—Chambers^a " Tracts."

I cross-
e tried
led his
I at his
time to
in his

>le soul

idering

limself

apple,

LITOW.

y loud
•, who,
to the
) view.
, which
L away
►wever,
iressed
ly pro-
. arrow
that it
3 have
," said
tever it
life is
, "was
ohaiTQ

racts."

Jack ik the Pvlvit.

JACK IN THE PULPIT.

193

Jack in tlio Pu]])it

Pi'(;aches to-(hiy,
Under tlie gi-een trees '

Just over tlie way.
^"^quirrel and song-sparrou ,

High on their j)erc}i,
Hear the sweet lily-hells

Ringing to church.

Come, liear what liis reverence
Rises to say,

In his low painted pulpit, '

^ This calm Sabbath-(hiy.
Fair is the canopy
Over ]iim seen,

Pencilled hy Nature's han<I
Rlack, brown, and gi-een. ■,

Green is his surplice,
Green are his bands ; ^^

In Jiis queer httle pul].it
The little priest stands.

In black and gold velvet, )
So gorgeous to see.

Comes with his base voice

The chorister bee.
Green fingers playing

Unseen on wind-lyres —
14 '

194

Third Header.

Ijovv Hinging l)inl-voice8, — •

Th(\so are his choirs.
The violets are deacons ;

I know by their sign
That the cups wliicli tliey carry

Are ^>urplo with wine.
And the eoliimhines })ravely

As sentinels stand
On the look-out, with all their .

lied trumpets in hand.

Meek-faced aiKunones

Drooping and sa<i ;
Great y(!llow violets

Smiling out glad ;
Buttercups' faces

Beaming and bright ;
Clovers, with bonnets —

Some red and some white ;
Daisies, their white fingers

Half-clasjjed in prayer ;
Dandelions proud of

The gold of their hair ;
Innocents, children

Guileless and frail,
Meek little faces

Upturned and pale ;
Wild-wood geraniums,

All in their best,
Jjanguidly leaning

In purple gauze dressed ; — f ;•
All are assembled

This sweet Sabbath day
To Jiear what the priest in his pulpit will say.

t^ACK IX THE J*lILl>lT.

'^ook ! wl.ito Indian jiipos
On the green nxw.se.s lie !
Who liH.s been smoking
Profanely so nigh ?

Kelmked by the preacher

The mischief is stopped,

And tlie sinn(M-s, in Imste,'

Have their little pipes drop,H.d.
J^fc the wind, with the fragrance

Of fern and black-birch,
Blow the smell of the smoking
Clean out of the church !

195

So much for the preacher :
The sei-mon comes next ;-^

Shall we tell how he preached it.

And what was his text ?
Alas ! like too many

Grown-up folk who play -
At worship in churches

Man-builded to-day—
We heard not the preac'her

Expound or discuss ;

But we looked at the people
. . And they looked at us ;

We saw all their dresses, '

- Their colors and shapes,

The trim of their bonnets.

The cut of their capes ; *
^^^ heard the wind-oigaii, - -
The bee and the bird ' ' '

But of Jack in the Pulpit we heard nofa word !

-John Greenleaf Wliittier

mm ic m m'- \ »ts ^ m^ m

ifi

IIK)

Third Readek.

. BIRDS.

Binls— birds, ye aro beautiful things,

Witli your earth-tn^ading feet arui your cloud-cle^iving wiugs,
Wlicro sliall man wandor anii wh«u*e shall he dwell,
Beautiful birds, that ye come not as well ?

Yo have nesta on the mountains, all luggod and st irk ;
Ye have nests in the forest, all tangled and dark ;
Ye build and ye brood 'neath the cottager's eaves,
And ye sh^ep on the sod 'mid the bonny green leaves.
Ye hide in the heather, ye lurk in the brake ;
Ye dive in the sweet-flags that shadow the lake ;
Ye skim where the stream parts the orehard-decke<l land ;
Ye dance wh<3re the foam sweeps the desolate strand.

Beautiful birds, ye come thickly around

When the bud's on the branch and the snow's on the ground ;

Ye come when the richest of roses flush out,

And ye come when the yellow leaf eddies about.

—Eliza Cook.

THE THREE BELLS.

■■i't.

■ i

Beneath the low-hung night cloud
That raked her splintering mast

The g )od ship settled slowly,
Tl ruel leak gained fast.

Over the awful ocean

Her signal guns pealed out.
Dear God ! was that thy answer

From the horror round about ?

A voice came down the wild wind,
" Ho ! ship ahoy !" its cry :

The Thhee Bells.

"Our stout Tfnvo HHls of Qlas^w

Hour after hour crept slowly,
Yet on the heuving.su ells''

''Wd up aM<l down the ship |i,,t.,
^i'O V'ts of the Three Hells!

Ami ship to ship nwirlo si^^nuls,
Man answered hack to n.an,

^V Ml. oft, to cheer and hearten
llie Three liells nearer ran ;

And the captain from h(.r talFrail
^ent down his liopeful cry

"T^UceW^rtlHoldonr'h;'shoute<i,
IheThreeliellsshalllayhyJ"

All night across the waters
The tossing lights shone clear •

All night from reeling taffrail
Tlie Three Bells sent her cheer,

And when the dreary watches

Of storm and darkness passe<i
Just as the wreck lurched under!
All souls were saved at last.

«ail on, Three Bells, for ever,

Tn grateful memory sail I
Hing on, Three Bells of rescue

Above the wave and gale !

Type of the Love eternal,
Repeat the Master's cry
As tossing through our darkness "= -

ihe lights of God draw nigh!

-John Qreenlea/ Whittier.

lf)7

n i

l!)8

Third Readeh.

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.

It Avas at break of day, on the 3rd of August,
1492, that Cokinibus set sail for the Canaiy Isles,
from whence he meant to sail on, due west. Dav bv
day he wrote down what came to pass; and this
book, in his handvrriting, is still to be seen in the
city of Madrid. He also made a map, as a guide to
sail by; but it is now lost.

The joy and hope that Columbus might now have
felt, were kept in cheek by want of trust in his men.
So long as they knew the way, and were within a
few days' reach of land, it was to be feared they
would rebel and try to get back again. Si^ns of
this were soon made known. On the third day the
"Pinta" was in distress — her rudder hung loose.
Columbus felt sure this had been done by stealth,
to for(»e her return, and was but a foretaste of trou-
bles Lo come. The wind blew so hard at the time,
that he could give no aid without risk to his own
ship.

Martin Pinson was an able sailor, and made the
rudder fast with cords ; but these could not last, and
4;heir hope was to make them hold out so far as the
Canary Isles, which came in sight on tlie ninth day.
Three days were spent en these islands, in the vain
hope to find a better ship ; but at last the frail ones
were set to rights, and Iney put to sea again.

As they sailed on, the high peak of a steep rock

Ohkistopheh Columbus.

VX)

ugust,
f Isles,
Day by
1(1 this
in tlie
uide to

)whave
lis men.
vitliin a
ed tliey
Uj^iis of

day tlie
loose.

stealth,

of trou-
e time,

Ihis own .

lade the
last, and
Ir as the

ith day.
Ihe vain

[•ail ones

•

^ep rock

was seen far off, which showed smoke and flame
from its top. The crews took alarm at this, as a
bad omer. Colmnbus left the last point of known
land; but a dead calm kept the ships for three whole
days within reach of it. Wlien a fresh breeze
sprang np, he thought all was safe and the voyage
in truth begun ; but the sailors slied tears and madci
loud cries, from fear that all those they loved best
were lost to them for ever. Their leader tried to
soothe and fill their minds with hopes of new scenes,
and wonders, and riches in the seas before them.

From this time, Columbus took care to keep two
books — one for himself and one for the crew — to
see and judge of the state of the ships, and the way
they made. On the 11th of Septeml)er they fell in
with part of a mast, which from its size must have
been on a large ship, and they sav/ that it had lain
very long in the water. The crews looked upon
this with fear, as a sign of shipwi'eck. On the 13th
of September there was a more just cause for alarm.
The needle of the compass began to waver; and,
without this guide, what was to become of them on
the wide ocean ! Columbus did his best to show
cause for it; but to this day wo know Jio more than
the fact that such ib is, and no man can tell why.
On the 14th of September, a heron and one other
bird flew over the ships; and at niglit, for the first
time, they saw a Cun'y glow in the sky, which made
them still more timid and fearful, though it is now
a well-known wonder in the hot climes of the south
seas.

200

Third Reader.

After a while, large patches of herbs faid weeds
were seen to float on the top of the sea. On one of
these patches was a live crab, which was picked up,
and Columbus took care of it. . :v r^ ^

On the 18th they had a steady breeze from the
east, and the crews were in high spirits. Each shi])
tried to be foremost to get the first sigiit of land. At
times there was a misty cloud in the north, such as
hangs over land at sunset. It took many shapes,
which made the men wish to steer that way.
Columbus knew better, and would not let them
(change the fixed course of the ships. Once they
saw two snow-white pelicans, which are heavy
birds, not able to fly very far from land.

Some small birds also came to cheer them bv dav
with songs, and flew away at night; but still no land
could be seen, and the men gave way to idle fears
and fancies.

; On the 25th of September a heavy swell of the
sea came on with no wind. We now know, that
this is very often the case in the broad ocean, owing
to some past storm, or a far-distant oik^, that takes
effect on the waves. '

Columbus ti'ied to make his men foel the liolv
trust that filled his own soul, as Moses did when he
led the children of Israel out of Egypt.

Wlien this alarm was over, the trials of Columbus
were by no means less than before. Though each
day, as they sailed on, must bring them nearer to
land, yet each day the fears and conduct of the crew
became woi'se. The signs so full of hope to the

veeds
ne of
d up,

n the
I slii})
I. At
leli as
lapes,

way.

them
) they
heavy

)V dav

o land

fears

of the
that
lowhig
takes

, .-> ' ''

holv

leii he

biibus

each

•er to

crew

to the

Christopher Columbus.

201

mind of Columbus did but add to the fears of the
men. .-- '■"' . - ■ ^ '-■'.,... ■.^. /....,...„;.»-•;...„...

Some of them laid a plot to throw their leader
into the sea, and turn back. Colum])us knew of all
this bad feeling, but still bore all in patience, and
spoke wisely and well to each man in turn. On the
25th of September the wind was due east, and took
them onwards. Once the cry of "Land!" was
heard ; but the daylight put an end to this f resli
dream of hope. They still v/ent on. Dolphins
played around the ships, and flying fish ft^ll upon
the decks. These new sights kept tlie sailors
amused. On the 7th of October, some of the ad-
miral's crew thought they saw land in the West ;
but before the close of day the signs were lost in
the air. They had now sailed 750 leagues — more
than 2,000 miles — from any known land. Flights
of small birds came about the ships: a heron, a peli-
can, and a duck were sev3n; and so they went on,
till one night, when the sun went down on a shore-
less sea, the crew rose against Columbus, to force
his return. He was firm as ev^er, but spoke gently,
and prayed them to trust that all would yet be well.
It was hard work to make them submit and obey, and
the state of things for Columbus was bad indeed.

Next day brought some relief; for the signs of
land were more and more sm'e. They saw fresh
weeds, such as only grow in the rivers, and a kind
of fish onlv found about rocks. The branch of a
tree, with berries on it, floated past, and they picked
up a piece of cane; also a board and stick, ^-ith

.• jmy /m FD umtnt mrrm mr,:!!!. r,.^:

202

Third Readeb.

■\\

strange things cut on them. All glootn and ill-will
now cleared away.

Each man hoped to be the fii\st to see the new
land, and thus to win the large reward in money
which was then to be given him. The breeze had
been fresh all day, and they sailed very fast. At
sunset their course was due west. Every one was
on the alert. No man on board the three ships went
to sleep that night. When it grew dark Columbus
took his place on the top of the cabin. He was
glad to be alone, just on the eve of the long-looked-
for event. His eye was keen, and now on the strain
through the deep still shades of night. All at once,
about 10 o'clock, he thought he saw a Hgt ' far off.
Lest hope should mislead him, he called up a man
to his side. Yes! — there again! — it surely was a
light! liey called the mate. Yes; he, too, was
sure it was the same; and then it was gone, and
soon they all saw it again. It might be a torch in
the bark of some fisherman, rising and sinking with
the waves; or a Hght in the hand of a man on shore,
moving here and there. Thus Columbus knew that
land was there, with i aen upon it. What words can
tell the joy of his bi'ave and noble soul !

In two hours after this a gun was fired from the
"Pinta," the glad signal for land. It was now
clearly seen. They took in sail, and waited for the
full light of day.

The thoughts and feelings of Columbus, as the
day dawned, must have been almost too strong to
bear. Through the power of faith and trust, he had

Columbus^ Fihst Voyage. '203

overcome every trial and troubla With three su<4i
poor, mean sn.all ships, and most unworth" ^^^^
he had sailed across the oc^ean, and a new woi-ld W
open before him. His hfe's labor woiild for evtr
Sr^" yet to come, so long as the wox-ld mighfc

"The greatest works of mind or hand have l,een
-Done unto God; so may it ever be."

-Crompton^s " Lifeof OnhnubuM-

COLUMBUS' FIRST VOYAGE.

A thing of life on the roaring tide
Heems tljat ^ir ship in her strength and pride 1
. Though howl the winds, though leap the waves,
Her path she ploughs, their wrath she braves •
A fit ship for that spirit bold,
Who guides her on to a land untold {
Her crew has not a heart that fears ■ > ''

To sdl, where bold Columbus steers !

• Far, far away from their native shore
That crew are now, to return no more ;

About the sails the winds are shrill, ' ^

And that to the seamen bodeth ill.
But what bright speck is afar off seen,
Of herb and flowers and welcome green ?
Columbus shouts "Ho, land !" aloud-
Mistaken hope, 'twas but a cloud !

" He plays us false !» from lip to lip,
A murmur ran throughout the ship ;

204

Third Reader.

Columbus heard their whispers breath'd,

And saw their daggers half unsheathed ! .,.,.

Nor quailed he, though his pride did sue • j,

For patience to his craven crew ;

For three days more will they remain ?

They yield — but then steer home again.

The first day pass'd, and the setting sun

Columbus told the goal was won :

" Heave-to !" cried he, "crowd sail no more !

For see ye not the far-off shore ?"

And there were lands of lake and wood,

Where living mnn and women stood !

The joyous crew now leapt ashore,

And blest that spot — " Saint Salvador !"

— James Bruton.

JOHN GILPIN.

Showing how he went farther than he intended^ and came aafe home again.

John Gilpin was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,

"Though wedded we have been
These thrice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

" To-morrow is our wedding day,

And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,

All in a chaise and pair.

Bruton,

)me again.

John Gtilpin.

" My sibter and my sister's child
Myself and children three,

Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride
On horseback after we."

He soon replied, "I do admire

Of womankind but one •
And you are she, my dearest dear,

Iherefore it shall be done.

T am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know
And my good friend the calender

Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said-
And for that wine is dear

^1,^."^ ^™«hed with om. own, '
Which is both bright and clear. '>

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife ;

O'erjoyed was lie to find,
That though on pleasure slie was bent,

fehe had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought
iJut yet was not allowed '

To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise wa^ stayed,

Where they did all get in,—
Six precious souls, and all agog

To da^h through thick and thia.

205

206 Thuu) Keadek.

Siimck went tlie whip, round went the wheels,

Were never folks so glad !
The stones did rattle underneath, '

As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side,

Heized fast the flowi/ig mane, , :; ,

And up lie got, in haste to ride.

But soon came down again : —

For saddle tree scarce reached had he,

His journey to begin.
When, turning round his head, he saw

Three customers come in.

,.-:a ''

So down he came ; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore.

Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him nmch more.

-■r 'H

Twas long before the customer.-*

Were suited to their mind.
When Betty, screaming, came down stairs,

"The wine is left liehind !"

"Good-lack !" quoth he, "yet bring it me.

My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword,

When I do exercise."

Now, Mrs. Giipin (careful soul !)
Had two stone bottles found.

To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.

John ihLviti. "

Each bottle had a curling (vir,

nrou^h which the Wt he drew
And hun^ a lx)ttle on e*ich side
To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he raight be
Equipped from top to toe
, ■ His bng red cloak, well-brushed and neat,
He manfully did throw.

Now see him mounted once again

L^pon his nimble steed, ,1

Fuji slowly pacing o'e- the stones, ^^-MCl

VVith caution and good heed. '■^--^Mj

But finding soon a smoother road ^^^

Beneath his well-shod feet
Tli^ snorting beast began to trot, • '

Which galled him in his seat. O. : /

So "Fair and softly !" John he cried, .. -

-But John he cried in vain ;
That trot became a gallop soJn

In spite of curb and rein. ' .:,„.,

\l^^P^^8 do^n, as needs he must

Who cannot sit upright
He grasped the mane with both his hand«

And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort

Had handled been Ijefore,
What thing upon his back had got

Aid wonder more and ijipfe.

207

208

Third Readek.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ;

Away went hat and wig ;
He little dreamt, when he set out,

Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did Hy,

Like streamer long and gay.
Till, loop and button, failing Ixith,

At last it Hew away. - ,

Then might all people well discern

Tlu; bot Jes he liad slung, —
A bottle swinging at each side,

As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed,
^ Up flew the windows all ;
And every soul cried out, "Well done !"
As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin — who but he 1
His fame soon spread around :

" He carries weight ! he rides a race !
'Tis for a thousand pound !"

And still, as fast as he drew near,

'Twas wonderful to view,
How in a trice the turnpike-men

Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,

The bottles twain behind his back
Were shattered at a blow.

JOHN aUA>lS.

- ^«7» ^*^" the wine into the roml
Most ,,ito(,i,s to iKi seen,
VVhieJi made his },(>rse's fl,mks ^» i
As they had l3astecnK3er ' ^'"^'V

Butstill he seemed to carry weight,
With leathern ^.irdle hraeed .

*or all might see the bottle-necks ,
fc>till dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merzy Islington
Ihese gambols did he plaj,

Until he came unto the Wasii
Of Edmonton so gay ; -

And there he threw the Wash about

On both sides of the way

Just like unto a trundling mop, '
Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton, his loving wife
From the balcony espied ^

Hertenderlmsband,wonderingmuch ;::
Xo see how he did ride.

"Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! -Here's th. )
They all at once did cry • """ ^

feaidGilpm,— "Soami!"

But yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there »

For why ^his owner had a house
i^ull ten miles off, at Ware

209

210

Third Keadek.

So like an arrow swift lie fleW;

Shot by an archer Htrong ;
So did ho iiy— which brings me to

The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin, out of breath,
And sore against his will,

Till at his friend the calender's
His horse at last stood still.

Tlie calender, amazed to see
His neighl)or in such trim,

Tjtiid down his pipe, flew to the gate
And thus accosted him :

" What news 1 what news ? your tidings tell ;

Tell me you must and shall ;
Say, why bareheaded you are come,

Or why you come at all !"

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

And loved a timely joke ;
And thus unto the calender

In nerry guise he spoke :

" I came because your horse would come ;

And, if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here, —

They are upon the road." ■ .

The calender, right glad to find *

His friend in merry pin,
Returned him not a single ".rord

But to the house went in ;

John Gilpin.

. Whence strai^^ht he came with hat and wk'
A wig that flowed iM-hind, '

A hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.

ffe held them up, and in his turn,

Thus h1iow(h1 liis ready wit:
"My head is twice as hig as yours,

The) therefore needs must fit.

" But let me scrape the dirt away,

That hangs upon your face ;
And stop and eat, for well you may

Be in a hungry case."

Said John, " Tt is my wedcJing-day,

And all the world would stare,
If wife would dine at Edmonton,'

And I should dine at Ware."

So, turning to his horse, he said—

" I am in haste to dine :
'Twas for your pleasure you came here.

You shall go back for mine." ' *

Ah ! luckless .Mpeech, and l>ootless lx,ast,

For which he paid full dear ;
For, while he spake, a braying ass

Did sing most loud and clear :

Whereat his horse did snor, as he
Had heard a lion roar,

And galloped off with all his might.
As he had done before.

211

212 Thikd Reader.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went G'lpin's hat and wig ;

He lost them sooner than at first ;
For why? — they were too big.

Nov/, mistress Gilpin, when she saw

Her husband posting down
Into the country — far away.

She pulled out half a crown ;

And thus unto the youth, she said,
That drove them to the BpII,

"This shall be yours when you bring back
My husband, safe and well."

The youth did ride and soon did meet

John coming back amain ;
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
^ By catching at bis rein ;

But, not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,

The frighted steed hf> frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels, —

The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thu .. :eing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scamj)ering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry :

**»««iaMi»s«te:-.

Little Dafpydowndilly.

''Stop, thief! stop, thief !-a highwayman -"

iNot one of tliem was mute ;
And all and each that passed that way

I>k1 jom in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike-gates again

i^lew open in short space;
The toll-raen thinking as before.

That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it tm,,

f'or he got first to town ;
Not stopped till where he liad got up

He did again get down.

Not let us sing, long live the king,

And Gilpin, long live he ;
And when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see !

—William Cowper.

213

LITTLE DAPPYDGWNDILLY.

DaffydowndiUy was so called because in his na
ture he resembled a flower, and loved to do o,Uv

de ght in labor of any kind. But while Daffydown-
of a ve v^i TV^°?^' ^"<J P"t W«i "nder the care

and t Jhf haIl:e^:relLlSt?Sr '
-d ..-own people, than anybody ;is:t\rew.S

it'

214

Third Reader.

Certainly he had lived long enough to do a gi'eat deal
of good; for, if all stories be true, he had dwelt
upon earth ever since Adam was driven from the
garden of Eden.

Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe and ugly
countenance, especially for such little boys or big
men as were inclined to be idle ; his voice, too, was
harsh; and all his ways and customs seemed very
disagi'eeable to our friend Daffydowiidilly. The
whole day long this terrible old schoolmaster sat at
his desk overlooking the scholars, or stalked about
the school-room with a certain awful birch rod in
his hand. Now came a rap over the shoulders of a
boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play; now he
punished a whole class who were behindhand with
their lessons ; and, in short, unless a lad choose to
attend quietly and constantly to his book, he had no
chance of enjoying a quiet moment in the school-
room of Mr. Toil.

"This will never do for me," thought Daifydown-
dilly.

Now the whole of Daffydowndilly^s life had hith-
erto been passed with his dear mother, who had a
much sweeter face than old Mr. Toil, and who had
always been very indulgent to her httle boy. No
wonder, therefore, that poor Daffydowndilly found
it a woful change, to be sent away from the good
lady's side, and put under the care of this ugly-
visaged schoolmaster, who never gave him any
apples or cakes, and seemed to think that little boys
were created only to get lessons.

Little Daffydowndilly.

215

at deal

dwelt

)m the

d ugly
or big
00, was
3d very
^ The
3r sat at
)d about
L rod in
lers of a
now he
md with
loose to
e had no
school-

Eydown-

ad hith-
10 had a
ho had
oy. No
ly found
[he good
lis ugly-
jiim any
Ittle boys

" I can't bear it any longer," said Daffydowndilly
to himself, when he had been at school abont a
week. "I'll run away and try to find my dear
mother; and, at any rate, I shall never find any-
body half so disagreeable as this old Mr. Toil!"

So, the very next morning, off started poor Daffy-
downdilly, and began his rambles about the world,
with only some bread and cheese for his breakfast,
and very little pocket-money to pay liis expenses.
But he had gone only a short distance when he
overtook a man of gi*ave and sedate ap[)oaranct»,
who was trudging at a moderate pace along the
road.

"Ooc . morning, my fine lad," said the stranger;
and his voice seemed hard and severe, but yet had
a sort of kindness in it; "Whence do you come so
early, and whither are you going!"
> Little Daffydowndilly was a boy of very ingenious
disposition, and had never been known to tell a lie
in all his life. Nor did he tell one now. He hesi-
tated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he
had run away from school, on account of his great
dislike to Mr. .' il; and that he was resolved to find
some place ia .L-^ vorld where he should never see
or hear of the old. schoolmaster again.

" Oh, very well, my little friend ! " answered the
stranger. " Then we will go together ; for I, like-
wise, have had a good deal to do with Mr. Toil, and
should be glad to find some place where he was
never heard of."

Our frieiui Daffydowndilly would liave been

» w i mi JM ff s wKn r rsB

216

Third Reader.

1 ..iti-

better pleased with a eonipaiiioii of his own age, with
whom he might have gathered flowers along the
roadside, or have chased butterflies, or have done
many other things to make the journey pleasant.
But he had wisdom enough to understand that he
should get along through the woi'ld much easier by
having a man of experience to show him the way.
kSo he acce})ted the stranger's proposal, and they
walked on very sociably together.

They had not gone far, when the road passed by
a field where some haymakers were at work, mow-
ing down the tall gi-ass, and spreading it out in the
sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was delighted with the
sweet smell of the new-mown grass, and thought
how much pleasant er it must be to make hay in the
sunshine, under the blue sky, and with the birds
singing sweetly in the neighboring trees and bushes,
than to be shut up in a dismal school-room, learn-
ing lessons al] day long, and continually scolded by
old Mr. Toil. But, in the midst of these thoughts,
while he was stopping to peep over the stone wall,
he started back and caught hold of his companion's
hand.

*' Quick, quick !" cried he. "Let us run away, or
he will catch us ! "

"Who will catch us ?" asked the stranger.

" Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster ! " answered Daff y-
downdilly. " Don't you see him amongst the hay-
makers ? "

And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man,
who seemed to be the owner of the field, and the

Little Daffydowndilly.

;e, with
iig the
e done
easant.
that he
isier by
tie way.
1(1 they

.ssed by
s:, niow-
it in the
with the
thought
ly in the
le birds
bushes,
1, learu-
flded by
[loughts,
lie wall,
panion's

iway, or

^IDaffy-
bhe hay-

lly man,
land the

employer of the men at work there. He had stripped
off his coat and waistcoat, and was busUy at work
in his shii't-sleeves. The drops of sweat stood upon
his brow ; but he gave himself not a moment's rest,
and kept crying out to the haymakers to make hay
while the sun shone. Now, strange to say, the
figure and features of this old farmer were precisely
the same as those of old Mr. Toil, who, at that very
moment, must have been just entering his school-
room.

"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 the people say he is
the most disagreeable man of the two. However,
he won't trouble you unless you become a laborer
on the farm."

Little Daffydowndilly believed what his com-
panion said, but he was very glad, nevertheless, when
they vv^ere out of sight of the old farmer, who bore
such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. The two
travellers had gone but little farther, when they
came to a spot where some carpenters were erecting
a house. Daffydowndilly begged his companion to
stop a moment; for it was a very pretty sight to see
how neatly the caTpenters did their work, with their
broad-axes and saws, and planes, and hammers,
shaping out the doors, and putting in the window-
sashes, and nailing on the clapboards ; and he could
not help thinking that he should like to take a
broad-axe, a saw, a plane, and a hammer, and build
a little house for himself. And then, when he

218

Third Beader.

should have a house of his own, old Mr. Toil would
never dare to molest hi in.

But, just while he was delighting himself with this
idea, little Daffydowndilly beheld something that
made him catch hold of his companion's hand, all in
a fright.

" Make haste. Quick, quick ! " cried he. " There
he is again ! "

" Who ? " asked the stranger, very quietly.

"Old Mr. Toil," said Daffydowndilly, trembling.
"There! he that is overse(nng the carpenters. 'Tis
my old schoolmaster, as sure as I'm alive ! "

The stranger cast his eyes where Daffydowndilly
pointed his finger ; and he saw an elderly man^ with
a carpenter's rule and compass in his hand. This
person went to and fro about the unfinished house,
measuring pieces of timber, and marking out the
work that was to be done, and continually exhorting
the other carpenters to be diligent. And wherever
he turned his hard and wrinkled visage, the men
seemed to feel that they had a task-master ovei*
them, and sawed, and hammered, and planed, as if
for dear life.

"Oh, no ! this is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster,"
said the stranger. "It is another brother of his,
who follows the trade of carpenter."

"I am very glad to hear it," quoth Daffydown-
dilly ; "but if you please, sir, I should like to get out
of his way as soon as possible."

Then they went on a little farther, and soon heard
the sound of a drum and fife. DaffydowTidUly

Little Daffydowndilly.

21D

would

th this
r that
, all ill

There

iibling.
,. 'Tis

;^dilly
,n, with
. This
house,
)ut the
bortiiig
erever
le men
r over
d, as if

taster,"
of his,

^down-
|get out

heard
r:.(lilly

piicked up his ears at this, and besought liis com-
panion to hurry forward, that tlu^y might not miss
seeing the soldiers. Accordingly they made what
haste they could, and soon met a company of sol-
diers gayly dressed, with beautiful feathers in their
caps, and bright muskets on their shoulders. In
f I'ont marched two drummers and two fifers, beating
on their drums and playing on their fifes with might
and main, and making such lively music that little
Daffydowndilly would gladly have followed them to
the end of the world. And if he was oidy a soldier,
then, he said to himself, old Mr. Toil would never
venture to look him in the face.

" Quick step ! Forward march ! " shouted a gi'uff
voice. ':^-- ^. ' - ■ ''■ -.' ^-"' ■■;• :^-'-'' :. ' -■

Little Daffydowndilly started, in gi-eat dismay;
for this voice which had spoken to the soldiers
sounded precisely the same as that which he had
heard every day in Mr. Toil's school-room, out of
Mr. ToiPs own mouth. And, turning his eyes to
the captain of the company, what should he see but
the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a smart
cap and feather on his head, a pair of gold epaulets
on his shoulders, a laced coat on his back, a pur[)le
sash round his waist, and a long sword, instead of a
bircih-rod, in his hand. And though he hc^ld his
head so high, and strutted like a turkey-cock, still
he looked quite as ugly and disagreeable as when
he was hearing lessons in the school-room.

"This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffy-
downdilly, in a treml)ling voice. " Let us run

220

Third Reader.

away, for fear he should make us enlist in his eom-
paiiy! "

" You are mistaken again, my little friend," re-
plied tJie stranger, very composedly. *' This is not
Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who
has served in the anuy all his life. People say he's
a teiTibly severe fellow ; but you and I need not be
afraid of him."

"Well, well," said little Daffydowndilly, "but, if
you please, sir, I don't want to see the soldiers any

more.

So the child and the stranger resumed their jour-
ney; and, by and by, they came to a house by the
roadside, where a number of people were making
merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with
smiles on their faces, were dancing to the sound of
a fiddle. It was the pleasantest sight that Daffy-
do wndilly had yet met with, and it comforted him
for all his disappointments.

"Oh, let us stop here," cried he to his compan-
ion ; for Mr. Toil will never dare to show his face
where there is a fiddler, and w^here people are danc-
ing and making merry. We shall be quite safe
here !"

But these last words died away upon Daffydown-
dilly's tongue; for, happening to cast his eyes on the
fiddler, whom should he behold again but the like-
ness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle-bow instead of a
birch-rod, and flourishing it with as much ease and
dexterity as if he had been a fiddler all his life! He
had somewhat the air of a Frenchman, but still

Little Daffydowndillv.

2l21

com-

" re-

LS not

, wlio
Y he's
lot be

)ut, if
s any

' jouv-
ay tlie
lakiiig
, witli
md of
Daffv-
d him

ipan-
is face
danc-
safe

Lown-

)n the

Uke-

of a

^e and

^ He

still

looked exactly like the old sclioolmaster; and Daffy-
downdilly even fancied that he nodded and winked
at luni, and made signs for him to join in the dance.

"Oh dear me!" whispered he, tm'ning pale, **It
seems as if there was nobody but Mr. Toil in the
world. Who could have thought of his playing on
a fiddle!" > - ^

" This is not your old schoolmaster," observed the
stranger, "but another brother of his, who was
bred in France, where he learned the profession of a
fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, and generally
calls himself Monsieur le Plaisir ; but his real name
is Toil, and those who have known him best think
him still mo^*e disagi'eeable than his brothers."

" Oh, take me back ! — take me back ! " ciied poor
little Daffydowndilly, bursting into tears. "If there
is nothing but Toil all the world over, J may just as
well go back to the school-house ! "

" Yonder it is,- — there is the school-house ! " said
the stranger; for though he and little Daffydown-
dilly had taken a great many steps, they had tra-
velled 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 little Daffydowndilly now remembered, and it
is strange that he had not remembered it sooner.
I. coking up into his face, behold! there again was
the likeness of old Mr. Toil ; so that the poor child
had been in company with Toil all day, even while
he was doing his best to run away from him. Some
people, to whom I have told little Daffydowndilly's

222

Third Keader.

l!:

story, are of opinion that old Mr. Toil was a magi-
cian, and possess('d the power of multiplying himself
into as many shapes as he saw fit.

Be this as it may, little Daffydowndilly had
learned a good lesson, and from that time forward
was diligent at his task, because he knew that dili-
gence is not a whit more toilsome than sport or
idleness. And when he became better acquainted
with Mr. Toil, he began to think that his ways were
not so very disagreeable, and that the old school-
master's smile of approbation made his face almost
as pleasant as even that of Daffydowndilly's mother.

' ' r'^ ^ U I ' —Nathaniel Hawthorne.

II ,

UNDER THE HOLLY BOUGH.

Ye who have scorn'd each other,
Or injured friend or brother,

In this fast-fading year ;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed.

Come, gather here.
Let sinn'd against and sinning
Forget their strife's beginning,

And join in frieix^ship now ;
Be links no longer broken.
Be sweet forgiveness spoken

Under the holly-bough.

Ye who have loved each other,
Sister and friend and brother.

In this fast-fading year ;
Mother and sire and child,

Tykulese Evening Ih

MN.

Young man and maiden mild,

Come, gather her ^ ;
And let your hearts grow fonder,
As memory shall ponder

Each past unbroken vow !
Old loves and younger wooing
Are sweet in the renewing
Under the holly bough.

Ye who have nourish'd sadness,
Estranged from hope and gladness,

In this fast-fading year ;
Ye with o'erburden'd mind
Made aliens from your kind, ,

Come, gather here.
Tjet not the useless sorrow .
Pursue you night and morrow ;
If ever you hope, hope now—
Take heart, uncloud your faces.
And join in our embraces
Under the holly-bough.

223

—Charles Mackay.

TYROLESE EVENING HYMN.

Come to the sunset tree !

The day is past an:l gone ; •
The woodman's axe lies free,

And the reaper's work is done.

The twilight star to heaven,

And the summer dew to flowers.

And rest to us, -is given

By the cool, soft evening liours.

Sweet is the hour of rest !
Pleasant the wind's low sio-h

224

Thiui) Keadeii.

And the ^Icuinin^ of tli<'> wt'st,
And tlio turf wheieon we li(! ;

When tlio burden and t\w heat

Of labor's task an^ o'er,
And kindly voices greet

Tlie tired one at his d(K)r.

Come to the sunset tree !

The day is past and gone ;
The woodman's axe lies free,

And the reaper's work is done.

Y(;s ! tuneful is the sound

That d\v(»lls in whispering lH)Ughs ;
Welcome the freshness round,

And tjie gal(5 that fans our brows !

But rest more sweet and still

Than ever nightfall ga\(',
Our yearning hearts shall fill

In the world beyond the grave.

There shall no tempest blow,
No scorching noontide heat ;

There shall be no more snow.
No weary, wandering feet.

So we lift our trusting eyes

From the hills our fathers trod,

To the quiet of the skies.
To the Sabbath of our God.

Come to the sunset tree !

The day is past and gone ;
The woodman's axe lies free,

And the reaper's work is done.

-Mrs. Ilemana.

ins.

Rab and His Friends.

097

RAB AND HIS FRIENDS.

There, under the single arch of the South Bndge,
is a huge mastiff, sauntering down the middle of tlie
causeway, as if with his hands in his pockets. He
is old, gray, brindled, and as big as a little Highland
bull.

A tenier makes ptraight at him, and fastens on
his throat. To our astonishment, the great creature
does nothing but stand still, holding himself up, and
roar — yes, roar ; a long, serious, remonstrative roar.
How is this % He is nmzzled ! His master, study-
ing strength and economy, had encompassed his
huge jaws in a home-made apparatus constructed
out of the leather of some ancient breeching.

His mouth was open as far as it could ; his lips
curled up in rage — a sort of terrible grin ; his teeth
gleaming, ready, from out the darkness ; the strap
aci'oss his mouth tense as a bow-string; his whole
frame stiff with indignation and surprise ; his i*oar
asking us all around, " Did you ever see the like of
this!"

We soon had a crowd ; the terrier held on. " A
knife ! " cried Bob ; and a cobbler gave him his
knife ; you know the kind of knife, worn away to a
point, and always keen. I put its edge to the tense
leather ; it ran before it ; and then ! one sudden jerk
of that enormous head, a sort of mist about his
mouth, no noise — and the bright and fierce little
fellow is dropped, limp and dead. A solemn pause ;

LJLaBMB

228

Thiiid Readek.

■■'.I-

this was more than any of us had bargained for. I
turned the Httle fellow over, and saw that he was
quite dead ; the mastiff had taken him by the small
of the back and broken it.

He looked down at his victim, snuffed him all
over, stared at him, and, taking a sudden thought,
turned round and trotted off. Bob took the dead
dog up, and said, "John, we'll bury him after tea."
" Yes," said I, and was off after the mastiff. He
turned up Candlemaker Row, and stopped at the
Harrow Iini.

There was a carrier's cart ready to start, and a
keen, thin, impatient little man, his hand at his gray
horse's head, looking about angrily for something.
" Rab, ye thief ! " said he, aiming a kick at my great
fiiend, who drew cringing up, and, watching his
master's eye, slunk dismayed under the cart, his
ears down, and as much as he had of tail down too.

Wliat a man this must be, thought I, to whom my
tremendous hero turns tail! The carrier saw the
muzzle hanging, cut and useless, from his neck, and
I eagerly told him the story.

The severe little man condescended to say, "Rab,
my man, poor Rabbie ! " whereupon the stump of a
tail rose up, the ears were cocked, the eyes filled,
and were comforted ; the two friends were recon-
ciled.

Six years have passed — a long time for a boy and
a dog. Bob is off' to the wars ; I am a medical
student at the hospital.

Rab and His Friends.

•. I

was
mall

1 all
ight,
dead
tea." ■

He
bt tlie

iiid a
gray
bliiug.
great
Lg Ids
t, his
1 too.
in my
tlie
i, and

'Rab,

[) ot* a
tolled,
lecon-

aiid
idical

Eab I saw almost every week. I foimd the way
to his heart by freqiieut sorateliiiig of his liuge head,
and an occasional b(me. When I did not notice him
he would plant himself straight before me, and
stand wagging his tail, with his head a little to one
side.

One fine October afternoon, I was leaving the
hospital, when I saw the large gate open, and in
walked Eab, with that great and easy saunter of
his. After him came Jess, the mare, now white
from age, with her cart, and in it a woman carefully
wrapped up — the carrier leading the horse anxious-
ly, and looking back.

By this time I saw the woman's face ; she was ^
sitting on a sack filled w^ith straw, her husband's
plaid around her, and his coat ovef her feet. She
looked sixty ; her silvery, smooth hair setting off
her dark grey eyes — eyes such as one sees only
twice or thrice in a lifetime, full of suffering, full
also of the overcoming of it.

I never saw a more beautiful countenance, or one
more subdued to settled quiet. '^Ailie," said James,
"this is Master John, the young doctor, Rab's friend,
you know." Had Solomon, in all his glory, been
handing down the Queen of Sheba at his palace
gate, he could not have done it more tenderly, more
like a gentleman, than did James, the Howgate
carrier, when he lifted down Ailie, his wife.

Rab looked on, concerned and i)uzzled, but ready
for anything that might turn up — were it to sti-angle
the nurse, the porter, oi* even me. Ailie and he

i ^ m

P P

230

Third Reader.

'■■:!'

■.!(i

iff

K
I

fii

seemed great frieuds. *' May Rab and me bide ? '*
said James. " Fo?f may, and Rab, if he will behave
himself ; " and in slunk the faithful beast.

The following day, at noon, the students came in,
hurrying up the gi'eat stair. The operating theatre
is crowded. The surgeon, with his staff of assist-
ants, is there. In comes Alie, and behind her, James
and Rab.

James sat down in the distance, and took that
huge and noble head between his knees. Rab looked
perplexed and dangerous, forever cocking his ear
and dropping it as fast.

The operation was at once begun ; it was neces-
sarily slow; and chloroform — one of God's best
gifts to his suffering children — was then unknown.
The surgeon did his work. The pale face showed
its pain, but was still and silent.

Rab's soul was working within him ; he saw that
something strange was going on ; he growled, and
gave, now and then, a sharp, impatient yelp; he
would have liked to have done something to that
man. But James had him firm, and gave him, from
time to time, an intimation of a possible kick — all
the better for James, it kept his eye and his mind
off Ailie.

For some days Ailie did well. The students came
in, quiet and anxious, and smTounded her bed. She
said she liked to see their young, honest faces.
Four days after the operation my patient had a long
and sudden shivering ; mischief had begun.

"We tried what we could. James did everything,

UkB AND His Friends.

231

tiave

lG in,
eatre

ssist-
ames

that
3oked
IS ear

tieces-

s best

nown.

Lowed

^ that
I, and
Ip; he
lo that

from
ik— all

mind

came

She

faces.

along

^tiling,

was everywhere ; never in the way, never out of it.
Rab subsided imder the table into a dark place, and
was motionless, all but his eye, which followed every
one. Ailie got worse, and began to wander in her
mind. For a time she knew her head was wrong,
and was always asking our pardon, the dear, gentle
old woman ; then delirium set in strong, without
pause.

The end was drawing on ; the golden bowl was
breaking ; the silver cord was fast being loosed. Tlie
body and soul — companions for sixty years — were
being sundf ed, and taking leave. She was walking
alone through the valley of that shadow into which
one day we must all enter ; and yet she was not
alone, for we know whose rod and staff were com-
forting her.

She lay for some time breathing quick, and passed
away so gently that, when we thought she was gone,
James, in his old-fashioned way, held the mirror to
her face. After a long pause, one small spot of dim-
ness was breathed out ; it vanished away, and never
returned, leaving the blank, clear darkness without
a stain. "What is our life? It is even a vapor,
which appeareth for a little time, and then vanisli-
eth away." ^ - , v -

Rab, all this time, had been fully awake and mo-
tionless; he came forward beside us. Ailie's hantl,
which James had held, was hanging down; it was
soaked with his tears ; Rab licked it all over care-
fully, looked at her, and returned to his place under
the table.

232

Tried Eeader.

"Eab," said James, roughly, pointing with his
thumb to the bottom of the bed. liol) leaped up
and settled himself. "Master John, wait for me,"
said the carrier, and dis^ippeared in the darkness,
thundering down stairs in his heavy shoes. I i;an
to a front window ; there he was, already round the
house, and out at the gate, tlc^eing like a shadow.

I was afraid about him, and yet not afraid ; sol
sat down beside Eab, and, being wearied, fell asleep.
I awoke from a sudden noise outside. It was No-
vemlxM', and there had been a heavy fall of snow.
Ral) heard the noise, too, and i>lainly knew it, but
never moved.

I looked out, and there, at the gate, in the dim
morning sun — for the sun was not up — was Jess
and the cart, a cloud of steam rising fi'om the old
mare. I did not see James ; ho was already at the
door, and came up the stairs and met me. It was
less than three hours since he left, and he must
have posted out, who knows how f to Howgate, full
nine miles off, yoked Ji^ss, and driven her into
town.

He had an armful of ]>lankets, and was streaming
with perspiration. Motioning liab down, he took
his wife in his arms and laid her in the blankets ;
then, lifting her, he nodded sharply to me, and, with
ii resolved but utterly miserable face, strode along
the passage and down stairs, followed by Rab.

I would have helped him, but I saw he was not
to be meddled with, and he was strong and did not
need it. He laid her down as tenderly, as safely, as he

Rab and His Friends.

233

[i his
d up
me," •
aiess,
Ii;an
Lcl the
>\v.

; so I
Lsleep.
IS No-
suow.
t, but

le dim
s Jess
he old
at the
lit was
must
e, full
\Y into

laming
took

Inkets ;

[1, with
along

las not

lid not

as he

had lifted her out ten days before, and then, taking
Jess by the head, he moved away. He did not
noti(;e me ; neither did Rab, who presided behind
the cart.

James buried his wife, with his neig]il)ors mourn-
ing, Rab watching tlie proceedings from a distan(»e.
James looked after everything; then, rather sud-
denly, fell ill, and was insensible when the doctoi*
came.

A sort of low fever was prevailing in the village,
and his want of slet^p, his exhaustion, and his mis-
ery, made him apt to take it. The grave was not
difficult to re-op(Mi. Rab once more looked on, and
slunk home to the stable.

And what of Rab ! I asked for him next week of
the carrier who got the good- will of James's busi-
ness, and was now master of Jess and her cart.

"How's Rab!"

He put me off, and said, rather rudely, " Wliat's
your business with the dog ?"

I was not to be put off.

" Where's Rab ?"

He, getting confused and red, and intermeddhng
witli liis hair, said, "Indeed, sir, Rab is dead." .

"Dead! what did he die of ! "

"Well, sir," said he, getting redder, "he didn't
exactly die; he was killed. I was loth to make
away with the old dog, but I could do nothing else."

I believed him. Fit end for Rab, quick and com-
plete. His teeth and friends gone, why should Ik^
keep the peace and be civil I

234

Third Readek.

He was buried near the burn, t!ie children of the
village, his companions, who used to make very free
with him, watching the sok^nnity.

• — Adapted J'rom John Brown^ M.D.

THE SINGING LEAVES.

" What fairings will ye that I bring ?"
Said the King to hi.i daughters three ;

" For I to Vanity Fair am boun,
Now say what shall they be ?"

Then up and spake the eldest daughter,

That lady tall and grand :
" Oh, bring me pearls and diamonds great,

And gold rings for my band."

Thereafter spake the second daughter.
That was both white and red :

" For me bring silks tnat will stand alone,
And d, gold comb for my head."

Then came the turn of the least daughter.
That was whiter than thistledown.

And among the gold of her blithesome hair
Dim shone the golden crown.

" There came a bird this morning,
And sang 'neath my bower eaves,

Till I dreamed, as his music made me,
* Ask thou for the Singing Leaves.' "

Then the brow of the King swelled crimson
With a flush of angry scorn :

of the

The Singing Leaves.

" Well have ye spoken, my two eldest,
And chosen as ye were born ;

" But she, like a thing of peasant race,
That is happy beliind the sheaves ; "

Then he saw her dead mother in her face.
And said, "Thou shalt have thy leaves."

He mounted and rode three days and nights

Till he came to Vanity Fair,
And 'twas easy to buy the gems and tlu^ silk.

But no Singing Leaves were there.

Then deep in the greenwood rode he.

And asked of every tree,
" Oh, if you have ever a Singing Leaf

I pray you give it me ! "

But the trees all kept their counsel.

And never a word said they.
Only there sighed from the pine tree-tops

A music of seas far away.

Only the pattering aspen

Made a sound of growing rain,
That fell ever faster and faster,

Then faltered to silence again.

"Oh, where shall I find a little foot-page
That would win both hose and shoon,

And will bring to me the Singing Leaves
If they grow under the moon ?"

Then lightly turned him Walter the page,

By the stirrup as he ran :
"I^ow pledge you me the truesome word

Of a king and gentleman,

235

236

Thikd Header.

J , ,'

"That you will ^ive ino the first, first thing

You meet at your castle-gate,
And the Princess shall get the Singing Tjtwives,

Or mine be a traitor's fate."

The King's head dropt upon his hreast

A moment, as it miglit be ;
'Twill be my dog, he thought, and said,

" My faith I plight to thee."

Then Walter took from next his heart

A package small and thin,
"Now give you this to the Princess Anne,

The Singing Leaves are therein."

As the King rode in the castle-gate

A maiden to meet him ran,
And "Welcomes, father !" she laughed and (;ried

Together, the Princess Anne.

" Lo, here the Singing Jjeavcs," quoth he,
"And woe, but they cost me dear"!"

She took the packet, and the smile ,

Deepened down beneath the tear.

Tt deepened down till it readied her heart,

And then gushed up again,
And lighted her tears as the sudden sun

Transfigures the summer rain.

And the first Leaf, when it was opened.

Sang : "I am Walter the page.
And the songs I sing 'neath thy window,

Are my only heritage."

And the second Leaf sang : "But in the land
That is neither on earth nor sea,

August.

My lute and I are lords of more
Than thrice this kingdom s fee."

ArulthethirdLeafsang, "BeminelBe^niner-
And ev,T It sang, "Be mine/"

Ihen sweeter it sang and ever sweeter
Andsaid," Tarn thine, thine, thine!"

At the first Leaf she grew pale enongh. '
At the second she turned aside

At the third, 'twas as if a lily flushed '
With a rose's red heart's tide.

*' ^,^f^ '''^""^^l g^^« the bird, " said she,

i have my hope thrice o'er
For they sing to my very hear^' she sai<l.
And It sings to them evermore."

She brought to him her beauty ar.d truth,

But and broad earldoms three
And he made her queen of the l^'roader lands

He held of his lute in fee.

—r/amef, Rusaell Lowell.

237

AUGUST.

Buttercup nodded and said good-by

Clover and daisy went off together,
-Hut the fragrant water-lilies lie

Yet moored in the golden August weather.

The swallows chatter about their flight
The cricket chirps like a rare good fellow.

The as ers twinkle in clusters bright.

While the corn grows ripe and the apples mellow.

—Alice Thaxter.

238

THiJii) Reai^er.

THE HORSES OF GRAVELOTTE.

Hot was the battle, and blocxly the fight,
C(M)l was the evening and j)caceful tlie night.

From the camp in the wood where the valley Hch lone,
Three times the signalling trumpet has blown.

Tjoud and ringing its clear notes fall,

Over wo(m1 and field they hear the " Heeall."

In troops and by knots, by three and by two.
Back they straggle, the valiant few.

Ah ! not all are returning back ;

Full many a man doth the regiment lack.

They were there in their places at reveillt^.
At night they lie cold, and pallid to see.

And horses whose saddles are empty to-night
Are galloping wildly to left and to right.

But the bray of the trumpet that sounds the recall.
For the third time summoneth one and all.

See the black stallion is pricking his ear,
And neighs at the sound he is wont to hear.

Look, how the brown ranges up to his side,
It was ever his place when the trumpet cried.

And next the blood-flecked dapple-grey
Limps up to his place in the ranks to-day.

By troops, by knots, by three and by two,
Come riderless horses, to signal true.

Brulv and the Cook.

y<n' huvsoH and rirl-rs hoth knmv tlu, «'Ro<.aIl"
- And the trunifx^t-hlaHt it is summoning all. '
And ,.vor throo hundrcxl came bac-k that d,iy.
AV ,th empty saddh^s from that fiorco fray.
Over three hundred ! Ihnv hhxxly the %ht
1 hat emptied so many saddles that night !

Over three hur.dred ! The struggle was sere :
One man had fallen out of exevy four.

Over three hundred ! When trump^^ts hl.w,
Ihe riderless steeds to the flag were tru.3.

When ye talk of GraveJotte's nohk, dead
I'mise the horses that answered in their stead.

231)

—Qerok.

BRUIN AND THE OOOE.

It was a hrigl.t Ma.vh morning at Nicholson',
lumber .nnp over on 8ahnon River. CTL

rs^ : :t "." '"''•'^ ^'-^""-^ «- «t^'ie -

steaming and soakmg under the steady sun S„p1,

240

Thied Reader.

lazily. The cook had the camp all to himself for a
while ; for the teauis and choppers were at work a
mile away, and the "eookee," as the cook's assist-
ant is called, had betaken himself to a neighboring
pond to fish for trout thi'ongh tlie ice.

The dishes were washed, the camp was in order,
and in a little while it would be time to get the dinner
ready. The pork and beans were slowly boiling, the
odor was abroad on the qui(»t air. The cook decided
to snatch a wink of sleep in liis bunk beneath the
eaves. He had a spare lialf-hour before him, ard
under his present circumstances he knew no better
way of spending it.

The weather being mild, he left the camp do(jr
wide open, and, swinging up to his berth, soon had
himself comfortably bedded in blankets, his own and
as many other fellows' blankets as he liked. He
began to doze and dream of sunmier fields.

By and by, waking wdth a start, he remembered
where he was, and thrust his head in astonishment
over the edge of the bunk. The sight that met his
eyes filled him w4th alarm and indignation.

The prolonged thaw had brought out the bears
fi'oni their snug winter quarters ; and now, in a very
l)ad humor from having been waked up too soon,
they were prowling through the foresb in unusual
numbers. Food was scarce; in fact, times were
very hard with them, and they were not only bad-
humored, but lean and hungry withal.

To one particularly hungry bear the smell of our
cook's simmering pork had come that morning lik(;

BltriN AND THE CoOK.

1>41

: for a
jv^ovk a
assist-
boring

L order,
dinner

L"g:

the

decided
iatli the
m, ar.d
3 better

nj) door
3on had
3wn and
ed. He

umbered

lishment

met his

[e bears
11 a very
)0 soon,
liiuusual
I'S were
Illy bad-

of our
ling like

the invitation to a feast. Bruin liad found the door
open, the coast clear, the quarters very inviting.
With the utmost good ffdth he had entered upon
his fortune. To find the source of that entrancing
fragrance had been to his trained nose a simple
matter. ' ■"■'•-■■-' -■■'■■ ■-- "■-'

While cook slept sweetly, Bruin liad rooted oft'
the cover of the pot. But the pot w^as hot, and the
first mouthful of the savory mess made him yell
with rage and pain. Then an angiy sweep of the
great paw had dashed pot and kettle of the stove in
a thunder of crashing iron and clattering tins.

What met the cook's gaze, as he sat up in his
blankets, was an angry bear, dancing about in a
confusion of steam and smoke and beans and kettles,
making ineffectual snatches at a lump of scalding
pork upon the floor.

After a moment of suspense, cook rose softly and
crept to the other end of the bunks, where a gun
was kept. To his disgust the weai)on was unloaded.
But the click of the lock had caught the bc^ar's atten-
tion. Glancing up at the bunk above him, the
brute's eye detected the shrinking cook, and straight-
way he overflowed with wrath. Here, evidently,
was the autlior of his discomfort.

With smarting jaws and vengeful paws he made
a dash for tlie bunk. Its edge was nearly seven feet
from the floor, so Bruin had to do some clambering.
As his head appeared over the edge, and his great
paws took firm hold upon the clapboard rim of the
bunk, cook, now grown dcvsperaie, struck at him

Thiki) Reader.

wildly with the heavy butt of the gun. But Bi'uiii
is always a skilful boxer. With an upward stroke
he warded off the blow, and sent the weapon spin-
ning across the camp. At the same time, however,
his weight proved too much for the frail clapboard
to which he was holding, and back he fell on the
floor with a shock like an eai'thcpiake.

This repulse only filled him with tenfold greater
f L y, and at once he sprang back to the assault ; but
the delay, however brief, had given poor cook time
to grasp an idea, which he proceeded to act upon
with eagerness. He saw that the hole in the roof
through which the stovepipe protruded was large
enough to give his body passage. Snatching at a
light rafter above his head, he swung himself out of
the bunk, and kicked the stovepipe from its place.
The sections fell with loud clatter upon the stove
and the bear, for a moment disconcerting Bruin's
plans. From the rafter it was an easy reach to the
opening in the roof, and as Bruin gained the empty
bunk and stretched his paw eagerly up toward his
intended victim on the rafter, the intended victim
slipped with the greatest promptitude through the
hole.

At this point the cook drew a long breath. His
first thought was to drop frorr the roof and run for
help, but fortunately he changed his mind. The
bear was no fool. No sooner had the cook got safely
out upon the roof than Bruin rushed forth from the
camp door, expecting to catch him as he came down.

Had cook acted on his first impulse, he would

Bruin and the Cook.

243

Bruin
itroke

spin-
v^ever,
board
m tlie

greater

It ; but

£ time

b -apon

[le roof

s large

ng at a

[ out of
place,
stove
ruin's
to the
empty

ird Ills
victim
loh the

11. His

•un for

The

safeiy

rom the

down.

would

have been overtaken before he had gone a hundred
yards, and would have perished hideously in the
snow. As it was, however, — evidently to Bruin's
deep chagrin, — he stuck close to the chimney-hole,
like a gopher sitting by his hole, ready at a moment's
notice to plunge within, while the bear stalked
deliberately twice around the camp, eying him, and
evidently laying plans as it were, for his capture.

At last the bear appeared to have made up his
mind. At one corner of the shanty, piled up nearly
to the eaves, was a store of firewood which "cookee"
had gathered in. Upon this pile Bruin mounted
and then made a dash up the creaking roof.

Cook prayed most fervently that it might give
way beneath the great weight of the bear, and to
see if it would do so he waited almost too long ; but
it did not. As he scurried, belated, through the
hole, the bear's paw reached its edge, and the huge
claws tore nearly all the flesh from the back of the
poor fellow's hand. Bleeding and trembling, he
crouched upon the friendly rafter, not daring to
swing down into the bunk.

The agility of that great animal was marvellous.
Scarcely had cook got under helter when Bruin
rushed in again at the door, i. ^d was up on the
bunk again in a twinkling, and a^ lin cook vanished
by the chimney-place. A moment later the bear was
again on the roof, while cook once more crouched
back faintly on the rafter. This performance was
repeated several times, till for cook it had quite
ceased to be interesting.

244

Thiht) Reader.

At last the eh«ise grow monotonous even to the
indefatigable Bruin, who then resolved upon a
change of tactics. After driving cook out through
the chinniey, he decided to try the same mode of
exit for himself, or at least to thrust his head through
the opening, and see what it was like. Embracing
the woodwork with his powerful fore-paws, he swung
himself up on the rafter, as he had seen cook to do
so gracefully. The attempt was quite successful;
but the rafter was not prepared for the strain, and
Bruin and beam came thundering to the floor.

As cook gazed down through the hole, and marked
what had happened, his heart sank utterly within
him. His one safe retreat was gone. But Bruin
did not perceive his advantage, or else was in no
hurry to follow it up. The shock had greatly danii)-
ened his zeal. He sat on his haunches by the stove,
and gazed up sullenly at cook, while cook gazed
back despairingly at him.

The bear noticed that the precious pork had got
deliciously cool, and in the charms of that rare mor-
sel cook was soon quite forgotten. All cook had to
do was to lie on the roof, nursing his 1 cerated hand,
and watching Bruin as he made away with the lum-
bermen's dinner, — a labor of love in which he lost
no time.

At this junction a noise was heard in the woods,
and hope came back to the cook's heart. The men
were returning for dinner. Bruin heard it too, and
made haste to gulp down the remnant of the beans.
Just as teams and choppers emerged into the little

J .

Bki'in and the Cook.

245

► the
)n a
ongli
ie of
■ougli
aciiig
wung
to do
issf ul ;
a, and

lavked

within
Bruin

s in no
damp-
stove,
gazed

lad got
I'e nior-
had to
hand,
[le lum-
he lost

[woods,

iiQ men

)0, and

beans.

he little

oleai'iMJ space in front of the camp, Bniin, having
swallowed his last mouthful, rushed out of thn
camp-door, to the breathless and immeasurable
amazement of the lumbermen.

Finding himself to all appearances surrounded,
Bruin paused a moment. Then charging upon the
nearest team, he dealt the teamster a terrific cut,
bowling him over in the snow and breaking his arm,
while the maddened horses plunged, reared, and fell
over backward in a tangle of sleds and traces and
lashing heels.

This brought the woodsmen to tlu^ir senses. Axe
in hand, they closed in upon the bear, who rose on
his hind-quarters to meet them. The first few blows
that were delivered at him, with all the force of
practised arms and vindictive energy, he wardcMl off
as if they were so many feathers ; but he could not
guard himself on all sides at once. A well-directed
l)low from the rear sanlc the axe-head deep between
his fore-shoulders, severing the spinal column, and
Bruin collapsed, a furry heap-, upon the crimsoned
snow.

In their indignation over the cook's torn hand,
their comrade's broken arm, and perhaps most ag-
gravating of all, their thoroughly demolished dinner,
the lumbermen undertook to make a meal of Bruin ;
but in this attempt Bruin found a measure of re-
venge, for in death he proved to be even tougher
than he had been in life, and the famous luxury of
a fat bear-steak was nowhere to be had from his

carcass. — C/m«. O. />. Roberts fhy jjerviission o/tke author).

246

Thikd Header.

ROLAND, THE SHIELD-BEARER.

lii

'Twas Kaiser Karl at table sat
At Aix with prince and peer,

And fish and game were on the ])<)ard,
And wine ran red and clear.

On gold they served both meat and brea<l,

And emeralds green and rubies red
Were there in right good store.

Out spake the hero-kaiser, Karl :

" I have but woe and dule
Of all my splendor, while there lacks

The whole world's crowning jewel.
The brightest jewel the world may yi(ild,
A giant bears upon his shield,

Deep in the Ardennes' wood.^'

Richard the Fearless, Turpin good,

And Naims of Bayerland,
Haimon, Milon, and Count Garin,

On sword-hilt laid their hand.
For steel they doffed their peaceful weeds,
And saddled straight their battle-steeds,

To hunt the giant down.

Out spoke young Roland, Milon's heir :

" A boon, my father dear !
Though I be all too young to raise

Against the giant spear,
Yet would I fain, good father mine,
Bear after thee that lance of thine,

And bear thy knightly shield. '

Roland, the Shield-Beaker.

An,I to the Ardennea wood anon
^''oxixbiave peers did ride

But when the fo,ust skirts they ..eaehed
They scattered far and wide

Roland, behind hi, father dear!
H«I joy to bear the hero's spear
And bright and glittering shie'ld.

The gallant knights they wandered wide
%>ushtandekebyday,

iiut nowhere met the gia„t-f«,

Ihat they had sworn to Slav

Four days had passed; in slu,„,»r deep
At noon, Duke Milon lay asleep, "'

Beneath a spreading oak.

^7"« ^t'"' '"*''« ^'■''«''- --
-lie flashing of a light

WJ^«, bea,ns that shone'throughout the glade
i»id hart and roe affii.rht ' '

The rays from offa shield were eas,
Borne by a giant grim and vast, '

Upon the mountain side.

Young Roland's heart beat bold and high :
i- fear him not, I wis

Nor will I wake my father dear

such a foe as tl

The good steed wak

lis.

Awake are spear and shield

es, wliile sleeps his lo.-d

Roland

is w,

'aking too.

and

•sword,

)}

sword,

Koland has girt him with the

Sir Milon's weapon good,

Snatched up the spear and rrasoed H i
With «hn#<- £ ^ , f>raspe(I tiie lance

vvitn shaft of tough ash wood

1U7

248

rmitJ) liEADKK.

1 lis father's destrier he l)estn)(l(',
And softly tlirougli tlie pines he nxle
Nor broke liis father's sleep.

When to the mountain side he came
Loudly the giant laughed ;

" For reining such a steed as this
The child lacks pith and craft.

His sword is twice as tall as he,

liis spear will drag him down, p<»rdie,
The shield will crush his arm."

Young Ttoland shouted : " To the fight !

And thou shalt rue thy jest ; '
For if my shiehl be broad and long

The better for my breast.
Together count both horse and man.
And ai-m and sword. Since time began

One helps the other's strength."

The giant raised his iron bar,

A fell stroke then struck he,
Vnxt Roland's charger swerved aside.

The blow fell harmlessly.
He hurled his spear against the shield '
But the enchanted target's field

Has hurled it back again. "

With both hands Roland grasped his sword,
For heavy was its weiglit, :- y

The giant fain would draw his blade,
But drew it all too late.

For Roland struck a mighty blow

Right at the left wrist of his foe, —
Down went both hand and shield !

Roland, the Shield-Buahek,

The shield fell clashing to the earth,

The giant's courage fled,
The j..vvel alone luul given liin. strength

His heart grew cold as lead.
The shield was gone, he Mn would ilee
But Roland struck him on the knee

He fell as falls an oak. ,'

Then Roland seized him by the hair,

And from him hewed the liead ;
A stream of blood ran river-like

And o'er the valley spread.
From out the giant's shield he broke
Tlie jewel whereof the Emperor spoke,

And joyed him in its light.

Beneath his vest he hid the stone
And sought the forest well, * :

To wash his weapcms, so no spot
Might of the combat tell.

And back lie rode. In slumW deep

Duke Milon still lay fast asleep
Beneath the oak tree's shade.

Down by his father's side he lay,

Sleep closed his weary eyes,
Till at his ear, at eventide,

Loudly Duke Milon cries :
" Son Roland, it is time to wake
And shield and lance in hand to' take.

To seek our giant foe."

And up they rose, and through tlu. woo<I.s
Ihey sought both far and near

Roland still rode behind his sire,'
And bore the shield and spear.

24i)

250

Thihd Reai^eh.

Tliey reach(Ml the place right speedily
\Vhei<5 Uolaiid won the victory, —
There lay the giant dead.

His eyes can Hoi and scarce believe.

In wonder doth he stand ;
^'here was the giant's bloody corpse,

Gone were both head and hand.
The mighty sword and spear wen' gon(^,
No shining hai-ness gleamed thereon,

And trunk and limbs lay bare !

Duke Milon looki^d upon the corpse,

And wildly out he broke :
" The giant sure ! for by the trunk

We well may judge the oak,
The giant, — is there need to ask ?
Another's hand has done the task ;

I slept away my fame."

King Karl he stood in anxious mood

Before his castle strong ;
" Heaven send the Peers safe back to me !

They tarry all too long. —
Upon my kingly word, I see
])uke Haimon riding o'er the lea,

A head upon his spear !"

In dreary mood Sir Haimon rode

His kingly lord to greet,
And, sinking spear-point, laid the head

Before the monarch's feet.
" Thc! head within a copse I found, "'
And near upon the bloody ground,

The giant's body lay."

Roland, the HiiiELD-J^EAKEii.

The giant's gauntlet I,uck was brought.

i^y i mpin good and true.
The stiff cold hand was still within

^V hich forth the bishop drew :
" A goodly rolic by my fay 1
f found it idly cast away,

Hewn off within the woocJ."

Then Naims the Duke of Bayo.Iand,
-i l>e iron bar brought back •

"See there! the arm that swung that bar
Had sure of strength no lack.

I the wood I found the burden great

r sweat beneath its heavy weiglit ; '

Give me a cup of wine."

Count Richard he on foot fared back,
i^eside his burdened steed,

Wen with sword and and scabbard fair

And ]iarness good at need ;
''There's more for gathering in the wood,
it any man the search pursued,

^ have too much, I wis."

They saw Count Garin ride afar,
He swung the giant's shield

"^N-ow shall we see the glorious gem
Ihat flashes in its field."

"The shield I have, my masters all,
i be jewel is gone beyond recall,
■For see its place is blank."

^u^, last of all, Duke Milon came ^ ^-

He rode full sad and slow ;
With reins upon his charger's neck

And plumed head bending low. '

251

'riiiuD Keadek.

Holand, l)(>liiii(l liis fatluu' dear,
Was l)«'aring .still the tough ash spear,
And still the glittering shield.

Hut when they to the castle came,

To tell of honor's loss,
Then Roland from his father's shiehi

Loos(ui(h1 the central l)oss,
Set in its place t\u) jewel so l)right,
It flashed anc] shone in glorious liglit,

As doth the sun in heaven.

The jewel burnt in Milon's shield,

And made the sunlight pale ;
Now to his vassal shouts King Kai'l :

" Milon of Anglante, hail ! —
For he has met the giant foe.
Hath struck the right good sweeping blow

That made the jewel mine."

Sir Milon turned, and saw the jewel

Spi-ead liglit o'er all tlie land :
" Roland, — how hast thou won the gem 1 —

How came it to thine hand ?"
" Nay, father, be not wroth I pray,
I slew the giant while you lay

Asleep beneath the oak."

— Uhiand.

Press on 1 if once and twice thy feet

Slip back and stumble, harder try ; , .
From him who never dreads to meet
- Danger and death, they're sure to fly.

The (ioLi>E.N ToivM.

253

TBM GOLDE^T TO^JCH.

(M\oe upon a time, 0, » livefl a very rich man,
an«d a kiiug h^svHos. irho»* ame was Midas; and
h#^ had a fittl' ^i/intfhtei', whom nobody but himself
finmrhtami of, and w' '»se name I either never knew,
or have ^utirelv f«^ tte^i. So, because I love od<l
namos for little girls 1 choose to call her Marygold.

This King Midns A'as fonder of gold than of any-
thiiiiic else in the vorUi He valued his royal crown
chit^y because it was composed of that precious
nivtal. F he loved anything better, or half so well,
it was the one little maiden who played so merrily
around Inn- father's footstool. But the more Midas
loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek
for wealth. He thought, foolish man ! that the best
thing he could possibly do for this dear child would
be to bequeath her the largest pile of glistening
coin that had ever been heaped together since the
world was made.

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

At length (as people always grow more and more

254

Third Keader.

If:

I --k*

foolish, unless they take care to grow wiser aud
wiser) Midas had got to be so exceedingly unreasou-
Jible, that he could sca^'cely bear to see or touch any
object that was not gold. He made it his custom,
therefore, to pass a large portion of every day in a
dark and dreary apartment, under g^'ound, at the
basement of his palace. It was here that he kept
his wealth. To this dismal hole— for it was little
better than a dungeon — Midas betook himself when-
ever he wanted to be particularly happy.

Here, after carefully locking the door, he would
take a bag of gold coin, or a gold cup as big as a
washbowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck measure
of gold-dust, and bring them from the obscure cor-
ners of the room into the one bright and narrow
sunbeam that fell from the dungeon-like window.
He valued the sunbeam for no other reason but that
his treasure would not shine without its help.

And then would he reckon over the coins in the
bag ; toss up the bar and catch it as it came down ;
sift the gold-dust through his fingers ; look at the
funny image of his own face, as reflected in the
burnished circumference of the cup; and whisper
to himself, "O Midas, rich King Midas, what a
happy man ai't thou ! '^

Midas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room
one day, as usual, when he perceived a shadow fall
over the heaps of gold ; and, looking up, he beheld
the figure of a stranger, standing in the bright and
nttrrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with a
cheerful and ruddy face.

The Golden Touch.

255

aud
sou-
any
torn,
in a
b the
kept
little
;^lieii-

\rould
y as a
sasure
e cor-
arrow
iidow.
t that

Lii tlie
[own ;
it the
n the
|iispev
bat a

irooin
W fall
leheld
It and
ith a

Whether it was that the i/aagination of King
Midas threw a yellow tinge over eveiything, or what-
ever the cause might bo, he could not help fancy-
ing that the smile with which the stranger regarded
him had a kind of golden brightness in it. Cer-
tainly, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the
piled-up treasures than before. Even the remotest
corners had their share of it, and were lighted up,
when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and
sparkles of fire.

As Midas knew that h^ had carefully ' arned the
key in the lock, and that no mortal strength could
possibly break into his treasure-room, he, of course,
concluded that his visitor must be something more
than mortal.

Midas had met such beings before now, and was
not soiTy to meet one of them again. The stranger's
aspect, indeed, was so good-humored and kindly,
if not beneficent, that it would have been unreason-
able to suspect him of intending mischief. It was
far more proljable that he came to do Midas a favor.
And what could that favor be unless to multiply his
heaps of treasure !

The stranger gazed about the room ; and, when
his lustrous smile had glistened upon all the goldeu
objects that were there, he tm-ned again to Midas.

" You are a wealthy man, f liend Midas ! " he ob-
served. " I doubt whether any other lour walls on
earth contains so much gold as you have contrived
to pile up in this room."

" I have done pretty well, — pretty well," answered

;S2MKi!5!iH!HP"""

I %

256

Thied Header.

Midas, in a discontented tone. " Bat, after all, it is
but a ti'ifie, when you consider that it has taken me
my whole lifetime to get it together. If one could
live a thousand years, he might have time to grow
I'ich!"

" What ! " exclaimed the stranger. " Then you
tire not satisfied ? "

Midas shook his head.

"And pray, what would satisfy you?" asked the
stranger. "Merely for the curiosity of the thing, 1
should be glad to know.''

Midas paused and meditated. He felt sure that
this stranger, with such a golden lusti'c in his good-
humored smile, had come hither with both the power
and the pui*pose of gratifying his utmost wishes.
Now, therefore, was the fortunate m.oment, when he
had but to speak, and obtain whatever possible, oi'
seemingly impossible thing, it might come into his
head to ask. So he thought, and thought, and
thought, and heaped up one golden mountain rpon
another, in his imagination, without being able to
imagine them big enough.

At last a bright idea occun-ed to King Midas.

Raising his head, he looked the lustroas stranger
in the face.

" "Well, Midas," observed the visitor, " I L^ee that
you have at length hit upon something that Avill
satisfy you. Tell me your wish."

" It is only this," replied Midas. " I am weary of
collecting my treasures with so much trouble, and
behold' I )<.; 'le heap so diminutive, after I have done

The Gulden Touch.

l>r)T

that

, or
DO liis
and
'T;on
Lie to

ingei*

that

try

, and
I done

my best. I \visli everything tliat I touch to be
changed to gold ! "

The stranger's smile grew so bright and radiant,
that it seemed to till the room like an outburst of
the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the
yellow autumnal leaves — for so looked the lumps
and particles of gold — lie strewn in the glow of
light.

" The Golden Tou(»h ! " exclaimed he. " You cer-
tainly deserve credit, friend Midas, for striking out
so brilliant a fancy. But are you quit(^ sure that
this will satisfy you ? "

" How could it fail ! " said Midas.

"And will you never regret the possession of it f '

" Wliat could induce me ! " asked Midas. " I ask
nothing else, to render me perfectly happy."

" Be ib as you wish, then," replied the strange]-,
wavhig his hand in token of farewell. " To-morrow,
at sunrise, you will tind yourself gifted with the
Golden Touch."

The figure of the stranger then became exceed-
ingly bright, and Midas involuntarily closed his
eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one
yellow sunbeam in the room, and, all ai'ound him.
+he glistening of the precious metal which he had
spent his life in hoarding up.

Whether Midas slept as usual that night, the story
does not say. But when the earliest sunbeam shone
through the window, and gilded the ceiling over his
head, it seemed to him that this bright yellow sun-
beam was reflected in rather a singular way on the

258

Third Reader.

white covering of the bed. Looking more closely,
what was his astonishment and dehght^ when h(^
found that tliis linen fabric had been transmuted to
what seemed a woven texture of the purest and
brightest gold ! The Golden Touch had come to
him with the first sunbeam f

Midas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and
ran about the room, grasping at every thing that
happened to be in his way. He seized one of the
bedposts, and it became innnediately a fluted golden
pillar. He pulled aside a window-curtain in order
to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders he was
performing, and the tassel grew heavy in his hand,
— a mass of gold. He took up a book from the
table ; at his first touch, it assumed the appearance
of such a splendidly bound and gilt-edged volume
as one often meets with now-a-days ; but on run-
ning his fingers through the leaves, behold ! it was
a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all the wis-
dom of the book had grown illegible.

He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was enrap-
tured to see him: in a magnificent suit of gold
cloth, which retained its flexibility and softness,
although it burdened him a little with its weight.
He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold
had hemmed for him ; that was likewise gold, with
the dear child's neiit and pi-etty stitches running all
along the border, in gold thread !

Somehow or other, this last transformation did
not quite please King Midas. He would rather that
his little daughter's liaudiwork should have remained

The Golden Touch. 25<)

'HMohiXr "■"'""-■»■« '-w„,..,„I,

and put them on his mZ ■ . *'""' ^"« P"«ket,

«ee mo,-e distinctly 11?^^'', ''"^' ^^ '^^^'^'t
days, spectacles for l,v J ' *^°"*- I" "^ose

invented, but were! IrXr T''!" *'«'! "»* been
could Midas haveh:S: f/rS^-f ' «M how
however, excellent as nJ ^i ^"^ S^'^*** Pe'plexity,
ed that he coulS\ot tf n''' ""'''' ^'^ *«c°^er.
But this was th mo' Sn, f .r ^^''""^"^ *^'''«-
for, on taking th«n off H V '"^ "i the world;
turned out t^ U^if,' ^fl^-'^^P^^'^nt crystals
course, were worthLtf ^ ""^ "^"*'*'' ^^nd, of
We as gold. niSMdr'""l?' ^'^""^'^ ^-i"-
that, with all his weaia T '' ^-^ttier inconvenient,
rich enough to owrip! 'r of '"^'^ "*'^"'- ^^^'^ »>«
^. " It is no great ZS ,^^3"'!^ '''''''^^'^-
hnnself, very philosoph ca ! . fi'^^^'" ^^^^ he to
any great good, without it. hv ''''°"°* «'^Pect

-me small iuJonvenii, ' "^^Th"^ '<.'TP'""«' ^"th
^orth tlie sacriti,.e of a"lTr J ^'"'''''^ ^"^"ch is
"ot of one's very evesiir M '^'''"''^°^ ^' '*^««t, if
for ordinary purposes fj r^^.T" ^'^'^^ ^" «erVe
be old enoiJ to"' T '^f ^f *^:->'^«>^ -^ -on
was so exalted by Us goodT,.f ff ^"'^^ ^^^das
seemed not sutficientlTl ""'. ""'* "'« P«l«ce
He therefore went dZ sTairr ° ""'*"'" ^"'-
-mng that the balus^ade "f 'th?' ^.""""^ ^ «*>-
a bar of burnished gold as h, T'""'" '"'•'^"'e

soia, as his hand passed over

2()0

Thikd Reader.

it, in his deseent. Ht^ lift(Ml tli<^ door-lateli (it was
brass only a moinent ago, l)iit golden when his
fingers quittc.^d it), and emerged into the gai-den.
Here, as it happened, he found a great number of
roses in full bloom, and others in all the stages of
lovely bud and blossom. Very delicious was their
fragrance in the morning breeze. Their delicate
blush was one of the fairest sights in the world ; so
gentle, so modest, and so full of sweet soothing, did
these roses seem to be.

But Midas knew a way to make them far more
precious, according to his way of thinking, than
roses had ever been before. So he took great pains
in going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic
touch most untiringly; until every individual flower
and bud, and even the worms at tho heai i. of some
of them, were changed to gold. By the time this
good work was completed, King Midas was sum-
moned to breakfast ; and as the morning air had
given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back
to the palace.

Whivb was usually a king's breakfast in the days
of Midas, I raally do not know, and cannot stop
now to investigate. To the best of my knowledge,
however, on this particular morniiig, the breakfast
consisted of hot cakes, some nice little brook trout,
roasted potatoes, iresh boiled eggs, and coffee for
King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk
for his daughter Marygold.

Little Marygold had not yet made lier appear-
ance. Her father ordered her to be called, and

The Golden Touch.

seating ]jim.^gjf . - ■ 261

i" -'- to begi,f ,S't.;7-^-;;"e ,,,,,,

Justice, he really l.^^eJll ^ f"''" '"^^ ^'^ Md^
«o much the more thk ^ '^""gl'^o--, ami ]„v,.,l C

^"od fortune WW htd .77' r — ^of
^'•««t while before heheardt " ^""- ^' ^^"^ "o a
«age, crying bitteri; S^'".''^'°"'fe''-^Iougthep^s

, ' ^"lo people whom von t f , '® ™«'^t «''«"•-

Ja^aud hardly -shedVt "r "ftr^ '" '^ -'"-'•'«

"^len Jfidas hea7v] ). "' *^ ^"elvcmoijfh.
put little MarygoSotf,?''^' ^'« d-^tcrnuned to

able«nrprise/.;jlS;.lt:tf?f,'^-

'"s daughter's bowl (ultil ? *"'*'' ^<* tou-hed

H"»-iio», „„ ,„„ ," "*'? TOiW kieak.

S -« -" =;r *Vi:r.f

, '' beautiful f V J

;« «-- in this ulg Sr?;?--- "And what
you ciy V ^ ""' ^"t golden rose to mate

tluit ever erew f a ''''"^"^ ^>ut the i^^liov^f «

«^gtewi As soon as r „ ;'^"^*st flower

^' J was dressed, I ran

1: 3

262

Third Reader.

into the garden to gather some roses for you; be-
cause I know you Uke them, and like them tlie
better whi^i gathered by your Httle daughter. But
oh, dear, dear me ! What do you think has hap-
pened ? Such a sad thing ! All the beautiful roses,
that smelled so sweetly, and had so many lovely
blushes, are blighted and si)oilt ! They are grown
quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no longer
any fragrance! What can have been the matter
with them V

" Pooh, my dear little girl, — pray don't cry about
it ! " said Midas, who was ashamed to confess that
he himself had wrought the change which so great-
ly afflicted her. " Sit down, and eat your bread
and milk. You will find it easy enough to exchange
a golden rose like that (which will last hundreds of
years), for an ordinary one which would wither in a
day."

" I don't care for such roses as this ! " cried Mary-
gold, tossing it contemptuously away. "It has no
smell, and the hard joetals prick my nose ! ''

The child now sat down to table, but was so occu-
pied with her grief for the blighted roses that sln^
did not even notice the wonderful change in her
cIj ilia bowl. Perhaps this" was all the better; for
Mary gold was accustomed to take pleasure in look-
ing at the queer figures and strange trees and houses
that were painted on the outside of the bowl ; and
those ornaments were now entirely lost in the yellow
hue of the metal.

Midas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of

The Golden Touch.

2G:?

be-
the
But
lap-

own
Mger
Litter

.bout
that
p^eat-
ovead
uinge
(Is of
L' in a

[lavy-
las no

)CCU-

it she

II her

for

llook-

mses

and

^llow

coffee ; and, as a matter of course, the coffee-pot,
whatever metal it may have been when he took it
up, was gold when ho set it down. He thought tv)
himself that it was rather an extravagant style of
splendor, in a king of his simple habits, to break-
fast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled
witli the difficulty of keeping his treasures safe.
ITlie cupboard and the kitchen w^ould no longer be a
secure place of deposit for articles so valuable as
golden bowls and golden coffee-pots.

Amid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonfiJ of coffee
to his lips, and, sipping it, was astonished to per-
ceive that, the instant his lips touched the liquid, it
became molten gold, and, the next moment, hard-
ened into a lump !

" Hal " exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.

'^What is the matter, father?" asked little Maiy-
gold, gazing at him, with the tears still standing in
her eyes.

"Nothing, cliild, notliing!" said Midas. "Take
your milk before it gets quite cold."

He took, one of the nice little trout on his plate,
and touched its tail with his finger. To his horror,
it was immediately changed from a brook tront into
a gold fish, and looked as if it had been very cun-
ningly made by the nicest goldsmith in the woiid.
Its little bones were now golden wires; its fins and
tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the
marks of the fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy
appeai'ance of a nicely fried fish, exactly iuiitated in
metal.

.^U 'JMi.*

2(34

Thihd Reader.

" I (loii't (jiiite see," tliou^lit ho to liimself, "how
[ am to get any })reakfast ! "

He took one of the snioking-hot cakes, and had
scarcely broken it, when, to his cruel mortification,
though a moment before, it had been of the whitest
wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal.
Its solidity and increased weight made him too bit-
terly sensible that it was gold. Almost in d(^spair,
he helped himself to a boih^l og^, wlii<'h immedi-
ately underwent a change similar to that of the
trout and the cake.

"Well, this is terrible!" thought he, leaning back
in his chair, and looking quite enviously at little
Marygold, who was now eating her bread and milk
w^th gi'cat satisfaction. " Such a costly breakfast
before me, and nothing that can be eaten!"

Hoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might
avoid what he now felt to be a considin-able incon-
venience. King Midas next snatched a hot potato,
and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and
swallow it in a hurry. But the Golden Touch was
too nimble for him. Ho found his mouth full, not
of mealy potato, but of solid metal, wdiich so burnt
his tongue that he roared aloud, and, jumping up
from the table, began to dance and stamp about the
room, both with pain and affright.

"Father, dear father! " cried little Marygold, wdio
was a very affectionate child, "pray wdiat is the
matter ? Have you burnt your mouth?"

" Ah, dear child," groaned Midas, dolefully, " I
don't know what is to become of your |)oor father ! "

The Goi.den Tort'H.

2(>r3

lunit
lip
the

Iwlio
the

And, tnily, (li<l you ever hear of Hueh a pitiabl*^
case, ill all your Uvesf Hero was Uterally the
richcist V)reakfast that cuul<l l)e set before a kiiiir.

>od f(

and its very richness r
nothing. The poorest labor(>r, sitting down to liis
crust of bread and cup of water, was far Ix^tter off
than King JVIidas, whose dedicate foo<l was really
worth its weight in gold.

And what was to bo done ? Already, at break-
fast, Midas was excessively liungiy. Would he be
less so by dinner-time ? And how ravenous would
be his appetite for supper, "v^^hich must undoubtedly
consist o2 the same sort of indigestible dishes as
those now before him ! How many days, think you,
would he survive a continuance of this rich fare I

These reflections so trembled wise King Midas, that
he began to doubt whether, after all, riches are the
one desirable thing in the world, or even the most
desirable. But this was only a passin^r thought.
So fascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yel-
low metal, that he would still have refused to give
up the Golden Touch for so paltry a consid* oration
as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one
meal's victuals ! It would have been the same as
paying millions and millions of money for some
fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup
of c< >t¥ee.

"It would be much too dear," ^bought Midas.

Nevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the
perplexity of his siti^ation, that he again groaned
aloud, and very grie^ ously too. Our pretty Maiy-

5fc!?cyi'iy"rk,ifei.,

AJ.

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23 WEST MAIN f TREET

WEBSTER, .NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

266

Thikd Header.

gold could endure it no longer. She sat a moment
gazing at her father, and trying, with all the might
of her little wits, to find out what was the matter
with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful im-
pulse to comfort him, she started from her chau',
and, running to Midas, threw her arms affectionately
about his knees. He bent down and kissed her.
He felt that his little dtuighter's love was worth a
thousand times more than he had gained by the
Golden Touch.

"My precious, precious Maiygold i" cried he.

But Marygold made no answer.

Alas, what had he done ? How fatal was the gift
^\hich the stranger had bestowed! The moment
the lij^s of Midas tt)uched Marj^gold's forehead, a
change had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so
full of affection as it had been, assumed a glittering
yellow color, with yellow tear-drops congealing on
her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the
same tint. Her soft and tender little form grew
hard and inflexible within her father's encircling
arms. terrible misfortune! The victim of his
insatialle desire for wealth, little Marygold was a
iiuman child no longer, but a golden statue!

Yes, there she was, with the questioning look of
love, grief, and pity, hardened into her face. It was
the prettiest and most woful sight that ever mortal
saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold were
there; even the beloved little dimj)le remained in
her golden chin. But, the more perfect was the
resemblance, the greater was the father's agony at

The Golden Touch.

?n7

[ling

liis

tas a

icof
[was
)rtal
Ivere
ll ill
tlie
ly at

beholding this golden image, which was all that was
left him of a daughter.

It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever
he felt particularly fond of the child, to say that
she was worth, her weight in gold. And now the
phrase had become literally true. And, now, at
last, when it was too lat^, he felt liow infinitely a
wai^m and tender heart, that loved him, exceeded in
value all the wealth that could be piled up betwixt
the earth and sky !

It would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you
how JVIidas, in the fulness of all his gratified desires,
began to wring his hands and bemoan himself ; and
how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor
yet to look away from her. Except when his eyes
were fixed on the image ho could not possibly
believe that she was changed to gold. But stealing
another glance, there was the precious little figure,
with a yellow tear-drop on its yellow cheek, and a
look so piteous and tender, that it seemed as if that
very expression must needs soften the gold, and
make it flesh again. This, however, could not be.
So Midas had only to wring his hands, and to wish
that he were the poorest man in the wide world^ if
the loss of all his wealth might bring back the faint-
est rose-color to his dear child's face.

Wliile he was in this tumult of despair, he ?sLid-
denly beheld a stranger, standing near the door.
Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for
he recogidzed the same figm-e which had appeared
to him the day before in the treasure-room, and had

268

Third Eeader.

I h D

bestowed on him this disastrous power of the Golden
Touch. The stranger's countenance still wore a
smile, which seemed to shed a yellow lustre all
about the room, and gleamed on little Marygold's
image, and on the other objects that had been trans-
muted by the touch of Midas.

"AYell, friend Midas," said the stranger, "pray,
how do you succeed with the Golden Touch ? "

Midas shook his head.

"I am very miserable," said he.

" Very miserable ! indeed!" exclaimed the stran-
ger; " and how happens that? Have I not faithfully
kept my promise with you I Have you not every-
thing that your heart desired ? "

"Gold is not everything," answered Midas.
"And I have lost all that my heart really cared for."

"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yes-
terday?" observed the stranger. " Let us see, then.
Which of these two things do you think is really
worth the most, — the gift of the Golden Touch, or
one cup of clear cold water ? "
• "0 blessed water!" exclaimed Midas. "It will
never moisten my parched throat again !"

"The Golden Touch," continued the stranger,
" or a crust of bread ? "

"A piece of bread," answered Midas, "is worth
all the gold on earth ! "

"The Golden Touch," asked the strangei', "or
your own little Marygold, warm, soft, and loving, as
she was an hour ago T'

" O my child, my dear child ! " cried poor King

The G..I.DEN Touch. <,,;,,

Midas, wringing ],is ],,^„,,, ,< ,
^veu that one 8„,all <Zl • /'""''' ""' ^ave

Po^erof changing hsS,'-' ^""' "''"' f"'' «"'
'»n>P of gol,l ! " ^ '^''°'*' *»« «'»•«> i'lto a soli,]

You are wispr fir,,.

«aid the stranger, ooktlr' ""T' ^"'^ ^i^J»«-"'
o^ heart, I ptre; ve S 10^""^ '"' ^""'- " ^'-'
from fle.sh to gold. Werel sr""'"'"'^'''"''««'l
mdeed be desperate. Bu von ' ^"" '^"' ^'""W
of understanding that the ^° P^'"' ^° '^*' "^P^We
■•^s lie within everyboll I, ™'"""^'^* """^^ ^'^''h
than the n.-hes ^d^ieh soC' *"''' ™«'-« ^^'^able
struggle after. Tell me nl f^ ™°''*«''^ «'«h and

*o,yKl yonrself of this G^li tSh%1r"'-^ ^<'^'-

"60, then," said the strane-m- " / ,

the river that glides mst tl ! wl' """^ l''""*^ "'to

Take likewise I vase rf th ''°**°'^ ^^^our garden.

kle it over any obiectthnt """ '''^**'''' ^"'i «?»"-

back again from gold nto ils^'^ ^"^"" *^ ^'^^"g^

you do this in eirnestnesf / r. ' '''^'^^^^^^- If

possibly repair the ShSwTV''"''"*^' '* '"'^^
occasioned." ^ ^^'"'^ your avarice has

King Midas bowed W,. J. ,
head, the lustrous!! "!^.'''f ^^i*^" """ "^ted his

You wiU easily CueZfj-T'^'"'^-
matching up a i-ea?:^^^^^^^

•t-nolo„gerea..thena;t:rret:a^^^^^^^

270

Third Reader.

hastening to the river-side. As he ran along, and
t'oi'ced his way through the shrubbery, it was posi-
tively marvellous to see how the foUage turned
yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there,
and nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink,
he plunged headlong in, without waiting so much
as to pull off his shoes.

"Proof! proof! proof!" gasped Kmg Midas, as
his head emerged out of the water. " Well ; this is
I'eally a r(^fr(^shing bath, and I think it must have
quite washed away the Golden Touch. And now
for filling my pitcher!"

As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it glad-
dened his very heart to see it change from gold into
the same good, honest, earthen vessel which it had
been before he touched it. He was conscious, also,
of a change within himself. A cold, hard, and heavy
weight seemed to have gone out of his bosom. No
doubt his heart had been gradually losing its human
substance, and been changing into insensible metal,
but had now been softened back again into flesh.
Perceiving a violet that grew on the bank of the
river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was
overjoyed to find that the delicate flower retained its
purple hue, instead of imdergoing a yellow blight.
The curse of the Golden Touch had, therefore, been
removed from him.

King Midas hastened back to the palace : and, I
suppose the servants knew not what to make of
it when they saw their royal master so carefully
bringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But

The Golden Touch.

"m" an ocean of im, to.r^; l.r"'',??'^""'^ ^^ M««'^
fii'st thing J.e did, as yul^^^^^^^ The

to .sprinkle it by haudf . ^''^^'^ '^^ told, was

iittle Marygold. "^ ^'"'^ °^'^'' "'« ^^I'len %„',« of

^o sooner did it f.,ii i
'aughed to see hot i;;,^"! f'^ ^^u would hav..
dear child's cheek --and Z ?' ''"""^ ^"^^ to the
find l^erself dripping we iT ."If "^ ^'^^ ^^^ to
»'g more water ovef-IJ ' '*""■ ''"" «"'ow-

" Pray do not dear fa the,- n, • ^ ,
how you have wet my „ ce fti v ■",^. '^•'- " »««
o"Iy this morning !'.^ ^""'''' ^'"«h I put on

For Marygold d;<1 n^j. i

tiling that had hapnened ! f i-emember any-

«he ran with onSe td "'' '"""^«"t ^^e"

King Midas. **"' '■*"»« to comfort poor

ffer father did not think it „.
beloved child how verv fl 'T'^^'r to tell hj.s
contented himself wS^jI?'^^'^" '"^d been, but
had now g..own. Tr hi? ^"" ""^^^^ ^««^- ho
Maiygold into the ga'den wh^'^^f'' ''" ''^'^ "ttle
the remainder of the Sr '' ^ ^'P""kled all
and with such good effS thXT '^' "-"^-hushes,
roses recovered their bea ,S n '" ^^' *^''"«-"d
two cire^^tances, howe S "HT" '^^''' '^"■"

Third Reader.

that little Marygold's hair had now a golden ^'nge,
which he had never observed in it before she had
been changed by the effect of his kiss. This change
of hue was really an improvement, and made Mary-
gold's hair richer than in her babyhood.

When King Midas had grown quite an old man,
and used to take Maiygold's children on liis knee,
he was fond of telling them this marvellous story,
pretty much as I have told it to you. And then
would he stroke their glossy ringlets, and tell them
that their hair likewise, had a rich shade of gold,
which they had inherited from their mother.

"And to tell you the truth, my precious little
folks," said King Midas, " over since that morning,
I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save
this!"

— Nathaniel Hawthorne,

iTige,
5 had
laTigo
lary-

maii,
knee,
;tory,
then
them
gold,

httle

ning,

save

rne.