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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 
 
VI 
 
 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 
 
 88 
 
 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 
 
 as 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 » 
 
 XI 
 
 4 
 
 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 
 
i! 
 
 XIV 
 
 Thihd Readeu. 
 
 II 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 
 '^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. 
 
 XV 
 
 VOWEL TABLE. 
 
 3. 
 
 J 
 
 0. 
 
 1 
 
 6. 
 
 1 
 
 7. 
 
 f 
 
 8. 
 
 9. 
 
 10. 
 
 IL 
 
 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. 
 
(I 
 
 ! 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. 
 
 11 
 
, 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 
 
 1 
 
 i ill 
 
 t 
 
TiiK Discontented pENDrrj-M. 
 
 t) 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 Ni 
 
 UK 
 
 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. 
 
 
 1 
 
AVynken, Blynken and Xoi*. 
 
 lo'/ou 
 
 lOS 
 
 s at 
 
 WYNKEN, BLYNKEN AND NOD. 
 
 at all 
 
 
 *' it is 
 
 
 '//, hut 
 
 1 
 
 ^.olloct, 
 
 1 
 
 s in an 
 
 ■i 
 
 ir, and 
 
 
 
 1- 
 
 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 
 
 G 
 
 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- 
 
 ^m 
 
The J)EiivisH and thk Camki. 
 
 7 
 
 /</. 
 
 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." 
 
8 
 
 rv 
 
 TlllllD KEaJ)KI{. 
 
 OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 11!^ 
 
 K 
 
 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, 
 
 J 
 
OlJFA'IXG OUDKUS. 
 
 9 
 
 ', 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, 
 
 f 
 
 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 
 
 11 
 
 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." 
 
10 
 
 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 
 
 M 
 
 -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*' 
 
 V2 
 
 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. 
 
 13 
 
 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. 
 
14 
 
 rv 
 
 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 
 
 
n^ 
 
 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. 
 
16 
 
 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 
 
 V 
 
The Flax. 
 
 17 
 
 BllV- 
 
 
 tliaii 
 
 ■'- 
 
 1 toll 
 
 -■ 
 
 iiie? 
 
 i. 
 
 
 ,'^1 
 
 orii>s 
 
 
 ) was 
 
 I 
 
 
 s 
 
 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 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 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 
 
 
18 
 
 rv 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
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. 
 
20 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
»)«) 
 
 rn 
 
 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. 
 
 23 
 
 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 
 
24 
 
 rv 
 
 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 
 
 le 
 
 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 
 
26 
 
 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 
 
 a 
 
The British National Banner. 
 
 27 
 
 that 
 e, it 
 
 it is, 
 
 I the 
 
 pies. 
 
 :here 
 
 er, at 
 
 dster 
 
 imps. 
 
 oil is 
 , ciiid 
 1m ■ 
 
 e, and 
 
 )11 to 
 
 loses 
 -the- 
 the- 
 
 11 
 
 the 
 (hens 
 (lid in 
 
 u 
 
 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 
 
28 
 
 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 
 
 M 
 
 But freedom has made it majestic, 
 And time has einiobled the Hag. 
 
The (IvrTURE of the Whale. 
 
 29 
 
 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. 
 
30 
 
 rr 
 
 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. 
 
 31 
 
 Vdvw- 
 
 \ tlio 
 
 Bimig' 
 
 11 run 
 a that 
 I pure 
 
 r. 
 
 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. 
 
 HI 
 
 "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 
 
k 
 
H I A W ATH A 'S S A TLING. 
 
 35 
 
 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 ! ' 
 
m 
 
 rv 
 
 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, 
 
 37 
 
88 
 
 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:. 
 
 39 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
40 
 
 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. 
 
 41 
 
 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 
 
42 
 
 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." 
 
 43 
 
 And they painted on the grave-posts 
 Of the graves yet unforgotten. 
 
44 
 
 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 ; 
 
46 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
MMMNwfiiaEUi 
 
 48 
 
 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. 
 
 40 
 
 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'' 
 
50 
 
 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. 
 
 51 
 
 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 
 
 'I 
 
 
¥smmmm 
 
 52 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 53 
 
 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 ! " 
 
91 
 
 54 
 
 rv 
 
 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. 
 
 00 
 
 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 
 
56 
 
 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). 
 
 57 
 
 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^' 
 
58 
 
 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\'. 
 
 59 
 
 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. 
 
'^ 
 
 60 
 
 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. 
 
 61 
 
 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. 
 
 li 
 
"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- 
 
 04 
 
 rp 
 
 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 
 
66 
 
 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. 
 
 67 
 
 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. 
 
 69 
 
 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 
 
 70 
 
 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'.'^ 
 
 l^ 
 
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 ; 
 
 71 
 
 "'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 
 
^^^ 
 
 72 
 
 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. 
 
 73 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
rr 
 
 74 
 
 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. 
 
 TO 
 
 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 
 
76 
 
 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. 
 
 77 
 
 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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78 
 
 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. 
 
 79 
 
 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, 
 
 «■ 
 
 fi 
 
 tt 
 
80 
 
 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. 
 
 81 
 
 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 
 
82 
 
 rp 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 (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. 
 
 \\ 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 4' 
 
■■ 
 
 84 
 
 rr 
 
 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. 
 
 87 
 
 
 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. 
 
^ 
 
 88 
 
 V* 
 
 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. 
 
 80 
 
 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^;^ ;: 
 
 t 
 
 %-,.i-'-'-. 
 
90 
 
 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. 
 
 91 
 
 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 
 
w 
 
 92 
 
 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. 
 
 93 
 
 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( 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 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, 
 
m 
 
 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 
 
 re 
 
 lO 
 
 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. 
 
 97 
 
 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. 
 
 99 
 
 ist 
 
 l)U 
 
 •y 
 1(1 
 
 ;)U 
 
 do 
 1(1 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
I 
 
 KXt 
 
 rp 
 
 Thihd Keadek. 
 
 I 
 
 
 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 
 
 rp 
 
 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 
 
w 
 
 Sift 
 
 Hi 
 
 106 
 
 Thihd IIeadek. 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 W^ 
 
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. 
 
 ns 
 
 " 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. 
 
 !, 
 ? 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 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. 
 
 le 
 
 il 
 
w^ 
 
 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. 
 
m' 
 
 ^ 
 
 \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. 
 
rv 
 
 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 
 
 rr 
 
 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 
 
 rr 
 
 rillUJ) JllUDKlt. 
 
 w 
 
 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 — 
 
^r 
 
 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'! 
 
 w 
 
 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- 
 
 w 
 
 
 1 
 
 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.> 
 
 il 
 
 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 
 
 1 
 
IT" 
 
 m ^ 
 
 'I -■ 
 
 'a 
 
 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. 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 " 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. 
 
 «« 
 
 h 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
The Bh'e Jay. 
 
 129 
 
 tiau 
 
 l301- 
 
 lat- 
 No 
 ilk. 
 
 is, 
 3 is 
 
 A 
 
 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. 
 
 In 
 
 10 
 
^^ 
 
 130 
 
 THiiii) Keader. 
 
 iS 
 
 W^ 
 
 m 
 
 " 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. 
 

 il 
 
^: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. 
 
^r 
 
 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- 
 
I 
 
 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 
 
 V 
 
 .'*' 
 
 &' 
 
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. 
 
 I 
 
"^ 
 
 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, 
 
 U5 
 
 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 
 
 11 
 
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 
 
 M 
 
148 
 
 Thikd Eeadek. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 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 
 
 a 
 
 th 
 
 In 
 
 re 
 
 id- 
 
 on 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
^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 
 
 i 
 
 I: 
 
 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 
 
 rp 
 
 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 
 
J 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 ;• 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- 
 
 12 
 
 m 
 
102 
 
 tr 
 
 Third Readek. 
 
 i 
 
 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, 
 
 be 
 
 '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 
 
I. 
 
 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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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. 
 
 a 
 
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 
 
m 
 
 184 
 
 TiiiKD Reader. 
 
 ^ 
 
 'V 
 
 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 
 
 De 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 i 
 
 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. 
 
 J 
 
 . 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. 
 
 M 
 
 ■■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 
 
 y 
 
 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. 
 
 m! 
 
 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. 
 
 !f 
 
 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 
 
 16 
 
 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 : 
 
 i 
 
 " 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 ; 
 
 f 
 

 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 
 
 rr 
 
 Third Reader. 
 
 I' 
 
 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. 
 
 21 
 
 ;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 
 
 v 
 
 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, 
 
 i 
 
Tykulese Evening Ih 
 
 MN. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
m 
 
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- 
 
 ni 
 
 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 
 
 n. 
 
 P P 
 
 230 
 
 Third Reader. 
 
 '■■:!' 
 
 ■.!(i 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 I' 
 
 "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 
 
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. 
 
 m} 
 
 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 
 
 rr 
 
 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 
 
 rr 
 
 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. 
 
 n. 
 
 (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 
 
 rn 
 
 Third Keader. 
 
 If: 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
'V 
 
 The Gulden Touch. 
 
 l>r)T 
 
 that 
 
 , or 
 DO liis 
 and 
 'T;on 
 Lie to 
 
 ingei* 
 
 that 
 
 try 
 
 of 
 
 , 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 
 
 18 
 
^ 
 
 258 
 
 Third Reader. 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
r^ 
 
 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 
 
 iP 
 
 of 
 
 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 
 
 a 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 do 
 
 >od f( 
 
 1" 
 
 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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 I 
 
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 
 
 I: 
 
 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.