The New McGuffey Fourth Reader
by W.H. McGuffey (compiler)
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

PREFACE

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

In preparing the present revision the aim of thie compiler has
been to introduce such new matter and methods as the experience
and judgment of the best teachers have found most commendable and
desirable. He has at the same time endeavored to preserve those
essential features which have always distinguished the McGuffey
Readers and have so largely contributed to their success. While
the majority of the selections are new to the series, care has
been taken to maintain the same high literary and ethical
standard that has hitherto so distinctly characterized these
books. Lessons inculcating kindness, courage, obedience,
industry, thrift, true manliness, patriotism, and other duties
and obligations form no small portion of the contents. Selections
from the masterpieces of English literature include both the
older classical productions, without which no school can be
complete, and also choice extracts from many of the latest and
most popular writers.

The Elocutionary Introduction, by Professor F. Townsend
Southwick, presents in brief scope the most important rules for
oral reading and those principles of the art that are most
necessary for the pupils to master. The teacher should, at the
very onset, become thoroughly familiar with the subjects here
presented, and the pupils should be referred to this discussion
of elocutionary principles as often as occasion may require.

The more difficult words are defined, and their pronunciation is
indicated by diacritical marks. The object of this is to aid the
pupil in the ready preparation of the reading lesson, and not to
supply merely an exercise in the study of words. Short
explanatory notes are given wherever required for a full
understanding of the text. It is assumed, however, that the
pupils have already a general knowledge of most of the subjects
alluded to, or that they have ready access to the more common
books of reference, and therefore only occasional notes of this
character are necessary.

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

Acknowledgments are due to Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., Charles
Scribner's Sons, the Century Company, and other publishers who
generously permitted the use, in this series, of selections from
their works.

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

CONTENTS

SELECTIONS FOR READING

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

FOURTH READER

YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

When Benjamin Franklin was a boy he was very fond of fishing; and
many of his leisure hours were spent on the margin of the mill
pond catching flounders, perch, and eels that came up thither
with the tide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If the owner of the stolen property had not been more merciful
than the master mason, it might have gone hard with our friend
Benjamin and his comrades. But, luckily for them, the gentleman
had a respect for Ben's father, and, moreover, was pleased with
the spirit of the whole affair. He therefore let the culprits off
easily.

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

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

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

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

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

DEFINITIONS:--In defining words, that meaning is given which is
appropriate to them in the connection in which they are used. The
pupil should look in the dictionary for the meaning of all the
others with which he is not perfectly familiar.

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

EXERCISE.--Where is Boston? How long ago did Benjamin Franklin
live? Learn all that you can about his life and work, and repeat
it to the class at the next recitation.

A HARD WORD.

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

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

"Well, father this is the hardest word I ever saw," replied
George. "I wish they had put the name into the volcano, and
burned it up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The hardest word," replied their father, "I have ever met with
in any language--and I have learned several--is a little word of
two letters--N-o, no."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George now began to see why this little word"No" was so hard to
pronounce. It was not because it was so long, or composed of such
difficult sounds; but because it often requires so much real
courage to say it,--to say "No" when one is tempted to do wrong.

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

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

A SONG*

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

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

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

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

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

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.

AN ALLEGORY.

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

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

So he played with the child the whole day long, and they were
very merry. The sky was so blue, the sun was so bright, the water
was so sparkling, the leaves were so green, the flowers were so
lovely, and they heard so many singing birds, and saw so many
butterflies, that everything was beautiful. This was in fine
weather.

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

But when it snowed, that was the best of all; for they liked
nothing so well as to look up at the white flakes falling fast
and thick, like down frown the breasts of millions of white
birds, and to see how smooth and deep the drift was, and to
listen to the hush upon the paths and roads.

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

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

They rowed upon the river in summer, and skated on the ice in
winter; they were active afoot and active on horseback; at
cricket, and all games of ball; at prisoner's base,
hare-and-hounds, follow-my-leader, and more sports than I can
think of: nobody could beat them. As to friends, they had such
dear friends, and so many of them, that I want the time to reckon
them up. They were all young, like the handsome boy, and were
never to be strange to one another all their lives through.

Still, one day, in the midst of all these pleasures, the traveler
lost the boy, as he had lost the child, and, after calling him in
vain, went on upon his journey. So he went on for a while without
seeing anything, until at last he came to a young man. He said to
the young man, "What do you here?" And the young man said, "I am
always in love. Come and love with me."

But the traveler lost the young man as he had lost the rest of
his friends, and, after calling to him to come back, which he
never did, went on upon his journey. At last he came to a
middle-aged gentleman. So he said to him, "What are you doing
here?" And his answer was, "I am always busy. Come and be busy
with me."

The traveler began to be very busy with the gentleman, and they
went on through the wood together. The whole journey was through
a wood, only it had been open and green at first, like a wood in
spring, and now began to be thick and dark, like a wood in
summer; some of the little trees that had come out earliest were
even turning brown.

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

Sometimes they came to a long green avenue that opened into
deeper woods. Then they would hear a very distant little voice
crying, "Father, father, I am another child! Stop for me!" And
presently they would see a very little figure, growing larger as
it came along, running to join them. When it came up, they all
crowded round it, and kissed and welcomed it; and then they all
went on together.

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

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

Whenever these partings happened, the traveler looked at the
gentleman, and saw him glance up at the sky above the trees,
where the day was beginning to decline, and the sunset to come
on. He saw, too, that his hair was turning gray. But they could
never rest long, for they had their journey to perform, and it
was necessary for them to be always busy.

At last, there had been so many partings that there were no
children left, and only the traveler, the gentleman, and the lady
went upon their way in company. And now the wood was yellow; and
now brown; and the leaves, even of the forest trees, began to
fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet once more, while he broke his way among the branches, the
traveler lost his friend. He called and called, but there was no
reply, and when he passed out of the wood and saw the peaceful
sun going down upon a wide purple prospect, he came to an old man
sitting upon a fallen tree. He said to the old man, "What do you
here?" And the old man said, with a calm smile, "I am always
remembering. Come and remember with me."

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

DEFINITIONS:--Scents, smells. Cricket, a game at ball very
popular in England.Solitary, alone. Summoned, called. Allegory, a
truth related in the form of a story.

WHAT I LIVE FOR.

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

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

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

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

TRY AGAIN!

BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I won't try any more," replied he, rather sullenly. "It is of no
use, you see. The kite won't fly, and I don't want to be plagued
with it any longer."

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

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

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

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

"I have learned to fly my kite properly."

"You may thank aunt for it, brother," said Lucy, "for you would
have given it up long ago, if she had not persuaded you to try
again."

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

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

EXERCISE--What is the subject of this lesson? Why was John
discouraged in his attempts to fly his kite? What did his aunt
say to him? What may we learn from this? What should be our motto
if we expect to be successful?

TRUE MANLINESS.

I.

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

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

A look of relief came over his mother's face as she seated
herself in her low rocking-chair. Fred washed the dishes and put
them in the closet. He swept the kitchen, brought up the potatoes
from the cellar for the dinner and washed them, and then set out
for school.

Fred's father was away from home, and as there was some cold meat
in the pantry, Mrs. Liscom found it an easy task to prepare
dinner. Fred hurried home from school, set the table, and again
washed the dishes.

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

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

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

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

"I'll tell you," said Tom Barton, "I'll find him out, boys--see
if I don't!"

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

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

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

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

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

II.

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

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

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

Mr. and Mrs. Barton were not at home. The house had been left in
charge of the servants. The fire spread with fearful speed, for
there was a high wind, and it was found impossible to save the
house. The servants ran about screaming and lamenting, but doing
nothing to any purpose.

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

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

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

He roused her with some difficulty, carried her to the window,
and placed her upon the sill. She was instantly grasped by strong
arms, and carried down the ladder, Fred following as fast as
possible. They had scarcely reached the ground before a crash of
falling timbers told them that they had barely escaped with their
lives.

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

DEFINITIONS:--Languidly, feebly. Amply, fully. Opinion, judgment,
belief. Absolutely, wholly, entirely. Resent, to consider as an
injury. Consciousness, inward feeling, knowledge of what passes
in one's own mind.

THE MILLER OF THE DEE.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

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

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

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

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

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

A BOY ON A FARM.

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.

Say what you will about the general usefulness of boys, it is my
impression that a farm without a boy would very soon come to
grief. What the boy does is the life of the farm. He is the
factotum, always in demand, always expected to do the thousand
indispensable things that nobody else will do. Upon him fall all
the odds and ends, the most difficult things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would gladly do all the work if somebody else would do the
chores, he thinks; and yet I doubt if any boy ever amounted to
anything in the world; or was of much use as a man, who did not
enjoy the advantages of a liberal education in the way of
chores. --From "Being a Boy."

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

EXERCISE.--Call you tell of anything else that a boy on a farm
must do? What advantages has a country boy over a city boy? What
advantages has the city boy?

MEDDLESOME MATTIE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EXERCISE.--Write the story of Meddlesome Mattie, using your own
words and not trying to make rhymes. What lesson may be learned
from this story? What is a snuffbox? This story was written
almost a hundred years ago. Do ladies use snuffboxes now?

THE EAGLE.

The eagle is called the king of the birds. He is a large, fierce
bird of prey, of immense strength and great courage; and he
sweeps through the air with a majesty and dignity well becoming
to his noble title.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE OLD EAGLE TREE.

BY JOHN TODD.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On nearing the field, she made a circuit round it, to see if her
enemies were again there. Finding the coast clear, she once more
reached the tree, drooping, faint, and weary, and evidently
nearly exhausted. Again the eaglets set up their cry, which was
soon hushed by the distribution of a dinner, such as, save the
cooking, a king might admire.

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

"Glorious bird! I will learn a lesson from thee to-day. I will
never forget hereafter, that when the spirit is determined it can
do almost anything. Others would have drooped, and hung the head,
and mourned over the cruelty of man, and sighed over the wants of
the nestlings; but thou, by at once recovering the loss, hast
forgotten all.

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

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

EXERCISE.--What lesson may be learned from this story? Why is the
eagle called the bird of our country? What is meant by the
expression "finding the coast clear"? What is the advantage of
setting one's mark high? Can you think of any other story which
teaches the lesson that one should never yield to
discouragements?

A NEW KIND OF FUN.

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

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

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

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

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

As he looked at it he felt with his foot for the other shoe, and
slipped that one on. To his great surprise that shoe, too, held a
coin. Holding up both silver pieces, and staring at them in
silence, he made a most impressive picture, which was by no means
lost upon the two beholders. Then suddenly clasping his hands
together he fell upon his knees and gave thanks for the blessing
that had come upon him.

As he prayed, the boy and his tutor learned from his words that
his poor wife was sick and helpless at hone, and that his
orphaned grandchildren were suffering for food, while he, old and
feeble, was striving by heavy toil to earn a crust. The old man
invoked the blessing of Heaven upon the unknown but generous soul
who had pitied his poverty--the kind heart, whosesoever it might
be, that could thus beat warm in charity and kindness for the
hungry and the poor.

"He has gone," said the old man, "without even waiting to be
thanked. But go where he may, far as he may, the earth is not
wide enough but that the blessing of an old man shall seek him
out and find him. The blessing of the poor flies fast," he cried;
"it will overtake him and abide with him to the end of life.

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

Then the two watchers had a little dialogue.

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

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

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

"Come on!" said the boy.

"Where next?" asked the tutor.

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

"My dear boy, I don't for a moment think you will stop with one
good joke of this kind. Youth, with a heart like yours, never
does things by halves."

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

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

TWO WAYS OF TELLING A STORY.

BY HENRY K. OLIVER.

In one of the most populous cities of New England, a few years
ago, a party of lads, all members of the same school, got up a
grand sleigh ride. The sleigh was a very large one, drawn by six
gray horses.

On the following day, as the teacher entered the schoolroom, he
found his pupils in high glee, as they chattered about the fun
and frolic of their excursion. In answer to some inquiries, one
of the lads gave him an account of their trip and its various
incidents.

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

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

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

"With that, an old fellow in the wagon, who was buried up under
an old hat, bawled out, 'Why do you frighten my horse?' 'Why
don't you turn out, then?' says the driver. So we gave him three
rousing cheers more. His horse was frightened again, and ran up
against a loaded wagon, and, I believe, almost capsized the old
creature--and so we left him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT.

BY JOHN G. SAXE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEFINITIONS:--Indostan, Hindostan, a county in Asia now commonly
called India. Quoth, said.

HARRY'S RICHES.

One day, our little Harry spent the morning with his young
playmate, Johnny Crane, who lived in a fine house, and on Sundays
rode to church in the grandest carriage to be seen in all the
country round.

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

"Has he, dear?"

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

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

"Yes, ma'am; only--"

"Only what, Harry?"

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

"Well, my boy, what of that?"

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

"No, indeed, Harry, we are very far from being poor. We are not
so rich as Mr. Crane's family, if that is what you mean."

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

"O Harry!" I exclaimed reproachfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well," continued the uncle, with a serious air, at the same
time writing something in his notebook, "I can't afford to give
you more than two thousand dollars, so I shall have to do without
your eyes; but," he added, "I will tell you what I will do, I
will give you twenty dollars if you will let me put a few drops
from this bottle in your ears. It will not hurt, but it. will
make you deaf. I want to try some experiments with deafness, you
see. Come quickly, now! Here are the twenty dollars all ready
for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

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

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

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

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

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

JEANNETTE AND JO.

BY MARY MAPES DODGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WATSEKA.

AN INDIAN LEGEND.

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

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

What there was on the other side of the prairie the Indians did
not know. But they had been told that a fierce race of men lived
there who loved only war.

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

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

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

All at once a savage yell was heard in the hazel thicket by the
river; then another from the edge of the prairie; and then a
third from the lower end of the village. In a moment all was
terror and confusion. Too well the Illinois knew the meaning of
these cries. The savage strangers from beyond the prairie had
come at last.

The attack had been so sudden and fierce that the Illinois could
not defend themselves. They scattered and fled far into the woods
on the other side of the little river. Then, one by one, they
came together in a rocky glen where they could hide from danger.
But even there they could hear the yells of their foes, and they
could see the black smoke that rose from their burning wigwams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Watseka spoke, her eyes sparkled with a light which filled
every heart with new courage. With one accord the women and girls
gathered around her.

"Lead us, Watseka!" they cried. "We will follow you. We are not
afraid."

They armed themselves with the bows and the hatchets which the
warriors had thrown upon the ground. Those who could find nothing
else, picked up stones and sticks. The boys joined them, their
eyes flashing with eagerness. All felt that Watseka would lead
them to victory.

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

"Are we men, and do we let the women and boys thus outdo us?"
they cried. "No, we alone will drive our foes from our home. We
alone will avenge our kinsmen whom they have slain. We will fear
nothing. We will never rest until we have won back all that we
have lost!"

And so Watseka and the women and boys did not go into battle. But
the warriors of the Illinois in the darkness of the night crept
silently back through the shadows of the wood. While their foes
lay sleepng by the fires of the burning wigwams, they swept down
upon them like a thunderbolt from the clear sky. Their revenge
was swift and terrible.

And so the Illinois were again at peace, for the fierce warriors
who dwelt on the other side of the prairie dared never molest
them again. And they rebuilt their wigwams by the side of the
pleasant river, and there they lived in comfort for many long
years. Nor did they ever forget how the maiden, Watseka, had
saved them in their hour of greatest need. The story of her
bravery was told and retold a thousand times; the warriors talked
of her beauty; the women praised her goodness; other tribes heard
of her and talked about the hero maiden of the Illinois; and so
long as there were Indians in that western land, the name of
Watseka was remembered and honored.

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

HARRY AND HIS DOG.

BY MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

"Beg, Frisk, beg," said little Harry, as he sat on an inverted
basket, at his grandmother's door, eating, with great
satisfaction, a porringer of bread and milk. His little sister
Annie sat on the ground opposite to him, now twisting her flowers
into garlands, and now throwing them away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry, in his impatience, thought the morning would never be
over. He played such pranks--buffeting Frisk, cutting the curls
off of Annie's doll, and finally breaking his grandmother's
spectacles--that before his visitors arrived, indeed, almost
immediately after dinner, he contrived to be sent to bed in
disgrace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LITTLE BOY BLUE.*

BY EUGENE FIELD.

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

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

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

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

IF I WERE A BOY.

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

You ask the boy a question and he will probably answer you right
off, with great assurance; he knows all about it. Ask a man of
large experience and ripe wisdom the same question, and he will
say, "Well, there is much to be said about it. I am inclined on
the whole to think so and so, but other intelligent men think
otherwise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I were a boy, I would not think that I and the boys of my time
were an exception to the general rule--a new kind of boys, unlike
all who have lived before, having different feelings and
different ways. To be honest, I must own that I used to think so
myself. I was quite inclined to reject the counsel of my elders
by saying to myself, "That may have been well enough for boys
thirty or fifty years ago, but it isn't the thing for me and my
set of boys." But that was nonsense. The boys of one generation
are not different from the boys of another generation.

If we say that boyhood lasts fifteen or sixteen years, I have
known three generations of boys, some of them city boys and some
of them country boys, and they are all very much alike--so nearly
alike that the old rules of industry and patience and
perseverance and self-control are as applicable to one generation
as to another. The fact is, that what your fathers and teachers
have found by experience to be good for boys, will be good for
you; and what their experience has taught them will be bad for
boys, will be bad for you. You are just boys, nothing more nor
less.

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

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

THE TEMPEST.

BY JAMES T. FIELDS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE RIGHT WAY.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

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

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

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

"Why, so it is," said Andrew. "It was all right when I came over
a little while ago, but old Donald pulls it on the other side
every morning after he has driven his cows across, and I don't
think he has any right to do it. I suppose he thinks the bridge
was made for him and his cows."

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

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

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

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