Word Exercise.

Word Exercise.trough (trawf)luxury (lŭk´shu-re)mortgage (mor´gaj)foreheads (fŏr´eds)clutchedjour´ney (jŭr-)Bab´y-lonhăp´pi-nĕss

trough (trawf)luxury (lŭk´shu-re)mortgage (mor´gaj)foreheads (fŏr´eds)clutchedjour´ney (jŭr-)Bab´y-lonhăp´pi-nĕss

Phrase Exercise.1. Arrived safe and sound.—2. Stifled air.—3. Bustle and glare.—4. Money is king.—5. Fashion is queen.—6. Raking and scraping.—7. Days ofworry.—8. Simple ways.—9. Sweet content.—10. Sees the cornin tassel.—11. Buckwheatblowing.—12. Look their thanks.—13. The doveslightround him.

1. Arrived safe and sound.—2. Stifled air.—3. Bustle and glare.—4. Money is king.—5. Fashion is queen.—6. Raking and scraping.—7. Days ofworry.—8. Simple ways.—9. Sweet content.—10. Sees the cornin tassel.—11. Buckwheatblowing.—12. Look their thanks.—13. The doveslightround him.

There is nothing so kingly as kindness,And nothing so royal as truth.—Alice Cary.

There is nothing so kingly as kindness,

And nothing so royal as truth.

—Alice Cary.

Hans Christian Andersen.

It was New Year’s Eve, and a cold, snowy evening. On this night, a poor little girl walked along the street with naked feet, benumbed with cold, and carrying in her hand a bundle of matches, which she had been trying all day to sell, but in vain; no one had given her a single penny. The snow fell fast upon her pretty yellow hair and her bare neck; but she did not mind that. She looked wistfully at the bright lights which shone from every window as she passed along; she could smell the nice roast goose, and she longed to taste it: it was New Year’s Eve!

Wearied and faint she laid herself down in a corner of the street, and drew her little legs under her to keep herself warm. She could not go home, for her father would scold her for not having sold any matches; and, even if she were there, she would still be cold, for the house was but poorly protected, and the wind whistled through many a chink in the roof and walls. She thought she would try and warm her cold fingers by lighting one of the matches; she drew one out, struck it against the wall, and immediately a bright, clear flame streamed from it, like a little candle.

The little girl looked at the flame, and she saw before her a beautiful brass stove with a nice warm fire in it! She stretched out her feet to warm them,—when, lo, the match went out; in a moment the stove and fire vanished; she sat again in the cold night, with the burnt match in her hand.

She struck another; the flame blazed on the opposite wall, and she saw through it into a room where a table was laid out with handsome dishes,—roast goose, and other nice things were there,—and, what was still more extraordinary, she saw the goose jump from the dish, knife, and fork, and all, and come running towards her. But again the match went out; and nothing but the dark wall and the cold street were to be seen.

The little girl drew another match; and, as soon as it struck a light, she saw a most beautiful Christmas tree, much larger and more splendid than any she had ever seen before. A vast number of lighted candles hung among the branches; and a multitude of pretty variegated pictures, like those in the shops, met her eyes. The girl lifted up her little hands in rapture at the sight; but again the match fell; and in the same moment one of the blazing candles shot through the sky, like a falling star, and fell at her feet. “Now some one dies,” cried she; for she had been told by her good old grandmother, that when a star falls, a soul returns to God.

Again she struck; and, behold, a bright light shone round about her, and in the midst of it stood her kind grandmother, looking calmly and smilingly upon her.

“Dear grandmother,” said she, “take me, oh take me! You will be gone from me when the match goes out, like the bright stove, the nice supper, and the Christmas tree;” and saying this, she struck all the rest of the matches at once, which made a light round her almost like day. And now the good grandmother smiled still more sweetly upon her; she lifted her up in her arms,and they soared together, far, far away; where there was no longer any cold, or hunger, or pain,—they were in Paradise!

But the poor little match-girl was still in the corner of the street, in the cold New Year’s morning. She was frozen to death, and a bundle of burnt matches lay beside her. People said, “She has been trying to warm herself, poor thing!” But ah, they knew not what glorious things she had seen; they knew not into what joys she had entered—nor how happy she was on this festival of the New Year!

Word Exercise.calmly (kām-le)fes´ti-valvanished (van´isht)vā´ri-e-gāt-edPar´a-disegrand´motherop´po-site (op´po-zĭt)handsome (han´sum)Christmas (krĭs´mas)extraordinary (eks-tror´dĭ-na-re)

calmly (kām-le)fes´ti-valvanished (van´isht)vā´ri-e-gāt-edPar´a-disegrand´motherop´po-site (op´po-zĭt)handsome (han´sum)Christmas (krĭs´mas)extraordinary (eks-tror´dĭ-na-re)

Phrase Exercise.1.Benumbedwith cold.—2. Shedid not mindthat.—3. Lookedwistfully.—4. Wearied and faint.—5. Poorly protected.—6. Aclearflamestreamedfrom it.—7. A tablewas laid out.—8.In raptureat the sight.—9.Soaredfar away.—10.Gloriousthings.

1.Benumbedwith cold.—2. Shedid not mindthat.—3. Lookedwistfully.—4. Wearied and faint.—5. Poorly protected.—6. Aclearflamestreamedfrom it.—7. A tablewas laid out.—8.In raptureat the sight.—9.Soaredfar away.—10.Gloriousthings.

Charles Kingsley.

“O Mary, go and call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,Across the sands o’ Dee.”The western wind was wild and dank with foam,And all alone went she.The creeping tide came up along the sand,And o’er and o’er the sand,And round and round the sand,As far as eye could see;The blinding mist came down and hid the land—And never home came she.“Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—A tress o’ golden hair,O’ drowned maiden’s hair,Above the nets at sea?Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,Among the stakes on Dee.”They rowed her in across the rolling foam,The cruel, crawling foam,The cruel, hungry foam,To her grave beside the sea;But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,Across the sands o’ Dee.

“O Mary, go and call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,And call the cattle home,Across the sands o’ Dee.”The western wind was wild and dank with foam,And all alone went she.

“O Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

Across the sands o’ Dee.”

The western wind was wild and dank with foam,

And all alone went she.

The creeping tide came up along the sand,And o’er and o’er the sand,And round and round the sand,As far as eye could see;The blinding mist came down and hid the land—And never home came she.

The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o’er and o’er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see;

The blinding mist came down and hid the land—

And never home came she.

“Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—A tress o’ golden hair,O’ drowned maiden’s hair,Above the nets at sea?Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,Among the stakes on Dee.”

“Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—

A tress o’ golden hair,

O’ drowned maiden’s hair,

Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,

Among the stakes on Dee.”

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,The cruel, crawling foam,The cruel, hungry foam,To her grave beside the sea;But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,Across the sands o’ Dee.

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel, crawling foam,

The cruel, hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea;

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,

Across the sands o’ Dee.

Two men in a rowing boat, searching

Next to the mighty elephant, the rhinoceros is the largest and strongest of animals. There are several species of the rhinoceros, some of which are found in Asia, and others in different parts of Africa.

In the latter country there are four varieties,—the black rhinoceros, having a single horn; a black species, having two horns; the long-horned white rhinoceros; and the common white species, which has a short, stubby horn.

The largest of the African species is the long-horned, white, or square-nosed rhinoceros. When full grown, it sometimes measures eighteen feet in length, and about as many feet around the body. Its horn frequently grows to the length of thirty inches.

The black rhinoceros, although much smaller than the white, and seldom having a horn over eighteen inches long, is far more ferocious than the white species, and possesses a wonderful degree of strength.

The form of the rhinoceros is clumsy, and its appearance dull and heavy. The limbs are thick and powerful, and each foot has three toes, which are covered with broad, hoof-like nails. The tail is small; the head very long and large. Taken altogether, there are few—if any—animals that compare with the rhinoceros in ugliness. The eyes are set in such a manner that the animal can not see anything exactly in front of it; but the senses of hearing and smelling are so keen that sight is not required to detect an enemy, whether it be man or beast. The skin of the African rhinoceros is smooth, and has only afew scattering hairs here and there. It is, however, very thick and tough, and can resist the force of a rifle-ball except when it is fired from a very short distance.

The largest known species of the rhinoceros is found in Asia. It lives chiefly in the marshy jungles, and on the banks of lakes and rivers, in India. Some of this species are over five feet in height, and have horns three feet in length and eighteen inches around the base. Unlike that of the African rhinoceros, the skin of the Asiatic species is not smooth, but lies in thick folds upon the body, forming flaps which can be lifted with the hand.

The food of the rhinoceros consists of roots, and the young branches and leaves of trees and shrubs. It ploughs up the roots with the aid of its horn, and gathers the branches and leaves with its upper lip, which is long and pointed, and with it rolls its food together before placing it in its mouth. The flesh of the rhinoceros is good to eat; and its strong, thick skin is made by the natives into shields, whips, and other articles.

Though clumsy, and apparently very stupid, the rhinoceros is a very active animal when attacked or otherwise alarmed. It is very fierce and savage,—so much so, that the natives dread it more than they do the lion. In hunting the rhinoceros, it is dangerous for a man to fire at one, unless he is mounted upon a swift horse, and can easily reach some place of safety. When attacking an enemy, the rhinoceros lowers its head and rushes forward like an angry bull. Though it may not see the object of its attack, its sense of smell is so acute that it knows when the enemy is reached. Then begins a furious tossing ofthe head, and if its powerful horn strikes the foe, a terrible wound is the result. When wounded itself, the rhinoceros loses all sense of fear, and charges again and again, with such desperate fury, that the enemy is almost always overcome.

Depiction of the hunt described by the famous traveller

A famous traveller in South Africa relates the followingincident that happened during one of his hunting excursions:

“Having proceeded about two miles, I came upon a black rhinoceros, feeding within fifty yards of me. I fired from my saddle, and sent a bullet in behind his shoulder, upon which he rushed forward, blowing like a grampus, and then stood looking about him. Presently he started off, and I followed. I expected that he would come to bay, but it seems a rhinoceros never does that,—a fact I did not know at that time. Suddenly he fell flat upon the ground; but soon recovering his feet, he resumed his course as if nothing had happened.

“I spurred on my horse, dashed ahead, and rode right in his path. Upon this, the hideous monster charged me in the most resolute manner, blowing loudly through his nostrils. Although I quickly turned about, he followed me at such a furious pace for several hundred yards, with his horrid, horny snout within a few yards of my horse’s tail, that I thought my destruction was certain. The animal, however, suddenly turned and ran in another direction. I had now become so excited with the incident, that I determined to give him one more shot any way. Nerving my horse again, I made another dash after the rhinoceros, and coming up pretty close to him, I again fired, though with little effect, the ball striking some thick portion of the skin and doing no harm. Not caring to run the chance of the huge brute again charging me, and believing that my rifle-ball was not powerful enough to kill him, I determined to give up the pursuit, and accordingly let him run off while I returned to the camp.”

Eliza Cook.

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

I love it, I love it, and who shall dare

To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?

I’ve treasured it long as a sainted prize,

I’ve bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs;

’Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart;

Not a tie will break, not a link will start.

Would you learn the spell?—a mother sat there,

And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.

In childhood’s hour I lingered nearThe hallowed seat with listening ear;And gentle words that mother would give,To fit me to die and teach me to live.She told me shame would never betide,With truth for my creed and God for my guide;She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.

In childhood’s hour I lingered near

The hallowed seat with listening ear;

And gentle words that mother would give,

To fit me to die and teach me to live.

She told me shame would never betide,

With truth for my creed and God for my guide;

She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,

As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day,When her eyes grew dim, and her locks were gray;And I almost worshipped her when she smiledAnd turned from her Bible to bless her child.Years rolled on, but the last one sped—My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled;I learned how much the heart can bear,When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day,

When her eyes grew dim, and her locks were gray;

And I almost worshipped her when she smiled

And turned from her Bible to bless her child.

Years rolled on, but the last one sped—

My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled;

I learned how much the heart can bear,

When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.

’Tis past! ’tis past! but I gaze on it nowWith quivering breath and throbbing brow:’Twas there she nursed me, ’twas there she died;And memory flows with lava tide.Say it is folly, and deem me weak,While the scalding drops start down my cheek;But I love it, I love it, and cannot tearMy soul from a mother’s old arm-chair.

’Tis past! ’tis past! but I gaze on it now

With quivering breath and throbbing brow:

’Twas there she nursed me, ’twas there she died;

And memory flows with lava tide.

Say it is folly, and deem me weak,

While the scalding drops start down my cheek;

But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear

My soul from a mother’s old arm-chair.

Leigh Hunt.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,And saw, within the moonlight in his room,Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,An angel, writing in a book of gold:—Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,And to the presence in the room he said,“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,And, with a look made of all sweet accord,Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”Replied the Angel. Abou spake more low,But cheerily still; and said, “I pray thee, then,Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.”The angel wrote and vanished. The next nightIt came again with a great wakening light,And showed the names whom love of God had blest,And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel, writing in a book of gold:—

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”

“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”

Replied the Angel. Abou spake more low,

But cheerily still; and said, “I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.”

The angel wrote and vanished. The next nightIt came again with a great wakening light,And showed the names whom love of God had blest,And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

Dickens.

At two-and-thirty years of age, in the year 1199, John became king of England. His pretty little nephew, Arthur, had the best claim to the throne; but John seized the treasure, and made fine promises to the nobility, and got himself crowned at Westminster within a few weeks after his brother Richard’s death. I doubt whether the crown could possibly have been put upon the head of a meaner coward, or a more detestable villain, if the country had been searched from end to end to find him out.

The French king, Philip, refused to acknowledge the right of John to his new dignity, and declared in favor of Arthur. You must not suppose that he had any generosity of feeling for the fatherless boy; it merely suited his ambitious schemes to oppose the king of England. So John and the French king went to war about Arthur.

He was a handsome boy, at that time only twelve years old. He was not born when his father, Geoffrey, had his brains trampled out at the tournament; and, besides the misfortune of never having known a father’s guidance and protection, he had the additional misfortune to have a foolish mother (Constance by name), lately married to her third husband. She took Arthur, upon John’s accession, to the French king, who pretended to be very much his friend, and made him a knight, and promised him his daughter in marriage; but who cared so little about him in reality, that, finding it his interest to make peacewith King John for a time, he did so without the least consideration for the poor little prince, and heartlessly sacrificed all his interests.

Young Arthur, for two years afterwards, lived quietly, and in the course of that time his mother died. But the French king, then finding it his interest to quarrel with King John again, made Arthur his pretence, and invited the orphan boy to court. “You know your rights, prince,” said the French king, “and you would like to be a king. Is it not so?” “Truly,” said Prince Arthur, “I should greatly like to be a king!” “Then,” said Philip, “you shall have two hundred gentlemen who are knights of mine, and with them you shall go to win back the provinces belonging to you, of which your uncle, the usurping king of England, has taken possession. I myself, meanwhile, will head a force against him in Normandy.”

Prince Arthur went to attack the town of Mirebeau, because his grandmother, Eleanor, was living there, and because his knights said, “Prince, if you can take her prisoner, you will be able to bring the king your uncle to terms!” But she was not to be easily taken. She was old enough by this time—eighty; but she was as full of stratagem as she was full of years and wickedness. Receiving intelligence of young Arthur’s approach, she shut herself up in a high tower, and encouraged her soldiers to defend it like men. Prince Arthur with his little army besieged the high tower. King John, hearing how matters stood, came up to the rescue with his army. So here was a strange family party! The boy-prince besieging his grandmother, and his uncle besieging him!

This position of affairs did not last long. One summer night, King John, by treachery, got his men into the town, surprised Prince Arthur’s force, took two hundred of his knights, and seized the prince himself in his bed. The knights were put in heavy irons, and driven away in open carts, drawn by bullocks, to various dungeons, where they were most inhumanly treated, and where some of them were starved to death. Prince Arthur was sent to the Castle of Falaise.

One day, while he was in prison at that castle, mournfully thinking it strange that one so young should be in so much trouble, and looking out of the small window in the deep, dark wall, at the summer sky and the birds, the door was softly opened, and he saw his uncle, the king, standing in the shadow of the archway, looking very grim.

“Arthur,” said the king, with his wicked eyes more on the stone floor than on his nephew, “will you not trust to the gentleness, the friendship, and the truthfulness of your loving uncle?” “I will tell my loving uncle that,” replied the boy, “when he does me right. Let him restore to me my kingdom of England, and then come to me and ask the question.” The king looked at him and went out. “Keep that boy a close prisoner,” said he to the warden of the castle. Then the king took secret counsel with the worst of his nobles, how the prince was to be got rid of. Some said, “Put out his eyes and keep him in prison, as Robert of Normandy was kept.” Others said, “Have him stabbed.” Others, “Have him poisoned.”

King John feeling that in any case, whatever was done afterwards, it would be a satisfaction to his mind to havethose handsome eyes burnt out, that had looked at him so proudly, while his own royal eyes were blinking at the stone floor, sent certain ruffians to Falaise to blind the boy with red-hot irons. But Arthur so pathetically entreated them, and shed such piteous tears, and so appealed to Hubert de Bourg (or Burgh), the warden of the castle, who had a love for him, and was a merciful, tender man, that Hubert could not bear it. To his eternal honor, he prevented the torture from being performed; and, at his own risk sent the savages away.

The chafed and disappointed king bethought himself of the stabbing suggestion next; and, with his shuffling manner and his cruel face, proposed it to one William de Bray. “I am a gentleman, and not an executioner,” said William de Bray, and left the presence with disdain. But it was not difficult for a king to hire a murderer in those days. King John found one for his money, and sent him down to the castle of Falaise. “On what errand dost thou come?” said Hubert to this fellow. “To despatch young Arthur,” he returned. “Go back to him who sent thee,” answered Hubert, “and say that I will do it!”

King John, very well knowing that Hubert would never do it, but that he evasively sent this reply to save the prince or gain time, despatched messengers to convey the young prisoner to the castle of Rouen. Arthur was soon forced from the kind Hubert—of whom he had never stood in greater need than then—carried away by night, and lodged in his new prison; where, through his grated window, he could hear the deep waters of the river Seine rippling against the stone wall below.

One dark night, as he lay sleeping, dreaming, perhaps, of rescue by those unfortunate gentlemen who were obscurely suffering and dying in his cause, he was roused, and bidden by his jailor to come down the staircase to the foot of the tower. He hurriedly dressed himself, and obeyed. When they came to the bottom of the winding-stairs, the jailor trod upon his torch, and put it out. Then Arthur, in the darkness, was hurriedly drawn into a solitary boat; and in that boat he found his uncle and one other man.

He knelt to them, and prayed them not to murder him. Deaf to his entreaties, they stabbed him, and sank his body in the river with heavy stones. When the spring morning broke, the tower-door was closed, the boat was gone, the river sparkled on its way, and never more was any trace of the poor boy beheld by mortal eyes.

Word Exercise.Seine (sān)Fă-lāise´ (lāz)ruffians (rŭf´yans)accession (ak-sesh´un)Geoffrey (jĕf´re)besieged (be-sējd)dungeons (dŭn´juns)tour´na-ment (toor-ortur-)Mirebeau (meer´bō)usurping (yū-zurp´ing)treachery (trĕch´er-e)acknowledge (ak-nŏl´ej)Nor´man-dymĕs´sen-gers

Seine (sān)Fă-lāise´ (lāz)ruffians (rŭf´yans)accession (ak-sesh´un)Geoffrey (jĕf´re)besieged (be-sējd)dungeons (dŭn´juns)tour´na-ment (toor-ortur-)Mirebeau (meer´bō)usurping (yū-zurp´ing)treachery (trĕch´er-e)acknowledge (ak-nŏl´ej)Nor´man-dymĕs´sen-gers

Phrase Exercise.1. Detestable villain.—2.Declared in favorof Arthur.—3. Ambitious schemes.—4. Heartlessly sacrificed his interests.—5. Full ofstratagem.—6. Inhumanly treated.—7. Tooksecret counsel.—8. Arthurpathetically entreated.—9. Thechafedanddisappointedking.—10.To despatchArthur.—11.Evasivelysent thisreply.—12. He prayed them.—13. Solitary boat.

1. Detestable villain.—2.Declared in favorof Arthur.—3. Ambitious schemes.—4. Heartlessly sacrificed his interests.—5. Full ofstratagem.—6. Inhumanly treated.—7. Tooksecret counsel.—8. Arthurpathetically entreated.—9. Thechafedanddisappointedking.—10.To despatchArthur.—11.Evasivelysent thisreply.—12. He prayed them.—13. Solitary boat.

Allan Cunningham.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,A wind that follows fast,And fills the white, and rustling sail,And bends the gallant mast;And bends the gallant mast, my boys,While, like the eagle free,Away the good ship flies, and leavesOld England on the lee!“O for a soft and gentle wind!”I heard a fair one cry;But give to me the snoring breezeAnd white waves heaving high;And white waves heaving high, my boys,The good ship tight and free,—The world of waters is our home,And merry men are we.There’s tempest in yon hornèd moon,And lightning in yon cloud;And hark the music, mariners,The wind is piping loud!The wind is piping loud, my boys,The lightning flashes free,—While the hollow oak our palace is,Our heritage the sea.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white, and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee!

“O for a soft and gentle wind!”I heard a fair one cry;But give to me the snoring breezeAnd white waves heaving high;And white waves heaving high, my boys,The good ship tight and free,—The world of waters is our home,And merry men are we.

“O for a soft and gentle wind!”

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze

And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,

The good ship tight and free,—

The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

There’s tempest in yon hornèd moon,And lightning in yon cloud;And hark the music, mariners,The wind is piping loud!The wind is piping loud, my boys,The lightning flashes free,—While the hollow oak our palace is,Our heritage the sea.

There’s tempest in yon hornèd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud;

And hark the music, mariners,

The wind is piping loud!

The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashes free,—

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands,As useless if it goes as if it stands.—Cowper.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands,

As useless if it goes as if it stands.

—Cowper.

Wordsworth.

Little girl talking to the poet

A simple child,That lightly draws its breath,And feels its life in every limb,What should it know of death?I met a little cottage girl:She was eight years old, she said;Her hair was thick with many a curlThat clustered round her head.She had a rustic, woodland air,And she was wildly clad;Her eyes were fair, and very fair:Her beauty made me glad.“Sisters and brothers, little maid,flow many may you be?”“How many? Seven in all,” she said,And wondering, looked at me.“And where are they? I pray you tell.”She answered, “Seven are we;And two of us at Conway dwell,And two are gone to sea.“Two of us in the churchyard lie,My sister and my brother;And in the churchyard cottage, IDwell near them with my mother.”“You say that two at Conway dwell,And two are gone to sea,Yet you are seven!—I pray you tell,Sweet maid, how this may be.”Then did the little maid reply,“Seven boys and girls are we;Two of us in the churchyard lie,Beneath the churchyard tree.”“You run about, my little maid,Your limbs they are alive;If two are in the churchyard laid,Then you are only five.”“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”The little maid replied,“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,And they are side by side.“My stockings there I often knit,My kerchief there I hem;And there upon the ground I sit—I sit and sing to them.“And often after sunset, sir,When it is light and fair,I take my little porringer,And eat my supper there.“The first that died was little Jane;In bed she moaning lay,Till God released her of her pain;And then she went away.“So in the churchyard she was laid;And, when the grass was dry,Together round her grave we played,My brother John and I.“And when the ground was white with snow,And I could run and slide,My brother John was forced to go,And he lies by her side.”“How many are you, then,” said I,“If they two are in heaven?”The little maiden did reply,“O master! we are seven.”“But they are dead; those two are dead!Their spirits are in heaven!”’Twas throwing words away; for stillThe little maid would have her will,And said, “Nay, we are seven.”

A simple child,That lightly draws its breath,And feels its life in every limb,What should it know of death?

A simple child,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl:She was eight years old, she said;Her hair was thick with many a curlThat clustered round her head.

I met a little cottage girl:

She was eight years old, she said;

Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,And she was wildly clad;Her eyes were fair, and very fair:Her beauty made me glad.

She had a rustic, woodland air,

And she was wildly clad;

Her eyes were fair, and very fair:

Her beauty made me glad.

“Sisters and brothers, little maid,flow many may you be?”“How many? Seven in all,” she said,And wondering, looked at me.

“Sisters and brothers, little maid,

flow many may you be?”

“How many? Seven in all,” she said,

And wondering, looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”She answered, “Seven are we;And two of us at Conway dwell,And two are gone to sea.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”

She answered, “Seven are we;

And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

“Two of us in the churchyard lie,My sister and my brother;And in the churchyard cottage, IDwell near them with my mother.”

“Two of us in the churchyard lie,

My sister and my brother;

And in the churchyard cottage, I

Dwell near them with my mother.”

“You say that two at Conway dwell,And two are gone to sea,Yet you are seven!—I pray you tell,Sweet maid, how this may be.”

“You say that two at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea,

Yet you are seven!—I pray you tell,

Sweet maid, how this may be.”

Then did the little maid reply,“Seven boys and girls are we;Two of us in the churchyard lie,Beneath the churchyard tree.”

Then did the little maid reply,

“Seven boys and girls are we;

Two of us in the churchyard lie,

Beneath the churchyard tree.”

“You run about, my little maid,Your limbs they are alive;If two are in the churchyard laid,Then you are only five.”

“You run about, my little maid,

Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the churchyard laid,

Then you are only five.”

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”The little maid replied,“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,And they are side by side.

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”

The little maid replied,

“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,

And they are side by side.

“My stockings there I often knit,My kerchief there I hem;And there upon the ground I sit—I sit and sing to them.

“My stockings there I often knit,

My kerchief there I hem;

And there upon the ground I sit—

I sit and sing to them.

“And often after sunset, sir,When it is light and fair,I take my little porringer,And eat my supper there.

“And often after sunset, sir,

When it is light and fair,

I take my little porringer,

And eat my supper there.

“The first that died was little Jane;In bed she moaning lay,Till God released her of her pain;And then she went away.

“The first that died was little Jane;

In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain;

And then she went away.

“So in the churchyard she was laid;And, when the grass was dry,Together round her grave we played,My brother John and I.

“So in the churchyard she was laid;

And, when the grass was dry,

Together round her grave we played,

My brother John and I.

“And when the ground was white with snow,And I could run and slide,My brother John was forced to go,And he lies by her side.”

“And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go,

And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, then,” said I,“If they two are in heaven?”The little maiden did reply,“O master! we are seven.”

“How many are you, then,” said I,

“If they two are in heaven?”

The little maiden did reply,

“O master! we are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!Their spirits are in heaven!”’Twas throwing words away; for stillThe little maid would have her will,And said, “Nay, we are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!

Their spirits are in heaven!”

’Twas throwing words away; for still

The little maid would have her will,

And said, “Nay, we are seven.”

Hippopotamus on a river bank, another in the river

Of all the ugly-looking animals the hippopotamus is certainly one of the ugliest. Its name means the river-horse, and was given it because it is generally found either in rivers or their neighborhood, but the hippopotamus is nothing like a horse, either in its form or its habits.

Though it rarely exceeds five feet in height, it is of vast bulk, and, when full grown, will weigh, it is said, as much as four or five oxen. The head is of enormous size, and provided with a mouth of alarming width. The skin, which is of a dark color and thinly covered with short white hairs, is, in places, nearly two inches thick. The feet are large and divided into four parts, each of which is protected by a hoof.

The hippopotamus lives entirely upon vegetable food, of which it eats vast quantities, as much as six bushels ofgrass having been found in its stomach. But it is not so much the amount of food which it consumes, as what it destroys, that makes the African dread its visits to the standing crops. Its body is so huge and its legs are so short that it tramples down far more than it eats. It is provided with a tremendous array of teeth, some of which weigh from five to eight pounds. With these it cuts down the grass and shrubs on which it lives as if they were mown with a scythe.

The hippopotamus, in spite of its awkward form, is an excellent swimmer and diver, and can remain under water for as much as ten minutes. During the first few months of its life the young hippopotamus is carried upon its mother’s neck. When born it is not much larger than a terrier dog.

The hippopotamus is caught in various ways. Sometimes several pitfalls, having sharp stakes at the bottom, are dug across the path which it pursues. In the darkness of the night it falls into one of these, and is impaled on the stakes. This is a very cruel mode of capture, and it is to be hoped that the natives who employ it, soon put the poor animal out of its misery. It is not easy to shoot it fatally, for, once it is alarmed, it does not readily show itself. It just pushes up its nostrils above the water to take in air, often selecting for this purpose some spot where the reeds conceal its movements, and then sinks again. Sometimes the hippopotamus is harpooned like a whale. As soon as it is struck with the harpoon the hunters fasten the line round a neighboring tree, and so hold their prey tight until it is despatched.Or, if there is no time for them to get to land, they throw the line, with a buoy attached to it, into the water. The hippopotamus is then pursued in canoes, and every time it rises to the surface it is pierced with javelins, until, at length, it dies from loss of blood. This is dangerous sport, for it sometimes turns upon the hunters and crushes in or capsizes their canoes. Once a hippopotamus, whose calf had been speared on the previous day, attacked a boat in which was Dr. Livingstone. She struck it with such violence that the forepart was lifted clean out of the water, one of the negro boatmen was thrown into the river, and the whole crew were forced to jump ashore.

Between the skin and the flesh is a layer of fat, which is considered a great delicacy. The flesh also is very good eating. The hide is made into shields, whips, and walking-sticks. The teeth yield a beautiful white ivory, which is much valued on account of its never losing color.

Word Exercise.buoy (bwoi)pit´fallsjavelins (jăv´lĭns)e-nor´mouster´ri-erhar-pooned´scythepiercednŏs´trilsneighborhood (nā´bur-)i´vo-rymĭs´er-yhĭp-po-pot´a-mus

buoy (bwoi)pit´fallsjavelins (jăv´lĭns)e-nor´mouster´ri-erhar-pooned´scythepiercednŏs´trilsneighborhood (nā´bur-)i´vo-rymĭs´er-yhĭp-po-pot´a-mus

Phrase Exercise.1. Either in itsformor itshabits.—2. Rarely exceeds.—3. Vast bulk.—4. Alarming width.—5. Lives entirely upon vegetable food.—6. Food which itconsumes.—7. Tremendous array.—8. Awkward form.—9.Impaledon the stakes.—10. Cruel mode of capture.—11. Shoot itfatally.—12. The reedsconceal its movements.—13. The hunters fasten the line.—14. Dangerous sport.—15.Capsizestheir canoes.—16. Liftedcleanout of the water.—17. Considered a delicacy.

1. Either in itsformor itshabits.—2. Rarely exceeds.—3. Vast bulk.—4. Alarming width.—5. Lives entirely upon vegetable food.—6. Food which itconsumes.—7. Tremendous array.—8. Awkward form.—9.Impaledon the stakes.—10. Cruel mode of capture.—11. Shoot itfatally.—12. The reedsconceal its movements.—13. The hunters fasten the line.—14. Dangerous sport.—15.Capsizestheir canoes.—16. Liftedcleanout of the water.—17. Considered a delicacy.

Prof. J. S. Blackie.

Bill is a bright boy;Do you know Bill?Marching cheerilyUp and down hill;Bill is a bright boyAt books and at play,A right and a tight boy,All the boys say.His face is like rosesIn flush of the June;His eyes like the welkin,When cloudless the noon;His step is like fountainsThat bicker with glee,Beneath the green mountains,Down to the sea.When Bill plays at cricket,No ball on the greenIs shot from the wicketSo sharp and so clean;He stands at his stationAs strong as a kingWhen he lifts up a nationOn Victory’s wing.When bent upon study,He girds to his books;No frown ever ploughsThe smooth pride of his looks;I came, and I saw,And I conquered at will:This be the lawFor great Cæsar and Bill.Like Thor with the hammerOf power in his hand,He rides through the grammarTriumphant and grand;O’er bastions and bramblesWhich pedants up-pile,He leaps and he amblesAlong with a smile.As mild as a maiden,Where mildness belongs,—He’s hot as Achilles,When goaded by wrongs;He flirts with a danger,He sports with an ill,To fear, such a strangerIs brave-hearted Bill!For Bill is a bright boy—Who is like Bill?Oft have I marched with himUp and down hill.When I hear his voice calling,I follow him still,And, standing or falling,I conquer with Bill!

Bill is a bright boy;Do you know Bill?Marching cheerilyUp and down hill;Bill is a bright boyAt books and at play,A right and a tight boy,All the boys say.

Bill is a bright boy;

Do you know Bill?

Marching cheerily

Up and down hill;

Bill is a bright boy

At books and at play,

A right and a tight boy,

All the boys say.

His face is like rosesIn flush of the June;His eyes like the welkin,When cloudless the noon;His step is like fountainsThat bicker with glee,Beneath the green mountains,Down to the sea.

His face is like roses

In flush of the June;

His eyes like the welkin,

When cloudless the noon;

His step is like fountains

That bicker with glee,

Beneath the green mountains,

Down to the sea.

When Bill plays at cricket,No ball on the greenIs shot from the wicketSo sharp and so clean;He stands at his stationAs strong as a kingWhen he lifts up a nationOn Victory’s wing.

When Bill plays at cricket,

No ball on the green

Is shot from the wicket

So sharp and so clean;

He stands at his station

As strong as a king

When he lifts up a nation

On Victory’s wing.

When bent upon study,He girds to his books;No frown ever ploughsThe smooth pride of his looks;I came, and I saw,And I conquered at will:This be the lawFor great Cæsar and Bill.

When bent upon study,

He girds to his books;

No frown ever ploughs

The smooth pride of his looks;

I came, and I saw,

And I conquered at will:

This be the law

For great Cæsar and Bill.

Like Thor with the hammerOf power in his hand,He rides through the grammarTriumphant and grand;O’er bastions and bramblesWhich pedants up-pile,He leaps and he amblesAlong with a smile.

Like Thor with the hammer

Of power in his hand,

He rides through the grammar

Triumphant and grand;

O’er bastions and brambles

Which pedants up-pile,

He leaps and he ambles

Along with a smile.

As mild as a maiden,Where mildness belongs,—He’s hot as Achilles,When goaded by wrongs;He flirts with a danger,He sports with an ill,To fear, such a strangerIs brave-hearted Bill!

As mild as a maiden,

Where mildness belongs,—

He’s hot as Achilles,

When goaded by wrongs;

He flirts with a danger,

He sports with an ill,

To fear, such a stranger

Is brave-hearted Bill!

For Bill is a bright boy—Who is like Bill?Oft have I marched with himUp and down hill.When I hear his voice calling,I follow him still,And, standing or falling,I conquer with Bill!

For Bill is a bright boy—

Who is like Bill?

Oft have I marched with him

Up and down hill.

When I hear his voice calling,

I follow him still,

And, standing or falling,

I conquer with Bill!

Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame.—Pope.

Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame.

—Pope.

Robert Southey.

Old Kaspar and his grandchildren, on a bench outside the house

It was a summer evening,Old Kaspar’s work was done,And he before his cottage doorWas sitting in the sun,And by him sported on the greenHis little grandchild Wilhelmine.She saw her brother PeterkinRoll something large and round,Which he beside the rivuletIn 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,Who 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 find them in the garden,For there’s many here about;And often when I go to plough,The ploughshare turns them out!For many thousand men,” said he,“Were slain in that great victory.”“Now 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;But what they fought each other for,I could not well make out;But everybody said,” quoth he,“That ’twas a famous victory.“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.“With fire and sword the country roundWas wasted far and wide,And many a childing mother thenAnd new-born baby died;But things like that, you know, must beAt every famous victory.“They say it was a shocking sightAfter the field was won;For many thousand bodies hereLay rotting in the sun;But things like that, you know, must beAfter a famous victory.“Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won,And our good Prince Eugene.”“Why, ’twas a very wicked thing!”Said little Wilhelmine.“Nay—nay—my little girl,” quoth he“It was a famous victory.“And everybody praised the DukeWho this great fight did win.”“But what good came of it at last?”Quoth little Peterkin.“Why, that I cannot tell,” said he,“But ’twas a famous victory.”

It was a summer evening,Old Kaspar’s work was done,And he before his cottage doorWas sitting in the sun,And by him sported on the greenHis little grandchild Wilhelmine.

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar’s work was done,

And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green

His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother PeterkinRoll something large and round,Which he beside the rivuletIn playing there had found;He came to ask what he had found,That was so large, and smooth, and round.

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,Who 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.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who 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 find them in the garden,For there’s many here about;And often when I go to plough,The ploughshare turns them out!For many thousand men,” said he,“Were slain in that great victory.”

“I find them in the garden,

For there’s many here about;

And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out!

For many thousand men,” said he,

“Were slain in that great victory.”

“Now 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.”

“Now 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;But what they fought each other for,I could not well make out;But everybody said,” quoth he,“That ’twas a famous victory.

“It was the English,” Kaspar cried,

“Who put the French to rout;

But what they fought each other for,

I could not well make out;

But everybody said,” quoth he,

“That ’twas a famous victory.

“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.

“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.

“With fire and sword the country roundWas wasted far and wide,And many a childing mother thenAnd new-born baby died;But things like that, you know, must beAt every famous victory.

“With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide,

And many a childing mother then

And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be

At every famous victory.

“They say it was a shocking sightAfter the field was won;For many thousand bodies hereLay rotting in the sun;But things like that, you know, must beAfter a famous victory.

“They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be

After a famous victory.

“Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won,And our good Prince Eugene.”“Why, ’twas a very wicked thing!”Said little Wilhelmine.“Nay—nay—my little girl,” quoth he“It was a famous victory.

“Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won,

And our good Prince Eugene.”

“Why, ’twas a very wicked thing!”

Said little Wilhelmine.

“Nay—nay—my little girl,” quoth he

“It was a famous victory.

“And everybody praised the DukeWho this great fight did win.”“But what good came of it at last?”Quoth little Peterkin.“Why, that I cannot tell,” said he,“But ’twas a famous victory.”

“And everybody praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win.”

“But what good came of it at last?”

Quoth little Peterkin.

“Why, that I cannot tell,” said he,

“But ’twas a famous victory.”

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