Chapter II (1)

pet' als in' mates scrubbed fra' grant

The children ran into the house.

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

The mother wished to glance out, but the window was so thick with dust that she could not do so. She wiped off a little spot.

"My! My!" said she, when she noticed how dirty the window looked beside the cleaned spot; so she wiped the whole window.

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

Now that the sun shone in through the window it became very light in the cottage. The mother looked at the ragged children and at the rubbish in the room, and the blood rushed over her pale cheeks.

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

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

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

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

"God's peace!" answered she; "wel--welcome home!" She had not said this for many years.

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

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

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

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

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

Warm and sunny days came. The smith stayed at home now every evening. It was green and lovely round the little cottage, and outside the window there was a whole flower-bed, with many blossoms; but in the midst stood the little plant the autumn wind had brought thither.

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

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

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

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

Then a bell was heard ringing in the distance. The sound floated out over field and lake, and rang so peacefully in the eventide, just as the sun sank behind the tree-tops in the forest. And every one bowed the head, because it was Saturday evening, and it was a sacred voice that sounded.

In a little while all was silent in the cottage; the inmates slumbered, more tired, perhaps, than before, after the week's toils, but also much, much happier. And round about, all was calm and peaceful.

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

"It shall go with us to the house of God," said the wife, turning to her husband. He nodded, and then she broke off the flower. The wife looked at the husband, and he looked at her, and then their eyes rested on both children; then their eyes grew dim, but became immediately bright again, for the tears were not of sorrow, but of happiness.

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

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

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

* * * * *

Memory Gem:

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

_Abraham Lincoln._

* * * * *

_16_

lux'u ry med'i cine a bun'dant wil'der ness

THE USE OF FLOWERS.

God might have bade the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak tree, and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.

He might have made enough, enough,
For every want of ours;
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have made no flowers.

The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus flower
To make the river flow.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man
Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made
All dyed with rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night--

Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passeth by?

Our outward life requires them not,
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;

To whisper hope--to comfort man
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For whoso careth for the flowers
Will care much more for Him!

_Mary Howitt._

* * * * *

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

Insert the proper punctuation marks in the following stanza:

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

Memory Gem:

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

_Stanza from Gray's "Elegy."_

* * * * *

_17_

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

PIERRE'S LITTLE SONG.

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

Still, at times, he thought of his loneliness and hunger, and he could scarcely keep the tears from his eyes; for he knew that nothing would be so welcome to his poor invalid mother as a good sweet orange; and yet he had not a penny in the world.

The little song he was singing was his own,--one he had composed, both air and words; for the child was a genius. He went to the window, and, looking out, saw a man putting up a great poster with yellow letters, announcing that Madame Malibran would sing that night in public.

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

When evening came, and Pierre was admitted to the concert hall, he felt that never in his life had he been in so grand a place. The music, the glare of lights, the beauty, the flashing of diamonds and the rustling of silks, completely bewildered him. At last _she_ came; and the child sat with his eyes riveted on her face. Could it be that the grand lady, glittering with jewels, and whom everybody seemed to worship, would really sing his little song?

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

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

The next day he was frightened by a visit from Madame Malibran. She laid her hand on his yellow curls, and, turning to the sick woman, said: "Your little boy, madam, has brought you a fortune. I was offered, this morning, by the first publisher in London, a large sum for his little song. Madam, thank God that your son has a gift from heaven."

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

MALIBRAN, a French singer and actress. She died in 1836, when only 28 years old.

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

BREATHLESS = _breath_+_less_, without breath, out of breath; holding the breath on account of great interest.

BREATHLESSLY, in a breathless manner. Use _breath, breathless, breathlessly,_ in sentences of your own.

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

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

Memory Gems:

A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.

_St. Francis of Assisi._

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

_Tennyson_.

* * * * *

_18_

SEPTEMBER.

The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.

_Helen Hunt Jackson._

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

* * * * *

sedges, coarse grasses which grow in marshy places.

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

_19_

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

"MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME."

"My Old Kentucky Home" was written by Stephen Collins Foster, a resident of Pittsburg, Pa., while he and his sister were on a visit to his relative, Judge John Rowan, a short distance east of Bardstown, Ky. One beautiful morning while the slaves were at work in the cornfield and the sun was shining with a mighty splendor on the waving grass, first giving it a light red, then changing it to a golden hue, there were seated upon a bench in front of the Rowan homestead two young people, a brother and a sister.

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

The sun shines bright on the old Kentucky home;
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn top's ripe and the meadows in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, all bright;
By'n by hard times comes a-knockin' at the door--
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night.

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

Weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day,
Well sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For our old Kentucky home far away.

A few more days for to tote the weary load,
No matter, 'twill never be light;
A few more days till we totter on the road--
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night.

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

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

They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon
On the meadow, the hill and the shore;
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door.

The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight:
The time has come when the darkies have to part--
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night.

The head must bow and the back will have to bend
Wherever the darkies may go;
A few more days and the trouble all will end
In the fields where the sugar cane grow.

Then weep no more, my lady; oh, weep no more to-day,
We'll sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For our old Kentucky home far away.

As the song was finished tears flowed down the old people's cheeks; the children crept from their hiding place behind the trees, their faces wreathed in smiles. The mocking bird and the thrush sought their home in the thicket, while the old house dog still lay basking in the sun.

_Mrs. T.A. Sherrard_

Louisville _Courier-Journal._

* * * * *

_20_

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

THE FIRST MIRACLE OF JESUS.

In the first year of our Lord's public life, St. John tells us in his gospel that "there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee, and the Mother of Jesus was there. And Jesus also was invited to the marriage." Mary was invited to be one of the honored guests because she was, no doubt, an intimate friend of the family. She preceded her Son to the wedding in order to lend her aid in the necessary preparations.

Jesus also was asked, and He did not refuse the invitation. He went as freely to this house of feasting as He afterwards went pityingly to so many houses of mourning. Though worn and weary with his long fast and struggle in the desert, He was pleased to attend this merry wedding feast, and by this loving and kindly act to sanctify the bond of Marriage, which was to become in His Church one of the seven Sacraments.

The feast went gayly onward until an incident occurred that greatly disturbed the host. The wine failed. The host had not calculated rightly, or perhaps he had not counted on so many guests.

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

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

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

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

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

And they carried it.

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

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

Jesus had performed His first Miracle.

From this beautiful story of the first miracle of Jesus, we learn that Jesus Christ is God, and that Mary, the Mother of God, whose intercession is all-powerful with her Divine Son, has a loving and motherly care over the smallest of our life's concerns.

* * * * *

PRECEDED, went before in order of time. The prefix _pre_- means _before_. Tell what the following words mean:

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

Read the sentences of the Lesson that express commands.

Memory Gems:

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.

_Richard Crashaw._

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

_Gospel of St. John._

* * * * *

_21_

dec' ades (dek' ads) di' a dem

MY BEADS.

Sweet blessèd beads! I would not part
With one of you for richest gem
That gleams in kingly diadem:
Ye know the history of my heart.

For I have told you every grief
In all the days of twenty years,
And I have moistened you with tears,
And in your decades found relief.

Ah! time has fled, and friends have failed,
And joys have died; but in my needs
Ye were my friends, my blessed beads!
And ye consoled me when I wailed.

For many and many a time, in grief,
My weary fingers wandered round
Thy circled chain, and always found
In some Hail Mary sweet relief.

How many a story you might tell
Of inner life, to all unknown;
I trusted you and you alone,
But ah! ye keep my secrets well.

Ye are the only chain I wear--
A sign that I am but the slave,
In life, in death, beyond the grave,
Of Jesus and His Mother fair.

_Father Ryan._

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

* * * * *

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

(Consult the dictionary.)

Memory Gem:

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

_Adelaide A. Procter._

* * * * *

_22_

THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS.

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone that breaks at night
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still She lives.

_Thomas Moore._

* * * * *

_23_

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

A LITTLE LADY.[001]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I left them; but I think they learned a lesson that day in real politeness; for, as they watched little Katy dutifully supporting the old lady, undaunted by the rusty dress, the big bag, the old socks, and the queer bonnet, both their faces lighted up with new respect and affection for their playmate.

_Louisa M. Alcott._

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

* * * * *

DISSUADE, to advise against; to turn from a purpose by reasons given.

ANTIQUATED, grown old; old-fashioned.

Tell what each contraction met with in the selection stands for.

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

Memory Gems:

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

_Author unknown._

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

_Emerson_.

[Footnote 001: Copyrighted by Little, Brown & Company.]

* * * * *

_24_

WHAT HOUSE TO LIKE.

For Recitation:

Some love the glow of outward show,
Some love mere wealth and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be
If I but like the people in it.

What's all the gold that glitters cold,
When linked to hard or haughty feeling?
Whate'er we're told, the noble gold
Is truth of heart and manly dealing.

A lowly roof may give us proof
That lowly flowers are often fairest;
And trees whose bark is hard and dark
May yield us fruit and bloom the rarest.

There's worth as sure 'neath garments poor
As e'er adorned a loftier station;
And minds as just as those, we trust,
Whose claim is but of wealth's creation.

Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,
Mere fashion's smile, and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be
If I but like the people in it.

_Anon_.

* * * * *

What is meant by "haughty feeling"?

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

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

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

Use _to, too, two,_ properly before each of the following words:

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

What virtues does the poem recommend?

What "lowly flowers are often fairest"?

What "lowly" virtue does the following stanza suggest?

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

_Montgomery_.

Name the two birds referred to.

* * * * *

_25_

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

A SONG OF DUTY.

Sorrow comes and sorrow goes;
Life is flecked with shine and shower;
Now the tear of grieving flows,
Now we smile in happy hour;
Death awaits us, every one--
Toiler, dreamer, preacher, writer--
Let us then, ere life be done,
Make the world a little brighter!

Burdens that our neighbors bear,
Easier let us try to make them;
Chains perhaps our neighbors wear,
Let us do our best to break them.
From the straitened hand and mind,
Let us loose the binding fetter,
Let us, as the Lord designed,
Make the world a little better!

Selfish brooding sears the soul,
Fills the mind with clouds of sorrow,
Darkens all the shining goal
Of the sun-illumined morrow;
Wherefore should our lives be spent
Daily growing blind and blinder--
Let us, as the Master meant,
Make the world a little kinder!

_Denis A. McCarthy._

From "Voices from Erin."

Angel Guardian Press, Boston, Mass.

* * * * *

_26_

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

AN EVENING WITH THE ANGELS.

"Well, James," said a kind-voiced mother, "you promised to tell Maggie all about the Catechism you heard this afternoon at school."

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

"Maggie, you said," continued James, "that you never could find out _when_ the angels were created. Neither could our teacher tell me. And I'm told St. Augustine could only make a guess when they were created.

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

"Are you quite certain?" asked Maggie.

"To be sure I am," said James. "If I met a man in the street I would know he must have a father and a mother, although I had never heard when he was born."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So I say, too," retorted Maggie; "but while only one _bad angel_ tempted our Lord, many good angels came to minister unto Him."

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

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

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

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

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

Here Maggie exclaimed, "Please, Father Kennedy, may I have till next Sunday to search out some angels? James has taken all mine."

"No," mildly said the delighted clergyman, "_your _angel is always with you, and James has his, too."

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

ARCH, as a prefix, means _chief_, and in nearly every case the _ch_ is soft, as in archbishop. In archangel, architect, and in one or two other words, the _ch = k._

ARCH, as a suffix, is pronounced _[:a]rk_, and means _ruler; _ as monarch, a _sole ruler;_ one who _rules alone._

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

EARTHWARD = earth + ward (w[~e]rd). _ward_ is here a suffix meaning _course, direction to, motion towards._ Add this SUFFIX to the end of each of the following words, and tell the meaning of each new word formed:

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

WHAT word is the opposite in meaning of each of these new words?

Memory Gem:

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

_Tennyson_.

* * * * *

_27_

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

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL.

My oldest friend, mine from the hour
When first I drew my breath;
My faithful friend, that shall be mine,
Unfailing, till my death.

Thou hast been ever at my side;
My Maker to thy trust
Consign'd my soul, what time He framed
The infant child of dust.

No beating heart in holy prayer,
No faith, inform'd aright,
Gave me to Joseph's tutelage,
Or Michael's conquering might.

Nor patron saint, nor Mary's love,--
The dearest and the best,--
Has known my being as thou hast known,
And blest as thou hast blest.

Thou wast my sponsor at the font;
And thou, each budding year,
Didst whisper elements of truth
Into my childish ear.

And when, ere boyhood yet was gone,
My rebel spirit fell,
Ah! thou didst see, and shudder too,
Yet bear each deed of Hell.

And then in turn, when judgments came.
And scared me back again,
Thy quick soft breath was near to soothe
And hallow every pain.

Oh! who of all thy toils and cares
Can tell the tale complete,
To place me under Mary's smile,
And Peter's royal feet!

And thou wilt hang above my bed,
When life is ebbing low;
Of doubt, impatience, and of gloom,
The jealous, sleepless foe.

Mine, when I stand before my Judge;
And mine, if spared to stay
Within the golden furnace till
My sin is burn'd away.

And mine, O Brother of my soul,
When my release shall come;
Thy gentle arms shall lift me then,
Thy wings shall waft me home.

_Cardinal Newman._

* * * * *

Explain the following expressions:

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

* * * * *

_28_

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

LITTLE BELL.

Piped the blackbird on the beech-wood spray:
"Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,
What's your name?" quoth he,--
"What's your name? Oh, stop, and straight unfold,
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold!"
"Little Bell," said she.

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming, golden locks.
"Bonny bird," quoth she,
"Sing me your best song before I go,"
"Here's the very finest song I know,
Little Bell," said he.

And the blackbird piped: you never heard
Half so gay a song from any bird,--
Full of quips and wiles,
Now so round and rich, now soft and slow,
All for love of that sweet face below,
Dimpled o'er with smiles.

And the while the bonny bird did pour
His full heart out freely, o'er and o'er,
'Neath the morning skies,
In the little childish heart below
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine forth in happy overflow
From the blue, bright eyes.

Down the dell she tripped; and through the glade
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade,
And from out the tree
Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear,
While bold blackbird piped, that all might hear:
"Little Bell!" piped he.

Little Bell sat down amid the fern:
"Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return;
Bring me nuts," quoth she.
Up, away, the frisky squirrel hies,--
Golden woodlights glancing in his eyes,--
And adown the tree
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap dropped, one by one.
Hark! how blackbird pipes to see the fun!
"Happy Bell!" pipes he.

Little Bell looked up and down the glade:
"Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid,
Come and share with me!"
Down came squirrel, eager for his fare,
Down came bonny blackbird, I declare!
Little Bell gave each his honest share;
Ah! the merry three!

And the while these woodland playmates twain
Piped and frisked from bough to bough again,
'Neath the morning skies,
In the little childish heart below
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine out in happy overflow
From her blue, bright eyes.

By her snow-white cot at close of day
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray:
Very calm and clear
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen,
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene
Paused awhile to hear.

"What good child is this," the angel said,
"That, with happy heart, beside her bed
Prays so lovingly?"
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft,
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft,
"Bell, _dear_ Bell!" crooned he.

"Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair
Whispered, "God doth bless with angels' care;
Child, thy bed shall be
Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind,
Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind,
Little Bell, for thee."

_Thomas Westwood_.

A STUDY OF LITTLE BELL

croft, a small inclosed field, near a house.

croon, to sing in a low tone.

quips, quick, smart turns.

piping, making a shrill sound like that of a pipe or flute.

In the first stanza what are the marks called that enclose _Little Bell?_ Why are these marks used here?

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

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

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

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

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

Seated amid the fern, what did Little Bell ask the squirrel to do? Read the lines that tell what the squirrel did. What invitation did the squirrel receive from Little Bell?

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

Read the lines that tell what the angel asked.

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

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

Tell what the following words and expressions of the poem mean: quoth he; straight unfold; dell; glade; hies; showery curls of gold; bonny bird; hazel shade; void of fear; golden woodlights; adown the tree; playmates twain; with folded palms; an angel shape; with angels' care; the bird did pour his full heart out freely; the sweetness did shine forth in happy overflow.

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

Describe some of the pictures the poem brings to mind.

What is the lesson the poet wishes us to learn from this poem?

Show how the couplet of the English poet, Coleridge,--

"He prayeth best who loveth best,
All things both great and small,"--

is illustrated in the story of Little Bell.

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

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

* * * * *

Memorize:

Prayer is the dew of faith,
Its raindrop, night and day,
That guards its vital power from death
When cherished hopes decay,
And keeps it mid this changeful scene,
A bright, perennial evergreen.

Good works, of faith the fruit,
Should ripen year by year,
Of health and soundness at the root
And evidence sincere.
Dear Savior, grant thy blessing free
And make our faith no barren tree.

_Lydia H. Sigourney._

* * * * *

_29_

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

A MODEST WIT.

For Recitation:

A supercilious nabob of the East--
Haughty, being great--purse-proud, being rich--
A governor, or general, at the least,
I have forgotten which--
Had in his family a humble youth,
Who went from England in his patron's suit,
An unassuming boy, in truth
A lad of decent parts, and good repute.

This youth had sense and spirit;
But yet with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His honor, proudly free, severely merry,
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.

"Young man," said he, "by what art, craft, or trade,
Did your good father gain a livelihood?"--
"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
"And in his line was reckoned good."

"A saddler, eh? and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"

Each flatterer, then, as in duty bound,
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
At length, Modestus, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),
"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
_Your_ father's trade!"

"_My_ father's _trade?_ Heavens! that's too bad!
My father's trade! Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low.
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."

"Excuse the liberty I take,"
Modestus said, with archness on his brow,
"Pray, why did not your father make
A gentleman of you?"

_Selleck Osborne._

* * * * *

fain, gladly.

archness, sly humor free from malice.

suit (s[=u]t), the people who attend upon a person of distinction; often written _suite_ (_sw[=e]t_).

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

Copy these sentences, using other words instead of those in italics:

He was an _unassuming_ boy, of decent _parts_ and good _repute_. His _diffidence obscured_ his merit. _Excuse_ the _liberty_ I take.

Memory Gems:

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

_Burns._

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

_Goethe_ (_g[^u]' t[=e]_).

* * * * *

_30_

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.[002]

For Recitation:

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea--
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh! spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies.

When but an idle boy,
I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy
Here, too, my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand;--
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand.

My heartstrings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And, Woodman, leave the spot!
While I've a hand to save,
Thy ax shall harm it not.

_George P. Morris,_

[Footnote 002: NOTE.--Many trees in our country are landmarks, and are valued highly. The early settlers were accustomed to plant trees and dedicate them to liberty. One of these was planted at Cambridge, Mass., and it was under the shade of this venerable Elm that George Washington took command of the Continental army, July 3rd, 1775.

There are other trees around whose trunks and under whose boughs whole families of children passed much of their childhood. When one of these falls or is destroyed, it is like the death of some honored citizen.

Judge Harris of Georgia, a scholar, and a gentleman of extensive literary culture, regarded "Woodman, Spare that Tree" as one of the truest lyrics of the age. He never heard it sung or recited without being deeply moved.]

* * * * *

_31_

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

THE BOSTON TEA PARTY.

Shortly before the War of the Revolution broke out, George III, King of England, claimed the right to tax the people of this country, though he did not permit them to take any part in framing the laws under which they lived.

He placed a light tax on tea, just to teach Americans that they could not escape taxation altogether. But the colonists were fighting for a principle,--that of no taxation without representation, and would not buy the tea. In New York and Philadelphia the people would not allow the vessels to land their cargoes.

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

Three shiploads of tea were sent to Boston. On the night of December 16, 1773, a party of young Americans, painted and dressed like Indians, boarded the three vessels lying in the harbor, opened the chests, and emptied all the tea into the water. They then slipped away to their homes, and were never found out by the British. One of the leaders of these daring young men was Paul Revere, whose famous midnight ride has been immortalized by Longfellow.

When the news of the Boston Tea Party was carried across the ocean, the anger of the King was aroused, and he sent a strong force of soldiers to Boston to bring the rebels to terms. This act only increased the spirit of patriotism that burned in the breasts of all Americans.

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

Once on a time old Johnny Bull flew in a raging fury,
And swore that Jonathan should have no trials, sir, by jury;
That no elections should be held, across the briny waters;
"And now," said he, "I'll tax the tea of all his sons and daughters."
Then down he sate in burly state, and blustered like a grandee,
And in derision made a tune called "Yankee doodle dandy."
"Yankee doodle"--these are facts--"Yankee doodle dandy;"
My son of wax, your tea I'll tax; you Yankee doodle dandy!"

John sent the tea from o'er the sea, with heavy duties rated;
But whether hyson or bohea, I never heard it stated.
Then Jonathan to pout began--he laid a strong embargo--
"I'll drink no tea, by Jove!" so he threw overboard the cargo.
Then Johnny sent a regiment, big words and looks to bandy,
Whose martial band, when near the land, played "Yankee doodle dandy."
"Yankee doodle--keep it up--Yankee doodle dandy--
I'll poison with a tax your cup, you Yankee doodle dandy."

A long war then they had, in which John was at last defeated,
And "Yankee Doodle" was the march to which his troops retreated.
Cute Jonathan, to see them fly, could not restrain his laughter;
"That tune," said he, "suits to a T--I'll sing it ever after!"
Old Johnny's face, to his disgrace, was flushed with beer and brandy,
E'en while he swore to sing no more this Yankee doodle dandy.
Yankee doodle,--ho-ha-he--Yankee doodle dandy,
We kept the tune, but not the tea--Yankee doodle dandy.

I've told you now the origin of this most lively ditty,
Which Johnny Bull dislikes as "dull and stupid"--what a pity!
With "Hail Columbia" it is sung, in chorus full and hearty--
On land and main we breathe the strain John made for his tea party,
No matter how we rhyme the words, the music speaks them handy,
And where's the fair can't sing the air of Yankee doodle dandy?
Yankee doodle, firm and true--Yankee doodle dandy--
Yankee doodle, doodle do, Yankee doodle dandy!

* * * * *

The people of the thirteen original colonies adopted as a principle, "No taxation without representation." What did they mean by this? Name the thirteen original colonies.

Are the last syllables of the words _principle_ and _principal_ pronounced alike? Use the two words in sentences of your own.

What does "with heavy duties rated" mean?

Pronounce distinctly the final consonants in the words _colonists, insects, friend, friends, nests, priests, lifts, tempts._

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

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

* * * * *

_32_

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

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot that my infancy knew;--
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it;
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;