addled," spluttered he, while the wood rang again with the merry laughter of East and Tom.

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their things, and went off to the brook, where Martin swallowed huge draughts of water to get rid of the taste; and they visited the sedge bird's nest, and from thence struck across the country in high glee, beating the hedges and brakes as they went along; and Arthur at last, to his intense delight, was allowed to climb a small hedgerow oak for a magpie's nest with Tom, who kept all round him like a mother, and showed him where to hold and how to throw his weight, and though he was in a great fright, didn't show it, and was applauded by all for his lissome

ness.

IN SCHOOL DAYS

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

STILL sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry vines are running.

Within, the master's desk is seen
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;

The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing.

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting;

Lit up its western window panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face

Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;
As restlessly her tiny hands

The blue-checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word;
I hate to go above you
Because," the brown eyes lower fell,
"Because, you see, I love you!"

Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing.

He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,
Like her, — because they love him.

UNCLE ABEL AND LITTLE EDWARD

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

NOTE TO THE PUPIL. - Harriet Beecher was born at Litchfield, Conn., in 1812. She was a member of a very remarkable family, her brother, Henry Ward Beecher, only excelling her in reputation. From her fifteenth year till her marriage six years later she assisted her elder sister in the management of a female seminary at Hartford, Conn. Her most noted novel is "Uncle Tom's Cabin," which had an immense sale, and was translated into many languages. She wrote many works, all having merit, and some of them great merit. You will do well to read "Old Town Folks," "The Minister's Wooing," and "The Pearl of Orr's Island." Mrs. Stowe died in 1896.

WERE any of you born in New England, in the good

old catechising, school-going, orderly times? If you were, you must remember my Uncle Abel; the most perpendicular, rectangular, upright, downright good man that ever labored six days and rested on the Sabbath.

You remember his hard, weather-beaten countenance, where every line seemed to be drawn with a pen of iron and the point of a diamond; his considerate gray eye, that moved over objects as if it were not best to be in a hurry about seeing, the circumspect opening and shutting of his mouth, his downsitting and uprising, --all of which appeared to be performed with a conviction afore

thought; in short, the whole ordering of his life and conversation, which was, according to the tenor of the military order, "to the right about face, forward march!"

Now, if you supposed, from all this triangularism of exterior, that this good man had nothing kindly within, you were much mistaken. You often find the greenest grass under a snowdrift, and though my uncle's mind was not exactly the flower-garden kind, still there was an abundance of wholesome and kindly vegetation there.

It is true, he seldom laughed, and never joked — himself; but no man had more weighty and serious conviction of what a good joke was in another; and when some exceeding witticism was dispensed in his presence, you might see Uncle Abel's face slowly relax into an expression of solemn satisfaction, and he would look at the author with a certain quiet wonder, as if it was astonishing how such thing could ever come into a man's head.

Uncle Abel also had some relish for the fine arts; in proof whereof I might adduce the pleasure with which he gazed at the plates in his family Bible, the likeness whereof I presume you never any of you saw; and he 'was also such an eminent musician, that he could go through the singing book at a sitting, without the least fatigue, beating time like a windmill all the way.

He had, too, a liberal hand, though his liberality was all by the Rule of Three and Practice. He did to his neighbors exactly as he would be done by, - he loved some things in this world sincerely, he loved his God much, but honored and feared Him more; he was exact

with others, he was more exact with himself, — and ex· pected his God to be more exact still.

Everything in Uncle Abel's house was in the same time, place, manner, and form, from year's end to year's end. There was old Master Bose, a dog after my uncle's own heart, who always walked as if he were learning the multiplication table. There was the old clock forever ticking in the kitchen corner, with a picture on its face of the sun, forever setting behind a perpendicular row of poplars. There was the never-failing supply of red peppers and onions, hanging over the chimney. There were the yearly hollyhocks and morning glories, blooming around the windows. There was the "best room" with its sanded floor, and ever-green asparagus bushes,—its cupboard with a glass door in one corner,—and the stand, with the great Bible and almanac on it, in the other.

There was Aunt Betsy, who never looked any older, because she always looked as old as she could, — who always dried her catnip and wormwood the last of September, and began to clean house the first of May. In short, this was the land of continuance. Old Time never seemed to take into his head to practice either addition, subtraction, or multiplication, on its sum total.

This Aunt Betsy aforenamed was the neatest and most efficient piece of human machinery that ever operated in forty places at once. She was always everywhere, predominating over, and seeing to, everything, and though my uncle had been twice married, Aunt Betsy's rule and authority had never been broken. She reigned over his wives when living, and reigned after them when dead, and so seemed likely to reign to the end of the chapter.