dropped on these topics during the course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me must have tired anyone else; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own, which he ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the echo of it; and though I had at first determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit will be as great as mine.

ALADDIN

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

HEN I was a beggarly boy,
And lived in a cellar damp,

I had not a friend nor a toy,
But I had Aladdin's lamp;
When I could not sleep for cold,
I had fire enough in my brain,
And builded with roofs of gold,
My beautiful castles in Spain !

Since then I have toiled day and night,
I have money and power good store,
But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright,
For the one that is mine no more;
Take, Fortune, whatever you choose,
You gave and may snatch again,
I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose,
For I own no more castles in Spain.

THE BOER AND HIS HORSE

ELIHU BURRITT

WHEN I was a small child and went to school, too

young to read, I heard a thing read, of a horse, that made both my cheeks wet with hot tears. The man who owned the horse lived at the Cape of Good Hope, and was called a Boer, which means that he was a man of Dutch blood who was born on the soil of that hot land, and tilled it with the plow and hoe.

He was a kind man at heart, though rough in look and speech. He loved his mare, and she loved him, and was with him by day and near him by night. She was proud to have him on her back, and would dash through swamps, ponds, and fire, too, if he wished it.

But a day came that proved the faith and love of her stout heart and the soul of the man. A great storm came down on the sea. The waves roared, and rose as high as the hills. Their white tops foamed with rage at the winds that smote them with all their might.

Night drew near, and it was a scene to make one quake with fear. Right in the midst of all this rage and roar of wind and sea, a great ship, with sails rent, and helm gone, came in sight. It rode on the high, white waves, straight on to a reef of rocks, too far from the shore to be reached with a rope.

The ship was full of young and old, whose cries for help could be heard, loud as was the voice of the storm. Their boats were gone like the shells of eggs. There was no wood with which to build a raft. The waves

leaped on the ship like great white wolves bent on their prey. How could one soul of them all be saved? The men on shore could but look on the sad sight. They could give no help. They had no boat nor raft, and their hearts were sick within them. Then the Boer was seen to draw near at full speed on his horse.

Down

he came to the beach, nor did he stop there one breath of time.

He spoke a word to her which she knew, and with no touch of whip nor spur she dashed in, and, with a rope tied to her tail, swam the sea to the ship's side. She wheeled, and stamped her way on the white surge with a row of men to the shore. There she stayed but for a breath.

At the soft word and touch she knew so well, she turned, and once more plowed through the surge to the ship, and brought back a load of young and old. Once more she stood on the beach, amidst tears of joy that fell from all eyes. She stood there weak, as wet with sweat as with the sea. The night fell down fast on the ship. There were still a few more left on it, and their cries for help came on the wind to the shore.

The thoughts that tugged at the brave man's heart will not be known in this world. The cries from the ship pierced it through and through. He could not bear to hear them. He spoke a low, soft word to his horse; he put his hand to her neck, and seemed to ask her if she could do it. She turned her head to him with a look that meant, "If you wish it, I will try." He did wish it, and she tried to the last pulse of her heart.

She walked straight into the wild sea. All on shore

held their breath at the sight. She was weak, but brave. Now and then the white surge buried her head; then she rose and shook the brine out of her eyes.

Foot by foot she neared the ship. Now the last man had caught the rope. Once more she turned her head to the beach. Shouts and prayers came from it to keep up her strength.

The tug was for a life she loved more than her own. She broke her veins for it halfway between ship and shore. She could lift her feet no more; her mane lay like black seaweed on the waves while she tried to catch one more breath; then, with a groan, she went down with all the load she bore, and a wail went out from the land for the loss of a life that had saved from death nearly all of a ship's crew of men.

Thus dared and died in the sea the brave Boer and his horse. They were as friends, one in life, one in death; and both might well have place and rank with the best lives and deaths we read of in books for young or old.

THE LARK AND THE ROOK

ANONYMOUS

"GOOD NIGHT, Sir Rook!" said the little lark,

"The daylight fades; it will soon be dark;

I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray;

I've sung my hymn to the parting day;

So now I haste to my quiet nook

In yon dewy meadow - good night, Sir Rook!"

"Good night, poor Lark," said his titled friend,
With a haughty toss and a distant bend;
"I also go to my rest profound,

But not to sleep on the cold damp ground.
The fittest place for a bird like me

Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree.

"I opened my eyes at the peep of day
And saw you taking your upward way,
Dreaming your fond romantic dreams,
An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams;
Soaring too high to be seen or heard ;

And I said to myself, What a foolish bird!'

"I trod the park with a princely air,

I filled my crop with the richest fare;

I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew,

And I made more noise in the world than you!
The sun shone forth on my ebon wing;

I looked and wondered-good night, poor thing!"

"Good night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice, "I see no cause to repent my choice;