PAST AND PRESENT.

Thomas Hood (1799-1845), is one of the "poets" of Englis Literature. The frolicsome disportings of his mirth and the dee melancholy of his graver musings are almost childlike in their sudde alternations, and win our hearts like the gleeful rompings and fitf sorrows of a child. He was undoubtedly the greatest wit an humorist of his time; but his wit is quite often far-fetched an apparently "made to order." His reputation rests rather upc pathos, upon his insight into the sorrows of humanity and his kee sympathy for them. Consequently he is best known by those poen in which that sympathy is expressed. Among these the principal ar "The Bridge of Sighs," "Eugene Aram," "The Song of the Shirt "The Death-Bed," and the one here quoted.

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing:

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance;
But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Questions: What do you remember about sunrise? Name some of the flowers that grew around your birthplace, and their general appearance. Relate your play at "swing," and narrate an imaginary accident likely to have happened in this place. What thought makes one sad in the lines

"But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy?"

Memorize the following lines from "The God of my Childhood," and give them in your own words:

"At school Thou wert a kindly face

Which I could almost see;

But home and holiday appeared

Somehow more full of Thee."

laburnum

pools

fir-trees

PETER OF CORTONA.

A LITTLE shepherd boy twelve years old one day

gave up the care of sheep he was tending, and betook himself to Florence, where he knew no one but a lad of his own age, nearly as poor as himself, and

who had lived in the same village, but who had gone to Florence to be scullion in the house of Cardinal Sachetti. It was for a good motive that little Peter desired to come to Florence: he wanted to be an artist, and he knew there was a school for artists there. When he had seen the town well, Peter stationed himself at the Cardinal's palace; and inhaling the odor of the cooking, he waited patiently till his Eminence was served, that he might speak to his old companion Thomas. He had to wait a long time; but at length Thomas appeared.

"You here, Peter! What have you come to Florence for?"

"I am come to learn painting."

"You had much better learn kitchen work to begin with; one is then sure not to die of hunger."

"You have as much to eat as you want here, then?" replied Peter.

"Indeed I have," said Thomas; "I might eat till I made myself ill every day, if I chose to do it."

"Then," said Peter, "I see we shall do very well. As you have too much and I not enough, I will bring my appetite, and you will bring the food; and we shall get on famously."

"Very well," said Thomas.

"Let us begin at once, then," said Peter; "for as I have eaten nothing to-day, I should like to try the plan directly.".

Thomas then took little Peter into the garret where he slept, and bade him wait there till he brought him some fragments that he was freely permitted to take. The repast was a merry one, for Thomas was in high spirits, and little Peter had a famous appetite.

"Ah," cried Thomas, "here you are fed and lodged

Now the question is, how are you going to study?" "I shall study like all artists with pencil and paper."

"But then, Peter, have you money to buy the paper and pencils?"

"No, I have nothing; but I said to myself, "Thomas, who is scullion at his lordship's, must have plenty of money!' As you are rich, it is just the same as if I was."

Thomas scratched his head and replied, that as to broken victuals, he had plenty of them; but that he would have to wait three years before he should receive. wages. Peter did not mind. The garret walls were white. Thomas could give him charcoal, and so he set to draw on the walls with that; and after a little while somebody gave Thomas a silver coin.

With joy he brought it to his friend. Pencils and paper were bought. Early in the morning Peter went out studying the pictures in the galleries, the statues in the streets, the landscapes in the neighborhood; and in the evening, tired and hungry, but enchanted with what he had seen, he crept back into the garret, where he was always sure to find his dinner hidden under the mattress, to keep it warm, as Thomas said. Very soon the first charcoal drawings were rubbed off, and Peter drew his best designs to ornament his friend's room.

One day Cardinal Sachetti, who was restoring his palace, came with the architect to the very top of the house, and happened to enter the scullion's garret. The room was empty; but both Cardinal and architect were struck with the genius of the drawings. They thought they were executed by Thomas, and his Eminence sent for him. When poor Thomas heard that the Cardinal had been in the garret, and had seen what he called Peter's daubs, he thought all was lost.

"You will no longer be a scullion," said the Cardinal to him; and Thomas, thinking this meant banishment and disgrace, fell on his knees, and cried, "Oh, my lord what will become of poor Peter?"

The Cardinal made him tell his story.

“Bring him to me when he comes in to-night,” said he, smiling.

But Peter did not return that night, nor the next, till at length a fortnight had passed without a sign of him. At last came the news that the monks of a distant convent had received and kept with them a boy of fourteen, who had come to ask permission to copy a painting of Raphael in the chapel of the convent. This boy was Peter. Finally, the Cardinal sent him as a pupil to one of the first artists in Rome.

Fifty years afterwards there were two old men who lived as brothers in one of the most beautiful houses in Florence. One said of the other, "He is the greatest painter of our age.' The other said of the first, "He is a model for evermore of a faithful friend."

COMPOSITION.

Write out the conversation between the two young friends, in your own words, making the talk as natural as possible. Try to find four cases in history where monks helped poor young men to acquire fame, and give a very short account of one of these instances of their encouragement.

ROM death the strongest spirit shrinks,

For mystery veils the last dread strife: