19. However, she thanked me sweetly, and said, “I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them, and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead."

20. " 'They will never die!" said I with an emphasis which went from my heart to hers. Then all her shyness fled. We shook hands, and smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted.

21. As I followed on, I heard the two children who were walking behind saying to each other, “ Would n't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them so much, and we never could have got so many all at once again."

22. "Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, sturdily.

23. They are sure of their "next summer," I think, all of those six souls, — children, and mother, and father. They may never raise so many ox-eyed daisies and buttercups "all at once." Perhaps some of the little hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless their summers are certain to such souls as these, either here or in God's larger country.

LXXXVII. THE STREAMLET.

I.

"T is only the tiniest stream,

IT

With nothing whatever to do,

But to creep from its mosses, and gleam

In just a thin ribbon or two,

Where it spills from the rock, and besprinkles

The flowers all round it with dew.

II.

Half-way up the hillside it slips

From darkness out into the light,

Slides over the ledges, and drips

In a basin all bubbling and bright,

Then once more, in the long meadow-grasses,
In silence it sinks out of sight.

III.

So slender, so brief in its course!
It will never be useful or grand,
Like the waterfall foaming and hourse,
Or the river benignant and bland,
That sweeps far away through the valley,
And turns all the mills in the land.

The strong eagle perched on these rocks
And dipped his proud beak, long ago;
In the gray of the morning the fox

Came and lapped in the basin below;
By a hoof-printed trail through the thicket
The deer used to pass to and fro.

VI.

Now the jolly haymakers in June

Bring their luncheon, and couch on the cool.

Grassy margin, and drink to the tune

The brook makes in its pebble-lined pool,-
From grandfather down to the youngsters
In haying-time kept out of school.

VII.

They joke and tell tales as they eat,
While, wistful his share to receive,
The dog wags his tail at their feet;

Then each stout mower tucks up his sleeve
As the farmer cries, "Come, boys!" The squirrel
Dines well on the crumbs which they leave.

The children all know of the place,
And here with their basket, in search
Of wild roses, come Bertha and Grace,
And Paul with his fish-pole and perch,

While the meadow-lark sings, and above them
The woodpecker drums on the birch.

IX.

Is the drop the bee finds in the clover
More sweet than the liquor they quaff?
It drips in the cup, and runs over;

And, sipping it, spilling it half,

Hear their mirth! Did Grace learn of the brooklet
That low, lisping crystalline laugh?

X.

For music I'm sure it taught

To its neighbor, the pied bobolink, -
Where else could the fellow have caught
That sweet, liquid note, do you think,
Half tinkle, half gurgle? The wren, too,
I'm certain has been here to drink!

XI.

O, teach me your song, happy brook!
If I visit you yet many times,
If I put away business and book,

And list to your fairy-bell chimes,

Will your freshness breathe into my verses,
Your music glide into my rhymes ?

J. T. Trowbridge

EXERCISE.

1. It is only the tiniest stream, with nothing whatever to do.

2. It spills from the rock, and besprinkles the flowers with dew. 3. It slides over the ledges, and drips in a basin.

4. Its course is slender and brief.

5. The deer used to pass to and fro by a hoof-printed trail througl. the thicket.

6. The jolly haymakers bring their luncheon.

7. Thy couch on the cool, grassy margin.

8. Is the drop the bee finds more sweet than the liquor they quaff?

ན

LXXXVIII. —A REVOLUTIONARY HERO IN THE PULPIT.

IT

was Monday, March 6, 1775,-a memorable day in the history of Boston. The streets were crowded with an anxious throng, stores were closed, and business scarcely thought of. Over the Neck, and by Charlestown Ferry, country people were coming into town on foot, on horseback, and in wagons, while here and there a chaise, as it rolled along, showed that the squires and the gentlemen had an interest in the passing events. Groups collected at the corners in animated conversation; and occasionally a soldier in the scarlet uniform of King George went hurriedly by, his ears tingling with the imprecations and mutterings that reached them from every side.

2. The Boston Massacre was, as usual, to be commemorated by an oration. The anniversary properly came the day before, on Sunday; but the sacredness of holy time. was observed, and the services deferred. Four of these sad occasions had already passed, each succeeding year bringing new and heavier troubles and dangers. But that unfortunate affray in King Street, when Preston's soldiers fired upon the excited crowd, was kept fresh in mind; and its anniversary, with the attending ceremonies, served, as was the intention, to foster the liberty-loving spirit of the people.

3. Each succeeding year only intensified the animosity to British rule; for the authorities scorned conciliatory measures, and the Colonists were learning to assert their rights. War was actually impending; but the presence of hostile troops, the tyrannical acts of the imperious British general, the fortifications erected in various parts of the town, the destitute and suffering condition of the population, — all could not restrain the patriots from publicly observing the day. Conflict was in the air and on the tongue; and the people, educated by rapidly succeeding acts of oppression, did not shrink from the now inevitable struggle for liberty.