was about to give up the fight, he hit the lion on the nose with all his might. This blow was followed by many others, until the savage beast lay at his feet thoroughly conquered. Then Mr. Kent ordered all the lions to their dens, while he and his faithful dog remained unhurt. When the lion tamer and his dog advanced to the center of the arena, where he stood for a few minutes, patting Viking on the head, and bowing to the people, cheer after cheer rent the air. The great crowd were mad with delight, and gave him the greatest reception of his life. What were the names of Mr. Kent's dogs? What did Mr. Kent do for a living? What would he do before each performance? What did Mr. Kent think of his work? Which wild animals did Mr. Kent like the best? What did Roger do? How did Viking save his master? Did Mr. Kent leave his faithful dog to the mercy of the lion? More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. - TENNYSON. HYMN FOR FOURTH OF JULY Before the Lord we bow The God Who reigns above Boundless in power and love. Our thanks we bring: In joy and praise, Our hearts we raise To heaven's high King. The nation Thou hast blest For this fair land For this bright day Our thanks we pay Gifts of Thy hand. FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. Francis Scott Key (1779-1843), the author of the "StarSpangled Banner," was born in Maryland. He practiced law for many years in Washington. Each day the little brother and sister went hand in hand to the Sacred Heart Church, where the statue of St. Joseph was surrounded by bright-colored flowers. "St. They had learned that tiny prayer, Joseph, Foster-Father of Jesus, pray for us!" though they could not say the words very distinctly. Still, every day, they knelt before the shrine and said the little prayer, and went home again with toddling, uncertain feet. They lived a short distance from the church, in a small wooden house. They were orphans, and their grandmother, with whom they lived, seldom went out. She sat nearly all day in a great rocking-chair, knitting. . The neighbors said her mind had grown as feeble as her body during the long years that had passed since her silvery locks were black. In any case, she rarely spoke to the children. An aunt, a middle-aged woman, who worked all day at the factory, and who came home tired and sometimes cross, cared for the children's clothing, put them to bed at night, and woke them very early in the morning. Having tidied up the house and given them a very early breakfast, she hurried off, with a caution to them to keep away from the fire and to be good to grandma. They were good to grandma in their own babyish way. Two quaint little figures, in strong but ugly pinafores and long dresses, they hovered about her chair, picked up her knitting needles if she dropped them, and asked her many questions. To most of these she responded only by a smile and a shake of the head. Her tired-out brain refused to work out even their baby problems. They played mostly with bits of paper and string, a bit of colored glass Francis had found in the street, and a bundle of rags tied up for a doll, which little Mary fondled and caressed and put to bed in a wooden box given to her by the grocer's boy. The church down the street was the children's great marvel and delight. Their aunt brought them there on Sunday, when she was not too hurried to dress them, and she had taught them some simple prayers. She was a good woman and anxious to do what was right, but she was painfully hurried and worn with constant labor. She knew nothing, however, of all the thoughts the two little ones had. They talked about the church constantly with wonder and awe after their simple, baby fashion. The stained glass windows, the altar where God was, the great gilt candlesticks, and the angels guarding the sanctuary, were endless sources of admiration to them. Once, the Sister who was arranging the altar spoke to them, and told them it was St. Joseph's |