thought the child within herself, "I'll make this place my garden. It will be no harm, at least, to work here day by day; and pleasant thoughts will come of it, I'm sure.' 1 MÔÔD. Temper or state of mind. 2 QR-DAINS'. Orders. | 3 ÎN'TER-VALS. Spaces of time. XXXII.- KILLED AT THE FORD. LONGFELLOW. [Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807 He has resided in Cambridge, Massachusetts, since 1836, having been professor of modern languages from that year till 1854. Of living poets, writing in English, he is the most popular and widely known. His poetry is marked by tenderness of feeling, purity of sentiment, elevation of thought, and healthy moral tone. The following poem commemorates one of the many sad incidents of the recent civil war in our country. A young man, perhaps the only son of a widowed mother, is shot by a rebel scout. The mother, on hearing the news, dies suddenly of a broken heart; and the poet imagines her to have been struck and slain by the same fatal bullet as her child.] 1. HE is dead, the beautiful youth, The heart of honor, the tongue of truth, Whose voice was blithe1 as a bugle-call, Whom all eyes followed with one consent, The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word, Hushed all murmurs of discontent. 2. Only last night, as we rode along, He was humming the words of some old song- And another he bore at the point of his sword." 3. Sudden and swift a whistling ball Came out of a wood, and the voice was still: 4. We lifted him to his saddle again And through the mire and the mist and the rain, And laid him as if asleep on his bed; And one, just over his heart, blood red. 5. And I saw in a vision how far and fleet And a bell was tolled in that far-off town 1 BLITHE. Joyous. 2 FATAL. Deadly · XXXIII.—THY WILL BE DONE. 1. My God, my Father, while I stray 2. If Thou shouldst call me to resign1 What most I prize, it ne'er was mine,- 3. Renew my will from day to day; 4. E'en if again I ne'er should see 66 5. Then, when on earth I breathe no more, The prayer oft mixed with tears before I'll sing upon a happier shore "Thy will be done." 1 RE-SIGN'. To give up. 13* 2 BLEND. Mingle. XXXIV. -- DEATH OF PAUL DOMBEY. DICKENS. He 1. PAUL had never risen from his little bed. lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly;1 not caring much how the time went, but watching it, and watching everything about him, with observing eyes. 2. When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen into night. Then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency2 to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look, reflecting the hosts of stars-and more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. 3. As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-colored ring about the candle, and wait patiently for day. His only trouble was the swift and rapid. river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop itto stem it with his childish hands, or choke its way with sand; and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out. But a word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and lean ing his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled. 4. When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself-pictured! he saw - the high church-towers rising up into the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country bright with dew. Familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendants softly how he was. Paul always answered for himself, "I am better. I am a great deal better, thank you. Tell papa so." 5. By little and little, he got tired of the bustle3 of the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing, and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again -the child could hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking moments — of that rushing river. "Why will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It is bearing me away, I think." 6. But Floy could always soothe and reassure him; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow, and take some rest. 7. "Now lay me down," he said; "and, Floy, come close to me, and let me see you." 8. Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together |