THE FOOLISH KITE. NCE on a time, a paper kite, Was mounted to a wondrous height, Were I but free, I'd take a flight, And pierce the clouds beyond their sight; It tugged and pulled, while thus it spoke, In vain it tried to soar away; It fluttered downward through the air! FOR VACATION. VACATION is coming, and we are all glad! We hav studied and read and sung for many weeks, and it will be pleasant to play all day with no lessons to learn. I hope we can all go home to-night, feeling sure that we have done our best to learn, and to be good boys and girls. If we cannot, let us try hard for it next term. We love each other, we love our teachers; and we hope this will be the happiest vacation that any school ever had. Good-by, teacher and scholars and friends. Good-by to you all! 0 BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. NCE Bruce of Scotland flung him down In a lonely mood to think; "T is true he was monarch and wore a crown, For he had been trying to do a great deed He had tried, and tried, but he couldn't succeed, He flung himself down in sore despair, And as hour after hour he pondered there, "I must give it up at last," said he. Now just at the moment a spider dropped, With its silken cobweb clew; And the king, in the midst of his thinking, stopped To see what the spider would do. It soon began to cling and climb Straight up with strong endeavor, But, nothing discouraged, again it went, 'T was a delicate thread it had to tread, Again it fell and swung below, 66 Sure," cried the king, "the foolish thing When it toils so hard to reach and cling, But steadily upward, inch by inch, Till a bold little run, at the very last pinch, "Bravo! bravo!" the king cried out, And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind, He tried once more, as he'd tried before, THE AMERICAN INDIANS. As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying away to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the structure of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what manner of person they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. M THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER. R. L. [looking at the boy and admiring his ruddy, cheerful countenance]. Thank you my good lad! you have caught my horse very cleverly. What shall I give you for your trouble? (Putting his hand in his pocket). Boy. I want nothing, sir. Mr. L. Don't you? So much the better for you. Few men can say as much. But pray, what were you doing in the field? Boy. I was rooting up weeds, and tending the sheep that are feeding on the turnips, and keeping the crows from the corn. Mr. L. And do you like this employment? Boy. Yes, sir, very well this fine weather. Mr. L. But had you not rather play? Boy. This is not hard work; it is almost as good as play. Mr. L. Who sent you to work? Doy. My father, sir. Mr. L. Where does he live? Boy. Just by among the trees there, sir. What is his name? Boy. Thomas Hurdle, sir. Mr. L. And what is yours? Boy. Peter, sir. Mr. L. How old are you? Boy. I shall be eight at Michaelmas. Mr. L. How long have you been out in this field? Boy. Ever since six in the morning, sir. Mr. L. Are you not hungry? Boy. Yes, sir, I shall go to my dinner soon. Mr. L. If you had a sixpence now, what would you do with it ? Boy. I don't know; I never had so much in my life. Boy. Playthings! what are they? Mr. L. Such as balls, ninepins, marbles, tops, and wooden horses. Boy. No, sir; but our Tom makes foot-balls to kick in the cold weather, and we set traps for birds; and then I have a jumping-pole, and a pair of stilts to walk through the dirt with; and I had a hoop, but it is broke. Mr. L. And do you want nothing else? Boy. No. I have hardly time for those; for I always ride the horses to the field, and bring up the cows, and run to town on errands, and that is as good as play, you know. Mr. L. Well, but you could buy apples or gingerbread at the town, I suppose, if you had money. Boy. O, I can get apples at home; and as for gingerbread, I don't mind it much, for my mammy gives me a piece of pie now and then, and that is as good. Mr. L. Would you not like a knife to cut sticks? Boy. I have one, here it is, brother Tom gave it me. Mr. L. Your shoes are full of holes, don't you want a better pair? |