gems shall prove ineffectual against the prevailing edge of my sword."

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Amen, say I," replied Sancho; and so, heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted poor 5 Rocinante, who was half-shoulder-slipped in his fall.

I. Don Quixote. Çid: the surname of Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar (1044 ?-1099), a renowned Spanish knight, who won many victories over the Moors. Ber när'do děl Cär'pï o: a famous Spanish knight, one of the favorite subjects of the old minstrels. Ăn taē'us: according to Greek mythology, a giant slain by Hercules. Môr găn'te (ta): a terrible giant, the hero of an Italian story, who is said to have performed many wonderful exploits and to have been at last killed by the bite of a crab. Bū ceph' (çef) à lús: the favorite horse of Alexander the Great. After its death, Alexander built a city called Bucephala in its honor. Bä bï'e (a) ça: the Cid's horse. Rōci (se) nän'te (ta).

II. Mōat: a ditch or trench around a castle or fortified place, sometimes filled with water. Draw'bridge: a bridge which can be raised or lowered at pleasure, placed before the gate of a town or castle, or over a river or canal. Ap pûr'tėnanç ĕs: things which belong to some more important thing; adjuncts. Căs'těl lăn: warder or keeper of a castle. III. Săncho Pănza: Don Quixote’s servant. tion (shun): total destruction. Còn çēit': idea; thought. Bri ā'rẻ us: according to Greek mythology, a giant with a hundred arms. Dùl çìn'ê à děl Tô bō'so: Don Quixote's lady love. Něc'rô măn çer: enchanter; magician. Half-shoulder-slipped: having almost put his shoulder out of joint.

Ex tir pā'

Oh what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive.

- SCOTT

Abraham Lin

coln (1809-1865): The sixteenth President of the United States. During his presidency occurred the war between the states, and soon after its close President Lincoln was assassinated. This eloquent address was delivered at the dedication of the Gettysburg National Cemetery, November 19, 1863.

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing 5 whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here

gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow, this ground. The brave 5 men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfin10 ished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; - 15 that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that the government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

O Captain! my Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN

Walt Whitman (1819-1892): An American poet, whose peculiarities of style have kept his work from attaining wide popularity. His chief work is "Leaves of Grass."

"O Captain! my Captain!" written on the death of Lincoln, is the best of his shorter poems.

20 O captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought

is won.

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.

But, O heart! heart! heart!

Oh, the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells!
Rise up for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle

thrills,

For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.

Here, captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head!

It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead!

10

15

My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still:
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will. 20
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed

and done:

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object

won.

Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

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