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dollar's credit: the banks refused to take my paper, and even my friends deserted me.”

“A little investment that I made some ten years ago," replied Mr. Barton, smiling, “has recently proved exceedingly profitable.”

“Investment!” echoed Mr. Hawley; “what investment?”

'Why, do you not remember how I established young Strosser in business some ten years ago ?”

O, yes, yes,” replied Mr. Hawley, as a ray of suspicion lighted up his countenance; “but what of that?"

“He is now one of the largest dry-goods dealers in the city, and when this calamity occurred, he came forward, and very generously advanced me seventy-five thousand dollars. You know I told you, on the morning I called to offer you an equal share of the stock, that it might prove better than an investment in the bank."

During this announcement Mr. Hawley's eyes were bent intently upon the ground, and drawing a deep sigh he moved on, dejected and sad, while Mr. Barton returned to his place of business with his mind cheered and animated by thoughts of his singular investment.



Biography.- Freeman Hunt was born at Quincy, Massachusetts, in 1804, and died in New York City in 1858. He was at

time the editor and proprietor of “The Merchants' Magazine.” He also established “The Ladies' Magazine," "The Weekly Traveler,” and “The Juvenile Miscellany."

Language. – Explain what is meant by the expressions-“The scale is turned" and a “Turn in the tide of fortune."

Composition.- Give a reason for the use of each mark of punctuation and each capital letter employed in the first two paragraphs of the lesson.


so'ber, slow; calm.
grim, stern.
erop’ping, biting ; cutting.

būt'ter eŭps, a kind of plant

having bright yellow flowers. trěm'à læůs, shaking.

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,

He turned them into the river-lane; One after another he let them pass,

Then fastened the meadow-bars again.

Under the willows and over the hill,

He patiently followed their sober pace; The merry whistle for once was still,

And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said

He never could let the youngest go! Two already were lying dead

Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But after the evening work was done,

And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp: Over his shoulder he slung his gun,

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp,

Across the clover and through the wheat,

With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And the blind bats' flitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lanes been white,

And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; And now, when the cows came back at night, The feeble father drove them home,

For news had come to the lonely farm

That three were lying where two had lain; And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer day grew cool and late;

He went for the cows when the work was done; But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming, one by one,

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,

Shaking their horns in the evening wind, Cropping the buttercups out of the grassBut who was it following close behind ?

Loosely swung in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue;
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
Looked out a face that the father knew,-

The great tears sprung to their meeting eyes;

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb," And under the silent evening skies, Together they followed the cattle home.

For gloomy prisons will sometimes yawn,

And yield their dead unto life again;
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn,
In golden glory at last may wane.

KATE P. Osgood.

Biography.- Kate Putnam Osgood, born in Maine in 1841, is a contributor to the leading periodicals of this country. She is regarded as one of the most pleasing of our American poets.

“Driving Home the Cows” is considered the most popular of her poems.


leet'ūre, a discourse on any sub

ject. in sült', treat with abuse. ăng' gra vāt ing, provoking.

hin'der, stop.
elogş, heavy shoes.
sop'ping, soaking.
dow'dy, an ill-dressed woman.

Bah! That's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What were you to do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could spoil. Take cold ? Indeed ! He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd better have taken cold than taken our umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear the rain ? And, as I'm alive, if it isn't Saint Swithin's Day!

Do you hear it against the windows ? Nonsense, you don't impose on me. You can't be asleep with such a shower as that! Do you hear it, I say? o you do hear it? Well, that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stirring out of the house all the time. Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle. Don't insult me. He return the umbrella ? Any body would think you were born yesterday. As if any body ever did return an umbrella! There-do you hear it? Worse and worse ! Cats and dogs, and for six weeks-always six weeks,and no umbrella!

I should like to know how the children are to go to school to-morrow. They shan't go through such weather; I'm determined. No! they shall stay at home and never learn any thing the blessed creatures !-sooner than go and get wet. And when they grow up I wonder who they'll have to thank for knowing nothing-who, indeed, but their father? People who can't feel for their own children ought never to be fathers. But I know why you lent the umbrella.

O yes; I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow,- you knew that, -and you did it on purpose. Don't tell me; you hate to have me go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle. No, sir; if it comes down in bucketsful, I'll go all the more.

No! and I won't have a cab! Where do you think the money's to come from? You've got nice high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed! Cost me sixteen-pence at least-sixteen-pence?two-and-eight-pence, for there's back again! Cabs, indeed! I should like to know who's to pay for them? I can't pay for them; and I'm sure you can't if you go as you do; throwing away your property, and beggaring your children, buying umbrellas.

Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear it? But I don't care-I'll go to mother's tomorrow, I will; and what's more, I'll walk every step of the way; and you know that will give me my death.

Don't call me a foolish woman; it's you that's the foolish man. You know I can't wear clogs; and with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold-it always does. But what do you care for that? Nothing at all. I may be laid up for what you care, as I dare say I shall-and a pretty doctor's bill there'll be. I hope there will! It will teach you to lend your umbrella again. I shouldn't wonder if I caught my death; and that's what you lent your umbrella for. Of course!


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