own face out of countenance. The poor gentleman was so sensible of the ridicule, that I found he was ashamed of what he had done; on the other side, I found that I myself had no great reason to triumph, for as I went to touch my forehead, I missed the place, and clapped my finger upon my upper lip. Besides as my nose was exceedingly prominent, I gave it two or three unlucky knocks, as I was playing my hand about my face, and aiming at some other part of it. I saw two other gentlemen by me, who were in the same ridiculous circumstances. These had made a foolish change between a couple of thick bandy legs and two long trapsticks that had no calves to them. One of these looked like a man walking upon stilts, and was so lifted up into the air, above his ordinary height, that his head turned round with it; while the other made such awkward circles, as he attempted to walk, that he scarcely knew how to move forward upon his new supporters. Observing him to be a pleasant kind of fellow, I stuck my cane in the ground, and told him I would lay him a bottle of wine that he did not march up to it on a line that I drew for him in a quarter of an hour

The heap was at last distributed among the two sexes, who made a most piteous sight as they wandered up and down under the pressure of their several burdens. The whole plain was filled with murmurs and complaints, groans and lamentations. Jupiter at length taking compassion on the poor mortals, ordered them a second time to lay down their loads, with a design to give every one his own again. They discharged themselves with a great deal of pleasure: after which, the phantom who had led them into such delusions, was commanded to disappear. There was sent in her stead a goddess of a quite different figure;

her motions were steady and composed, and her aspect serious but cheerful. She every now and then cast her eyes toward heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter. Her name was Patience. She had no sooner placed herself by the mount of sorrows, but, what I thought very remarkable, the whole heap sunk to such a degree, that it did not appear a third part so big as it was before. She afterwards returned every man his own proper calamity, and teaching him how to bear it in the most commodious manner, he marched off with it contentedly, being very well pleased that he had not been left to his own choice as to the kind of evils which fell to his lot.

Besides the several pieces of morality to be drawn out of this vision, I learnt from it never to repine at my own misfortunes, or to envy the happiness of another, since it is impossible for any man to form & right judgment of his neighbour's sufferings; for which reason also I have determined never to think too lightly of another's complaints, but to regard the sorrows of my fellow creatures with sentiments of humanity and compassion.

ADDISON

CLASS AND HOME WORK.

Learn the spel-lings at the top of the page, and write out the first sentence in your own words.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

[Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is the greatest poet that America has yet produced. His works have been as much read in England as in the United States; and include "Evangeline," "Voices of the Night," Translations, Poems on Slavery, the "Spanish Student," the "Golden Legend," the "Courtship of Miles Standish;" "Birds of Passage," &c. He is the poet of the household and the hearth.

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, de

serted and silent,

Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse.

Sweet on the summer air was the odour of flowers in the garden;

And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them,

That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty.

Then, as as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east wind,

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church.

Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit;

Something within her said,-"At length thy trials are ended.

And, with light in her looks, she entered the chamber of sickness.

Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants,

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence

Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces,

Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside.

Many a weary head, npraised as Evangeline entered, Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence

Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison.

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler,

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it for ever.

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time;

Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers.

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or feeling of wonder,

Still she stood, with her colourless lip apart, while a shudder

Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowers dropped from her fingers,

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning.

Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish,

That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows.

On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man,

Long, and thin, and grey were the locks that shaded his temples;

But, as he lay in the morning light his face for a

moment

Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood;

So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are

dying.

Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever,

As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals,

That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass

over.

Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted,

Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness;

Darkness of slumber and death, for ever sinking and sinking.

Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations,

Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saintlike,

"Gabriel! O my beloved," and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood;

Green Arcadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among

them,

Village, and mountain, and woodland; and, walking under their shadow,