FIFTH READER 
DARK DOINGS 
I. 
"OH, DEAR! Who would be a schoolmaster's wife?" exclaimed Mrs. Tozer, half to herself and half for the information of two small boys who had been summoned to her parlour to be lectured for a fault which the good lady disliked very much. "Dick Ely, do you know that this is the third pair of knickerbockers I have had to mend for you in a fortnight?" 
"Is it, ma'am?" said Dick, trying to look penitently at the torn garment which she held up for his inspection. "I don't know how it is -- they are always tearing." 
"Yes -- but who tears them? And as for your brother Fred, it seems to me that he spends all his playtime in walking through puddles. Look at your boots, boy! What has become of the laces I gave you?" 
"Please, Mrs. Tozer, I think I lent them to some of the other boys," pleaded Fred. 
"Let the other boys find laces for themselves; I have told Mr. Tozer at least twenty times, that the only way to make you more careful is to give some of you a good caning. And as he won't do that I must find some way of punishing you myself. So I shall put away this hamper of apples that has been sent for you two Elys, and not one of them shall you see till you show some improvement." 
"Oh, Mrs. Tozer," said Fred, opening his eyes wide, and looking entreatingly at the open hamper which she was already shutting up in the cupboard, while Dick, the elder of the two, frowned, and said almost fiercely, "They were sent us from home." 
"And nobody but you shall have them," said Mrs. Tozer. "But you are not to have them till I see you both trying to take better care of your clothes. And if you don't, I will write to your mamma, and ask her not to send you any more things from home. Now, go away, and don't let me hear another word about it." 
The boys stood hesitating near the door. Fred looked at Dick, and Dick looked as if he were inclined to argue the matter further; but just then Tozer entered the parlour, at the sight of whom they no longer delayed, but hastened off, Fred downcast, and Dick with a frown on his freckled face. 
Their master did not come alone. He was accompanied by Miss Parry, the daughter of a Wesleyan minister who lived next door to Westgate House, as Mr. Tozer's school was called. 
"How is Mr. Parry this evening?" was Mrs. Tozer's first question, for the old gentleman, who was much respected in the town, had been dangerously ill during the last few days. 
"Thank you, a little better," said Miss Parry. "But he is still very weak, and Dr. Grey says he must be kept perfectly quiet, as the least agitation might --. So I came in to ask Mr. Tozer if his boys would make as little noise as possible for a day or two. We sometimes hear them shouting out when they are going to bed: I am so much afraid that they may disturb my father. He is fast asleep now, and everything depends on his being able to get a good night's rest." 
"Don't distress yourself, Miss Parry," said Mr. Tozer. "They shall be as quiet as mice to-night, or I'll know the reason why. And tomorrow I'll send them to play on the common. I wish I had thought of it before."
"We wouldn't let them play at all rather than disturb Mr. Parry," declared his wife. "Indeed, I think they would be the better if they had nothing but lessons from morning till night for a week, except when the servants have to sweep out the schoolroom. But, Miss Parry, how tired you look! Do take off your things, and let me make you a nice strong cup of tea."  
"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Tozer," said Miss Parry, taking the chair which was offered to her. "I can wait only a few minutes. I never like to be out of my father's room for more than half an hour at a time. He has no one but me, you know, now." 
"I'm sure it must be a great trial to you," declared Mrs. Tozer, sympathisingly. "I only hope you won't lay yourself up with watching and fretting. Now, look here, Miss Parry, if I can be of any use to you, be sure you send for me at any hour of the day or night." 
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Tozer, you are very kind; but there will be no need to trouble you." 
"No trouble at all. I'm quite used to sitting up at night when any of the boys are ill; and I'm very wakeful just now. I don't think I have had a comfortable night's rest since the Hammersleys' house was broken into." 
"You know my wife lives in perpetual terror of burglars," explained Mr. Tozer."
"Well, who wouldn't be that reads all these stories in the papers! The police are no use in Whitminister. They have never found out the men who robbed the Hammersleys, and it is supposed to be the same gang that tried to get into Miss Telfer's last night. They must be in the town still. Why, we might be all murdered in our beds any night if I didn't keep my eyes and ears open, while Mr. Tozer is snoring away and laughing at me for a fool, I suppose." 
"I have told you again and again that robbers don't murder people nowadays. They are a great deal too careful of their necks." 
"I daresay! I wouldn't trust my throat with them, anyway." 
"Burglars are generally great cowards, I believe; and a boys' school is the last place they would think of trying. The more people there are in the house the more chance there would be of their being discovered. Then, in a school they would not be able to get enough to pay them for their pains, unless they came on a Friday night, when I had a lot of coppers and sixpences to serve out the boy's pocket-money!" 
"And we may feel pretty safe for the same reason," said Miss Parry. 
"Miss Parry, do you think they wouldn't read in the papers about that beautiful testimonial of plate which your father's congregation have just given him?" 
"To be sure, I forgot that. It is locked up in the dining-room sideboard, and if any of the robbers knew this they might think it worth while to pay us a visit. When my father gets better I must look out a safer place to put it away; but really I have not time to think of anything just now." 
"I daresay," said Mrs. Tozer; "but I know that if I had a silver tea-service in the dining-room on the ground floor, with everybody sleeping upstairs, I shouldn't be able to close an eye all night." 
"You will worry yourself," said her husband, with an air of resignation. 
"Now, as for me, it never comes into my head to think about burglars," declared Miss Parry. "It's fire that father says is my weakness. I am always going over the house at night with the notion that I smell something burning; and if I had so many boys about me as you have, I think I should be quite nervous." 
"Oh, but we take great care of that. Mr. Macdonald, the assistant master, goes round every night to collect the candles from the bedrooms, and we don't allow any matches except those which scrape only upon the box. Boys are bad enough, but I can get on with them if they are kept in order. But burglars are the greatest plague of my life, though I never saw one, and it's a shame to this country that they are not put a stop to, somehow or other." 
This was not the first time that Miss Parry had heard her neighbour's opinions about burglary, and she knew by experience that it was very hard to stop Mrs. Tozer when once she got upon this subject. So, as she was in no mood for a long talk, and felt anxious to be with her father, she rose and said good-night; but she did not get away till Mrs. Tozer had given her a newspaper, and made her promise to read an account which it contained of a burglary recently committed at a lonely parsonage on the moors of Yorkshire.  
An hour or two later the boys all went very quietly to bed, according to the injunction which they had duly received from Mr. Tozer. But it seemed that Dick and Fred Ely, who came last, making their way to the small room which they occupied at the top of the house, were meditating some piece of knavery. 
"There's no harm in it," Dick was arguing, vehemently. "She hasn't any business to keep them from us." 
"But you know, Dick, we are to keep very quiet because of Mr. Parry." 
"Well, you don't suppose we are going to make a noise about it, do you? We have only got to wait till everybody is asleep, then slip down without our shoes on, and --" 
"Come, there!" Mrs. Tozer's voice was heard from the bottom of the stairs. "Be quick and get into bed. I'm coming up in ten minutes to see that the windows are all fastened." 
The two boys hastily disappeared into their room, and Mrs. Tozer proceeded on a round of inspection, to see that every door and window was securely closed, a duty which she entrusted to no one, not even to her husband. These precautions taken, she sat down to supper, and tried all the time to persuade Mr. Tozer to have bells put on the shutters, as an alarm against thieves, to which he replied, as he had often done before, that he would think about it, and addressed himself to reading the newspaper.
But the newspaper only suggested to Mrs. Tozer's mind all the accounts of burglaries which she had read there, and made her still more uneasy till a happy thought occurred to her. When all the rest of the family had gone to bed she brought several tea-trays out of the pantry, and propped them up against various doors through which burglars would be likely to pass, in such a manner that if these doors were opened through the night the trays would go down with a clang. This done, she returned to disturb the mind of her husband with a new suggestion. 
"My dear," she said, "don't you think you might ask Mr. Macdonald to look under his bed every night before he goes to bed. It is quite big enough for a man to hide under, and that is the only room in the house which I can't look into myself." 
"My dear," replied her husband, "Mr. Macdonald would only laugh at you for your nervousness." 
"Very well. Some day we shall see the good of having some person in the house nervous enough not to let you all be robbed and murdered in your beds;" and Mrs. Tozer, with a gloomy look of resignation, took up the candlestick and led the way upstairs to their room, where, we may be sure, she did not omit to look under the bed. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
informa'tion par'lour inspec'tion
pud'dle improve'ment cup'board
min'ister agita'tion burg'lary
testimo'nial congrega'tion resigna'tion
no'tion assist'ant plague
chance par'sonage per'sonage
injunc'tion precau'tion sugges'tion

down'cast freck'led wake'ful
com'fortable perpet'ual nerv'ous

sum'mon lect'ure plead
hes'itate incline' decline'
ar'gue accom'pany fol'low
wor'ry scrape entrust'
persuade' address' suggest'
           
                   
entreat' entreat'ing entreat'ingly
sym'pathy sym'pathise sym'pathisingly
pen'itently dan'gerously per'fectly
ve'hemently hast'ily secure'ly
     
to hold up to hold on to hold out
to look up to look on to look out
to lay up to sit up to lock up
worth while to put a stop to
to get on with somehow or other
in a day or two for a day or two 
to keep in order to put in order on a round

during; while; between; among; amid; for

at the top on the top in the top

Commit to Memory 
tear, tore, torn; break, broke, broken

TRANSLATION EXERCISE.
1. Nikko wa mi ni yuku dake no neuchi wa arimasu. 
2. Ichi-ryo jitsu kono hon wo kashite kudasaimasen ka?  
3. Kono heya wo katazukeru yo ni kozukai ni itte kudasai. 
4. Ano matsu-no-ki no chojo ni karasu ga su wo tsukutte imasu. 

II.
After leaving Mrs. Tozer Miss Parry hurried down into the town to buy one or two things at the druggist's. When she reached home she met the doctor on the doorstep, who reported that he found no change in his patient. Mr. Parry was still in a deep sleep, and, repeating that he was on no account to be disturbed, and advising his daughter to take a little rest herself Dr. Grey promised to look in the first thing in the morning.
Everybody in that house was tired, but Miss Parry was too anxious to think about fatigue. She made arrangements to sit up all night, first sending Kitty, her maid of all work, to bed, and telling an old woman who had come in for the day to go home as soon as she had made the kettle boil. Then Miss Parry had a cup of tea, shut up the house, and went upstairs to her father's bedroom.
The old man was lying quite and unconscious, showing only by his low irregular breathing that he was alive. His daughter heaved a sign as she looked at his pale face, and remembered that the doctor had not yet pronounced him out of danger. But though her heart was a right warm one, she was a sensible woman, not one to spend the night in anything so useless as sighing. She had brought her work-basket into the room, and placing her lamp in a corner, so that it was hidden by the bed curtains, her busy fingers were soon plying fast.
Thus the first part of the night passed away. Miss Parry never stopped sewing, except when she thought she heard her father move; then she would lay down her work and steal softly to the bedside, returning as quietly when she had satisfied herself all was well. Little noises enough she heard all over the house, that would have startled a lonely watcher who was inclined to be nervous. But Miss Parry didn't mind nocturnal creakings and patterings, setting them all down to the cat. And indeed after a time, pussy did come purring and scratching at the door, as if to show that he was on the watch, and to ask how things were getting on. His mistress let him in, and felt glad of him as a companion.
After twenty minutes or so, she felt sleepy, but struggling against the feeling, rose and walked towards the window. Suddenly she was startled by a gleam of light that for an instant seemed to flash over the garden below.
"Some of Mr. Tozer's boys playing tricks," said Miss Parry to herself, and see looked out, but could see no one, either in their own garden or their neighbour's.
Then she tried to read for a little. Now she was disturbed by a sound as of stealthy footsteps below, and accused herself of giving way to the creepy sensation which is apt to steal over a person who sits up alone at night. She was determined to overcome it, and went on reading, but the noise did not cease. Miss Parry could not but listen. And pussy, too, was excited. He ran to the door and miaued and looked up to his mistress as if to say that there was really something wrong, and she might take his word for it.
Miss Parry's dread of fire came into her mind: she almost fancied she could smell something burning. Her heart gave a great throb at the prospect of such a danger at such a time. Softly she stole to the door, and cautiously opened it, putting out her head to listen in the passage. There was no smell or sign of fire, and for a moment she heard nothing. But then -- surely there must some one stealing along the passage below; and -- could she be mistaken? -- another door creaked, and her strained ears caught a low whisper.
To say that Miss Parry was not frightened would be not to tell the truth. She started back into the room, cast one hurried anxious glance at her father's sleeping form, and for a minute stood still in dismay. But in a minute more she collected herself, summoning all her courage and presence of mind.
She went back to the door and listened again, scarcely drawing her breath. Yes, there could be no doubt that two or three persons were moving about the ground floor of the house; and now she heard the grating of some instrument with which a lock was being forced open. The burglars had come after all.
"What shall I do?" said Miss Parry, always looking at her father, and turning cold at heart to think of the effect which any disturbance might have on him.
Presently they would come upstairs. She looked at the lock of the door -- it was broken. There was a large chest of drawers which she thought she could drag in front of the doors, but it would take her some time to do so, and the noise she must make would be sure to attract the attention of the robbers. Should she not rather call Kitty, and give the alarm at once? And her father? 
Miss Parry almost gave way. She flung herself into a chair, hid her face in her hands, and uttered a prayer to heaven for help. 
She took her place again at the door and stood there like a statue, expecting every moment to hear their footsteps on the stairs. They had gone into the dining-room and shut the door; they were busy ransacking it. 
"After all, they don't want to come upstairs, unless they can get something by it," said Miss Parry to herself. "Mr. Tozer was right: robbers don't murder people nowadays. I needn't be so afraid. If they can only get all the money and silver we have, they will go away quietly." 
An idea had come into her head, and after thinking it over for a little she took what may seem to some persons a very extraordinary resolution. She put her purse in her pocket, containing all the money that was in the house, lit a small candle, and, trying with all her might to overcome a natural feeling of nervousness, glided downstairs and stood before the dining-room door through the chinks of which she could see that there was a light inside, and could hear low voices and other slight sounds which seemed familiar enough. For a moment she paused, then boldly turned the handle and walked in. 
The sight that met her eyes was one which might well have astonished the mistress of a quiet household. Candles were lit; two men were sprawling over the table, which was covered with eatables of all kinds from the pantry; the sideboard cupboards had been forced, and Mr. Parry's testimonial service, as well as other articles of value, were seen peeping out of the edges of two frail-baskets, such as workmen use to carry their tools in. A few spoons and forks were lying about the floor, bent or broken, having been contemptuously tossed away as only old plated ones. 
All this Miss Parry took in at a glance. But who shall describe the amazement of the two men whom she thus suddenly interrupted, and who leaped to their feet and stood staring at this calm, pale lady! For a moment they were so taken by surprise that they did not know what to do, and in that moment Miss Parry had shut the door, and standing with her back against it, was speaking to them in low, earnest tones. 
"Hush! don't make a noise. I don't suppose you want to kill an old man who is lying very ill upstairs, so I have come down to see if we can talk reason." 
The elder of the two, a low-browed, rough-bearded, bullet-headed man, was the first to speak. He had a knife in one hand and a great lump of ham in the other, and as he had just opened his mouth to receive the latter when Miss Parry came in, he was not able to shut it for astonishment. 
"Well, you are a --," he exclaimed at last, but could not finish his sentence. 
Then the other, a dissolute-looking young man, of altogether superior manners and appearance, gave his companion a nudge, and recovering himself sooner, answered, not unpolitely --
"I'm sure, ma'am, we don't want to disoblige a lady, except in the way of business you know." 
"What's your game?" asked the old man, looking suspiciously round. 
"You need not be afraid," said Miss Parry; "no one in the house knows that you are here except myself. My father is very ill, and the least disturbance might kill him, so I don't wish to give the alarm." 
The younger one turned to Miss Parry with quite a courteous air and said, "Upon my honour, ma'am, you are one of the most sensible women I have ever met in the whole course of my professional experience, and I shall be glad if I can be of service to you in any way. But I must remark that I had expected to find more articles of value in a respectable minister's residence." 
"You have everything here that there is in the house worth taking," said Miss Parry; "and I will give you my purse with all the money we have, if you will promise to go quietly away and not attempt to come upstairs. I assure you it would be of no use." 
"That's a fair offer, anyhow," said the younger man, to whom she addressed herself; and the two whispered together. 
"Isn't there a watch about you, or a ring or two?" asked Jem, turning to the lady, who shrank back.  
"What a rude fellow you are! Don't mind him ma'am; he hasn't been well brought up. Come we aren't greedy: a bargain's a bargain. Hand over the purse, and we are off as quiet as mice." 
"But you'll let a fellow stop and finish his supper first," growled Jem. 
The young man received Miss Parry's purse with a bow and thanks. "Go upstairs to your room," he said; "and be quite at ease. As my friend says, we must take a little refreshment before starting for home, but in ten minutes, or a quarter of an hour at the outside, we'll be off as quietly as we came. I give you my word for it; and believe me we shall always have a very kind remembrance of the courtesy and hospitality with which we have been treated in this house." 
"There he goes -- Jack the gentleman!" exclaimed Jem, with his mouth full; "no fellow understands flattery better than he!" 
"The lady will excuse my friend; he is not accustomed to society." And with another polite bow "Jack the Gentleman" held the door open for Miss Parry, who, scarcely sure whether she were dreaming or awake, hurried back up the staircase. 
But before she reached her room she heard a short low whistle, which seemed to come from the pantry window opening out into the garden. She stopped at the head of the stairs, and heard the two men whom she had just left, coming hastily out and making for the pantry. 
"They are going away," she thought to herself with joy. "Then they are cowards after all!" 
She went into the bedroom. Her father, thank heaven! was still asleep. She ran into his study, the window of which was over the pantry, and in the darkness, just tinged with the first grey of dawn, she could distinguish three figures stealing along by the garden wall. She gently opened the window; they heard, and ran the faster. In the Tozer's garden, too, she thought she could hear a rustling and the sound of steps on the gravel path. Somebody was moving there; it must have been this that had alarmed them. 
Now Miss Parry acted with promptitude. She hurried up to the attics, wakened Kitty, bade her get up and come down to keep watch over Mr. Parry, without telling the woman more than that she was obliged to go out for a little. When Kitty came down she herself put on her bonnet and cloak, and having shut the pantry window and seen that the other fastenings of the house were secure, she went out by the kitchen door, taking the key of it in her pocket, and hastened towards the town to look for a policeman. Miss Parry wasn't the one to let the robbers get clear off with their plunder if she could help it. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
pa'tient fatigue' sensa'tion  
pros'pect in'strument disturb'ance
stat'ue resolu'tion eat'ables
amaze'ment aston'ishment resem'brance
cour'tesy hospital'ity flat'tery
soci'ety fast'ening

uncon'scious irreg'ular sen'sible
noctur'nal stealth'y extraor'dinary
famil'iar dis'solute supe'rior
respect'able respect'ful

report' pronounce' sat'isfy
accuse' attract' sprawl
interrupt' distin'guish make (intr.) 

contempt', contempt'uous, contempt'uously
suspi'cion, suspic'ious, suspic'iously

out of dauger out of fashion out of place
out of question out of the question
in dismay in danger in the way
at heart by heart in one's heart
at a glance on no account
to take in to be taken by surprise
to give way to to get clear off
to heave a sigh after all

Commit to Memory: --
fling, flung, flung; shrink, shrunk (or shrank), 
shrunk; overcome, overcame, overcome

TRANSLATlON EXERCISE.
1. Undoba no mannaka ni tatte iru ki wa asobu toki yohodo jama ni narimasu. 
2. Ima sore wo yaru (do) no wa damena koto desu. 
3. Kono boshi wa imagoro wa hayarimasen. 
4. Watakushi wa are no iu tori ni shimashita.
 
III. 
When Mrs. Tozer went to bed that night she entertained herself for a time by running over all the stories she had recently read of burglars and so brought her mind into a fit frame for being disturbed in the easiest way. But at last she began to doze off, a good half-hour after Mr. Tozer had fallen asleep and forgotten all the troubles of teaching small boys. 
Presently she was aroused by what she thought to be the sound of low voices beneath the window, and looked out. She was none the wiser; indeed, it was too dark to see anything, nor could she hear the sound now that she listened for it. So Mrs. Tozer once more went to bed, but could not sleep. There were other little noises in the house which anybody who likes may hear on any night in any house. The good lady was working herself into a fever of alarm, and felt very much inclined to awake her husband. But she knew by experience that Mr. Tozer would probably laugh at her fears, or, indeed, was apt not to be very good-humoured when wakened on such excuses. So she contented herself for the meanwhile by looking the door and lighting a candle. 
But, after lying half an hour wakeful and fidgety, her ears seemed to catch a sound which could not be mistaken. She no longer hesitated to awake Mr. Tozer. 
"John! John! get up this moment." 
"H'm," grunted Mr. Tozer. 
"Awake, my dear, awake! Do you want us all to be murdered?"  
"Yes," said Mr. Tozer, sleepily, but began to be a little more coherent, when his better-half gave him several vigorous pushes. 
"What's the matter now?" he asked. 
"What? Why, robbery -- that's the matter. I'm sure there's some one in the house; I could hear their footsteps quite plainly a minute ago." 
"Oh, you're always fancying you can hear somebody," said Mr. Tozer in a cross tone.
"But it isn't fancy this time. Do get up, John, and go and see." 
Mr. Tozer yawned, and showed no disposition to set out on what he believed would be a fool's errand. Indeed, he seemed to be on the point of going to sleep again when Mrs. Tozer's suspicions were confirmed by a loud clang downstairs, which reverberated through the passages and made both of them start in surprise. Then they remembered: one of the tea-trays which Mrs. Tozer had disposed of by way of traps must have been knocked down. 
"There, now!" 
"The cat," suggested Mr. Tozer. 
"Don't you know there isn't a cat in the house? Well, if you are going to lie still and let us all be massacred and assassinated in our beds. I'll not allow it. I'll jump up and call for the police with all my might." 
And Mrs. Tozer, suiting the action to the word, was already on the way to the window, when her husband got up and prevented her. 
"Jane, Jane! remember Mr. Parry! Don't make a noise, whatever you do. The house is full of people, and there are two men in it, so we needn't be in such a hurry to rouse the neighbourhood." 
"Men, indeed! Nice men!" cried Mrs. Tozer, but she repented of her harsh reproach when she saw her husband hurrying on some of his clothes.  
"That's right, John. Oh! now, do take care; they are such desperate characters. Run and wake up Mr. Macdonald and some of the bigger boys. I'll shut myself up with the maids, and perhaps Dick Ely, who is always climbing about and breaking his neck, could get out on the roof of the wash-house and run for the police. Oh dear!" 
This last exclamation was caused by the fall of another tea-tray below. Mr. Tozer was now beginning to be alarmed himself. After wasting a little time in hunting for a life-preserver which Mrs. Tozer had made him buy, and which he had too carefully hidden away in a chest of drawers among his best shirts, he armed himself with the poker, and sallied out, candle in hand, to seek for assistance. But on the landing he met Mr. Macdonald his assistant master, and two or three of the boys who slept near. They had been aroused by the noise, and were looking out to ask what was the matter. 
"It's burglars!" declared Mrs. Tozer, who came behind him in her dressing-gown and nightcap. "Oh! John, where's that pistol which you took from young Tickhill?" 
"Burglars!" cried Mr. Macdonald, a tall, brawny young Scotchman of a combative disposition. "Where are they? get me a hockey-stick, one of you boys, quick!"  
About half-a-dozen boys were present by this time, all much surprised and excited by the news, who with more or less eagerness, demanded to be led against the enemy.
"Hush! we must not make a noise," said Mr. Tozer. "That's right, Mr. Macdonald, you take the other candle. Ah! you have some cricket stumps, that will do very well. Now stick close to me, and make sure that the burglars will run as soon as they see we are ready for them." 
"I hope they won't run too quick for me to get a hit at them," said Mr. Macdonald, brandishing his hockey-stick in a ferocious manner which greatly reassured Mrs. Tozer; and the rest of the party vowed that they would back up their masters to all extremities. 
So, cautiously and slowly, Mr. Tozer led his forces downstairs, holding up his candle, and throwing the light of it into every dark shadow where the burglars might be lying hidden. Nothing was to be seen on the stairs or in the hall below. The door of Mrs. Tozer's parlour was wide open, and one of the tell-tale tea-tays lay flat in front of it. But when, after first peeping through the chinks behind the door, they ventured to look in, the room was empty, and there were no signs of robbers. The remnants of supper still lay on the table, the cupboard had not been opened, nothing seemed to have been moved. 
"Where can they have gone?" said Mr. Tozer, under his breath. 
At that moment there was another clang from the back of the house. 
"The kitchen!" cried Mr. Macdonald, rushing out. 
But at the noise a sudden panic seized the youthful allies, and nearly all of them had fallen back in confusion on hearing the first shot fired, as it were. Mr. Tozer himself hung back when he saw this. Mr. Macdonald in the van found himself unsupported.
"These lads will only be in our way," said the master, and a change was made in the disposition of the forces. Two of the boys who had stood their ground were selected to advance with the attacking force. The other were posted on the staircase to keep up communications with the garrison above, and one was stationed at an open window, with orders as soon as the engagement began to jump out and run for the police. In two or three minutes arrangements were made, and the little army once more took the field, and boldly advanced upon the kitchen. 
Mrs. Tozer in the meanwhile was rushing from room to room upstairs, arousing and exciting the other inmates of the house, and then bidding them keep quiet on peril of their lives. 
The rear guard at the foot of the stairs remained in a state of the utmost excitement, straining their ears and craning their necks forward, in momentary expectation of hearing blows, shots, or other sounds of combat. But nothing of the sort happened. The troops advanced, and, after carefully reconnoitring, carried their candlesticks without opposition into the kitchen and scullery, where they had expected to find the enemy in force. No enemy was to be seen, except the black beetles, who were scudding off to their holes in all directions at the approach of such a formidable expedition. The windows were all fastened. 
"Very strange," said Mr. Tozer; "where can they be?" 
"There they go!" exclaimed one of the two boys who were keeping watch outside, and at the other end of the long passage leading to the schoolroom there was a scuffling of feet and the sudden shutting of a door. 
"Come on!" cried Mr. Macdonald, eager for the fray, and the gallant band advanced to the schoolroom. But when they reached the door, which they found closed, Mr. Tozer, like a prudent general, called a halt, while he settled the plan of attack. 
"We have them here, sure enough. There is no other door; the windows are all barred; no one can get out that way. Evans and Watson, you two run back and get some more candles. Ours may be knocked out of our hands as soon as we get into the room, and I don't care to deal with characters of that kind in the dark." 
The two boys, who had exchanged a curious look when their master spoke of the windows being all barred, did as they were told. While they were gone, Mr. Tozer and his assistant settled to make a sudden rush in and attempt to knock down and secure the burglars. 
"I don't think there are more than two of them, and they never use firearms nowadays, I believe. I daresay they will surrender as soon as they see we are determined."  
"Just let me get a fair swing at one of them," whispered Mr. Macdonald in reply, fingering his cudgel impatiently; "then they'll talk about surrendering. Remember, sir, let me tackle the biggest one." 
By this time the boys had returned with the candles, and Mr. Tozer made Watson stand with them in readiness outside the door in case of need. Then his final directions being given, the storming party suddenly flung open the door and dashed into the middle of the room, so as to get clear of any ambuscade that might be lying in wait behind the door.  
But when they turned with uplifted weapons they found themselves confronted by -- nobody! The bare empty schoolroom contained nothing but its usual furniture of desks and tables, on which here and there books and copies lay carelessly scattered. 
"Peep behind the map-stand, Macdonald!" cried Mr. Tozer; but all search was in vain. Not so much as the shadow of a burglar in the schoolroom. 
"Most extraordinary!" exclaimed the master, looking round in amazement. "They must have come into this room; they could not have passed us in the passage, and there is no other door here but this. Could they be up the chimney?" 
Mr. Macdonald was already poking up there with his hockey-stick, but could bring down nothing except a fall of soot. 
"Look at this window, sir," said Master Evans, who had reason to know that egress was not so impossible as the head of the house supposed. 
"Why, it is open -- and they have wrenched away a bar! They have got out here." 
"There they are! -- there they go! Didn't you see something moving beside these bushes? Hark at the noise they are making?" 
There was, indeed, a rustling among the laurels in the garden outside, where the darkness was just touched by the first faint signs of dawn. 
"Let us follow them!" cried Mr. Tozer, who was now becoming quite excited. Hitherto all the party, except Mr. Macdonald, had been in their hearts rather relieved at not being able to come to an encounter; but, when they found that the robbers always fled before them, their courage rose fast. They quickly got out of the window and found themselves standing on the hard gravel, in slippers or with bare feet, so that they were placed at a decided disadvantage in the chase. 
This checked them for a moment, and they stood listening to the noise in the laurels. The burglars, strange to say, instead of making for the garden wall, seemed to be cautiously working their way back to the house. 
"Drive them out on the lawn," proposed Mr. Macdonald, "there is quite light enough to see them;" and he plunged into the bushes at one end, Mr. Tozer more cautiously beating about a little further off. 
"Here! here!" cried Evans, who stood outside. 
"Where? where?" 
"They are getting over the wall of the yard. I see one of them -- there, he's down!" 
"Quick! quick! This way!" 
Mr. Macdonald bounded to the gate of the yard, and, after fumbling a little at the lock, burst it open, and they all rushed in. 
"They went down the steps of the coal cellar -- didn't you see them? There! -- they have shut the door." 
"We have them now!" 
"Stop!" exclaimed Mr. Tozer, holding back his impetuous lieutenant. "No need of our coming to blows with them now; they can't get out. Watson, put on your shoes and run down as hard as you can to the police office, and ask for two policemen to be sent immediately. We will keep watch till you come back. It couldn't have been better managed. They have put themselves into a trap, and no mistake." Then, advancing to the steps leading down to the coal cellar, he said, in a loud voice - 
"You will stay where you are, my fine fellows, till you are told to come out. Till then you had better not attempt it." 
"Keep them there! Keep them safe shut up," cried Mrs. Tozer from the window of the attic where she had sought refuge; and her husband's little army took up a position before the coal cellar, investing it till the arrival of their siege artillery -- namely, the police. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
rob'bery excuse' er'rand
pas'sage exclama'tion char'acter
ea'gerness extrem'ity rem'nant 

confu'sion communica'tion engage'ment
expecta'tion expedi'tion read'iness
fur'niture disadvan'tage lieuten'ant
artil'lery in'fantry cav'alry

good-hu'moured fid'gety coher'ent
vig'orous combat'ive fero'cious
mo'mentary for'midable impos'sible
impet'uous

entertain' confirm' rever'berate
mas'sacre assas'sinate reproach'
excite' reassure' bran'dish
reconnoi'tre ven'ture surren'der
relieve' fum'ble invest'

cau'tiously impa'tiently imme'diately

none the wiser none the less
to be on the point of to dispose of by way of
on peril of to get a bit at to get clear of
in confusion in case of need as it were
candle in hand

Commit to Memory: --
fall, fell, fallen; forget, forgot, forgotten; hide, hid, hidden; bid, bade, bidden

TRANSLATlON EXERCISE. 
Watakushi wa sono toki te ni pistol wo motte toguchi no tokoro ni tatte imashita. 

IV.
Miss Parry, as we have seen, made for the town to seek the aid of the police, but she did not take the shortest way for fear of meeting with the men who had just left her house. She hurried round by a path over the common, which she was just able to find by the prowing light, then through suburban lanes, between high walls and thich trees, standing out dark against the twilight sky. 
When she reached the streets they were quite deserted at that early hour of the morning. No policeman was visible. Miss Parry went up and down the High Street, and stood at the corners listening for the tramp of one on his beat. Strange as it may seem, thongh she had lived in Whitminster for some years, she did not know where the police office was, or she would have gone there at once. The only people she caught sight of were two men hurriedly disappearing up a side street at some little distance, and when she turned to follow them she suddenly checked herself, thinking they might be the very men that she had good reason to avoid. All the honest folks of the town seemed to be sound asleep as they ought to be. 
At last she made her way to the Minster Green, and there met some one she knew. It was a respectable young man belonging to her father's congregation, whom she was rather surprised, as well as glad, to find wandering about at such an hour. But he explained that he had been driven so wild by the toothache as to be unable to rest in his lodgings; and when he heard what was the matter seemed rejoiced at the prospect of something to do which might distract his thoughts from the pain raging in his jaws. He told her he had just seen two policemen pass in the direction of her house, walking quickly, in company with a lad he did not know. 
"Perhaps they have heard of it somehow," said Miss Parry, and she and the young man hastened off in pursuit of the policemen, whom they presently thought they saw some way off on the road before them. If the figures in sight were the policemen, they were still going in the right direction. 
Miss Parry and her companion began to run, and it was now light enough for them to see that the policemen turned aside through the back door of Mr. Tozer's school. She did not hesitate to follow, and a minute or two later arrived in the court-yard, where an unexpected scene met her eyes. 
The whole of Mr. Tozer's household was up at that unusual hour, and in a high state of excitement. Above, Mrs. Tozer, her maids, and the little boys, had their heads thrust out of every window that commanded the yard; below was a party dressed, but armed to the teeth with pokers, wickets, and cudgels. One warlike youth, posted ready to open fire as soon as the foe appeared; another stood by with a collection of ropes from the boys' boxes to bind the prisoners with, when they should be taken. Mr. Tozer and the policemen were talking together in front of the coal cellar. 
"What has happened? -- have the burglars been here too? -- they broke into our house," said Miss Parry hurriedly, looking round. 
"All right! We have them safe here," cried Mr. Tozer, triumphantly. 
"Oh, Miss Parry, it's a mercy we were not all killed in our beds!" put in Mrs. Tozer from the window. 
"If you are sure they are in the coal cellar, we had better have them out at once," said one of the policemen. 
"Quite sure! Now, boys, look out; shut the gates. Don't let any of them escape!" 
"John, you stand back!" screamed his wife. 
"Let the policemen catch hold of them. It isn't your business, and you have been through quite enough danger already to-night." 
But Mr. Tozer, disregarding these timorous counsels, advanced boldly, along with Mr. Macdonald and the policemen, to the very door of the coal cellar, and summoned the robbers to come forth. 
"You had better come along and have done with it," cried one of the policemen, kicking the door with his foot. "If not, we can easily come in and fetch you." 
Then the door began to open amid great sensation on the part of all the onlookers. Some of the boys moved forward; some moved a step back; the women above either held their breath or uttered a little cry; all eyes were eagerly bent on the coal cellar. Slowly the door opened, and reluctantly slunk forth, not any desperate and reckless ruffians, but two untidy, coalgrimed, scared small boys with their naked feet thrust into slippers, and jackets and trousers partly buttoned over their night-shirts. 
"It's Dick and Fred Ely!" exclaimed Mr. Tozer, in mingled surprise, wonder, and disgust, while the policemen looked sternly at him as if to ask if he was making a fool of them. 
"Oh, please sir, I'll never do it again," cried little Fred, weeping, while Dick looked round him, half dazed and half defiant. Dick didn't quite understand the situation, further than suspecting that he either had been, or was about to be, ill used.
"And how did you come here, pray?" asked Mr. Tozer, with some asperity in his tone, for he caught the sound of a titter breaking out round him, and began to perceive that he had given people reason to laugh at him for his night's work. 
"I'll tell you all about it, sir," sobbed Fred. 
"Come into the house this moment," exclaimed Mrs. Tozer, appearing in the yard, and sweeping up both the delinquents in a whirlwind of matronly anxiety. "I daresay you have both caught your deaths of cold." 
"I'll warm them presently," said Mr. Tozer, with a gloom look at the two Elys.
Everybody was bursting out into a laugh; but the laughing was suddenly checked by a cry -
"Look at Miss Parry! There is something the matter with her." 
Yes; Miss Parry had borne up through all the trials of the night, but now the bewilderment, the sudden revulsion of feeling, were too much for her. All at once her strength left her, she felt her head swim round, and fell fainting into the arms of a policeman. 
While everybody is running up, and crying out, and asking what is the matter, and advising what is to be done, and carrying her into the house, and applying restoratives, and going off for the doctor, and getting in the way, and in fact doing everything to be of use or to add to the confusion and excitement, we will take the reader quietly aside, and clear up for him the plot of our story. 
Dick and Fred Ely had conspired together to go down in the night and help themselves to a few of their own apples, which Mrs. Tozer was keeping from them unjustly, as they thought. So when they reckoned that everybody would be asleep, they stole downstairs and made for the parlour. But their consciences not being altogether at ease, their hearts failed them; and they got a scare when the first of the tea-tray alarums went off. What was their fright at finding that they had roused the household, and could not make their way back to their room without being caught! Scarcely knowing what to do, they wandered through the house, and played that game of hide-and-seek with their pursuers at which we have already been present. At last, in desperation, Dick proposed to go and hide in the garden, and dragged his trembling little brother after him. Finally they took refuge in the coal cellar, but were observed and besieged, as we have seen. 
After all they had gone through, Mr. Tozer was strongly inclined to end their adventures by a good thrashing, but forbore at the intercession of Miss Parry and of Mrs. Tozer, who was very angry herself at first, but whose anger soon turned to pity when she found how cold and tired and frightened the two boys were. 
Mr. Parry grew better from that night, but the doctor advised that he should not be agitated by being told of the robbery. So he alone was for some time kept ignorant of what had happened in his house and was the talk of the whole town. What with policemen and curious visitors coming to the house, it was hard to hide from him that something unusual had taken place, especially as during his convalescence he was rather fidgety and required a good deal of attention. More than once Miss Parry had almost to tell him a falsehood. The old gentleman insisted on having the ham brought up, which had been picked nearly clean by the burglars, and he was querulously suspicious as to the rate at which it seemed to have disappeared. 
"Surely you and Kitty haven't eaten all that ham?" he kept saying, and asked the most inconvenient questions as to the visitors who had been entertained during his illness. His daughter might have pardoned the burglars for the testimonial tea-service, but she did feel angry that they had been so rapacious with the ham. 
Their greediness, however, proved to be their misfortune. A sharp detective who took up the case, saw a suspicious-looking character gnawing a junk of ham in a low public-house. This clue was followed up. Three men were arrested, and two of them, clearly identified by Miss Parry, were convicted at the assizes, and sentenced to seven years' penal servitude. 
This ought to have been some comfort to Mrs. Tozer, but, as she said sagaciously, "There are more fish in the sea than ever came out of it." So she continued to be wakeful and nervous at night, and gave her husband no peace till he put bells on all the shutters of the ground floor windows. After this she was able to rest in more security, but she still never got into her bed without looking to make sure that a burglar was not concealed underneath it. 
As for Mr. Tozer, he was more careful to see that Dick and Fred Ely were safe in their beds. Mr. Macdonald openly declared and proclaimed that he wished for nothing better than a chance of meeting a burglar some fine night, and that, he undertook, this unfortunate intruder would not cure to repeat the visit. Thus, such precautions being taken on all hands, Westgate House Academy has not again been aroused from its slumbers by an alarm of robbers. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
coun'sels sensa'tion delin'quent
asper'ity bewil'derment dispera'tion
con'science interces'sion convales'cence
misfort'une ser'vitude slum'ber
suburb'an unexpect'ed unu'sual
tim'orous defi'ant inconve'nient 
rapa'cious unfor'tunate 
rejoice' disregard' tit'ter
conspire' iden'tify convict'
reluc'tantly ma'tronly saga'ciously
to arm to the teeth had better 
to make a fool all at once 
to help oneself to at ease 
to get a scare on all hands
Commit to Memory: --
sling, slung, slung; thrust, thrust, thrust; bear bore, borne; forbear, forbore, forborne

TRANSLATION EXERCISE. 
1. Anata wa sensei ni so ittahoga yoidesho. 
2. Nani nari to osukina mono wo okatte ni o agarinasaimase. 
3. Niwaka ni ame ga furidashimashita. 

SOME TERMS OF NATIONAL ECONOMY. 
The first thing the student of national economy has to do, is to make himself acquainted with the terms of the science, and the precise acceptation in which they are used; and happily a knowledge of their meaning carries with it a simultaneous knowledge of the leading facts and principles of the science. These terms are chiefly the following -- Wealth, Capital, Profit, Value, Price, Wages, Supply and Demand.
Wealth. -- Of the manifold things which sustain and adorn existence, only a small portion is obtainable without labour. The earth we tread upon, the air we breathe, the water we drink, are, it is true, no products of human labour; nor does man's labour, so far as we see, increase these things; for though man is said to produce, it is beyond his power to create. But in order that these and the other bounties of nature may yield what is necessary for the sustenance and embellishment of life, there must be labour or industry. Before wheat can be raised from the soil, there must be labour; and before bread can be made from wheat, there must be further labour. Without labour, cotton cannot be converted into calico, nor flax into linen, nor sheep's skin into leather. It is only as the result of industry that the various minerals assume the form of bricks and tiles, glass and crockery, tools and utensils. There must be much and various labour before the coal can be dug out of the earth to warm our houes, to cook our food, and through the medium of gas-works and iron pipes, to furnish us with artificial light. 
In our common speech the term wealth is applied to whatever we possess in abundance, whether the possession be the free gift of nature or of labour. But in political economy the term is restricted to those things which are the produce of labour. The individual articles of which wealth consists -- as farms, cattle, mines, machinery, canals, railways, money -- have, of course, individual names attached to them; and they have also general names, such as goods, commodities, and the like. But the collective name given to them is wealth. Whatever is the produce of labour, is, in political economy, denominated wealth. 
Capital. -- The part of wealth which is used for the purpose of increasing wealth, is called capital. And as there are many kinds of wealth, so there are also many kinds of capital. Thus, seeds, cattle, manure, and implements are the farmer's capital; warehouses, ships, and goods for sale are the merchant's capital; while land and houses are the landlord's capital. Professional capacity acquired by study and practice forms the capital of the physician and the lawyer. The working man's capital is his strength, skill, and tools. 
Nearly all capital is used in three ways: in producing raw material, as in the case of farming, gardening, cotton-growing; in changing the form of raw material, as in the case of turning wheat into bread, cotton into calico, hides into leather; and in conveying commodities from one place to another, as in the case of shipping, railways, and other methods of transport. 
Profit. -- It is with a view to its increase that a man employs his capital in trade or commerce; and the increase which accrues from so employing it, is denominated profit. Let us suppose that a man who possesses only three shillings, becomes a street-hawker. He buys two shillings' worth of fruit to sell again, and with the remaining shilling a basket to carry his fruit in. His capital is now his fruit and basket. He sells his fruit for three shillings, and thereby gains one shilling. In other words, by using his capital, he increases it from three to four shillings, and thus makes one shilling of profit. To whatever is gained by the use of capital we apply the name profit, except when capital is lent out for a stipulated payment, in which case the gain is called interest. 
Although profit and interest are only different forms of gain from the use of capital, yet it deserves remark that the former always is, or ought to be, larger than the latter. For when, instead of lending out his capital to be employed by another person in his business, a man enters into business with it himself, he requires not only a fair payment for the use of his capital, but also a payment for the risk he runs, and a further payment for his trouble in managing the business. 
Value. -- A boy with a shilling can get many things in exchange for it; he can get a knife, or a book, or two sixpences, or twelve pennies. In each case he would get the worth or value of his shilling; for, in the language of political economy the value of a thing is just what can be got in exchange for it. If a boy can exchange his ball for another boy's top, the top is the value of the ball; if a workman can obtain a sovereign for his week's work, the sovereign is the value of his work. Everything that can be exchanged for anything else is said to have value. And as the value of a thing is just what is obtainable in exchange for it, the more anything will exchange for, the greater is its value. 
Few commodities, if any, have the same value at all times. At one time the baker may get in exchange for his loaf nearly twice as much as at another time. This year the workman may obtain a sovereign for his week's work, and next year only fifteen shillings. A log of timber which six months ago was worth only 5l., may fetch double that sum to-day. The only thing which does not materially fluctuate in value is gold -- a fact which accounts for the employment of gold as a measure or standard of value.
Price. -- By price is meant the value of any commodity measured in money. We say, for example, that a house is worth so many pounds, shillings, and pence. This sum of money we call the price of the house; so that the price of a thing is just its money-value, or what it will fetch in money. It need scarcely be said, that when commodities fluctuate in value, their price must also fluctuate. Indeed, it is through fluctuations in price that we are led to notice and measure fluctuations in value. 
Wages. -- Wages is the name given to the price of labour, or the payment for labour. There are, indeed, other names. Thus, when the payment is made by the year, it is often called a salary, or stipend; when given on account of a given amount of labour, it is called a fee. It is only when it is paid by the day or the week or the month, that it is called wages. Clergymen, teachers, and clerks usually receive salaries or stipends, physicians and lawyers receive fees; smiths, masons, carpenters, printers, and other working men, receive wages. But, no matter by what name payment for labour is called, such payment is always the price of labour; and that price, like the price of every other commodity, is subject to fluctuation. 
Supply and Demand. - By supply is meant the quantity of commodities fot sale; and by demand, the quantity of commodities wanted by purchasers. However abundant commodities a country may have, they are not called supply, until they are for sale, or in the market; nor do we consider a demand for them to exist, however strong and general the desire to possess them, until purchasers appear who have money or other commodities to offer in exchange. A desire to obtain may exist on the part of those who have not the means of buying; but a desire felt by persons so circumstanced does not constitute what is called demand. Demand implies both the desire to obtain and the means of buying. When there are more goods in the market than can be disposed of, we say that the supply is greater than the demand, and when, again, there are not sufficient goods to serve all the purchasers, we say that the demand is greater than the supply. 

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. 
1. What is Political Economy? -- It is the science which treats of the production, distribution, and consumption of wealth. 
2. What is wealth? -- In our common speech the term is applied to whatever we possess in abundance. But in political economy the term is applied only to those things which are the produce of labour and which have exchangeable value.  
3. What is capital? -- Wealth which is used for the purpose of increasing wealth. For instance, seeds, cattle, manure, and implements are the farmer's capital. 
4. What is fixed capital? -- A kind of capital which consists of buildings, machines, tools, and the like. 
5. What does circulating or floating capital consist of? -- It consists of the wages paid to the workmen, the raw material used up in the process of industry, and the like.
6. Mention the different ways in which capital is used. -- It is used in three ways: in producing raw material, in changing its form, and in transporting commodities.
7. What is profit? -- Whatever is gained by the use of capital, except when capital is lent out for a stipulated payment, in which case the gain is called interest. 
8. What is value? -- In political economy the term is applied to the exchangeable value of a thing; that is, everything that can be exchanged for anything else is said to have value. 
9. What is price? -- It is the value of any commodity measured in money. 
10. What is the price of labour called? -- It is called wages, a salary, or a fee, as the case may be. 
11. Explain the terms, supply and demand. -- By supply is meant the quantity of commodities for sale; and by demand, the quantity of commodities wanted by purchasers. The latter implies both the desire to obtain and the means of buying. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
econ'omy accepta'tion bount'ies
sus'tenance embel'lishment in'dustry
crock'ery uten'sil me'dium
machin'ery manure' im'plement
commod'ity capac'ity hawk'er
remark' sov'ereign fluctua'tion
stand'ard sti'pend pur'chaser
precise' simulta'neous man'ifold
obtain'able individ'ual collec'tive
profes'sional stip'ulate suffi'cient
abun'dant sustain' adorn'
denom'inate acquire' accrue'
to make acquaint'ance with to make oneself acquainted with 
in order that in order to 
in abund'ance in other words in price
in value in exchange for on the part of
by day by the day no matter on account of
to account for to run a risk for instance
to dispose of for sale for example 

THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
I. 
In the small city of Wychester there once lived three young gentlemen, with whose characters it would not have been difficult to find fault. Two of them were brothers, sons of Mr. Robins, a well-known brewer. The name of the third was Watkin; he was the only son of a solicitor. At home Master Watkin, as became an only child, played the very tyrant over his indulgent parents; but he was accustomed to look up to the two young Robins with as much reverence as his nature was capable of, taking them for models of spirit and fashion, and feeling it a happiness and an honour to be admitted as their constant companion. These three were, in fact, inseparable, and agreed thoroughly in considering themselves most important personages in their little world.
Till fifteen or sixteen cricket seasons had rolled over their heads, our three worthies were educated in their native place, and never left it except for an occasional trip to the seaside. After wearing out the patience of I know not how many governesses, they went together to a small private school, where they soon found themselves among the biggest boys, and were able to domineer over their companions to their complete satisfaction. In time, however, they grew too old for this "Preparatory Establishment" as it was called in the prospectus, and were promoted to the Grammar School, where things did not go quite so pleasantly for them. The master of the Grammar School was a reasonable man, with ideas about work that did not square with the views of idle boys. The other scholars were of all ages and ranks, many of them bigger and stronger than our three friends, whom they treated without the slightest deference, actually venturing to call the rich brewer's sons by the nicknames of Robbin and Bobbin, and not choosing either them or their friend Watkin to play in the first eleven. The young Robins were constantly getting into trouble, and making complaints at home, and their parents were seldom unwilling to back them up. Mrs. Robins disliked a school where her sons did not mix with only the most select juvenile society; and when on a public occasion she saw Snicks, the draper's son, who carried out the parcels, actually offering to shake hands with her eldest boy, on the excuse of having been his schoolfellow, her indignation could not be contained. 
"'Ere's what things are coming to!" cried the good lady. "Hif my sons are to get hintimate with such associates, they will 'ave to be sent away from 'ome." 
Robbin and Bobbin, who had been christened James and Robert, were delighted at the notion of a change, and agreed that they ought to be sent away from home. And Watkin, of course, agreed with them that this provincial school was not a fit arena for young gentlemen of their pretensions. So it was like a spark falling on tinder when Tom Davies, a cousin of the Robins, came to pay them a short visit at Christmas time, and had a great deal to say about the glories and delights of Bearbury College, where he was being educated. 
Bearbury is welknown as ranking among the best of our public schools, and is indeed the best of them all, if we believe its own story, and forget that there are a good many other schools whose pupils are just as enthusiastic and self-approving. Tom Davies, who had now been a Bearburian for a whole term, could talk about nothing else, and filled his cousins' minds with envy by the airs he gave himself as a "Public School man," and the patronising tone which he seemed able to take towards all less exalted youths. 
The Wychester boys had often heard of Bearbury before, but only in such a way as to imagine it a place no less out of their sphere than if it had been situated in another planet. They had heard too of Dr. Charles, the headmaster. He was well known in the universities as a scholar, and famous all over England as a preacher and by his writings; but about this time his name was of special note in Wychester, as he had not long before refused the bishopric of that see. The Bishop of Wychester was always a very great man in the cathedral city; and a man who could have been, and yet did not care to be, Bishop of Wychester, was regarded by the Wychester people as a personage of quite astounding superiority. But this eminent being seemed to be held by Tom Davies in no kind of awe. If you were to believe all Master Tom's stories, he himself, an idle boy in the fourth form, was on terms of some intimacy with the great man. 
Robbin and Bobbin had hitherto not thought so much of their cousin; now they found themselves obliged rather to look up to him than otherwise. And it will surprise no one to learn, that before his visit came to an end the notion began to take shape in their minds that they too might become Bearbury boys. Why not? Their parents' opinion was not unfavourable, when they came to be sounded on the subject. Mr. Robins understood that Bearbury was patronised by young lords and baronets, and was pleased to think that his boys should have the chance of making such friends. Then Mrs. Robins highly approved of the plate, because it was not called a school, but a college, which, she thought, sounded much more genteel. She had Dr. Charles's works from the library, and conceived all the more respect for the author that she could make very little out of them. Nothing better could happen to her darlings than that they should be under the teaching of a man of such profound learning. So it was easily agreed that Bearbury was the place for the young Robins. And thereupon Master Watkin gave his father and mother no peace till he also got leave to be educated at the same distinguished institution. Mr. Watkin could hardly afford the expense; but for an only son more than one point may be strained. 
Then came correspondence. All went satisfactorily so far, though both the fathers opened their eyes when they learned how much a year it took to keep a boy at Bearbury. At last the day was settled on which the three ambitious young gentlemen were to present themselves at the college, and be admitted as members of it after due examination by the headmaster. They were not afraid of the results of this ordeal; for, as Mrs. Robins said, if Tom Davies had got in, her sons were in no danger of being rejected. 
Till that day came, you may fancy their impatience and superciliousness. They swaggered about the little streets of Wychester as if the ground was not good enough for them to tread upon. Their heads were quite turned by this rise in life. With what contempt did they now look down upon their former schoolfellows, though they certainly condescended to recognise their old master by a familiar nod! You could not have insulted them more than by supposing that they had anything to do with the Grammar School. 
"We are going to Bearbury," they told everybody in a tone of great complacency, and expected all the world to be duly impressed. But the Wychester boys, willing enough as they were to respect Bearbury, and things Bearburian, were rather provoked by the airs assumed by the fortunate youths.


WORDS AND PHRASES.
solic'itor rev'erence spir'it
prospec'tus indigna'tion estab'lishment
educa'tion superior'ity in'timacy
institu'tion correspond'ence suspen'sion
supercil'iousness compla'cency or'deal
 
indul'gent in'timate prepar'atory
ju'venile self-approv'ing preten'tious
enthusiast'ic astound'ing em'inent
exalt'ed profound' ambi'tious

asso'ciate chris'ten pat'ronise
distin'guish condescend' rec'ognize
provoke' assume' in'sult

to find fault with to play the tyrant
to wear out to take shape on terms 

II. 
The day came -- a bleak, wet, winter day, which, to thousands of less lucky urchins all over the country, seemed a most appropriately miserable black Monday, but which found our heroes in the best of spirits. It had been proposed that their fathers should accompany them to the college; but to this the trio strongly objected, fancying that their independence might be compromised. They were scarcely pleased that Mrs. Watkin came in the fly to the station to see the last of her child. All three were filled with a sense of being persons of consequence, and the importance of going out for the first time into the world. I need not say that they had put on their most striking suits to travel in. 
Of course it was not to be thought of that such dandies could go anyhow but first class. And that their three hours' journey might be made as comfortable as possible, they were provided with as many rugs, great-coats, footwarmers, satchels, flasks, and so forth, as if they had been so mary old dowagers. It is said that Watkin brought an air-cushion to sit upon all the way; but perhaps that may have been only a spiteful story. These articles, disposed upon the seats, filled up three-quarters of the carriage; and to keep any one else from coming in, James Robins garrisoned the fourth corner with a singularly ugly and ill-tempered-looking bull-dog pup, called Pippin, which he was taking with him under the notion that it would go far to given the Bearbury fellows a desirable impression of his own character. Unaccustomed as he was to railway travelling, the dogo after two or three suspicious sniffs, proceeded to lie down and make himself very comfortable on the cushions, and perhaps knew how to behave himself there as well as any of the party; but it was clearly against the regulations of the railway that he shuld be allowed to travel in such a sumptuous manner. So the guard said, when he came up; and taking in at a glance the character of the travellers with whom he had to deal, and the probabilities of a tip, touched his hat and ventured to remonstrate with the utmost deference, --
"Beg pardon, sir; against the rules, sir; no dogs allowed in the carriages. Must put him in the dog-box, sir" 
"Oh, certainly: by all means," said his master, with mock politeness. "You take him out, guard, and put him wherever you like;" and all three burst into a roar of laughter, as the bull-dog suddenly sat up and showed his teeth, and the guard hastily retreated a step. 
"Why don't you catch hold of him? We have no objection, you know. Put him in the dog-box, please," chuckled Robbin; but the official was evidently unwilling to meddle with such a formidable customer.  
"He's all right," said the elder brother, jingling some shillings meaningly in his pocket; and the guard took the hint, and no longer insisted on the removal of the objectionable animal, though inwardly, perhaps, he had some thoughts the expression of which would not have gratified the young gentlemen. 
And now, our friends being locked into the carriage by the obsequious guard, the bell rang, and Watkin put his head out once more to interchange a whispered adieu with his mother. Then the engine snorted like a mastiff let loose; the wheels moved round, the train glided out of the station, and our three heroes were borne away towards the new scene, where, as they fondly hoped, nothing but glory and pleasure awaited them. Their only regret was that none of their old companions or acquaintances had turned up at the station, to behold their triumphant departure. 
When the young travellers had settled comfortably down in their places, Robbin lost no time in lighting a pipe, as a sign of independence and being at ease. Bobbin and Watkin were not yet good at smoking, and very wisely considered that a first-class railway carriage was not the place for making rash experiments; but they felt that due importance, and a certain air of being men of the world, was reflected on them by having one of the party who did smoke, contrary to the company's regulations. So they looked on approvingly, and discussed their future prospects, arranging with much delight the fashion in which they proposed to enjoy public school life, and speculating as to the character and appearance of their master that was to be. On this latter head, there proved to be considerable difference of opinion. None of them had ever seen the great Dr. Charles; but each of them had formed in his mind a more or less clear idea of him, worked out from the hints of Tom Davies. Robbin was sure he must be a tall, stout old gentleman, with white hair; Bobbin fancied him rather as short and dark; Watkin decided that he was a big man, but with red whiskers. In this kind of talk the best part of an hour passed away, and the engine had torn through several small stations. But now it whistled long and cheerfully, in recognition of one of its accustomed resting-places; and soon the train was felt to slacken speed. Then the trio began to be troubled lest they might not succeed in keeping the compartment any longer to themselves.  
"Let us put up a ticket with 'Small-pox compartment; the public is requested to keep off,'" suggested Bobbin. 
"Let us stick our feet out of the window," proposed Watkin; and this hint was acted upon. 
When the train drew up at the platform, the intending passengers saw, to their astonishment the window of one compartment ornamented with two pairs of feet, which presented four boot soles to public view, and did not encourage any gentleman or lady who might be seeking agreeable and refined companionship. There were a good many passengers waiting, and one of them was not to be deterred by Watkin's device, which showed so much understanding. He looked into the carriage, walked away, returned, tried the door, found it locked, went to the next compartment, came back again, and finally called the guard. 
"Will you open this door, please?" he said in a quiet and courteous tone. 
"There's plenty of room in the next carriage, sir," said the guard. 
"No, there is not. Every other carriage is full. Be good enough to unlock the door," said the gentleman; and though he still spoke very civilly, there was something in his manner which made the guard no longer delay. He gave a look at the disappointed young gentlemen, as if to say, "You see how it is," and unlocked the door without more ado. 
The intruder upon their privacy seemed from his white necktie to be a clergyman. He might have been any age between forty and sixty; his whiskers were grey, his clothes of a shade that was not glossy black, but could not be distinguished from black. Our young swells took note of his somewhat old hat and not very new overcoat, and settled in their wise minds that he was a very ordinary sort of person. They had never learned to know their betters, nor to be respectful to their elders: so now they continued lolling along the seats and filling up the whole carriage, except that corner where the puppy sat, in all the dignity of his well-brushed coat and bright brass collar, and looked more like a gentleman than any of them, though not a very good-tempered one. 
The new-comer remained standing and looking round for a seat, but the boys turned away their heads, and pretended not to notice him. 
"I must trouble one of you to move," he said at last. 
Without answering, Bobbin sulkily pulled off a bag and a rug, so as to clear half of the dog's seat. But when Pippin found he was to have a neighbour, he began to growl and to show his teeth, and his master sniggered. 
"That dog has no business here," said the unknown, with more insistency, but taking no notice of the rudeness. 
"Had'nt you better take him out, sir?" said Robbin, winking to his friends. 
The clergyman stepped back, and again summoned the guard. 
"Are dogs allowed to ride in the carriages?" he asked.
"It is only little way. These gentlemen will see that he does no harm. Shall I find you a place in another carriage, sir?" 
"He must be taken out, or else I wish to speak to the station-master." 
The guard turned to the dog's owners, as if to protest that he could'nt help it, and said, -- 
"Would you mind putting him in the van, sir? It is against the rules, you know, sir, if any gentleman objects; and I shall get into trouble." 
"Here! I'll bring him then, if there's going to be all this row about it," said Bobbin sulkily; and catching the ugly beast by the collar, dragged off to the van, and bestowed him there for the rest of the journey. 
The only difficulty now was Watkin's long legs, which he kept as much as possible in the way; but the stranger managed to get past them, and reach the vacant seat. There he settled himself with much deliberation, placing his belongings in the rack above, folding a grey rug neatly round his knees, and clearly looking as if he meant to travel for some distance. When Bobbin came back from the van, the gentleman said, -- 
"I am sorry to have given so much trouble;" to which Bobbin had not the grace to make any answer; but Robbin growled, --
"It was only a puppy. It would not have hurt you." 
"I think it is not usual or desirable for puppies to travel in first-class carriages," said the clergyman, looking very hard at Robbin, who turned away, and began to suspect that their new companion was getting the best of it. 
And now that the train moved on, and came out of the comparative darkness of the station buildings, our three young gentlemen became aware of something disquieting in their companion's eye. It was a grey steady eye, neither very large nor very small; such an eye, as can see in an instant through fine clothes and swaggering manners, to pick out the snob or the humbug beneath. Without appearing inquisitive, it quietly and keenly surveyed the fellow-travellers, and took note of all points about them, down to the most trivial detail; gathering full materials for a judgment of them which was likely neither to be rash nor incorrect. The three young men who thought so much of themselves fidgeted about under this examination; that eye seemed all at once to have taken fifty per cent off their value, and Watkin had less satisfaction than usual in admiring his showy ring. They did not like if at all; yet, as they had been staring at the stranger, there was nothing of which they could complain. 
So uncomfortable was Robbin that he felt it desirable to produce his pipe again, by way of raising himself in his own opinion at least. 
"Any objection to smoking?" he asked in as easy, off-hand a manner as he could command. 
"I don't like it," said the gentleman. "And I believe this is not the smoking carriage. If it had been, I should be sorry to inconvenience you." 
He was not to be contradicted. Robbin frowned, and didn't know what to do. He had half a mind to light his pipe, in open defiance of this troublesome person; but the consequences would probably be against him. Then it came into his mind that it might not be well to arrive at Bearbury all smelling of tobacco; and as he wished to make a favourable impression on the great Dr. Charles, he resolved to abstain from this indulgence in the meanwhile. The clergyman took out a book, and hid his face behind it.
Now came an awkward silence, only broken by the pattering of rain against the windows of the carriage. The stranger's eyes were wholly occupied in his book; it was a well-worn, plainly-bound little volume, just such a book as such a man might be expected to take an interest in. The others stretched themselves, yawned, frowned, looked at their watches, twiddled their thumbs, scratched their heads, or sought distraction in some other of the little tricks to which a vacant mind is driven to kill time. Watkin opened his mouth as if it were a fly-trap, and gazed blankly out of the window at the sodden fields and dripping branches. Bobbin applied himself to polishing a revolver, which he was taking to school in his trousers' pocket, like a lad of mettle. All of them were tired and out of humour with the disagreeable person who had come to destroy their sociability. 
At last, for want of some better amusement, Bobbin and Watkin remembered two long pea-shooters with which they had provided themselves, having read in a book that these instruments of offence were appropriate to the occasion of going to a public school, but which they had not hitherto produced, from a suspicion that pea-shooting would scarcely be the consistent with their character as men of fashion. Now the tin weapons came out, and the young gentlemen began to bombard each other from the farther corners of the carriage. Several of the shots came close to the gentleman in the other corner, who continued to read without taking any notice, till a pea struck the back of his book. Even then he only moved it without remonstrating, and did not show himself aware of the grins and sniggers of the trio; but when one or two shots rattled against his hat, he closed the book, and looked at them in a way that somehow had the effect of deterring them from further hostilities. 
"Don't you see you nearly hit the gentleman on the nose?" said Robbin with an affectation of rebuke, winking at the same time to his companions; and addressing the clergyman in a confidential tone, "Boys will be boys," he said, as if apologising for them.
But this gentleman understood very well that he was being "chaffed," and answered rather sharply, 
"Boys needn't be bears, though." 
"We were young ourselves once," Robbin went on unabashed, for he was not going to let himself be humiliated this time by the stranger. "Perhaps you have not had much to do with boys, sir?" 
"I know a good many boys," said he, very deliberately, bringing that formidable, straightforward look of his into action with great effect. "But the boys I have to do with are mainly gentlemen, and know how to behave themselves." 
This was what Robbin would have termed a "settler" for him. He withdrew from the contest, only mumbling something which was not very polite. Watkin opened his mouth wider than ever. Bobbin tried a scornful laugh, but it was not a success. The stranger again had the best of it. 
Then ensued fresh silence and unpleasantness. The stranger kept his book closed, and sat under arms, as it were, in readiness for defence against any further molestation. The pea-shooters were not again called into play, however; these impudent boys had not the courage to assail him when he was looking at them, they contented themselves with furtive nods, glances, and signs of derision. Everybody felt relieved when the train began to draw up, and the clergyman collected his things, as if about to take this opportunity of seeking a seat in another carriage. 
They were now approaching Severnford Junction, where all trains wait some time for refreshment; but first they stopped at a little outside platform, where the tickets were examined. And here Watkin took heart to be funny again. When the collector came round he feigned to have lost his ticket, and asked what he should do, with an affectation of stupidity which came tolerably natural to him. 
"Come, be quick, please, sir," cried the official impatiently. "Train's late already."
"Dear me! what can I have done with it?" exclaimed Watkin, fumbling in all his pockets, while his friends made a great pretence of routing about under the seats. "Look here, Mr. Ticketman, or whatever you call yourself, would you just ran back to the last station, and ask if I didn't have it on the top of one of the telegraph poles, or in the --" 
"I'm not going to stop here all day talking nonsense," snapped the collector. "You please hand me that ticket." 
"Give it him," said the unknown, suddenly interposing. "I saw you put it under the cushion." And he spoke with such authority, that Watkin was taken aback, and at once gave up his ticket like a lamb. The man swallowed down his anger, and hurried on, slamming the door after him. Then Bobbin took up the cudgel for his friend, and when Bobbin meant to be rude, there was no mistake about it. 
"What business was it of yours?" he said insolently. And the gentleman replied, without showing any resentment or surprise, further than a slight raising of his eyebrows, -- 
"It is traveller's business to see that no delay or annoyance to the railway official is caused unnecessarily." 
"They're paid for it," growled Bobbin.  
"They are paid for doing their duty, not for being insulted by rude or silly people. Some persons, unfortunately, know no better; but a gentleman should always be courteous, and especially so to those who are serving him, or employed in some responsible post. Come now," he went on in a conciliatory tone, "I know that boys are apt to be full of fun and thoughtless, without meaning much harm; but it isn't fair, is it, to worry these poor fellows, and perhaps get them into trouble? They have hard times enough of it already, I think; and we shouldn't like to be treated so if we were in their place." 
There was no response to this appeal, till Robbin took heart and said, --
"When we want you to teach us how to be gentlemen, sir, we'll ask you." 
But still the stranger seemed determined to keep his temper, and to leave this den of lions on as friendly terms as possible with its inmates. 
"Well, you know, I am a little older than you, and was at school perhaps before you were born; so I ought to be able to give you a hint or two, oughtn't I?" 
"We belong to a much better school than ever you were at," said Robbin, taking brevet rank to himself as a Bearbury boy. 
"Then you must be at a very good school," replied the imperturbable parson. "But you need never be ashamed of taking a little advice from an old man, who, for want of taking advice, has done some things when he was young that he is sorry for now. And when you grow a little older I hope you will see that there was some sense in my advice, though perhaps it does not recommend itself to your present wisdom." 
After this he left the carriage without another word, perhaps reflecting that courtesy and reason are pearls not to be cast before a certain description of animals. 
"Who is he?" called Watkin, loud enough for their late companion to hear, before he walked away. 
"How do I know?" Some country parson, I suppose," rejoined Bobbin, in the same tone; and Robbin put his head out of the window, and shouted out after the clergyman, -- 
"Good-bye, sir! Glad to have made your acquaintance, and hope we shall see you again soon." 
The three young gentlemen, chuckling over this final volley of wit and the retreat of their adversary, now got out to stretch their legs, and finding that there was some time to wait, voted that it was necessary to refresh their exhausted energy, by a glass of beer, after partaking of which they returned to their places again. 
Their spirits were unusually elevated by the beer, and they began to be ambitious of fresh adventures. The ticket-collector whom they had already had to do with, was standing on the platform speaking to the station-master, a fat, pompous, red-faced man. They were looking at our three unruly passengers, and apparently talking about them. Watkin made a face at the station-master, whereupon this officer shrugged his shoulders with a look of disgust, turned away, and waddled off a few paces. Mean-while Robbin was entertaining himself at the expense of the newsboy, who now came along, shouting out, --
"London papers! To-day's papers! Times! Telegraph! Standard! Daily News!" 
"Here!" cried Robbin, summoning him back. 
"Have you got the Times of the Thursday before last?" 
"I don't know, sir, but I'll ask at the stall," said the boy. He was new to the business.
"Never mind. The Telegraph of the day after to-morrow will do just as well," continued the witty youth, and Watkin leant out of the carriage and asked to see what papers there were.
"Give me the Telegraph, Punch, and the Illustrated London News," he said, snatching at the papers handed up to him just as the train began to start, but not paying for them. 
The train moved off, the newsboy ran along the side of the carriage, crying out for his money. Watkin pretended to feel for it in his pocket, and assured the boy he would pay the next time he saw him, while Bobbin, having prepared his pea-shooting artillery, brought it to bear on the unsuspicious ticket-collector, and discharged a volley full in his face as he was passing along the platform. Robbin sent a shot at their clerical friend, who was also standing by, but could not be sure whether it hit the mark or not.
Then the three young gentlemen threw themselves back on their seats and screamed with laughter, under the full persuasion that they had played very clever tricks, and were being safely carried off from the indignation of their victims. 
"Oh, wasn't it fun!" 
"I declare I hit him on the nose!" 
"Did you see how angry he was!" 
"What an awful lark!" exclaimed all three in chorus, and burst out in fresh roars of laughter, which, however, were stopped as the train began to stop. 
What was this? They were not only stopping, but moving slowly back. Instead of making a fair start, the engine had only been engaged in shunting a carriage, and people who wanted to play tricks and run away should have waited a little longer. 
Our tricksters were sobered all at once, and in dismay found themselves rolling back into the station, where, before they had time to think over this predicament, the carriage came to a stand at the platform, and the station-master, the ticket-collector, and the newsboy were waiting to receive them, full of anger and abuse. 
Now came a scene. The newsboy accused them of robbery, the ticket-collector vowed he would take out a summons for assault, the fat station-master stormed and scolded; and the impudent youths, fairly caught, had not a word to say for themselves, but hung their heads and looked confused, frightened, and sheepish. Several of the passengers assembled to see what was going on; there was soon quite a crowd gaping and grinning round them, and among the rest their late fellow-passenger, who stood with his grey eye fixed steadily upon these disagreeable eompanions of his, no doubt inwardly exulting over their misfortune. So at least thought the luckless three, in no mood now to stare at him. 
"Do you think this conduct is to be allowed?" raged the station-master, who did not forget the impertinence offered him in his own domains. "Are respectable people to be insulted? Are my officials to be obstructed in the execution of their duty? Is the public to be delayed by young - young -- young fellows like you? I must have your names and addresses this moment!" he cried, swelling and choking with indignation. "Come out of that carriage at once! Fetch a policeman, some one!" 
Thoroughly cowed by the unexpected turn this adventure had taken, Robbin, Bobbin, and Watkin did not dare to refuse, but slunk out of the carriage, and stood looking very unhappy. The station-master and the ticket-collector insisted on having their names, and they were terribly afraid that they were about to be handed over to the police. If their names came before the public in connection with such an affair, they might not be considered worthy of admission to Bearbury College; so thought Robbin, who had a little more sense than the others. But what were they to do? Luckily a good-natured man, who was in fact a commercial traveller, and much experienced in the ways of the railway world, as well as in a hurry to be off, now came to their aid, suggesting a way of getting out of the embarrasement. He advised Robbin to try the ticket-collector with the offer of a little pecuniary compensation for the insult and injury done him. 
Robbin eagerly caught at the notion, and in his confusion gave the man two sovereigns, which he did not refuse to accept, but after a little more grumbling, withdrew from the charge so far as he was concerned, and perhaps thought he had made rather a good bargain. Watkin presented the newsboy with five shillings, and this urchin also got the pea-shooters, which were confiscated. 
As the train was late, everybody was glad to have the matter settled so; the station-master allowed his wrath to subside, ordering the guard to keep an eye on the three young gentlemen during the rest of the journey; and they, in great humiliation, got into the carriage again, and the train started off in earnest this time. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
independ'ence con'sequence regula'tion
probabil'ity humilia'tion recogni'tion
compart'ment compan'ionship pri'vacy
insist'ency delibera'tion distrac'tion
sociabil'ity affecta'tion molesta'tion
refresh'ment stupid'ity author'ity
annoy'ance descrip'tion ad'versary
persua'sion predic'ament imper'tinence
execu'tion embar'rassment compensa'tion
mis'erable sumpt'uous for'midable
con'trary consid'erable compar'ative
inquis'itive consist'ent confiden'tial
im'pudent concil'liatory impertur'bable 
pomp'ous unsuspi'cious pecun'iary
com'promise remon'strate interchange'
spec'ulate abstain' apol'ogise
recommend' obstruct' con'fiscate
appro'priately sin'gularly mean'ingly
 
to take note of to take an in'terest in
to take an opportu'nity to take heart
out of hu'mour to kill time 

TRANSLATION EXERCISE.
1. Doiu wake desu ka; watakushi no chichi wa kesa kigen ga itsumo no tori de arimasen deshita. 
2. Watakushidomo no kocho wa gakusei no koto ni wa nanigoto demo chumoku nasaimasu. 
3. Nihongoku no hattatsu ni wa kokoro wo yosete iru gaikokujin ga zuibun arimasu. 

III. 
It may be supposed that our heroes were somewhat subdued in spirits all the rest of the way. At all events they were heartily glad when the train reached Bearbury, the platform of which station was crowded with the college boys, among whom, to their great satisfaction, they soon recognised Tom Davies, waiting for them according to his promise. 
Tom received them with effusion. He proposed that their luggage should be left at the station, and that they should walk up with him, to be introduced to the place under his auspices. The luggage was attended to, the dog was also disposed of for the meanwhile, and the party set out from the station arm in arm, with ever so much to say to each other. 
The weather had cleared up by this time, and the three new-comers soon began to recover from the depressing effects of their discomfiture, and hurried on, as eager to see as Tom was to show all the celebrated localities and institutions of which they had heard so much. They held their heads high in the little streets of the town, as became members of the institution for which and by which it existed. What would Bearbury be without the college? Such was the burden of Tom's remarks upon that less important part of it which was inhabited by grown-up men and women. 
College boys swarmed at every corner, and lounged about the shops, touching their hats as every now and then a master came by. One tradesman's window was filled with the college school-books, another with college caps, another with football uniforms of the college colours, and so on. From the two hotels in the High Street issued well-to-do looking gentlemen, who walked about the place as if they had known it of old, and had little college boys under their wings, for whom they were acting as guides to the scenes of their own early triumphs. 
But our young friends could not have had a better guide than Tom, who entered into the task with the greatest pleasure, delighted to find his friends admit that his descriptions had fallen short of the reality. He showed them the football field, and dwelt on the important matches that were to be played this season, then the bonfire mound hard by, where the college boys and the cads had such an "awful row" last Fifth of November. He showed them the "shrubbery," where only the big fellows were allowed to take their pleasure; and told stirring tales of the audacity of small boys, who, of course, must needs trespass in this scrubby paradise, desirable in little else than that it was forbidden. He showed them the boat-house, and the bathing-place for the big fellows, and another for the juniors, and another for those who could not swim, and still another which was only used by the "cads". (To listen to Tom you might suppose that the whole human race was divided into two species -- Bearbury boys and "cads" -- of which latter race he spoke habitually with the utmost contempt; and his friends agreed with him that they were fit for nothing but to be ordered about and made fun of.) Then he took them to the gymnasium; to the "Pavilion", which served the turn of a club-house for cricketers; to the building where was kept a fire-engine, worked by a volunteer company of college boys; and to the old oak, the largest in the county, which was supposed to be as ancient as the school. 
These sights filled Tom's companions with the greatest admiration and expectancy; but when they entered the college walls, they could not but pause and give way to a feeling which, in more gracious natures, would have amounted to reverence. You would not see such another sight in a long day's march. The smooth lawn, with the racket-courts and library on one side, and the magnificent chapel, dear to architects and antiquarians, on the other; the high terraces descending towards the cricket-ground; the old-fashioned bowling-green, and its hedges of formal yews clipped here into the shape of a bird, and there of a tower; the sombre cloisters, relieved by the Master's house, with its trimly-kept garden; the time-worn irregular pile of school-rooms, in which the names of celebrated men were carved centuries ago; the double row of tall elms, at the end of which a quaint gateway opened upon a quadrangle, surrounded by more modern buildings -- all went to make up a picture such as Robbin, Bobbin, and Watkin had never thought to see in their lives. At first they felt constrained to tread gingerly on the gravelled walks; but when they perceived how much Tom Davies seemed to be at home, they took courage to feel that they, too, had now got into educational clover, and wondered they had never thought of coming to Bearbury before. And, as yet, they saw no boys bigger than themselves, to impress them wholesomely with a sense of their want of importance in such a scene. The upper school did not come back till next day. 
Tom would have been well enough pleased that they should take their fill of admiration, but he was more impatient to exhibit himself in the character of a host. So he led the way forthwith to his study -- a small den, where the principal articles of furniture were a coal-box and a shaky table, the walls being highly ornamented with engravings of dogs and horses, as also with amateur pen-and-pencil sketches, and one side almost entirely taken up by a trophy of foils, fishing-rods, and sticks, which its owner had just been arranging effectively. There were, moreover, a very ragged carpet, and only two chairs; but then, as the owner pointed out with great complacency, one visitor could sit on the coal-box and one on the window-sill. Apologising for the appearance of his apartment, which he said was not yet set to rights, though it looked as if it was accustomed to be in much the same state at the best of times, Tom produced refreshments: to wit, bottled beer, a ham, a cake, a box of sardines, and other such delicacies; and when he had borrowed sufficient glass and crockery from a neighbouring establishment, devoted himself, with due pride, to entertaining his friends. They ate and drank, and were delighted, no longer remembering the afflictions they had undergone on the way to Bearbury. 
When the banquet was ended, they began to think of seeing the Doctor. Now that this dignitary was close at hand, they observed Tom to speak of him with much less familiarity, and to dwell more on the severer features of his character, so that the new boys could not but feel a little nervous about the approaching interview. Tom gave them some hints as to how they should comport themselves in the magisterial presence, and surveyed their appearance with a doubtful eye. 
Thus prepared, they set out to seek the Doctor. And first Tom led them through part of the buildings, and showed them, among other things, some studies, which, he said, would probably fall to the new boys. These new boys looked at them with the greatest interest, and settled in their own minds which they would prefer if a choice were given them. Then they came downstairs into a paved court, surrounded by blocks of dormitories with barred windows, where there was a little fountain in the centre, that had long ago been stopped up by mischievous scholars of a former generation. 
Here they found quite a crowd of boys, who had a great deal to say to each other about the occurrences of the holidays, and, on Tom's introduction of his friends, looked them all over from top to toe, and said nothing to them, good or bad, for the present. Robbin, Bobbin, and Watkin, finding themselves neglected, yet did their best, like the other neophytes, to hold up their heads and seem at ease in this select juvenile society; but the fact was that they now knew what it is to feel small, and, for the first time, their eagerness to become Bearbury boys was damped by a suspicion that Bearbury might not be so well pleased with them as they were with Bearbury. The matter would soon be settled now, for the hour approached at which the Doctor was expected to give audience to new boys. 
"Here he is!" was the whisper. There was a sudden stir among the groups of boys, who gave way, touching their hats; and the great man, in all the dignity of cap and gown, swept by, with every eye fixed upon him, as he returned the salutations of his respectful subjects.  
But why did the three young gentlemen from Wychester start, exclaim, and turn towards each other with bewildered and troubled looks? Why did they gaze, for a moment, as if spell-bound, upon that robed figure, then hastily slink back behind the crowd! Why did Watkin open his mouth, and Bobbin open his eyes, and Robbin utter an ejaculation which is better forgotten than remembered? Confusion! horror! and despair! As the reader may have already guessed, the celebrated Dr. Charles, the powerful Head-Master of Bearbury, the extraordinary and superior being who had disdained to be Bishop of Wychester, was no other than the parson who had been their fellow-traveller, and to whom they had thought it proper to behave with such churlishness and insolence. 
He passed hastily by without noticing his late acquaintances, and disappeared up the steps of the library. Then Tom Davies, who did not observe his friends' confusion, ran after him, explaining, "I think he is going to examine the new boys now. I'll go and see. Wait here, will you?"
But when he came back, to his amazement he could see nothing of them. They felt that they had already been too well examined by Dr. Charles. Dumfounded, and unable to bring themselves to meet the eye of the formidable headmaster, they soon agreed to slip off through a gateway close at hand. After a further consultation they hastened out of the college boundaries, and found their way back to the station. Here they were informed that a train for Wychester was almost due; and, not to make a long story of it, they went straight home, sadder, and perhaps, wiser young gentlemen. What kind of reception they met from their parents the reader may imagine better than I can describe. 
Tom Davies searched everywhere for his friends, and did not know what to make of their disappearance. The next thing heard of them was that, for some reason never clearly explained to him, they had declined the honour of being Bearbury boys. The next thing they heard of him was that he had been recommended to take his name off the lists of the college, as unlikely to do it credit by his conduct, abilities, or industry; from which it appeared that this institution was not such a good place for young idlers after all; so they might say with some truth that they no more cared to be Bearbury boys than the fox did for the sour grapes. And the next thing the world heard of Dr. Charles was that he had been made an archbishop. 
No doubt Robbin, Bobbin, and Watkin, when they saw his name from time to time in the newspapers, thought with some astonishment and compunction of the journey on which they had made his acquaintance. Let us hope the advice he then offered them was not thrown away, and that when they grew older they got more sense. In any case their story is a warning to all bumptious youths never to be rude to strangers, lest they should chance to be insulting an archbishop, a headmaster, or some other great man to whom it might be worth their pains to be civil. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
effu'sion au'spices depres'sion
discom'fiture local'ity audac'ity
par'adise gymna'sium admira'tion
expect'ancy ar'chitect antiqua'rian
rev'erence amateur' tro'phy
del'icacy afflic'tion dig'nitary
familiar'ity feat'ure dor'mitory
occur'rence introduc'tion au'dience
saluta'tion ejacula'tion confu'sion
in'solence consulta'tion compunc'tion
desir'able gra'cious magnif'icent
magiste'rial mis'chievous bump'tious
subdue' tres'pass forbid'
in'terview comport' bewil'der
dumb'found 

ever so much every now and then
to set to rights at the best of times
to make fun of to wit

TRANSLATION EXERCISE.
Kono hand-organ wa doko ka guwai ga warui yodesu. -- Watakushi ga nawoshite agemasho. 


RULES OF BEHAVIOR.
1. Every action in company ought to be with some sign of respect to those present.
2. In presence of others, sing not to yourself with a humming noise, nor drum with your fingers or feet. 
3. Sleep not when others speak; sit, not when others stand; speak not when you should hold your peace; walk not when others stop. 
4. Turn not your back to others, especially in speaking; jog not the table or desk on which another reads or writes; lean not on any one. 
5. Be no flatterer; neither play with any one that delights not to be played with. 
6. Read no letters, books, or papers in company; but when there is a necessity for doing it, you must ask leave. Come not near the books or writings of any one so as to read them, unless desired, nor give your opinion of them unasked; also, look not nigh when another is writing a letter. 
7. When another speaks, be attentive yourself, and disturb not the audience. If any hesitate in his words, help him not, nor prompt him, without being desired; interrupt him not, nor answer him, till his speech is ended. 
8. Be not curious to know the affairs of others, neither approach to those that speak in private. 
9. Make no show of taking great delight in your victuals; feed not with greediness; lean not on the table; neither find fault with what you eat.
10. Let your discourse with men of business be short and comprehensive.
11. In visiting the sick, do not presently play the physician, if you be not knowing therein. 
12. Undertake not to teach your equal in the art he himself professes; it savors of arrogancy. 
13. Be not immoderate in urging your friend to discover a secret. 
14. If two contend together, take not the part of either unconstrained, and be not obstinate in your own opinion; in things indifferent, be of the major side. 
15. Speak not in an unknown tongue in company, but in your own language, and as those of quality do, and not as the vulgar; sublime matters treat seriously. 
16. In dispute, be not so desirous to overcome as you are to give liberty to each one to deliver his opinion; and submit to the judgment of the major part, especially if they are judges of the dispute. 
17. Be not angry at table, whatever happens; and if you have reason to be so, show it not. Put on a cheerful countenance, especially if there be strangers, for good humor makes one dish of meat a fcast. 
18. When you meet with one of greater quality than yourself, stop and retire, especially if it be at a door or any strait place, to give way to him to pass. 
19. They that are in dignity, or in office, have in all places precedency; but, while they are young, they ought to respect those who are their equals in birth, or other qualities, though they have no public charge. 
20. It is good manners to prefer them to whom we are to speak before ourselves, especially if they be above us, with whom in no sort we ought to begin. 
21. In writing or speaking, give to every person his due title, according to his degree and the custom of the place. 
22. Strive not with your superiors in argument, but always submit your judgment to others with modesty. 
23. Be not forward, but friendly and courteous; the first to salute, hear, and answer; and be not pensive when it is time to converse. 
24. When your superiors talk to anybody, hearken not, neither speak, nor laugh. 
25. When you speak of God or his attributes, let it be seriously, in reverence. Honor and obey your natural parents, although they be poor. 
26. In your apparel, be modest, and endeavor to accommodate nature, rather than to procure admiration; keep to the fashion of your equals, such as are civil and orderly with respect to times and places. 
27. Play not the peacock, looking everywhere about you to see if you be well decked, if your shoes fit well, if your stockings set neatly, and clothes handsomely.  
28. Think before you speak; pronounce not imperfectly, nor bring out your words too hastily, but orderly and distinctly. 
29. Undertake not what you can not perform, but be careful to keep your promise.
30. When you deliver a matter, do it without passion, and with discretion, however mean the person may be you do it to. 
31. Be not tedious in discourse; make not many digressions, nor repeat often the same manner of discourse. 
32. Use no reproachful language against any one, neither curse, nor revile. 
33. Let your countenance be pleasant, but in serious matters somewhat grave.  
34. Being to advise or reprehend any one, consider whether it ought to be in public or private, presently or at some other time, and in what terms to do it; and, in reproving, show no signs of choler, but do it with sweetness and mildness. 
35. Mock not nor jest at anything of importance; break no jests that are sharp-biting; and if you deliver anything witty and pleasant, abstain from laughing thereat yourself. 
36. Associate yourselves with men of good quality, if you esteem your own reputation; for it is better to be alone than in bad company. 
37. Utter not base and frivolous things among grave and learned men; not very difficult questions or subjects among the ignorant; nor things hard to be believed.
38. Speak not of doleful things in time of mirth, nor at the table; speak not of melancholy things, as death and wounds; and if others mention them, change, if you can, the discourse. Tell not your dreams but to your intimate friends.  
39. Break not a jest where none takes pleasure in mirth; laugh not aloud, nor at all without occasion. Deride no man's misfortune, though there seems to be some cause. 
40. Go not thither where you know not whether you shall be welcome or not. Give not advice without being asked; and when desired, do it briefly.  
41. Treat with men at fit times about business, and whisper not in the company of others.  
42. Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the disparagement of any. 
43. Speak not injurious words, neither in jest nor earnest; scoff at none, although they give occasion. 
44. Detract not from others, neither be excessive in commending. 
45. Be not apt to relate news, if you know not the truth thereof. In discoursing of things you have heard, name not your author always. A secret discover not. 
46. Show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another, though he were your enemy.
47. When a man does all he can, though it succeeds not well, blame not him that did it.
48. Let your conversation be without malice or envy, for it is a sign of tractable and commendable nature; and, in all causes of passion, admit reason to govern. 
49. Gaze not on the marks or blemishes of others, and ask not how they came. What you speak in secret to your friend, deliver not before others. 
George Washington. 

WORDS AND PHRASES. 
flat'terer vict'ual ar'rogancy 
preced'ency(-ced-) at'tribute discre'tion 
digres'sion dispara'gement ob'stinate
comprehen'sive immod'erate friv'olous
dole'ful mel'ancholy interrupt'
discourse' unconstrain' accom'modate
revile' espe'cially(-pe-)

to take the part of to break a jest
in a sort in no sort

CHARACTER. 
Character is a very different thing from reputation, though often the two are confounded. Reputation is what a man is thought of to be; character is what a man is. The one is opinion; the other is a fact. Circumstances and associations, or even artful management, may give one for a time a fictitious reputation; but his character is himself, and that at last makes his reputation. A man may be honestly indifferent to reputation; but he can not be honestly indifferent to character. 
If you would have a good character you must be good. If you are bad, no matter what others think of you, your character is bad; you cannot escape from your character. A man may run away from a bad reputation, for that is something outside of himself; he can never run away from a bad character, for that is himself. 
A man's reputation is like his shadow, which, according as the sun is high or low, may be longer or shorter than himself, or may even disappear altogether, as when the sun is at the zenith; but his character is like the color of his eyes, look which way he will, that is the same. If your character is evil it can be repaired only by your moral renewal. 
Character is not inherited but formed. You are born with a nature which has certain susceptibilities and tendencies, but no character. Character is chiefly the result of your own choices and volitions; you make your own character. You did not choose the lot in which you were born; that was chosen for you. You did not create your temperament; that you inherited from your parents. But what you become is mainly the product of your own will. 
A brute, not being moral, can have no character; it eats and sleeps and breeds and dies, and so completes the little circle of its life. But man is capable of moral character, and this character he creates by the exercise of his moral powers in the various situations and experiences of his life. 
There are many people in the world who have much fault to find with circumstances. They excuse failures and even vices by reference to their unfortunate or evil circumstances. "I am a victim of circumstances," is their confession and plea; but often the confession is insincere, and the plea is cowardly. It is a man's business to be the victor and not the victim of circumstances, as far as his personal character is concerned. 
There are no circumstances in which you cannot be true and honest. If your lot is one of poverty, you may make your very poverty a spur to such diligence and thrift as by-and-by will win the golden key to honest wealth. If you are pressed by adversity, remember that noble character is no hot-house flower which must be sheltered and kept in perpetual warmth, but a hardy plant which defies the frost and the tempest. The very storms of adversity will give you firmness of fibre and deep-rooted strength.
You may have many trials, but if you so choose, these trials will be but hammers in the forge of life to smite you into finer shape and temper. "Sweet are the uses of adversity," said Shakespeare; priceless are the uses of difficulty and conflict. 
P. S. Moxom.

ONE THING AT A TIME. 
Mr. Gladstone's daughter, Mrs. Drew, is reported as saying that the earliest sentence from her father's lips when a boy which attracted the attention of his family and was remembered, was spoken when he was interrupted at his lessons by a nurse who brought him a dose of medicine. "Take it away," said the boy. "How can I do two things at once?" 
Mr. Gladstone has done many things in the course of his long and laborious life; so many things and such different things that he has astonished his generation, accustomed as it has become to the fruitfulness and activity of old men; but his success has been due to the fact that, although he has done many things, he has done them one at a time. 

If a single word were to be taken to characterize Mr. Gladstone's temper not only as a thinker but as a worker, it would probably be intensity. His interest covers a great variety of subjects, but he deals with one subjeet at a time, and the secret of his ability to handle with such power so many widely dissevered themes has lain in the fact that, through all the diversity of his work, he has preserved intact his power of concentration. 
No man can do two things at the same time and do them well. Nothing is well done, in the higher sense, which is not done with a man's whole soul. The dexterity which enables a man to do two different things with his hands at the same time is purely mechanical; there is and can be no soul in it. What a man does with his soul he does with intensity and concentration -- every power within him focused on a single point, every energy flowing in a single current. 
This power of concentration and intensity of work were the strong qualities of the great leaders of the medieval world. Conditions made these qualities much more easy to develop and to preserve than to-day. 
The danger of modern life, with its immense diversity of interests and its almost limitless range of activities, lies in the temptation to diffuse one's power instead of concentrating it, and to touch work and themes lightly and gracefully rather than with intensity and spiritual energy. 
Clever things are done by clever people who never go below the surface, and who possess the power of sustained work only in rudimentary degree, but great things are done by those alone who pour their whole souls into what they are doing at the moment, and who allow nothing to interrupt or divert them. 

WORDS AND PHRASES.
susceptib'ility tend'ency voli'tion
tem'perament genera'tion inten'sity
dexter'ity diver'sity concentra'tion
ficti'tious insincere' labo'rious
mechan'ical medie'val rudiment'ary
char'acterize dissev'er fo'cus 

TRANSLA TION EXERCISE.
1. Hito ga shimbun wo mite iru toki ni issho ni sore wo yomoto suruna. 
2. Gaikokujin ga kaimono wo shiteiru toki ni mezurashiso ni mite iruna. 
3. Nanigoto mo seishin wo komete yare. 

POEMS.
FATHER IS COMING.
1. 
The clock is on the stroke of six, 
The father's work is done; 
Sweep up the hearth and mend the fire 
And put the kettle on! 
The wild night wind is blowing cold; 
'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold. 

2. 
He's coming o'er the wold apace, 
He's stronger than the storm; 
He does not feel the cold -- not he, 
His heart it is too warm! 
For father's heart is stout and true 
As ever human bosom knew. 

3. 
He makes all toil, all hardship light; 
Would all men were the same! 
So ready to be pleased, so kind, 
So very slow to blame! 
Folks need not be unkind, austere, 
For love hath readier will than fear. 

4. 
Nay, do not close the shutters, child, 
For far along the lane 
The little window looks, and he 
Can see in shining plain. 
I've heard him say he loves to mark 
The cheerful twilight through the dark. 

5. 
I know he's coming by the sign 
That baby's almost wild; 
See how he laughs, and crows, and stares; 
God bless the merry child! 
He's father's self in face and limb, 
And father's heart is strong in him! 

6. 
Hark, hark! I hear his footsteps now; 
He's through the garden gate. 
Run, little Bess, and ope the door, 
And do not let him wait! 
Shout, baby, shout, and clap thy hands! 
For father on the threshold stands. 
Mary Howitt. 

THB BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. 
1.
It was six men of Indostan, 
To learning much inclined, 
Who went to see the elephant, 
(Though all of them were blind), 
That each by observation 
Might satisfy his mind. 

2. 
The first approached the elephant, 
And, happening to fall 
Against his broad and sturdy side, 
At once began to bawl, 
"Why, bless me! but the elephant 
Is very like a wall!" 

3. 
The second, feeling of the tusk, 
Cried, "Ho! what have we here, 
So very round and smooth, and sharp? 
To me 'tis very clear, 
This wonder of an elephant 
Is very like a spear!" 

4. 
The third approached the animal, 
And, happening to take 
The squirming trunk within his hands, 
Thus boldly up he spake: 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant
Is very like a snake!" 

5. 
The fourth reached out his eager hand, 
And felt about the knee: 
"What most this wondrous beast is like, 
Is very plain," quoth he; 
"'Tis clear enough the elephant 
Is very like a tree!" 

6. 
The fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, 
Said: "E'en the blindest man 
Can tell what this resembles most: 
Deny the fact who can? 
This marvel of an elephart 
Is very like a fan!" 

7. 
The sixth no sooner had begun 
About the beast to grope, 
Than, seizing on the swinging tail, 
That fell within his scope, 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant 
Is very like a rope!" 

8. 
And so these men of Indostan 
Disputed loud and long, 
Each in his own opinion 
Exceeding stiff and strong; 
Though each was partly in the right, 
And all were in the wrong. 

HELPS TO READ.
1. 
A certain artist -- I forgot his name -
Had got for making spectacles a fame, 
Or "Helps to read," as, when they first were sold. 
Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold; 
And, for all uses to be had from glass, 
His were allowe'd, by reaclers, to surpass. 

2. 
There came a man into his shop one day: 
"Are you the spectacle-contriver, pray?" 
"Yes, sir," said he: "I can in this affair 
Contrive to please you, if you want a pair." 
"Can you? Pray do, then." So, at first he chose 
To place a youngish pair upon his nose; 
And -- book produced, to see how they would fit -
Asked how he liked 'em. "Like 'em? Not a bit." 

3. 
"Then, sir, I fancy -- if you please to try -
These in my hand will better suit your eye." 
"No, but they don't." -- "Well, come, sir, if you please, 
Here is another sort: we'll e'en try these; 
Still somewhat more they magnify the letter: 
Now, sir?" -- "Why now, I'm not a bit the better!" 
"No? here, take these that magnify still more: 
How do they fit?" -- "Like all the rest before." 

4. 
In short, they tried the whole assortment through, 
But all in vain, for none of 'em would do. 
The operator, much surprised to find 
So odd a case, thought, "Sure the man is blind." 
"What sort of eyes can yours be, friend?" said he. 
"Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see." 
"Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball: 
Pray, let me ask you, can you read at all?" 

5. 
"No, you great blockhead! if I could, what need 
Of paying you for any Helps to Read?" 
And so he left the maker in a heat, 
Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.
Dr. Byron. 

ONLY A SOLDIER. 
1. 
Unarmed and unattended walks the Czar 
Through Moscow's busy street one winter's day. 
The crowd uncover as his face they see: 
"God greet the Czar!" they say. 

2. 
Along his path there moved a funeral, 
Gray spectacle of poverty and woe, -- 
A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man 
Slowly across the snow. 
 
3. 
And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind. 
Lay a poor coffin, very rude and bare;  
And he who drew it bent before his load 
With dull and sullen air.  

4. 
The emperor stopped, and beckoned to the man 
"Who is't thou bearest to the grave?" he said. 
"Only a soldier, sire!" the short reply, --
"Only a soldier, dead." 

5. 
"Only a soldier!" musing, said the Czar: 
"Only a Russian, who was poor and brave. 
Move on: I follow. Such an one goes not 
Unhonored to his grave." 

6. 
He bent his head, and silent raised his cap. 
The Czar of all Russias, pacing slow, 
Followed the coffin, as again it went 
Slowly across the snow. 

7. 
The passers of the street, all wondering, 
Looked on that sight, then followed silently; 
Peasant and prince, and artisan and clerk,
All in one company, 

8. 
Still, as they went, the crowd grew ever more, 
Till thousands stood around the friendless grave, 
Led by that princely heart, who, royal, true, 
Honored the poor and brave. 
Agnes Macdonald. 

A LEAP FOR LIFE. 
1. 
Old Ironsides at anchor lay, 
In the harbor of Mahon; 
A dead calm rested on the bay, --
The waves to sleep had gone, --
When little Jack, the captain's son, 
With gallant hardihood, 
Climbed shroud and spar, -- and then upon 
The main-truck rose and stood! 

2.
A shudder ran through every vein, --
All eyes were turned on high! 
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, 
Between the sea and sky! 
No hold had he above, -- below, 
Alone he stood in air! 
At that far hight none dared to go, --
No aid could reach him there. 

3.
We gazed, -- but not a man coulcl speak; 
With horror all aghast, 
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, 
We watched the quivering mast! 
The atmosphere grew thick and hot, 
And of a lurid hue, 
As, riveted unto the spot, 
Stood officers and crew. 

4. 
The father came on deck. He gasped, 
"O God, Thy will be done!" 
Then suddenly a rifle grasped, 
And aimed it at his son! 
"Jump far out, boy, into the wave! 
Jump, or I fire!" he said. 
"That only chance your life can save; 
Jump! jump, boy!" He obeyed. 
He sank, -- he rose, -- he lived, -- he moved, --
He for the ship struck out! 
On board we hailed the lad beloved 
With many a manly shout. 
His father drew, in silent joy, 
Those wet arms round his neck, 
Then folded to his heart the boy, 
And fainted on the deck! 
George P. Morris. 

CASABIANCA. 
1. 
The boy stood on the burning deck, 
Whence all but him had fled: 
The flame that lit the battle's wreck, 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

2. 
Yet beautiful and bright, he stood, 
As born to rule the storm; 
A creature of heroic blood, 
A proud though childlike form. 

3. 
The flames rolled on: he would not go 
Without his father's word: 
That father, faint in death below, 
His voice no longer heard. 

4. 
He called aloud, "Say, father, say 
If yet my task is done?" 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 
Unconscious of his son. 

5. 
"Speak, father!" once again he cried, 
"If I may yet be gone!" 
And but the booming shots replied, 
And fast the flames rolled on. 

6. 
Upon his brow he felt, their breath, 
And in his waving hair; 
And looked from that lone post of death, 
In still yet brave despair. 

7. 
He shouted yet once more aloud, 
"My father! must I stay?" 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud 
The wreathing fires made way. 

8. 
They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, 
They caught the flag on high, 
And streamed above the gallant child, 
Like banners in the sky. 

9. 
Then came a burst of thunder sound! 
The boy, -- O, where was he? 
Ask of the winds that far around 
With fragments strewed the sea, --

10. 
With mast and helm and pennon fair 
That well had borne their part; 
But the noblest thing that perished there 
Was that young faithful heart. 
Mrs. Hemans. 


I 
PRESS ON. 
1. 
Press on there's no such word as fail! 
Press nobly on!  the bo'oal is near,--
Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!
Look upward, Onward,--never fear! 
Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above, 
Though storms <and vapor intervene; 
That Sun shine on, whose name is Love, 
Serenely o'er Life's shadowed scene. 

2. 
Press on! surmount the rocky steeps, 
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch: 
He fails alone who feebly creeps; 
He wins, who dares the hero's march. 
Be thou a hero! let thy might 
Tramp on eternal snows its way, 
And, through the ebon walls of night, 
Hew down a passage unto day. 

3. 
Press on! if once and twice thy feet
Slip back and stumble, harder try; 
From him who never dreads to meet
Danger and death, they're sure to fly. 
To coward ranks the bullet speeds; 
While on their breasts who never quail, 
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds, 
Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

4. 
Press on! if Fortune play thee false 
To-day, to-morrow she will be true; 
Whom now she sinks she now exalts,
Taking old gifts and granting new.
The wisdom of the present hour
Makes up her follies past and gone: 
To weakness strength succeeds, and power
From frailty springs;--press on! press on! 

5. 
Press on! what though upon the ground 
Thy love has been poured out like rain? 
That happiness is always found
The sweetest which is born of pain.
Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms,
A bird sings from some blighted tree,
And, in the dreariest desert, blooms
A never-dying rose for thee. 

6. 
Therefore, press on! and reach the goal,
And gain the prize, and wear the crown: 
Faint not! for, to the steadfast soul,
Come wealth, and hohor, and renown.
To thine own self be true, and keep
Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil; 
Press on! and thou, shalt surely reap
A heavenly harvest for thy toil. 
Park Benjamin
(THE END)