I have no recollection of ever having been punished at home, either by scolding or by the rod. But at school the case was different. The rod was freely used there, and I was not exempt from its influence. I can see my old school-teacher now, with his long beech switch always in his hand. It was not always the same one, either. Switches were brought in bundles, from a beech wood near the schoolhouse, by the boys for whose benefit they were intended. Often a whole bundle would be used up in a single day. I never had any hard feelings against my teacher, either while attending the school or in later years when reflecting upon my experience. He was a kind-hearted man, and was much respected by the community in which he lived. He only followed the universal custom of the period, and that under which he had received his own education.

The thistles show beyond the brook

Dust on their down and bloom,
And out of many a weed-grown nook
The aster-flowers look

With eyes of tender gloom.

The silent orchard aisles are sweet
With smell of ripening fruit.
Through the sere grass, in shy retreat,
Flutter, at coming feet,

The robins strange and mute.

There is no wind to stir the leaves,
The harsh leaves overhead;
Only the querulous cricket grieves,
And shrilling locust weaves

A song of summer dead.

měl'ǎn ehŏl y, depression of
spirits.

quĕr' û loŭs, fault-finding.
sēre, dry.

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

Around the garden ran a hedge of hazels; beyond this hedge lay fields and meadows, wherein were cows and sheep. In the midst of the garden stood a blooming rose tree; and under this rose tree lived a snail, who had a good deal in his shell — namely, himself.

"Wait till my time comes!" he used to say. "I shall do something more than produce roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the rose tree, the hazel bush, and the cows!"

"I expect a great deal of you," said the rose tree. "But may I ask when your greatness will appear?"

"I take my time," replied the snail. "You're always in such a hurry. You don't rouse people's interest by suspense."

When the next year came, the snail lay almost in the same spot, in the sunshine under the rose tree, which again bore buds that bloomed into roses, until the snow fell. Then the rose tree bowed its head, and the snail crept into the ground.

A new year began, and the roses came out, and the snail came out also.

"You're an old rose tree now!" said the snail. "You must make haste and come to an end, for you have given the world all that was in you; whether it was of any use is a question that I have had no time to consider, but so much is plain, that you have done nothing at all for your own good, or you would have produced something else. In a little time you will be nothing at all but a few dry sticks. Do you understand?"

"You alarm me," replied the rose tree. thought of that at all."

"I never

"No, you have not taken the trouble to think of anything. Have you ever considered why you bloomed, and how it is that your blooming comes about-why it is thus, and not otherwise? Did you ever ask what good your blossoming does ?"

"No," answered the rose tree. "I bloomed because I could not do anything else. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me. I drank the dew and the rain, and I lived, I breathed. Out of the earth I drew a power; from above there came

down to me a strength. I felt a new and everincreasing happiness; I was obliged to bloom over and over again; that was my life. I could not do otherwise."

"You have led a pleasant life!" sneered the snail, turning his head aside.

66

"Certainly. Everything I have was given to me," said the rose tree. But more still was given You are one of those deep, thoughtful characters, one of those highly gifted spirits, who will cause the world to marvel."

to you.

"I've no intention of doing anything of the kind," cried the snail. "The world is nothing to me. What do I care for the world? I have enough in myself."

"But must we not all, here on earth, give to others the best that we have and offer what lies in our power? Certainly I have given only roses. But you - you are so richly gifted - what have you given to the world? what do you intend to give?"

"What have I given — what do I intend to give? Nothing! You give your roses if you like; you can't do anything better. Let the hazel bush bear nuts, and the cows and ewes give milk; they have their owners. I retire within myself, and there I remain; the world is nothing to me."

So saying, the snail withdrew into his house, and closed up the entrance after him.

"I can

"That is very sad!" said the rose tree. not creep into myself, even if I wished I must continue to produce roses. True, they drop their leaves, and these are blown away by the wind. But I saw yesterday that one of my roses was laid in

an old lady's hymn-book, and another of them had a place on the bosom of a fair young girl, and another was kissed by a child. That did me good; it was a real blessing. That's my remembrance my life."

The rose tree continued to bloom in innocence, while the snail idled away his time in his housethe world did not concern him.

Years rolled by.

The snail had become dust in the dust, and the rose tree was earth in the earth. The rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden bloomed fresh rose trees, and under the trees lay new snails; and these still crept into their houses, and scoffed at the world-it did not concern them, they said in their selfishness.

å lärm', disturb; fright.

eon çêrn', be of importance to; care. in' no çençe, harmlessness.

obliged', bound by a favor.
rẻ măm brançe, holding in mind.
snēered, showed contempt.

MARCH.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

The cock is crowing, the stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter, the lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest are at work with the strongest ;

The cattle are grazing, their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one!