tell them to you, Tom, some day, and a good many more. I know ever so many."

“I like a good story," said Tom, " and I'm sure I'll be very glad to listen to some of yours.

“Oh yes, indeedy! But, Tom, do you know why I've come here? Our family has given up housekeeping. Poor, dear mamma has fallen into very delicate health, and has gone to Europe with papa for a rest. Papa has given up business, and intends, when he returns, to settle in Cincinnati. He has sent all my sisters to the school of the Sacred Heart there, except the oldest and the two youngest, who are staying with my aunt who lives on Broadway. But they've promised to write to me every day. They're going to take turns. Do your sisters write to you regularly, Tom ?

“I haven't any sister," Tom answered, smiling. But there was just a touch of sadness in the smile.

“What! not a single one ?"
Percy's expression was one of astonishment.
6. Not one.
7. Astonishment softened into pity.

“Oh, poor boy!" he cried, clasping his hands in dismay. “How did you manage to get on?

“Oh, I've pulled through. My mamma is dead too," said Tom, still more sadly.

The deep sympathy which came upon Percy's face at this declaration bespoke a tender and sympathetic heart. He said nothing, but clasped Tom's hand and pressed it warmly.

“Well, you are a good fellow !" broke out Tom, putting away his emotion under cover of boisterousness, “and I'm going to make a boy out of you."

“A boy !” Percy repeated.

“Yes, a boy—a real boy."

“Excuse me, Tom; but may I ask what you consider me to be now?"

8. Tom hesitated.
“ You won't mind ?” he said doubtfully.
"Oh, not from you, Tom; you're my friend."

Well," said Tom, haltingly, “ you're—well, you're just a little bit queer, odd-girlish—that's it."

Percy's eyes opened wide with astonishment.

“ You don't say! Oh, dear me! But, Tom, it's so funny that I never heard I was that way before. My mamma and my sisters never told me anything about it.”

"Maybe they didn't know any boys."
“Oh yes, they did, Tom. They knew me."
9. Percy considered this convincing.

“ Yes; but you're not like other boys. They couldn't judge by you."

“ Excuse me!” said Percy, still in great astonishment. " You're not like other boys; not a bit.”

"But I've read a great deal about boys. I've read the Boyhood of Great Painters and Musicians, and about other boys too, but I can't remember them all now. Then I've read Hood's

1

"Oh, when I was a little boy

My days and nights were full of joy.'

Isn't that nice, Tom? I know the whole poem by heart.”

10. It was now Tom's turn to be astonished.

" You don't mean to say," he said in a voice expressive almost of awe, “that you read poetry-books?"

“Oh yes, indeedy!” answered Perey with growing animation ; "and I like Longfellow ever so much-he's a dear poet—don't you ? "

Just then the bell rang for supper. Tom, absorbed in wonder, brought his new friend to the refectory, and, during the meal, could scarcely refrain from smiling, as he noticed with what dainty grace our little Percy took his first meal at St. Maure's.

11. That night Mr. Middleton was quietly reading in the dormitory while the boys were slipping into bed, when a clear, sweet voice broke the stillness.

“Put out the lights, Mr. Prefect ; I'm in bed."

Mr. Middleton arose from his chair, and swept the whole length of the dormitory with his eye. There was a general smile, but no loud laughter. Poor little Percy, dreadfully alarmed at the sound of his own voice breaking upon the silence, shut his eyes tight. Of course, he could scarcely hear the smiles, and so, as everything was quiet, he had no reason to think that his proceedings had been in any wise irregular. And thus very soon the singular child fell asleep, with those sacred names upon his lips which a fond mother, bending nightly over the bedside of her child, had taught him to utter in all confidence, innocence, and love.

Rev. FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. Explain the expressions : “had a way of offering candy which was simply irresistible

(1) ; a smile which spoke volumes of gratitude” (1); “entered a negative” (5) ; “ Astonishment softened into pity” (7); “ putting away his emotion under cover of boisterousness (7); "considered this convincing” (9); "absorbed in wonder” (10); “ broke the stillness” (11).

My God and Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life's rough way,
Oh, teach me from my heart to say,

Thy will be done !
Renew my will from day to day ;
Blend it with Thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,

Thy will be done!

LESSON III.

2. throng; n. a great crowd. 14. eråft' ġ; a. shrewd; cun9. čærl' dóm; n. the dignity of ning. an earl.

16. hěr' it age; n. that which is 13. aught (awt); n. anything.

inherited. 14. brạn ý; a. muscular; ro- | 16. gan say; d. deny. bust; strong.

17. یsques (kasks); n. helmets.

.

The King and the Child.

1. The sunlight shone on the walls of stone

And towers sublime and tall ;
King Alfred sat upon his throne

Within his council hall.

2. And glancing o'er the splendid throng,

With grave and solemn face,
To where his noble vassals stood,

He saw a vacant place.

4. Before the monarch could express

The sorrow that he felt,
A soldier with a war-worn face

Approached the throne and knelt.

5. “My sword," he said, " has ever been,

O King! at thy command,
And many a proud and haughty Dane

Has fallen by my hand.

6. “I've fought beside thee in the field,

And 'neath the greenwood tree;
It is but fair for thee to give

Yon vacant place to me."

7. “ It is not just,” a statesman cried,

“This soldier's prayer to hear ; My wisdom has done more for thee

Than either sword or spear.

8. "The victories of the council hall

Have made thee more renown
Than all the triumphs of the field

Have given to thy crown.

9. “My name is known in every land,

My talents have been thine ;
Bestow this Earldom, then, on me,

For it is justly mine."

10. Yet, while before the monarch's throne

These men contending stood,
A woman crossed the floor who wore

The weeds of widowhood.

11. And slowly to King Alfred's feet

A fair-haired boy she led-
“O King ! this is the rightful heir

Of Holderness,” she said.

12. “ Helpless he comes to claim his own,

Let no man do him wrong,
For he is weak and fatherless,

And thou art just and strong."