Not from the grand old masters,

Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume

The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

NOTES

1. Name some "grand old masters"; some "bards sublime.”

2. Read "The Children's Hour," "The Children,” and “Footsteps of Angels," and other poems you like. What is your favorite Longfellow poem?

3. Be prepared to explain the meanings of the following words and expressions: wafted, akin, banish, corridors of time, martial music, gushed, devoid, melodies, restless pulse of care, benediction, treasured, infest.

EXERCISES

1. How is a feather "wafted" from a flying eagle?

2. How do lights look through rain and mist?

3. What mood fills the poet's soul at this time?

4. Why is he careful to tell us that his feeling “is not akin to pain"?

5. In what way does mist resemble rain?

6. Explain "resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles rain."

7. Why does the author now ask that a poem be read to him?

8. Why not have a poem from "the grand old masters"?

9. Explain "distant footsteps echo through the corridors of time."

10. What do the poems of the masters suggest?

11. How do showers come from the clouds of summer?

12. Then what kind of song does the poet now long to hear?

13. Why does he want the poem read aloud?

14. What is Longfellow's ideal of the work of the real nature poet?

ADDITIONAL READINGS

MRS. BROWNING: The Sleep, The Little Cares that Fretted Me.

POE: A Dream Within a Dream.

LONGFELLOW: A Psalm of Life.

COOLIDGE: Every Day is a New Beginning.

CARLYLE: To-day.

LONGFELLOW: The Rainy Day.

TENNYSON: Tears, Idle Tears.

HANS ANDERSEN: The Bell.

THE HIGH COURT OF INQUIRY

THE

HE story of how boys settle their own troubles is always more fascinating than the story of how older people settle disputes for them. Every boy in school must sooner or later win his own way. If he plays unfairly, talks boastfully, or is otherwise dishonest, he is likely soon to lose the good-will of his schoolmates. In the following incident, taken from Holland's exquisite boys' story, Arthur Bonnicastle, the hero of the story is a lad given to boasting and misrepresenting to such a degree that his associates can bear it no longer. They organize a high court of inquiry, arrest the culprit, bring him to trial, examine him rigidly, and are ready to report him to the master for correction and confession when the master appears. The master explains the true nature of the case, gives kindly counsel, and causes young Bonnicastle to resolve to prove worthy of the friendship of his fellows.

THE HIGH COURT OF INQUIRY

It must have been three weeks or a month after I entered the school that, on a rainy holiday, I was met by two boys who ordered me peremptorily to

"halt." Both had staves in their hands, taller than themselves, and one of them addressed me with the words: "Arthur Bonnicastle, you are arrested in the name of the High Court of Inquiry, and ordered to appear before that august tribunal, to answer for your sins and misdemeanors. Right about face!"

The movement had so much the air of mystery and romance that I was about equally pleased and scared. Marching between the two officials, I was led directly to my own room, which I was surprised to find quite full of boys, all of whom were grave

and silent.

"We have secured the offender," said one of my captors, "and now have the satisfaction of presenting him before this honorable society."

"The prisoner will stand in the middle of the room and look at me," said the presiding officer, in a tone of dignified severity.

I was accordingly marched into the middle of the room and left alone, where I stood with folded arms, as became the grand occasion.

"Arthur Bonnicastle," said the officer before mentioned, "you are brought before the High Court of Inquiry on a charge of telling so many lies that no dependence whatever can be placed upon your words. What have you to reply to this charge? Are you guilty or not guilty?"

"I am not guilty. Who says I am?" I exclaimed indignantly.

"Henry Hulm, advance!" said the officer.

Henry rose, and walking by me, took a position near the officer at the head of the room.

"Henry Hulm, you will look upon the prisoner and tell the Court whether you know him."

"I know him well. He is my chum," replied Henry.

"What is his character?"

"He is bright and very amiable."

"Do you consider him a boy of truth and veracity?” "I do not."

"Has he deceived you?" inquired the officer. "If he has, please to state the occasion and circumstances."

"No, Your Honor. He has never deceived me. I always know whether he is speaking the truth or not.'

"Have you ever told him of his crimes, and warned him to desist from them?”

"I have," replied Henry, "many times.'
"Has he shown any disposition to mend?”
"None at all, Your Honor."

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“What is the character of his falsehood?"

"He tells," replied Henry, "stunning stories about himself. Great things are always happening to him, and he is always performing wonderful deeds."

I now began, with great shame and confusion, to realize that I was exposed to ridicule. The tears came into my eyes and dropped from my cheeks, but I would not yield to the impulse either to cry or to attempt to fly.