ment. Miss Matty was ruined. She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she could not restrain a few tears.

"I am not crying for myself, dear," said she, wiping them away; "I believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how my mother would grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so much more than for herself. But many a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, and, thank God, when the neck of mutton and Martha's wages and the rent are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha! I think she'll be sorry to leave me."

Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had me see only the smile, not the tears.

It's no in titles nor in rank;

It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank,
To purchase peace and rest;

It's no in making muckle, mair:
It's no in books, it's no in lear,
To make us truly blest:
If happiness hae not her seat
An' center in the breast,
We may be wise or rich or great,
But never can be blest.

Nae treasures nor pleasures
Could make us happy lang;
The heart ay's the part ay,

That makes us right or wrang.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

He was born His poems are so

Bryant was the first American poet of note. in Massachusetts in 1794 and died in 1878. full of loving thought about fields and woods that he is often called the "Poet of Nature." Read "Thanatopsis," his famous poem written when he was only eighteen.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere.

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie

dead;

They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs

the jay,

And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood

In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers

Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.

The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November

rain

Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.

The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer

glow;

But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,

Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the

plague on men,

And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.

And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter

home;

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard though all the trees are still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance

late he bore,

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no

more.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief : Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of

ours,

So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.

SOLOMON'S CHOICE

FROM THE BOOK OF KINGS

Read in the Book of Kings about the wisdom and glory of Solomon's reign. Read also the Proverbs of Solomon.

The Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night: and God said, Ask what I shall give thee.

And Solomon said, Thou hast showed unto Thy servant David my father great mercy, according as he walked before Thee in truth and in righteousness and in uprightness of heart with Thee; and Thou hast kept for him this great kindness, that Thou hast given him a son to sit on his throne, as it is this day.

And now, O Lord my God, Thou hast made Thy servant king instead of David my father; and I am but a little child I know not how to go out or come in.

:

And Thy servant is in the midst of Thy people which Thou hast chosen, a great people, that cannot be numbered nor counted for multitude.

Give therefore Thy servant an understanding heart to judge Thy people, that I may discern between good and bad for who is able to judge this Thy so great a people?

And the speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked this thing.

And God said unto him, Because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked for thyself long life; neither hast asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine enemies; but hast asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment ;

Behold, I have done according to thy words: lo, I have given thee a wise and an understanding heart; so that there was none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall any arise like unto thee.

And I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches and honor; so that there shall not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days.

And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep my statutes and my commandments, as thy father David did walk, then I will lengthen thy days.

And Solomon awoke; and, behold, it was a dream.

THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD

BY THEODORE O'HARA

O'Hara was an American soldier and poet. He was born in Kentucky in 1820 and died in 1867. He served in the Mexican War and in the War between the States.

This, his best-known poem, was in memory of his comrades who fell at Buena Vista, in 1847, and who were brought home and buried in the state cemetery of Kentucky. Read an account of the battle of Buena Vista.

The muffled drum's sad roll has beat

The soldier's last tattoo ;

No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and daring few:
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,

And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.