Ludwick had been "a true and faithful servant of the public," and say that this made up for all his losses. Christopher Ludwick was not so famous as Washington or Lincoln, but neither of these great men was a nobler patriot than he. Not every boy can be the "Father of his Country," like Washington, or the savior of it, like Lincoln, but every one may, in some way, be a patriot hero, as Ludwick was. Definitions. - Patriot, one who loves his country. Sturdy, forcible. Select the hardest five words in this lesson, to spell. Name three things that a patriot must not do.. Name five of the most distinguished patriots of this country. To be memorized: Be noble! and the nobleness that lies From Irene, by J. R. Lowell. STORIES FROM THE BEST AUTHORS. 17. MEMORIES OF AN ISLAND HOME. Celia Thaxter is one of the most charming of American women writers. Her descriptions of her beloved Appledore, which was her home, have made that island famous. Articulation. fresh excitement; thousand | tender | tints; empty | limpet | shells; crept | about; was sure. Every evening it was a fresh excitement to watch the lighting of the lamps in the tower, and see them swing, rich, red, and golden, in mid air. It was sweet to think how far the light-house sent its rays and how many hearts it gladdened with the assurance of safety. As I grew older I was sometimes allowed to kindle the lamps myself. So little a creature as I might do that for the great world. We waited with an eager longing for the coming of spring; for the growing grass, and the bird, and flower, and insect life; for soft skies and softer winds, and the beauty of the thousand tender tints that then clothe the world. With the first warm days we built our little mountains of wet gravel on the beach, and danced after sandpipers to the edge of the foam, or cried to the crying loons. Or, in the sunshine on the bare rocks, we cut from the brown leaves of the slippery, varnished kelp queer shapes of man and bird and beast, or we made. rude boats from bits of driftwood, manned them with a crew of these kelp figures and set them adrift on the great deep. We played with the empty limpet-shells, that were mottled gray and brown like the sparrow's breast. We launched fleets of purple mussel-shells on the still pools left on the rocks by the tides-pools that were like bits of fallen rainbow with tints of delicate sea-weed, crimson and green and gold. Large, round sea-urchins were fastened here and there on the rocks at the bottom, putting out their green, prickly spikes and transparent tentacles to seek their invisible food. Rosy and lilac star-fish clung to the sides. In some dark nook, perhaps, a sea-cucumber unfolded its perfect ferns, a lovely, warm buff color, delicate as frost work. Little forests of coralline moss grew up in stillness. Gold-colored shells crept about, and now and then flashed the silver-darting fins of slender minnows. In the dimmest corners sea-anemones opened their starry flowers to the flowing tide, or drew themselves together and hung in large half-transparent drops, like clusters of some strange, amber-colored fruit, along the crevices as the water ebbed away. I remember in the spring kneeling on the ground to seek the first blades of grass that pricked through the soil, and bringing them into the house to study and wonder over. Better than a shop-full of toys they were to me. Whence came their color? How did they draw their sweet, refreshing tint from the brown earth or the limpid air? Later, the little scarlet pimpernel charmed me. It seemed more than a flower; it was like a human thing. It was so much wiser than I, for when the sky was yet without a cloud, softly it clasped its little red petals together, folding its golden heart in safety from the shower that was sure to come. How could it know so much, and how could every other flower know what to do and what to be? Why didn't the morning-glory forget, sometimes, and bear a cluster of elderberries? Why did n't the elder hang out pennons of white and purple like the iris? Why did n't the golden-rod sometimes blaze out in red? And why did the sweet, wild primrose wait till after sunrise to unclose its pale-yellow buds? These were the mysteries of my childish thoughts. Pronunciations. - cor al line; a něm o něş; pim'per nel; pět alş; mări gold; trans pâr ent. To be memorized: Planted in the self-same garden bed, Nourished by the self-same rain and light, Gain the gilding for her yellow globes? Where do pansies find amid the mold, Purple hues to prank their velvet robes? How do sweet peas plume their wings with pink, Nature gives them one and all to drink, Limpid crystal, colorless as air. Definitions. Sandpiper, a wading bird of the sea-shore. Loon, a swimming bird. Kelp, a shining brown sea-weed. Limpet, a sea animal whose shell is in one piece. Mussel, a sea animal whose shell is in two pieces. Sea-urchin, a sea animal with a prickly surface, sometimes called the sea-hedgehog. Tentacles, thread-like organs used as feelers. Coralline moss, a water plant of jointed branches. Seaanemone, sea animals sometimes called animal-flowers, because of their resemblance to blossoms. Amber, yellow, like amber. Limpid, colorless, clear. Pimpernel, a flower of the primrose family. Pennons, flags. Mysteries, hidden things. Refulgent, brilliant, shining. Prank, to adorn. Spell: crevices; kneeling; petals; mysteries. Where, in California, may one see sea-anemones? Sea-cucumbers? Sea-urchins? Does the pimpernel grow in California? SOFT TONE DRILL. Hush-a-bye, Lillian, rock to thy rest; Be thy life, little one, evermore blest. Once has the changing moon waned in the skies Once has the crescent moon shone in the west, 18. THE SANDPIPER AND I. Articulation. - scattered | driftwood; bleached | and | dry. Across the lonely beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I, And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; Nor flash of fluttering drapery. He has no thought of any wrong, Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night, To what warm shelter can'st thou fly? Celia Thaxter. 19. A MONTEREY COAST HOME. The following sketch is from a California lady's description of the life of herself and her children at the sea coast. You will find the whole story in the Overland Magazine, Vol. 10, and learn from it much about the plants and creatures of land and sea. Sometimes a hoarse barking out on the bay proclaims the arrival of a herd of sea-lions. If it were not known that these are timid, harmless creatures, one would think that horrid dragons were abroad, as the great black heads are held high out of water, and the hollow cry reaches through the still air, and the huge bodies disturb the water. Sometimes a shoal of porpoises disport themselves in topsy-turvy style. Sometimes it is a whale spouting like an animated fountain. Over the sea, in their own wild element, float the gulls. They seem to live upon the wing, and their long curving flights are beautiful to see. They cross and recross each other's paths, always without collision. They rise on slow pinions until, seen only from beneath, they look snowy white, and then drop till their dark, gray backs look black against the waves. On the bare rocks grow varieties of air-plants. Here are the hen-and-chickens, as the children call it, and |