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But this I know; I love to play,
A KIND WORD.
HENRY COYLE. HENRY COYLE (1870 ), an American writer of prose and poetry and editor. This elevating and beautiful poem is from one of his books, called “The Promise of Morning.”
A block of marble, white and bare,
A sculptor came of genius grand,
A strip of canvas, black and gray,
Down in a cavern, deep and dark,
A weary heart was in despair,
Within the stone, an angel lay,
But for the sculptor's cunning skill,
Ah! greater far than sculptor's art,
Canvas (kăn'vas): a strong cloth, linen or cotton. Märt: a market. Sculptor (skúlp'těr): one who carves statues and other works of art.
Aim at the highest. — Milton.
Name five of the characters which appear in “The · Field of the Frightful Beasts.”
What caused the little boy to name the place beyond the high stone wall “The Field of the Frightful Beasts”?
Tell something about Mrs. Kavanagh.
How did MacBarry find out his mistake about the “Field”?
What did the young boy do to merit being called “The Little Hero of Haarlem”?
What would you have done if you had discovered the “hole in the wood”?
What is a sluice ?
What did the boy do that pleased the Duke of Wellington ?
Do you like “A Boy's Song" by James Hogg?
“A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches."
THE LITTLE MIDSHIPMAN.
JEAN INGELOW (1820-1897) was born at Boston, Lincolnshire, England; . died at Kensington. Her prose and poetry gave her a high place among the English writers. She is a favorite with young and old.
Who is this? A careless little midshipman, idling about in a great city, with his pockets full of money. He is waiting for the coach. It comes up presently, and he gets on the top of it and begins to look about him.
They soon leave the chimney tops behind them; his eyes wander with delight over the harvest-fields, he smells the honeysuckle in the hedge-row, and he wishes he was down among the hazel bushes, that he might strip them of their milky nuts.
Then he sees a great wagon piled up with barley, and he wishes he was seated on the top of it. Then they go through a little wood, and he likes to watch the checkered shadows of the trees lying across the white road; and then a squirrel runs up a bough, and he cannot forbear to whoop and halloo, though he cannot chase it to its nest.
The passengers go on talking — the little midshipman has told them who he is and where he is going. But there is one man who has never joined in the conversation; he is dark looking and restless; he sits apart; he has heard the rattling of coin in the boy's pocket, and now he watches him more closely than ever.
The lad has told the other passengers that his father's home is the parsonage at Y— ; the coach goes within five
miles of it, and he means to get down at the nearest point, and walk, or rather run, over to his home, through the great wood.
When they arrive at the place where the boy leaves the coach, the man decides to get down, too, and go through the wood. He will rob the little midshipman; perhaps, if he cries out or struggles, he will do worse. The boy, he thinks, has no chance against him; it is quite impossible that he can escape; the way is lonely, and the sun will be down.
It was too light at present for his deed of darkness,
shortly the path will branch off into two, and the right one for the boy to take will be dark and lonely.
But what prompts the little midshipman, when not fifty yards from the branching of the path, to break into a sudden run? It is not fear — he never dreams of danger. Some sudden impulse, or some wild wish for home, makes him dash off suddenly with a whoop and a bound. On he goes, as if running a race; the path bends, and the man loses sight of him. “But I shall have him yet,” he thinks; "he cannot keep this pace up long.”
The boy has nearly reached the place where the path divides, when he starts up a young white owl that can scarcely fly, and it goes whirring along, close to the ground before him. He gains upon it; another moment and it will be his. Now he gets the start again; they come to the branching of the paths, and the bird goes down the wrong one. The temptation to follow is too strong to be resisted.