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THE BOY WHO WOULD NOT BE A SILENT LIAR.

Frank Chase was a boy who had never had much chance to go to school; hence, he was behind the other boys in all his studies except writing. Frank was ready with his pen.

There were prizes given in Frank's school, and he was anxious to merit one of them. As he had no hope of excelling in anything but writing, he made up his mind to try for the writing prize with all his might. He tried so hard, and succeeded so well, that his copy-book would have done honor to a boy twice his age.

When the prizes were awarded, the chairman of the committee held up two copy-books, and said:

"It would be difficult to say which of these two copybooks is the better, were it not for one copy in Frank's which is not only superior to Henry's, but to every other copy in the same book.”

Frank's heart beat high with hope, which was not unmixed with fear. Blushing to his temples, he said: “Please, sir, may I see that copy?"

"Certainly," replied the chairman, looking somewhat

surprised.

Frank glanced at the copy, and then handing back the book, said: "Please, sir, that is not my writing. It was written by an upper class boy, who took my book instead of his own, one day, by mistake.'

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"Oh, ho!" said the chairman, "that may alter the

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The two books went back to the committee, who, after comparing them carefully, awarded the prize to Henry.

Frank was disappointed. The boys laughed at him. Said one very rude boy: "You were a foolish boy to say anything about that mistake!"

"I wouldn't have told!" cried another boy.

"Nor I," added a third boy, laughing. "The copy was in your book, and you had a right to enjoy the benefit

of it. I tell you, it doesn't pay, Frank, to be so good as that."

But in spite of all they said, Frank felt that he was right. "It would not have been the truth," he replied, "if I had not told them who wrote the copy. I would rather never have a prize than get it by claiming the work of some one else."

“Hurrah for Frank!" "Three cheers for Frank!" shouted most of the boys; and Frank went home to his work feeling happier than he could have done if, by means of a silent lie, he had won the prize.

You see that, if Frank had kept quiet, he would have told a silent lie. His silence would have given the committee a wrong impression, and he would have cheated Henry out of the prize. Now that you know what a silent lie is, I hope you will resolve never to be guilty of silent lying. Hold fast to the truth!

Think the thoughts of the wise and speak the language

of the simple.

LULLABY.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

ALFRED TENNYSON (1809-1892) was born at Somersby, in Lincolnshire, England. He is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, poet of modern times.

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

- Cowper.

PEGASUS IN POUND.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807-1882) was born at Portland,
Maine. He wrote both prose and poetry, but he is famous as a poet.
Once into a quiet village,

Without haste and without heed,
In the golden prime of morning,
Strayed the poet's wingèd steed.

It was autumn, and incessant

Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing
From its belfry gaunt and grim;
'Twas the daily call to labor,

Not a triumph meant for him.

Not the less he saw the landscape,
In its gleaming vapor veiled;
Not the less he breathed the odors
That the dying leaves exhaled.

Thus, upon the village common,

By the school-boys he was found;
And the wise men, in their wisdom,

Put him straightway into pound.

Then the somber village crier,
Ringing loud his brazen bell,
Wandered down the street proclaiming
There was an estray to sell.

And the curious country people,
Rich and poor, and young and old,
Came in haste to see this wondrous
Winged steed, with mane of gold.

Thus the day passed, and the evening
Fell, with vapors cold and dim;
But it brought no food nor shelter,
Brought no straw nor stall, for him.

Patiently, and still expectant,

Looked he through the wooden bars, Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, Saw the tranquil, patient stars;

Till at length the bell at midnight
Sounded from its dark abode,
And from out a neighboring farmyard,
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed.

Then, with nostrils wide distended,
Breaking from his iron chain,

And unfolding far his pinions,

To those stars he soared again.

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