There was an old woman

Who lived in a shoe;
She had so many children

She didn't know what to do:
To some she gave broth,

And to some she gave bread,
And some she whipped soundly,

And sent them to bed."

Do you find out the likeness?

A portly old Dame,
The mother of millions,

Britannia by name:
And — howe'er it may strike you

In reading the song Not stinted in space

For bestowing the throng; Since the sun can himself

Hardly manage to go, In a day and a night,

From the heel to the toe.

On the arch of the instep

She builds up her throne, And, with seas rolling under,

She sits there alone; With her heel at the foot

Of the Himmalehs planted, And her toe in the icebergs,

Unchilled and undaunted.

Yet though justly of all

Her fine family proud, 'Tis no light undertaking

To rule such a crowd;
Not to mention the trouble

Of seeing them fed,
And dispensing with justice

The broth and the bread.
Some will seize up one,

Some are left with the other,

And so the whole household

Gets into a pother.

But the rigid old Dame

Has a summary way
Of her own, when she finds

There is mischief to pay.
She just takes up the rod,

As she lays down the spoon, And makes their rebellious backs

Tingle right soon:
Then she bids them, while yet

The sore smarting they feel,
To lie down and go to sleep,

Under her heel !

Only once was she posed,

When the little boy Sam, Who had always before

Been as meek as a lamb, Refused to take tea,

As his mother had bid, And returned saucy answers,

Because he was chid.

Not content even then,

He cut loose from the throne, And set about making

A shoe of his own; Which succeeded so well,

And was filled up so fast, That the world, in amazement,

Confessed at the last Looking on at the work

With a gasp and a stare That 'twas hard to tell which

Would be best of the pair.

Side by side they are standing

Together to-day;
Side by side may they keep

Their strong foothold for aye:
And beneath the broad sea,

Whose blue depths intervene,
May the finishing string

Lie unbroken between!


We hung wedding-rings - we had mother's, and Miss Elizabeth had brought over Madame Pennington's — by hairs, and held them inside tumblers; and they vibrated with our quickening pulses and swung and swung, until they rung out fairy chimes of destiny against the sides. We floated needles in a great basin of water, and gave them names, and watched them turn and swim and draw together - some point to point, some heads and points, some joined cosily side to side, while some drifted to the margin and clung there all alone, and some got tears in their eyes, or an interfering jostle, and went down. We melted lead and poured it into water, and it took strange shapes, of spears and masts and stars; and some all went to money; and one was a queer little bottle and pills, and one was pencils and artists' tubes, and — really

a little palette with a hole in it.

And then came the chestnut roasting, before the bright red coals. Each girl puť down a pair; and I dare say most of them put down some little secret, girlish thought with it. The ripest nuts burned steadiest and surest, of course; but how could we tell these until we tried ? Some little crack, or unseen worm-hole, would keep one still, while its companion would pop off, away from it; some would take flight together, and land in like manner, without ever parting company; these were to go some long way off; some never moved from where they began, but burned up, stupidly, peaceably, side by side. Some snapped into the fire. Some went off into corners. Some glowed beautifully, and some burned black, and some got covered up with ashes.

Barbara's pair were ominously still for a time, when all at once the larger gave a sort of unwilling lurch,

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without popping, and rolled off a little way, right toward the blaze.

Gone to a warmer climate," whispered Leslie, like a tease. And then crack! the warmer climate, or something else, sent it back again, with a real bound, just as Barbara's gave a gentle little snap, and they both dropped quietly down against the fender together.

Who would be bold enough to try the looking-glass? To go out alone with it into the dark field, walking backward, saying the rhyme to the stars which if there had been a moon ought by right to have been said to her :

"Round and round, O stars so fair!

Ye travel, and search out everywhere.
I pray you, sweet stars, now show to me,
This night, who my future husband shall be !"


Somehow we put it upon Leslie. She was the oldest; we made that the reason.

“I wouldn't do it for anything!” said Sarah Hobart. “I heard of a girl who tried it once, and saw a shroud!”

But Leslie was full of fun that evening, and ready to do anything. She took the little mirror that Ruth brought her from upstairs, put on a shawl, and we all went to the front door with her, to see her off.

Round the piazza, and down the bank,” said Barbara, " and backward all the way.”

So Leslie backed out of the door, and we shut it upon her. The instant after, we heard a great laugh. Off the piazza, she had stepped backward againsť two gentlemen coming in. Doctor Ingleside was one, coming to get his supper; the other was a friend of his, just arrived in z “Doctor John Hautayne,” he said, introducing him by his full name.- We Girls: a Home Story.


HITNEY, WILLIAM Dwight, an American

philologist; born at Northampton, Mass.,

February 9, 1827; died at New Haven, Conn., June 7, 1894. He was graduated from Williams College in 1845, and studied three years in Germany. From 1854, he was professor of Sanskrit and comparative philology in Yale College. As a Sanskrit scholar he had a European reputation. His numerous learned papers and books, especially on the Vedas, need not to be named here. Many of the papers are included in Oriental and Linguistic Studies, three series (1872-5). Some of his metrical translations of the Vedas occur in these. Other works by him are: Language and the Study of Language (1867); On the Material and Form in Language (1872); Darwinism and Language (1874); Life and Growth of Language (1875); Logical Consistency in Views of Language (1880); Mixture in Language (1881); French Grammar (1886); and Max Müler's Science of Language (1893). His text-books, Sanskrit, German, French, and English, are well known. He was the editor-in-chief of the Century Dictionary.


By the testimony of its own scriptures [the Avesta), the Iranian religion is with the fullest right styled the Zoroastrian: Zoroaster is acknowledged as its founder throughout the whole of the sacred writings; these are hardly more than a record of the revelations claimed to have been made to him by the supreme divinity. It is not, then, a religion which has grown up in the mind of a whole people, as the expression of their conceptions of things supernatural; it has received its form in the muind of an individual; it has been inculcated and taught

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