had never ceased, for more than two days at a time, for full three weeks thereafter, to pour fresh piles of fleecy mantle; neither had the wind relaxed a single day from shaking them. As a rule, it snowed all day, cleared up at night, and froze intensely, with the stars as bright as jewels, earth spread out in lustrous twilight, and the sounds in the air as sharp and crackling as artillery; then in the morning snow again, before the sun could come to help.

Often and

It mattered not what way the wind was. often the vanes went round, and we hoped for change of weather; the only change was that it seemed (if possible) to grow colder. Indeed, after a week or so, the wind would regularly box the compass (as the sailors call it) in the course of every day, following where the sun should be, as if to make a mock of him. And this of course immensely added to the peril of the drifts; because they shifted every day; and no skill or care might learn them.

And whether you climb up the mountain or go down the hill to the valley, whether you journey to the end of the world or merely walk round your house, none but yourself shall you meet on the highway of fate.

-MAETERLINCK.

WHO BIDES HIS TIME

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Who bides his time, and day by day
Faces defeat full patiently,
And lifts a mirthful roundelay,

However poor his fortunes be,-
He will not fail in any qualm
Of poverty-the paltry dime
It will grow golden in his palm,
Who bides his time.

Who bides his time-he tastes the sweet
Of honey in the saltest tear;

And though he fares with slowest feet,

Joy runs to meet him, drawing near;

The birds are heralds of his cause;
And, like a never-ending rhyme,
The roadsides bloom in his applause,
Who bides his time.

Who bides his time, and fevers not

In the hot race that none achieves,

From "Afterwhiles," by James Whitcomb Riley. Copyright 1887. permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

Used by special

Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought

With crimson berries in the leaves;
And he shall reign a goodly king,

And sway his hand o'er every clime,
With peace writ on his signet-ring,

Who bides his time.

OF STUDIES

FRANCIS BACON

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned.

To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning, by study; and studies themselves do

give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience.

Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider.

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things.

Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.

GERAINT WINS HIS BRIDE

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet, Across the bridge that spann'd the dry ravine. There musing sat the hoary-headed earlHis dress a suit of fray'd magnificence, Once fit for feasts of ceremony-and said: "Whither, fair son?" to whom Geraint replied,. “O friend, I seek a harborage for the night.” Then Yniol, "Enter therefore and partake The slender entertainment of a house Once rich, now poor, but ever open-door'd.” "Thanks, venerable friend,” replied Geraint; "So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks For supper, I will enter, I will eat

With all the passion of a twelve hours' fast."
Then sigh'd and smiled the hoary-headed earl,
And answer'd, "Graver cause than yours is mine
To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk:
But in, go in; for save yourself desire it,
We will not touch upon him ev'n in jest."

Then rode Geraint into the castle court, His charger trampling many a prickly star