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beautiful, dreamy stranger, an exquisite foreign lady whose grace is a joy to the eye, the incense of whose breath makes the air enamored. A precious boon is she to the wretched city; and when loyal men again walk those streets, may the hand wither that touches her ungently!
“Because it grew from the heart of little Anglice,” said Miss Badeau, tenderly.
ALEC YEATON'S SON
GLOUCESTER, ALGUST, 1720
BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH
The wind it wailed, the wind it moaned,
And the white caps flecked the sea; “An' I would to God," the skipper groaned,
“I had not my boy with me!"
Snug in the stern-sheets, little John
Laughed as the scud swept by; But the skipper's sunburnt cheek grew wan
As he watched the wicked sky.
“Would he were at his mother's side!”
And the skipper's eyes were dim. “Good Lord in heaven, if ill betide,
What would become of him!
my muscles are as steel, For me let hap what may; I might make shift upon the keel
Until the break o' day.
“But he, he is so weak and small,
So young, scarce learned to stand O pitying Father of us all,
I trust him in Thy hand!
“For Thou, who markest from on high
A sparrow's fall — each one! Surely, O Lord, thou 'lt have an eye
On Alec Yeaton's son!”
Then, helm hard-port, right straight he sailed
Toward the headland light:
And black, black fell the night
Then burst a storm to make one quail,
Though housed from winds and waves They who could tell about that gale
Must rise from watery graves!
Sudden it came, as sudden went;
Ere half the night was sped, The winds were hushed, the waves were spent,
And the stars shone overhead.
Now, as the morning mist grew thin,
The folk on Gloucester shore Saw a little figure floating in,
Secure, on a broken oar!
Up rose the
“A wreck! a wreck! Pull, mates, and waste no breath!” They knew it, though 't was but a speck
Upon the edge of death!
Long did they marvel in the town
At God his strange decree,
And the little child go free!
A CANADIAN FOLK-SONG
BY WILLIAM WILFRID CAMPBELL
The doors are shut, the windows fast;
The streams are hushed up where they flowed, The ponds are frozen along the road, The cattle are housed in shed and byre, While singeth the kettle on the fire. “Margery, Margery, make the tea,” Singeth the kettle merrily.
The fisherman on the bay in his boat
The firelight dances upon the wall, Footsteps are heard in the outer hall; A kiss and a welcome that fill the room, And the kettle sings in the glimmer and gloom. “Margery, Margery, make the tea,"
Singeth the kettle merrily.
THE CHILDREN'S CITIES
BY ELIZABETH SARA SHEPPARD
THERE was a certain king who had three sons, and who, loving them all alike, desired to leave them to reign over his kingdom as brothers, and not one above another.
His kingdom consisted of three beautiful cities, divided by valleys covered with flowers and full of grass; but the cities lay so near each other that from the walls of each you could see the walls of the other two. The first city was called the city of Lessonland, the second the city of Confection, and the third the city of Pastime.
The king, feeling himself very old and feeble, sent for the lawyers to write his will for him, that his children might know how he wished them to behave after he was dead. So the lawyers came to the palace and went into the king's bedroom, where he lay in his golden bed, and the will was drawn up as he desired.
One day, not long after the will was made, the king's fool was trying to make a boat of a leaf to sail it upon the silver river. And the fool thought the paper on which the will was written would make a better boat for he could not read what was written; so he ran to the palace quickly, and knowing where it was laid, he got the will and made a boat of it and set it sailing upon the river, and away it floated out of sight. And the worst of all was, that the king took such a fright, when the will