bag not only rises through the air, as a bubble does through water, but carries a car with two or three men in it. The whole machine, even when thus loaded, is lighter than an equal volume of air.”

35. "If the bag had nothing at all in it, not even gas, it would be still lighter, would it not?"

36. "But in that case it would collapse. The pressure of the air on all sides would crush it, as you could crush an empty eggshell in your hand." The Boy's Own Annual.

XLIV. CROSSING THE BAR

1. Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

2. But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless

deep

Turns again home.

3. Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

4.

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place®

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

XLV. THE UNKNOWN PAINTER

1. Murillo, a famous artist of Seville, often found on the canvas of some of his pupils sketches bearing marks of great genius. They were done during the night, and he was unable to find out the author.

2. One morning the pupils were at the studio before him, and were standing before an easel, lost in wonder and surprise, when Murillo entered. His wonder was as great as theirs on finding a most beautiful painting.

3. He asked first one and then another of the young painters, to see if any one of them would lay claim to it, but each sadly answered, "No!" and one said, "He who has done this will one day be the greatest of us all."

4. "Sebastian!" said the master to a young slave that stood by trembling, "who is in this studio at night?" "No one but myself, signor." "Well, watch here to-night; and if you do not find out who it is that comes to this room, thirty lashes shall be your

punishment on the morrow."

retired.

Sebastian bowed and

5. That night Sebastian slept soundly on his mattress until the clock of the church struck three. He then sprang from his poor bed, and said to himself, "Three hours are my own, the rest are my master's."

6. He seized a palette and took his seat at the easel, to blot out the work of the night before. With brush in hand, he paused before making the fatal stroke. "I cannot! oh, I cannot blot it out!" said he. Rather let me finish it."

7. He went to work and forgot everything else in his earnestness: a little color here, a touch there, a soft shade here; and thus three hours rolled by unnoticed. The young artist slave saw nothing but the lovely picture before him, the face of which seemed to smile upon him with a look of heavenly goodness and grace.

8. He felt that he was free, when suddenly a slight noise caused him to look up. Murillo with his pupils stood around! and the sun was shining brightly through the window.

Again he was a slave. His eyes fell beneath their

eager gaze.

9.

IO.

"Who is your master, Sebastian?"
"You, signor."

II. 'Your drawing-master, I mean?" 12. "You, signor."

13.

14.

"No, but you gave them to these young gentlemen, and I heard them.”

15. “Yes, and by the old patron saint of Spain, you have made better use of them than any one of these has yet done. Does this boy deserve punishment or reward, my dear pupils ?

16. "

Reward, signor," was the quick reply.

17. "What shall it be?"

18. One whispered a suit of clothes, another a sum of money, a third his freedom, but no chord was touched in the captive's bosom.

19. A cry burst from the lips of Sebastian - a cry of joy, of pain, almost of grief- as he threw himself on his knees before his master, clasped his hands, and raised his streaming eyes to meet his master's gaze.

20. "Oh, freedom-freedom for my father!" cried he, in a voice choked by tears and sobs.

21. “And yours? Do you not desire your own? asked Murillo. Sebastian hung down his head, and with a sob answered, "My father first, signor."

22. "Yes, my poor child; and yours too," said Murillo, no longer able to restrain his tears, as he raised Sebastian kindly. "Oh, my master! my good

master!" was all that Sebastian's feelings enabled him to utter.

23. "Thou art now free, Sebastian," said Murillo. "Free to serve thee all my life, master!" he replied, falling again on his knees and kissing his master's hands.

25. "Sebastian," said Murillo, "your pencil has proved your genius, and your request shows that you have a noble heart. From this day I style

you an ARTIST, and I receive you among my pupils." 26. In Italy and in our picture galleries there are still to be seen many beautiful paintings from the pencils of Murillo and Sebastian Gomez.

XLVI. YOUSSUF

-Selected.

1. A stranger came one night to Youssuf's tent,
Saying, "Behold one outcast and in dread,
Against whose life the bow of power is bent, —
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head;
I come to thee for shelter and for food,

To Youssuf, called through all our tribes The
Good."

2. "This tent is mine," said Youssuf, "but no more

Than it is God's; come in, and be at peace ;
Freely shalt thou partake of all my store,

As I of His, who buildeth over these