thoroughly recovered. He died at his country-seat of Tapton, in 1848, leaving in his life a noble instance of honest purpose and steady determination.

COMPOSITION.

Write a short sketch of Stephenson's life from this

SUMMARY:

James Watt and George Stephenson are the two great improvers of the steam-engine. George Stephenson was born near Newcastle in 1781. His first employment was herding cows at five cents a day. He was always very fond of examining mechanical contrivances, and of making models of them. At the age of thirteen he rose to be assistantfireman to his father, with the wages of twenty-five cents a day. He was always perfectly steady and rigorously sober. He is promoted to be engineman at Newburn. In his spare time he models miniature steam-engines in clay. He learns to read, and to work sums in arithmetic at the age of eighteen. In 1810 he reconstructs an engine which all other engineers had failed to repair. In 1815 he invents a safety-lamp. In 1821 he constructs his first locomotive. In 1829 he wins a prize of $2,500 for the best locomotive. He is manager of 214 miles of railway in 1836. He dies in 1848.

Which other lips have told,

His years and strength begin to fail "My father's growing old."

They tell me, in my youthful years

He led me by his side,

And strove to calm my childish fears,

My erring steps to guide.

But years, with all their scenes of change, Above us both have roll'd,

I now must guide his faltering steps -
"My father's growing old."

When sunset's rosy glow departs,
With voices full of mirth,

Our household band with joyous hearts
Will gather round the hearth.
They look upon his trembling form,

His pallid face behold,

And turn away with chasten'd tones
"My father's growing old."

And when each tuneful voice we raise,
In songs of "long ago,”

His voice which mingles in our lays

Is tremulous and low.

It used to seem a clarion's tone,
So musical and bold,

But weaker, fainter has it grown
"My father's growing old.”

The same fond smile he used to wear
Still wreathes his pale lips now,
But Time with lines of age and care
Has traced his placid brow.
But yet amid the lapse of years
His heart has not grown cold,

Though voice and footsteps plainly tell-
"My father's growing old.”

My father! thou did'st strive to share

My joys and calm my fears,

And now thy child, with grateful care,

In thy declining years

Shall smooth thy path, and brighter scenes

By faith and hope unfold;

And love thee with a holier love

Since thou art "growing old."

Questions: What is the meaning of: "his eye looks dimly on the page"? "His locks are silvered o'er by age"? Give the last four lines of first stanza, in your own words. What did father do for me in my youth? What must I do now? What is "sunset's rosy glow"? When does it depart? Whither do the family then retire? What are "chasten'd tones"? What is said in this whisper? What are "songs of long ago"? "Lays"? "Clarion tones"? What is the meaning of "wreathes his pale lips"? How do father's voice and footsteps tell he's "growing old"? Give last stanza in your own words.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE PRINCE.

NOT far from Germany lies Switzerland, a small coun

try, but well known in the history of nations. High are the hills there, and they seem to wish to conceal the eternal spring of Italy from the rest of Europe. But, notwithstanding this threatening look, and in spite of the cover of snow which, year after year, clothes them in a wintry dress, there are delightful valleys in their bosom. In one of these hidden valleys there stood, in olden times, an ancient castle on rocky ground, near a lake.

A shepherd-boy, who belonged to the neighboring district, had chosen the declivity that ran opposite the castle down to the lake, as a pasture-ground for his flock. Day after day, during the fine season, he sat on a rock that projected over the water, and made baskets, mats, and cages; often he played sweet airs upon his flute, while his lambs enjoyed the juicy herbs of the Alps. When the sounds of the shepherd's flute resounded so sweetly along the lonely shore, and the silence carried them to the opposite bank, a little window in the old castle was opened every day, and a pale but pleasant face looked out towards the shepherd-boy until twilight came, and the little musician drove his flock homeward. "Who can that poor boy be?" thought the good young shepherd; "why can they have locked him into that ugly castle, for he must be locked in, or he would come out to see me in the open air?"

With these thoughts in his mind, he wandered along the shore towards the castle, and he nodded to the boy with the black curls at the window. But beautiful as the songs were, kind words though he gave, and though he beckoned with all his heart, everything was in vain. The inhabitant of the castle shook his head sadly, and shrugged his shoulders, but he would not come.

--

"I must see what it is," cried Joseph that was the shepherd's name and he wandered on to the castle. He whistled to his faithful dog, and desired him to guard the sheep carefully until his return. He wagged his tail obediently, for he understood every word of his master's, and collected the flock to drive them back to their grazing place.

Joseph soon reached the gate of the castle; but what was his astonishment when he found armed men, with long beards and threatening swords, holding watch there.

Terrified, he was going to creep away; but it was too late. One of the soldiers had noticed him, and laid hold of him. They all began to question him--who he was? whence he came? what he wanted here? The boy was half-dead with terror, but as a good conscience never allows people to be disgraced, he soon recovered himself, and he told them openly what had brought him there.

"How?" cried the one who had caught him-“how? You wished to steal to the prisoner? You shall pay dearly for that; we will put you into a little chamber, where you will lose your curiosity soon enough.'

Saying these words, the soldiers dragged Joseph into the courtyard, and he was just about to be thrown into a dark dungeon, when a gentle voice was heard from an upper window.

“Leave him alone, pray - the poor boy!" cried the little prisoner; "even if you wish to prevent him from coming up to me to lessen my sorrow a little, do not, please, harm him.”

The men were moved to pity—they held a council together and at last they led Joseph up to his unknown friend, who received him in a splendid room. The golden walls, the marble floor, the many splendors which Joseph saw here for the first time, made him silent, so that he scarcely returned the friendliness of the inhabitant of the castle.

"Don't be afraid," said he, "and give me your hand; your songs have given me much pleasure already, and I have great need of more."

"You cannot be in want of pleasure," replied Joseph courageously, "for here it is really too beautiful. But who are you?"

"I am an unhappy prince, who has been robbed of his