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Showing: 1-10 results of 202

CHAPTER IA MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM Donald Clark glanced up from his Latin grammar and watched his father as he tore open the envelope of a telegram and ran his eye over its contents. Evidently the message was puzzling. Again Mr. Clark read it. Donald wondered what it could be. All the afternoon the yellow envelope had been on the table, and more than once his mind had wandered from the lessons he was preparing to speculate on the possible tidings... more...

One day in early spring, a young reed-warbler sat in a bush in Italy and hung his beak. This was not because he really had anything to complain of. The sun was shining; there were flies in plenty; and no one was doing him harm. A little while before, a pretty girl, with jet-black eyes, had sat under the bush and listened to his song and kissed her hand to him. And yet he wanted something. He was tired of the Italian flies. He had a feeling in... more...

JONAS AN ASTRONOMER. One day, when Rollo was about seven years old, he was sitting upon the steps of the door, and he heard a noise in the street, as of some sort of carriage approaching. A moment afterwards, a carryall came in sight. It drove up to the front gate, and stopped. Rollo’s father and mother and his little brother Nathan got out. His father fastened the horse to the post, and came in. When Rollo first heard the noise of the... more...

I. A CHRISTMAS DREAM, AND HOW IT CAME TRUE. "I'm so tired of Christmas I wish there never would be another one!" exclaimed a discontented-looking little girl, as she sat idly watching her mother arrange a pile of gifts two days before they were to be given. "Why, Effie, what a dreadful thing to say! You are as bad as old Scrooge; and I'm afraid something will happen to you, as it did to him, if you don't care for dear Christmas," answered... more...

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. —Edgar Poe.   golden censer swings in the Temple of Life, making holy its halls and grateful its corridors. This fountain of our well-being is Duty. There is little true pleasure in the world which does not flow, either directly or remotely, from its depths. It shall be the object of this volume to point... more...


PHILEMON AND BAUCIS   I Long ago, on a high hill in Greece, Philemon and Baucis lived. They were poor, but they were never unhappy. They had many hives of bees from which they got honey, and many vines from which they gathered grapes. One old cow gave them all the milk that they could use, and they had a little field in which grain was raised. The old couple had as much as they needed, and were always ready to share whatever they had... more...

CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY Almost the pleasantest thing in the world is to be told a splendid story by a really nice person. There is not the least occasion for the story to be true; indeed I think the untrue stories are the best—those in which we meet delightful beasts and things that talk twenty times better than most human beings ever do, and where extraordinary events happen in the kind of places that are not at all like our world of... more...

PREFACE This reader undertakes to provide desirable material for work in silent reading without losing sight of the other elements essential in a good reader for pupils in the seventh grade or in the first year of the junior high school. One task before the teacher of Reading in this year is to foster, by stimulating material, a taste for good reading which it is to be hoped has at least been partially formed in the preceding grades. The... more...

CHAPTER I THE NEED OF POISE IN LIFE Lack of poise has always been an obstacle to those who are imbued with the desire to succeed. In every age the awkwardness born of timidity has served to keep back those who suffered from it, but this defect has never been so great a drawback as in the life of to-day. The celebrated phrase of the ancient Roman writer who said, "Fortune smiles on the brave," could very well serve as our motto nowadays, with... more...

by Various
Our Holidays If all the year were playing holidays,To sport would be as tedious as to work. Shakspere. King Henry IV, Part I. ST. SATURDAY   BY HENRY JOHNSTONE Oh, Friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers inThe Feast of good St. Saturday, when studying is a sin,When studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to playNot only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day.St. Saturday—so legends say—lived... more...