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a narrow pathway to such of the lands that it embosoms as wore the British flag. To me, then, the great object of the Revolution was to release labor from these restrictions.'

“So no wonder the Colonists were discontented,” concluded Uncle Jack.

“My teacher says that these unjust restrictions in trade tended to increase smuggling,” said Belle, as Uncle Jack paused.

“There is no doubt of that,” he returned. “But we are missing the beautiful view. See, there is the ocean again! Now, which of you, I wonder, can recall a poem about the sea?” Uncle Jack inquired.

“I am learning that one by Barry Cornwall which you recited to us not long ago," said Belle. “But I don't know it well enough to repeat."

“Well, I am going to repeat another, this time by Tennyson, and quite different from Cornwall’s. Then you can tell me which you like the better.” And Uncle Jack repeated Tennyson's beautiful poem:

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

“Oh, I like this one much more than the other,” cried Belle as Uncle Jack finished. “I think it is beautiful!”

“So do I,” echoed May.

“I like Barry Cornwall's best,” said Ben. “This one is too sad for me.”

And all the way back to Portland the children continued to discuss the two poems.

After dinner, Uncle Jack and Father began to discuss plans for the rest of the trip.

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“Where are we going next?” inquired the former.

“Well,” replied Father, “we should get to Montreal during the coming week. Shall we go direct, or via Halifax? What say you,

What say you, Mother?” “Suppose we leave it to the children;" was Mother's reply.

“All right,” replied Father. “What say you, children?”

“Halifax first! Halifax first!” was the exclamation in answer.

“So be it,” replied Father. “To-morrow we shall start for Halifax, Nova Scotia, via St. John, New Brunswick."

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TO THE PUPIL:

1. Disporting means amusing oneself; havoc, destruction, waste; restricted, bound down, hemmed in; Parliament, (pär' li ment) the lawmakers of England.

2. Copy and memorize the third stanza of Tenny

son's poem.

3. Write the antonyms of the following adjectives: huge, brilliant, ancient, graceful, faithful, amiable.

TO THE TEACHER:

Test the pupils' knowledge of the selected stanza.

TWENTY-FOURTH DAY

“And now for a long ride,” said Uncle Jack, as the train started next morning.

“How long will it take us to get to St. John, and how far is it?" asked May.

“It will take us about eleven hours to travel the three hundred and forty-five miles between Portland and our first stop in Canada,” was Uncle Jack's reply.

“While we are in St. John at what hotel shall we stay?” asked Ben.

“At the 'Royal', Ben. You will hear more or less of royalty while we are traveling in Canada, as the Canadians are very proud of their royal family, though it does belong in England. So we might as well begin at the ‘Royal Hotel.”

“Uncle Jack," said Ben, who was looking at a railway map, “here is a Yarmouth in Nova Scotia."

“And there is one near Portland in Maine, and still another in Cape Cod where Father and Mother went to visit,” said Belle.

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“There are doubtless many more, too,” responded Uncle Jack. “Such duplication of names shows clearly that both the United States and Canada originally had many settlers from England, who used the names of their old home towns, in naming the new towns they were making.

“I never thought of that,” replied Belle.

“Yarmouth in England was made famous by Charles Dickens in his ‘David Copperfield,' written while Queen Victoria was on the throne. The Yarmouths over here are named after it,” added Uncle Jack.

“Who is on the throne of England now?” asked May.

“King George V, a grandson of Victoria. His father, King Edward VII, was Prince of Wales, when I was last in New Brunswick, and it was in the very city we are going to — St. John that I heard a very good story of him when he was a small boy. Shall I tell it?”

“Oh, do, Uncle Jack, do," was the response.

During the first twenty years of his life the little Prince, who was afterward King Edward VII, rarely forgot for a moment that he was in all probability to be a ruler of the land. He lived in the firm belief that King can do no wrong.' When he was a boy of ten he

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