of waters sparkling and dashing below. Rocks, huge and picturesque, jut out into the stream, affording beautiful views of the river and the distant city.

3. Half fatigued with my walk, I threw myself down upon a rocky slope of the bank, where the panorama of earth, sky, and water lay clear and distinct about me. Far above, silent and dim as a picture, was the city, with its huge mill-masonry, confused chimney-tops, and churchspires; near it rose the height of Belvidere, with its deserted burial-place and neglected grave-stones sharply defined on its bleak, bare summit against the sky; before me the river went dashing down its rugged channel, sending up its everlasting murmur; above me the birch-tree hung its tassels; and the last wild flowers of autumn profusely fringed the rocky rim of the water.

4. Right opposite, the Dracut woods stretched upwards from the shore, beautiful with the hues of frost, glowing with tints richer and deeper than those which Claude or Poussin mingled, as if the rainbows of a summer shower had fallen among them. At a little distance to the right, a group of cattle stood mid-leg deep in the river; and a troop of children, bright-eyed and mirthful, were casting pebbles at them from a projecting shelf of rock. Over all a warm but softened sunshine melted down from a slumberous autumnal sky.

5. My revery was disagreeably broken. A low, grunting sound, half bestial, half human, attracted my attention. I was not alone. Close beside me, half hidden by a tuft of bushes, lay a human being, stretched out at full length, with his face literally rooted into the gravel. A little boy, five or six years of age, clean and healthful, with his fair brown locks and blue eyes, stood on the bank above, gazing down upon him with an expression of childhood's simple and unaffected pity.

6. "What ails you?" asked the boy at length. "What makes you lie there?"

The prostrate groveler struggled half-way up, exhibiting the bloated and filthy countenance of a drunkard. He made two or three efforts to get upon his feet, lost his balance, and tumbled forward upon his face.

"What are you doing there?" inquired the boy.

"I'm taking comfort," he muttered, with his mouth in the dirt.

7. Taking his comfort! There he lay,-squalid and loathsome under the bright heaven,- an imbruted man. The holy harmonies of Nature, the sounds of gushing waters, the rustle of the leaves above him, the wild flowers, the frost-bloom of the woods,-what were they to him? Insensible, deaf, and blind, in the stupor of a living death, he lay there, literally realizing that most bitterly significant Eastern malediction, "May you eat dirt."

- Whittier.

DEFINITIONS.-1. Trăn ́sient (pro. trăn'shent), of short duration. Equi-nox, the time of year when the days and nights are of equal length, i. e., about September 23d or March 21st. Rig'or, severity. 2. Plet-ur-esque' (pro. pikt-yur-ěsk') fitted to form a pleasing picture. 3. Păn-o-rä'mà, a complete or entire view in every direction. 5. Rěv'er-y, an irregular train of thoughts occurring in meditation. Běs'tial (pro. běst'yal), brutish. Lit'er-al-ly, according to the first and natural meaning of words. 6. Prostrate, lying at length. Grov'el-er, a base wretch. Bloat'ed, puffed out. 7. Im-brut'ed, reduced to brutality. Här'mo-ny, the fitness of parts to each other in any combination of things. Rē ́al-iz-ing, making one's own in experience. Măl-e-dĭe ́tion, a curse.

NOTES. The localities named in this selection are in the vicinity of Haverhill, Massachusetts, where the old Whittier homestead is situated.

4. Claude Lorraine (b. 1600, d. 1682), whose proper name was Claude Gelée, was a celebrated landscape painter, born in Lorraine, Germany.

Nicolas Poussin (b. 1594, d. 1665) was a French painter, who became one of the most remarkable artists of his age. His fame chiefly arises from his historical and mythological paintings.

LXXXIII. CALLING THE ROLL.

1. "CORPORAL GREEN!" the orderly cried;
"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,
From the lips of a soldier standing near;
And "here!" was the word the next replied.
"Cyrus Drew!" and a silence fell;

This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear-man saw him fall,
Killed or wounded he could not tell.

2. There they stood in the failing light,

These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books, While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the slope was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson-dyed was the river's flood.

3. For the foe had crossed from the other side,
That day, in the face of a murderous fire
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.
"Herbert Cline!" At the call there came
Two stalwart soldiers into the line,
Bearing between them Herbert Cline,
Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

4. "Ezra Kerr!" and a voice said "here!" "Hiram Kerr!" but no man replied:

They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed, And a shudder crept through the corn-field near.

Ephraim Deane!"-then a soldier spoke:
"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said,
When our ensign was shot; I left him dead,
Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

66

5. "Close to the road-side his body lies;

I paused a moment and gave him to drink;
He murmured his mother's name, I think;
And death came with it and closed his eyes."
'Twas a victory-yes; but it cost us dear;

For that company's roll, when called at night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered "here!"

-Shepherd.

LXXXIV. TURTLE SOUP.

Charles Frederick Briggs (b. 1804, d. 1877) was born on the island of Nantucket. When quite young, however, he became a resident of New York City. In 1845, in conjunction with Edgar A. Poe, he began the publication of the "Broadway Journal;" he was also connected with the "New York Times," and the "Evening Mirror;" also as editor from 1853 to 1856 with "Putnam's Magazine." Mr. Briggs wrote a few novels, some poetry, and numerous little humorous tales and sketches. The following selection is from "Working a Passage; or, Life on a Liner," one of his best stories.

1. AMONG the luxuries which the captain had provided for himself and passengers was a fine green turtle, which was not likely to suffer from exposure to salt water, so it was reserved until all the pigs, and sheep, and poultry had been eaten. A few days before we arrived, it was determined to kill the turtle and have a feast the next day.

2. Our cabin gentlemen had been long enough deprived of fresh meats to make them cast lickerish glances towards their hard-skinned friend, and there was a great smacking of lips the day before he was killed. As I walked aft

occasionally, I heard them congratulat-
ing themselves on their prospective tur-
tle-soup and force-meat balls; and one of
them, to heighten the luxury

of the feast, ate nothing but
a dry biscuit for the twenty-
four hours preceding, that he
might be prepared
to devour his full
share of the unctu-
ous compound.

3. It was to be a gala day with them; and though it was not champagne day, that falling on Saturday and this on Friday, they agreed to have champagne a day in advance, that nothing should be wanting to give a finish to