2. A few days afterwards, when the latitude was determined by a meridian altitude of the sun, Captain Page ordered Collins to go aloft and take a good look around the horizon, as it was not unlikely something was in sight. Collins grinned, and went aloft. He soon hailed the deck from the fore-topsail yard, and said he saw a boat broad off on the weather bow, with her sails spread "wing and wing," and steering directly for the brig.

3. "That's Old Neptune himself!" shouted Captain Page, clapping his hands. "He will soon be alongside, Mr. Abbot," continued he, speaking to the chief mate, "let the men get their dinners at once. We must be prepared to receive the old gentleman!"

4. After dinner, Mr. Fairfield ordered those of the crew, including myself, who had never crossed the line, into the forecastle, to remove one of the water casks. We had no sooner descended the ladder than the fore-scuttle was closed and fastened, and we were caught like rats in a trap. Preparations of a noisy character were now made on deck for the reception of Old Neptune.

5. An hour—a long and tedious one it appeared to those confined below-elapsed before the old gentleman got within hail. At length we heard a great trampling on the forecastle; and, anon, a gruff voice, which seemed to come from the end of the flying jib-boom, yelled out, "Brig, ahoy!" "Hallo!" replied the captain.

"Have you any strangers on board?"

"Ay, ay!"

"Heave me a rope! I'll come alongside and shave them directly!"

6. A cordial greeting was soon interchanged between Captain Page and Old Neptune on deck, to which we prisoners listened with much interest. The slide of the scuttle was removed, and orders given for one of the "strangers" to come on deck and be shaved. Anxious to develop the

mystery and be qualified to bear a part in the frolic, I pressed forward; but as soon as my hand appeared above the rim of the scuttle I was seized, blindfolded, and led to the main deck, where I was urged, by a press of politeness I could not withstand, to be seated on a plank.

7. The process of shaving commenced, which, owing to the peculiar roughness of the razor and the repulsive qualities of the lather, was more painful and disagreeable than pleasant, but to which I submitted without a murmur. When the scarifying process was finished, I was told to hold up my head, raise my voice to its highest pitch, and say "Yarns!" I obeyed the mandate, as in duty bound; and to give full and distinct utterance to the word, opened my mouth as if about to swallow a whale, when some remorseless knave, amid shouts of laughter from the surrounding group, popped into my open mouth the huge tar-brush, well charged with the unsavory ingredients for shaving.

8. I now thought my trials were over. Not so. I was interrogated through a speaking trumpet on several miscellaneous subjects; but, suspecting some trick, my answers were brief and given through closed teeth. At length, Captain Page exclaimed, "Old Neptune, this will never do. Give him a speaking trumpet also, and let him answer according to rule, and in ship-shape fashion, so that we can all hear and understand him."

9. I put the trumpet to my mouth, and to the next question attempted to reply in stunning tones, "None of your business!" for I was getting impatient, and felt somewhat angry. The sentence was but half uttered when a whole bucket of salt water was hurled into the broad end of the speaking trumpet, which conducted it into my mouth and down my throat, nearly producing strangulation; at the same time, the seat was pulled from beneath me, and I was plunged over head and ears in the briny element.

10. As soon as I recovered my breath, the bandage was removed from my eyes, and I found myself floating in the long-boat, which had been nearly filled with water for the occasion, and surrounded by as jovial a set of fellows as ever played off a practical joke. Old Neptune proved to be Jim Sinclair, of Marblehead, but so disguised that his own mother could not have known him. His ill-favored and weather-beaten visage was covered with streaks of paint, like the face of a wild Indian on the war-path. He had a thick beard made of oakum; and a wig of rope-yarns, the curls hanging gracefully on his shoulders, was surmounted with a

paper cap, fashioned and pointed so as to bear a greater resemblance to the papal tiara than to the diadem of the ocean monarch. In one hand he held a huge speaking trumpet, and in the other he brandished, instead of a trident, the ship's grains with five prongs.

11. The other strangers to Old Neptune were subsequently compelled to go through the same ceremonies, in which I assisted with a hearty good will; and those who did not patiently submit to the indignities, received the roughest treatment. The shades of evening fell before the frolic was over, and the wonted order and discipline restored.

1. QUESTIONS.-What "line" is meant in the first paragraph? What is a "brig"? What "sea-god" is meant? Who were the "strangers"? 2. What is "a meridian altitude of the sun"? What is latitude, and of what was the latitude determined? Why did "Collins grin"? What is it to "hail the deck"? What is "the fore-topsail yard"? the "weather bow"? [See dictionary.] 4. What is the "forecastle"? "forescuttle"? 5. What is the "flying jib-boom"? Was there a boat approaching the ship? What would the speech “heave me a rope," &c., indicate? 7. What "scarifying process" is referred to? 10. What is "the papal tiara"? What is a trident," and to whom is it considered as belonging? What is meant by "the ship's grains"? Why is the word five italicized? How should this piece be read?

V.-SNOW-BOUND.

J. G. WHITTIER.

1. The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the somber green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.

For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

2. Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat
And ever, when a louder blast

;

Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed,

3. The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

4. What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
O Time and Change !—with hair as gray
As was my sire's that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now,—
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.

5. Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o'er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.
We tread the paths their feet have worn,
We sit beneath their orchard trees,
We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
Their written words we linger o'er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
No step is on the conscious floor!

6. Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees

The stars shine through his cypress trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own!

ANALYSIS OF SELECTION V.

Is this selection prose, or poetry? How do they differ from each other? [There are two kinds of difference, one of thought, and one of form. Thoughts that are beautiful, and those that appeal to the imagination, are poetical: thoughts that are concerned about simple matters-of-fact are prosaic. Much that is prose in form is highly poetical in thought, because it is beautiful or imaginative. To show the difference in form, let the teacher read, correctly and naturally, a few lines of blank verse, and a few lines of prose, and let the pupil, not the teacher, observe and point out the difference.