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His voice sark as he tried to loose her hold and She must waste no time. It seemed as if every fall back. She shook him again. She put down instant froze a drop of blood. her lantern, and held him with one hand while she Which way should she try to move? beat him with the other. She did not know that In the cloud of snow, and the hurtling of the this was her own salvation, too; but she knew that wind, was there a strange, dim radiance ahead ? it was the only way to save Benny.

Naomi peered forward, distrusting her own eye“You lazy thing! You wicked boy!” she sight, holding Ben in her arms the while. shouted, not caring what she said. “ Take hold Roy, as if he had known all the time where he of my hand. We 'll make Roy go home, and was, now arose and began to walk slowly forward. we 'll follow him."

The next moment, the girl heard — for the wind She kept at work. She slapped the boy's face. brought the words straight from the speaker: She was not in the least particular as to how or “Naomi ! Ben ! My children!” where she struck him.

Roy barked with delight. In a moment, to her great joy, he began to resent Naomi knew then that they were close to their her treatment. He struck out at her in return. own home; the light was the one that she herself

“Do you think I 'm going to thtand thith?” he had put in the window, and it was her mother's cried.

voice that was calling. Naomi stopped her tears and stood up to the Inspired, empowered by a strength beyond her fight. She taunted him. She said the most irri- own, she lifted Ben and staggered forward toward tating things.

the light. From utter helplessness, the boy gradually be- Stumbling, slipping, she struggled on, she knew came roused to amazement and anger. What had not how, conscious only that she was still going come over his sister?

toward the light which all the time grew more and If she had come ten minutes later, she probably more distinct. never could have brought him back to life.

Soon she saw that her mother was leaning from “Now come home with me," she said when an open window,- and she cried out huskily: she was so weary she could keep up the battle Mother! Mother! Here we are !no longer. She tried to pull him after her. But Naomi knew afterward that her mother crawled he began to whimper, and said:

– Mrs. Dunlap could not tell how — to the door “I tell you I can't go! There 'th thomething and opened it, and that in some way she herself the matter with my legth. They are jutht like reached the warm kitchen with her burden. There plugth of wood. That 'th why you knocked me the heat seemed to stop her breath, and she down tho eathy. Gueth you could n't have done it fainted, dimly feeling the dog's soft, warm tongue if they had n't been thtiff !”

on her face as her last sensation. Naomi's blood went back chokingly to her When she came to life again, the doors were heart. But she said with determination :

still open, and the sharp wind was 'blowing in, for “For all that, you 've got to come!

Mrs. Dunlap knew that a warm room was not the She pulled him, his feet shuffling and dragging, place for frost-bitten people. She had been rubRoy walking close to her gravely.

bing their temples and hands with snow, sitting She stopped, panting, desperate.

on the floor beside them. “Ben,” she said, in a voice that went through Naomi, naturally strong and well, soon revived the boy's numb, half-frozen senses like a knife; and began earnestly to care for Benny, working “ do you want to die? You are freezing! If you over him as her mother directed ; and her comdon't try with all your might, we shall both freeze! mands were so wise that the boy received no perThink of Mother waiting for us!”

manent injury, though his feet were but “poor Ben tried and struggled. In all his little life, he things,” he said, all that winter. had never made such an effort before.

The storm did not last very long. He sank back, crying out in an agony:

The next day the sun shone, an 'Naomi went out “Oh, no; I can't walk! You'd better go home toward the pine wood, and at the very edge, nearto Mother!”

est the house, she found Ben's tin pail; the cover He sobbed and clung to her.

was off, and in the frozen milk was a deep hole, Naomi stood upright a moment, holding her evidently made by Roy, who, as he had already brother and trying to think, while the dog lay tasted the milk, received the rest of it as a gift. down in the snow.

Not far off was the lantern, which Naomi had But nothing came clearly to her mind save the thrown aside when she found Ben. She was now picture of her mother, helpless, sitting by the sure she had been no more than a few rods from kitchen stove, waiting and listening.

the house at any time.

"Perhaps I went around and around," she said chair by the stove. “I know what you did, you to herself, as she took up the lantern. “But if I thaved me. I knew you were a brick!" Here had n't gone out for him, Ben would have died.” there came a little quiver in his voice. “Well,"

With this, she pressed back the somewhat hys- he said, beginning again,“ Mother thaid I ought to terical sobs that were rising, and hurried home with thank Heaven for you; and if I really wath thankthe pail and lantern.

sul, you know, I thould try to be the kind of a “You need n't try to make fun of it all,” said brother you 'd alwayth be proud of all your life.” Ben in the dusk of the next evening. He caught “And so you will,” said Naomi, “I do believe his sister's hand closely as he sat bolstered in a big you will! ”



A FEW years ago, I visited Stratford-on-Avon, est village, and an affability and politeness, -a the home and birthplace of the great poet and hospitable regard to your comfort, which is esdramatist, William Shakspere, and I wish to tell pecially grateful to your feelings, as, weary and the boys and girls who read St. NICHOLAS, about wayworn, you enter their portals. a visit made to the school the great poet attended After a breakfast in Irving's parlor, the next when he was a boy. Stratford is nestled on the morning, I walked down Henley street to the banks of the gentle-flowing river Avon. It is a ancient house in which Shakspere was born. large country town, but the chief interest attached After looking it carefully through, proceeding to to the place is that there Shakspere was born; Chapel street, I reached the interesting grammar there he died, and in the ancient church of the school, where once the wonderful poet might have Holy Trinity, alongside the murmuring river, he been seen as a schoolboy, lies buried. On entering the town, I proceeded directly to

“ With his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail the famed “Red Horse Hotel,” described so

Unwillingly to school." charmingly by our own Washington Irving, in his well-known “Sketch Book.”

Sometimes, no doubt, he strolled off, truant fashAnd indeed, there are carefully preserved in ion, to fish with a pin-hook in the silvery Avon, or that quaint old house, numerous memorials of ran down to the little hamlet of Shottery, across Irving. The little Red parlor, in which he lived the fields, and wrote, and even the poker wherewith he stirred his fire are sure to be exhibited to Ameri

“When daisies pied, and violets blue,

And ladysmocks all silver white, can guests. The poker was as carefully preserved

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue as a precious relic; it was done up in a cloth bag,

Do paint the meadows with delight." and engraved on one side of it was the legend: “Geoffrey Crayon's Sceptre.”

In Chapel street, not far from Shakspere's American boys and girls would greatly enjoy birthplace, may be seen the square chapel of the old English inns.

ancient Guild, and in the building adjoining is the They frequently present, from without, a grim, grammar school. fortress-like aspect, with no broad steps or portico The record tells us that Robert de Stratford, in leading up to the entrance. They are entered be- 1269, first founded a chapel and hospital there, neath an archway, leading sometimes into a court- with permission of the Bishop of Worcester, and yard; at others, into the entrance hall, where the became the first master of it. traveler is received, not by burly porters, but by The brethren wore a peculiar dress, and each, trim waiting-maids.

on admission into the hospital, promised obedience There is an indescribable air of neatness and to the master, and took a vow of good behavior. coziness, of "home-iness,” so to speak, pervading In 1482, Thomas Jolyffe, a priest, a native of these inns, in the largest city as well as the small. Stratford, and a member of the Guild, gave certain lands and tenements to the Brotherhood of the those of some American boys of about the same Holy Cross, to maintain a priest fit to teach gram- age whom I knew,—and I must say that our jumar freely to all scholars.

venile Yankees have often made a much better clasAt the Reformation, the entire property fell sical recitation, in my hearing, than the one I into the King's hands, but the young Edward VI. heard that day from their English cousins. granted the whole again for charitable and public However, that was not a fair specimen of the uses.

educational training of boys in England, for at There is very little doubt that here, in his Harrow, Eton, and Rugby, the standard is exboyhood, Shakspere conned his task, and in one tremely high, and, as everybody knows, the youth of his plays he describes a character called Mal- of the realm are generally capital scholars. volio as “ most villainously cross-gartered,” “like The boys in Shakspere's school when I visited it a pedant that keeps a school i' the church,"- were lively fellows, full of fun, brimming over

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which description may have been based upon one with spirits, and somewhat given to skylarking of his own early recollections.

when the master's back was turned. Poor man! The antique appearance of the schoolroom is to he seemed to have a rather hard time of it, in a great extent gone, for in the lapse of time many his endeavor to maintain a conversation with me, of the old, characteristic features have passed away. and at the same time restrain the exuberant feel

Yet the room still looks hoary and venerable, ings of his pupils. and impressed me deeply. At the invitation of So, bidding him “Good-morning,” I left those the Head Master, I listened for a few minutes classic walls, musing on

my way; for Stratto the recitations in Greek of a class of stout and ford will ever remain a beacon to the enthusiast in sturdy English boys. I was desirous of compar- Nature's loveliness, as well as to the admirer of ining the classical attainments of these youths with tellect and genius in man.


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A gay litle fellow.

, scarlet and yellow. Lay for a year in a rude wooden bed

le never once Wridoled . Nor drumbled nor diooled,

press But secretly listened to all that was said,

Till his neighbors got crusty

And said he was dusty Then quickly

, they tumbled him out on his head, IKKEET And whipped him and rapped him

And cuffed him and slabbed him, And hurried him back to his hard

Wooden bed


One day Freddy came slowly up to Grandmamma and, holding out his slate, said in his very sweetest way:

"Grandma, do you think you could draw a boy for me?”

** But Grandma is very busy now, his Grandma said.

“Well, but only just a boy, Grandma; a little teenty, tonty boy,” said Freddy. So his Grandmamma laid aside her knitting and drew the picture of a little boy away down in one corner of the slate. And Freddy leaned on the arm of the chair, and saw just how she made the picture.

“Now, Grandma,” said Freddy, before she had drawn the boy's arm, “don't you think you could make a lion by the boy - just a little lion, you know, and a- and a tiger, p'r’aps, and a' nelefant, and a,— Oh, yes !—and a big 'nosseros, and a — Oh, yes, Grandma !- a

“Why, why, Freddy !” said Grandmamma; “I thought you only wished one little boy, and now you want a whole menagerie!”

“Well, Grandma,” said Freddy, “please draw me just a little piece of a ’nagerie, will you — just a little tiger — a baby tiger!”

So Grandmamma drew the tiger and Freddy was so happy with his boy and his tiger that he put the slate on a chair and looked at them a long time.

You can see the little boy on the slate, in the picture. And Freddy's Grandma is just drawing the tiger. But if that is a baby tiger, the little boy on the slate must run! For the baby tiger is ever so much bigger than the little boy!

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