ing of Providence, we shall arrive at some good end. As for fame, it is but little matter whether we acquire it or not. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. He was Biography.-Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of our best known American writers, was born at Salem, Mass., in 1804. graduated at Bowdoin College in 1825. There were times in the life of Hawthorne when, on account of poor health, he was compelled to give up literary work. On several of these occasions, he filled various minor positions of public trust. The readiness of his mind for sudden changes of employment, may be illustrated by the following incident. In 1849, he was a surveyor of customs in Boston, and lost his position through a change in the national administration. It is related that on the very day he gave up his business duties, he began the composition of "The Scarlet Letter," one of his masterpieces. Besides the work already mentioned, the most popular of Hawthorne's books are "Twice-told Tales," "The House of the Seven Gables," "The Marble Faun," and of his juvenile works, — "Tanglewood Tales," and "Wonder Book." Hawthorne died at Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 1864. Composition.-Select the points from the last two lessons, that could be used in a biographical sketch. The easy-chair, all patched with care, And pictures hang on the whitened wall, More lovely still, on the window sill, The dew-eyed flowers rest, While midst the leaves on the moss-grown eaves, And all day long, the summer breeze Over the door, all covered o'er With a sack of dark green baize, Lies a musket old, whose worth is told And the powder flask, and the hunter's horn, For years have fled with a noiseless tread, And, in their flight, all shorn of his might, And the soft winds play with the snow-white hair, Inside the door, on the sanded floor, And a maiden fair, with flaxen hair, An old oak wrecked by the angry storm, Elocution.— With what tone of voice, rate, and force should this poem be read? Notice the pleasing effect of the rhyme at the middle and end of the first and third lines of each stanza. Language.In the second stanza, dew-eyed flowers means that the sparkling dewdrops upon the flowers give one the impression of eyes. What is the name of the figure? Arrange the words of the third stanza in the order of prose. 77.-MOTHER NATURE'S FAIRIES. eon fi dĕn'tial, trusting; secret. ǎd o pa'tion, the act of paying căn'o py, a covering to protect one. knoll, a little, round hill. ĕx pe di'tions, marches; excursions. pro fu'şion, great abundance. ar rāys', dresses; envelopes. lăv'ish, great; plentiful. jŎstle (jos'l), crowd against. "Springtime is coming! search for the flowers! Brush off the brown leaves, the darlings are here! Kiss the spring beauties, the babes of the year!" The winter is over and gone; the warm south wind blowing over the snow banks has melted them and they are now running away, joyous and free, down the hillsides, and through the meadows, singing such a merry song that the birds and flowers are waking up and listening to it. The day is gaining on the night, and the bright, life-giving rays of the sun shining on the damp ground, have warmed it; the myriad forms of growing root, stem, and leaf feel the warmth, and are already stretching themselves, preparatory to getting up. The more courageous flowers that are not afraid of a cold morning, have rubbed their sleepy eyes, are up and dressed, and calling in their sweet, winning voices to their brothers and sisters. Down in the valley, where the sun shines warm, along the low hillsides, and in the hazel thickets, the Dogtooth Violet is ringing his yellow bell, while he gaily nods to passers-by. This flower is really a lily instead of a violet, but we will not try to change his name now. We all know him very well, and are glad to welcome his return with the first warm days of spring. He first spreads out his mantle of green, white, and purple, so that his friends may know that before long he will be here himself. He is as good as his word; and as if by magic, we see him standing with his spotted cloak around him, and his yellow cap turned up, giving us a good view of his happy face. He has not rung in vain, for a whole troop of his companions are ready to welcome him. Standing beside him, and willing to shake hands at any time, is that delicate little creature, the Spring Beauty. She is very frail, and does not seem able to bear much, and we will handle her very carefully as we look with wonder on her delicate beauty. Her gauzy, rose-colored dress seems ready to melt at the touch, and we smile to see what a low bow her friend, the Dogtooth Violet, gives her. She is a little queen, and he knows it. They are enjoying each other's society so well, that we can leave them to themselves; for in their quiet way, they are having a confidential chat that we will not listen to. Farther on, where the thickets are lost in the deeper woods, we see the bluebird's flower-the dainty Hepatica. Clustering among the dead leaves of the past summer, at the roots of the trees, or covering large patches in the upland forest, they cluster together in a timid, wide-awake manner. Very gentle and loving they seem to be, and though they do jostle one another a good deal, they never complain, but smile and wink, and go on stretching up their downy necks that they may show their beautiful, new dresses to the blue sky, as it looks down at them through the bare branches of the trees. Near by, within speaking distance, the Bloodroot is unfolding her pearly spring dress; and shaking out all its creases, she arrays herself in it, and stands up looking like a bride in her gold and pearls. These lovely spring blossoms, the fairies that attend Mother Nature in all her rambles through woodland and meadow, have been tenderly cared for by her through the long winter. She has had them tucked up most carefully in their snug, little beds, with snow-white blankets wrapped around them, and, by a gentle rocking, peculiarly her own, has kept them sleeping through the long, cold night. And now, when they hear her gentle voice calling them, they are only too glad to obey, and, like obedient children, come and go at her bidding. The Buttercups, with their yellow dresses, fresh and new, are gilding meadows and uplands everywhere. They are not very particular, but are contented if they only have standing room. They open their eyes wide to the sunshine, and greet their friends, the daisies and violets, with a pleasant nod, while the children are delighted to reflect their little fat chins in their yellow cups. These flowers are sturdy little fellows, some of them, and lift up their heads pretty high as they pass the gentle Windflowers, with the remark that they are too tender to live, and the Windflowers, as though hurt by the remark, gently close their mild eyes, bow their heads, and, before long, fade |