I shall know the loved who have gone before, NANCY A. W. PRIEST. LESSON XXIII. HOME. Ae'qui şi'tion, the act of get- Gäp'ing, opening as a gap; ting. Ex elu'sive, having the power of preventing entrance; pos sessed and enjoyed alone, with out the intrusion of others. Fer'tile, fruitful; productive. Con'duits (Kon'dits), things which conduct or convey; as pipes and canals convey water. De'vi ous, out of a straight line; winding. H TH showing cracks or fissures. Ŏf'fal, that which is thrown away; rubbish. Ăn'gu lar, having angles; pointed. Freaks, causeless changes of the Re spon'si bil'i ties, things for which one is accountable. HE acquisition of a good home is one of the first objects of life-a home where the soul has exclusive rights-a home where it may grow undisturbed, sending out its roots into a fertile society, and lifting up its branches into the sunlight of heaven—a home out from which the soul may go on its errands, and to which it may return for its rewards-a home which, along the conduits of memory may bear pure nourishment to children and children's children while it stands, and even after it has fallen. 2. I recall a home like this, long since left behind in the journey of life; and its memory floats back to me with a shower of emotions and thoughts towards whose precious fall my heart opens itself greedily, like a thirsty flower. It is a home among the mountains-humble and lowly-but priceless in its wealth of associations. 3. The waterfall sings again in my ears, as it used to sing through the dreamy, mysterious nights. The rose at the gate, the patch of tansy under the window, the neighboring orchard, the old elm, the grand machinery of storms and showers, the little smithy under the hill that flamed with a strange light through the dull winter evenings, the wood-pile at the door, the ghostly white birches on the hill, and the dim blue haze upon the retiring mountains-all these come back to me with an appeal which touches my heart and moistens my eyes. 4. I sit again in the door-way at summer nightfall, eating my bread and milk, looking off upon the darkening landscape, and listening to the shouts of boys upon the hill-side, calling or driving home the reluctant herds. I watch again the devious way of the dusty night-hawk along the twilight sky, and listen to his measured note, and the breezy boom that accompanies his headlong plunge toward the earth. 5. Even the old barn, crazy in every timber and gaping at every joint, has charms for me. I try again the breathless leap from the great beams into the bay. I sit again on the threshold of the widely open doors— open to the soft south wind of spring-and watch the cattle, whose faces look half human to me, as they sun themselves and peacefully ruminate, while, drop by drop, the dissolving snow from the roof drills holes. through the eaves, down into the oozing offal of the yard. 6. The first little lambs of the season toddle by the side of their dams, and utter their feeble bleatings, while the flock nibble at the hayrick, or a pair of rival wethers try the strength of their skulls in an encounter, half in earnest and half in play. The proud old rooster crows upon his dunghill throne, and some delighted member of his silly family leaves her nest and tells to her mates that there is another egg in the world. 7. The old horse whinuies in his stall, and calls to me for food. I look up to the roof and think of last year's swallows-soon to return again—and catch a glimpse of angular sky through the diamond-shaped opening through which they went and came. How, I know not, and can not tell, but that old barn is a part of myself— it has entered into my life, and given me growth and wealth. 8. But I look into the house again where the life abides which has appropriated these things, and finds among them its home. The hour of evening has come, the lamps are lighted, and a good man in middle life--though very old he seems to me-takes down the well-worn Bible, and reads a chapter from its hallowed pages. 9. A sweet woman sits at his side, with my sleepy head upon her knee, and my brothers and sisters are grouped reverently around. I do not understand the words, but I have been told that they are the words of God, and I believe it. The long chapter ends, and then we all kneel down, and the good man prays. 10. I fall asleep with my head in the chair; and the next morning remember nothing of the way in which I went to bed. After breakfast the Bible is taken down again, and the good man prays, and again and again is the worship repeated, through all the days of many golden years. 11. The pleasant converse of the fireside, the simple songs of home, the words of encouragement as I bend over my school tasks, the kiss as I lie down to rest, the patient bearing with the freaks of my restless nature, the gentle counsel mingled with reproofs and approvals, the sympathy that meets and assuages every sorrow and sweetens every little success-all these return to me amid the responsibilities which press upon me now, and I feel as if I had once lived in heaven, and straying, had lost my way. J. G. HOLLAND. LESSON XXIV. THE WOMEN OF WEINSBERG. Ănʼnals, a history or relation of | Im pěnd'ing, hanging over; events in proper order of time; also the name or title of a book which contains such history. Ro mănçe', fable; tale ; fiction. Piet'ūr ĕsque', fitted to make a pleasing picture. Ămʼa zong, a fabulous race of female warriors. E'diet, an order; that which is proclaimed by authority as a rule of action. T coming near. Doomed, condemned; consigned by a sentence; as, doomed to die. Guăr ́an teed,' secured; war ranted. Eva'gion, the act of avoiding; shift; subterfuge. Be sieg'ing, besetting or surrounding with armed forces. HERE still stands in Wurtemberg a little town. on a hill which has found a corner both in the annals of history and romance, not on account of its picturesque situation, nor for its goodly vineyards, nor for its brave men, though for all these three things it has also been noted. 2. No! it is the women of Weinsberg who have made their town celebrated, and given it a place in history, and that, too, without stepping out of their sphere, or enrolling themselves as a band of Amazons for the defence of their country. That they left to the men, who, in the days of which I speak, about the middle of the twelfth century, were busy enough defending their city on a hill from the attacks of Conrad, Emperor of Germany, who had laid siege to it. 3. Bravely and long they held out, but the enemy was too strong for them, and then it was that the victorious Conrad, enraged at the stubborn resistance of the Weinsbergers, pronounced the terrible sentence, that no man should be permitted to leave the town alive-all were to be put to the sword. 4. In vain a crowd of despairing women endeavored to soften the heart of the Emperor, pointing out to him their miserable condition if their protectors and breadwinners were so suddenly taken from them. In vain they showed him their young children-the edict had gone forth; every man was to die. 5. One boon, however, the Emperor offered to them. Each woman might convey out of the town so much of her valuables and household goods as might be carried in the arms or on the shoulders. A worthless gift thought the poor creatures at first, as they wept and bemoaned the impending fate of their nearest and dearest. 6. But some brave heart and quick brain plucked up courage, and a whisper went abroad which brought strength to the limbs and color to the cheeks of the women of Weinsberg. They wept no longer now, but hoarding the precious secret in their hearts, waited for the summons which was to call them from the walls of their beloved city and the last embraces of their doomed husbands. 7. At last the dreadful day arrived. The gates of the |