THE HOPE OF OUR COUNTRY

(Speeches of great orators are usually hard for boys and girls to understand; but occasionally there is one who clothes noble thoughts in words so simple and so clear that all may understand and enjoy. Henry W. Grady was a brilliant American orator who had this gift of simple speech. Note carefully the two pictures that he draws.)

I

WENT to Washington the other day and I stood on one of its hills, and my heart beat quick as I looked at the towering marble of my country's capitol. A mist gathered in my eyes as I thought of its tremendous significance, of the armies and the treasury, and the judges and the president, and the Congress and the courts, and all that were gathered there.

I felt that the sun in all its course could not look down on a better sight than that majestic home of a republic that has taught the world its best lessons of liberty. And I felt that if honor and wisdom and justice abided° therein, the world would at last owe its final uplifting to that great house in which the ark of the covenant of my country is lodged.

But a few days afterward I went to visit a friend in the country, a modest man, with a quiet country home. It was just a simple house, set about with great trees and encircled with meadows and fields rich with the promise of harvest.

The fragrance of the pink and the hollyhock in the yard was mingled with the aroma of the orchard and the garden, and the clucking of poultry and the hum of bees. Inside was quiet, cleanliness, thrift, and comfort.

Outside there stood my friend, the master,—a simple, independent, upright man, with no mortgage on his roof, no lien on his growing crops,-master of his land and master of himself.

There was his old father, an aged and trembling man, but happy in the heart and home of his son. And, as he started to enter his home, the hand of the old man went down on the young man's shoulder, laying there the unspeakable blessing of an honored and honorable father.

As we approached the door, the mother came, a happy smile

lighting up her face, while with the rich music of her heart she bade her husband and her son welcome to their home. Beyond was the housewife, busy with her domestic affairs, the loving helpmate of her husband. Down the lane came the children. after the cows, singing sweetly, as like birds they sought the quiet of their nest.

So the night came down on that house, falling gently as the wing from an unseen dove. Then, while a startled bird chirped in the forest and the trees thrilled with the cricket's ery, and the stars were twinkling in the sky, the father called the family around him and took the Bible from the table, while they reverently bowed their knees. The little baby hid in the folds of its mother's dress while the record of the day was closed by calling down God's blessing on that simple home.

While I gazed, the vision of the marble capitol faded; forgotten were its treasuries and its majesty; and I said, "Surely here in the homes of the people lodge at last the strength and the responsibility of this government, the hope and the promise of this republic.'

-Henry W. Grady

Words: abided-lived; Ark of the Covenant-The sacred chest of the Israelites in which were placed the tables of stone containing the Ten Commandments. When King Solomon's Temple was built, the Ark was placed therein. So the orator imagined a sacred ark in the capitol at Washington, containing liberty for all mankind; aromaodor.

Questions: Explain no mortgage on his roof; no lien on his growing crops. In what sentence does the orator state the central thought of his speech?

THE SHEPHERD'S PSALM

(PSALM XXIII)

(This beautiful hymn was written by David, King of Israel. It should be committed to memory.)

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul:

He guideth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of

death,

I will fear no evil:

For thou art with me;

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me

In the presence of mine enemies:

Thou hast anointed my head with oil;

My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Pleasure Reading:

Knight's The Song of the Syrian Guest

-The Bible

THE MOONLIGHT SONATA

(The great German composer Beethoven* was born at Bonn, a little city on the Rhine, in 1770. His life on the whole was a sad one. During his later years he became quite deaf, so deaf that he could not hear his own beautiful symphonies. Something of the impulsive kindness and the remarkable genius of the man shows forth in this story. If you care to know more about Beethoven, you will find an interesting sketch of his life in Scobey and Horne's Stories of Great Musicians.)

IT

T HAPPENED at Bonn. One moonlight winter's evening I called upon Beethoven, for I wanted him to take a walk, and afterward to sup with me. In passing through some dark, narrow street he paused suddenly. "Hush!" he said, “what sound is that? It is from my symphony° in F," he said, eagerly. "Hark, how well it is played!"

It was a little, mean dwelling; and we paused outside and listened. The player went on; but in the midst of the finale° there was a sudden break, then the voice of sobbing. "I can not play any more-it is so beautiful, it is so utterly beyond my power to do it justice. Oh! what would I not give to go to the concert at Cologne?"

"Ah, my sister," said her companion, "why create regrets when there is no remedy? We can scarcely pay our rent." "You are right; and yet I wish, for once in my life, to hear some really good music. But it is of no use.

"Let us go in," he said.

Beethoven looked at me.
"Go in!" I exclaimed. "What can we go in for?"

"I will play to her," he said in an excited tone. "Here is feeling-genius-understanding. I will play to her, and she will understand it!" And before I could prevent him, his hand was upon the door.

A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes; and near him, leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl, with a profusion of light hair falling over her bent face. Both were cleanly but very poorly dressed, and both started and turned toward us as we entered.