whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,
Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
He with incessant chase through every town
Shall worry, until he to hell at length
Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,
That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,
Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see
Spirits of old tormented, who invoke
A second death; and those next view, who dwell
Content in fire, for that they hope to come,
Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,
Into whose regions if thou then desire
T' ascend, a spirit worthier then I
Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,
Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
Who reigns above, a rebel to his law,
Adjudges me, and therefore hath decreed,
That to his city none through me should come.
He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds
His citadel and throne. O happy those,

them, and put a bit of butter on top,and put the dishes into a pan and set in the oven till the egg-whitesare a little brown.

Omelette

Making an omelette seems rather a difficult thing for a little girl,but Margaret made hers in a very easy way. Her rule said:

Break four eggs separately. Beat the whites till they are stiff,and then wash and wipe dry the egg-beater, and beat the yolks tillthey foam, and then put in half a teaspoonful of salt. Pour theyolks over the whites, and mix gently with a large spoon. Have acake-griddle hot, with a piece of butter melted on it and spreadover the whole surface; pour the eggs on and let them cook fora moment. The take a cake-turner and slip under an edge, and lookto see if the middle is getting brown, because the color comes therefirst. When it is a nice even color, slip the turner well under,and turn the omelette half over, covering one part with the other,and then slip the whole off on a hot platter. Bridget had to showMargaret how to

Death of Sir Gawaine -- Sir Thomas Malory
The Queen's Speech to her last Parliament -- Elizabeth, Queen of England
Death of Cleopatra -- Sir Thomas North
The Vanity of Greatness -- Sir Walter Ralegh
The Law of Nations -- Richard Hooker
Of Studies -- Francis Bacon
Meditation on Death -- William Drummond
Primitive Life -- Thomas Hobbes
Character of a Plodding Student -- John Earle
Charity -- Sir Thomas Browne
The Danger of interfering with the Liberty of the Press -- John Milton
Death of Falkland -- Earl of Clarendon
The End of the Pilgrimage -- John Bunyan
Poetry and Music -- Sir William Temple
A Day in the Country -- Samuel Pepys
Captain Singleton in China -- Daniel Defoe
The Art of Conversation -- Jonathan Swift
The Royal Exchange -- Joseph Addison
Sir Roger de Coverley's Ancestors -- Richard Steele
Partridge at the Play -- Henry Fielding
A Journey in a Stage-coach -- Samuel Johnson
Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim -- Laurence Sterne
The Funeral of George II -- Horace Walpole
The Credulity of the English -- Oliver Goldsmith
Decay of the Principles of Liberty -- Edmund Burke
The Candidate for Parliament -- William Cowper
Youth -- Edward Gibbon
First Sight of Dr Johnson -- James Boswell
Arrival at Osbaldistone Hall -- Sir Walter Scott
A Visit to Coleridge -- Charles Lamb
Diogenes and Plato -- W S Landor
An Invitation -- Jane Austen
Coleridge as Preacher -- William Hazlitt
A Dream -- Thomas de Quincey
The Use of Poetry -- John Keats
The Flight to Varennes -- Thomas Carlyle
The Trial of the Seven Bishops -- Lord Macaulay
The University of Athens -- J H Newman
The House of the Seven Gables -- Nathaniel Hawthorne
Denis Duval's first journey to London -- W M Thackeray
Storm -- Charles Dickens
Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester -- Charlotte Brontë
A Hut in the Woods -- H D Thoreau
A Miser -- George Eliot
Ships -- John Ruskin
The Child in the House -- Walter Pater
Diving -- R L Stevenson

re we changed our seven-shilling piece, and had a pint of small beer to help us in again lightening our bundle; and, after about an hour's rest, proceeded on for Poole, about nine miles from Wareham. We felt very tired, but still walked on, and gained our destination at a very late hour, owing to which we had some trouble in obtaining a lodging for the remaining part of the night; but at last we found one in a public house, where we finished our bread and bacon, together with some more beer, the best day's allowance we had had for some time past.

We slept very soundly, and in the morning went round to inquire for service on board the Newfoundland packets. We soon found a merchant of the name of Slade, who engaged us for two summers and a winter, myself for 20l. and my companion for 18l. for the whole time, and our food and lodging till the ship left the harbour. But we were not long in finding that our destination was not to be Newfoundland, for on the very next day my companion's mas

íta is a sensible fellow, you see. He knows whom to love. So don't you go and fret, my jewel. We'll not take him away, and we won't marry him. No, we'll let him stay on, if you'll only oblige us with a little money.

ANÍSYA. All I know is, that I could not live if Nikíta went away.

MATRYÓNA. Naturally, when one's young it's no easy matter! You, a wench in full bloom, to be living with the dregs of a man like that husband of yours.

ANÍSYA. Mother Matryóna, would you believe it? I'm that sick of him, that sick of this long-nosed cur of mine, I can hardly bear to look at him.

MATRYÓNA. Yes, I see, it's one of them cases. Just look here, [looks round and whispers] I've been to see that old man, you know--he's given me simples of two kinds. This, you see, is a sleeping draught. "Just give him one of these powders," he says, "and he'll sleep so sound you might jump on him!" And this here, "This is that kind of simple," he says, "that if you

en, the cabinets for many years of his lonely meditations. Every path about his home, every field and hedgerow had dear and friendly memories for him; and the odor of the meadowsweet was better than the incense steaming in the sunshine. He loitered, and hung over the stile till the far-off woods began to turn purple, till the white mists were wreathing in the valley.

Day after day, through all that August, morning and evening were wrapped in haze; day after day the earth shimmered in the heat, and the air was strange, unfamiliar. As he wandered in the lanes and sauntered by the cool sweet verge of the woods, he saw and felt that nothing was common or accustomed, for the sunlight transfigured the meadows and changed all the form of the earth. Under the violent Provençal sun, the elms and beeches looked exotic trees, and in the early morning, when the mists were thick, the hills had put on an unearthly shape.

The one adventure of the holidays was the visit to the Roman fort, to that fantast

such Romance, thrice refined of dross, as only he knows whohas wooed his Art with passion passing the love of woman.

Far away, above the acres of huddled roofs and chimney-pots, thestorm-mists thinned, lifting transiently; through them, gray, fairy-like,the towers of Westminster and the Houses of Parliament bulked monstrousand unreal, fading when again the fugitive dun vapors closed down upon thecity.

Nearer at hand the Shade of Care nudged Kirkwood's elbow, whisperingsubtly. Romance was indeed dead; the world was cold and cruel.

The gloom deepened.

In the cant of modern metaphysics, the moment was psychological.

There came a rapping at the door.

Kirkwood removed the pipe from between his teeth long enough to say "Comein!" pleasantly.

The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirkwood, turning on one heel, beheldhesitant upon the threshold a diminutive figure in the livery of the Plesspages.

"Mr. Kirkwood?"

Kirkwood nodded.

"Gentleman to see you, sir."

Kirkwood nodded ag

Iheard a cracked voice somewhere in the ring say, 'My name isHawkyard, Mr. Verity Hawkyard, of West Bromwich.' Then the ringsplit in one place; and a yellow-faced, peak-nosed gentleman, cladall in iron-gray to his gaiters, pressed forward with a policemanand another official of some sort. He came forward close to thevessel of smoking vinegar; from which he sprinkled himselfcarefully, and me copiously.

'He had a grandfather at Birmingham, this young boy, who is justdead too,' said Mr. Hawkyard.

I turned my eyes upon the speaker, and said in a ravening manner,'Where's his houses?'

'Hah! Horrible worldliness on the edge of the grave,' said Mr.Hawkyard, casting more of the vinegar over me, as if to get mydevil out of me. 'I have undertaken a slight - a very slight -trust in behalf of this boy; quite a voluntary trust: a matter ofmere honour, if not of mere sentiment: still I have taken it uponmyself, and it shall be (O, yes, it shall be!) discharged.'

The bystanders seemed to form an