she lifted the curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from behind the clouds, and shone upon her like a bright, benignant face, which seemed to whisper in the silence: "Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds."

ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET

JOHN KEATS

The poetry of earth is never dead!

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run.
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the grasshopper's; he takes the lead
In summer luxury; he has never done

With his delights, for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.

The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills

The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost.

The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

A SONG

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;

There is ever a something sings alway:

There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. The sunshine showers across the grain,

And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain,
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,

There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-
There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
In the midnight black or the mid-day blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,

And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.
The buds may blow and the fruit may grow,

And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

ROMULUS AND THE BEGINNING OF ROME

CAROLINE H. AND SAMUEL B. HARDING

We do not know just when, or how, or by whom the beginning of Rome was made. It It happened so long ago, and there was so little writing in those early days, that no account, given at the time, has come down to us. Indeed, it is likely that nobody then dreamed that the world would ever care to know how this little city was commenced.

But, after Rome had begun to grow, and to conquer her neighbors, and people had begun to read and write, the Romans themselves began to be curious to know about the beginning of their town. It was too late to find out certainly then, for the persons who had lived at the time that it was founded were long dead and forgotten. the Romans continued to wonder about it, and finally they made up many stories of the early years of their city, which they came to accept as true and have handed down to us.

But

According to these stories, the first settlers at Rome came from a little city named Alba Longa, and this was the way in which they happened to leave that place and

settle at Rome. The rightful king of Alba Longa had been put out of power by his brother. Then this brother had killed the true king's sons, and shut up his daughter in prison, where twin sons were born to her. When her cruel uncle heard this, and saw how large and strong the children were, he was much troubled; for he feared that, if they should grow up to be men, they might some day take his stolen throne away from him. He determined, therefore, to put them to death; so he took the sleeping children in the wooden trough which served as their cradle, and gave them to a servant, telling him to drown them in the River Tiber.

The river at this time was overflowing its banks, and the main current ran so swift and strong that the man was afraid to go near the bed of the stream. For this reason, he set the trough down in the shallow water at the river's edge, and went his way. The children floated gently in this strange boat to a place where seven low hills rose upon the southern bank of the stream. The flood was now going down rapidly; and at the foot of a wild fig tree, which grew at the base of one of the hills, the cradle at last caught in a vine and came safely to land.

In this way the children escaped drowning, but they were still alone and uncared for, far from the homes of men. Soon, however, they were provided for in a wonderful manner. When they began to cry of hunger, a

mother wolf that had lost her cubs came to them, and gave them milk, and a woodpecker flew down from the trees bringing them food. For some time these wild creatures were the children's only nurses, but at last a shepherd of Alba Longa, who had often watched the wolf coming and going from the place, found the boys and saw how they had been cared for. The Italians of that time thought that wolves and woodpeckers were sacred to Mars, their god of war; so this shepherd believed that the children were favorites of that deity. Full of this thought, he carried them to his little hut, where his wife took charge of them as though they had been her own.

The children were named Romulus and Remus by the shepherd people, and as the years passed, they grew up strong and brave, with spirits that nothing could subdue. Whenever there was a hunting party, or a contest in running or whistling, or a struggle with robbers who tried to drive off their flocks and herds, Romulus and Remus were sure to be among the leaders of the shepherd band.

They won great fame among their companions, but they also gained the hatred of evil-doers. At last, some lawless men, in revenge, seized Remus at a festival, and bore him to the false king of Alba Longa, charging him. with robbery. There the true king saw the young man, and struck with his appearance, questioned him about his birth; but Remus could tell him little. In the meantime,