But that's no matter,-paint it so;

The eyes of our mother-take good heed-
Looking not on the nest full of eggs,

Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs,
But straight through our faces down to our lies,
And, oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise!
I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though
A sharp blade struck through it.

You, sir, know

That you on the canvas are to repeat

Things that are fairest, things most sweet,

Woods and cornfields and mulberry-tree,

The mother, the lads, with their bird, at her knee;
But, oh, that look of reproachful woe!

High as the heavens your name I'll shout,

If you paint me the picture, and leave that out.

-Alice Cary

Questions: With what other poems of childhood are you familiar? Does this poem suggest another poem written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning?

THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING

HE year's at the spring,

THE

And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven ;

The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven-
All's right with the world.

-Robert Browning

THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII*

(Mt. Vesuvius* is one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world. It has been active at times ever since the events described in this interesting selection. This famous volcano is in Italy, about ten miles from the beautiful city of Naples. The city and bay of Naples, the excavated cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum,* and the threatening mountain bring thousands of visitors every year from all over the world.)

OLCANOES can never be trusted. No one knows when

VOLCANOES can

one will break out, or what it will do; and those who live close to them as the city of Naples is close to Mount Vesuvius-must not be astonished if they are blown up or swallowed, as that great and beautiful city of Naples may be, without a warning any day.

For what happened to that same Mount Vesuvius about eighteen hundred years ago in the old Roman times? For ages and ages it had been lying quiet like any other hill. Beautiful cities were built at its foot-cities filled with people who were as handsome and as comfortable and, I am afraid, as wicked as any people ever were on earth. Fair gardens, vineyards, and olive yards covered the mountain slopes. It was held to be one of the paradises of the world.

As for the mountain being a volcano, who ever thought of that? To be sure, the top of it was a great round crater, or cup, a mile or more across, and a few hundred yards deep. But that was all overgrown with bushes and wild vines full of deer and other wild animals. What sign of fire was there in that? To be sure, also, there was an ugly place below, by the seashore, where smoke and brimstone came out of the ground; and a lake called Avernus,* over which poisonous gases hung. But what of that? It had never harmed any one, and how could it harm them?

So they all lived on, merrily and happily enough, till the year A. D. 79. At that time there was stationed in the Bay of Naples a Roman admiral, called Pliny, who was also a very studious and learned man, and author of a famous

book on natural history. He was staying on shore with his sister; and as he sat in his study, she called him out to see a strange cloud which had been hanging for some time over the top of Mount Vesuvius. It was in shape just like a pine. tree; not, of course, like the pines which grow in this country, but like an Italian stone-pine, with a long straight stem and a flat parasol-shaped top.

Sometimes it was blackish, sometimes spotted; and the good Admiral Pliny, who was always curious about natural science, ordered his rowboat and went away across the bay to see what it could be. Earthquake shocks had been very common. for the last few days, but I do not suppose that Pliny thought that the earthquakes and the cloud had anything to do with. each other. However, he soon found out that they had; and to his cost. When he was near the opposite shore, some of the sailors met him and begged him to turn back. Cinders and pumice stones were falling down from the sky, and flames were breaking out of the mountain above. But Pliny would go on: he said that if people were in danger, it was his duty to help them; and that he must see this strange cloud, and note down the different shapes into which it changed.

But the hot ashes fell faster and faster; the sea ebbed out suddenly, and almost left them on the beach; and Pliny turned away toward a place called Stabiæ,* to the house of an old friend who was just going to escape in a boat. Brave Pliny told him not to be afraid; ordered his bath like a true Roman gentleman, and then went in to dinner with a cheerful face. Flames came down from the mountain nearer and nearer as the night drew on; but Pliny persuaded his friend that they were only fires in some villages from which the peasants had fled; and then went to bed and slept soundly.

However, in the middle of the night, they found the courtyard being fast filled with cinders, and if they had not awakened the Admiral in time, he would never have been able to get out of the house.

The earthquake shocks grew stronger and fiercer, till the house was ready to fall; and Pliny and his friend, and the sailors and the slaves, all fled into the open fields, having pillows over their heads to prevent their being beaten down. By this time the day had come, but not the dawn; for it was still pitch dark. They went down to their boats upon the shore; but the sea raged so horribly that there was no getting on board of them.

Then Pliny grew tired and made his men spread a sail for him that he might lie down upon it. But there came down upon them a rush of flames and a strong smell of sulphur, and all ran for their lives.

Some of the slaves tried to help the Admiral; but he sank down again, overpowered by the brimstone° fumes, and so was left behind. When they came back again, there he lay dead; but with his clothes in order, and his face as quiet as though he had only been sleeping. And that was the end of a brave and learned man, a martyr to duty and to the love of science.

But what was going on in the meantime? Under clouds of ashes, cinders, mud, lava, three of those happy citiesHerculaneum,* Pompeii, Stabiæ-were buried at once.

They were buried just as the people had fled from them, leaving the furniture and the earthenware, often even jewels and gold, behind, and here and there a human being who had not had time to escape from the dreadful rain of ashes and dust.

The ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii have been dug into since, and partly uncovered; and the paintings, especially in Pompeii, are found upon the walls still fresh, preserved from the air by the ashes which have covered them. At Naples there is a famous museum containing the curiosities which have been dug out of the ruined cities; and one can walk along the streets in Pompeii and see the wheel tracks in the pave