"And," continued the fairy, "she panted dreadfully over some of the large books, and we did not think her little arms were strong enough to carry them; but she managed wonderfully. And she talked to us all the time, having guessed, of course, that we were real persons. She used to say, 'Dear, dear books, to think that no one comes to see you, except myself! How lonely you must be! Never mind, you shall be my playmates. I shall come and spend all my spare hours with you.'"

And did she?" said Beryl.

"Yes," said the fairy, "and when we heard her turn the key of the book-case, we were happy, because we loved being with her. There was something so sympathetic about her. She did not always read us, you know. She built houses with us, and beautiful castles, and we let her do whatever she liked, for we loved to feel the touch of her hands. Every day became a pleasure to us, because we knew we should see our dear little girl-friend."

"Did you ever speak to her?" asked Beryl. "Sometimes," said the fairy, "we spoke to her at

dusk.

We told her that we should be her friends all through her life; and you know, Beryl, they say that books are the best friends one can have. She was very wise, too, for we helped her to become clever. When you hear of people being clever, you may know that it is because the book fairies love them."

"By the way, dear," said the fairies, "don't ever turn down the leaves of your book, because you might squash a fairy, and that is the one thing from which fairies never recover - being squashed. I myself had a narrow escape the other day, in your arithmetic book. You turned down one of the pages

of the chapter marked 'long division,' and you nearly squashed my left arm. Fortunately we have a very good doctor, and he dressed it for me at once."

"Oh, I am sorry," said Beryl. "I'll never turn down another leaf. Do tell me whether you suffered much pain from your arm."

"It's quite well now," he said cheerily; "fairies' wounds do not take long to heal; and as for being angry with you, Beryl, why, it is not to be expected that you should know all these things by yourself."

prep o si'tion, a word which relates a | ad'jectives, adjectives are words

noun to some other word. In, by,
and to are prepositions.

con junc'tion, a word which joins two
parts of a sentence. And and but
are conjunctions.

which tell what kind: like good, poor, white; or which ones and

how many one, two, this, these. sym pa thet'ic, full of pity.

BEATRICE HARRADEN, born in England in 1864, has written several good novels and some excellent books for children.

LOST, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward offered, for they are gone for

THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII

CHARLES KINGSLEY

VOLCANOES can never be trusted. No one knows when 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. The region was held to be one of the paradises of the world.

As for the mountain's 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 79 A.D. 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 old 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 the great showers of stones and cinders which were falling.