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horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good way off in the field. Sancho Panza ran as fast as his donkey could drive to help his master, whom he found lying, and not able to stir.

"Did not I give your worship fair warning?" cried he; "did not I tell you they were windmills, and that nobody could think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head?"

"Peace, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "there is nothing so subject to the fickleness of fortune as war."

"So let it be," replied Sancho.

And, heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted poor Rozinante, who was half disjointed with his fall.

league, about three miles. ig no'ble, of low birth.

mis'cre ant, a villain; an unbeliever.

Giant Bri a're us, a fabled monster

with a hundred arms.

ar'ro gance, contempt of others.

Lady Dul cin'e a, the lady to whom

Don Quixote had pledged his devotion as a knight.

couch, to lower to the position of attack.

Roz i nan'te, the knight's horse.

MIGUEL DE CERVANTES (1547-1616) was one of the greatest writers in all Spanish literature.

SLOTH makes all things difficult, but industry all easy; and he who rises late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night, while laziness travels so slowly that poverty soon overtakes him. - BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

A SONG OF AUTUMN1

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

TIME of crisp and tawny leaves,
And of tarnished harvest sheaves,
And of dusty grasses - weeds —
Thistles, with their tufted seeds
Voyaging the autumn breeze
Like as fairy argosies:

Time of quicker flash of wings,
And of clearer twitterings
In the grove, or deeper shade
Of the tangled everglade,
Where the spotted water-snake
Coils him in the sunniest brake;
And the bittern, as in fright,
Darts, in sudden, slanting flight,
Southward, while the startled crane
Films his eyes in dreams again.

Season halest of the year!

How the zestful atmosphere

Nettles blood and brain, and smites

Into life the old delights

We have wasted in our youth,
And our graver years, forsooth!
How again the boyish heart

Leaps to see the chipmunk start

1 From Riley's "Child Rhymes," by permission of the Bobbs-Merrill Co.

From the brush and sleek the sun's
Very beauty, as he runs!
How again a subtle hint

Of crushed pennyroyal or mint,
Sends us on our knees, as when
We were truant boys of ten-
Brown marauders of the wood,
Merrier than Robin Hood!

Ah! will any minstrel say,
In his sweetest roundelay,
What is sweeter, after all,
Than black haws, in early fall
Fruit so sweet the frost first sat,
Dainty-toothed, and nibbled at?
And will any poet sing
Of a lusher, richer thing
Than a ripe Mayapple, rolled
Like a pulpy lump of gold
Under thumb and finger-tips,
And poured molten through the lips?
Go, ye bards of classic themes,
Pipe your songs by classic streams!

I would twang the redbird's wings
In the thicket while he sings!

ar'go sy, a large, richly-laden ship. ev'er glade, a swamp, or low tract of land (flooded, and interspersed with small islands and patches of high grass).

bit'tern, a wading bird, very like the
heron.

ma raud'er, a robber.
round'e lay, a simple song.
min'strel, a wandering singer.

BOB 1

SIDNEY LANIER

BOB is our mocking-bird. He fell to us out of the top of a great pine in a certain small city on the sea-coast of Georgia. In this tree and a host of its lordly fellows which tower over that little city, the mocking-birds abound in unusual numbers. They love the masses of leaves, and the generous breezes from the neighboring Gulf Stream, and most of all, the infinite flood of the sunlight.

About three years ago, in a sandy road which skirts a grove of such tall pines, a wayfarer found Bob lying in a lump. It could not have been more than a few days since he was no bird at all. The finder brought him to our fence and turned him over to a young man who had done us the honor to come and live at our house about six years before. Gladly received by this last, Bob was brought within, and family discussions were held.

He could not be put back into a tree; the hawks would have had him in an hour. The original nest was not to be found. We struggled hard against committing the crime - as we had always considered it-of caging a bird. But finally it became plain that there was no other resource, and he was tended with motherly care.

1 Copyright, 1891; used by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.