How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs !

How it gushes and struggles out

From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Against the window pane

It pours and pours;

And swift and wide,

With a muddy tide,

Like a river, down the gutter roars

The rain, the welcome rain!

From the neighboring school

Come the boys,

With more than their wonted noise

And commotion;

And down the wet streets

Sail their mimic fleets,

Till the treacherous pool

Ingulfs them in its whirling

And turbulent ocean.

In the country on every side, Where far and wide,

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,

Stretches the plain,

To the dry grass and the drier grain,
How welcome is the rain!

In the furrowed land

The toilsome and patient oxen stand,

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head.

With the dilated nostril spread,

They silently inhale

The clover-scented gale,

And the vapors that arise

From the well-watered and smoking soil.

For this rest in the furrow after toil

Their large and lustrous eyes

Seem to thank the Lord,

More than man's spoken word.

LXII. -THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

LONGFELLOW.

UNDER a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat;
He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell
When the evening sun is low.

And children, coming home from school,
Look in at the open door;

They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar;

To see the burning sparks that fly

Like chaff from the threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice
Singing in paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

LXIII.-THE INDIAN CHIEF.

MURRAY'S INTRODUCTION.

DURING the war in America, a company of Indians attacked a small body of British troops, and defeated them. As the Indians had greatly the advantage in swiftness of foot, and were eager in the pursuit, very few of the British escaped; and those who fell into their hands were treated with a cruelty of which there are not many examples, even in Indian warfare.

Two of the Indians came up to a young officer, and attacked him with great fury. As they were armed with battle-axes, he had no hope of escape; but just at this crisis another Indian came up, who was advanced in years, and was armed with a bow and arrows.

The old man instantly drew his bow; but, after having taken his aim at the officer, he suddenly dropped the point of his arrow, and interposed between him and his pursuers, who were about to cut him in pieces. They retired with respect. The old man then took the officer by the hand, soothed him into confidence, and, having conducted him into his hut, treated

him with a kindness that did honor to his professions. He made him less a slave than a companion, taught him the language of the country, and instructed him in the rude arts that are practised by the Indians. They lived together in the most perfect harmony; and the young officer, in the treatment he met with, found nothing to regret, but that sometimes the old man fixed his eyes upon him, and, having regarded him for some minutes with a steady and silent attention, burst into

tears.

In the mean time, the spring returned, and the Indians again took the field. The old man, who was still vigorous, and able to bear the fatigues of war, set out with them, and was accompanied by his prisoner. They marched above two hundred leagues across the forest, and came at length to a plain where the British forces were encamped. The old man showed his prisoner the tents at a distance.

"There," said he, are thy countrymen; there is the enemy, who wait to give us battle. Remember that I have saved thy life; that I have taught thee to conduct a canoe, to arm thyself with a bow and arrows, and to surprise the beaver in the forest. What wast thou when I first took thee to my hut? Thy hands were those of an infant; they could neither procure thee sustenance nor safety. Thy soul was in utter darkness; thou wast ignorant of every thing. Thou owest all things to me. Wilt thou, then, go over to thy nation, and take up the hatchet against us?" The officer replied, that he would rather lose his own life than take that of his deliverer.

The Indian, bending down his head, and covering his face with both his hands, stood some time silent. Then, looking earnestly at his prisoner, he said, in a voice that was at once softened by grief and tenderness, "Hast thou a father?" "My father," said the young man, “was alive when I left my country." "Alas!" said the Indian, "how wretched must he be!" He paused a moment, and then added, "Dost thou know that I have been a father? I am a father no more! I

saw my son fall in battle. He fought at my side. I saw him expire. He was covered with wounds when he fell dead at my feet."

He pronounced these words with the utmost vehemence. His body shook with a universal tremor. He was almost stifled with sighs which he would not suffer to escape him. There was a keen restlessness in his eye, but no tears flowed to his relief. At length he became calm by degrees; and, turning towards the east, where the sun had just risen, "Dost thou see," said he to the young officer, "the beauty of that sky, which sparkles with prevailing day? and hast thou pleasure in the sight?" "Yes," replied the young officer, "I have pleasure in the beauty of so fine a sky." "I have none," said the Indian; and his tears then found their way.

A few minutes after, he showed the young man a magnolia in fine bloom. "Dost thou see that beautiful tree?" said he; "and dost thou look upon it with pleasure?" "Yes," replied the officer, "I look with pleasure upon that beautiful tree." "I have no longer any pleasure in looking upon it," said the Indian hastily; and then immediately added, " Go, return to thy father, that he may still have pleasure when he sees the sun rise in the morning, and the trees blossom in the spring."

JAMES MERCHANT and John Carpenter were boys at school together. John was a very ingenious boy, constantly making things with his knife, and very handy with all kinds of tools. One day when James went to see him, he found him, as usual, busy with his tools. "What are you doing now?" he asked. "I am going to teach Towser to churn," said John. "While I am churning, he stretches himself out under a tree and goes to sleep. I think he may as well do something for a living. People talk about working like a dog, but it seems to me dogs

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