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LXVII.

"WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER?"

G. W. DOANE.

"WHAT is that, mother?" "The lark, my child!
The moon has but just looked out and smiled,
When he starts from his humble, grassy nest,
And is up and away with the dew on his breast,
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere,
To warble it out in his Maker's ear.

Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays

Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise."

"What is that, mother?"

"The dove, my son!

And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan,
Is flowing out from her gentle breast,
Constant and pure, by that lonely nest,

As the wave is poured from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return.
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove,

In friendship as faithful, as constant in love."
"What is that, mother?" "The eagle, boy!
Proudly careering his course of joy ;
Firm, on his own mountain vigor relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying,
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun,
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine,
Onward and upward, and true to the line."

"What is that, mother?"

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The swan, my love!

He is floating down from his native grove;

No loved one now, no nestling nigh,

He is floating down, by himself to die;

Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings;
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings.

Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home."

LXVIII.-TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER'S SHOES.

CHARLES JAMES SPRAGUE.

Two little, rough-worn, stubbed shoes,

A plump, well-trodden pair,
With striped stockings thrust within,
Lie just beside my chair.

Of very homely fabric they;

A hole is in each toe;

They might have cost, when they were new,

Some fifty cents or so.

And yet this little, worn-out pair

Is richer far to me

Than all the jewelled sandals are

Of Eastern luxury.

This mottled leather, cracked with use,
Is satin in my sight;

These little tarnished buttons shine

With all a diamond's light.

Search through the wardrobe of the world,

You shall not find me, there,

So rarely made, so richly wrought,
So glorious a pair.

And why? Because they tell of her

Now sound asleep above,

Whose form is moving beauty, and

Whose heart is beating love.

They tell me of her merry laugh;

Her rich, whole-hearted glee;

Her gentleness and innocence,
And infant purity.

They tell me that her wavering steps

Will long demand my aid;
For the old road of human life
Is very roughly laid.

High hills and swift descents abound;

And, on so rude a way,

Feet that can wear these coverings

Would surely go astray.

Sweet little girl, be mine the task
Thy feeble steps to tend;
To be thy guide, thy counsellor,
Thy playmate, and thy friend.

And, when my steps shall faltering grow,
And thine be firm and strong,

Thy strength shall lead my tottering age
In cheerful peace along.

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LXIX. THE HORSE.

THE horse is universally acknowledged to be one of the noblest members of the animal kingdom. His figure is a model of elegance and energy. He is high-spirited, but gentle and docile, grateful for kindness, and often laboring faithfully for an unkind master. He does service to man in a great variety of ways. He carries him swiftly from place to place, and draws with ease heavy burdens, which human strength would be hardly able to move.

By his habits and structure, the horse is fitted for dry, open plains that yield a short, sweet herbage. His hoof is not suited for wet ground, nor does he willingly feed upon the leaves and twigs of trees. His lips and teeth are admirably formed for cropping the shortest grass; the front teeth are

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fitted for cutting, and the side teeth for grinding, his food. He cannot live without plenty of water; and in his wild state he delights in extensive plains through which rivers run.

In the central plains of Asia, in many parts of South America, in Eastern Europe, and in the western regions of our own country, the horse is found in a state of nature. They love to herd with their fellows, and droves of four or five hundred, and even more, are sometimes seen. Nothing presents a more animated picture than a group of wild horses at play. They sweep over the plain with the utmost speed, their heads erect, and their manes streaming to the wind. They wheel in rapid circles, paw the earth with their hoofs, and sport with each other like frolicsome children at play, their fine figures thrown into attitudes which a painter would delight to copy.

They never attack other animals, but always act upon the defensive. When they rest or sleep, one of their number always keeps watch, and warns them of approaching danger by a shrill neigh. In Tartary fierce battles often occur between the horses and the wolves, in which the latter sometimes succeed in carrying off a mare or a foal; but they pay dearly for it. The horses tear them with their teeth, and trample them with their fore feet; the hind feet not being used in attack or defence. A single blow with the hoof will often kill a wolf.

The wild horse is often caught by means of a lasso, which is a strong, plaited thong, about forty feet in length, rendered supple by grease, and having a noose at the end. This is flung round the horse's neck, and he is thus secured. Mr. Washington Irving, in his work called "A Tour on the Prairies," describes a fine wild horse which had been thus caught by an Indian hunter, which seemed gentle and docile by nature, and had a beautiful mild eye.

The man strapped a light pack upon his back by way of giving him his first lesson in servitude. The horse took fire at this, and acted as if he thought he was degraded; he reared,. and plunged, and kicked, and tried in every possible way to get rid of the burden. But the Indian was too strong for

him; he had the halter round his neck, and kept constantly jerking and worrying him as he resisted. The horse at last, driven to despair, threw himself on the ground, and lay motionless, as if confessing that he was conquered. From that time his spirit was broken, and he submitted himself to his master in all things.

In submission and attachment to man, the horse is equalled only by the dog and the elephant. He soon learns to distinguish his master's voice, and to come at his call; he rejoices in his presence, and seems restless and unhappy during his absence; he joins with him willingly in any work, and seems sensible to praise and emulation. There are instances on record of horses that have pined away and died for grief when they have lost their masters by death.

Horses have very good memories. In the darkest night they will find their way homeward, if they have but once passed over the road; and they will recognize their old masters after a lapse of many years. Horses that have been in the army, when they hear military music, and see soldiers parading, will be thrown into the greatest excitement, and will often join the troops in spite of the efforts of their riders to control them. In the beginning of the present century, the Tyrolese and Bavarians were fighting against each other. The Tyrolese captured fifteen horses belonging to their enemies, and set fifteen of their own men upon them, in order to go out and fight against the same troops. But when the horses heard the sound of their own trumpet, and saw the uniforms of the soldiers who used to ride them, they dashed forward at full speed, and in spite of all the efforts of their riders, bore them into the ranks, and delivered them up as prisoners to the Bavarians.

In sagacity and general intelligence horses are inferior to none of the brute creation; and many interesting anecdotes are told of them on these points. A horse in England used to pump water for himself, by taking the pump handle into his mouth, and moving it up and down, as the hand of a man

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