8 Then out came a Spider, with fingers so fine,
To show his dexterity on the tight line;
From one branch to another his cobweb he slung,
Then as quick as an arrow he darted along.

9. But just in the middle, O, shocking to tell!

From his rope in an instant poor Harlequin fell;
Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread
Hung suspended in air at the end of a thread.

10 Then the Grasshopper came, with a jerk and a spring;
Very long was his leg, though but short was his wing;
He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight,
Then chirped his own praises the rest of the night.

11. With steps quite majestic, the Snail did advance,
And promised the gazers a minuet to dance;
But they all laughed so loud, that he pulled in his head,
And went in his own little chamber to bed.

12. Then, as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with his light;
Then home let us hasten, while yet we can see,
For no watchman is waiting for you or for me.

ROSCOE.

XXIV.

ST. PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH.

ST. PHILIP NERI, as old readings say,

Met a young stranger in Rome's streets, one day;
And, being ever courteously inclined

To give young folks73 a sober turn of mind,

He fell into discourse with him, and thus

The dialogue they held comes down to us:

St. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Rome?

Y. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come.

St. And, when you are one, what do you intend?

Y. To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end.

St. Suppose it so, what have you next in view?

Y.

Be it so

Why, cardinal's a high degree

And yet my lot it possibly may be.

St. Suppose it was,

Y.

- what then?

Why, who can say
But I've a chance of being pope, one day?

St. Well, having worn the mitre and red hat,
And triple crown, what follows after that?

Y. Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure,
Upon this earth, that wishing can procure:
When I've enjoyed a dignity so high,

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As long as God shall please, then I must die.

St. What! MUST you die? fond youth! and at the box.

But wish, and hope, and MAY BE all the rest?

Take my advice · whatever may betide,

For that which MUST be, first of all provide;
Then think of that which MAY be; and, indeed,
When well prepared, who knows what may succeed?
Who knows but you may then be, as you hope,
Priest, căn ́on, bishop, cardinal and pope?

Dr. Byrom.

XXV.

ENGLAND UNDER CANUTE THE DANE.

1. CANUTE began to reign in England in the year one thousand and seventeen, and reigned eighteen years. He was a merciless king at first.141 After he had clasped the hands of the Saxon chiefs, in token of the sincerity with which he swore to be just and good to them, in return for their acknowledging him, he denounced and slew many of them, as well as many relations of the late king. "He who brings me the head of one of my enemies," he used to say, "shall be dearer to me than a brother'

And he was so severe in hunting down his enemies, that he must have got together a pretty large family of these dear brothers.

2. He was strongly inclined to kill Edmund and Edward, two children, sons of Edmund, surnamed Ironside : but, being afraid to do so in England, he sent them over to the King of Sweden, with a request that the king would be so good as to "dispose of them." If the King of Sweden had been like many, many other men of that day, he would have had their innocent throats cut; but he was a kind man, and brought them up tenderly.

3. Normandy ran much in Ca'nūte's mind. In Normandy were the two children of the late king - Edward and Alfred by name; and their uncle, the Duke, might one day claim the crown for them. But the Duke showed so little inclination to do so now, that he proposed to Canute to marry his sister, the widow of King Ethelred; and she, being but a showy flower, and caring for nothing143 so much as becoming a queen again, left her children and was wedded to him.

4. Successful and triumphant, assisted by the valor of the English in his foreign wars, and with little strife to trouble him at home, Canute had a prosperous reign, and made many improvements. He was a poet and a musician. He grew sorry, as he grew older, for the blood he had shed at first, and went to Rome in a Pilgrim's dress, by way of washing it out. He gave a great deal of money to foreigners on his journey; but he took it from the English before he started. On the whōle, however, he certainly became a far better man when he had no opposition to contend with, and was as great a king as England had known for some time.

5. The old writers of history relate how that Canute was one day disgusted with his courtiers for their flattery, and how he caused his chair to be set on the sea-shore, and feigned to command the tide, as it came up, not to wet the edge of his robe, for the land was his; how the tide came up, of course, without regarding him; and how he then turned to his flatterers, and rebuked them, saying, what was the might of any earthly king to the might of the Creator, who could say unto the sea, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no further"?

6. We may learn from this, I think, that a litt.e sense will go a long way in a king; and that courtiers are not easily cured of flattery, nor kings of a liking for it. If the courtiers of Canute had not known, long before, that the king was fond of flattery, they would have known better than to offer it in such large doses. And if they had not known that he was vain of this speech (anything but a wonderful speech, it seems to me, if a good child had made it),1 they would not have been at such great pains to repeat it. I fancy I see them all on the sea-shore together; the king's chair sinking in the sand; the king in a mighty good humor with his own wisdom; and the courtiers pretending to be quite stunned by it!

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7. It is not the sea alone that is bidden to go "thus far, and no further." The great command goes forth to all the kings upon the earth; and went to Canute in the year one thousand and thirty-five, and stretched him dead upon his bed. Beside it stood his Norman wife. Perhaps, as the king looked his last upon her, he, who had so often thought distrustfully of Normandy long ago, thought once more of the two exiled princes in their uncle's court, and of the little favor they could feel for either Danes or Saxons, and of a rising cloud in Normandy that slowly moved toward England. Dickens.

LITTLE Gretchen, little Gretchen wanders up and down the street;
The snow is on her yellow hair, the frost is at her feet.

The rows of long, dark houses without look cold and damp,
By the struggling of the moonbeam, by the flicker of the lamp.
The clouds ride fast as horses, the wind is from the north,
But no one cares for Gretchen, and no one looketh forth.
Within those dark, damp houses are merry faces bright,
And happy hearts are watching out the old year's latest night.

2.

With the little box of matches she could not sell all day,
And the thin, thin tattered mantle the wind blows every way.
She clingeth to the railing, she shivers in the gloom,—
There are parents sitting snugly by firelight in the room;

And children with grave faces are whispering one another
Of presents for the new year, for father or for mother.
But no one talks to Gretchen, and no one hears her speak,
No breath of little whisperers comes warmly to her cheek.

3.

No little arms are round her: ah me! that there should be,
With so much happiness on earth, so much of misery!

Sure they of many blessings should scatter blessings round,
As laden boughs in autumn fling their ripe fruits to the ground.
And the best love man can offer to the God of love, be sure,
Is kindness to his little ones, and bounty to his poor.
Little Gretchen, little Gretchen goes coldly on her way;
There's no one looketh out at her, there's no one bids her stay.

4.

Her home is cold and desolate; no smile, no food, no fire,
But children clamorous for bread, and an impatient sire.
So she sits down in an angle where two great houses meet,
And she curleth up beneath her, for warmth, her little feet
And she looketh on the cold wall, and on the colder sky,
And wonders if the little stars are bright fires up on high.
She hears a clock strike slowly, up in a far church tower,
With such a sad and solemn tone, telling the midnight hour.

5.

And she remembered her of tales her mother used to tell,
And of the cradle-songs she sang, when summer's twilight fell
Of good men and of angels, and of the Holy Child,
Who was cradled in a manger, when winter was most wild;
Who was poor, and cold, and hungry, and desolate and lone;
And she thought the song had told he was ever with his own;
And all the poor and hungry and forsaken ones are his,—
"How good of Him to look on me in such a place as this!"

6.

Colder it grows and colder, but she does not feel it now,
For the pressure at her heart, and the weight upon her brow
But she struck one little match on the wall so cold and bare
That she might look around her, and see if He were there.
The single match has kindled, and by the light it threw
It seemed to little Gretchen the wall was rent in two;
And she could see folks seated at a table richly spread,
With heaps of goodly viands, red wine and pleasant bread.

7.

She could smell the fragrant savor, she could hear what they did say Then all was darkness once again, the match had burned away.