Sir Ralph leant over from the boat,

And cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound,

The bubbles rose and burst around;

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away,

He scoured the seas for many a day;

And now, grown rich with plundered store,

He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
They cannot see the sun on high.
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers' roar? For, methinks, we should be near the shore. Yet where we are I cannot tell,

I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,-
"O Heavens! it is the In
cape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
And beat his breast in his despair;
The waves rushed in on every side,
And the ship sank down beneath the tide.

Questions: — Give the first two stanzas in your own words. Change the adjectives and verbs in third and fourth. What was Sir Ralph's occupation? How was he punished? What conversation had taken place previously?

William Wordsworth (1770-1850) was the first great poet who turned the current of English poetry into its present channel, that of humanity; by which we mean those sentiments arising from the contemplation of the threefold relations of God, man's soul, and nature. We say the first great poet, because before his time such poets as Cowper, an 1 Goldsmith and Burns had really begun the re-action against romanticism, and Wordsworth has been given the credit of originating a movement of which he was but the instrument. The "Excursion" is

his greatest poem. It is philosophy in numbers. Many of Wordsworth's sonnets are the finest in the language. All his reflective poems are marked by great loftiness of sentiment, and are better appreciated as the mind grows older and lays aside the passions and ardor of youth.

BEHOLD her, single in the field, yon solitary Highland Lass! reaping and singing by herself; stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, and sings a melancholy strain; Oh listen! for the vale profound is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt more welcome notes to weary bands of travellers, in some shady haunt among Arabian sands: no sweeter voice was ever heard in spring-time from the cucko bird, breaking the silence of the seas among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow for old, unhappy, far-off things, and battles long ago: or is it some more humble lay, familiar matter of to-day? some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, that has

been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang as if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, and o'er the sickle bending; I listened till I had my fill; and as I mounted up the hill, the music in my heart I bore long after it was heard

John Henry, Cardinal Newman, was born in England in 1801. He was educated at Oxford. In 1845 he became a convert to the Catholic faith; in 1847 was ordained priest, and in 1848 established the Oratory of St. Philip Neri in England. He was the first rector of the Catholic University of Ireland, which office he held for several years. He is unquestionably one of the leading minds of the age. In his writings a profound and varied learning, a mind eminently philosophical and a keen analytic genius are displayed, through the medium of a style at once copious and compact, full of vigor and nervous energy, and yet of majestic and sustained harmony. He is the greatest living master of English prose. His best known works are "Grammar of Assent," "Apologia pro Vita Sua," "Discourse on University Education,” "History of Arianism,' "Loss and Gain" and "Callista," the two latter being works of fiction.

WORLDLY-MINDED men, however rich, if they

are Catholics, cannot, till they utterly lose their faith, be the same as those who are external to the Church; they have an instinctive veneration for those who have the traces of heaven upon them, and they praise what they do not imitate.

Such men have an idea before them which a Protestant nation has not; they have the idea of a Saint;

they believe they realize the existence of those rare servants of God, who rise up from time to time in the Catholic Church like angels in disguise, and shed around them a light as they walk on their way heavenward. They may not in practice do what is right and good, but they know what is true; they know what to think and how to judge. They have a standard for their principles of conduct, and it is the image, the pattern of Saints which forms it for them. Very various are the Saints, their variety being a token of God's workmanship; but however various, and whatever was their special line of duty, they have been heroes in it; they have attained such noble self-command, they have so crucified the flesh, they have so renounced the world; they are so meek, so gentle, so tender-hearted, so merciful, so sweet, so cheerful, so full of prayer, so diligent, so forgetful of injuries; they have sustained such great and continued pains, they have persevered in such vast labors, they have made such valiant confessions, they have wrought such abundant miracles, they have been blessed with such strange successes, that they have set up a standard before us.of truth, of magnanimity, of holiness, of love. They are not always our examples, and we are not always bound to follow them; not more than we are bound to obey literally some of our Lord's precepts, such as turning the cheek or giving away the coat; not more than we can follow the course of the sun, moon, or stars in the heavens; but, though not always our examples, they are always our standard of right and good; they are raised up to be monuments and lessons, they remind us of God, they introduce us into the unseen world, they teach us what Christ loves, they track out for us the way which leads heavenward. They are to us who see them, what wealth, notoriety, rank and name are to the

multitude of men who live in darkness, - objects of our veneration and of our homage.

Questions: What feeling distinguishes even worldly-minded Catholics, who have not lost their faith? What pattern do Catholics take for their lives? What name is given the Saints here? Why were they heroes? Name their chief works. Why were the Saints raised up Name six Saints whose lives you admire, and say why.

THE VIRGIN.

MOTHER! whose virgin bosom was uncross'd

With the least shade of thought to sin allied;
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature's solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tossed,

Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak, strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemish'd moon
Before her vane begins on heaven's blue coast,
Thy image falls to earth. Yet some I ween,

Not unforgiven, the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible power, in which did blend
All that was mix'd and reconciled in thee
Of mother's love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene.

It is this thought to-day that lifts
My happy heart to heaven,
That for our sakes thy choicest gifts
To thee, dear Queen, were given.
The glory that belongs to thee

Seems rather mine than thine,

While all the cares that harass me
Are rather thine than mine.