1. Name Bernardo's parents. 2. In what century did Charlemagne flourish? 3. Why is Alphonso called the lying King? 4. Describe Bernardo as he approaches the throne. 5. What are the words of the King as Bernardo advances? 6. What reply does the champion make to the King's calumny and threat? 7. What facts are alluded to in verse 4th? | 8. What does Bernardo say of the king who breaks his faith? 9. Why was not Bernardo seized at the King's command? 10. In what words does onr champion challenge the King and his nobles? 11. What takes place when the horn is blown? 12. In what tone did the King now address him? 13. What sort of smile would Bernardo give on leaving the hall? THE LADY AND ADOPTED CHILD, MRS HEMANS. Some years since, a young New Zealander was carried to England, where he lived many years, was carefully educated, and introduced into the most refined society. When his education was completed, he returned to his home, and at once returned to the habits, the character, and the degradations of savage life. This has almost uniformly been the result of attempts to civilize and educate young savages. And why? On what principle can it be accounted for? I reply, that the work was begun too late. The impressions made upon early childhood cannot be effaced. You may take the young savage, and make a palace his home, and he is like the young ass's colt; he longs for the forest, for the lawlessness of savage life. This principle is deep, uniform, unalterable.-Rev. John Todd. LADY. "Why wouldst thou leave me, oh! gentle child? A straw-roof'd cabin with lowly wall— Mine is a fair and pillar'd hall, Where many an image of marble gleams, And the sunshine of pictures for ever streams!" Boy. Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play, They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme; And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know,- LADY. "Content thee, boy, in my bower to dwell; Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountain heard." Boy. 66 To the babe half slumbering on her knee: I dreamt last night of that music low,— Lady, kind lady! oh let me go!" LADY. "Thy mother hath gone from her cares to rcst, Thou wouldst meet her footsteps, my boy, no more Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye!" Boy. "Is my mother gone from her home away? And they launch their boats where the blue streams flow: LADY. "Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now, They have left the fern by the spring's green side, For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot!" Boy. "Are they gone, all gone from the hill? THE DEATH OF KEELDAR. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Percy or Percival Rede of Trochend, in Redesdale, Northumberland, is celebrated in tradition as a huntsman and a soldier. He was upon two occasions singularly unfortunate; once, when an arrow, which he had discharged at a deer, killed his celebrated dog Keeldar; and again, when, being on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the hands of a clan called Crossar, by whom he was murdered. Mr Cooper's painting of the first of these incidents suggested the following stanzas. UP rose the sun o'er moor and mead, The palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, On Cheviot's rueful day; * See ballad of Chevy Chase, which relates perhaps a totally fictitious event, unless it may be founded on the battle of Otterbourne (1388), the only one mentioned in history in which a Douglas fell fighting with a Percy. Keeldar was matchless in his speed; Than Tarras, ne'er was stauncher steed; A peerless archer Percy Rede: And right dear friends were they! And oft when evening skies were red, Now is the thrilling moment near, The game's afoot!-Halloo! halloo! Has drench'd the grey-goose wing. The noble hound-he dies, he dies; Death, death, has glazed his fixed eyes, Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, Without a groan or quiver, Now day may break and bugle sound, Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, His aspect hath expression drear, But he that bent the fatal bow, In speechless grief recline; Can think he hears the senseless clay, "And if it be, the shaft be bless'd, And you may have a fleeter hound And to his last stout Percy rued E'en with his dying voice he cried, Remembrance of the erring bow Long since had join'd the tides which flow Down dark Oblivion's river; But Art can Time's stern doom arrest, The scene shall live for ever. 1. Give me some history of Percy Rede. 2. What suggested the stanzas to Sir Walter Scott? 3. Describe the jovial three as they might be seen at sunrise. 4. Why "Cheviot's rueful day?" 5. What were the names and qualities of master, steed, and hound? 6. In what way did the three spend the livelong day? 7. Describe the scene at the thicket that concealed the deer. 8. Of the wood of what tree were bows chiefly made? 10. What things shall no more rouse noble Keeldar? 11. How looked the horse as he stood by the hound? 12. Who must feel the loss in the highest degree? 13. What may he be supposed to think he hears Keeldar say? 14. By whom was bold Percy Rede murdered? 15. What were among his last words? 16. What art keeps this affecting story in rememberance? 17. In what way is it now preserved, 9. What mean you by the faithless besides by Cooper's picture? yew? THE WIDOW OF NAIN. N. P. WILLIS. Nain, so called for the pleasantness of its situation, was a town of Galilee, about two leagues from Nazareth, and not so much from Mount Tabor, between which and the city ran the river Kison. From our Saviour's meeting the funeral coming out of the gates, we may learn that it was a custom among the Jews to bury their dead in the day * A river in the infernal regions whose waters caused forgetfulness. time, when their nearest friends and relations followed the corpse, which was usually carried in procession through the streets and public places to the cemeteries, which were generally at a considerable distance from the city, because they looked upon the graves as places full of pollution.-Calmet's Commentary on Luke vii. 11-18. THE Roman sentinel stood helm'd and tall Of some poor mendicant, he raised his head And slumberously dozed on. 'Twas now high noon. The dull, low murmur of a funeral Went through the city-the sad sound of feet And, by the crowd that in the burning sun And he was dead! They could not comfort her. He had come |