And feeds me with his hands;

For he knows who makes him thrive, Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays, I take my rest ;

Church-going bells begin
Their low melodious din;

I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

A poor Swiss boy began alone to study Nature's great book. It was his delight to spell out the lessons written in the rocks, and to learn the facts which fossils teach. Fishes that have been dead for ages would talk to him, and tell him stories of the past, till his face would glow, and his eyes grow bright.

1 1 (loo'ē) (ǎğ'a see).

some hole at the base of a tree, beneath roots, or heaps of grass, leaves, or moss.

Although the hedgehog belongs to the insect-eating animals, he has good teeth and is willing to try them on any kind of game; rabbits, mice, and, best of all, a nest of young birds.

Frogs and snakes, he easily kills. In eating a snake, he always begins at the tail. The poison of snakes, or indeed any kind of poison, does not seem to hurt him. As a hunter of black beetles, he is most welcome in kitchen and garden.

The young hedgehogs are strange little things. They do not look like hedgehogs at all; they might pass for young birds. The spines are white and soft, and look like the beginnings of feathers on young birds. Like kittens and puppies, young hedgehogs do not see till they are some days old; nor do they hear.

From two to four little hedgehogs make a family, and the mother builds a nice little house, covering it with a roof which turns off the rain.

They grow fast, and soon get stiffer

and darker spines. More slowly they learn to draw their skin down over their faces, and it is not till they are about full grown, that they can curl themselves up into a prickly ball.

THE WINDMILL.

Behold! a giant am I!

Aloft here in my tower,

With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails

Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns with their open doors,

And the wind, the wind in my sails Louder, and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow,
I meet it face to face,

As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive,

My master, the miller, stands

And feeds me with his hands;

For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays, I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low melodious din;

I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

A poor Swiss boy began alone to study Nature's great book. It was his delight to spell out the lessons written in the rocks, and to learn the facts which fossils teach. Fishes that have been dead for ages would talk to him, and tell him stories of the past, till his face would glow, and his eyes grow bright.