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8. Hugh found himself subject to very painful feelings sometimes, such as no one quite understood, and such as he feared no one was able to pity as they deserved. On one occasion, when he had been quite merry for a while, and his mother and his sister Agnes were chatting, they thought they heard a sob from the sofa. They spoke to Hugh, and found that he was indeed crying bitterly.

"What is it, my dear?" said his mother." Agnes, have we said any thing that could hurt his feelings?"

"No, no," sobbed Hugh. "I will tell you, presently." 9. And, presently, he told them that he was so busy listening to what they said that he forgot everything else, when he felt as if something had gotten between two of his toes; unconsciously he put down his hand as if his foot were there! Nothing could be plainer than the feeling in his toes; and then, when he put out his hand, and found nothing, it was so terrible, it startled him so! It was a comfort to find that his mother knew about this. She came, and kneeled by his sofa, and told him that many persons who had lost a limb considered this the most painful thing they had to bear for some time; but that, though the feeling would return occasionally through life, it would cease to be painful.

10. Hugh was very much dejected, and when he thought of the months and years to the end of his life, and that he should never run and play, and never be like other people, he almost wished that he were dead.

Agnes thought that he must be miserable indeed if he could venture to say this to his mother. She glanced at her mother's face, but there was no displeasure there. On the contrary, she said this feeling was very natural. She had felt it herself under smaller misfortunes than Hugh's; but she had found, though the prospect appeared all strewn with troubles, that they came singly, and were not so hard to bear, after all.

11. She told Hugh that when she was a little girl she

(5.-20.)

was very lazy, fond of her bed, and not at all fond of

dressing or washing.

"Why, mother! you?" exclaimed Hugh.

"Yes; that was the sort of little girl I was.

Well, I

was in despair, one day, at the thought that I should have to wash, and clean my teeth, and brush my hair, and put on every article of dress, every morning, as long as I lived." "Did you tell any body?" asked Hugh.

12. "No, I was ashamed to do that; but I remember I cried. You see how it turns out. When we have become accustomed to any thing, we do it without ever thinking of the trouble, and, as the old fable tells us, the clock that has to tick so many millions of times, has exactly the same number of seconds to do it in. So will you find that you can move about on each separate occasion, as you wish, and practice will enable you to do it without any trouble or thought."

13.

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"But this is not all, nor half what I mean," said Hugh. No, my dear, nor half what you will have to bear. You resolved to bear it all patiently, I remember. But what is it you dread the most?"

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'Oh! all manner of things. I can never do like other people."

"Some things," replied his mother. "You can never play cricket, as every Crofton boy would like to do. You can never dance at your sister's Christmas parties."

14. "O mamma!" cried Agnes, with tears in her eyes, and with the thought in her mind that it was cruel to talk

SO.

"Go on! Go on!" cried Hugh, brightening. "You know what I feel, mother; and you don't keep telling me, as others do, and even sister Agnes, sometimes, that it will not signify much, and that I shall not care, and all that; making out that it is no misfortune, hardly, when I know what it is, and they don't. Now, then, go on, mother! What else?"

15. "There will be little checks and mortifications continually, when you see little boys leaping over this, and climbing that, and playing at the other, while you must stand out, and can only look on. And some people will pity you in a way you will not like: and some may even laugh at you."

"O mamma!" exclaimed Agnes.

"Well, and what else?" said Hugh.

16. "Sooner or later you will have to follow some way of life determined by this accident instead of one that you I would have liked better."

"Well, what else?"

“I must ask you, now. I can think of nothing more; and I hope there is not much else; for, indeed, I think here is quite enough for a boy, or any one else, to bear." "I will bear it though; you will see."

17. "You will find great helps. These misfortunes of themselves strengthen one's mind. They have some advantages, too. You will be a better scholar for your lameness, I have no doubt. You will read more books, and have a mind richer in thoughts. You will be more beloved by us all, and you yourself will love God more for having given you something to bear for his sake. God himself will help you to bear your trials. You will conquer your troubles one by one, and by a succession of LITTLE VICTORIES Will at last completely triumph over all."

-Harriet Martineau.

DEFINITIONS.-1. Af-fliet'ed, overwhelmed, dejected. Rěck'oned, calculated, counted. 3. Com-pōş'er, an author of a piece of music. Or'ches-trå, a body of instrumental musicians. 7. Approve', sanction, allow. 10. De-jeet'ed, discouraged, low-spirited.

NOTES.-2. François Huber (b. 1750, d. 1831) was a Swiss naturalist. He became blind at the age of fifteen, but pursued his studies by the aid of his wife and an attendant.

2. Ludwig van Beethoven (pro. ba'tō-ven; b. 1770, d. 1827) was born at Bonn, Prussia, but passed most of his life at Vienna.

CII. THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

Sir Henry Wotton (b. 1568, d. 1639) was born at Bocton Hall, Kent, England. He was educated at Winchester and Oxford. About 1598 he was taken into the service of the Earl of Essex, as one of his secretaries. On the Earl's committal to the Tower for treason, Wotton fled to France; but he returned to England immediately after the death of Elizabeth, and received the honor of knighthood. He was King James's favorite diplomatist, and, in 1623, was appointed provost of Eton College. Wotton wrote a number of prose works; but his literary reputation rests mainly on some short poems, which are distinguished by a dignity of thought and expression rarely excelled.

1. How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!

2. Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the worldly care

Of public fame, or private breath;

3. Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:

4. Who hath his life from rumors freed,

Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

5. Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;

6. This man is freed from servile bands,
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

CIII. THE ART OF DISCOURAGEMENT.

Arthur Helps (b. 1817, d. 1875) graduated at Cambridge, England, in 1835. His best known works are: "Friends in Council, a Series of Readings and Discourses," "Companions of my Solitude," and "Realmah," a tale of the "lake dwellers" in southern Europe. He has also written a "History of the Spanish Conquests in America," two historical dramas, and several other works. Mr. Helps was a true thinker, and his writings are deservedly popular with thoughtful readers. In 1859 he was appointed secretary of the privy council.

1. REGARDING, one day, in company with a humorous friend, a noble vessel of a somewhat novel construction sailing slowly out of port, he observed, "What a quantity of cold water somebody must have had down his back." In my innocence, I supposed that he alluded to the wet work of the artisans who had been building the vessel; but when I came to know him better, I found that this was the form of comment he always indulged in when contemplating any new and great work, and that his "somebody" was the designer of the vessel.

2. My friend had carefully studied the art of discouragement, and there was a class of men whom he designated simply as "cold-water pourers." It was most amusing to hear him describe the lengthened sufferings of the man who first designed a wheel; of him who first built a boat; of the adventurous personage who first proposed the daring enterprise of using buttons, instead of fish bones, to fasten the scanty raiment of some savage tribe.

3. Warming with his theme, he would become quite eloquent in describing the long career of discouragement which

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