rote this
story, not only to tell the adventures of his heroes and his heroines,
but to give American boys and girls an idea of life at an English
school. We think that the doings of Howard, Digby, Madelaine, and the
rest, will be greatly interesting to our readers, especially as these
young people leave the school after a while, and have adventures of a
novel kind in some romantic, sea-girt islands.

* * * * *

BESSIE G.--Your letter is not such a one as we are apt to answer in the
"Letter-Box." But the best possible message we can send you, and one
that you will understand, and apply to your own case, is a beautiful
little poem which will interest all readers. We shall give it to you
entire. We take it from a treasured old newspaper slip, and regret that
we do not know the author's name.

THE SINGING-LESSON.

A nightingale made a mistake;
She sang a few notes out of tune,
Her heart was ready to break,
And she hid from the moon.
She wrung her claws, poor thing,
But was far too proud to speak.
She tucked her head under her wing,
And pretended to be asleep.

A lark, arm-in-arm with a thrush,
Came sauntering up to the place;
The nightingale felt herself blush,
Though feathers hid her face.
She knew they had heard her song,
She FELT them snicker and sneer,
She thought this life was too long,
And wished she could skip a year.

"O nightingale!" cooed a dove,
"O nightingale, what's the use,
You bird of beauty and love,
Why behave like a goose?
Don't skulk away from our sight,
Like a common, contemptible fowl:
You bird of joy and delight,
Why behave like an owl?

"Only think of all you have done;
Only think of all you can do;
A false note is really fun,
From such a bird as you!
Lift up your proud little crest;
Open your musical beak;
Other birds have to do their best,
You need only SPEAK."

The nightingale shyly took
Her head from under her wing,
And, giving the dove a look,
Straightway began to sing.
There was never a bird could pass;
The night was divinely calm;
And the people stood on the grass
To hear that wonderful psalm!

The nightingale did not care,
She only sang to the skies;
Her song ascended there,
And there she fixed her eyes.
The people that stood below
She knew but little about;
And this story's a moral, I