were before."

18. "The green hills are tipped with light, and look as if they were
wearing golden crowns. I can see a river a great way off, and it looks
quite still, although I know it is running as fast as it can to get to the
ocean."

19. "The birds are flying past the window to go home and take care of
their little ones. I am glad the birds are not afraid to live in our
garden, and to build nests in our trees."

20. "Our garden is full of flowers--pinks, lilies, and roses. Mother calls
this the month of roses. My birthday will come in a week, and we can have
all the flowers we wish for wreaths and bouquets."

21. "There, Susie," said Mrs. Smith, "that is a very nice composition,
indeed." "A composition!" exclaimed Susie, "is that a composition?" "Yes,
my dear, and a very good one, too," replied her mother. "When it hasn't
even a subject?"

22. "We can find one for it, and I do not doubt it will please your
teacher, as it does me. You see, my dear," continued her mother, "that it
is easy enough to write if you have anything interesting to write about."

23. The next morning Susie copied her composition very neatly, and started
to school with a happy heart, saying, as she gave her mother a kiss, "Just
think how funny it is, dear mother, that I should have written so long a
composition without knowing it."

DEFINITIONS.--Com-po-si'tion, that which is thought out and arranged, a
written or literary work. 3. Rum'pled, wrinkled, creased. Themes, subjects
or topics on which a person writes. 10. Re-quest', that which is asked.
14. Oc-cu-pa'tion, that which employs the time. 20. Bou-quets' (pro.
boo-kas'), bunches of flowers.

EXERCISES.--What is a composition? Why was Susie so troubled? Why could
she not write about "Time," "Temperance," or "Industry"? What did her
mother have her do? What did Susie write? Was it a composition? Did she
know, at the time, that it was? What fault did she find with it? Can you
give her composition a proper subject?

XXXVIII. THE SUMMER SHOWER. (109)

The author, Thomas Buchanan Read, was born in Chester Co., Pa., March 12,
1822. His life was devoted to the fine arts, and he attained a high
reputation both as artist and poet. He died in New York, May 11, 1872.

1. Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,
As when the strong stormwind is reaping the plain,
And loiters the boy in the briery lane;
But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,
Like a long line of sp