space, and then
the sound of many voices, which again by degrees subsided. The eyes of all
then looked, and yet feared to look, toward the door.

19. Jacob Mayne was not so good as his word, for he did not
bring Lucy by the hand to restore her to her parents; but dressed
again in her own bonnet and gown, and her own plaid, in rushed
their own child, by herself, with tears and sobs of joy, and her
father laid her within her mother's bosom.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Brae, shelving ground, a declivity or slope of a hill.
Pas'times, sports, plays, 4. Ri'ot-ing, romping. 5. Heath'er, an evergreen
shrub bearing beautiful flowers, used in Great Britain for making brooms,
etc. 6. In-spired', animated, enlivened. Su-per--nat'u-ral, more than
human. Brake, a place overgrown with shrubs and brambles.
Re-ver'ber-at-ing, resounding, echoing. In-tent', having the mind closely
fixed. 8. Plaid (pro. plad), a striped or decked overgarment worn by the
Scotch. 9. E-jac'u-lat-ed, ex-claimed. 11. Scour, to pass over swiftly and
thoroughly.

Note.--The scene of this story is laid in Scotland, and many of the words
employed, such as brae, brake, heather, and plaid, are but little used
except in that country.

XXVIII. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (b. 1807, d. 1882), the son of Hon. Stephen
Longfellow, an eminent lawyer, was born in Portland, Maine. He graduated
at Bowdoin College in 1825. After spending four years in Europe, he was
Professor of Modern Languages and Literature at Bowdoin till 1835, when he
was appointed to the chair of Modern Languages and Belles-lettres in
Harvard University. He resigned his professorship in 1854, after which
time he resided in Cambridge, Mass. Longfellow wrote many original works
both in verse and prose, and made several translations, the most famous of
which is that of the works of Dante. His poetry is always chaste and
elegant, showing traces of careful scholarship in every line. The numerous
and varied editions of his poems are evidences of their popularity.

1. There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

2. "Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he;
"Have naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again."

3. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their droopin