try a stanza.

_Fred._ What, sir! do you want to shirk your task? Sing away.

_Gray._ (_Sings._)

"And so the teacher turned him out;
Yet still he lingered near." (_Snaps._)

_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."

_Gray._

"And waited patiently about,
Till Mary did appear." (_Snaps._)

_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."

_Fred._ Glorious! Why, boys, it's a perfect uproar.

_White._ There's enough, isn't there?

_Fred._ No, sir, four stanzas. Come, be quick.

_Gray._ I don't know any more.

_White._ I'm sure I don't.

_Fred._ Yes you do, you're trying to shirk; but I won't have it. You
want a taste of the rattan. Come, be lively.

_Gray._ (_Sings._)

"'What makes the lamb love Mary so?'
The eager children cry." (_Snaps._)

_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."

_Gray._

"'Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'
The teacher did reply." (_Snaps._)

_White._ "Shouting the battle-cry of freedom."

_Fred._ There, boys, I knew you could sing. Now come in, and I will
tell Master Green how capitally you have done--that I couldn't do
better myself.

[_Exit._

_White._ Well, Johnny, we got out of that scrape pretty well.

_Gray._ Yes, Ned; but it's a poor way. I must pay a little more
attention to my singing.

_White._ And so must I, for we may not always have a teacher on whom
the old saying fits so well.

_Gray._ Old saying? What's that?

_White._ "Where ignorance is bliss--"

_Gray._ O, yes, "'Twere folly to be wise."

[_Exeunt._

THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS.

ANONYMOUS.

[The following stirring poem is highly dramatic. The reader
should, as far as possible, realize the feelings of the
shepherd-parent as he sees "the youngest of his babes" borne
in the iron-claws of the vulture high in mid air towards his
golgotha of a nest. Much force of attitude and gesture is not
only admissable, but called for, as the agonized father leans
forward following the flight of the vulture.]

I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales,
And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales,
As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er
They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more.

And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear,
A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear:
The tears were standing in his eyes, his