He neglected to do errands for his mother even when she told him them two or three times over. He said he forgot, although he used to pride himself on his good memory. His teacher noticed the difference in school, and asked Mrs. Taylor if Nat was sick.

"He is not as bright as he was," she said. "Almost every day he seems dull and stupid a good part of the time. Yesterday he went to sleep twice in class; something I never knew him to do before. I can't make out what the trouble is."

Mrs. Taylor looked anxious. She called Nat and asked him if he felt well. He said he did, but he hung his head and looked as confused as if he had been caught in some mischief. Something certainly was wrong with Nat.

That night his mother found out what it was.

"There's a hole in the knee of my trousers," Nat said when he bade them all good night. "Will you. mend it, mother, so that I can have them to put on in the morning?"

Mrs. Taylor repaired the torn place and looked to see if there were other holes. "There is sure to be one in the pocket," she thought.

There was no hole there, for a wonder; but she found something else which made what Nat called the "sorry look" come into her eyes.

Can you guess what it was?

A cigarette! She knew now what had made Nat sick, why he forgot to do her errands, and why he went to sleep in schooi instead of being bright and quick at his lessons. He had been learning to smoke.

When Nat came down in the morning Mrs. Taylor said, "Did you know there had been a thief in the house, Nat?"

"Why, no!" exclaimed Nat, with wide open eyes. "Did he steal anything?" "Yes, he has been stealing my boy's health and his good spirits, and his memory, and leaving quite a different kind of boy in his place. What shall we

do with him?" asked Mrs. Taylor, holding up the cigarette. "Here he is."

Nat started to laugh, but he stopped when he saw his mother's face, and they had a long talk together.

When it ended he said, with a little smile :

"Well, mother, I don't believe we want any thieves in our house."

Mrs. Taylor did not find any more cigarettes in Nat's pocket, for he kept his breath sweet and his head clear by not smoking again.

He told his teacher the story one day, and the next morning she hung this card up in the school-room :

THE THIEF TOBACCO STEALS

Now

Our health.

Our good looks.

Our liking for play. Our strength.

Our memory.

CHEER.

BY J. F. SPAUNHURST.

OW that it is popular with men of wealth to found universities and endow seminary chairs, would it not be a step toward "the good time coming" to establish a professorship of the sunny face? We are taking life, even its pleasures, too seriously. The faces of too few men and women carry cheer and sunshine. Care, intentness, nervous hurry, take the place of smiles. Our people need to be taught the art of cheer and brightness. Perhaps the preacher as well as teacher is at fault, in not insisting on the duty of gladness, and the smile as a means of grace. Such a professorship will require deep and careful probing, because when all has been said and done, it is found that the smile must root itself in the heart. root itself in the heart. There must be peace and purity and love on the inside to make the blossoms of cheerfulness and the smiles thrive in profusion on the outside. It is not work, but worry, that kills, and it is in this sense, I suppose, that we are told to "take no thought for the morrow." Cheerfulness and good humor are not only pleasant in themselves, but conduce greatly to good health. It was a favorite saying of Bancroft, the historian, who was a vigorous old

man at ninety, that the secret of long life is in never losing one's temper. The remark was simply a concrete way of expressing the hygienic value of amiability -a principle which, until lately, has scarcely been considered in the training of children. Hitherto we have regarded fretfulness, melancholy and bad temper as the natural concomitants of illness. But modern science shows that these mental moods have natural power to produce disease. No doubt in most cases imperfect bodily conditions are the cause of irritable and depressed feelings, yet sometimes the reverse is true.

ORIGIN OF NAMES OF PLACES.

HE origin of the names of places opens up an almost inexhaustible subject. We find ancient names were invented and have a meaning, while modern names are largely borrowed. There is a striking difference in this respect between the town names of New England and of the mother country; and as they are so often the same, let us glance for a moment at the map of England. We feel as we study it, that we are going back to our old ancestral home; we realize how strong and manifold are the bonds, not only of literature and history, of civil and religious institutions, but of language that

the days when bridges were scarce and the streams were forded. Bradford is the broad ford; Oxford the ford not for oxen, but of the river Ouse; Hartford the ford of the hart. So Thetford, Stafford, Wallingford. Many names end in "ham," another form of "home." Waltham is home in the woods; Shoreham, home on the sea shore. Similar names are: Windham, Rockingham. The suffix "ton" is very frequent, a shorthand form of town." Milton is a town having a mill; Norton is north town; Sutton, south town; Weston, west town; Kingston, the king's town; Castleton, the town about the castle; Morton, the town on the moor. The suffix "ley," is very common, the old word for "meadow." Kingsley is the "king's meadow;" Beverley is "beavermeadow;" Berkeley is "field of birches." They are mostly small rural towns. We find a host of towns ending in "by," such as Danby, Derby, Grandby; but they are confined to the north and east of England. This is explained when we find that the suffix is Danish and that this is the part of the island where the Danes chiefly settled.-Education.

NINO.

BY MATTIE G. SATTERIE.

IS name was Nino. A policeman

fathers; we feel that in spite of over a century of independent life, old England is our mother still.

As we glance along the sea coast we find many towns ending in "mouth:" Plymouth, Dartmouth, Tynmouth, Weymouth, Yarmouth, Portsmouth. They are all at the mouths of the river Dart, Yarmouth at the mouth of the Yar, and so on. Here is the town of Dover, from which they generally cross into France; and sure enough the word means ferrying place. Dotted over the land at strategic points are a number of noble towns ending in "caster" or "cester," as Chester, Lancaster, Gloucester, Leicester, Worcester, Rochester, Winchester. In these words we find the Latiu "castra,' meaning camp. These towns are the old fortresses which the Romans built when they subdued the land in the palmy days of the Cæsars. We find many words ending in "ford," villages that have grown up where the great highways crossed the rivers, carrying us back to

my

cold, bright, winter day. He placed the boy on a front bench and turning towards me said, "See him, ma'am? Well, I had a chase for him; he nearly gave me the slip half a dozen times, but I rounded on him and gave him the grab at last. I was going to take him before the Judge first, but he promised to come here to school, because he knew some fellows who come here. I tell you, ma'am, he's little, but, O my! I say, lady, I wouldn't be in your shoes for two hundred dollars a month."

With a smiling nod and this cheerful announcement, the bluecoat left the room. I turned and surveyed my prize. He was small, very small. His little wizened body was surmounted by the most aged face one can well imagine. "Sly cunning, and deceit," I thought as I gazed upon his wrinkled visage and into his little black specks of eyes. Upon being questioned, he informed me that he was eleven years, he llved in Thompson

street, he could read a little, he could not write at all. He had never been kept anywhere in school because he would not stay. He didn't care for "de cops" he wasn't "scared of 'em," and so on.

I called two of the largest boys in school and told them to take Nino down to the wash room and cleanse him thoroughly. He was fairly reeking with street filth and mud. Of course he resisted manfully, frantically, but the boys understood their task perfectly, and with a knowledge born of long experience in the same work, artistically seized the kicking child and magically disappeared with him. Twenty minutes later the boys returned with the sulky but shiningly clean Nino.

At both sessions the next day Nino appeared, but was diametrically opposed to study. He was duly introduced to book, paper, slate and pencil, but without success. During the afternoon he was warned that he would be kept after school if he idled as he had in the morning. Needless to add he was "kept in." He went home when released, in a genuine bandit rage, declaring audibly his intention of playing "hookey" on the morrow.

He was as good as his word. The next day, no Nino, all day. But the day after, in answer to my postal card his father brought him in, resisting wildly. The father, who was as youthful-looking as Nino was aged in appearance, threw the boy on the floor and proceeded to kick him violently. To my words of remonstrance he said: "Excoos Maestra, he bada boy; he no good; a lick a him, me no say nottings; you kill a him, me no say nottings.' I finally persuaded him to leave the boy to my tender mercies, and he departed.

Nino sat for ten minutes in sulky silence. I waited until he raised his eyes to my desk, then I said in the most indifferent tone, "Nino, can you sharpen this lead pencil for me?" He took the pencil and sharpened it. I then said, "Sharpen these dozen pencils, please." By the time the dozen pencils were sharpened, he was in a truly lamb like state, and did his school work quietly and well. In the afternoon I told him to attend to the clay, preparatory to the modeling lesson. Before he went home that afternoon, he asked if he could clean the slates and give them out on the proviso that he was early, in the morning.

A week passed and Nino was on the early list. Alas! Another "outbreak,"

a day on the dock and streets with the repetition of the culprit being dragged in and the paternal kicking before my eyes. More pencils sharpened, slates washed and ruled, paper cut and given out, and Nino was taking a human interest in the world of school life. This time for three weeks he proudly walked in the eyes of all men An early boy." But one glorious February day my heart sank when, at the opening of school I missed. the world-weary face of my precious Nino. I had been so elated at what I had proudly considered "Nino's reformation, " and now my pride was obliged to fall. However, he presented himself at the afternoon session without being dragged or kicked. He actually said, 'Teacher, I was on de hook this morning. I'm sorry." My heart once more beat high with pride and satisfaction.

An important change was taking place in Nino; he was really growing fond of his lessons. He made rapid progress in reading, and in the simple rules of arithmetic. He told me one day, with a lofty air, he was "de boss adder" in his yard.

The year waned, and even the temptingly beautiful days of spring and summer could not beguile him from his post of duty. Even the vacation did not demoralize him. I found him waiting at the corner of the street for me on the opening day of school, with the greeting, "Ŏ teacher, I'm awful glad school's again." He was now a worthy member of society, steady, studious, and almost orderly. One afternoon as the class was writing, and I was passing up one aisle and down another looking at the books, Nino said as I lingered at his desk, "Teacher, you like de fellows, don't you, truly ?" "Yes, Nino," I said, "when you are good, Í love you joyfully, when you are not good, I love you sadly, but I always love you!" He surveyed me with a look in which wonder and contempt struggled for supremacy, then said after a few seconds, "It's funny; I tink I wouldn't like such

coves as us.

The time had now arrived when the annual promotion to the neighboring public school was to take place. I told Nino to stand at the head of the line of boys as the brightest pupil. The children to be promoted were all ranged in order to start to their new school. I said a few words of farewell and advice. Suddenly the line swayed wildly back and forth; there was a mad rush, and Nino tore from

THE

HOW TO READ.

BY JAMES G. McCLURE.

HE successful reader is one who thinks more than he reads. The advantage of reading is in the obtaining of information or ideas which are then brooded over, as a hen broods over her eggs, and are made productive of new life and of new beauty. The saying that mankind may be divided into two classes, those who read and those who think, is suggestive. Reading may be simply the pouring of water into a sieve. The best

readers are those who know how to find suggestions which stir the mind, and cause it to make excursions in new realms of thought.

Were I to state the prime requisite of successful reading, I would say that it is attention. Almost any worthy book that comes into our hands will bear more than one reading. Indeed, all great books must have more than one reading if they are to be appreciated. It is with them as it is with great orations, or great poems, or great sermons, that the ordinary mind, even though it is quickened by the eye and ear, cannot grasp the full thought all at once. Many persons read without being able to get a clear opinion at the conclusion of their reading as to the ideas that have been before them. I knew a young man, a student of the law, who was accustomed to put a mark in his book at the page he had reached in his reading. His room-mate every now and then would place the bookmark several pages back in the volume, and the young man never knew the difference! Attention sometimes necessitates very slow reading. Personally, if I am reading a suggestive book of essays, I am quite apt to find some word or phrase prompting my mind in lines of thought that are entirely apart from the essay itself. Under such circumstances I can read but little; that little, however, is exceedingly profitable.

It is desirable then that one read so as to get the most for his own individuality that is possible out of what he reads. In this way he never becomes a parrot, reproducing what another has stated, but he becomes an original thinker, and in due time his expression of thought bears the stamp of his own individuality.

One of the most successful readers I have known was a young man who attempted to tell those whom he met what he had read and what the reading suggested to him. He thus made his reading a permanent part of his memory, while at the same time he developed his own methods of expression. Talking things over is always a great help to the understanding of their significance and to the fixing of them in the thought. The man, for instance, who reads the Bible will read it the more understandingly to himself according as he attempts to tell the meaning of the Bible to some one else. It has long seemed to me that one reason why the Christian religion is a teaching religion is that every teacher of it by his teaching of it may become the more fully imbued with its significance and with the beauty of its truth.

Every man has to learn for himself how to read. He must know why he wishes to read, and then he must know what he wishes to read. Then, in due time, if he reads to develop thought and to insure accurate expression, he will acquire habits of selection and of proportion that will make his reading a success to himself and a blessing to others.-Men.

DEVICE IN SPELLING.

written on the board Monday morning, and are left there for the entire week. At some time during the day, the attention of the pupils is called to the first five of this list. The teacher points out the chief difficulty in each word. The sight is thus brought into action, and the pupils are trained to see the words as they are, and are led to get a correct mental picture of them. Several of the class are then called upon to spell these words orally. The sense of hearing is thus exercised, and the pupils are taught to recognize the sounds of the letters as they occur in the words. They are then required to write each word five times. This gives the necessary muscular train

ing to enable them to produce the correct written forms. This is the only assistance rendered by the teacher in the preparation. The words are before the pupils to be considered during any leisure time they may have. On Tuesday the list is covered, pronounced by the teacher, and written by the pupils. At some time during the day the next five words are studied in the same way, to be pronounced and spelled on Wednesday. This is continued for the week, and on Friday night the twenty words are erased. On the following Monday these twenty words are pronounced and written, and twenty more are placed on the board. This is continued for five weeks, covering a course of one hundred of the most difficult words to be given the class. At the end of the five weeks the whole list of one hundred words is used as a written review. We commend this device to all teachers who are aiming to secure the best of results.-W. H. Benedict.

A OR AN.

HANKS to the indefinite article for

THAN

this letter from a man whose intelligence is worthy of a much less modest signature than "Ignoramus," and who has the passion for accuracy that is necessary to scholarship:

"Editor of the Sun--Sir: In The Sun this morning I notice the expression a home' and an hotel.' In another New York paper the expression, an hospital' occurs. Why not an home' if the others be correct, or contra. why not a hotel,' 'a hospital?' The Standard Dictionary is authority for the use of the article 'a' before all consonant sounds including 'h,' 'u' and eu' pronounced as 'yu.' While the use of 'an' before an unaccented 'h' is prevalent in England, do not the best authorities decry the practice? Will The Sun kindly enlighten?"

an

The Sun doesn't and didn't say hotel." That expression occurred in a letter from a correspondent. We shouldn't say "an hospital" either, although we have no quarrel with persons who do. No doubt it can be found in many good writers, but it has the air of an affectation. Does anybody on this side of the water say "an hospital?" There are sticklers for severity and fanatics of rule who tell you that you ought to say "an historian,' "an historical," and many Englishmen and some Americans

write. But here we will let our little friend, the Century Dictionary, speak:

An is still sometimes used before a consonant sound, especially before the weak consonant h; and in written style, and in more formal spoken style, an is by many (especially in England) required before the initial h of a wholly unaccented syllable, as if such an h were altogether silent; thus, an hotel, but a hostess; an historian, but a history; an hypothesis, but a hypothetical. In colloquial speech and increasingly in writing, a is used in all these cases.'

The less division between the spoken and the written speech the better. It seems to us that usage, stronger than a million grammarians, has already decided the vocation of "a" and its elder brother "an." brother "an." The junior walks before the consonant sounds; the senior is usher to the vowel sounds. It may be that there are painful souls who force themselves to say an historian and a history. Most persons would, we think, instinctively employ the shorter article in both cases. But we grudge the an to nobody who loves it before the unaccented h.

"An" is the older form and has had enough to do in his time, let alone the extensive business which he has carried on under the form "one." He is a fine old article. If there is a tendency to overwork him in England before h, it should be attributed to the pride which such Englishmen as have overcome the treacherous initial h feel in approaching it.-New York Sun.

THE

HAMLIN, THE BAKER.

HE Rev. Dr. Cyrus Hamlin, the first president of Roberts College, Constantinople, was the first man to es tablish a steam flour-mill and bakery in Turkey. In spite of the opposition of the whole guild of bakers, the enterprise was highly successful, for the reason that Mr. Hamlin sold good bread always above weight. During the Crimean war Lord Raglan establi-hed his military hospital in the Selimien barracks, at Scutari, which had been built by the great Moltke. One day Mr. Hamlin was asked by an orderly to call upon Dr. Mapleton at the hospital. After some

demur, he did so. As he entered, the doctor asked brusquely, without salutation, "Are you Hamlin, the baker?"

"No, sir; I am Rev. Mr. Hamlin, an American missionary."