. St. Nicholas [serial] . trated Story.) A child learned his alphabet andbegan to read. He spent delightful,silent hours spelling out the wonder-ful legends that the nations haveloved since the world was made for himself a dreamy habi-tation peopled with fairy folk whowere his friends and beings had no time to thinkor feel; they were always busy, likethe childs own active brain. So thelittle reader loved them for the mar-velous deeds they wrought. Then victorious princes and slaindragons lost their fresh charm. Thechild discovered that he had beenreading the same story
. St. Nicholas [serial] . trated Story.) A child learned his alphabet andbegan to read. He spent delightful,silent hours spelling out the wonder-ful legends that the nations haveloved since the world was made for himself a dreamy habi-tation peopled with fairy folk whowere his friends and beings had no time to thinkor feel; they were always busy, likethe childs own active brain. So thelittle reader loved them for the mar-velous deeds they wrought. Then victorious princes and slaindragons lost their fresh charm. Thechild discovered that he had beenreading the same story over and over again. He foundnew books which told of knights and tournaments andcastles. Tiiese he joyfully added to his imaginary king-dom. But once he came to a place in his reading wherethere were long sentences about love and hate and a while he pushed his way among the solemn that he skipped the chapters that told how theheroes stopped to think. By and by the child grew old—it may have been in. THE LONG lATH OF DISCOVERY(SEE STORY.) years, it may have been in suffering. Hisfairyland became a dwelling-place of shad-ows. He took down the old books fromtheir shelves and read them through again ;but this time he lingered long over thepages he had passed by before. What hehad thought was needless sorrow provedto be the sympathy for which he sought. THE FIELDS OF SUMMER-TIME. BY JOHN HERSCHEL NORTH (AGE 9). {Gold Badge.)The brooklet danced, the soft wind blew ; The branches on the oak-trees swayed,And flung the sparkling drops of dew Upon each leaf, each stalk and blade. My boat lay rocking by the pier, With sails furled up and anchor cast; Upon the water bright and clearThere fell the shadow of her mast. The big sun sent its golden beamsAcross the marsh and grassy plain ; It shone upon the trickling streams,And on the shocks of golden grain. I roamed among the fields of corn,And gazed into the summer sky ;I breathed the fragrant odors borneUpon the breez
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookidstnicholasserial292dodg
