Was blent with every strain,
A voice of winds that would not sleep--
He never smiled again.

Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,
And strangers took the kins-man's place
At many a joyous board;
Graves which true love had bathed with tears
Were left to heaven's bright rain;
Fresh hopes were born for other years--
_He_ never smiled again!

MRS. HEMANS.




KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT.

I. THE THREE QUESTIONS.


There was once a king of England whose name was John. He was a bad
king; for he was harsh and cruel to his people, and so long as he
could have his own way, he did not care what became of other folks. He
was the worst king that England ever had.

Now, there was in the town of Can´ter-bur-y a rich old abbot who lived
in grand style in a great house called the Abbey. Every day a hundred