was entertained at the King's guest; his entrance into Lonlike a royal progress, and ale Prince's position upon an inse of meaner trappings seems tion, yet it pleased poor foolish seemed to take away the bithis captivity. He led an easy he Savoy Palace, making one is native land, when proposipeace were being entertained, sing to remain there unranaying that if honor were ban-m the whole earth, it should found in the heart of kings; turning once more, to die in in 1364, being followed to the -er a few years, by the Black ho did not live to ascend the whose brightness he had added military luster.

d I and Henry IV had more ugh to occupy them at home; ry V, after astonishing all the casting off the dissipation and ry which had given him an unnotoriety as Prince of Wales, partial quiet to his country, and upon a career of conquest in o similar to Edward III's that to believe we are not reading tory. He landed near Harfleur, and took it, marched slowly on somewhat harrassed by bodies emy, but meeting no large oporce until he crossed the little Ternois, when he was amazed, king down from the heights, to that the whole French army 'n up on the plains of Ajincourt, osted that nothing could possient an almost immediate ent. The French were four times ber, and nothing but the recol

lection of Cressy and Poitiers could have kept the English hearts from sinking at the prospect; as it was, however, they nerved themselves to the contest, and prepared, at least, to give the French a hardly-earned victory.

For the third time the English were in the best position; for the third time French impetuosity cost them the day. They insisted upon an immediate engagement, and they were speedily routed, with the loss of ten thousand slain and fourteen thousand prisoners; many, both slain and imprisoned, being of very high rank. The English losses are said, by some, not to have exceeded fortythough the statements range from that to sixteen hundred; at all events, compared with the French losses, they were inconsiderable, if not insignificant. Nevertheless Henry's victory was only the battle; England gained nothing from the war, and the crown-jewels and the king's private property were pawned in order to meet the expenses of the campaign.

The French learned from these battles that the day of chivalry had passed away; that steady determination and discipline, exercised with regard to the people, would accomplish far more than burnished armor and having plumes and gilded trappings; yet even they failed to use the lesson rightly, and England reaped no lasting advantage from all these wars, which were undertaken in vainglory, and carried no real progress with them.

It is a sad, sad picture; and it is impossible for us to realize the suffering that was brought upon the people of both victor and vanquished by the emulation and self-aggrandizing schemes of their respective monarchs.

the squirrel's children, when he called; and sang to the mole because he was blind and could not see her smile. She loved all things, not excepting the brighteyed lizard that often came up after his noonday bath in the stream below. Nor did she fear the gliding serpent, whose lifted crest and shining scales often paused before her door. With gentle humility and loving trust she received from each his gift. She did not even turn away from the attempt of the gruff gnome to make her useful; "For," said that enterprising spirit as he was starting one morning for his regular toil, "she must be doing something; doing! doing! What's living without doing?" So, pushing aside the silken webs which a thoughtful spider had woven for her door, and, coming in, he lectured her severely upon her idleness, and ended by suggesting that his own great coat had need of repairs. Gentle Fin, though somewhat dismayed at the task, gladly consented. But, when it was brought to her, the needle was far too large to be grasped by her slender fingers, and the coat she could not possibly lift. She sat down really wretched for the first time in her life, and waited the gnome's return in fear.

outer life, there lived a little sprite in the land nearest the sun. Down beneath the yellow, juicy roots of a tree was hidden the rounded hollow rock that made her home; its ceiling glittering bravely with many a pendulous crystal; a restless goblin, bent on improving the state of nature, had rubbed the floor till its glassy surface was smooth enough for foot of tenderest baby sprite. Industrious ants had labored up the channel which ran down to the surface of the stream, with a grooved and pink-tinged shell, that made the couch of fairy Fin. A humming-bird had filled the shell with moss, and a frol, icksome breeze had carelessly dropped some thistle-down for its pillow. Nor was her table unsupplied. Near by a busy bee hid from the outer world its store of honey; a frisky squirrel dropped at her door his richest nut kernels, while a morose mole burrowed outlets for her to the high world above, and brought her, besides, many delicious fruits. The rain slid down to fill her tiny reservoir; and the vine, clinging about the tree, dis tilled its sweet, refreshing life into her wine cup-a cup carved by an elf from a burning carbuncle And all for what? For naught, that I can say, except for her own sweet self, for her loveliness' sake, that all things to her did minister. For this small, happy being had never even heard of duties or of burdens. Responsibility was far too great a word for her to grasp. She did not even study to do good. But in the fullness of her pure and simple life, she sang her merry songs by day, and slept her smiling sleep

night She fed on the deities of the

The humming-bird buzzed busily above, the squirrel brought his ripest nuts, the mole opened a new window up to the sunlight, the tree roots filled the air with aromatic odor, and the vine expressed her most delightful juice. She thanked them each; but still uncomforted and in pain sat little Fin; nor

wes bon grief lightened whe

at use are you, any how? I all day, and have nothing but toil brings, while even the ere serves you for nothing." little Fin made answer that he did not know. Indeed she er thought that fairies were any thing in particular, unless d. She was very, very sorry; e feared she would never be in."

ome relented at her piteous , and, by way of peace-making, the exquisite diamond which ound in a mine, and intended rd for her work. But through that followed Fairy Fin could , and the next morning was but she arose, meaning to learn ful. She would learn to sew, ght; but no needles could be all enough for her delicate 1 trying to push in and out the things but made her grow sick =, as hour after hour passed. her attendants missed their song, and ceaselessly begged ve up the attempt. And this to do, as she grew fainter. A of such pain wasted her slight he gnome visited her, and spent he seeking some new dainty to

tempt her appetite. But she hid her face on her downy pillow, and cried "I am of no use." Still she said such loving words to all her willing servants, she was so brave and cheerful, that for the joy they found in her presence they lingered by her side. They saw plainly that she was going from them. They tried to tell her about the upper world; but they knew so little of it themselves that she grew confused and only said:

There is sunshine there, I know, for some of it has come down here. Perhaps I may be of use there," she added slowly.

Neither they nor she knew of the nest of birds in the tree above, one of whom was longing to receive his song spirit; but in the gladness of the new morning, while they mourned for her below, the gnome the loudest and longest of all, the waiting bird received her gift of song. And singing Fin was wiser in the new life than in the old; for a little child, whose heart was so like the birds that she knew its language, said the first words she sang were these:

To be, is better than to do;
To noble be, is better than to do nobly;
To lowly be, is higher than to do humbly;
To lovely be, is higher than to do bravely.

R

UTH DEANE sat by the window, one bright day in June, drawing lovingly through her fingers a tiny gold chain. It was her tenth birthday, and when she came down to breakfast she found on her plate this exquisite gold chain, with a dainty little heart attached to it. It was just long enough to clasp round her neck. But she could not yet spare it out of her sight long enough to wear it. It was a gift from Uncle Will, her especial favorite, and of course more valuable on that account.

Ruth," said Mrs. Deane, who was sewing by the other window, "do you remember the bottle of gold dust that your Uncle Will showed us when he first came home?"

"I

"Yes, indeed," answered Ruth. used to like so much to shake it about."

"Well, your chain and heart are made of part of that very gold."

"Oh! are they, mamma?" "Yes, and you must always remember that Uncle Will himself got that gold out of the dirt."

"Did he have it made, mamma?" asked Ruth.

"He gave me the gold and I had it made," said mamma.

"Oh! did you mamme ? Where?"

"At a factory where they do such things."

"Did you see them do it?" asked Frank eagerly, looking up from the boat he was shaping.

"I saw it begun," answered Mrs. Deane; but it took too long to make the whole chain. I could not stay so long."

"Do tell me all about it!" exclaimed Ruth. I want to know everything about my dear little chain from the time it was tiny specs of gold, away down in the dark ground."

"Well, I needn't tell you how it came into Uncle Will's bottle, need I?" asked Mrs. Deane, smiling.

"Oh! no; I remember all that. Take it up when you gave it to the factory-man." "The first thing done to it in the factory was to weigh it; and the next thing was to put it into a small crucible-" "What's that?' asked Ruth.

"I know," said Frank. "Fred Town's got some. They're just cups to melt things in."

"Yes," said Mrs. Deane, "they are shaped something like a thimble, and are made of very tough materials, so they will stand an intense heat."