"Mister," he said, "I'll never forget The kindness you showed when last we met. I work at a trade, and mother is well, So is baby Kate; and I want to tell You this--that we owe it all to you. 'Twas you--don't blush, sir--that helped us through In our darkest hour; and we always say Our luck has been better since that day When you sent me home with bread to feed Those starving ones in their hour of need." [Illustration] We should make the same use of books that the bee does of a flower: he gathers sweets from it, but does not injure it. [Illustration] A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern; A passing stranger scooped a well, Where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care, A ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that toil might drink. He passed again, and lo! the well, By summers never dried, Had cooled a thousand parched tongues, And saved a life beside.--ANON. [Illustration] AND oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering heaven holds dear, 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds, and breaks in her cause! THOMAS MOORE: "LALLA ROOKH." [Illustration] HOW BAYARD SHOT THE BEAR. It was a hot summer day and Bayard was tired of playing horse with Ethel, or of swinging in the hammock; so he thought he would take a stroll in the fields back of the house, and, perhaps, go down as far as the creek. So he took his gun and started off. Why he took the gun, Bayard himself could hardly have told; yet it was lucky he did take it, as we shall presently see. The sun's rays were so scorching, and he got so warm walking, that when he arrived at the creek he thought he would lie down and rest. How cool it was under the trees, and how still it seemed! Not a sound was heard save the twittering of the birds, the babbling of the water over the stones, and the sound of the cow-bells in the neighboring pasture. [Illustration: "LOST."] How Bayard wished he could see something to shoot. To be sure there were the birds; but they looked so happy and sang so sweetly, that it seemed a pity to kill them, and then--they were so common! Anyone could shoot a bird, a squirrel, or a rabbit. Bayard wanted game of a larger kind. He would never waste powder on a bird. No, indeed! Oh! if he were only in a country where there were plenty of lions and tigers! But then, he wasn't; yet he had heard his father tell about seeing bears in that neighborhood, and might be there was one roaming around even then. What if one should come out of the woods! Wouldn't he kill it, though! The bear would be dead in less time than it takes to tell it. To doubt that would be rank heresy. Halloa! What was that! Only a twig snapping. There it is again! Twig snaps some more,--heavy body. Bushes move! See there! See that brown thing! What's that, that gleams so,--eyes? It--it's--a bear!