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gentleman's family; but the situation proved exceedingly irksome to him, and having purchased a good horse and put thirty pounds in his pocket, he abandoned his friends without notice, and set off to seek his fortunes. Some weeks afterwards he appeared before his mother, his money all spent, his fine steed changed into a miserable hack, but he himself as full of spirits as ever. His succeeding adventures were as amusing as they were numerous. He tried the Law and Physic, but never succeeded in either profession. Having gone to Leyden, in Holland (about 1753), to study medicine, he was seized with a desire to travel through Europe, and set out for that purpose with no money and one clean shirt. He passed through the greater part of the Continental countries on foot, securing food and lodging by playing to the peasants on his flute at nightfall. He returned to London, with a few pence in his pocket, in 1755, and then, after more privations and adventures, he embarked as a litterateur. He made the acquaintance of Dr. Johnson and of other literary men, and did hack-work for booksellers and the magazines. In 1765 appeared his great poem, 'The Traveller,' which was received with well-merited applause. Soon after this his famous story, 'The Vicar of Wakefield,' was published. In 1770, when his second great poem, The Deserted Village,' was given to the world, Goldsmith may be said to have gained the highest pinnacle of his literary existence. His comedies, She Stoops to Conquer' and 'The Good-Natured Man' brought him in large sums of money, as did also his Histories of England and of Animated Nature; but a fatal passion for gambling, and excessive generosity always kept him poor, and he was deeply in debt at his death, which took place on the 4th April, 1774. He was only forty-five, and those who had been his intimate friends regretted him sincerely, for his kindness of heart and benevolent disposition had made him beloved by all who knew him.

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'TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way,

To where yon taper cheers the vale,
With hospitable ray.

'For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go.'
'Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries,
To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
'Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;

And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good-will.
'Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
'No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn;

Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:

'But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

'Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong;
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.'

THE HERMIT.

J. S. FLETCHER.

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:

The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay,

A refuge to the neighb'ring poor
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;

The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their ev'ning rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd, and smil'd;
And skill'd in legendary lore

The ling'ring hours beguil'd.
Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling fagot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the Hermit spied,

With answ'ring care opprest:
'And whence, unhappy youth,' he cried,
'The sorrows of thy breast?

'From better habitations spurn'd,

Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

'Alas! the joys that fortune brings,
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. 'And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep;

A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep? 'And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair-one's jest: On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.

'For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex,' he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.

And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
'A wretch forlorn,' she cried;
'Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where Heav'n and you reside.
'But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray: Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.

'My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he:

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.

'To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came:

Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd, à flame.

'Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;

Algebra.

Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

'In humble. simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

'And when, beside me in the dale,
He carol'd lays of love,

His breath lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove.

'The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine:
Their charms were his, but woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.

'For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.

'Till quite dejected with my sccrn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret where he died.

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay ;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

'And there forlorn despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.'

'Forbid it Heav'n!' the Hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,'Twas Edwin's self that press'd. 'Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor'd to love and thee.

'Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign:

And shall we never, never part,
My life, my all that's mine ?

'No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too.'

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Example V. From a+b+c take x+y+z—

Minuend a+b+c

Subtrahend with signs changed-x-y-z

Answer a-x+b−y+c-z

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(9) A man possesses a+b+c pounds: he spends on clothes 26-c pounds: on boots 24 pounds; and on food a-c pounds. How much has he left?

(10) Express in the algebraic way the difference between the sum and difference of x and y.

(The Answers to the Arithmetic and Algebra appear in the July number of the Practical Teacher and the Governess.)
Complete Answer Cards may also be had, price d. each.

Freehand Brawing Copies.

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Some few miles to the southward, the Ouse receives the Cam, the river on which the University of Cambridge is situated.

On entering the next county, Huntingdcn, we first come to St. Ives, celebrated for its large cattle fairs, and then reach Huntingdon, at which place on April 25th, 1599, Oliver Cromwell was born.

After passing St. Neots, we enter Bedfordshire, nearly in the middle of which county is the county town, Bedford. It was here that John Bunyan lived, preached, and was imprisoned. The town still possesses some relics in the shape of his chair

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(which is preserved in the vestry of the chapel), and the copy of Foxe's 'Book of Martyrs' which he read in prison.

After proceeding northward past Harrold, we turn again southward, and entering Buckinghamshire reach Olney, an ancient town formerly celebrated for the manufacture of lace. A few more miles bring us past the mouth of the Ousel and the country towns of Newport Pagnell and Stony Stratford. We then reach Buckingham, and after proceeding westward find, near Brackley, in the south of Northamptonshire, the source of the river Ouse.

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EXPLANATORY LIST OF THE MORE DIFFICULT WORDS OCCURRING IN THIS NUMBER.

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WORDS, SOMEWHAT DIFFICULT IN SPELLING, NOT OCCURRING IN THE ABOVE LIST.

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