rt that you may
have power like Rufus Choate's and opportunity like Charles
Sumner's. You mustn't fret about father. He's as pleased and
satisfied as we are. You won him just as I told you you would, by
yielding. It is more than a month since he brought home the books
you will find on your table. They are for your first term in the
law-school. Now good-night, and a happy New-Year from your loving

"MOTHER."

Under the books on the table lay a flat package which his mother did not
know about, as Mr. Goodnow had slyly placed it there the last thing
before John went up to bed. John untied it, and found a fine picture of
Horace Greeley, and this note from his father:

"You needn't be afraid of putting Horace Greeley along of them
chaps your mother has given you. He can stand it if they can; and
they'll make a good beginning of your picter-gallery. I've heard
tell of lawyers getting to be editors, too, afore now. If you
should ever run a paper, what you know about farming won't hurt it
none."

Many years have passed away since John talked with himself as he mowed
the home meadow on that pleasant summer morning. If I should tell you
the real name of John Goodnow, you would know at once how well his good
mother's wish had been granted in the noble career of her well-known
son. And there isn't a father in the land prouder of his son than Farmer
Goodnow of his son, Judge ----.

CAMPING OUT.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"What am I a-stoppin' for? Why, this 'ere's the eend of the road. It's
as fur as I can git, even with one hoss and a buckboard."

It looked like it, for the wood road had been getting dreadfully scrubby
for a mile or so.

"Wade, was it like this when you and your father and the rest were here
before?"

"A good deal like it. How far are we from Pot Lake now, Mr. Jones?"

The queer-looking old teamster was busily unfastening several small
packages from the broad "buckboard" of his rude wagon, but he looked
gruffly up to say, "'Baout a mile 'n' a half."

"It's all of that, Sid, but it's of no use to grumble. We've got to foot
it the rest of the way. It's a plain enough path."

"Foot it! And lug all that?"

"Guess you'll be glad there ain't any more of it afore ye git thar."

Mr. Jones was right, for they were both of them glad already,
considering how warm a day it was.

Neither of the boys was much over sixteen, but Wade Norton l