gs in a whirlwind. Well! I have found
out what makes smoke go up--is n't it curious?"

20. "Done like a philosopher!" cried Bunker. "The thing is settled. I will
grant that you are a teacher among a thousand. You can not only think
yourself, but can teach others to think; so you may call the position
yours as quick as you please."

DEFINITIONS.--2. In-tel-lec'tu-al, treating of the mind. 3. Tem'-pered,
brought to a proper degree of hardness. 4. Com-pact', closely and firmly
united, solid, dense. 4. Por'ous, full of pores or minute openings. 6.
E-vap'o-rat-ed, passed off in vapor. 7. In-gen'ious (pro. in-jen'yus),
well formed, skillful. 7. Phe-nom'e-non, whatever is presented to the eye.
8. In'ter-vals, spaces of time. 12. Ap-pa-ra'tus, utensils for performing
experiments.

NOTE.--Locke Amsden is represented as a bright young student in search of
a position as teacher of a district school in Vermont. Mr. Buuker, the
"Examining Committee," is a queer, shrewd old farmer, who can neither read
nor write, but by careful observation has picked up a large amount of
valuable information. The story opens in the midst of the examination.

LXXIV. THE ISLE OF LONG AGO.

Benjamin Franklin Taylor (b. 1819, d. 1887) was born at Lowville, N.Y. He
graduated at Madison University, of which his father was president. In
1845 he published "Attractions of Language." For many years he was
literary editor of the "Chicago Journal." Mr. Taylor wrote considerably
for the magazines, was the author of many well-known favorite pieces both
in prose and verse, and achieved success as a lecturer.

1. Oh, a wonderful stream is the river of Time,
As it runs through the realm of tears,
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme,
And a boundless sweep and a surge sublime,
As it blends with the ocean of Years.

2. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow,
And the summers, like buds between;
And the year in the sheaf--so they come and they go,
On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow,
As it glides in the shadow and sheen.

3. There's a magical isle up the river of Time,
Where the softest of airs are playing;
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime,
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime,
And the Junes with the roses are staying.

4. And the name of that isle is the Long Ago,
And we bury our treasures there;
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow--
There a