began to move again. Faster and faster it moved up the river. When the crowd saw that it did move they stopped laughing and began to cheer. 66 Quicksilver Bob" was a hero. was a hero. This was in 1807. Since then steamboats have been greatly improved, and now on every sea, defying storm and wave, they carry their passengers to all lands. Let us not forget that it was a Pennsylvania boy who thought out this great invention for the human race. XV. WHERE GO THE BOATS? Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along forever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore. motto ănthèm struggle ěn riches whirring land'scape vig'or à lert' pas'túre rẻ hear'sing XVI. MORNING AND EVENING. Morning for labor; evening for repose. This is the motto of a wise man who makes it a rule to begin the work of the day quite early. This man is right. The boy or girl who sleeps the early hours away never lives the day wisely. There is more than loss of hours when one wastes the early part of the day. There is loss of morning hours-the hours of labor. There is a brightness in the morning sun, a vigor in the morning air, that clears the brain, enriches the blood, and cheers the heart. In the morning all nature is awake and alert. Yonder in the grove the birds are shaking the sweet slumber from their wings and singing a morning anthem. They flash the sparkle of the morning sun from their whirring wings. The air is flooded with music. Beneath an old oak a group of happy sparrows is bathing in a stream. They chatter and scatter the water drops like spring showers. The mountain stream that slept beneath a curtain of mist, breaks from its dreams, sings from rock to rock, and sweeps joyously on to the sea. The young lambs are trailing over the dewy grass. The mother sheep grazes peacefully beneath the thorn-bush. The farmer is up with the dawn, and away with team and dog to his field and furrows. The milkmaid is filling the pails with rich, creamy milk, and the farm boy stands at the bars ready to drive the cows to the fresh, green pasture. The stir and struggle of life have begun. Do not miss its first hours. Rise in the clear cool dawn and receive the best of Nature's gifts-the blessings of the dawn. Morning is action; evening is rest. As the twilight shadows fall upon field and forest, how much of the real rest of life comes to the weary worker! The quiet of the evening is so restful. The noisy whirl of spindle and of wheel is stilled. The fading landscape stretches to Dreamland. In the heat of the day the insect world slept. Now it is awake. All about is heard the sweet music of Nature's smaller chorus. Down by the pond a school of frogs is rehearsing for the night's chorus. There's a tinkle of a distant bell, low and sweet. It comes from the sheep-fold. Far away is heard the barking of a faithful watch-dog. The air is stirred by a sweet song. It is the milkmaid's heart that overflows. Her heart is fragrant with pure, healthy, hopeful life. She sings to the birds and to the stars. A star in the eastern sky calls a swarm of fire-flies from day-dreams to night-revels. See how the earth shadows are broken with sparkling flashes of light! There's a twitter of birds, a whirr of wings, a chirping of slumber songs, and the bird-world is asleep. And all this is God's goodness, so planned as to bring to you and to me the greatest blessings. Franklin is right, "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." |