10. Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

LESSON LXIV.

"NOBODY WILL BE THE WORSE.”

Cui ras sier (kwērās sēr'),

a soldier with a breastplate. An tag'o nists, opponents in battle; enemies.

Con found'ed, utterly aston

I

ished.

HAVE read of a large manufacturer who was en

trusted with a government contract for the supply of swords. It was for English soldiers that these swords were to be made. The maker was to be paid so much per sword. "Now," said he to himself, "there is no war just now in which these swords will have to be used. If I make them of a little commoner steel than I have agreed to do, no one will be the worse, and I shall be all the better. I shall pocket a few extra hundred pounds.'

2. This money-lover made the swords, used commoner steel, delivered them to the soldiers, received his pay, and pocketed his larger profit. For some years it was as the sword-maker had said-nobody was any the worse, and he was all the better.

3. But there came a time of war. The trumpet sounded to conflict, and the regiment using this moneylover's swords was, among others, ordered to the battlefield. On the field they received orders to enter into an engagement with a body of French cuirassiers. Every man drew his sword, and stood prepared to dash at the foe. The word was given, and away they went.

4. They met their antagonists, and closed in hand-tohand fight. But at the first stroke their swords bent and twisted, and became utterly useless. They were amazed and confounded. More gallant men never took the field, but what could gallantry do with swords like these?

5. The French regiment bore fiercely down upon them. They would rather die than run, and die they must. The helpless men fell fast. Soon the field was one heap of dead. And why did they die?

6. Were they the victims of braver soldiers, or of forged worthless metal? They were slain by their own swords-massacred, indeed, by their sword-maker's villainous love of gold.

7. Did the man say "No one will be the worse, and I shall be all the better?" That was not true, and of such deeds it never can be true. For a time it seemed that the sword-maker's words were true, but there came a later time in which they were utterly and awfully false. "By it no man will be the worse, and I shall be all the better," can never be true of a deed which is itself wrong. Wrong must bear fruit after its kind. Sooner or later it must end in suffering and shame.

DR. GUTHRIE.

PRINCE HENRY. Welcome, Jack! Where hast thou been?

FALSTAFF. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and amen! There live not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old,-Heaven help the while! A bad world! I say. A plague of all cowards! I say, still.

P. HENRY. How now, Woolsack! what mutter you? FAL. A king's son! if I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more! You Prince of Wales!

P. HENRY. Why, what's the matter?

FAL. Are you not a coward? Answer me that! P. HENRY. An' ye call me coward, I'll stab thee! FAL. I call thee coward! I'll see thee hanged ere I'll call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You 're straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of friends? A

plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me! A plague of all cowards! still, say I.

P. HENRY. What's the matter?

FAL. What's the matter! Here be four of us have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. HENRY. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?

FAL. Where is it! Taken from us, it is: a hundred upon four of us.

P. HENRY. What! a hundred, man?

FAL. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together! I have escaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through, my sword hacked like a handsaw!-I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards!

P. HENRY. What, fought you with them all?

FAL. All! I know not what ye call all; but if I fought | not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature!

P. HENRY. Pray Heaven, you have not murdered some of them!

FAL. Nay, that's past praying for! I have peppered two of them; two, I am sure, I have paid; two rogues in buckram suits! I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face! call me a horse! Thou knowest my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four rogues in buckram let drive at me!

P. HENRY. What! four? Thou saidst but two, even

now.

FAL. Four, Hal; I told thee four;-these four came all afront, and mainly thrust at me: I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.

"

P. HENRY. Seven! why, they were but four, even

now.

FAL. In buckram?

P. HENRY. Ay, four, in buckram suits.

FAL. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else! Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. HENRY. Ay, and mark thee, too, Jack.

FAL. Do so; for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I told thee of

P. HENRY. So, two more already?

FAL. Their points being broken, began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in foot and hand, and, with a thought,-seven of the eleven I paid.

P. HENRY. O, monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

FAL. But as Satan would have it, three knaves, in Kendal-green, came at my back, and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand!

P. HENRY. These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable! Why, thou clay-brained heap! thou knotty-pated fool— FAL. What! art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth?

P. HENRY. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal-green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason: what sayest thou to this? Come, your reason, Jack,—your reason. FAL. What! upon compulsion? - No for all the i racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion! Give you a reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion!

P. HENRY. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This