know it. What a stubborn little goose I was. I've been I may as well make a complete confession - I've been sorry ever since."

"We are going to be the best of friends," said Gilbert, jubilantly. "We were born to be good friends, Anne. You've thwarted destiny long enough. I know we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep up your studies, aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you." Marilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen.

"Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?"

"Gilbert Blythe," answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. "I met him on Barry's hill."

"I didn't think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you'd stand for half an hour at the gate talking to him," said Marilla, with a dry smile.

"We haven't been we've been good enemies. But we have decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in future. Were we really there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we have five years' lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla."

Anne sat long at her window that night companioned by a glad content. The wind purred softly in the cherry boughs, and the mint breaths came up to her. The stars twinkled over the pointed firs in the hollow and Diana's light gleamed through the old gap.

Anne's horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after coming home from Queen's; but if the path set before her feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joys of sincere work and worthy

aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road!

"God's in his heaven, all's right with the world,"" whispered Anne softly.

- MONTGOMERY

A PRAYER

"OTHERS"

Lord, help me live from day to day
In such a self-forgetful way,
That even when I kneel to pray,
My prayer shall be for "others."

Help me in all the work I do
To ever be sincere and true.
And know that all I do for you

Must needs be done for "others."

PAGANINI

He shambled awkward on the stage, the while
Across the waiting audience swept a smile.

With clumsy touch when first he drew the bow,
He snapped a string. The audience tittered low.

Another stroke! Off flies another string!
With laughter now the circling galleries ring.

Once more! The third string breaks its quivering strands. And hisses greet the player as he stands.

He stands! a while his genius, unbereft,
Is calm, one string and Paganini left!

He plays. The one string's daring notes uprise
Against that storm as if they sought the skies.

A silence falls; then awe; the people bow,
And they who erst had hissed are weeping now.

And when the last note, trembling, died away.
Some shouted "Bravo!" Some had learned to pray.

A LITTLE LETTER FROM JOHN QUINCY ADAMS

October 13, 1774.

SIR: I have been trying ever since you went away to learn to write you a letter. I shall make poor work of it; but, sir, mamma says you will accept my endeavors, and that my duty to you may be expressed in poor writing as well as good. I hope I grow a better boy, and that you will have no occasion to be ashamed of me on your return. Mr. Thaxter says I learn my books well. He is a very good master. I read my books to mamma. all long to see you. I am, sir,

Your dutiful son,

We

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.

CHARACTER BUILDERS

In the elder days of Art,

Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,

Both the unseen and the seen;

Make the house, where Gods may dwell,

Beautiful, entire, and clean.

-LONGFELLOW.

Look for goodness, look for gladness,

You will meet them all the while;

If you bring a smiling visage

To the glass, you meet a smile.

THE SCHOOL ALMANAC

APRIL

A gush of bird song, a patter of dew,
A cloud, and a rainbow's warning,
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue,

An April day in the morning.

SPOFFARD.

Among the famous men who have birthdays in April are

Henry Clay, Shakespeare, and Thomas Jefferson.

CONCORD HYMN

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,-
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled;

Here once the embattled farmers stood

And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe has long in silence slept:

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward
creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone,
That memory may their deed redeem
When like our sires our sons are gone.

EMERSON.