Again he answered, "Only you."

“I gave you none!" Murillo cried.
"But I have heard," the boy replied,
"What you to others said."

"And more than heard," in kinder tone,
The painter said; "tis plainly shown
That you have profited."

"What (to his pupils) is his meed ? Reward or punishment ?"

"Reward, reward!" they warmly cried.
(Sebastian's ear was bent

To catch the sounds he scarce believed,
But with imploring look received.)
"What shall it be?" They spoke of gold
And of a splendid dress;

But still unmoved Sebastian stood,

Silent and motionless. 1

“Speak!” said Murillo, kindly ;

"choose

"Him and thyself, my noble boy!"

Warmly the painter cried;
Raising Sebastian from his feet,

He pressed him to his side.
"Thy talents rare, and filial love,
E'en more have fairly won;
Still be thou mine by other bonds
My pupil and my son."

Murillo knew, e'en when the words

Of generous feeling passed his lips,
Sebastian's talents soon must lead

To fame that would his own eclipse;
And, constant to his purpose still,

He joyed to see his pupil gain,
Beneath his care, such matchless skill

As made his name the pride of Spain.

SUSAN WILSON.

DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING THE TOPICAL OUTLINE.

You are now required to make out your own topical outline. This should be done with every Reproduction before you attempt to write. Observe the following

directions:

1. Make each topic as general as may be, but not so brief and general as to be indefinite. 2. Make the topics as few as possible; minor points that would be suggested by the connection, should not be raised to the dignity of topics. 3. Make each topic completely cover its ground, but neither overlap nor repeat another. 4. A general topic may consist of sub-topics arranged under it. 5. The list of topics should present a clear, well arranged view of the whole subject.

REPRODUCTION V.

PROSE READINGS.

TO THE TEACHER.- It will doubtless be desirable to give also prose selections for reproduction. These have been necessarily omitted. They can, however, be given at pleasure by reading the class something suitable for the purpose, as, for example, some of Hawthorne's short stories, especially the mythological ones. (See also Chapter VII.) The prose can take the place of some of the selections given, or can be added wherever more practice is deemed necessary.

REPRODUCTION VI.

THE RETIRED CAT.

A poet's cat, sedate and grave,
As poet well could wish to have,
Was much addicted to inquire
For nooks to which she might retire,
And where, secure as mouse in chink,
She might repose, or sit and think.
Sometimes ascending, debonair,
An apple-tree, or lofty pear,

Lodged with convenience in the fork,
She watched the gardener at his work;
Sometimes her ease and solace sought
In an old empty watering-pot;
There, wanting nothing save a fan
To seem some nymph in her sedan,
Apparelled in exactest sort,

And ready to be borne to court.

But love of change it seems has place

Not only in our wiser race;

Cats also feel, as well as we,

That passion's force, and so did she.

Her climbing, she began to find,
Exposed her too much to the wind,
And the old utensil of tin

Was cold and comfortless within:
She therefore wished, instead of those,
Some place of more serene repose,
Where neither cold might come, nor air
Too rudely wanton with her hair,
And sought it in the likeliest mode,
Within her master's snug abode.

A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined
With linen of the softest kind,
With such as merchants introduce
From India, for the ladies' use—
A drawer impending o'er the rest,
Half open, in the topmost chest,
Of depth enough, and none to spare,
Invited her to slumber there.
Puss, with delight beyond expression,
Surveyed the scene and took possession.
Recumbent at her ease, ere long,
And lulled by her own hum-drum song,
She left the cares of life behind,

And slept as she would sleep her last;
When in came, housewifely inclined,

The chamber-maid, and shut it fast; By no malignity impelled,

But all unconscious whom it held.

Awakened by the shock, cried Puss,
"Was ever cat attended thus!
The open drawer was left, I see,

Merely to prove a nest for me;

For soon as I was well composed,

Then came the maid, and it was closed.

How smooth these kerchiefs, and how sweet!

Oh, what a delicate retreat!

I will resign myself to rest,
"Till Sol, declining in the west,

Shall call to supper, when, no doubt,

Susan will come and let me out."

The evening came, the sun descended,
And Puss remained still unattended.
The night rolled tardily away

(With her, indeed, 'twas never day),
The sprightly morn her course renewed,
The evening gray again ensued;

And Puss came into mind no more

Than if entombed the day before.

With hunger pinched, and pinched for room,
She now presaged approaching doom,
Nor slept a single wink, or purred,
Conscious of jeopardy incurred.

That night, by chance, the poet watching,
Heard an inexplicable scratching;

His noble heart went pit-a-pat,

And to himself he said, "What's that?"
He drew the curtain at his side,
And forth he peeped, but nothing spied;
Yet, by his ear directed, guessed
Something imprisoned in the chest,
And, doubtful what, with prudent care
Resolved it should continue there.

At length a voice which well he knew,
A long and melancholy mew
Saluting his poetic ears,

Consoled him and dispelled his fears.
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
And 'gan in haste the drawers explore,
The lowest first, and without stop
The rest in order, to the top;

For 'tis a truth well known to most

That whatsoever thing is lost
We seek it, ere it come to light,
In every cranny but the right.