which are bred in stagnant water. If you look into a vessel in which water has been standing, you will see little worm-like grubs moving about. From such grubs come gnats and mosquitoes.

2. The mosquito has a long slender weapon which projects from its mouth like a fine bristle. This is a sheath that encloses six distinct pieces, two of which are lancets, two are saws and two are tubes. The lancets cut and the saws tear.

3. When the insect presses the tip of this sheath upon the skin, it bends and the lancets and saws enter and cut and tear the flesh on either side to make the blood flow into the wound. Then the insect injects a thin fluid into it through one of its tubes in order to dilute the blood. It uses the other tube with which to suck the blood upon which it feeds. The female alone is noxious.

4. In many climates these insects are very troublesome. It is only amid smoke and odors, or behind bars, that man can escape from their attacks. In some countries men cover their bodies with filthy grease or smear their faces with tar to protect themselves from these pests.

5. But man has also found other means of

defense. A tincture made of a certain herb and mixed with water and applied to the body is a security against these and other vermin. This turns the buzz of the insect into a harmless tune, which, under the sense of security it affords, becomes a real cradle song.

Topical Review.

Where are gnats and mosquitoes bred? Describe the weapon of the mosquito. How does the mosquito cause a wound? How do men have to protect themselves against these insects? What else proves a security?

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude!

Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot!

Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remembered not. - SHAKSPERE,

LXII. ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

I.

'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won,
By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were placed around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound;

So should desert in arms be crowned.

The lovely Thaïs by his side

Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair;

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserve the fair.

II.

Timotheus, placed on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touched the lyre:

The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above,
Such is the power of mighty Love!

A dragon's fiery form belied the god:

Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,
When he to fair Olympia pressed;

And while he sought her snowy breast,

Then round her slender waist he curled,

And stamped an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world.

The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound;
A present deity, they shout around;

A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravished ears

The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

III.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flushed with a purple grace

He shows his honest face.

Now, give the hautboys breath; he comes !
Bacchus, ever fair and ever young,
Drinking joys did first ordain:

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure;
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

IV.

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain:

Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes,
And thrice he slew the slain.

The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he earth and heav'n defied,
Changed his hand, and checked his pride.

He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse:

He sang Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate

Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,

And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast look the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his altered soul

The various turns of fate below;

And now and then a sigh he stole,
And bitter tears began to flow.

Now strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.

Hark! hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head,

As awaked from the dead,

And, amazed, he stares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries;
See the Furies arise;

See the snakes that they rear !
How they hiss in the air,