them a basis for interchange of thought. There is also a mutual bond in the larger civic life outside the school and in the natural phenomena about them, which furnishes to students abundant stimulus and proper motives for all forms of epistolary writing. Summary 8. It is not then too much to claim that composition should be looked upon as an art-subject; that opportunity for daily practice in writing should be given to the teaching of it; that materials for it should be selected on the basis of interest and organized to suit the individual aptitudes of the students; that untrammeled conditions should be furnished the student when he writes; and that the school situation is rich in motives for epistolary writings which foster grace, ease and fluency of expression.

I

A GROUP OF LETTERS INTERESTING TO YOUNGER PEOPLE

VICTOR HUGO TO HIS LITTLE DIDINE

Good morning, my pet; good morning, my dear little girlie. I promised to write to you. You see I am keeping my word.

I have seen the sea, some fine churches, and some pretty country. The sea is large, the churches are handsome, the country is pretty; but the country is not as pretty as you, the churches are not as handsome as your Mamma, and the sea is not as great as my love for you all.

My pet, I have often given half-pence to poor children walking barefooted by the roadside, for your sakes, my little ones. I love you all dearly.

A few hours more and I shall be kissing you on your two dear little cheeks, and also my big Charlie and my little Dédé, who will give me a smile, I hope, and my beloved Toto.

Good-by for the present, my Didine. Keep this letter. When you are grown up, I shall be old, you will show it to me, we shall love each other dearly; when you are old, you will show it to your children,

and they will love you as much as I do. We shall YOUR OWN DADDY.

soon meet.

By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

From Letters of Victor Hugo.

FROM HANS ANDERSEN

Dear Little Marie:

Papa and Mamma can read this letter to you, as you can not read it yourself yet; but only wait till this time four years; ah, then you'll be able to read everything, I know. I am in the country now like you. It is so nice, and I have had some strawberries-large, red strawberries, with cream. Have you had any? One can taste them right down. in one's stomach. Yesterday I went down to the sea and sat on a rock by the shore. Presently a large white bird that they call a gull came flying along. It flew right toward me, so that I fancied it would have slapped me with its wings; but, mercy on us, it said, "Mamaree!" "Why, what's the matter?" I asked. "Mama-ree!" it said again, and then, of course, I understood that "Ma-ma-ree" meant Marie. "Oh," said I, "then you bring me a greeting from Marie, that's what it is, eh?" "Ya-ya! Ma-ma-ree, Ma-ma-ree," it said. It couldn't say it any better than that, for it only knew the gull language, and that is not very much like ours. "Thanks for the greeting," said I, and off flew the gull. After that, as I was walking in the garden, a little sparrow came flying up. "I suppose you now have flown a long way?" said I.

"Vit, vit" (far, far), it said. "Did you see Marie,” I asked. "Tit, tit, tit" (often, often, often), it said. "Then give my greeting to Marie, for I suppose you are going back?" I said. "Lit, lit" (a little, little), it replied. If it has not come yet, it will come later on, but first I'll send you this letter. You may feed the little bird, if you like, but you must not squeeze it. Now greet from me all good people, all sensible beasts and all the pretty flowers that wither before I see them. Isn't it nice to be in the country, to paddle in the water, to eat lots of nice things, and to get a letter from your sweetheart. H. C. ANDERSEN.

By permission of Dodd, Mead & Co.

SIDNEY LANIER TO HIS SECOND SON, SIDNEY, AGED TEN YEARS

(Not before published.)

435 N. Calvert St., Baltimore, Md.,

My dearest Sidney:

November 12, 1880.

What a long time has passed since I have been able to write you! And, mercy upon us, what an age it is since I have seen my dear slender tall boy! It seems so long that I am wondering if you have had time to grow as tall as my long-legged friend, Dr. C, who has to stoop in order to walk under our parlor chandeliers. I suppose it is a very good thing to have long legs when one is riding a horse. A great French

writer, named Dumas, tells a terribly wild story of his father, who was a great horseman, and who-so Dumas says—could break a horse's ribs merely by the pressure of his legs. Have you learned to jump your horse over ditches and fences yet?

I expected to send you a text-book in Latin several days ago, but have not been able to find the one I wanted you to study. I hope to get it soon, and I feel sure you will enjoy learning to speak a little of this wonderful old language. I am going to ask you to find out who the people were that spoke Latin, and what language of the present day is most like it, so that you can tell me when you come home.

It gives me great pain to tell you that Fatsy is dead. He suddenly grew sick, some weeks ago, and we did what we could for him. But, poor fellow, he couldn't tell us where he felt badly; and we were not able to discover any symptoms that would enable us to treat his disease. We have missed him sadly, and the back-lots around us seem quite desolate without his very striking figure.

I have just received your letter, and am glad to know you liked the St. Nicholas. The next one will have an article by me on King Arthur.

Mother and I are indulging in many a fine dream of the week before Christmas, when we expect to bring you and our other two men home. You must caper about and grow as fat and strong as possible before that time, so that we may be able to hug a great deal of you at once and thus make up for the time when our arms have been empty.