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Paraphrase: A man may affect the utmost candor and good nature even while plotting the deepest iniquity.
Original: Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens."-Psalm 148.
Paraphrase: Praise ye the Lord! on every height
Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of night,
O heaven of heavens! let praise far-swelling
Join in the strain, ye waters, dwelling
SELECTION FOR PARAPHRASE.
THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW.
Alice.-ONE of your old-world stories, Uncle John,
Till we all wonder it is grown so late.
Uncle John.-The story of the witch that ground to death
Nay now, nay;
No, let us have a tale of elves that ride,
By night, with jingling reins, or gnomes of the mine,
To spin, till Willy's eyes forget to wink,
And good Aunt Mary, busy as she is,
Listen to me, then.
Not so fast,
Or where the rivulets of Ararat
Seek the Armenian vales. That mountain rose
Dwelt with her parents, light of heart and limb,
A beautiful race were they, with baby brows,
They smote him with their heaviest snow-flakes, flung
And, of the light wreaths of his smoking breath,
Wove a white fringe for his brown beard, and laughed
And make grim faces as he floundered on.
But, when spring came on, what terror reigned
To them the sun's warm beams were shafts of fire,
EXAMPLE OF PARAPHRASE.
BY A PUPIL.
A CHEERFUL little family had gathered round that winter fire. The kind, motherly aunt sat at one corner of the hearth, busy with her knitting. Near her was Willy, her nephew, more asleep than awake; and, just opposite, her husband had settled himself comfortably, with Alice at his side.
"Now, Uncle John,” said the little girl, “we wish to hear one of your best stories,—such as you tell us beside the fire, in the long evenings, and we all forget that our bed-hour has come and passed."
“What shall it be, little one? There is the story of Goody Cutpurse; or perhaps the old witch who ground two children in her mill would please you better?"
"Now, Uncle John, you know I am too old for such stories. Why, even Willy is above them, and he is two whole years younger than I am. No, no; they will not do; tell us something about those wonderful gnomes of the mine, or those elves that ride with jingling reins, or water-fairies, and before you have done Aunt Mary's knitting will be dropped, and Willy's eyes will shine in wondering surprise."
After bidding them give close attention, the kind uncle began: "Many, many years ago, and long before there was any appearance of the grand old oak that for many decades has shaded our home, there lived, on a mountain's side, a cottager with his wife and daughter. Near their cottage was a glen and the boldest of clear brooks. What a pleasant place in spring! then the lovely flowers bloomed, and the pleasant chatting of little wren made lively melody about; but autumn came,—all was changed: gay flowers no longer decked the banks of the dashing brook; for on the clear November nights, the wizard Frost supplanted them with others of rare whiteness, whose stems and leaves were beaded with purest pearls. Winter came silently on. Soon the little glen was filled with snow, which drifted from the high mountains on each side, forming a safe foot-path across the narrow valley; but far beneath all this snow and ice, the brook merrily wended its way over its pebbly bed, towards the vale."
Did you not say a mountain's side, Uncle John? Was it in our own Alleghanies, or in the celebrated Alps of Central Europe?"
"It was in neither, Alice; the great pastures of the Alps were then unknown to the herdsman, and human voice had never waked an echo in the forests that shadow the Alleghany's streams. I think this happened on the slopes of the Caucasus, or where the slender rivulets flow down Mount Ararat's side in search of the fair Armenian valleys. The mountain rose far above the snow line; its top was covered with snow and ice, even while the lower slopes and base were rich in summer fruits and flowers.
"Little Eva, now twelve years old, dwelt in that cottage with her parents. She was a bright, merry, restless child, flitting about from place to place, like sunshine on the ever-moving waves of ocean. I must say, however, that she was very thoughtless, and sometimes forgot what her mother had bid her, just as you do, Alice." “Willy, too, is sometimes thoughtless, Uncle John.”
"Yes, Alice: but you have yourself declared that Willy is two whole years younger than you, and, therefore, is not expected to be so thoughtful. Once every year, when the beautiful autumn days had faded into the cold gray of winter, a troop of childish forms came down from that bleak mountain-top. They came through the air with trailing garments; or, with loins girt round, they walked the bare earth, and cast abroad over the withered grass glistening spangles of silvery frost. At their touch the pool became a polished mirror. On the edges of the brook they built shining ramparts; across it, swung crystal bridges; or rising, they shook, from laps heaped high, the feathery snow-flakes, and buried, as do the leaves of autumn the ground below them, the old earth under a soft, white mantle of snow.
"These little people were of loveliest form and feature; abundant fair hair shaded their young brows, and their slender, childish voices could be heard talking in friendly tones with man. The sight of some lonely traveler was a signal for their merriest pranks. They would gather around him in great numbers, pelt him with their largest snow-flakes, prick his cheeks with frost-needles, and of his warm breath make a white fringe for his dark beard,—a curious combination of light and shade. Their delight grew wild to see the poor victim give signs of painful annoyance, and as they saw him stumble on, their baby voices rang out upon the icy air in happiest laughter, like the tinkling of silver bells.”
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