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will be found in these books a happy combination of traditional literature and selections from the more modern writers like Joel Chandler Harris, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, and Sarah Orne Jewett. School systems that use these books, either as basal readers or for supplementary use, may rest assured therefore that their pupils have the choicest examples of English literature for reading and study.

Care was taken by the editors to exclude selections which, although for some purposes worthy of a place in such a compilation, would not be read by the children of these grades with zest and keen enjoyment. Interest in what is read is of paramount importance in these early years when one's taste for reading is being determined.

It may well be claimed that in no other collection can so much of the very best literature be found available for use in the grades, at so reasonable a price, as is offered in this book and in similar readers for the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades.

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SELECTIONS FOR THE
FIFTH GRADE

SEPTEMBER 1

HELEN HUNT JACKSON

THE golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning

The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter

With yellow butterflies.

1 From Poems, by Helen Hunt Jackson. Copyright, 1892, by Roberts Brothers.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.

But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret

Which makes September fair.

'Tis a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet;
One day of one September
I never can forget.

ROBIN REDBREAST

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

GOOD-BYE, good-bye to summer!
For summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,

Cool breezes in the sun;

Our thrushes now are silent,

Our swallows flown away, But Robin's here, in coat of brown, And scarlet breast-knot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly

In the falling of the year.

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