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´╗┐Title: Sanders' Union Fourth Reader
 - Embracing a Full Exposition of the Principles of Rhetorical Reading; with Numerous Exercises for Practice, Both in Prose and Poetry, Various in Style, and Carefully Adapted to the Purposes of Teaching in Schools of Every Grade
Author: Sanders, Charles W. (Charles Walton)
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Sanders' Union Fourth Reader
 - Embracing a Full Exposition of the Principles of Rhetorical Reading; with Numerous Exercises for Practice, Both in Prose and Poetry, Various in Style, and Carefully Adapted to the Purposes of Teaching in Schools of Every Grade" ***

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THIS FOURTH READER is designed to pass the pupil from the comparatively
easy ground occupied by the THIRD to the more difficult course embraced
in THE UNION FIFTH READER, which is next higher in the series. It is,
therefore, carefully graded to this intermediate position.

In one sense, however, it is the most important in the set; since the
great mass of pupils, in our common schools, are drawn away from
scholastic pursuits long before the proper time for entering upon any
course of reading more advanced than that which is here presented. This
consideration has had its full weight in the preparation of the
following pages.

Every exercise will be found to bear the impress of that special
adaptation to the purposes of teaching, without which no book of this
kind can fully perform the office which it assumes. The labor expended
in this direction, though all unseen by the casual observer, has been
neither light nor brief. It can be duly appreciated by none but the
experienced teacher.

All words in the exercises, requiring explanation, have been arranged,
as regular lessons in spelling and definition. In these definitions,
however, it must be kept in mind, that no attempt has been made to give
_all the meanings of which a word is susceptible, but that only which it
bears in the particular place in the exercise where it is found._ There
is a special educational advantage in thus leading the mind of the pupil
definitely to fix upon the _precise import_ of a word, in some
particular use or application of it.

All proper names occurring in the text, and at all likely to embarrass
the learner, have been explained in brief, comprehensive notes. These
notes involve many matters, Geographical, Biographical, and Historical,
which are not a little interesting in themselves, aside from the special
purpose subserved by them in the present connection.

All this has been done, and more, in order to secure that kind of
interest in the exercises which comes of reading what is clearly
understood; and because no perfect reading is possible, where the reader
himself fails to perceive the meaning of what he reads.

In the selection and adaptation of the pieces, the highest aim has been
to make and to leave the best moral impression; and this, not by dull
and formal teachings, but by the pleasanter, and, therefore, more
powerful, means of incidental and unexpected suggestion. Admonition is
then most likely to be heeded, when it comes through the channel of
events and circumstances.

The direct and ostensible aim of the book, however, has been kept
steadily in view; which is to furnish the best possible exercises for
practice in Rhetorical reading. To this end, the greatest variety of
style and sentiment has been sought. There is scarcely a tone or
modulation, of which the human voice is capable, that finds not here
some piece adapted precisely to its best expression. There is not an
inflection, however delicate, not an emphasis, however slight, however
strong, that does not here meet with something fitted well for its
amplest illustration. No tenderness of pathos, no earnestness of
thought, no play of wit, no burst of passion, is there, perhaps, of
which the accomplished teacher of Elocution may not find the proper
style of expression in these pages, and, consequently, the best examples
for the illustration of his art.

The book, thus briefly described, is, therefore, given to the public
with the same confidence that has hitherto inspired the author in
similar efforts, and with the hope that it may reach even a higher
measure of usefulness than that attained by any of its predecessors, in
the long line of works which he has prepared for the use of schools.

NEW YORK, April, 1863.































1. TRUE HEROISM, _Adapted. Osborne_

2. YOU AND I, _Charles Mackay_



5. MY MOTHER'S LAST KISS, _Mrs. E. Oakes Smith_

6. THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD, _Mrs. E. Oakes Smith_

7. LAME AND LAZY--_A Fable_




11. CHASE OF THE PET FAWN, _Adapted. Miss Cooper_



14. WEBSTER AND THE WOODCHUCK, _Adapted. Boston Traveler_



17. THE ADOPTED CHILD, _Mrs. Hemans_

18. THE OLD EAGLE TREE, _Rev. John Todd_

19. THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE, _Elihu Burritt_

20. NIGHT'S LESSONS, _L.H. Sigourney_

21. NATURE'S TEACHINGS, _Chambers' Journal_


23. A THRILLING INCIDENT, _Adapted. Anon._


25. WHEN SHALL I ANSWER, NO, _J.N. McElligott_


27. WHANG, THE MILLER, _Goldsmith_

28. CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS, _Henry Ward Beecher_

29. THE DOUBTING HEART, _Adelaide Procter_


31. CHILD TIRED OF PLAY, _N.P. Willis_

32. THE RESCUE, _By a Sea Captain_





37. THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS, _Nathaniel Hawthorne_

38. HIAWATHA'S HUNTING, _Longfellow_


40. THE POWER OF HABIT, _John B. Gough_


42. THE TWO YOUNG TRAVELERS, _Adapted. Merry's Museum_


44. LABOR, _Caroline F. Orne_


46. SO WAS FRANKLIN, _Anon._

47. NOW AND THEN, _Jane Taylor_

48. AN INGENIOUS STRATAGEM, _Days of Washington_


50. THE RAIN-DROPS, _Delia Louise Colton_

51. SMALL THINGS, _F. Bennoch_

52. MURDERER'S CREEK, _James K. Paulding_



55. "I CAN"

56. NOW, TO-DAY, _Adelaide A. Procter_



59. BEHIND TIME, _Freeman Hunt_


61. THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL, _William R. Wallace_


63. ADVICE TO THE YOUNG, _E.H. Chapin_




67. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY--_An Allegory_

68. NOT TO MYSELF ALONE, _S.W. Partridge_



71. WINTER BEAUTY, _Henry Ward Beecher_


73. THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE, _James G. Clark_

74. IMAGINARY EVILS, _Chas. Swain_

75. SIR WALTER AND THE LION, _A. Walchner_




78. LEAVES FROM AN AERONAUT, _Willis Gaylord Clark_

79. THE DAPPLE MARE, _John G. Saxe_

80. A LEAP FOR LIFE, _George P. Morris_

81. THE INDIAN BRIDE'S REVENGE, _Adapted. L.M. Stowell_

82. A MOTHER'S LOVE, _Albert Barnes_

83. THE LIFE-BOOK, _Home Journal_





88 THE ARMY OF REFORM, _Sarah Jane Lippincott_

89. LAST CRUISE OF THE MONITOR, _Adapted. Grenville M. Weeks_


91. SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL, _J. Sheridan Knowles_


93. GRANDEUR OF THE OCEAN, _Walter Colton_

94. A BURIAL AT SEA, _Walter Colton_


96. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS, _Thomas Hood_



99. LA FAYETTE, _Charles Sprague_

100. THE MYSTIC WEAVER, _Rev. Dr. Harbaugh_

101. WORK AWAY, _Harpers' Magazine_




105. TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, _Grenville Mellen_

106. PRESS ON, _Park Benjamin_

107. THE THREE FORMS OF NATURE, _From the French of Michelet_

108. THE WHALE AND THE WHALER, _From the French of Michelet_





112. WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF, _Gail Hamilton_


114. PASSING UNDER THE ROD, _Mary S.B. Dana_

115. THE PETULANT MAN, _Osborne_

116. THE BRAHMIN AND THE ROGUES, _Versified by J.N. McElligott_

117. LIVING WITHIN OUR MEANS, _S.W. Partridge_


119. "WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?", _Pamelia S. Vining_




The Period is the longest pause--a full stop. It marks the end of a
sentence, and shows the sense complete; as, The sky is blue`. Pause the
time of counting _six_, and let the voice fall.


The Interrogation is used at the end of a question; as, Is the sky
blue'? If the question can be answered by _yes_ or _no_, the voice
rises; if not, it falls; as, Where is your map`;? Pause the time of
counting _six_.


The Exclamation denotes wonder, surprise, pain, or joy; as, O'! what a
sweet rose`! Pause the time of counting _one_, after a single word, and
let the voice rise; but after a complete sentence, pause the time of
counting _six_, and let the voice fall.


The Colon is a pause shorter than the Period; as, The sky is clear`: the
sun shines. Pause the time of counting _four_, and let the voice fall.


The Semicolon is a pause shorter than the Colon; as, The rose is fair`;
but it soon fades. Pause the time of counting _two_, and let the voice
fall. Sometimes the voice should rise, as the sense may require.


The Comma is the shortest pause; as, Jane goes to school', and learns to
read. Pause the time of counting _one_, and keep the voice up.


The Dash denotes a sudden pause or change of subject; as, I saw him--but
what a sight! When the dash is used after any other pause, the time of
that pause is doubled.

       *       *       *       *       *



The Apostrophe has the form of the comma. It denotes the possessive
case; as, John's book; also, that one or more letters have been left out
of a word; as, lov'd for loved.

                                " "

The Quotation includes a passage that is taken from some other author or
speaker; as, John said: "See my kite."

                                ( )

The Parenthesis includes words not properly a part of the main sentence;
as, I like these people (who would not?) very much. The words within the
parenthesis should be read in a lower tone of voice.

                                [ ]

The Brackets inclose words that serve to explain the preceding word or
sentence; as, James [the truthful boy] went home.


The Caret shows where words are to be put in that have been omitted by
mistake; as, Live ^in peace.


The Diaresis is placed over the latter of two vowels, to show that they
belong to two distinct syllables; as, aerial.


The Hyphen is used to connect compound words; as, Well-doing; or the
parts of a word separated at the end of a line.


The Index points to something special or remarkable; as, => Important

                          *** .... or ----

The Ellipsis shows that certain words or letters have been purposely
omitted; as, K**g, k..g, or k--g, for king.


The Paragraph denotes the beginning of a new subject. It is chiefly used
in the Bible; as, [Paragraph] The same day came to him, etc.


The Section is used to divide a book or chapter into parts; as,

                    * [Obelisk] [Double Dagger]

The Asterisk, the Obelisk, the Double Dagger, and sometimes other marks,
[Footnote: For instance: the Section mark, [Section], and the Parallel,
||.] refer to notes in the margin.


   1 My Young Friends', never tell a falsehood`; but always

   2 speak the truth`; this is pleasing to your Maker.

   3   Do  you  read  His  holy  word--the  Bible'?  O!  remem-

   4 ber, that He has there said: "He that speaketh lies, shall

   5 not escape: he shall perish."* Remember, too, that the

   6 All-seeing God knows all that we say or do.

   7   [Paragraph] Tho' wisdom's voice is seldom heard in k--g's

   8 palaces,--there have been _wise_ kings, (_e.g._ Solomon,) who

   9 were lov'd and obey'd by their subjects.[Obelisk]

  10   Here, [i.e. in the U.S.,] we can not  boast of  our kings,

  11 princes,  lords, &c.; yet  we  have  had  a  PRESIDENT, who,

  12 in true  greatness,  surpass'ed  them  all; viz., the  great

  13 WASHINGTON.---- [Index]  Washington  feared  and hon-

  14 ored God.

  15 [S] Section, [/=] Double Dagger, and || Parallel, are also used

  16 for reference to the margin.

       *       *       *       *       *

        * Proverbs xix. 5 and 9.    [Obelisk] 1 Kings.



Elocution is the art of delivering written or extemporaneous composition
with force, propriety, and ease.

It deals, therefore, with words, not only as individuals, but as members
of a sentence, and parts of a connected discourse: including every thing
necessary to the just expression of the sense. Accordingly, it demands,
in a _special_ manner, attention to the following particulars; viz.,

       *       *       *       *       *



Articulation is the art of uttering distinctly and justly the letters
and syllables constituting a word.

It deals, therefore, with the elements of words, just as elocution deals
with the elements of sentences: the one securing the true enunciation of
each letter, or combination of letters, the other giving to each word,
or combination of words, such a delivery as best expresses the meaning
of the author. It is the basis of all good reading, and should be
carefully practiced by the learner.




  _Element_.         _Power_.

   1.--1 A    as in   _A_pe.
   2.--2 A      "     _A_rm.
   3.--3 A      "     _A_ll.
   4.--4 A      "     _A_t.
   5.--5 A      "     C_a_re.
   6.--6 A      "     _A_sk.
   7.--1 E      "     _E_ve.
   8.--2 E      "     _E_nd.
   9.--1 I      "     _I_ce.
  10.--2 I      "     _I_t.
  11.--1 O      "     _O_ld.
  12.--2 O      "     D_o_.
  13.--3 O      "     _O_x.
  14.--1 U      "     _U_se.
  15.--2 U      "     _U_p.
  16.--3 U      "     P_u_ll.
  17.--OI       "     O_i_l.
  18.--OU       "     O_u_t.



  19.--B      as in   _B_at.
  20.--D        "     _D_un.
  21.--G        "     _G_un.
  22.--J        "     _J_et.
  23.--L        "     _L_et.
  24.--M        "     _M_an.
  25.--N        "     _N_ot.
  26.--R        "     _R_un.
  27.--V        "     _V_ent.
  28.--W        "     _W_ent.
  29.--Y        "     _Y_es.
  30.--1 Z      "     _Z_eal.
  31.--2 Z      "     A_z_ure.
  32.--NG       "     Si_ng_.
  33.--TH       "     _Th_y.


  34.--F     as in   _F_it.
  35.--H       "     _H_at.
  36.--K       "     _K_id.
  36.--P       "     _P_it.
  38.--S       "     _S_in.
  39.--T       "     _T_op.
  40.--CH      "     _Ch_at.
  41.--SH      "     _Sh_un.
  42.--TH      "     _Th_in.
  43.--WH      "     _Wh_en.

  21: Soft G is equivalent to J; soft C to S, and hard C and Q to K.
      X is equivalent to K and S, as in _box_, or to G and Z
      as in _exalt_.

  42: WH is pronounced as if the H preceded W, otherwise it would be
      pronounced _W hen_. R should be slightly trilled before a
      vowel. For further instructions, see Sanders and Merrill's
      Elementary and Elocutionary Chart.


For Long A.

  _ai_  as in  s_ai_l.
  _au_    "    g_au_ge.
  _ay_    "    l_ay_.
  _ea_    "    gr_ea_t.
  _ei_    "    d_ei_gn.
  _ey_    "    th_ey_.

For Flat A.

  _au_  as in  d_au_nt.
  _ea_    "    h_ea_rt.
  _ua_    "    g_ua_rd.

For Broad A.

  _au_  as in  p_au_se.
  _aw_    "    l_a_w.
  _eo_    "    G_eo_rge.
  _oa_    "    gr_oa_t.
  _o_     "    h_o_rn.
  _ou_    "    s_ou_ght.

For Short A.

  _ai_  as in  pl_ai_d.
  _ua_    "    g_ua_ranty.

For Intermediate A.

  _ai_  as in  h_ai_r.
  _ea_    "    b_ea_r.
  _e_     "    wh_e_re.
  _ei_    "    th_ei_r.

For Long E.

  _ea_  as in  w_ea_k.
  _ei_    "    s_ei_ze.
  _eo_    "    p_eo_ple.
  _ey_    "    k_ey_.
  _ie_    "    br_ie_f.
  _i_     "    p_i_que.

For Short E.

  _a_   as in _a_ny.
  _ai_    "   s_ai_d.
  _ay_    "   s_ay_s.
  _ea_    "   d_ea_d.
  _ei_    "   h_ei_fer.
  _eo_    "   l_eo_pard.
  _ie_    "   fr_ie_nd.
  _ue_    "   g_ue_ss.
  _u_     "   b_u_ry.

For Long I.

  _ai_  as in  _ai_sle.
  _ei_    "    sl_ei_ght.
  _ey_    "    _ey_e.
  _ie_    "    d_ie_.
  _oi_    "    ch_oi_r.
  _ui_    "    g_ui_de.
  _uy_    "    b_uy_.
  _y_     "    tr_y_.

For Short I.

  _e_   as in   _E_nglish.
  _ee_    "     b_ee_n.
  _ie_    "     s_ie_ve.
  _o_     "     w_o_men.
  _u_     "     b_u_sy.
  _ui_    "     b_ui_ld.
  _y_     "     s_y_mbol.

For Long O.

  _au_  as in  h_au_tboy.
  _eau_   "    b_eau_.
  _eo_    "    y_eo_man.
  _ew_    "    s_ew_.
  _oa_    "    b_oa_t.
  _oe_    "    h_oe_.
  _ou_    "    s_ou_l.
  _ow_    "    fl_o_w.

For Long Slender O.

  _oe_  as in  sh_oe_.
  _ou_    "    s_ou_p.

For Short O.

  _a_   as in  w_a_s.
  _ou_    "    h_ou_gh.
  _ow_    "    kn_ow_ledge.

For Long U.

  _eau_ as in  b_eau_ty.
  _eu_    "    f_eu_d.
  _ew_    "    d_ew_.
  _ieu_   "    ad_ieu_.
  _ou_    "    y_ou_r.
  _ue_    "    c_ue_.
  _ui_    "    s_ui_t.

For Short U.

  _e_   as in  h_e_r.
  _i_     "    s_i_r.
  _oe_    "    d_oe_s.
  _o_     "    l_o_ve.
  _ou_    "    y_ou_ng.

For Short Slender U.

  _o_   as in  w_o_lf.
  _ou_    "    w_ou_ld.

For the Diphthong OI.

  _oy_  as in  j_oy_.

For the Diphthong OU.

  _ow_  as in  n_ow_.

There is no pure Triphthongal sound in the language. _Buoy_ is
equivalent to _bwoy_. _U_ being a consonant.



  _gh_ as in lau_gh_.
  _ph_   "   s_ph_ere.


  _g_    "   _g_em.


  _c_    "   _c_an.
  _ch_   "   _ch_ord.
  _gh_   "   hou_gh_.
  _q_    "   _q_uit.


  _c_    "   _c_ent.


  _d_    "   face_d_.
  _phth_ "   _phth_isic.


  _f_    "   o_f_.
  _ph_   "   Ste_ph_en.


  _i_    "   val_i_ant.

  1 Z.

  _c_    "   suffi_c_e.
  _s_    "   wa_s_.
  _x_    "   _X_erxes.

  2 Z.

  _s_    "   trea_s_ure.
  _z_    "   a_z_ure.
  _si_   "   fu_si_on.
  _zi_   "   gla_zi_er.


  _n_    "   co_n_ch.


  _ce_   "   o_ce_an.
  _ci_   "   so_ci_al.
  _ch_   "   _ch_aise.
  _si_   "   pen_si_on.
  _s_    "   _s_ure.
  _ss_   "   i_ss_ue.
  _ti_   "   no_ti_on.


  _ti_   "   fus_ti_an.

  B, D, G, H, L, M, N, P, and R, have no substitutes.

The most common faults in ARTICULATION are

I. _The suppression of a syllable; as,_

  cab'n       for   cab-_i_n.
  cap'n        "    cap-_tai_n.
  barr'l       "    bar-r_e_l.
  ev'ry        "    ev-_e_-ry.
  hist'ry      "    his-t_o_-ry
  reg'lar      "    reg-_u_-lar.
  sev'ral      "    sev-_e_r-al.
  rhet'ric     "    rhet-_o_-ric.
  mem'ry       "    mem-_o_-ry.
  jub'lee      "    ju-b_i_-lee.
  trav'ler     "    trav-_e_l-er.
  fam'ly       "    fam-_i_-ly.
  vent'late    "    ven-t_i_-late.
  des'late     "    des-_o_-late.
  prob'ble     "    prob-_a_-ble.
  par-tic'lar  "    par-tic-_u_-lar.

II. _The  omission of any sound properly belonging to a word; as,_

  read-in     for   read-in_g_.
  swif-ly      "    swif_t_-ly.
  com-mans     "    com-man_d_s.
  wam-er       "    wa_r_m-er.
  um-ble       "    _h_um-ble.
  ap-py        "    _h_ap-py.
  con-sis      "    con-sis_t_s.
  fa-t'l       "    fa-tal.
  pr'-tect     "    pr_o_-tect.
  b'low        "    b_e_-low.
  p'r-vade     "    p_e_r-vade.
  srink-in     "    s_h_rink-in_g_.
  th'if-ty     "    th_r_if-ty.
  as-ter-is    "    as-ter-is_k_.
  gov-er-ment  "    gov-er_n_-ment.
  Feb-u-ary    "    Feb-_r_u-a-ry.

III. _The substitution of one sound for another; as,_

  _uf_-ford       for   _a_f-ford.
  wil-l_e_r        "    wil-lo_w_.
  sock-_i_t        "    sock-_et_.
  fear-l_u_ss      "    fear-l_e_ss.
  cul-t_e_r        "    cult-_u_re.
  prod-u_x_        "    prod-u_cts_.
  judg-m_u_nt      "    judg-m_e_nt.
  chil-dr_i_n      "    chil-dr_e_n.
  mod-_i_st        "    mod-_e_st.
  _u_p-prove       "    _a_p-prove.
  _w_in-e-gar      "    _v_in-e-gar.
  sep-_e_-rate     "    sep-_a_-rate.
  temp-er-_i_t     "    tem-per-_a_te.
  croc-_e_r-dile   "    croc-_o_-dile.
  t_u_b-ac-c_u_r   "    t_o_-bac-c_o_.
  com-pr_u_m-ise   "    com-pr_o_-mise.

IV. Produce the sounds denoted by the following combinations of

Let the pupil first produce the sound of the letters, and then the word
or words in which they occur. Be careful to give a clear and distinct
enunciation to every letter.

    1. _Bd_,  as  in ro_b'd_; _bdst_, pro_b'dst_; _bl_, _bl_ and,
       a_bl_e;  _bld_,  hum-_bl'd;  bldst_, trou_bl'dst_; _blst_,
       trou_bl'st; blz_, crum_bles; br_, _br_and; _bz_, ri_bs_.

    2. _Ch_, as in _ch_ur_ch; cht_, fet_ch'd_.

    3. _Dj_,  as  in  e_dg_e; _djd_, he_dg'd; dl_, bri_dle; dld_,
       rid_dl'd;   dlst_,   han_dl'st_;   _dlz_,  bun_dles;  dn_,
       har_d'n;  dr_,  _dr_ove;  _dth_, wi_dth; dths_, brea_dths;
       dz_, o_dds_.

    4. _Fl_,  as in _fl_ame; _fld_, ri_fl'd_; _flst_, sti_fl'st_;
       _flx_,  ri_fles_;  _fr_, _fr_om; _fs_, qua_ffs_, lau_ghs_;
       _fst_,   lau_gh'st_,   qua_ff'st_;  _ft_,  ra_ft_;  _fts_,
       wa_fts; ftst_, gr_ft'st_.

    5. _Gd_,  as  in  beg_g'd_; _gdst_, brag_g'dst; gl_, _gl_ide;
       _gld_, strug_gl'd; gldst_, hag_gl'dst; gist_, stran_gl'st;
       glz_, min_gles; gr, gr_ove; _gst_, beg_g'st; gz_, fi_gs_.

    6. _Kl_,  as  in  un_cle_, an_kle_; _kld_, trick_l'd; kldst_,
       truck_l'dst;  klst_,  chuc_kl'st;  klz_,  wrin_kles;  kn_,
       blac_k'n;  knd_,  rec_k'n'd;  kndst_,  rec_k'n'dst; knst_,
       blac_k'n'st;  knz_,  rec_k'ns;  kr, cr_ank; _ks_, chec_ks;
       kt_, a_ct_.

    7. _Lb_,  as  in  bu_lb_; _lbd_, bu_lb'd; lbs_, bu_lbs; lch_,
       fi_lch;  lcht_,  be_lch'd;  ld_,  ho_ld;  ldst_, fo_ld'st;
       ldz_,  ho_lds; lf_, se_lf; lfs_, gu_lfs; lj_, bu_lge; lk_,
       e_lk;  lks_,  si_lks;  lkt_, mi_lk'd; lkts_, mu_lcts; lm_,
       e_lm;  lmd_,  whel_m'd; lmz_, fi_lms; ln_, fa_ll'n;_ _lp_,
       he_lp_; _lps_, sca_lps_; _lpst_, _help'st_; _ls_, fa_lse_;
       _lst_,  ca_ll'st_;  _lt_, me_lt_; _lth_, hea_lth_; _lths_,
       stea_lths_;   _lts_,   co_lts_;   _lv_,   de_lve_;  _lvd_,
       she_lv'd_; _lvz_, el_ves_; _lz_, ha_lls_.

    8. _Md_,  as  in  doo_m'd_;  _mf_,  triu_mph_;  _mp_, he_mp_;
       _mpt_,  te_mpt_;  _mpts_,  atte_mpts_; _mst_, ento_mb'st_;
       _mz_, to_mbs_.

    9. _Nch_,  as  in  be_nch_;  _ncht_,  pi_nch'd_; _nd_, a_nd_;
       _ndst_,  e_nd'st_;  _ndz_,  e_nds_;  _ng_,  su_ng_; _ngd_,
       ba_nged_; _ngth_, le_ngth_; _ngz_, so_ngs_; _nj_, ra_nge_;
       _njd_,  ra_ng'd_;  _nk_,  i_nk_;  _nks_,  ra_nks_; _nkst_,
       tha_nk'st_; _nst_, wi_ne'd_; _nt_, se_nt_; _nts_, re_nts_;
       _ntst_, we_nt'st_; _nz_, ru_ns_.

   10. _Pl_, as in _pl_ume; _pld_, rip_pl'd_; _plst_, rip_pl'st_;
       _plz_,  ap_ples_;  _pr_,  _pr_ince;  _ps_,  si_ps_; _pst_,
       rap_p'st_; _pt_, rip_p'd_.

   11. _Rb_,  as  in he_rb_; _rch_, sea_rch_; _rcht_, chu_rch'd_;
       _rbd_,  o_rbd_; _rbdst_, ba_rb'dst_; _rbst_, distu_rb'st_;
       _rbz_,  o_rbs_;  _rd_,  ha_rd_; _rdst_, hea_rd'st_; _rdz_,
       wo_rds_;  _rf_,  tu_rf_;  _rft_,  sca_rfd_;  _rg_, bu_rg_;
       _rgz_,  bu_rgs_;  _rj_,  di_rge_;  _rjd_,  u_rg'd_;  _rk_,
       a_rk_;  _rks_, a_rks_; _rkst_, wo_rk'st_; _rkt_, di_rk'd_;
       _rktst_,   emba_rk'dst_;  _rl_,  gi_rl_;  _rld_,  wo_rld_;
       _rldst_,  hu_rld'st_;  _rlst_, whi_rl'st_; _rlz_, hu_rls_;
       _rm_,  a_rm_; _rmd_, a_rm'd_; _rmdst_, ha_rm'dst_; _rmst_,
       a_rm'st_;  _rmz_, cha_rms_; _rn_, tu_rn_; _rnd_, tu_rn'd_;
       _rndst_,  ea_rn'dst_;  _rnst_,  lea_rn'st_; _rnz_, u_rns_;
       _rp_,  ca_rp_;  _rps_,  ha_rps_;  _rpt_,  wa_rp'd_;  _rs_,
       ve_rs_e; _rsh_, ha_rsh_; _rst_, fi_rst_; _rsts_, bu_rsts_;
       _rt_,  da_rt_;  _rth_,  ea_rth_;  _rths_, bi_rths_; _rts_,
       ma_rts_;   _rtst_,   da_rt'st_;   _rv_,   cu_rve_;  _rvd_,
       ne_rv'd_;  _rvdst_, cu_rv'dst_; _rvst_, swe_rv'st_; _rvz_,
       ne_rves_; _rz_, e_rrs_.

   12. _Sh_, as in _sh_ip; _sht_, hu_sh'd_; _sk_, _sc_an, _sk_ip;
       _sks_, tu_sks_; _skst_, fri_sk'st_; _skt_, ri_sk'd_; _sl_,
       _sl_ow; _sld_, ne_stl'd_; _slz_, we_stles_; _sm_, _sm_ile;
       _sn_,   _sn_ag;  _sp_,  _sp_ort;  _sps_,  li_sps_;  _spt_,
       cla_sp'd_;  _st_, _st_ag; _str_, _str_ike; _sts_, re_sts_;
       _sw_, _sw_ing.

   13. _Th_,  as  in  _th_ine,  _th_in; _thd_, brea_th'd_; _thr_,
       _thr_ee;  _thst_,  brea_th'st_;  _thw_,  _thw_ack;  _thz_,
       wri_thes_;   _tl_,  ti_tle_;  _tld_,  set_tl'd_;  _tldst_,
       set_tl'dst_;  _tlst_,set_tl'st_;  _tlz_,  net_tles_; _tr_,
       _tr_uuk; _ts_, fi_ts_; _tw_, _tw_irl.

   14. _Vd_,  as  in cur_v'd_; _vdst_, li_v'dst_; _vl_, dri_v'l_;
       _vld_,    gro_v'l'd_;   _vldst_,   gro_v'l'dst_;   _vlst_,
       dri_v'l'st_;   _un_,   dri_v'n_;  _vst_,  li_v'st_;  _vz_,

   15. _Wh_, as in _wh_en, _wh_ere.

   16. _Zd_,  as  in  mu_s'd_;  _zl_, daz_zle_; _zld_, muz_zl'd_;
       _zldst_,    daz_zl'dst_;    _zlst_,   daz_zl'st_;   _zlz_,
       muz_zles_;  _zm_, spa_sm_; _zmz_, cha_sms_; _zn_, ri_s'n_;
       _znd_,     rea_s'n'd_;    _znz_,    pri_s'nz_;    _zndst_,

V. Avoid blending the termination of one word with the beginning of
another, or suppressing the final letter or letters of one word, when
the next word commences with a similar sound.


  His small eyes          instead of  His small lies.
  She keeps pies              "       She keeps spies.
  His hour is up              "       His sour is sup.
  Dry the widow's tears       "       Dry the widow steers.
  Your eyes and ears          "       Your rise sand dears.
  He had two small eggs       "       He had two small legs.
  Bring some ice cream        "       Bring some mice scream.
  Let all men praise Him      "       Let tall men pray sim.
  He was killed in war        "       He was skilled in war.
  Water, air, and earth       "       Water rare rand dearth.
  Come and see me once more   "       Come mand see me one smore.

NOTE.--By an indistinct Articulation the sense of a passage is often
liable to be perverted.


    1. Will he attempt to conceal hi_s acts?_
       Will he attempt to conceal hi_s sacks?_
    2. The man ha_d o_ars to row he_r o_ver.
       The man ha_d d_oors to row he_r r_over.
    3. Can there be a_n a_im more lofty?
       Can there be _a n_ame more lofty?
    4. The judge_s o_ught to arrest the culprits.
       The judge_s s_ought to arrest the culprits.
    5. Hi_s i_re burned when she told him he_r a_ge.
       Hi_s s_ire burned when she told him he_r r_age.
    6. He wa_s a_wed at the works of labor a_nd a_rt.
       He wa_s s_awed at the works of labor a_n d_art.
    7. He wa_s tr_ained in the religion of his fathers.
       He wa_s st_rained in the religion of his fathers.


    1. _Br_avely o'er _th_e _b_oi_st_e_r_ous _b_i_ll_ow_s_,
       _H_is _g_a_ll_a_nt_ _b_a_rk_ _w_a_s_ _b_o_rn_e.
    2. _C_a_n_    _cr_a_v_e_n_    _c_owa_rds_    e_x_pe_ct_    to
       _c_o_nq_ue_r_ _th_e _c_ou_ntr_y?
    3. _Cl_i_ck_, _cl_i_ck_, _g_oe_s_ _th_e _cl_o_ck_; _cl_a_ck_,
       _cl_a_ck_, _g_oe_s_ _th_e _m_i_ll_.
    4. _D_i_d_  _y_ou  _d_esi_r_e  to  _h_ea_r_  _h_i_s_ _d_a_rk_
       a_nd_ _d_o_l_e_f_u_l_ _dr_ea_ms_?
    5. "_F_ir_m_-_p_a_c_e_d_   a_nd_   _sl_ow,   a   _h_o_rr_i_d_
       _fr_o_nt_ _th_ey _form_,
       _St_i_ll_  a_s_  _th_e  _br_ee_ze_; _b_u_t_ _dr_ea_df_u_l_
       a_s_ _th_e _st_or_m_."
    6. _Th_e  _fl_a_m_i_ng_  _f_i_r_e _fl_a_sh_ed _f_ea_rf_u_ll_y
       i_n_ _h_i_s_ _f_a_c_e.
    7. _Th_e   _gl_a_ss_y   _gl_a_ci_e_rs_   _gl_ea_m_e_d_   i_n_
       _gl_owi_ng_ _l_igh_t_.
    8. _H_ow   _h_igh  _h_i_s_  ho_n_o_rs_  _h_ea_v_e_d_  _h_i_s_
       _h_augh_t_y _h_ea_d_!
    9. _H_e  _dr_ew  _l_o_ng_,  _l_e_g_i_bl_e _lin_e_s_ a_l_o_ng_
       _th_e _l_ove_l_y _l_a_ndsc_a_p_e.
   10. _M_a_ss_e_s_  of  i_mm_e_ns_e  _m_a_gn_i_t_u_d_e  _m_o_v_e
       _m_a_j_e_st_i_c_a_ll_y _thr_ough _th_e _v_a_st_ e_mp_i_r_e
       of _th_e _s_o_l_a_r_ _s_y_st_e_m_.
   11. _R_ou_nd_  _th_e  _r_ou_gh_  a_nd_  _r_u_gg_e_d_ _r_o_cks_
       _th_e _r_a_gg_e_d_ _r_a_sc_a_l_ _r_a_n_.
   12. _Th_e     _str_i_pl_i_ng_    _str_a_ng_e_r_    _str_aye_d_
       _str_aigh_t_ _to_wa_rd_ _th_e _str_u_ggl_i_ng_ _str_ea_m_.
   13. _Sh_e  u_tt_e_r_e_d_  a  _sh_a_rp_, _shr_i_ll_ _shr_ie_k_,
       a_nd_ _th_e_n_ _shr_u_nk_ _fr_o_m_ _th_e _shr_i_v_e_l_e_d_
       _f_o_rm_ _th_a_t_ _sl_u_mb_e_r_e_d_ i_n_ _th_e _shr_ou_d_.
   14. _F_or   _f_ear   o_f_   o_ff_ending   _th_e  _fr_ight_f_ul
       fugitive, _th_e _v_i_l_e _v_a_g_a_b_o_nd_ _v_e_nt_u_r_e_d_
       _t_o _v_i_l_i_fy_ _th_e _v_e_n_e_r_a_bl_e _v_e_t_e_r_a_n_.
   15. A_midst_ _th_e _m_i_sts_, _w_i_th_ a_ngr_y _b_oa_sts_,
       _H_e   _thr_u_sts_  _h_i_s_  _f_i_sts_  a_g_ai_nst_  _th_e
       A_nd_    _st_i_ll_   i_ns_i_sts_   _h_e   _s_ee_s_   _th_e
   16. Peter  Prangle,  the  prickly  prangly pear picker, picked
       three  pecks  of  prickly  prangly pears, from the prangly
       pear trees, on the pleasant prairies.
   17. Theophilus  Thistle,  the  successful  thistle  sifter, in
       sifting  a  sieve  full of unsifted thistles, thrust three
       thousand  thistles through the thick of his thumb; now, if
       Theophilus  Thistle,  the  successful  thistle  sifter, in
       sifting  a  sieve  full of unsifted thistles, thrust three
       thousand  thistles  through  the thick of _his_ thumb, see
       that _thou_, in sifting a sieve full of unsifted thistles,
       thrust  not  three  thousand thistles through the thick of
       _thy_ thumb. Success to the successful thistle sifter.
   18. We travel _sea_ and _soil_; we _pry_, we _prowl_;
       We _progress_, and we _prog_ from _pole_ to _pole_.



ACCENT and EMPHASIS both indicate some special stress of voice.

Accent is that stress of voice by which one _syllable_ of a word is made
more prominent than others; EMPHASIS is that stress of voice by which
one or more _words_ of a sentence are distinguished above the rest.


The accented syllable is sometimes designated thus: ('); as,

NOTE I.--Words of more than two syllables generally have two or more of
them accented.

The more forcible stress of voice, is called the _Primary Accent_; and
the less forcible, the _Secondary Accent_.


In the following examples the Primary Accent is designated by double
accentual marks, thus:

_Ed''-u-cate'_, _ed'-u-ca''-tion_, _mul''-ti-ply'_,
_mul'-ti-pli-ca''-tion_, _sat''-is-fy'_, _sat'-is-fac''-tion_,
_com'-pre-hend''_, _com'-pre-hen''-sion_, _rec'-om-mend''_,
_rec'-om-mend-a''-tion_, _mo''-ment-a'-ry_, _com-mun''-ni-cate'_,
_com'-pli-ment''-al_, _in-dem'-ni-fi-ca''-tion_,
_ex'-tem-po-ra''-ne-ous_, _coun'-ter-rev'-o-lu''-tion-a-ry_.

NOTE II.--The change of accent on the same word often changes its


  col'-league, _a partner_.
  col-league', _to unite with_.
  con'-duct, _behavior_.
  con-duct', _to lead_.
  des'-cant, _a song or tune_.
  des-cant', _to comment_.
  ob'-ject, _ultimate purpose_.
  ob-ject', _to oppose_.
  in'-ter-dict, _a prohibition_.
  in-ter-dict', _to forbid_.
  o'ver-throw, _ruin; defeat_.
  o-ver-throw', _to throw down_.

NOTE III.--Emphatic words are often printed in _Italics_. When, however,
different degrees of emphasis are to be denoted, the higher degrees are
designated by the use of Capitals, LARGER or SMALLER, according to the
degree of intensity.


1. Our motto shall be, _our country_, OUR WHOLE COUNTRY, and NOTHING BUT

2. _Thou Child of Joy!_ SHOUT round me: let me HEAR _thy shouts, thou
happy Shepherd Boy!_

3. Freedom calls you! _quick_, be ready,
     Think of what your sires have done;
   _Onward_, ONWARD! strong and steady,
     Drive the tyrant to his den;
   ON, and let the watchword be,
     _Country_, HOME, and LIBERTY.

NOTE IV.--Emphasis, as before intimated, varies in degrees of intensity.


  1. He shook the fragment of his blade,
       And shouted: "VICTORY!
       _Charge_, Chester, CHARGE! _On_, Stanley, ON!"

  2. A _month!_ O, for a single WEEK! I as not for _years'_, though an
     AGE were _too little_ for the _much_ I have to do.

  3. _Now_ for the FIGHT! _now_ for the CANNON PEAL! ONWARD! through
     _blood_, and _toil_, and _cloud_, and _fire!_ _Glorious_--the SHOUT,

  4. Hear, O HEAVENS! and give ear, O EARTH!

NOTE V.--Emphasis sometimes changes the seat of accent from its ordinary


There is a difference between _pos'_sibility and _prob'_ability. And
behold, the angels of God _as'_cending and _de'_scending on it. For this
corruptible must put on _in'_corruption, and this mortal must put on
_im'_mortality. Does his conduct deserve _ap'_probation or

NOTE VI.--There are two kinds of Emphasis:--_Absolute_ and _Antithetic_.
ABSOLUTE EMPHASIS is used to designate the important words of a
sentence, without any direct reference to other words.


  1.   Oh, speak to passion's raging tide,
     _Speak_ and _say_: "PEACE, BE STILL!"


  3.         HUSH! _breathe it not aloud_,
     _The wild winds must not hear it! Yet, again_,
     _I tell thee_--WE ARE FREE!

  4. When my country shall take her place among the nations of the
     earth, THEN and not TILL then, let my epitaph be written.

  5. If you are MEN, _follow_ ME! STRIKE DOWN _yon guard, and gain
     the mountain passes._

  6. OH! _shame on us_, countrymen, SHAME _on us_ ALL,
       If we CRINGE to so dastard a race.

  7.  This doctrine _never was received_; it NEVER CAN, _by any_
  POSSIBILITY, BE RECEIVED; and, if admitted at ALL, it _must be

  8. Are you _Christians_, and, by upholding duelists, will you _deluge
     the land with blood_, and _fill it with widows and orphans._


 10. _Treason!_ cried the speaker; _treason_, TREASON, TREASON,
      reechoed from every part of the house.

 11. _The war is inevitable_,--and LET IT COME! I repeat it,
      Sir,--LET IT COME!
                                                         PATRICK HENRY.

 12.                            Be we _men_,
     And suffer such dishonor? MEN, and wash not
     The stain away in BLOOD?
                                                          MISS MITFORD.

 13.  O SACRED FORMS! how _proud_ you look!
      How _high_ you lift your heads into the sky!
      How _huge_ you are! how _mighty_ and how _free_!

 14. I shall know but _one_ country. The ends _I_ aim at, shall be "My
     COUNTRY'S, my GOD'S, and TRUTH'S."

NOTE VII.--ANTITHETIC EMPHASIS is that which is founded on the contrast
of one word or clause with another.


  1. The faults of _others_ should always remind us of our _own_.

  2. He desired to _protect_ his friend, not to _injure_ him.

  3. But _yesterday_, the word of Caesar might
     Have stood against the world; _now_ lies he there,
     And none so poor to do him reverence.

  4. A _good name_ is rather to be chosen than _great riches_.

  5. We can do nothing _against_ the truth; but _for_ the truth.

  6. He that is _slow to anger_, is better than the _mighty_; and he
     that _ruleth his spirit_, than he that _taketh a city_.

NOTE VIII.--The following examples contain two or more sets of

  1. _Just men_ are only _free_, the _rest_ are _slaves_.

  2. _Beauty_ is like the _flower of spring; virtue_ is like the
  _stars of heaven_.

  3. _Truth_ crushed to earth shall _rise_ again,
       The eternal years of God are hers;
     But _error_, wounded, _writhes_ in pain,
       And _dies_ amid her worshipers.

  4. A _false balance_ is _abomination to the Lord_; but a _just
     weight_ is _his delight_.

  5. A _friend_ can not be _known_ in _prosperity;_ and an _enemy_
     can not be _hidden_ in _adversity_.

  6. It is my _living sentiment_, and, by the blessing of God, it
     shall be my _dying sentiment:_ INDEPENDENCE NOW, and INDEPENDENCE

  7. We live in _deeds_, not _years_,--in _thoughts_, not _breaths_,--in
     _feelings_, not in _figures on a dial_. We should count time by
     _heart throbs_. He _most lives_, who THINKS THE MOST,--FEELS THE

  8. _You_ have done the _mischief_, and _I_ bear the _blame_.

  9. The _wise man_ is happy when he gains his _own_ approbation;
     the _fool_ when he gains that of _others_.

 10. We must hold _them_ as we hold the _rest_ of mankind--_enemies_
     in _war_,--in _peace, friends_.

NOTE IX.--The sense of a passage is varied by changing the place of the


  1. Has _James_ seen his brother to-day? No; but _Charles_ has.

  2. Has James _seen_ his brother to-day? No; but he has _heard_
     from him.

  3. Has James seen _his_ brother to-day? No; but he saw _yours_.

  4. Has James seen his _brother_ to-day? No; but he has seen his

  5. Has James seen his brother _to-day_? No; but he saw him _yesterday_.

REMARK.--To determine the emphatic words of a sentence, as well as the
_degree_ and _kind_ of emphasis to be employed, the reader must be
governed wholly by the _sentiment_ to be expressed. The idea is
sometimes entertained that emphasis consists merely in _loudness_ of
tone. But it should be borne in mind that the most _intense_ emphasis
may often be effectively expressed, even by a whisper.



INFLECTIONS are turns or slides of the voice, made in reading or
speaking; as; Will you go to New [Transcriber's Note: Two missing lines
in printing, page 25 in original.] or to [Transcriber's Note: Remainder
of paragraph is missing.]

All the various sounds of the human voice may be comprehended under the
general appellation of _tones_. The principal modifications of these

  The Horizontal Line (--)   denotes the Monotone.
  The Rising Slide    (/)    denotes the Rising Inflection.
  The Falling Slide   (\)    denotes the Falling Inflection.
  The Curve           (\_/)  denotes the Circumflex.

The MONOTONE is that sameness of sound, which arises from repeating the
several words or syllables of a passage in one and the same general

REMARK.--The Monotone is employed with admirable effect in the delivery
of a passage that is solemn or sublime.


1. O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers: whence
are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light? OSSIAN.

  'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now
  Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er
  The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds
  The bells' deep tones are swelling; 'tis the knell
  Of the departed year.

3. God came from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount Paran. Selah. His
glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of His praise.

4. Before Him went the pestilence, and burning coals went forth at His
feet. He stood and measured the earth: He beheld, and drove asunder the
nations; and the everlasting mountains were scattered, the perpetual
hills did bow: His ways are everlasting. BIBLE.

5. The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His
handy work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth
knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not
heard. ID.

  How brief is life! how passing brief!
  How brief its joys and cares!
  It seems to be in league with time,
  And leaves us unawares.

7. The thunder rolls: be hushed the prostrate world,
   While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. THOMSON.

REMARK.--The inappropriate use of the monotone,--a fault into which
young people naturally fall,--is a very grave and obstinate error. It is
always tedious, and often even ridiculous. It should be studiously

The RISING INFLECTION is an upward turn, or slide of the voice, used in
reading or speaking; as,

  Are you prepared to recite your l/

The FALLING INFLECTION is a downward turn, or slide of the voice, used
in reading or speaking; as,

  What are you     \g?

In the falling inflection, the voice should not sink below the _general
pitch_; but in the rising inflection, it is raised above it.

The two inflections may be illustrated by the following diagrams:

                     y,       \p                   \p
                    l/         \r                   \r
                   t/           \u                   \u
                  n/             \d                   \d
                 e/               \e                   \e
                d/                 \n                   \n
               u/                   \t                   \t
              r/                     \l                   \l
  Did he act p/          or           \y? He acted         \y.

                      y,      \w                  \w
                     l/        \i                  \i
                    g/          \l                  \l
                   n/            \l                  \l
                  i/              \i                  \i
                 l/                \n                  \n
                l/                  \g                  \g
               i/                    \l                  \l
  Did they go w/          or          \y? They went       \y.

  If the flight of Dryden is h/       Pope continues longer on the

  \w                                         g/
   \i                                       i/
    \n                                     r/
     \g. If the blaze of Dryden's fire is b/        the heat of Pope's is

  more regular and        \t.

  4. Is honor's lofty soul forever fled'?
     Is virtue lost'? Is martial ardor dead'?
     Is there no heart where worth and valor dwell'?
     No patriot WALLACE'? No undaunted TELL'?
     Yes`, Freedom, yes`! thy sons, a noble band,
     Around thy banner, firm, exulting stand`.

REMARK.--The same _degree_ of inflection is not, at all times, used, or
indicated by the notation. The due degree to be employed, depends on the
_nature_ of what is to be expressed. For example; if a person, under
great excitement, asks another:

  Are you in e        the degree of inflection would be much greater,

  than if he playfully asks: Are you in e              The former
  inflection may be called _intensive_, the latter, _common_.



Direct questions, or those which may be answered by _yes_ or _no_,
usually take the rising inflection; but their answers, generally, the


1. Will you meet me at the depot'? Yes`; or, I will`.

2. Did you intend to visit Boston'? No`; or, I did not`.

3. Can you explain this difficult sentence'? Yes`; I can.

4. Are they willing to remain at home'? They are`.

5. Is this a time for imbecility and inaction'? By no means`.

6. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets'? I know that thou

7. Were the tribes of this country, when first discovered, making any
progress in arts and civilization'? By no means`.

8. To purchase heaven has gold the power'?
   Can gold remove the mortal hour'?
   In life, can love be bought with gold'?
   Are friendship's pleasures to be sold'?
   No`; all that's worth a wish, a thought,
   Fair virtue gives unbribed, unbought.

9. What would content you`? Talents'? No`. Enterprise'? No`. Courage'?
No`. Reputation'? No`. Virtue'? No`. The man whom you would select,
should possess not one, but all of these`.

NOTE I.--When the direct question becomes an appeal, and the reply to it
is anticipated, it takes the intense _falling_ inflection.


1. _Is_` he not a bold and eloquent speaker`?

2. _Can_` such inconsistent measures be adopted`?

3. _Did_` you ever hear of such cruel barbarities`?

4. _Is_ this reason`? _Is_` it law`? _Is_ it humanity`?

5. _Was_` not the gentleman's argument conclusive`?


Indirect questions, or those which can not be answered by _yes_ or _no_,
usually take the _falling_ inflection, and their answers the same.

1. How far did you travel yesterday`? Forty miles`.

2. Which of you brought this beautiful bouquet`? Julia`.

3. Where do you intend to spend the summer`? At Saratoga`.

4. When will Charles graduate at college`? Next year`.

5. What is one of the most delightful emotions of the heart`? Gratitude`.

NOTE I.--When the indirect question is one asking a repetition of what
was not, at first, understood, it takes the _rising_ inflection.


1. When do you expect to return? Next week.
   When_ did you say'? Next week.

2. _Where_ did you say William had gone'? To New York.

NOTE II.--Answers to questions, whether direct or indirect, when
expressive of indifference, take the _rising_ inflection, or the


1. Did you admire his discourse? Not much'.

2. Which way shall we walk? I am not particular'.

3. Can Henry go with us? If he chooses'.

4. What color do you prefer? I have no particular choice'.

NOTE III.--In some instances, direct questions become indirect by a
change of the inflection from the rising to the falling.


1. Will you come to-morrow' or next day'? Yes.

2. Will you come to-morrow,' or next day`? I will come to-morrow.

REMARK.--The first question asks if the person addressed will _come_
within the two days, and may be answered by _yes_ or _no_; but the
second asks on _which_ of the two days he will come, and it can not be
thus answered.


When questions are connected by the conjunction _or_, the first requires
the _rising_, and the second, the _falling_ inflection.


1. Does he study for amusement', or improvement`?

2. Was he esteemed for his wealth', or for his wisdom`?

3. Sink' or swim`, live' or die`, survive' or perish`, I give my hand
and heart to this vote. WEBSTER.

4. Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath-days', or to do evil`? to save
life', or to kill`?

5. Was it an act of moral courage', or cowardice`, for Cato to fall on
his sword`?

RULE IV. Antithetic terms or clauses usually take opposite inflections;
generally, the former has the _rising_, and the latter the _falling_


1. If you seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores' but
to diminish his desires`.

2. They have mouths',--but they speak not`:
   Eyes have they',--but they see not`:
   They have ears',--but they hear not`:
   Noses have they',--but they smell not`:
   They have hands',--but they handle not`:
   Feet have they',--but they walk not`.

NOTE I.--When one of the antithetic clauses is a _negative_, and the
other an _affirmative_, generally the negative has the _rising_, and
the affirmative the _falling_ inflection.


1. I said an elder soldier` not a better'.

2. His acts deserve punishment` rather than commiseration'.

3. This is no time for a tribunal of justice', but for showing mercy`;
not for accusation', but for philanthropy`; not for trial', but for
pardon`; not for sentence and execution', but for compassion and

RULE V. The Pause of Suspension, denoting that the sense is incomplete,
usually has the _rising_ inflection.


1. Although the fig tree shall not blossom', neither shall fruit be in
the vine'; the labor of the olive shall fail', and the fields shall
yield no meat'; the flocks shall be cut off from the fold', and there
shall be no herd in the stalls'; yet will I rejoice in the Lord`, I will
joy in the God of my salvation`. BIBLE.

NOTE I.--The ordinary direct address, not accompanied with strong
emphasis, takes the _rising_ inflection, on the principle of the pause
of suspension.


1. Men', brethren', and fathers', hear ye my defense which I make now
unto you. BIBLE.

2. Ye living flowers', that skirt the eternal frost'!
   Ye wild goats', sporting round the eagle's nest'!
   Ye eagles', playmates of the mountain storm'!
   Ye lightnings', the dread arrows of the clouds'!
   Ye signs' and wonders' of the elements'!
   Utter forth GOD`, and fill the hills with praise`!

NOTE II.--In some instances of a pause of suspension, the sense requires
an intense _falling_ inflection.


1. The prodigal, if he does not become a _pauper_`, will, at least, have
but little to bestow on others.

REMARK.--If the _rising_ inflection is given on _pauper_, the sense
would be perverted, and the passage made to mean, that, in order to be
able to bestow on others, it is necessary that he should become a

RULE VI. Expressions of tenderness, as of grief, or kindness, commonly
incline the voice to the _rising_ inflection.


1. Mother',--I leave thy dwelling';
     Oh! shall it be forever'?
   With grief my heart is swelling',
     From thee',--from thee',--to sever'.

2. O my son Absalom'! my son', my son Absalom'! Would God I had died for
thee', Absalom', my son', my son'! BIBLE.

RULE VII. The Penultimate Pause, or the last but one, of a passage, is
usually preceded by the _rising_ inflection.


1. Diligence`, industry`, and proper improvement of time', are material
duties of the young`.

2. These through faith subdued kingdoms`, wrought righteous-ness`,
obtained promises`, stopped the mouths of lions`, quenched the violence
of fire`, escaped the edge of the sword`, out of weakness were made
strong`, waxed valiant in fight', turned to flight the armies of the

REMARK.--The rising inflection is employed at the penultimate pause in
order to promote variety, since the voice generally falls at the end of
a sentence.

RULE VIII. Expressions of strong emotion, as of anger or surprise, and
also the language of authority and reproach, are expressed with the
_falling_ inflection.


1. On YOU`, and on your CHILDREN`, be the peril of the innocent blood
which shall be shed this day`.

2. What a piece of workmanship is MAN`! How noble in REASON`! How
infinite in FACULTIES`!

3. O FOOLS`! and _slow of heart_ to believe all that the prophets have
written concerning me`! BIBLE.

4. HENCE`, HOME`, _you idle creatures_`, GET YOU HOME`, YOU BLOCKS`, YOU

5. Avaunt`! and quit my sight`! let the earth hide thee`! Thy bones are
marrowless`; thou hast no speculation in thine eyes which thou dost
glare` with. SHAKSPEARE.

6. Slave, do thy office`! Strike`, as I struck the foe`!
   Strike`, as I would have struck the tyrants`!
   Strike deep as my curse`! Strike`, and but once`! ID.

RULE IX. An emphatic succession of particulars, and emphatic repetition,
require the _falling_ inflection.


1. _Beware_` what earth calls happiness; BEWARE`
   All joys but joys that never can expire`.

2. A great mind`, a great heart`, a great orator`, a great career`, have
been consigned to history`. BUTLER.

REMARK.--The stress of voice on each successive particular, or
repetition, should gradually be increased as the subject advances.

The CIRCUMFLEX is a union of the two inflections on the same word,
beginning either with the _falling_ and ending with the _rising_, or
with the _rising_ and ending with the _falling_; as, If he goes to ____
I shall go to ____.

The circumflex is mainly employed in the language of irony, and in
expressing ideas implying some condition, either expressed or


1. You, a beardless youth, pretend to teach a British general.

2. What! shear a wolf? a prowling wolf?

3. My father's trade? ah, really, that's too bad!
   My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?
   My father, sir, did never stoop so low,--
   He was a gentleman, I'd have you know.

4. What! confer a crown on the author of the public calamities?

5. But you are very wise men, and deeply learned in the truth; we are
weak, contemptible, mean persons.

6. They pretend they come to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts,
and free us from error.

7. But youth, it seems, is not my only crime; I have been accused of
acting a theatrical part.

8. And this man has become a god and Cassius a wretched creature.



MODULATION implies those variations of the voice, heard in reading or
speaking, which are prompted by the feelings and emotions that the
subject inspires.



  FULL   .- Once more unto the breach, dear friends, _once more_,
  TONE   '- Or close the wall up with our English dead!
  MIDDLE .- In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
  TONE   '- As modest stillness and humility;
         .- But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
  SHORT  |  Then imitate the action of the tiger;
  AND    +  Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
  QUICK  '- Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage.
         .- _On_, ON, you noblest English,
  HIGH   |  Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof!
  AND    +  _Fathers_, that, like so many Alexanders,
  LOUD   |  Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
         '- And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
  QUICK  .- I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
  AND    |  Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
  VERY   +  Follow your spirits, and, upon this charge,


REMARK.--To read the foregoing example in one dull, monotonous tone of
voice, without regard to the sentiment expressed, would render the
passage extremely insipid and lifeless. But by a proper modulation of
the voice, it infuses into the mind of the reader or hearer the most
animating and exciting emotions.

The voice is modulated in _three_ different ways. _First_, it is varied
in PITCH; that is, from _high_ to _low_ tones, and the reverse.
_Secondly_, it is varied in QUANTITY, or in _loudness_ or _volume_ of
sound. _Thirdly_, it is varied in QUALITY, or in the _kind_ of sound


Pitch of voice has reference to its degree of elevation.

Every person, in reading or speaking, assumes a certain pitch, which may
be either _high_ or _low_, according to circumstances, and which has a
governing influence on the variations of the voice, above and below it.
This degree of elevation is usually called the KEY NOTE.

As an exercise in varying the voice in pitch, the practice of uttering a
sentence on the several degrees of elevation, as represented in the
following scale, will be found beneficial. First, utter the musical
syllables, then the vowel sound, and lastly, the proposed
sentence,--ascending and descending.

  ---------8.--do--#--_e_-in-m_e_.---Virtue alone survives.----
          7.  si  #  _i_ in d_i_e.  Virtue alone survives.
  -------6.--la--#--_o_-in-d_o_.---Virtue alone survives.------
        5.  sol #  _o_ in n_o_.   Virtue alone survives.
  -----4.--fa--#--_a_-in-_a_t.---Virtue alone survives.--------
      3.  mi  #  _a_-in _a_te.  Virtue alone survives.
  ---2.--re--#--_a_-in-f_a_r.--Virtue alone survives.----------
    1.  do  #  _a_ in _a_ll.  Virtue alone survives

Although the voice is capable of as many variations in speaking, as are
marked on the musical scale, yet for all the purposes of ordinary
elocution, it will be sufficiently exact if we make but _three_ degrees
of variation, viz., the _Low_, the _Middle_, and the _High_.

1. THE LOW PITCH is that which falls below the usual speaking key, and
is employed in expressing emotions of _sublimity_, _awe_, and


  Silence, how dead! darkness, how profound!
  Nor eye, nor list'ning ear, an object finds;
  Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
  Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause.--
  An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

2. THE MIDDLE PITCH is that usually employed in common conversation, and
in expressing _unimpassioned thought_ and _moderate emotion_.


1. It was early in a summer morning, when the air was cool, the earth
moist, the whole face of the creation fresh and gay, that I lately
walked in a beautiful flower garden, and, at once, regaled the senses
and indulged the fancy. HERVEY.

  "_I love to live_," said a prattling boy,
  As he gayly played with his new-bought toy,
  And a merry laugh went echoing forth,
  From a bosom filled with joyous mirth.

3. THE HIGH PITCH is that which rises above the usual speaking key, and
is used in expressing _joyous_ and _elevated feelings_.


  Higher, _higher_, EVER HIGHER,--
  Let the watchword be "ASPIRE!"
    Noble Christian youth;
  Whatsoe'er be God's behest,
  Try to do that duty best,
    In the strength of Truth.
                                                           M.F. TUPPER.


QUANTITY is two-fold;--consisting in FULLNESS or VOLUME of sound, as
_soft_ or _loud_; and in TIME, as _slow_ or _quick_. The former has
reference to STRESS; the latter, to MOVEMENT.

The degrees of variation in quantity are numerous, varying from a
slight, soft whisper to a vehement shout. But for all practical
purposes, they may be considered as _three_, the same as in pitch;--the
_soft_, the _middle_, and the _loud_.

For exercise in quantity, let the pupil read any sentence, as,

  "Beauty is a fading flower,"

first in a slight, soft tone, and then repeat it, gradually increasing
in quantity to the full extent of the voice. Also, let him read it first
very slowly, and then repeat it, gradually increasing the movement. In
doing this, he should be careful not to vary the pitch.

In like manner, let him repeat any vowel sound, or all of them, and also
inversely. Thus:


[Transcriber's Note: The illustration is a row of the letter "O,"
increasing in size across the page, followed by a row of the letter "O"
decreasing in size. The presumed intent is to convey loudness.]

REMARK.--Quantity is often mistaken for Pitch. But it should be borne in
mind that quantity has reference to _loudness_ or _volume_ of sound, and
pitch to the _elevation_ or _depression_ of a tone. The difference may
be distinguished by the slight and heavy strokes on a bell;--both of
which produce sounds alike in _pitch_; but they differ in _quantity_ or
_loudness_, in proportion as the strokes are light or heavy.


1. SOFT, OR SUBDUED TONES, are those which range from a whisper to a
complete vocality, and are used to express _fear_, _caution_, _secrecy_,
_solemnity_, and all _tender emotions_.


  We watched her breathing through the night,
    Her breathing soft and low,
  As in her breast the wave of life
    Kept heaving to and fro. HOOD.

  Softly, peacefully,
    Lay her to rest;
  Place the turf lightly,
    On her young breast. D.E. GOODMAN.

  The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
  And sighed for pity as it answered,--"No."

2. A MIDDLE TONE, or medium loudness of voice, is employed in reading
_narrative_, _descriptive_, or _didactic sentences_.


  I love my country's pine-clad hills,
  Her thousand bright and gushing rills,
    Her sunshine and her storms;
  Her rough and rugged rocks that rear
  Their hoary heads high in the air,
    In wild fantastic forms.

3. A LOUD TONE, or fullness and stress of voice, is used in expressing
_violent passions_ and _vehement emotions_.


  STAND! _the ground's your own_, my braves,--
  Will ye give it up to _slaves_?
  Will ye look for _greener graves_?
      Hope ye mercy still?
  What's the mercy _despots_ feel?
  Hear it in that _battle-peal_,--
  Read it on yon bristling steel,
      Ask it--_ye who will!_ PIERPONT.

  "HOLD!" Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath
  Sends back the reply: "INDEPENDENCE or DEATH!"


QUALITY has reference to _the kind of sound_ uttered.

Two sounds may be alike in quantity and pitch, yet differ in quality.
The sounds produced on the clarinet and flute may agree in pitch and
quantity, yet be unlike in quality. The same is true in regard to the
tones of the voice of two individuals. This difference is occasioned
mainly by the different positions of the vocal organs.

The qualities of voice mostly used in reading or speaking, and which
should receive the highest degree of culture, are the _Pure Tone_, the
_Orotund_, the _Aspirated_, and the _Guttural_.


1. THE PURE TONE is a clear, smooth, sonorous flow of sound, usually
accompanied with the middle pitch of voice, and is adapted to express
emotions of _joy, cheerfulness, love_, and _tranquillity_.


  Hail! beauteous stranger of the wood,
    Attendant on the spring,
  Now heaven repairs thy vernal seat,
    And woods thy welcome sing.

2. THE OROTUND is a full, deep, round, and pure tone of voice,
peculiarly adapted in expressing _sublime_ and _pathetic emotions_.


  It thunders! Sons of dust, in reverence bow!
  Ancient of Days! Thou speakest from above:
  Almighty! trembling, like a timid child,
  I hear thy awful voice. Alarmed--afraid--
  I see the flashes of thy lightning wild,
  And in the very grave would hide my head.

3. THE ASPIRATED TONE of voice is not a pure, vocal sound, but rather a
forcible breathing utterance, and is used to express _amazement, fear,
terror, anger, revenge, remorse_, and _fervent emotions_.


  Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me!
  The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight;
  Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

4. THE GUTTURAL QUALITY is a deep, aspirated tone of voice, used to
express _aversion, hatred, loathing_, and _contempt_.


  Tell me I _hate_ the bowl?
    HATE is a feeble word:
  I _loathe_, ABHOR, my very soul
   With strong disgust is stirred,
  Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell,
    Of the dark beverage of hell.


  (o) high.
  (oo) high and loud.
  ([o]) low.
  ([oo]) low and loud.
  (=) quick.
  (_''_) short and quick.
  (_sl_.) slow.
  (_p_.) soft.
  (_pp_.) very soft.
  (_f_.) loud.
  (_ff_.) very loud.
  (_pl_.) plaintive.
  (<) increase.
  (>) decrease.


   (_p_.)  Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
           And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
   (_f_.)  But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
           The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.

   (_sl_.) When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
           The line, too, labors, and the words move slow:
   (=)     Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
           Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. POPE.

   (o=)    Go ring the bells and fire the guns,
           And fling the starry banner out;
   (_ff_.) Shout "FREEDOM" till your lisping ones
           Give back the cradle shout. WHITTIER.

   (_pl_.)   "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
             With death so like a gentle slumber on thee!--
           And thy dark sin!--oh! I could drink the cup
             If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
           May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
               My lost boy, Absalom!" WILLIS.

   (_sl_.) The sun hath set in folded clouds,--
             Its twilight rays are gone,
   (o)     And, gathered in the shades of night,
             The storm is rolling on.
   (_pl_.) Alas! how ill that bursting storm
   (>)       The fainting spirit braves,
   (_p_.)  When they,--the lovely and the lost,--
   (_pl_.)   Are gone to early graves!

   (o)    On! onward still! o'er the land he sweeps,
   (>)      With wreck, and ruin, and rush, and roar,
                  Nor stops to look back
                  On his dreary track
   (_''_)   But speeds to the spoils before. MISS J.H. LEWIS.

From every battle-field of the revolution--from Lexington and Bunker
Hill--from Saratoga and Yorktown--from the fields of Entaw--from the
cane-brakes that sheltered the men of Marion--the repeated,
long-prolonged echoes came up--(_f_.) "THE UNION: IT MUST BE PRESERVED"
(<) From every valley in our land--from every cabin on the pleasant
mountain sides--from the ships at our wharves--from the tents of the
hunter in our westernmost prairies--from the living minds of the living
millions of American freemen--from the thickly coming glories of
futurity--the shout went up, like the sound of many waters,

   (_p_.)                                      Hark!
   (_sl_.) Along the vales and mountains of the earth
   ([o])   There is a deep, portentous murmuring,
   (=)     Like the swift rush of subterranean streams,
           Or like the mingled sounds of earth and air,
           When the fierce tempest, with sonorous wing,
           Heaves his deep folds upon the rushing winds,
   (<)     And hurries onward, with his night of clouds,
           Against the eternal mountains. 'Tis the voice
           Of infant FREEDOM,--and her stirring call
           Is heard and answered in a thousand tones
   (<)     From every hill-top of her western home;
           And lo! it breaks across old Ocean's flood,--
   (oo)    And "FREEDOM! FREEDOM!" is the answering shout
           Of nations, starting from the spell of years. G.D. PRENTICE.

   (<)                      The thunders hushed,--
           The trembling lightning fled away in fear,--
   (_p._)  The foam-capt surges sunk to quiet rest,--
           The raging winds grew still,--
   (_pp_.)                  There was a calm.
   (o,o,)  "Quick! Man the boat!" (=) Away they spring
             The stranger ship to aid,
   (_f_.)  And loud their hailing voices ring,
             As rapid speed they made.

   (p) Hush! lightly tread! still tranquilly she sleeps;
       I've watched, suspending e'en my breath, in fear
       To break the heavenly spell. (_pp_.) Move silently.
                                     Can it be?
       Matter immortal? and shall spirit die?
       Above the nobler, shall less nobler rise?
   (<) Shall man alone, for whom all else revives,
       No resurrection know? (o<) Shall man alone,
       Imperial man! be sown in barren ground,
       Less privileged than grain, on which he feeds? YOUNG.

   (=)    Away! away to the mountain's brow,
            Where the trees are gently waving;
   (_''_) Away! away to the vale below,
            Where the streams are gently laving.

           An hour passed on;--the Turk awoke;--
             That bright dream was his last;--
           He woke--to hear his sentry's shriek,
   (oo)    "To ARMS! they come! (_ff_.) THE GREEK! THE GREEK!"
   (_pl_.) He woke to die, midst flame and smoke,
           And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,
             And death shots falling thick and fast
           As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
           And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
             Bozzaris cheer his band;--
   (oo)    "_Strike_--till the last armed foe expires!
           _Strike_--for your altars and your fires!
           _Strike_--for the green graves of your sires!
             God, and your native land!" HALLECK.

           He said, and on the rampart hights arrayed
           His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed;
   (_sl_)  Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
   (_pp_)  Still as the breeze, ([oo]) but dreadful as the storm!
   (_p_.)  Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
   (_ff_.) REVENGE, or DEATH!--the watchword and reply;
   (oo)    Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
   (_f_.)  And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm! CAMPBELL.

   ([o]')  His  speech was at first low toned and slow. Sometimes
   his  voice  would  deepen,  ([oo])  like  the sound of distant
   thunder;  and  anon,  (_''_) his flashes of wit and enthusiasm
   would  light up the anxious faces of his hearers, (<) like the
   far-off lightning of a coming storm.

   (>)     Receding now, the dying numbers ring
   (_p_.)  Fainter and fainter, down the rugged dell:
   (_pp_.) And now 'tis silent all--enchantress, fare thee well.

   (=)     Oh, joy to the world! the hour is come,
             When the nations to freedom awake,
           When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
             And monarchs with terror shake!
           Over the walls of majesty,
             "Upharsin" is writ in words of fire,
           And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
             Are lit with their wild desire.
   (<)     Soon, soon shall the thrones that blot the world,
           Like the Orleans, into the dust be hurl'd,
           And the world roll on, like a hurricane's breath,
           Till the farthest nation hears what it saith.--
   (_ff_.)         "ARISE! ARISE! BE FREE!" T.B. READ.

        (_p_.[o]) Tread softly--bow the head,--
                    In reverent silence bow,--
                  No passing bell doth toll,--
        (_pl_.)   Yet an immortal soul
                    Is passing now. MRS. SOUTHEY.

(o[_f_].) SPEAK OUT, my friends; would you exchange it for the DEMON'S
DRINK, (_ff_.) ALCOHOL? A _shout_, like the _roar_ of a tempest,
answered, (oo) NO!

   (oo)       The combat deepens! (_ff_.) ON! YE BRAVE!
   (=)        Who rush to GLORY, (_p_.) or the GRAVE!
   (_ff_.)    WAVE, _Munich_, all thy banners WAVE!
                      And CHARGE with all thy CHIVALRY!
   (_pl_.)    Ah! few shall part where many meet!
              The snow shall be their winding sheet,
              And every turf beneath their feet
   (_sl._[o])         Shall be a soldier's sepulcher! CAMPBELL.

   (_sl_.) At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks,
   (oo)    "LAND! LAND!" cry the sailors; (_ff_.) "LAND! LAND!"--he
   (_''_)  He runs,--yes! behold it! it blesseth his sight!
           THE LAND! _O, dear spectacle! transport! delight!_



RHETORICAL PAUSES are those which are frequently required by the voice
in reading and speaking, although the construction of the passage admits
of no grammatical point.

These pauses should be as manifest to the ear, as those which are
indicated by the comma, semicolon, or other grammatical points, though
not commonly denoted by any visible sign. In the following examples they
are denoted thus, (||).


  In slumbers of midnight || the sailor-boy lay,
    His hammock swung loose || at the sport of the wind;
  But watch-worn and weary, || his cares flew away,
    And visions of happiness || danced o'er his mind. DIMOND.

  There is a land, || of every land the pride,
  Beloved of heaven || o'er all the world beside;
  Where brighter suns || dispense serener light,
  And milder moons || imparadise the night.
  O, thou shalt find, || howe'er thy footsteps roam,
  That land thy country, || and that spot thy home!

This pause is generally made before or after the utterance of some
important word or clause on which it is especially desired to fix the
attention. In such cases it is usually denoted by the use of the dash


1. God said--"_Let there be light!_"

  All dead and silent was the earth,
    In deepest night it lay;
  The Eternal spoke creation's word,
    And called to being--Day!

No definite rule can be given with reference to the length of the
rhetorical, or grammatical pause. The correct taste of the reader or
speaker must determine it. For the voice should sometimes be suspended
much longer at the same pause in one situation than in another; as in
the two following



Pause a moment. I heard a footstep. Listen now. I heard it again; but it
is going from us. It sounds fainter,--still fainter. It is gone.


John, be quick. Get some water. Throw the powder overboard. "It can not
be reached." Jump into the boat, then. Shove off. There goes the powder.
Thank Heaven. We are safe.

       *       *       *       *       *


It is of the utmost importance, in order to secure an easy and elegant
style in reading, to refer the pupil often to the more important
principles involved in a just elocution. To this end, it will be found
very advantageous, occasionally to review the rules and directions given
in the preceding pages, and thus early accustom him to apply them in the
subsequent reading lessons. For a wider range of examples and
illustrations, it is only necessary to refer to the numerous and various
exercises which form the body of this book. They have been selected, in
many cases, with a special view to this object.



   HER' O ISM, bravery; courage.
   MA LI'' CIOUS, ill disposed; resentful.
   AM BI'' TION, eager desire.
   SAR CAS' TIC, severe; cutting.
   DE RIS' ION, ridicule.
   CON FER' RED, bestowed.
   RES' CU ED, saved; preserved.
   DIS AS' TER, calamity.
   IN CLIN' ED, disposed.
   SYM' PA THY, fellow-feeling.
   TEN' DER ED, offered.
   A POL' O GY, excuse.



1. I shall never forget a lesson which I received when quite a young
lad, while attending an Academy. Among my schoolmates were Hartly and
Vincent. They were both older than myself, and Vincent was looked up to,
as a sort of leader in matters of opinion, and in directing our sports.

2. He was not, at heart, a malicious boy; but he had a foolish ambition
of being thought witty and sarcastic; and he made himself feared by a
habit of turning things into ridicule. He seemed to be constantly
looking out for something to occur, which he could turn into derision.

3. Hartly was a new scholar, and little was known of him among the boys.
One morning as we were on our way to school, he was seen driving a cow
along the road toward the pasture. A group of boys, among whom was
Vincent, met him as he was passing.

4. "Now," said Vincent, "let us have a little sport with our country
rustic." So saying, he exclaimed: "Halloo, Jonathan! [Footnote: A title
frequently applied to the Yankees by the English.] what is the price of
milk? What do you feed her on? What will you take for all the gold on
her horns? Boys, if you want to see the latest Paris style, look at
those boots!"

5. Hartly waved his hand at us with a pleasant smile, and, driving the
cow to the field, took down the bars of a rail-fence, saw her safely in
the pasture, and then, putting up the bars, came and entered the school
with the rest of us. After school, in the afternoon, he let out the cow,
and drove her away, none of us knew where. Every day, for two or three
weeks, he went through the same task.

6. The boys who attended the Academy, were nearly all the sons of
wealthy parents, and some of them were foolish enough to look down, with
a sort of disdain, upon a scholar who had to drive a cow to pasture; and
the sneers and jeers of Vincent were often repeated.

7. One day, he refused to sit next to Hartly in school, on a pretense
that he did not like the odor of the barn. Sometimes he would inquire of
Hartly after the cow's health, pronouncing the word "ke-ow," after the
manner of some people.

8. Hartly bore all these silly attempts to wound his feelings and annoy
him, with the utmost good nature. He never once returned an angry look
or word. One time, Vincent said: "Hartly, I suppose your father intends
to make a milkman of you."

9. "Why not?" said Hartly. "Oh, nothing," said Vincent; "only do not
leave much water in the cans after rinsing them--that's all!" The boys
laughed, and Hartly, not in the least mortified, replied: "Never fear;
if I ever rise to be a milkman, I will give _good measure_ and _good
milk_ too."

10. A few days after this conversation, there was a public exhibition,
at which a number of ladies and gentlemen from the city, was present.
Prizes were awarded by the Principal of the Academy, and Hartly and
Vincent each received one; for, in respect to scholarship, they were
about equal.

11. After the prizes were distributed, the Principal remarked that there
was _one prize_, consisting of a medal, which was _rarely_ awarded, not
so much on account of its great value, as because the instances are
_rare_ that merit it. It is THE PRIZE FOR HEROISM. The last boy on whom
it was conferred, was Master Manners, who, three years ago, rescued the
blind girl from drowning.

12. The Principal then said, "With the permission of the company, I will
relate a short story. Not long since, some boys were flying a kite in
the street, just as a poor boy on horseback rode by, on his way to mill.
The horse took fright, and threw the boy, injuring him so badly that he
was carried home, and confined for some weeks to his bed.

13. "None of the boys who had caused the disaster, followed to learn the
fate of the wounded boy. There was one, however, who witnessed the
accident from a distance, and went to render what service he could. He
soon learned that the wounded boy was the grandson of a poor widow,
whose only support consisted in selling the milk of a fine cow, of which
she was the owner.

14. "Alas! what could she now do? She was old and lame, and her
grandson, on whom she depended to drive the cow to pasture, was now sick
and helpless. 'Never mind, good woman,' said the boy, 'I can drive your
cow.' With thanks, the poor widow accepted his offer.

15. "But the boy's kindness did not stop here. Money was wanted to
purchase medicine. 'I have money that my mother sent me to buy a pair of
boots,' said the boy; 'but I can do without them for the present.'

16. "'Oh, no!' said the old lady, 'I can not consent to that; but here
is a pair of cowhide boots that I bought for Henry, who can not wear
them. If you will buy them, giving me what they cost, I can get along
very well.' The boy bought the boots, clumsy as they were, and has worn
them up to this time.

17. "When the other boys of the Academy saw this scholar driving a cow
to the pasture, he was assailed with laughter and ridicule. His thick
cowhide boots, in particular, were made matters of mirth. But he kept on
cheerfully and bravely, day after day, driving the widow's cow to the
pasture, and wearing his thick boots, contented in the thought that he
was _doing right_, not caring for all the jeers and sneers that could be

18. "He never undertook to explain why he drove the cow; for he was not
inclined to display his charitable motives, and besides, in heart, he
had no sympathy with the false pride that looks with ridicule on any
useful employment. It was by _mere accident_ that his course of conduct
and self-denial, was yesterday discovered by his teacher.

19. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I appeal to you. Was there not _true
heroism_ in this boy's conduct? Nay, Master Hartly, do not steal out of
sight behind the blackboard! You were not ashamed of _ridicule_--you
must not shun _praise. Come forth, come forth, Master Edward James
Hartly, and let us see your honest face!_"

20. As Hartly, with blushing cheeks, made his appearance, the whole
company greeted him with a round of applause for his _heroic conduct_.
The ladies stood upon benches, and waved their handkerchiefs. The old
men clapped their hands, and wiped the moisture from the corners of
their eyes. Those clumsy boots on Hartly's feet seemed prouder
ornaments, than a crown would have been on his head. The medal was
bestowed on him, amid the applause of the whole company.

21. Vincent was heartily ashamed of his ill-natured sneers, and, after
the school was dismissed, he went, with tears in his eyes, and tendered
his hand to Hartly, making a handsome apology for his past ill manners.
"Think no more about it," said Hartly; "let us all go and have a ramble
in the woods, before we break up for vacation." The boys, one and all,
followed Vincent's example, and then, with shouts and huzzas, they all
set forth into the woods--a happy, cheerful group.

QUESTIONS.--1. In what way did Vincent try to make derision of Hartly?
2. How did Hartly receive it? 3. For what did Hartly receive a prize
from his teacher? 4. How did the spectators manifest their approbation
of Hartly's conduct?

       *       *       *       *       *


   A VERT' ED, turned aside.
   RE PENT' ANT, contrite; sorrowful.
   SIN CERE', honest; true-hearted.
   SE VERE', harsh; rigid
   TAUNTS, scoffs; insults.
   PLATE, dishes of gold or silverware.
   DE SERT', forsake; abandon.
   FAIL' URE, want of success.
   SID' ING, taking part.
   TYR' AN NY, oppression; cruelty.



1. Who would scorn his humble fellow
     For the coat he wears?
   For the poverty he suffers?
     For his daily cares?
   Who would pass him in the foot-way
     With averted eye?
   Would you, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
     If _you_ would,--not _I_.

2. Who, when vice or crime repentant,
     With a grief sincere,
   Asked for pardon, would refuse it,
     More than heaven severe?
   Who, to erring woman's sorrow,
      Would with taunts reply?
   Would _you_, brother'! No`,--you _would_ not.
      If _you_ would,--not _I_.

3. Would you say that Vice is Virtue
      In a hall of state'?
   Or, that rogues are not dishonest
      If they dine off plate'?
   Who would say Success and Merit
      Ne'er part company?
   Would _you_, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
      If _you_ would,--not _I_.

4. Who would give a cause his efforts
      When the cause is strong;
   But desert it on its failure,
      Whether right or wrong`?
   Ever siding with the upmost,
      Letting downmost lie?
   Would _you_, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
      If _you_ would,--not _I_.

5. Who would lend his arm to strengthen
      Warfare with the right`?
   Who would give his pen to blacken
      Freedom's page of light`?
   Who would lend his tongue to utter
      Praise of tyranny?
   Would _you_, brother'? No`,--you _would_ not.
      If _you_ would,--not _I_.

QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for the rising and falling inflections, first
verse? See page 28. 2. Repeat the rule. 3. What rule for the falling
inflections, fifth verse? See page 29. 4. Repeat the rule. What is the
meaning of the suffix _en_, in the words _strengthen_, _blacken?_ See

       *       *       *       *       *


   WAR' FARE, conflict; struggle.
   CLUTCH ES, paws; firm grasp.
   DO MIN' ION, rule; sway.
   PIN' ION, wing; as of a bird.
   PRE' CIOUS, costly; valuable.
   SCOFF' ER, scorner.
   VA' RI ED, changing; different.
   WAVES, moves to and fro.
   PRO PHET' IC, (_ph_ like _f_.) foretelling.
   DE SPISE', scorn; disdain.
   GOAL, the mark that bounds a race.
   BECK' ON, motion; invite with the hand.


1. _Life is onward:_ use it
      With a forward aim;
   Toil is heavenly: choose it,
      And its warfare claim.
   Look not to another
      To perform your will;
   Let not your own brother
      Keep your warm hand still.

2. _Life is onward:_ never
      Look upon the past;
   It would hold you ever
      In its clutches fast.
   _Now_ is your dominion;
      Weave it as you please;
   Bid not the soul's pinion
      To a bed of ease.

3. _Life is onward:_ try it,
      Ere the day is lost;
   It hath virtue: buy it,
      At whatever cost.
   If the World should offer
      Every precious gem,
   Look not at the scoffer,
      Change it not for them.

4. _Life is onward:_ heed it,
    In each varied dress;
  Your own _act_ can speed it
    On to happiness.
  His bright pinion o'er you
    Time waves not in vain,
  If Hope chant before you
    Her prophetic strain.

5. _Life is onward:_ prize it,
    In sunshine and in storm;
  Oh! do not despise it
    In its humblest form.
  Hope and Joy together,
    Standing at the goal,
  Through life's darkest weather
    Beckon on the soul.

QUESTIONS.--1. What do _it_ and _them_ refer to, third verse, last line?
2. Repeat the word _sunshine_ several times in quick succession.

       *       *       *       *       *


   AC CUS' TOM ED, used; habituated.
   PLAN TA' TIONS, settlements.
   PRO TEC' TION, safety; defense.
   RE PROACH' FUL, reproving.
   CAP' TUR ED, taken prisoners.
   DE CID' ED, concluded.
   COR O NET, little crown.
   SA LUT' ED, greeted.
   MON' ARCH, sovereign; ruler.
   CON CEAL' ED, hid; secreted.
   RE STOR' ED, brought back.
   VI' O LENCE, outrage; wrong.
   RE BUK' ED, reproved.
   LEAGUE, compact; alliance.
   TER' RI BLE, fearful; dreadful.
   AT TEND' ANT, waiter; servant.


1. Many years ago, dining the early settlements in New England, the
children were accustomed to gather large quantities of nuts, which grew
in great abundance in the forests that surrounded their little

2. In one of these nut-gatherings, a little boy and girl, the one eight
and the other four years of age, whose mother was dead, became separated
from their companions. On their way home, they came across some wild
grapes, and were busily engaged in gathering them, till the last rays of
the setting sun were fading away.

3. Suddenly they were seized by two Indians. The boy struggled
violently, and his little sister cried to him for protection; but in
vain. The Indians soon bore them far beyond the bounds of the
settlement. Night was far advanced before they halted. Then they kindled
a fire, and offered the children some food.

4. The heart of the boy swelled high with grief and anger, and he
refused to eat. But the poor little girl took some parched corn from the
hand of the Indian who held her on his knee. He smiled as he saw her eat
the kernels, and look up in his face with a wondering, yet reproachful
eye. Then they lay down to sleep in the dark forest, each with an arm
over his little captive.

5. Great was the alarm in the colony when these children did not return.
Every spot was searched, where it was thought possible they might have
lost their way. But when, at length, their little basket was found,
overturned in a tangled thicket, they came to the conclusion that they
must have been captured by the Indians.

6. It was decided that before any warlike measures were adopted, the
father should go peacefully to the Indian king, and demand his children.
At the earliest dawn of morning he departed with his companions. They
met a friendly Indian pursuing the chase, who consented to be their

7. They traveled through rude paths, until the day drew near a close.
Then, approaching a circle of native dwellings, in the midst of which
was a tent, they saw a man of lofty form, with a coronet of feathers
upon his brow, and surrounded by warriors. The guide saluted him as his
monarch, and the bereaved father, bowing down, thus addressed him:

8. "King of the red men, thou seest a father in pursuit of his lost
children. He has heard that your people will not harm the stranger in
distress. So he trusts himself fearlessly among you. The king of our own
native land, who should have protected us, became our foe. We fled from
our dear homes--from the graves of our fathers.

9. "The ocean wave brought us to this New World. We are a peaceful race,
pure from the blood of all men. We seek to take the hand of our red
brethren. Of my own kindred, none inhabit this wilderness, save two
little buds, from a broken, buried stem.

10. "Last night, sorrow entered into my soul, because I found them not.
Knowest thou, O king, if thy people have taken my children'? Knowest
thou where they have concealed them'? Cause them, I pray thee, to be
restored to my arms. So shall the Great Spirit bless thy own tender
plants, and lift up thy heart when it weigheth heavily on they bosom."

11. The Indian monarch, fixing on him a piercing glance, said: "Knowest
thou me'? Look in my eyes`! Look`! Answer me`! Are they the eyes of a
stranger`!" The bereaved father replied that he had no recollection of
having ever before seen his countenance.

12. "Thus it is with the white man. He is dim-eyed. He looketh on the
_garments_ more than on the _soul_. Where your plows turn up the earth,
oft have I stood watching your toil. There was no coronet on my brow.
But I was king. And you knew it not.

13. "I looked upon your people. I saw neither pride nor violence. I went
an _enemy_, but returned a _friend_. I said to my warriors, 'Do these
men no harm. They do not hate Indians.' Then our white-haired prophet of
the Great Spirit rebuked me. He bade me make no league with the pale
faces, lest angry words should be spoken of me, among the shades of our
buried kings.

14. "Yet, again, I went where thy brethren have reared their dwellings.
Yes; I entered thy house. _And thou knowest not this brow'?_ I could
tell _thine_ at midnight, if but a single star trembled through the
clouds. My ear would know _thy_ voice, though the storm was abroad with
all its thunders.

15. "I have said that I was king. Yet I came to thee hungry, and thou
gavest me bread. My head was wet with the tempest. Thou badest me lie
down on thy couch, and thy son, for whom thou mournest, covered me.

16. "I was sad in spirit, and thy little daughter, whom thou seekest
with tears, sat on my knee. She smiled when I told her how the beaver
buildeth his house in the forest. My heart was comforted, for I saw that
she did not hate Indians.

17. "Turn not on me such a terrible eye. I am no stealer of babes. I
have reproved the people who took thy children. I have sheltered them
for thee. Not a hair of their head is hurt. Thinkest thou that the red
man can forget kindness'? They are sleeping in my tent. Had I but a
single blanket, it should have been their bed. Take them, and return
unto thy people."

18. He waved his hand to an attendant, and, in a moment, the two
children were in the arms of their father. The white men were kindly
sheltered for that night, and, the next day, they bore the children to
their home, and the people rejoiced at their safe return.

QUESTIONS.--1. By whom wore those children taken captive? 2. Who went in
search of them? 3. What did he say to the king of the tribe? 4. What
reply did the Indian monarch make? 5. Were the children restored to
their father? 6. What is meant by the _New World_, 9th paragraph? 7.
What by _two little buds, from a broken, buried stem_, same paragraph?

       *       *       *       *       *


   IM' AGE. form; likeness.
   ELAPS' ED, glided away.
   WAY' WARD NESS, perverseness.
   SHUD' DER ING, chilling tremor.
   PAS' SION ATE, easily excited to anger.
   MAS' TER Y, rule; sway.
   HEAD' STRONG, stubborn; obstinate.
   UN DER WENT', experienced.
   AF FEC' TION, love; attachment.
   THRESH' OLD, entrance.
   ANX I' E TY, care; solicitude.
   PER PET' U AL, continual.



1. I was but five years old when my mother died; but her image is as
fresh in my mind, now that twenty years have elapsed, as it was at the
time of her death. I remember her, as a pale, gentle being, with a sweet
smile, and a voice soft and cheerful when she praised me; and when I had
erred, (for I was a wild, thoughtless child,) there was a mild and
tender earnestness in her reproofs, that always went to my little heart.

2. Methinks I can now see her large, blue eyes moist with sorrow,
because of my childish waywardness, and hear her repeat: "My child, how
can you grieve me so?" She had, for a long time, been pale and feeble,
and sometimes there would come a bright spot on her cheek, which made
her look so lovely, I thought she must be well. But then she spoke of
dying, and pressed me to her bosom, and told me to be good when she was
gone, and to love my father, and be kind to him; for he would have no
one else to love.

3. I recollect she was ill all day, and my little hobbyhorse and whip
were laid aside, and I tried to be very quiet. I did not see her for the
whole day, and it seemed very long. At night, they told me my mother was
too sick to kiss me, as she always had done before I went to bed, and I
must go without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and placing
my lips close to hers, whispered: "Mother, dear mother, won't you kiss

4. Her lips were very cold, and when she put her hand upon my cheek, and
laid my head on her bosom, I felt a cold shuddering pass all through me.
My father carried me from the room; but he could not speak. After they
put me in bed, I lay a long while thinking; I feared my mother would,
indeed, die; for her cheek felt cold, as my little sister's did when she
died, and they carried her little body away where I never saw it again.
But I soon fell asleep.

5. In the morning I rushed to my mother's room, with a strange dread of
evil to come upon me. It was just as I feared. A white linen covered her
straight, cold form. I removed it from her face: her eyes were closed,
and her cheeks were hard and cold. But my mother's dear, dear smile was
there, or my heart would have broken.

6. In an instant, all the little faults, for which she had so often
reproved me, rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her how good I would
always be, if she would but stay with me. I longed to tell her how, in
all time to come, her words would be a law to me. I would be all that
she had wished me to be.

7. I was a passionate, headstrong boy; and never did this frame of
temper come upon me, but I seemed to see her mild, tearful eyes full
upon me, just as she used to look in life; and when I strove for the
mastery over my passions, her smile seemed to cheer my heart, and I was

8. My whole character underwent a change, even from the moment of her
death. Her spirit seemed to be always with me, _to aid the good_ and
_root out the evil_ that was in me. I felt it would grieve her gentle
spirit to see me err, and I _could not_, _would not_, do so.

9. I was the child of her affection. I knew she had prayed and wept over
me; and that even on the threshold of the grave, her anxiety for my
welfare had caused her spirit to linger, that she might pray once more
for me. I never forgot my mother's last kiss. It was with me in sorrow;
it was with me in joy; it was with me in moments of evil, like a
perpetual good.

QUESTIONS.--1. What was the age of the person represented in this piece?
2. What, when his mother died? 3. What did he say of himself when a
child? 4. Had he ever grieved his mother? 5. What did he say of his
_faults_, after his mother's death? 6. What did he desire to tell her?
7. How ought you to treat your mother, in order to avoid the reproaches
of your own conscience?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SUR PRISE', amazement.
   PER' ISH ED, died.
   STINT' ED, small of size.
   STERN, severe; harsh; rigid.
   LOI' TER, linger; tarry.
   STAG' GER ED, reeled to and fro.
   FORD' ED, waded.
   ES CAP ED, fled from.



1. "Dear mother, here's the _very_ place
     Where little John was found,
   The water covering up his face,
     His feet upon the ground.
   Now won't you tell me _all about_
     The death of little John'?
   And how the woman sent him out
     Long after sun was down'?
   And tell me _all about the wrong_,
     And _that_ will make the story long."

2. I took the child upon my knee
     Beside the lake so clear;
   For _there_ the tale of misery
     Young Edward begged to hear
   He looked into my _very_ eyes,
     With sad and earnest face,
   And caught his breath with wild surprise,
     And turned to mark the place
   Where _perished_, years agone, the child
   Alone, beneath the waters wild.

3.   "A weakly orphan boy was John,
        A barefoot, stinted child,
     Whose work-day task was never done,
       Who wept when others smiled.
     Around his home the trees were high,
       Down to the water's brink,
     And almost hid the pleasant sky,
       Where wild deer came to drink."
('') "And did they come, the pretty deer'?
      And did they drink the water here'?"

4. Cried Edward, with a wondering eye:
     "Now, mother, tell to me,
   Was John about as _large_ as I'?
     Pray tell, how _big_ was he'?"
   "He was an _older_ boy than _you_,
     And _stouter_ every way;
   For, water from the well he drew,
     And hard he worked all day.
   But then poor John was sharp and thin,
   With sun-burnt hair and sun-burnt skin.

5. "His mother used to spin and weave;
    From farm to farm she went;
  And, though it made her much to grieve,
    She John to service sent.
  He lived with one, a woman stern,
    Of hard and cruel ways;
  And he must bring her wood to burn,
    From forest and highways;
  And then, at night, on cold, hard bed,
  He laid his little, aching head.

6. "The weary boy had toiled all day
    With heavy spade and hoe;
  His mistress met him on the way,
    And bade him quickly go
  And bring her home some sticks of wood,
    For she would bake and brew;
  When he returned, she'd give him food;
    For she had much to do.
  And then she charged him not to stay,
  Nor loiter long upon the way.

7. "He went; but scarce his toil-worn feet
    Could crawl along the wood,
  He was so spent with work and heat,
    And faint for lack of food.
  He bent his aching, little back
    To bear the weight along,
  And staggered then upon the track;
    For John was _never_ strong;
  His eyesight, too, began to fail,
  And he grew giddy, faint, and pale.

8. "The load was small, _quite_ small, 'tis true,
    But John could bring no more;
   The woman in a rage it threw,--
    She stamped upon the floor.
(_f_.) 'No supper you shall have to-night;
    So go along to bed,
   You good-for-nothing, ugly fright,
    You little stupid-head!'"
   Said Edward: "_I_ would _never_ go;
   She wouldn't _dare_ to serve _me_ so!"

9. "The moon-beams fell upon the child
     As, weeping, there he lay;
   And gusty winds were sweeping wild
     Along the forest way,
   When up rose John, at dead of night;
     For he would see his mother;
   _She_ loved her child, although _he_ might
     Be _nothing_ to another.
   That narrow creek he forded o'er,--
   'Tis nearer than around the shore.

10. "But here the shore is rough, you see;
    The bank is high and steep;
   And John, who climbed on hands and knee,
    His footing could not keep.
   He backward fell, all, all alone;
    Too weak was he to rise;
(_pl._) And no one heard his dying moan,
    Or closed his dying eyes.
   How still he slept! And grief and pain
   Could never come to him again.

11. "A stranger, passing on his way,
      Found him, as you have said;
    His feet were out upon the clay,
      The water o'er his head.
    And then his foot-prints showed the path
      He took, adown the creek,
    When he escaped the woman's wrath,
      So hungry, faint, and weak.
    And people now, as you have heard,
      Do call the place, THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD."

QUESTIONS.--1. Was John an orphan, or half orphan? 2. Was he drowned at
night, or in the daytime? 8. By whom was he found? 4. What is the place
called where he was drowned? 5. Give the rule for the rising
inflections, as marked in the 1st, 2d, and 4th verses. 6. Why are there
no quotation marks at the beginning of the 2d verse? 7. Why are half
quotations used in the 3d and 8th verses? 8. How should a part of the
8th and 10th verses be read, according to the notation marks? See page

       *       *       *       *       *


   EX CLAIM' ED, cried out.
   DE MAND' ING, asking; requiring.
   A MISS', wrong; improperly.
   AC CUS' ED, charged with.
   BREACH, violation.
   VIS' ION, sight; view.
   DE SCRIP' TION, account.
   SLUG' GARD, lazy person.


[Footnote: For an explanation of the term fable, see page 236.]

1. Two beggars, LAME and LAZY, were in want of bread. _One_ leaned on
his crutch, the _other_ reclined on his couch. Lame called on Charity,
and humbly asked for a _cracker_. Instead of a cracker, he received a

2. Lazy, seeing the gift of Charity, exclaimed: "What`! ask a _cracker_
and receive a _loaf'_? Well, I will ask a loaf." Lazy now applied to
Charity, and called for a loaf of bread. "Your demanding a loaf," said
Charity, "proves you a _loaf_-er. You are of that class and character
who _ask_ and _receive not_; because you ask amiss."

3. Lazy, who always found fault, and had rather whine than work,
complained of _ill-treatment_, and even accused Charity of a breach of
an exceeding great and precious promise: "Ask, and ye shall receive."

4. Charity pointed him to a painting in her room, which presented to his
vision three personages, Faith, Hope and Charity. Charity appeared
larger and fairer than her sisters. He noticed that her right hand held
a pot of honey, which fed a bee disabled, having lost its wings. Her
left hand was armed with a whip to keep off the drones.

5. "I do not understand it," said Lazy. Charity replied: "It means that
Charity _feeds_ the lame, and _flogs_ the lazy." Lazy turned to go.
"Stop," said Charity, "instead of _coin_, I will give you _counsel_. Do
not go and live on your poor mother; I will send you to a _rich ant_."

6. "_Rich aunt'_?" echoed Lazy. "Where shall I find her'?" "You will
find a description of her," replied Charity, "in Proverbs, sixth
chapter, sixth, seventh, and eighth verses, which read as follows: 'Go
to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise; which, having
no guide, overseer, or ruler, provided her meat in summer, and gathereth
her food in the harvest.'"

7. MORAL. Instead of waiting and wishing for a rich UNCLE to _die_, go
and see how a rich ANT _lives_.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is the quotation in the 3d paragraph to be found?
Answer. John, 16th chapter, 24th verse. 2. Where, the quotation in the
sixth paragraph? 3. Why does it commence with a half quotation? Answer.
Because it denotes a quotation within a quotation.

       *       *       *       *       *


   HAUGH'TY, proud; disdainful.
   PAR TIC' U LAR LY, especially.
   TRANS ACT', do; perform.
   A BASH' ED, confused.
   DIS COV' ER, find out.
   EX AM' INE (_egz am' in_), look over; inspect.
   REC' TI FY, correct; make right.
   REC' OM PENSE, reward.
   DE SERVES', merits.
   DE CLIN' ING, failing.
   PRE VENT' ED, hindered.
   AP PRO BA' TION, approval.
   PRE'CEPTS, instructions; counsels.
   BEN E FAC' TOR, friend; one that benefits.
   A MASS' ED, gathered.
   A DAPT' ED, suited.
   CON FI DEN' TIAL, trusty; trusted.
   IN TEG' RI TY, honesty.



1. "Is Mr. Harris in'?" inquired a plainly, but neatly dressed boy,
twelve or thirteen years of age, of a clerk, as he stood by the counter
of a large bookstore.

The clerk regarded the boy with a haughty look, and answered: "Mr.
Harris is in; but he is engaged."

2. The boy looked at the clerk hesitatingly, and then said: "If he is
not particularly engaged, I would like to see him."

"If you have any business to transact, _I_ can attend to it," replied
the clerk. "Mr. Harris can not be troubled with boys like you."

3. "What is this, Mr. Morley?" said a pleasant-looking man, stepping up
to the clerk; "what does the boy want?"

"He insisted on seeing you, though I told him you were engaged,"
returned the clerk, a little abashed by the manner of his employer.

4. "And what do you wish to see me about, my lad?" inquired Mr. Harris,

The boy raised his eyes, and, meeting the scornful glance of the clerk,
said timidly: "I wish you to look at the bill of some books which I
bought here, about three months since. There is a mistake in it, which I
wish to correct."

5. "Ah, my boy, I see," replied Mr. Harris; "you have _overpaid_ us, I

"No, sir," answered the boy. "On the contrary, I purchased some books
which are _not charged_ in the bill, and I have called to pay for them."

6. Mr. Harris looked at the boy earnestly for a moment, and then asked:
"When did you discover this mistake?"

"Not until I reached home," replied the lad. "When I paid for the books
I was in a great hurry, fearing the boat would leave before I could
reach it, and I did not examine the bill."

7. "Why did you not return before, and rectify the mistake?" asked the
gentleman, in a tone slightly altered.

"Because, sir, I live some distance from the city, and have not been
able to return till now."

8. "My dear boy," said Mr. Harris, "you have given me great pleasure. In
a long life of mercantile business, I have never met with an instance of
this kind before. You have _acted nobly_ and deserve a recompense."

"I ask no recompense," returned the boy. "_I have done nothing but my
duty_--a simple act of justice, and that deserves no reward, but

9. "May I ask who taught you such noble principles'?" inquired Mr.

"My mother'," answered the boy, bursting into tears.

10. "Blessed is the child who has such a mother," said Mr. Harris, "and
blessed is the mother of such a child. Be faithful to her teachings, my
dear boy, and you will be the staff of her declining years."

"Alas, sir," said the boy, "my mother is dead! It was her sickness and
death which prevented me from coming here before."

11. "What is your name?" inquired Mr. Harris.

"Edward Delong."

"Have you a father living'?"

"No, sir. My father died when I was an infant."

12. "Where do you reside?"

"In the town of Linwood, about fifty miles from this city."

"Well, my boy, what are the books which were forgotten?"

"Tacitus and a Latin Dictionary."

13. "Let me see the bill. Ha! signed by A. C. Morley. I will see to
that. Here, Mr. Morley!" called Mr. Harris; but the clerk was busily
engaged in waiting on a customer at the opposite side of the store,
bowing and smiling in the most attentive manner.

14. "Edward," continued Mr. Harris, "I am not going to _reward_ you for
what you have done; but I wish to manifest my approbation of your
conduct in such a manner, as to make you remember the wise and excellent
precepts of your departed mother. Select from my store any ten books you
choose, which, in addition to the two you had before, shall be a
_present_ to you; and henceforth, as now, my boy, remember and not
'despise the day of small things.' If ever you need a friend, call on
me, and I will assist you."

15. The grateful boy thanked his kind benefactor, and, with tears in his
eyes, bowed and left the store.

Edward Delong wished for knowledge, and, though the scanty means left
him by his mother, could hardly satisfy his desire, by diligence and
economy he had advanced far beyond most boys of his age. By working
nights and mornings for a neighbor, he had amassed, what seemed to him,
a large sum of money, and this was expended in books.

16. Edward's home was now with a man who regarded money as the chief end
and aim of life, and severe and constant physical labor as the only
means of obtaining that end. For two years Edward struggled with his
hopeless condition, toiling early and late to obtain a livelihood.

17. Edward now resolved to go to the city, to seek some employment,
better adapted to promote his education. He entered the same store where
he purchased the books, and inquired for Mr. Harris.

"He is engaged," replied the polite clerk. "If you will wait a moment,
he will be at liberty."

18. "Did you wish to see me?" asked Mr. Harris of the boy, whose
thoughts were so intense that he had not noticed the approach of his

"Mr. Harris!" exclaimed Edward, and it was all he could say. For the
remembrance of past favors bestowed on him by his kind benefactor, so
filled his heart with gratitude, that further utterance was denied.

"My noble Edward!" said the old gentleman. "And so you needed a friend.
Well, you shall have one."

19. Five years from that time, Edward Delong was the confidential clerk
of Mr. Harris, and, in three more, a partner in the firm. The integrity
of purpose, which first won the regard of his benefactor, was his guide
in after life. Prosperity crowned his efforts, and happiness blessed his
heart,--the never-failing result of _faithfulness in little things_.

QUESTIONS.--1. Why did Edward Delong wish to see Mr. Harris? 2. Had he
overpaid for the books he purchased? 3. What did he say when Mr. Harris
told him he deserved a recompense? 4. What books were not charged in the
bill? 5. In what way did Mr. Harris manifest his approval of Edward's
conduct? 6. How long after this, before he again called on Mr. Harris?
7. Why could he not, at first, talk with Mr. Harris? 8. What did Edward
finally become?

       *       *       *       *       *


   GRACE' FUL LY, beautifully.
   PROUD' LY, splendidly.
   FOR' EIGN (_for' en_), distant.
   CLIMES, countries; regions.
   SYM' BOL, sign; emblem.
   FEAR' FUL, dreadful; terrible.
   CAN' NON RY, discharge of cannon.
   JU' BI LEE, season of public joy.
   WIT' NESS ED, seen; beheld.
   NA' TIVE, birth-giving.
   BOON, gift; blessing.
   PAR' A DISE, blissful abode.



Father, look up, and see that flag!
  How gracefully it flies!
Those pretty stripes, they seem to be
  A rainbow in the skies.


It is your country's flag, my boy,
  And proudly drinks the light,
O'er ocean's wave, in foreign climes,
    A symbol of our might.


Father, what fearful noise is that,
  Now thundering in the clouds?
Why do they, cheering, wave their hat,
  And rush along in crowds?


It is the voice of cannonry,
  The glad shouts of the free;
This is a day of memory,


I wish that _I_ was now a man,
_I'd free my country_ too,
And cheer as loudly as the rest;
  But, father, why don't _you_?


I'm getting old and weak; but still
  My heart is big with joy;
I've witnessed many a day like this,
  Shout you aloud, my boy!


  God bless our native land!
And may _I_ live to hold the boon
  Of _freedom_ in my hand.


Well done, my boy, grow up, and love
  The land that gave you birth,--
A land where Freedom loves to dwell,--
  A paradise on earth.

QUESTIONS.--1. Of what is our flag a symbol? 2. What is meant by
_Freedom's jubilee_? 3. What is the use of the apostrophes in the words
_I'd_, _I'm_, _I've_, &c.

       *       *       *       *       *


   BIL' LOWS, waves; surges.
   DE LIGHT', joy; pleasure.
   DOOM, fate; end.
   TWINK' LES, sparkles.
   GLARE, bright, dazzling light.
   EX PANSE', surface; extent.
   SWEEP, pass or drive over.
   RIFE, filled; abounding.
   VOY' AGE, passage; journey.
   AN' CHOR ED, moored; fixed.
   HA' VEN, harbor.
   PEACE' FUL LY, quietly; calmly.



    (_''_) Oh! the sea, the sea
     Is the place for me,
  With its billows blue and bright;
    I love its roar,
    As it breaks on the shore,
  And its danger to me is delight.

    Oh! I love the wave,
    And the sailor brave,
  Who often meets his doom
    On the ocean vast,
    And sleeps his last
  In a shell and coral tomb.

    And, in the night,
    The moon's soft light
  Smiles sweetly on the foamy billow:
    And many a star,
    As it twinkles afar,
  Seems to rise from a watery pillow.

    In the noontide glare,
    Oh! bright and fair
  Is the wide expanse of ocean;
    In the morn's first light
    'Tis a glorious sight,
  So full of life and motion.

    When the tempests sweep
    The rolling deep,
  And the angry billows swell,
    I mind not the strife,
    Which to me is rife
  With thoughts that I can not tell.

    When life's voyage is o'er,
    And I sail no more
  On the ocean's troubled breast,
    Safe anchored above,
    In the haven of love,
  May the sailor boy peacefully rest.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is meant by _coral tomb_, 2d verse? 2. What, by
_watery pillow_, third verse.

       *       *       *       *       *


   FOUN DA' TION, commencement.
   DO MES' TI CA TED, tamed.
   FA' VOR ITE, one specially favored.
   CA RESS' ED, fondled; petted.
   GAM' BOL ING, skipping; frolicking.
   IM' PULSE, feeling of excitement.
   DI LAT' ED, distended.
   SPEC TA' TORS, observers; lookers on.
   EN DEAV' OR ED, tried; attempted.
   ANX' IOUS, very desirous.
   IN  TER CEPT', (INTER, _between_; CEPT, _to take_ or _seize_;)
   to stop on the way.
   BE TRAY' ED, showed; disclosed.
   RE STRAIN' ED, held back; checked.
   COW' ED, depressed with fear.
   EN GRAV' ED, cut; inscribed.

In this lesson every pause is marked with its appropriate inflection.



1. Within twenty years from the foundation of our village', [Footnote:
Cooperstown, New York.] the deer had already become scarce', and', in a
brief period later', they had almost entirely fled from the country`.
One of the last of these beautiful creatures, a pretty little fawn, had
been brought in from the woods, when it was very young, and had been
nursed and petted by a young lady in the village, until it became
completely domesticated.

2. It was graceful, as those little creatures always are, and so gentle
and playful that it became a great favorite. Following the different
members of the family about, it was caressed and welcomed everywhere.
One morning, after gamboling about as usual, until weary, it threw
itself down in the sunshine, at the feet of one of its friends, upon the
door-step of a store.

3. There came along a countryman, who, for several years, had been a
hunter by pursuit, and who still kept several hounds, one of which came
to the village with him, on this occasion. The dog, as it approached the
place where the fawn lay, suddenly stopped; the little animal saw him,
and darted to its feet.

4. It had lived more than half its life among the villagers, and had
apparently lost all fear of them; but it now seemed to know
instinctively that an enemy was at hand. In an instant, its whole
character and appearance seemed changed; all its past habits were
forgotten; every wild impulse was awake; its head erect, its nostrils
dilated, its eyes flashing.

5. In another instant, before the spectators had thought of the danger,
and before its friends could secure it, the fawn was leaping wildly
through the street, and the hound in full chase. The by-standers were
eager to save it; several persons instantly followed its track; the
friends who had long fed and fondled it, were calling the name it had
hitherto known; but, in vain.

6. The hunter endeavored to call back his dog; but, with no better
success. In half a minute, the fawn had turned the first corner, dashed
onward toward the lake, and thrown itself into the water. But, if, for a
moment, the startled creature believed itself safe in the lake, it was
soon undeceived; for the hound followed in hot and eager chase, while a
dozen village dogs joined in the pursuit.

7. A large crowd collected on the bank--men, women, and
children,--anxious for the fate of the little animal. Some threw
themselves into boats, hoping to intercept the hound before he reached
his prey. But the splashing of the oars, the voices of men and boys, and
the barking of the dogs, must have filled the beating heart of the poor
fawn with terror and anguish; as if every creature on the spot where it
had once been caressed and fondled, had suddenly turned into a deadly

8. It was soon seen that the fawn was directing its course across a bay,
toward the nearest borders of the forest. Immediately the owner of the
hound crossed the bridge, ran at full speed in the same direction,
hoping to stop his dog as he landed. On swam the fawn, as it had never
swam before; its delicate head scarcely seen above the water, but
leaving a disturbed track which betrayed its course alike to anxious
friends and fierce enemies.

9. As it approached the land, the interest became intense. The hunter
was already on the same side of the lake, calling loudly and angrily to
his dog; but the animal seemed to have quite forgotten his master's
voice in the pitiless pursuit. The fawn touched the land; in one leap,
it had crossed the narrow piece of beach, and, in another instant, it
would reach the cover of the woods.

10. The hound followed true to the scent, aiming at the same spot on the
shore. His master, anxious to meet him, had run at full speed, and was
now coming up at the same critical moment. Would the dog listen to his
voice? Could the hunter reach him in time to seize and control him? A
shout from the spectators proclaimed that the fawn had passed out of
sight into the forest. At the same instant, the hound, as he touched the
land, felt the hunter's strong arm clutching his neck.

11. The worst was believed to be over; the fawn was leaping up the
mountain-side, and its enemy restrained. The other dogs, seeing their
leader cowed, were easily managed. A number of men and boys dispersed
themselves through the wood in search of the little creature; but,
without success. They all returned to the village, reporting that the
animal had not been seen by them. Some persons thought that, after its
fright had passed over, it would return of its own accord.

12. It wore a pretty collar with its owner's name engraved upon it, so
that it could be easily known from any other fawn, that might be
straying about the woods. Before many hours had passed, a hunter
presented himself before the lady, whose pet the little creature had
been, and showed a collar with her name upon it. He said that he was out
hunting in the morning, and saw a fawn in the distance. The little
creature, instead of bounding away as he expected, moved toward him. He
took aim, fired, and shot it to the heart.

13. When he found the collar about its neck, he was very sorry he had
killed it. One would have thought that that terrible chase would have
made it afraid of man; but no; _it forgot the evil_, and _remembered the
kindness only_; and came to meet, as a friend, the hunter who shot it.
It was long mourned by its best friend.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where did the lady reside who kept this pet fawn? 2. Is
there a lake near that village? 3. What river rises in that lake? 4.
Describe the chase of the pet fawn. 5. How came it to be shot? 6. What
did it forget, and what remember?

       *       *       *       *       *


   IN' FLU ENCE, moral power.
   DROOP' ED. bent over; languished.
   TING' ED, stained; colored.
   DEL' I CATE, soft; tender.
   TRIB' UTE, pay; requital.
   CASE' MENT, window.
   PERCH' ED, alighted.
   PLAINT' IVE, sorrowful.
   AF FRIGHT' ED, alarmed.
   TIM' ID, fearful; timorous.
   RE STRAIN' ED, held back.
   AT TEST', bear witness.
   SUA' SION, act of persuading.
   COM PLI' ANCE, submission.
   PAL' ED, inclosed.
   DE BAS' ED, degraded.
   DE' VI ATE, wander; stray.
   LE' NI ENT, mild; merciful.



1. Not _man_ alone, but _every thing_ in nature, owns its influence. I
knew a little flower that sprang up amidst the weeds and brambles of a
long-neglected garden; but soon drooped its slender stem, and its leaves
grew tinged from the waste around.

2. I took it to my home, supported its drooping stem, and placed it
where the warm sunshine and refreshing showers cheered its little life.
Again it raised its beautiful head, and its delicate buds burst forth in
gladness; and when the winds of autumn came, the dying flower gave up to
me its golden seeds--a thankful tribute for my love. 'Twas a little
thing, but _kindness_ did the deed.

3. There came to my casement, one winter's morning, a shivering,
starving bird, and perched itself there, striving to tell its tale of
suffering; but feeble were its plaintive notes, and its glossy breast
was ruffled in the blast. I raised the window. Affrighted, the little
wanderer spread its wings, as if to soar away; but, weak and faint, it
sank fluttering in my outstretched hands. I drew it in. Alarmed, it
darted round and round the room, and beat against the frosted pane. _O
Cruelty! thou hast taught even the little birds to doubt!_

4. When the little stranger grew less timid, I gave it clear water, and
tempting food, and so, for many weeks, we dwelt together; but when came
the first warm, sunny day, I opened my doors, and it flew away,--_away
up, up_ into the dark-blue heavens, till it was lost to my eager gaze.

5. But not an hour had passed, ere I heard the flutter of its tiny
wings, and saw, without, its little breast glittering in the golden
sunbeams. It had a joyous life. No wired cage restrained its restless
wing; but, free as the summer cloud, would it come each day, and gladly
would my delighted soul drink in the silvery notes of its gladdening

6. And it is not _birds_ and _flowers_ alone, that, treated with kindness
flourish so brightly 'neath its heaven-born rays. Individuals, families,
nations, attest its truth. _Legal suasion_ may frighten to compliance,
but _moral suasion_ rules the will.

7. To the erring wanderer, in the by and forbidden paths of sin, with a
heart paled in darkness, and lost to every better feeling of his nature,
one little word, one little act of kindness, however slight, will find a
sunny resting-place in that sinful shade, and prove a light to guide the
wayward one to holier and better deeds. The lion licked the hand that
drew the thorn from his wounded foot; and Powhatan stayed the descending
club, when the burning lips of the Indian girl pressed the prisoner's
[Footnote: Captain Smith] pallid brow.

8. And it is _ever_ thus. There beats not a heart, however debased by
sin, or darkened by sorrow, that has not its noblest impulses aroused,
in view of a _generous and kindly action_. The Holy Father implanted His
own pure principles in the breast of _every one_, and widely do we
deviate from their just dictates, when an unkind word, or an unkind act,
wounds a broken heart, or crushes a loving, gentle nature.

9. "_Speak not harshly_,--much of care
    Every human heart must bear;
    Enough of shadows rudely play
    Around the very sunniest way;
    Enough of sorrows darkly lie
    Vailed within the merriest eye.
    By thy childhood's gushing tears,
    By thy grief in after years,
    By the anguish thou dost know,
    _Add not to another's woe._

10. "_Speak not harshly_,--much of sin
     Dwelleth every heart within;
     In its closely caverned cells,
     Many a wayward passion dwells.
     By the many hours misspent,
     By the gifts to error lent,
     By the wrongs thou didst not shun,
     By the good thou hast not done,
     With a lenient spirit scan
     The weakness of thy brother man."

QUESTIONS.--1. On what has kindness an influence? 2. What influence had
it upon the little flower? 3. What, upon the little bird? 4. What is
said of cruelty? 5. What is said of legal and moral suasion? 6. What is
said of the lion? 7. Of Powhatan? 8. Why ought we not to speak harshly?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SHAFT, arrow; _here_, careless word.
   MES' SEN GERS, message-bearers.
   PANG, distress; anguish.
   SPELLS, charms; enchantments.
   SEAL' ED, closed up; under seal.
   SEP' UL CHER, (_ch_ like _k_), grave; tomb.
   SUM' MON ED, called.
   AG' O NY, extreme suffering.
   WRING, writhe.
   UN A WARES, unconsciously.
   MIN' GLES, unites; mixes.
   EN DEAR' ING, kind; affectionate.
   E CLIPSE', darkness; obscuration.
   CHER' ISH ED, fostered.
   EN SHRIN' ED, sacredly preserved.
   UT' TER ED, expressed.


 1. Oh, never say a careless Word
      Hath not the power to pain;
    The shaft may ope some hidden wound,
      That closes not again!
    Weigh _well_ those light-winged messengers;
      God marked your heedless Word,
    And with it, too, the falling tear,
      The heart-pang that it stirred.

 2. Words! what are Words? A simple Word
      Hath spells to call the tears,
    That long have lain a sealed fount,
      Unclosed through mournful years.
    Back from the unseen sepulcher,
      A Word hath summoned forth
    A form that hath its place no more
      Among the things of Earth,

 3. Words! heed them well; some whispered one
      Hath yet a power to fling
    A shadow on the brow, the soul
      In agony to wring;
    A name, forbidden, or forgot,
      That sometimes, unawares,
    Murmurs upon our wak'ning lips,
    And mingles in our prayers.

 4. Oh, Words! sweet Words! A blessing comes
      Softly from kindly lips;
    Tender, endearing tones, that break
      The Spirit's drear eclipse.
    Oh! are there not some cherished tones
      In the deep heart enshrined?
    Uttered but once--they passed--and left
      A track of light behind.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of _careless words_? 2. What, of _sweet
words_? 3. What is the use of the apostrophe in _wak'ning_, third verse?
4. What is the meaning of the suffix _less_, in the words _careless,
Ex. 369.

       *       *       *       *       *


   VEG' E TA BLES, plants.
   DEP RE DA' TION, robbery; plunder.
   CAP TUR' ING, catching.
   TRES' PASS ER, transgressor.
   AP PEAL' ED, referred.
   COUN' SEL, lawyer; advocate.
   AR' GU MENT, plea; reason.
   URG' ING, enforcing; advocating.
   MIS' CHIEV OUS, hurtful; injurious.
   PRAC' TI CAL, pertaining to practice.
   DIS TIN' GUISH ED, celebrated.
   JU' RIST, one versed in law.
   AF FECT' ED, moved; impressed.
   FUR' NISH ED, supplied.
   VI' O LA TED, broken; transgressed.
   DE PRIVE', rob; hinder.
   AL LUD' ED, referred; adverted.
   RE STORE', give back.



1. Ebenezer Webster, the father of Daniel, was a farmer. The vegetables
in his garden had suffered considerably from the depredations of a
woodchuck, which had his hole or habitation near the premises. Daniel,
some ten or twelve years old, and his older brother Ezekiel, had set a
trap, and finally succeeded in capturing the trespasser.

2. Ezekiel proposed to kill the animal, and end, at once, all further
trouble from him; but Daniel looked with compassion upon his meek, dumb
captive, and offered to let him again go free. The boys could not agree,
and they appealed to their father to decide the case.

3. "Well, my boys," said the old gentleman, "_I_ will be the _judge_.
There is the _prisoner_, (pointing to the wood-chuck,) and _you_ shall
be the _counsel_, and plead the case _for_ and _against_ his life and

4. Ezekiel opened the case with a strong argument, urging the
mischievous nature of the criminal, the great harm he had already done;
said that much time and labor had been spent in his capture, and now, if
he were suffered to live and go again at large, he would renew his
depredations, and be cunning enough not to suffer himself to be caught

5. He urged, further, that his skin was of some value, and that, to make
the most of him they could, it would not repay half the damage he had
already done. His argument was ready, practical, to the point, and of
much greater length than our limits will allow us to occupy in relating
the story.

6. The father looked with pride upon his son, who became a distinguished
jurist in his manhood. "Now, Daniel, it is _your_ turn: I'll hear what
_you_ have to say."

7. It was his first case. Daniel saw that the plea of his brother had
sensibly affected his father, the judge; and as his large, brilliant,
black eyes looked upon the soft, timid, expression of the animal, and he
saw it tremble with fear in its narrow prison-house, his heart swelled
with pity, and he urged, with eloquent words, that the captive might
again go free.

8. "God," he said, "had made the woodchuck; he made him to live, to
enjoy the bright sunlight, the pure air, the free fields and woods. God
had not made him, or _any_ thing, in vain; the woodchuck had as much
right to life as any _other_ living thing."

9. "He was not a destructive animal, as the wolf and the fox were; he
simply ate a few common vegetables, of which they had plenty, and could
well spare a part; he destroyed nothing except the little food he needed
to sustain his humble life; and that little food was as sweet to him,
and as necessary to his existence, as was to them the food upon their
mother's table."

10. "God furnished to them food; he gave them all they possessed; and
would they not spare a little for the dumb creature, that really had as
much right to his small share of God's bounty, as they themselves had to
their portion?"

11. "Yea, more, the animal had never violated the laws of his nature or
the laws of God, as man often did; but strictly followed the simple,
harmless instincts he had received from the hand of the Creator of all
things. Created by God's hand, he had a right--a right from God--to
life, to food, to liberty; and they had no right to deprive him of

12. He alluded to the mute, but earnest pleadings of the animal for that
life, as sweet, as dear to him, as their own was to them, and the just
judgment they might expect, if, in selfish cruelty and cold
heartlessness, they took the life they could not restore--the life that
God alone had given.

13. During this appeal, the tears had started to the old man's eyes, and
were fast running down his sun-burnt cheeks; every feeling of a father's
heart was stirred within him; he saw the future greatness of his son
before his eyes, he felt that God had blessed him in his children,
beyond the lot of most men.

14. His pity and sympathy were awakened by the eloquent words of
compassion, and the strong appeal for mercy; and, forgetting the judge
in the man and father, he sprang from his chair, (while Daniel was in
the midst of his argument, without thinking he had already won his
case,) and, turning to his older son, dashing the tears from his eyes,
exclaimed, "_Ezekiel, Ezekiel, you let that woodchuck go!_"

QUESTIONS.--1. What did Ezekiel propose to do with the woodchuck after
he was caught? 2. What argument did he offer for so doing? 3. What did
Daniel wish to do with him? 4. What argument did he offer? 4. What was
their father's decision?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SOLVE, explain; work out.
   PROB' LEM, question for solution.
   COM PELL' ED, obliged.
   IN' DO LENT, idle; lazy.
   DINT, force; means.
   CON' SCIOUS, self-perceived; felt.
   DEM ON STRA' TION, formal proof.
   RE CLIN' ING, leaning back.
   PON' DERS, weighs; examines.
   PROC' ESS, operation.


1. Do not ask the teacher or some classmate to solve that hard problem.
DO IT YOURSELF. You might as well let him eat your dinner as "do your
sums" for you. It is in studying as in eating; _he who does it_, gets
the benefit, and not _he who sees it done_. In almost any school, the
teacher learns more than the best scholars, simply because he is
compelled to solve all the difficult problems, and answer all the
questions of the indolent pupils.

2. Do not ask your teacher to parse that difficult word, or assist you
in the performance of any of your studies. DO IT YOURSELF. Never mind,
though they _do_ look dark. Do not ask even a hint from any one. TRY
AGAIN. Every trial increases your ability, and you will finally succeed
by dint of the very wisdom and strength gained in the effort, even
though, at first, the problem was beyond your skill. It is the _study_,
and not the _answer_, that really rewards your labor.

3. Look at that boy, who has just succeeded after six hours of hard
study. How his large eye is lit up with a proud joy, as he marches to
his class! He treads like a conqueror! And well he may. Last night his
lamp burned, and this morning he waked at dawn. Once or twice he nearly
gave it up. He had tried his last thought; but a new thought strikes
him, and he ponders the last process. He tries once more, and succeeds;
and now mark the air of conscious strength with which he pronounces his

4. His poor, weak schoolmate, who gave up that same problem, after his
first trial, now looks up to him with something of a wonder, as a
superior being. And he _is_ his superior. That problem lies there, a
great gulf between those boys who stood side by side yesterday.

5. The boy who _did it for himself_, has taken a stride upward, and what
is better still, _has gained strength_ to take other and better ones.
The boy who waited to see _others do it_, has lost both strength and
courage, and is already looking for some good excuse to give up school
and study forever.

6. DO IT YOURSELF. Remember the counsel given to the artist, who lay
reclining upon his couch, and wondering what the fates would work out
for him. Directing his attention to a block of unhewn marble, with a
chisel lying by its side, the sculptor in the vision is represented as
thus addressing him: "Sir,

  "There's the marble, there's the chisel,
    Take it, work it to thy will;
  _Thou alone_ must shape thy future,
    Heaven send thee strength and skill!"

QUESTIONS.--1. Who is benefited in studying? 2. What really rewards the
labor of study? 3. What is said of the boy who succeeded after six hours
of hard study? 4. What, of the boy who gave up, after the first trial?
5. What counsel was given to the artist who wondered what the fates
would work out for him?

How are the words to be read, which are printed in Italics and in
capitals? See page 22, Note III.

       *       *       *       *       *


   SLACK' EN, relax; lessen.
   EN DEAV' OR, effort; exertion.
   WHOLE' SOME, useful; salutary.
   EX CEL', surpass; outdo.
   OUT STRIP' PED, outrun; excelled.
   SUR PASS' ED, excelled.
   VIC' TO RY, conquest; triumph.
   UT' TER MOST, very best.
   DAR' ING, courage; bravery.
   DE FECT', fault; deficiency.
   REPIN'ING, fretting; complaining.
   UN A VAIL' ING, vain; useless.
   COR RECT', amend; make right.
   MAX' IM, proverb; saying.


1. _Life is a race_, where some succeed,
     While others are beginning;
   'Tis luck, at times, at others, speed,
     That gives an early winning.
   But, if you chance to fall behind,
     Ne'er slacken your endeavor;
   Just keep this wholesome truth in mind:
     _'Tis better late than never!_

2. If you can keep ahead, 'tis well;
     But never trip your neighbor;
   'Tis noble when you can excel
     By honest, patient labor.
   But, if you are outstripped, at last,
     Press on, as bold as ever;
   Remember, though you are surpassed,
     _'Tis better late than never!_

3. Ne'er labor for an idle boast
     Of victory o'er another;
   But, while you strive your uttermost,
     Deal fairly with a brother.
   Whate'er your station, do your best,
     And, hold your purpose ever;
   And, if you fail to beat the rest,
     _'Tis better late than never!_

4. Choose well the path in which you run,--
     Succeed by noble daring;
   Then, though the last, when once 'tis won,
     Your crown is worth the wearing.
   Then never fret, if left behind,
     Nor slacken your endeavor;
   But ever keep this truth in mind:
     _'Tis better late than never!_

5. Yet, would you cure this sad defect,
     Repining's unavailing;
   Begin, _at once_, and _now_ correct
     This very common failing.
   _This day_ resolve,--_this very hour,_
     Nor e'en a moment wait;
   Go, make this better maxim yours,--
    _'Tis better never late!_

QUESTIONS.--1. To what is life compared, first verse? 2. What advice is
given _if you chance to fall behind?_ 3. How ought you to treat your
competitors? 4. What is a very common failing? 5. How may it be
corrected? 6. What is the use of the apostrophe in the word
_repining's_, fifth verse?

       *       *       *       *       *


   A DOPT' ED, taken as one's own.
   PIL' LAR ED, supported by pillars.
   TWI' LIGHT, faint light after sunset and before sunrise.
   THYME, (_time_,) fragrant plant.
   VINE' YARD, plantation of grapevines.
   DYE, hue; color.
   SPARK' LING, emitting bubbles.



     Why wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child?
     _Thy home_ on the mountains is bleak and wild,
     A straw-roofed cabin with lowly wall;
     _Mine_ is a fair and a pillared hall,
     Where many an image of marble gleams,
     And the sunshine of picture forever streams.

     Oh, green is the turf where my brothers play,
     Through the long, bright hours of the summer-day;
     They find the red cup-moss where they climb,
     And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme;
     And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know,
     Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!

     Content thee, boy, in my bower to dwell;
     Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well,--
     Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,
     Harps which the wandering breezes tune,
     And the silvery wood-note of many a bird
     Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard.

     My mother sings, at the twilight's fall,
     A song of the hills, far more sweet than all;
     She sings it under our own green tree,
     To the babe half-slumbering on her knee;
     I dreamed, last night, of that music low,--
     Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!

     (_pl._) Thy mother hath gone from her cares to rest;
     She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;
     Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more,
     Nor hear her song at the cabin-door:
     Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh,
     And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye.

     Is my mother gone from her home away?--
     But I know that my brothers are there at play,
     I know they are gathering the fox-glove's bell,
     Or the long fern leaves by the sparkling well;
     Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow,
     Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!

     Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now,
     They sport no more on the mountain's brow;
     They have left the fern by the spring's green side,
     And the streams where the fairy barks were tried:
     Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
     For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot.

     Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?
     But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still,
     And the red deer bound in their gladness free,
     And the heath is bent by the singing bee,
     And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow,--
     Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!

QUESTIONS.--1. What kind of words are _straw-roofed, heath-flower,
wood-note,_ &c.? 2. What is the use of the apostrophes in the words
_o'er, ne'er, twilight's_, &c.?

       *       *       *       *       *


   AP PAR' ENT LY, evidently.
   CEN' TU RY, hundred years.
   GI GAN' TIC, very large.
   SPE' CIES, sort; kind.
   DI MEN' SION, size; bulk.
   SUB LIME', grand; magnificent.
   UN MO LEST' ED, free from disturbance.
   DIS PERS' ED, separated; scattered.
   CLAM' OR OUS, noisy; importunate.
   IN DE CIS' ION, doubt; irresolution.
   POIS' ED, balanced.
   AT' MOS PHERE, surrounding air.
   TAL' ONS, claws.
   DIS TRI BU' TION, division.
   EC' STA SY, excessive joy; transport.
   PER' SE CUT ED, harassed; injured.



1. In a remote field stood a large tulip tree, apparently of a century's
growth, and one of the most gigantic of that splendid species. It looked
like the father of the surrounding forest. A single tree, of huge
dimensions, standing all alone, is a sublime object.

2. On the top of this tree, an old eagle, commonly called the "Fishing
Eagle," had built her nest every year, for many years, and, unmolested,
raised her young. What is remarkable, as she procured her food from the
ocean, this tree stood full ten miles from the sea-shore. It had long
been known as the "Old Eagle tree."

3. On a warm, sunny day, the workmen were hoeing corn in an adjoining
field. At a certain hour of the day, the old eagle was known to set off
for the sea-side, to gather food for her young. As she this day returned
with a large fish in her claws, the workmen surrounded the tree, and, by
yelling, and hooting, and throwing stones, so scared the poor bird that
she dropped her fish, and they carried it off in triumph.

4. The men soon dispersed; but Joseph sat down under a bush near by, to
watch, and to bestow unavailing pity. The bird soon returned to her nest
without food. The eaglets at once set up a cry for food, so shrill, so
clear, and so clamorous, that the boy was greatly moved.

5. The parent bird seemed to try to soothe them; but their appetites
were too keen, and it was all in vain. She then perched herself on a
limb near them, and looked down into the nest with a look that seemed to
say, "I know not what to do next."

6. Her indecision was but momentary; again she poised herself, uttered
one or two sharp notes, as if telling them to "lie still," balanced her
body, spread her wings, and was away again for the sea!

7. Joseph was determined to see the result. His eyes followed her till
she grew small, smaller,--a mere speck in the sky,--and then
disappeared. What boy has not often watched the flight of the bird of
his country in this way?

8. She was gone nearly two hours, about double her usual time for a
voyage, when she again returned, on a slow, weary wing, flying
uncommonly low, in order to have a heavier atmosphere to sustain her,
with another fish in her talons.

9. On nearing the field, she made a circuit around it, to see if her
enemies were again there. Finding the coast clear, she once more reached
her tree, drooping, faint, and weary, and evidently nearly exhausted.
Again the eaglets set up their cry, which was soon hushed by the
distribution of a dinner, such as--save the cooking--a king might

10. "GLORIOUS BIRD!" cried the boy in ecstacy, and aloud; "what a
spirit! Other birds can fly swifter, others can sing more sweetly,
others can scream more loudly; but what _other bird_, when persecuted
and robbed--when weary--when discouraged--when so far from sea,--would
have done this!

11. "GLORIOUS BIRD! I will learn a lesson from thee to-day. I will never
forget hereafter, that when the spirit is determined, it can do almost
anything. Others would have drooped and hung the head, and mourned over
the cruelty of man, and sighed over the wants of the nestlings; but
_thou,_ by at once recovering the loss, hast forgotten all.

12. "I will learn of thee, _noble bird!_ I will remember this. I will
set my mark high. I will try to do something, and to be something in the
world; _I will never yield to discouragements."_

QUESTIONS.--1. How far was this Old Eagle tree from the seashore? 2. In
what way did the workmen obtain the fish she brought for her young? 3.
What is said of the eaglets and the parent bird, when she returned to
the nest? 4. What did she then do? 5. What did Joseph say when she
returned with another fish?

       *       *       *       *       *


   AUC' TION, vendue; public sale.
   HOME' LESS, (LESS, _without or destitute of,_) without home.
   PEN' NI LESS, destitute of pennies.
   WASTE' LESS, without waste.
   UN LIGHT' ED, (UN, _not_,) not lighted.
   SELF' ISH NESS, devoted to one's self.
   RE  VERSE'  (RE, _back_ or _again_; VERSE, _turn_), turn back,
   or exchange places.
   AC QUIRE', gain; obtain.
   IL LUS TRA' TION, explanation.
   SOL' I TA RY, single.
   DIS PEL', drive away; disperse.
   BE NIGHT' ED, unenlightened.



1. Knowledge can not be stolen from you. It can not be bought or sold.
You may be _poor_, and the sheriff come into your house, and sell your
furniture at auction, or drive away your cow, or take your lamb, and
leave you homeless and penniless; but he can not lay the law's hand upon
the _jewelry of your mind_. This can not be taken for debt; neither can
you _give it away_, though you give enough of it to fill a million

2. I will tell you what such giving is like. Suppose, now, that there
were no sun nor stars in the heavens, nor any thing that shone in the
black brow of night; and suppose that a lighted lamp were put into your
hand, which should burn wasteless and clear amid all the tempests that
should brood upon this lower world.

3. Suppose next, that there were a thousand millions of human beings on
the earth with you, each holding in his hand an unlighted lamp, filled
with the same oil as yours, and capable of giving as much light. Suppose
these millions should come, one by one, to you, and light each his lamp
by yours, would they rob you of any light? Would less of it shine on
your own path? Would your lamp burn more dimly for lighting a thousand

4. Thus it is, young friends. In getting rich in the things which perish
with the using, men have often obeyed to the letter that first
commandment of selfishness: _"Keep what you can get, and get what you
can."_ In filling your minds with the wealth of knowledge, you must
reverse this rule, and obey this law: _"Keep what you give, and give
what you can."_

5. The fountain of knowledge is filled by its _outlets,_ not by its
inlets. You can _learn_ nothing which you do not _teach;_ you can
acquire nothing of intellectual wealth, except by _giving._ In the
illustration of the lamps, which I have given you, was not the light of
the thousands of millions which were lighted at yours, as much your
light, as if it all came from your solitary lamp? Did you not dispel
darkness by giving away light?

6. Remember this parable, and, whenever you fall in with an unlighted
mind in your walk of life, drop a kind and glowing thought upon it from
yours, and set it a-burning in the world with a light that shall shine
in some dark place to beam on the benighted.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of knowledge? 2. What is the giving of
knowledge like? 3. In getting rich, what precept have men obeyed? 4.
What precept must be obeyed in getting knowledge? 5. How is knowledge
best acquired? 6. What is meant by the _jewelry of the mind,_ first
paragraph? 7. What, by _intellectual wealth,_ fifth paragraph?

       *       *       *       *       *


   EX TIN' GUISH ED, put out.
   SOL' EMN, grave; serious.
   GAR' RI SON, fortress furnished with soldiers, for defense.
   SEN' TI NEL, soldier on guard.
   CAR A VAN, company of traveling traders or pilgrims.
   CON STEL LA' TIONS, clusters of fixed stars.
   BRILL' IANT, shining; sparkling.
   HOST, great multitude.
   EX' TRA, additional.
   CRES' CENT, form of the new moon.
   HAIL' ED, saluted.
   EF FUL' GENCE, splendor.
   RE' GEN CY, rule; government.
   WAN' ING, decreasing.
   SUP PLI CA TION, prayer; petition.
   RAPT' URE, great joy; transport.

[Headnote 1: PAL' ES TINE includes that part of Turkey in Asia, lying on
the eastern borders of the Mediterranean Sea.]



1. The lessons of our school are over. The lights in the distant windows
are extinguished, one after the other. The village will soon be lost in
slumber. When all the men and the women are asleep, must we keep awake
to learn lessons?

2. In large cities, there may be heard, now and then, the rushing wheel
of the traveler. The watchmen pace their round, and cry, _"All is
well."_ In the long, cold nights of Norway, the watchmen who guard the
capitol, pronounce, in a solemn tone, "God bless our good city of

3. In the garrison, or the endangered fortress, the armed sentinel keeps
watch, lest they should be surprised by the foe. But in this peaceful
village there is no need of either sentinel or watchman. Why may we not
go to sleep, instead of learning Night's lessons?

4. My son, one of these you may learn in a moment. Did you say that all
will soon be sleeping? No! there is one Eye that never slumbers. He who
made all the people, keepeth watch above the everlasting hills. Commit
yourself to His care.

5. Now, will you learn with me the second lesson of the night? Lift your
eyes to yon glorious canopy. Seest thou not there a sentinel, set by the
Eternal, at the northern gate of heaven,--the pole-star?

6. The pole-star! Blessings are breathed upon it, by the weary caravan,
fearing the poisonous wind of the desert,--by the red forest-children,
seeking their home beyond the far Western prairies,--and by the lonely
mariner, upon the pathless ocean.

7. The stars! See them! The oil in their lamps never burns out. These
glorious constellations wheel their mighty course unchanged, while "man
dieth and wasteth away, yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he?"
[Footnote: Job, 14th chap., 10th verse.]

8. Yon brilliant orbs maintain their places, while countless generations
pass away, and nations disappear and are forgotten. Let us bow in
humility before "Him who bringeth out their host by number, who calleth
them all by names, by the greatness of His might, for that He is strong
in power; not one faileth." [Footnote: Isaiah. 40th chap., 26th verse.]

9. Thirteen times in the year, Night, the teacher, gives extra lessons.
Will you be there to learn them? First, she hangs up a pale crescent in
the west. The ancient Jews hailed its infant beam, and answering fires
of joy were kindled on the hills of Palestine.[Headnote 1]

10. Next, she summons forth a rounded orb, clad in full effulgence, and
commits to it the regency when the sun retires. Lastly, a slender,
waning crescent appears nightly, like an aged man, ready to descend into
the night of the tomb.

   "Soon as the evening shades prevail,
   The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
   And nightly to the listening earth,
   Repeats the story of her birth;
   While all the stars that round her burn,
   And all the planets in their turn,
   Confirm the tidings as they roll,
   And spread the truth from pole to pole."

12. These are some of Night's lessons. Are you tired of them? Or, will
you learn one more? Lift up your heart to Him who has given you the past
day, with thanks for its blessings,--with penitence for its
faults,--with supplication for strength and wisdom for the time that is
to come.

13. "Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth
knowledge" [Footnote: Psalm 19th, 2nd verse.] of God. Thus, meekly and
faithfully studying Night's lessons, may we find

  "Even sorrow, touched by Heaven, grows bright
    With more than rapture's ray,
  As darkness shows us worlds of light,
    We never saw by day."

QUESTIONS.--1. Who watches over us when asleep? 2. In what way is the
pole-star useful to man? 3. What is said of the stars? 4. What extra
lessons is it that night gives thirteen times a year? 5. Describe the
first appearance of the moon. 6. How does it next appear? 7. Where is
Palestine? 8. Where are the passages to be found, quoted in the 7th,
8th, and 13th paragraphs? 9. Do you know who is the author of the 11th
verse? Ans. Addison.

       *       *       *       *       *


   HID' DEN, secret; concealed.
   QUAIL, sink; droop.
   SCORN' ING, disdaining.
   GREET' ING, salutation.
   VIEW' LESS, not to be seen.
   YEARN' ETH, longeth.
   CHANT, sing; carol.
   PORT' AL, entrance; gate-way.
   CHEER' Y, gay; lively.
   E TER' NI TY, endless duration.




1. Sunlight! tell the hidden meaning
   Of the rays thou lettest fall;
   Are they lessons writ in burning,
   Like God's warning on the wall?


   Strive, O man, to let a loving
   Spirit cheer the sad and poor;
   So shall many a fair hope blossom,
       Where none grew before!


2. Stars! what is it ye would whisper,
   With your pure and holy light?
   Looking down so calm and tender
   From the watch-tower of the night.


   When thy soul would quail from scorning,
   Keep a brave heart and a bold;
   As we always shine the brightest
       When the nights are cold.


3. Hast thou not a greeting for me,
   Heaven's own happy minstrel-bird'?
   Thou whose voice, like some sweet angel's,
   Viewless, in the cloud is heard'?


   Though thy spirit yearneth sky-ward,
   Oh, forget not human worth!
   I, who chant at heaven's portal,
       Build my nest on earth.


4. River! river'! singing gayly
   From the hill-side all day long,
   Teach my heart the merry music
   Of thy cheery, rippling song.


   Many winding ways I follow;
   Yet, at length, I reach the sea.
   Man, remember that _thy_ ocean
       Is ETERNITY!

QUESTIONS.--1. What is meant by _God's warning on the wall?_ See the 5th
chap. of Daniel. 2. What is meant by _minstrel-bird?_ Ans. The lark.

       *       *       *       *       *


   GLARE, dazzling light.
   BLITHE' LY, gayly; joyfully.
   WROUGHT, worked; labored.
   RE MORSE', painful regret.
   WANE, decrease; grow less.
   FAN' CIES, whims; notions.

   A  NON._'_  is  an  abbreviation  of  _anonymous_, which means
   _without  name;  nameless_. See SANDERS' ANALYSIS, page 88,
   Exercise 108.



1. They are sowing their seed in the daylight fair,
   They are sowing their seed in the noonday's glare,
   They are sowing their seed in the soft twilight,
   They are sowing their seed in the solemn night;
      _What_ shall their harvest be?

2. They are sowing their seed of pleasant thought,
   In the spring's green light they have blithely wrought;
   They have brought their fancies from wood and dell,
   Where the mosses creep, and the flower-buds swell;
      _Rare_ shall the harvest be!

3. They are sowing the seeds of word and deed,
   Which the cold know not, nor the careless heed,--
   Of the gentle word and the kindest deed,
   That have blessed the heart in its sorest need;
      _Sweet_ shall the harvest be!

4. And some are sowing the seeds of pain,
   Of late remorse, and in maddened brain;
   And the stars shall fall, and the sun shall wane,
   Ere they root the weeds from the soil again;
      _Dark_ will the harvest be!

5. And some are standing with idle hand,
   Yet they scatter seeds on their native land;
   And some are sowing the seeds of care,
   Which their soil has borne, and still must bear;
      _Sad_ will the harvest be!

6. They are sowing the seed of noble deed,
   With a sleepless watch and an earnest heed;
   With a ceaseless hand o'er the earth they sow,
   And the fields are whitening where'er they go;
      _Rich_ will the harvest be!

7. Sown in darkness, or sown in light,
   Sown in weakness, or sown in might,
   Sown in meekness, or sown in wrath,
   In the broad work-field, or the shadowy path,
      SURE will the harvest be!

QUESTIONS.--1. Who are meant by _they_ in this lesson? 2. What is said
of those who are _sowing the seeds of word and deed?_ 3. What, of those
who are sowing the _seeds of care?_ 4. Repeat the last verse. 5. What
passage of Scripture teaches the same idea? Ans. "Whatsoever a man
soweth, that shall he also reap."--Gal., 6th chap., 7th verse.

       *       *       *       *       *


   FOR' TI FI ED, strengthened by works of art for defense.
   SUL' TRY, close; oppressively hot.
   BOAT'  SWAIN, one who has charge of a ship's boats, rigging, &c.
   TARS, sailors.
   MOOR' ED, anchored.
   BUOYS, floats.
   AN' CHOR, iron instrument for holding ships.
   STAR' BOARD, right side of a ship.
   FORE' CAS TLE, short deck in the fore part of a ship.
   WAKE, track.
   BE REFT', deprived.
   IM' MI NENT, impending.
   PIERC' ED, went through.
   FORE AND AFT, before and behind.
   SWAY' ED, swung; moved.
   CAR' CASS, dead body.
   EX CITE' MENT, agitation.
   PHA' SES, forms; appearances.

[Headnote 1: SA HA' RA, is a Great Desert in Africa, lying south of the
Barbary States, and extending from the Atlantic on the west to Egypt and
Nubia on the east. The winds that come from this desert, are hot and



1. Our noble ship lay at anchor in the Bay of Tangier, a fortified town
in the extreme northwest of Africa. The day had been extremely mild,
with a gentle breeze sweeping to the northward and westward; but, toward
the close of the afternoon, the sea-breeze died away, and one of those
sultry, oven-like breathings came from the great, sun-burnt Sahara
[Headnote 1].

2. Half an hour before sundown, the captain gave the cheering order for
the boatswain to call the hands to "go in swimming;" and, in less than
five minutes, the forms of our tars were seen leaping from the arms of
the lower yards, into the water. One of the studding sails, with its
corners suspended from the main yard-arm and the swinging boom, had been
lowered into the water, and into this most of the swimmers made their

3. Among those who seemed to be enjoying the sport most heartily, were
two of the boys, Timothy Wallace and Frederic Fairbanks, the latter of
whom was the son of our old gunner; and, in a laughing mood, they
started out from the studding sail on a race. There was a loud ringing
shout of joy on their lips as they put off, and they darted through the
water like fishes. The surface of the sea was smooth as glass, though
its bosom rose in long, heavy swells that set in from the Atlantic.

4. The vessel was moored with a long sweep from both cables, and one of
the buoys of the anchor was far away on the starboard quarter, where it
rose and fell with the lazy swells of the waves. Toward this buoy the
two lads made their way, young Fairbanks taking the lead; but, when they
were within about twenty or thirty fathoms of the buoy, Wallace shot
ahead and promised to win the race.

5. The old gunner had watched the progress of his little son with a
great degree of pride; and when he saw him drop behind, he leaped upon
the quarter-deck, and was just upon the point of urging him on by a
shout, when a cry was heard that struck him with instant horror.

6. "_A shark! a shark!_" was sounded from the captain of the forecastle;
and, at the sound of these terrible words, the men who were in the
water, leaped and plunged toward the ship. Right abeam, at the distance
of three or four cables' lengths, was seen the wake of a shark in the
water, where the back of the monster was visible. His course was for the

7. For a moment, the gunner stood like one bereft of reason; but, on the
next, he shouted at the top of his voice, for the boys to turn; but they
heard him not. Stoutly the two swimmers strove for the goal, all
unconscious of their imminent danger. Their merry laugh still rang over
the waters, and, at length, they both touched the buoy together.

8. Oh, what agony filled the heart of the gunner! A boat had put off,
but he knew that it could not reach the boys in season, and every moment
he expected to see the monster sink from sight,--_then_ he knew that all
hope would be gone. At this moment, a cry reached the ship, that pierced
every heart,--the boys had discovered their enemy.

9. The cry started the old gunner to his senses, and quicker than
thought, he sprang from the quarter-deck. The guns were all loaded and
shotted, fore and aft, and none knew their temper better than he. With
steady hand, made strong by sudden hope, the old gunner seized a
priming-wire and picked the cartridge of one of the quarter guns; then
he took from his pocket a percussion cap, fixed it in its place, and set
back the hammer of the patent lock.

10. With a giant strength the old man swayed the breech of the heavy gun
to its bearing, and then seizing the string of the lock, he stood back
and watched for the next swell that would bring the shark in range. He
had aimed the piece some distance ahead of his mark; but yet a little
moment would settle his hopes and fears.

11. Every breath was hushed, and every heart in that old ship beat
painfully. The boat was yet some distance from the boys, while the
horrid sea-monster was fearfully near. Suddenly the air was rent by the
roar of the heavy gun; and, as the old man knew his shot was gone, he
sank back upon the hatch, and covered his face with his hands, as if
afraid to see the result of his own efforts; for, if he had failed, he
knew that his boy was lost.

12. For a moment after the report of the gun had died away upon the air,
there was an unbroken silence; but, as the dense smoke arose from the
surface of the water, there was, at first, a low murmur breaking from
the lips of the men,--that murmur grew louder and stronger, till it
swelled to a joyous, deafening shout. The old gunner sprang to his feet,
and gazed off on the water, and the first thing that met his view, was
the huge carcass of the shark, floating on his back--a mangled, lifeless

13. In a few moments, the boats reached the daring swimmers, and,
greatly frightened, they were brought on board. The old man clasped his
boy in his arms, and then, overcome by the powerful excitement, he
leaned upon a gun for support. I have seen men in all the phases of
excitement and suspense, but never have I seen three human beings more
overcome by thrilling emotions, than on that startling moment when they
first knew the effect of our gunner's shot.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is the town of Tangier? 2. What order had been
given by the captain of the vessel? 3. Who seemed most to enjoy the
sport? 4. What is said of the old gunner? 5. What did he do? 6. What
effect did his shot produce? 7. Describe the closing scene.

       *       *       *       *       *


   DIS GUISE', concealment.
   WAY' LAID, beset by the way.
   THREAT' EN ED, declared the intention.
   IN CLINE, dispose.
   RUF' FIANS, robbers; murderers.
   DIS TRIB'UTE, divide; apportion.
   TREAS' UR Y, place for keeping money.
   ALMS, gifts; donations.
   MI' SER LY, covetous; niggardly.
   SAL' A RY, wages; allowance for services.
   IN VOLV' ING, entangling.
   BE WIL' DER ED, puzzled; perplexed.
   LOG' IC, reasoning.
   SAGE, wise man.
   FUL FILL' ING, performing.
   E VA' SION, departure from truth.
   DE CEIT', deception; fraud.


1. A certain Persian king, while traveling in disguise, with but few
attendants, was waylaid by robbers, who threatened to take not only his
goods, but his life.

2. Feeling himself beyond the reach of human aid, he inwardly made a
vow, that if God would incline the hearts of these ruffians to mercy,
and restore him in safety to his family and people, he would distribute
all the money then in his treasury, in alms to the needy of his realm.

3. The robbers, from some unknown cause, liberated him, and he soon
reached home in safety, having sustained no injury, save the loss of the
small purse of gold that he had carried in his girdle.

4. Desirous of keeping the vow he had made, he summoned his officers,
and commanded them to make immediate distribution to the poor, of all
that the treasury contained, at the time of his return.

5. But his officers, more miserly than himself, and, fearful that they
might fall short in their salaries and pensions, began to urge upon the
monarch the folly of keeping this rash vow, and the danger of thus
involving himself and his kingdom in difficulties.

6. Finding he still remained firm, they took other grounds, and
plausibly argued that the troops and other officials needed aid as well
as the poor; and, as by the _words_ of his vow, he had bound himself to
distribute the contents of the treasury to those who had claim to
relief, the public servants certainly came within the required limits.

7. Bewildered by their false logic, and sincerely desirous of doing
right, he appealed to a certain sage who dwelt near the royal palace,
and determined to abide by his decision.

8. The sage, after hearing the case, only asked the following simple
question: "Of whom were you thinking when you made the vow,--the poor,
or the public servants?" The monarch replied, "Of the poor." "Then,"
answered the sage, "it is to the _poor_ you are bound to distribute
these funds; for you are not _really_ fulfilling your vow, unless you do
that which you intended to do when it was made." The king was satisfied
that this was the right decision, and did as the sage advised.

9. Let the young bear in mind that God is a being of truth, requiring
truth in the inward heart; and, if they would have His approval, and
that of their own consciences, they must avoid not only the _outward_
appearance of falsehood, but the slightest evasion or deceit; and when
promises have been made, fulfill not only the _letter_, but the _spirit_
of that which they agreed to perform.

10. Beware of the first and slightest departure from truth, of the least
endeavor to deceive, and even of the desire to have others believe what
is not so. Let your motto be, _"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth."_

QUESTIONS.--1. What happened to a certain Persian king? 2. What vow did
he then make? 3. What objection did his officers make to this? 4. What
did the king then do? 5. What was the sage's decision? 6. What motto
ought you to adopt? 7. What rule for spelling the word _traveling_ with
one _l_? See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 13, Rule 10.

       *       *       *       *       *


   EN TIC' ES, allures; leads astray.
   PRE TEXT, pretense; false reason.
   PRO FANE, pollute; defile,
   TEMP TA' TION, allurement.
   IN' LY, within; in the heart.
   DE CLARES, says; asserts.
   CHAFE, vex; provoke.
   MAL' ICE, hatred; malevolence.
   AV' A RICE, excessive love of money.
   FORE GO', give up; renounce.
   MAM' MON, god of wealth; riches.
   IN DIG' NANT, with anger; disdainfully.
   LU' CRE, gain; profit.
   EM PRISE', enterprise; undertaking.
   SURE' TY, security.
   O VER THROW', subvert; destroy.
   CON TEMPT', scorn; disdain.
   SOR' CER ESS, enchantress.
   EX PEL', (EX, _out_; PEL, _to drive_) drive out; banish.
   RE SIST', (RE, _again_; SIST, _to stand_,) stand again; hence,
   to withstand.

   See SANDERS and McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 90, Ex. 113; also,
   page 110, Ex. 142.



 1. When FALSEHOOD fair entices thee
      Against the truth to go,
    No matter what the pretext be,
      Be thy firm answer,--No!

 2. When RASHNESS would thy tongue profane
      With language vile and low,
    O, make the gross temptation vain,
      By answering inly,--No!

 3. When PRIDE the silly wish declares,
      That thou should'st fashion know,
    And lifts thy head with empty airs,
      Be wise, and answer,--No!

 4. When ENVY would thy spirit chafe,
      That others prosper so,
    On calm contentment resting safe,
      Expel her with a--No!

 5. When MALICE foul, or deadly HATE,
      Would turn thee on a foe,
    And dark, revengeful thirst create,
      In horror answer,--No!

 6. When sluggish SLEEP, with folded arms,
      Would make thee health forego,
('')Rise up at once, resist her charms;
      _Act out_ the answer,--No!

 7. When AVARICE would, with heartless speed,
      Shout out the sight of woe,
    And whisper joy from Mammon's greed,
      Indignant answer,--No!

 8. When filthy LUCRE lifts her hand,
      Ungodly gains to show,
    Though she should promise all the land,
      Be thy prompt answer,--No!

 9. When greedy GAIN, or rash EMPRISE,
      Would have thee surety go,
    Keep Wisdom's words [Footnote 1] before thine eyes,
      And firmly answer,--No!

 10. When mad AMBITION would seduce,
      The _right_ to overthrow,
    And turn the selfish passions loose,
      In mercy answer,--No!

 11. When foul CONTEMPT of Holy Writ
      Would in thy bosom sow
    The wish to be where scorners sit,[Footnote 2]
      Let Conscience answer,--No!

 12. When SIN, indeed, whate'er her style,
    Would have thee with her go;
      Stay not to hear the Sorceress vile,
    But leave her with a--No!

  [Footnote 1: Prov., 11th Chap., 15th verse.]
  [Footnote 2: 1st Psalm, 1st verse.]

       *       *       *       *       *


   PE RUSE', read; study.
   AL LOT' TED, assigned.
   ME RID' I AN, noon; mid-day.
   GEN' U INE, true; real.
   ART' FUL, cunning; crafty.
   MIM' ICK ED, pretended; counterfeited.
   PRE SIDE', have sway or rule.
   DE MER' IT, ill-desert; defect.
   RU' BY, precious stone.
   PUP' PET, little image.
   DE TER' MINE, decide; find out.
   ER' MINE, fine fur--(of the ermine.)
   CAP' TOR, one who takes a prize.
   SCEP' TERS, emblems of authority.
   CHA' RY, careful; wary.
   MYS' TIC, secret; mysterious.

We have seldom seen any thing so full of wit, truth, and practical
wisdom, as this poem inscribed.


 1. Take this book, my boys,
      Earnestly peruse it;
    Much of after lies
      In the way ye use it:
    Keep it neat and clean;
      For, remember, in it,
    Every stain that's seen,
      Marks a thoughtless minute.

 2. Life is like a book,
      Time is like a printer,
    Darting now his look
      Where has gloomed no winter.
    Thus he'll look, and on,
      Till each page allotted,
    Robert, thee and John,
      Printed be or blotted.

 3. Youth's a sunny beam,
      Dancing o'er a river,
    With a flashing gleam,
      Then away forever.
    Use it while ye may,
      Not in childish mourning,--
    Not in childish play,
      But in _useful learning_.

 4. As your years attain
      Life's meridian brightness,
    Hourly seek and gain
      _Genuine politeness:_
    This lives not in forms,
      As too many teach us,--
    Not in open arms,
      Not in silken speeches,

 5. Not in haughty eye,
      Not in artful dealing,
    Not within the sigh
      Of a mimicked feeling:
    But its lights preside
      Rich in nature's splendor,
    Over honest pride,
      Gentleness and candor.

 6. Slight ye not the soul
      For the frame's demerit;
    Oft a shattered bowl
      Holds a mighty spirit:
    Never search a breast
      By thy ruby's glances;
    Pomp's a puppet guest,
      Danced by circumstances.

 7. What is good and great,
      Sense can soon determine;
    Prize it though ye meet,
      Or in rags or ermine.
    Fortune's truly blind;
      Fools may be her captors;
    But the _wealth of mind_
      Stands above their scepters.

 8. Value not the lips
      Swiftest kept in motion,
    Fleetly-sailing ships
      Draw no depth of ocean:
    Snatch the chary gleam,
      From the cautious knowing
    For the deepest stream
      Scarcely lisps 'tis flowing.

 9. Cull from bad and good
      Every seeming flower,
    Store it up as food
      For some hungry hour:
    Press its every leaf,
      And remember, Johnny,
    Even weeds the chief
      May have drops of honey.

10. Pomp and power alone
      Never make a blessing;
    Seek not e'en a throne
      By one wretch distressing.
    Better toil a slave
      For the blood-earned penny,
    Than be rich, and have
      A curse on every guinea.

11. Think, my gentle boys,
      Every man a brother!
    _That's where honor lies,_
      Nay, but _greatness_ rather:
    One's the mystic whole,
      Lordly flesh won't know it;
    But the kingly soul,
      Sees but vice below it.

12. Robert, thoughts like these,
      Store you more than money;
    Read them not to please,
      But to practice, Johnny.
    Artless though their dress,
      As an infant's dimple,
    _Truth is none the less_
      _For being truly simple._

QUESTIONS.--1. What did the writer tell Robert and John to do with the
book, given them? 2. What use did he tell them to make of Youth?

       *       *       *       *       *


   AV A RI'' CIOUS, greedy after gain.
   IN' TI MATE, close in friendship.
   EA' GER NESS, ardent desire.
   FRU GAL' I TY, wise economy.
   AC QUI SI'' TIONS, gains.
   AF' FLU ENCE, great wealth.
   SUC' CES SION, regular order.
   MOIL' ING, drudging; laboring.
   DIS CON TIN' U ED, ceased.
   AS SI DU' I TY, untiring diligence.
   DIS GUST' ED, greatly dissatisfied.
   IN DULG' ED, gratified.
   MON' STROUS, very large.
   SUC CEED' ING, following.
   MAT' TOCK, pick-ax.
   UN DER MINE', dig under.
   O' MEN, sign; token.
   IM AG' IN ED, conceived.



1. Whang, the miller, was naturally avaricious; nobody loved money
better than he, or more respected those that had it. When people would
talk of a rich man in company, Whang would say, "_I_ know him very well,
_he_ and _I_ have been very long acquainted; _he_ and _I_ are intimate."

2. But, if a poor man was mentioned, he had not the least knowledge of
the man; he might be very well, for aught _he_ knew; but he was not fond
of making many acquaintances, and loved to choose his company.

3. Whang, however, with all his eagerness for riches, was poor. He had
nothing but the profits of his mill to support him; but, though these
were small, they were certain: while it stood and went, he was sure of
eating; and his frugality was such, that he, every day, laid some money
by; which he would, at intervals, count and contemplate with much

4. Yet still his acquisitions were not equal to his desires; he only
found himself above want; whereas he desired to be possessed of
affluence. One day, as he was indulging these wishes, he was informed
that a neighbor of his had found a pan of money under ground, having
dreamed of it three nights in succession.

5. These tidings were daggers to the heart of poor Whang. "Here am I,"
said he, "toiling and moiling from morning till night for a few paltry
farthings, while neighbor Thanks only goes quietly to bed, and dreams
himself into thousands before morning. Oh, that I could dream like him!
With what pleasure would I dig round the pan! How slyly would I carry it
home! Not even my wife should see me! And then, oh the pleasure of
thrusting one's hands into a heap of gold up to the elbows!"

6. Such reflections only served to make the miller unhappy. He
discontinued his former assiduity; he was quite disgusted with small
gains; and his customers began to forsake him. Every day he repeated the
wish, and every night laid himself down in order to dream. Fortune, that
was for a long time unkind, at last, however, seemed to smile upon his
distress, and indulged him with the wished-for vision.

7. He dreamed that under a certain part of the foundation of his mill,
there was concealed a monstrous pan of gold and diamonds, buried deep in
the ground, and covered with a large flat stone. He concealed his good
luck from every person, as is usual in money-dreams, in order to have
the vision repeated the two succeeding nights, by which he should be
certain of its truth. His wishes in this, also, were answered; he still
dreamed of the same pan of money, in the very same place.

8. Now, therefore, it was past a doubt; so, getting up early the third
morning, he repaired, alone, with a mattock in his hand, to the mill,
and began to undermine that part of the wall to which the vision
directed. The first omen of success that he met with, was a broken ring;
digging still deeper, he turned up a house-tile, quite new and entire.

9. At last, after much digging, he came to a broad flat stone; but then
it was so large, that it was beyond his strength to remove it.
"_There_," cried he in raptures to himself, "_there it is!_ under this
stone, there is room for a very large pan of diamonds indeed. I must
e'en go home to my wife, and tell her the whole affair, and get her to
assist me in turning it up." Away, therefore, he goes, and acquaints his
wife with every circumstance of their good fortune.

10. Her raptures, on this occasion, may easily be imagined; she flew
round his neck, and embraced him in an agony of joy. But these
transports, however, did not allay their eagerness to know the exact
sum; returning, together, to the place where Whang had been digging,
there they found--not, indeed, the expected treasure--but the mill,
their only support, undermined and fallen!

QUESTIONS.--1. Upon what was Whang, the miller, dependent for support?
2. Why was he not satisfied? 3. What did he say to himself, after the
information he had received from a neighbor? 4. What effect had such
reflections upon him? 5. What did he dream three nights successively? 6.
What did he do? 7. What was the result?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PO LITE' NESS, good manners.
   FI DEL' I TY, faithfulness.
   IN CU BA' TION, act of hatching eggs.
   REC RE A' TION, pastime; amusement.
   DE MURE' LY, gravely; with affected modesty.
   AP PRE CI A' TION, estimate.
   LITHE, nimble; flexible.
   EX' IT, departure; going out.
   ARCH' I TECTS, (_ch_, like _k_,) builders.
   SA LI' VA, spittle.
   SE CRETE', to deposit; produce.
   CON'' GRE GATE, collect together.
   FLEDG' ED, furnished with feathers.
   DO MAIN', realm; kingdom.
   AC COM MO DA' TIONS, conveniences.
   MI' GRATE, remove; travel.
   SPHERE, (_ph_ like _f_,) circuit of action.



1. Every one knows, who lives in the country, what a chimney-swallow is.
They are among the birds that seem to love the neighborhood of man. Many
birds there are, that nestle confidingly in the protection of their
superiors, and are seldom found nesting or breeding far from human

2. The wren builds close to your door. Sparrows and robins, if well
treated, will make their nests right under your window, in some favorite
tree, and will teach you, if you choose to go into the business, how to
build birds' nests.

3. A great deal of politeness and fidelity may be learned. The female
bird is waited upon, fed, cheered with singing, during her incubation,
in a manner that might give lessons to the household. Nay, when she
needs exercise and recreation, her husband very demurely takes her
place, and keeps the eggs warm in the most gentlemanly way.

4. Barn-swallows have a very sensible appreciation of the pleasures of
an ample barn. A barn might not be found quite the thing to live in,
(although we have seen many a place where we would take the barn sooner
than the house,) but it is one of the most charming places in a
summer-day to lounge, read, or nap in.

5. And, as you lie on your back upon the sweet-scented hay-mow, or upon
clean straw thrown down on the great floor, reading books of natural
history, it is very pleasant to see the flitting swallows glance in and
out, or course about under the roof, with motion so lithe and rapid as
to seem more like the glancing of shadows than the winging of birds.
Their mud-nests are clean, if they _are_ made of dirt; and you would
never dream, from their feathers, what sort of a house they lived in.

6. But, it was of _chimney-swallows_ that we began to write; and they
are just now roaring in the little, stubbed chimney behind us, to remind
us of our duty. Every evening we hear them; for a nest of young ones
brings the parents in with food, early and late, and every entrance or
exit is like a distant roll of thunder, or like those old-fashioned
rumblings of high winds in the chimney, which made us children think
that all out-of-doors was coming down the chimney in stormy nights.

7. These little architects build their simple nests upon the sides of
the chimney with sticks, which they are said to break off from dead
branches of trees, though they might more easily pick them up already
prepared. But they, doubtless, have their own reasons for cutting their
own timber. Then these are glued to the wall by a saliva which they
secrete, so that they carry their mortar in their mouths, and use their
bills for trowels.

8. When the young are ready to leave, they climb up the chimney to the
top, by means of their sharp claws, aided by their tail-feathers, which
are short, stiff, and at the end armed with sharp spines. Two broods are
reared in a season. From the few which congregate in any one
neighborhood, one would not suspect the great numbers which assemble at
the end of the season. Audubon estimated that _nine thousand_ entered a
large sycamore-tree, every night, to roost, near Louisville, Kentucky.

9. Sometimes the little nest has been slighted in building, or the
weight proves too great, and down it comes into the fire-place, to the
great amusement of the children, who are all a-fever to hold in their
hands these clean, bright-eyed little fellows. Who would suspect that
they had ever been bred in such a flue?

10. And it was just this thought that set us to writing. Because a bird
lives in a chimney, he need not be _smutty_. There is many a fine
feather that lives in a chimney-corner. Nor are birds the _only_
instances. Many men are born in a garret, or in a cellar, who fly out of
it, as soon as fledged, as fine as any body. A lowly home has reared
many high natures.

11. On these bare sticks, right against the bricks, in this smoky flue,
the eggs are laid, the brooding goes on, the young are hatched, fed,
grown. But then comes the day when they spread the wing, and the whole
heaven is theirs! From morning to night, they can not touch the bounds
of their liberty!

12. And, in like manner, it is with the human soul that has learned to
know its liberty. Born in a body, pent up, and cramped, it seems
imprisoned in a mere smoky flue for passions. But, when once faith has
taught the soul that it has wings, then it begins to fly; and flying,
finds that all God's domain is its liberty.

13. And, as the swallow that comes back to roost in its hard hole at
night, is quite content, so that the morning gives it again all the
bright heavens for its soaring-ground, so may men, close quartered and
cramped in bodily accommodations, be quite patient of their narrow
bounds, for their thoughts may fly out every day gloriously.

14. And as, in autumn, these children of the chimney gather in flocks,
and fly away to heavens without a winter, so men shall find a day when
they, too, shall migrate; and, rising into a higher sphere, without
storm or winter, shall remember the troubles of this mortal life, as
birds in Florida may be supposed to remember the northern chills, which
drove them forth to a fairer clime.

QUESTIONS.--1. What birds seem to love the neighborhood of man? 2. In
what respects may men be like birds?

       *       *       *       *       *


The first part of each verse, or that portion read by the _First Voice_,
should be expressed in a slow and despondent tone of voice: the second
part, or that read by the _Second Voice_, should be expressed in a more
sprightly and cheerful manner.




      1. Where are the swallows fled?
           Frozen and dead,
Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore.


           O doubting heart!
         Far over purple seas,
         They wait, in sunny ease,
         The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.


      2. Why must the flowers die?
           Poisoned they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.


           O doubting heart!
         They only sleep below
         The soft, white ermine snow,
         While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.


      3. The sun has hid its rays
           These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?


           O doubting heart!
         The stormy clouds on high
         Vail the same sunny sky,
         That soon, (for Spring is nigh,)
Shall wake the Summer into golden mirth.


      4. Fair Hope is dead, and light
           Is quenched in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?


           O doubting heart!
         The sky is overcast,
         Yet stars shall rise at last,
         Brighter for darkness past,
And angels' silver voices stir the air.

       *       *       *       *       *


   DECK'ED, dressed; arrayed.
   TRAIL'ING, hanging down; following one after another.
   UN FAIL'ING, constant; continually.
   UN PLI'ANT, stiff; unbending.
   DE FI'ANT, daring; bidding defiance.
   VES'PER, evening.
   CRISP'ER, more brittle.
   TREAS'URES, wealth; riches.
   MER'IT, desert; goodness.
   IN HER'IT, occupy; possess.
   MOR'SEL, bit; small piece.
   WAIL'ING, loudly lamenting.
   RAIL'ING, clamoring.



1. Autumn's sighing,
   Moaning, dying,
   Clouds are flying
     On like steeds;
   While their shadows
   O'er the meadows.
   Walk like widows
     Decked in weeds.

2. Red leaves trailing,
   Fall unfailing,
   Dropping, sailing,
     From the wood,
   That, unpliant,
   Stands defiant,
   Like a giant
     Dropping blood.

3. Winds are swelling
   Round our dwelling,
   All day telling
     Us their woe;
   And, at vesper,
   Frosts grow crisper,
   As they whisper
     Of the snow.

4. From th' unseen land,
   Frozen inland,
   Down from Greenland,
     Winter glides,
   Shedding lightness
   Like the brightness
   When moon-whiteness
     Fills the tides.

5. Now bright Pleasure's
   Sparkling measures
   With rare treasures
   With this gladness
   Comes what sadness!
   Oh, what madness,
     Oh, what woe!

6. Even merit
   May inherit
   Some bare garret,
     Or the ground;
   Or, a worse ill,
   Beg a morsel
   At some door-sill,
     Like a hound.

7. Storms are trailing,
   Winds are wailing,
   Howling, railing,
     At each door.
  'Midst this trailing
  Howling, railing,
  List the wailing
    Of the poor!

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the first sign of the coming of winter? 2. What,
the second? 3. What, the third? 4. What are some of the pleasures of
winter? 5. What is said of the poor in winter? 6. What is the use of the
apostrophes in the words _autumn's, o'er, pleasure's, 'midst,_ &c.?

       *       *       *       *       *


   LIVE' LONG, whole; entire.
   EAVES, edges of a roof.
   E' VEN TIDE, evening.
   STRIV' EN, struggled; contended.
   RE LIEV' ED, mitigated; alleviated.
   WRETCH' ED NESS, distress; destitution.
   OF FENSE', fault; crime.
   PEN' I TENCE, repentance; contrition.
   EL' O QUENT LY, forcibly; persuasively.



    1. Tired of play`! tired of play`!
       What hast thou done this livelong day`?
       The birds are silent', and so is the bee`;
       The sun is creeping up steeple and tree`;
       The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves',
       And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves';
       Twilight gathers', and day is done`,--
       How hast them spent it`,--restless one'?

    2. Playing`? But what hast thou done beside,
       To tell thy mother at eventide`?
       What promise of morn is left unbroken`?
       What kind word to thy playmates spoken`?
       Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven`?
       How with thy faults has duty striven`?
       What hast thou learned by field and hill,
       By greenwood path, and by singing rill`?

    3. There will come an eve to a longer day',
       That will find thee tired`,--but not of play'!
       And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now,
       With drooping limbs, and aching brow,
       And wish the shadows would faster creep,
       And long to go to thy quiet sleep.
       _Well_ were it then, if thine aching brow
       Were as free from sin and shame as now!
       _Well_ for thee, if thy lip could tell
       A tale like this, of _a day spent well_.

    4. If thine open hand hath relieved distress',--
       If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness',--
       If thou hast forgiven the sore offense',
       And humbled thy heart with penitence',--
       If Nature's voices have spoken to thee
       With her holy meanings eloquently',--
       If every creature hath won thy love',
       From the creeping worm to the brooding dove',--
       If never a sad, low-spoken word
       Hath pled with thy human heart unheard',--
       _Then_`, when the night steals on, as now,
       It will bring relief to thine aching brow,
       And, with joy and peace at the thought of rest,
       Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast.

QUESTIONS.--1. What had the child been doing? 2. What questions did the
mother ask? 3. What did she tell the child would come? 4. What is meant
by _eve to a longer day_, third verse? 5. What, by _quiet sleep_, same
verse? 6. What ought we to do in life, in order to have a joyful and
peaceful death? 7. What rule for the rising inflection on _restless
one_, first verse? See page 32, Note I. 8. What rule for the falling
inflection on _playing_, second verse? See page 29, Rule II. 9. What
rule for the rising inflections in the fourth verse? Rule V., page 31.

       *       *       *       *       *


   NORTH-EAST' ERS, north-east winds.
   EX HAUST' ED, (_x_ like _gz_,) tired out.
   VIG' I LANT, watchful.
   DE TECT' ED, discovered.
   LEE' WARD, pertaining to the part toward which the wind blows.
   RE CED' ING, retiring; passing away.
   BRILL' IAN CY, brightness; luster.
   TILL' ER, bar used to turn the rudder.
   TORT' URE, anguish of spirit.
   DE SERT' ED, relinquished; abandoned.
   RA PID' I TY, speed; swiftness.
   EN VEL' OP ED, inclosed; covered.
   GEN' ER A TED, produced.
   LETH' AR GY, drowsiness; dullness.
   RES' CUE, deliverance.
   IN EV' I TA BLY, surely; certainly.
   ES PY' ING, seeing; discovering.
   CON' TACT, (CON, _together_; TAC, _touch_,) a touching together;
   close union.



1. On a bright moonlight night, in the month of February, 1831, when it
was intensely cold, the little brig which I commanded, lay quietly at
her anchors, inside of Sandy Hook. We had had a hard time, beating about
for eleven days off this coast, with cutting north-easters blowing, and
snow and sleet falling for the most part of that time.

2. Forward, the vessel was thickly coated with ice, and it was hard work
to handle her; as the rigging and sails were stiff, and yielded only
when the strength of the men was exerted to the utmost. When we, at
length, made the port, all hands were worn down and exhausted.

3. "A bitter cold night, Mr. Larkin," I said to my mate, as I tarried
for a short time upon deck. The worthy down-easter buttoned his coat
more tightly around him, and, looking up to the moon, replied, "It's a
whistler, captain; and nothing can live comfortably out of blankets

4. "The tide is running out swift and strong, and it will be well to
keep a sharp look-out for this floating ice, Mr. Larkin," said I, as I
turned to go below. "Ay, ay, sir," responded the faithful mate.

5. About two hours afterward, I was aroused from a sound sleep by the
vigilant officer. "Excuse me for disturbing you, captain," said he, as
he detected an expression of vexation in my face, "but I wish you would
turn out, and come on deck as soon as possible."

6. "What's the matter, Mr. Larkin," said I. "Why, sir, I have been
watching a large cake of ice, which swept by at a distance, a moment
ago; and I saw something black upon it, something that I thought moved.
The moon is under a cloud, and I could not see distinctly; but I believe
there is a child floating out to the sea, this freezing night, on that
cake of ice."

7. We were on deck before either spoke another word. The mate pointed
out, with no little difficulty, the cake of ice floating off to the
leeward, with its white, glittering surface broken by a black spot. "Get
the glass, Mr. Larkin," said I; "the moon will be out of that cloud in a
moment, and then we can see distinctly."

8. I kept my eye upon the receding mass of ice, while the moon was
slowly working her way through a heavy bank of clouds. The mate stood by
me with the glass; and when the full light fell upon the water with a
brilliancy only known in our northern latitudes, I put the glass to my
eye. One glance was enough.

9. (_''_)"_Forward, there!_" I hailed at the top of my voice; and, with
one bound, I reached the main hatch, and began to clear away the little
cutter, which was stowed in the ship's yawl. Mr. Larkin had taken the
glass to look for himself, "_There are two children on that cake of
ice!_" he exclaimed, as he hastened to assist me in getting out the

10. The men answered my hail, and walked quickly aft. In a short space
of time, we launched the cutter, into which Mr. Larkin and myself
jumped, followed by the two men, who took the oars. I rigged the tiller,
and the mate sat beside me in the stern sheets.

11. "Do you see that cake of ice with something black upon it, my lads?
Put me alongside of that, and I'll give you a month's extra wages when
you are paid off," said I to the men.

12. They bent to their oars, but their strokes were uneven and feeble;
for they were worn out by the hard duty of the preceding fortnight; and,
though they did their best, the boat made little more headway than the
tide. It was a losing chase, and Mr. Larkin, who was suffering torture
as he saw how little we gained, cried out, "_Pull, lads! I'll double the
captain's prize: two months' extra pay: pull, lads! pull for life!_"

13. A convulsive effort at the oars told how willing the men were to
obey; but the strength of the strong man was gone. One of the poor
fellows washed us twice in recovering his oar, and then gave out; and
the other was nearly as far gone. Mr. Larkin sprang forward and seized
the deserted oar. "Lie down in the bottom of the boat," said he to the
man; "and, captain, take the other oar; we must row for ourselves."

14. I took the second man's place. Larkin had stripped off his coat,
and, as he pulled the bow, I waited for the signal stroke. It came
gently, but firm; and the next moment we were pulling a long, steady
stroke; gradually increasing in rapidity, until the wood seemed to smoke
in the row-locks. We kept time, each by the long, deep breathing of the

15. Such a pull! We bent forward until our faces almost touched our
knees; and then throwing all our strength into the backward movement,
drew on the oar until every inch covered by the sweep was gained. Thus
we worked at the oars for fifteen minutes; and it seemed to me as many
hours. The sweat rolled off in great drops, and I was enveloped in a
steam generated from my own body.

16. "Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin?" I gasped out. "Almost,
captain," said he: "and _don't give up!_ for the love of our dear little
ones at home: _don't give up_, captain!" The oars flashed as their
blades turned up to the moonlight, for the men who plied them were
fathers, and had fathers' hearts.

17. Suddenly Mr. Larkin ceased pulling; and my heart, for a moment,
almost stopped its beating; for the terrible thought that he had given
out, crossed my mind. But I was re-assured by his voice, (_p_) "Gently,
captain, gently: a stroke or two more: there, that will do;" and the
next moment Mr. Larkin sprang upon the ice. I started up, and, calling
to the men to make fast the boat to the ice, followed him.

18. We ran to the dark spot in the center of the mass, and found two
little boys. The head of the smaller was resting in the bosom of the
larger; and both were fast asleep. The lethargy, which would have been
fatal but for the timely rescue, had overcome them.

19. Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut off his shoes, tore off his
jacket, and then, loosening his own garments to the skin, placed the
cold child in contact with his own warm body, carefully wrapping his
overcoat around him. I did the same with the other child, and we then
returned to the boat.

20. The children, as we learned when we had the delight of restoring
them to their parents, were playing on the cake of ice, which had jammed
into a bend of the river, about ten miles above New York. A movement of
the tide set the ice in motion, and the little fellows were borne away,
that cold night, and would have inevitably perished, but for Mr.
Larkin's espying them as they were sweeping out to sea.

21. "How do you feel, Mr. Larkin?" I said to the mate, the morning after
this adventure. "A little stiff in the arms, captain," the noble fellow
replied, while the big tears of grateful happiness gathered in his
eyes,--"a little stiff in the arms, captain, but very easy here,"
laying his hand on the rough chest in which beat a true and manly heart.
My quaint down-easter, He who lashes the seas into fury, and lets loose
the tempest, will care for thee! The storms may rage without, but in
_thy_ bosom peace and sunshine abide always.

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the condition of the vessel as she lay at anchor
inside Sandy Hook. 2. What did the captain say to Mr. Larkin, as he
retired to rest? 3. Why did Mr. Larkin wake up the captain? 4. What did
they discover on a cake of ice, floating out to sea? 5. Who went to
their rescue? 6. What did the captain say to the rowers of the boat? 7.
What did Mr. Larkin say to them? 8. Did they finally succeed in rescuing
the children? 9. How came the two boys to be on that cake of ice? 10.
What did Mr. Larkin say, when the captain asked him how he felt?

       *       *       *       *       *


   A DORN' ED, decorated; embellished.
   SPOILS, booty; prey.
   ANT' LERS, branching horns.
   SUS PEND' ED, hung; atatched.
   DIS TRACT' ED, disturbed; disordered.
   FU' GI TIVE, runaway; wanderer.
   BE SET', hemmen in; surrounded.
   TRAI' TORS, betrayers.
   HEATH, place overgrown with shrubs.
   LIEGE, lord; sovereign.
   LOY' AL, true; faithful.
   FE' AL TY, loyalty; fidelity.
   MA' TRON, married woman.
   REC OG NIZ' ED, knew; recollected.
   IN VAD' ERS, persons invading.



1. Many years ago, an old Scotch woman sat alone, spinning by the
kitchen fire, in her little cottage. The room was adorned with the
spoils of the chase, and many implements of war and hunting. There were
spears, bows and arrows, swords, and shields; and, against the side of
the room, hung a pair of huge antlers, once reared on the lordly brow of
a "stag of ten," [Footnote: That is, a stag ten years old. The age of
the animal is known by the number of prongs or tines, each year one new
prong being added.] on which were suspended skins, plaids, bonnets, and
one or two ponderous battle-axes.

2. The table, in the middle of the floor, was spread for supper, and
some oatmeal cakes were baking before the fire. But the dame was not
thinking of any of _these things_, nor of her two manly sons, who, in an
adjoining room, were busily preparing for the next day's sport.

3. She was thinking of the distracted state of her native land, and of
the good king, Robert Bruce, a fugitive in his own kingdom, beset, on
every hand, by open enemies and secret traitors. "Alas!" thought she,
"to-night I dwell here in peace, while to-morrow may see me driven out
into the heath; and even now our king is a wanderer, with no shelter for
his weary limbs."

4. A loud knock at the door broke in upon her musings. She rose,
trembling with fear, to unbar the entrance, and beheld a man closely
muffled in a cloak. "My good woman," said he, "will you grant a poor
traveler the shelter of your roof to-night'?"

5. "Right willingly will I," said she; "for the love of _one_, for whose
sake all travelers are welcome here." 6. "For whose sake is it that you
make all wanderers welcome?" asked the stranger.

7. "For the sake of our good king, Robert Bruce, who, though he is now
hunted like a wild beast, with horn and hound, I trust yet to see on the
throne of Scotland!"

8. "Nay, then, my good woman," replied the man, "since you love him so
well, know that you see him now _I_ am Robert Bruce."

9. "_You'!_--are _you_ our king'?" she inquired, sinking on her knees,
and reverently kissing his hand; "where, then, are your followers, and
why are you thus alone?"

10. "I have no followers now," replied Bruce, "and am, therefore,
compelled to travel alone."

11. "Nay, my liege," exclaimed the loyal dame, "that you shall do no
longer; for here are my two sons, whom I give to you, and may they long
live to serve and defend your majesty!"

12. The Scottish youths bent their knees, and took the oath of fealty;
and then, sitting beside the fire, the king entered into conversation
with his new retainers, while their mother was busied in preparing the
evening meal.

13. Suddenly, they were startled by the tramp of horses' hoofs, and the
voices of men. "'_Tis the English!_" shouted the matron, "_fight to the
last, my sons, and defend your king!_" But, at this moment, the king
recognized the voices of Lord James, of Douglas, and of Edward Bruce,
and bade them have no fear.

14. Bruce was overjoyed at meeting with his brother, and his faithful
friend Douglas, who had with them a band of one hundred and fifty men.
He bade farewell to the brave and loyal woman, and, taking with him her
two sons, left the place.

15. The two young Scots served Bruce well and faithfully, and were high
officers in his service when, at the head of a conquering army, he drove
the English invaders from the soil of Scotland, and rendered her again a
_free and independent kingdom_.

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the room in which the Scotch woman resided. 2,
What is meant by a "_stag of ten?_" 3. Who did the stranger prove to be?
4. Who joined Bruce? 5. What did Bruce and his men then do?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PROS PER' ITY, success; good fortune.
   DIG' NI FIES, elevates; ennobles.
   SUS TAIN' ED, endured; suffered.
   AD VERS' I TY, calamity; misfortune.
   UN ERR' ING, sure; certain.
   FOR LORN', forsaken; wretched.
   CAN' O PY, covering overhead.
   EI DER DOWN, fine, soft feathers from the eider-duck.
   DE VOID', destitute.
   IM MERS' ED, inwrapped; sunk.
   GOS' SA MER Y, like gossamer; filmy.
   RE COIL' ED, started back.
   FOIL' ED, frustrated; defeated.
   RO MANCE', fiction.
   TRIV' I AL, small; trifling.
   CON FIDE', trust; believe.
   AD' VERSE, contrary; opposite.
   PALM, token of victory.



 1. Not in _prosperity's broad light_,
      Can reason justly scan
    The _sterling worth which_, viewed aright,
      _Most dignifies the man_.
    Favored at once by wind and tide,
    The skillful pilot well may guide
      The bark in safety on;
    Yet, when his harbor he has gained,
    He who no conflict hath sustained,
      No meed has fairly won.

 2. But in _adversity's dark hour_
      _Of peril and of fear,_
    When clouds above the vessel lower,
      With scarce one star to cheer;
    When winds are loud, and waves are high,
    And ocean, to a timid eye,
      Appears the seaman's grave;
    Amid the conflict, calm, unmoved,
    By truth's unerring test is proved
      _The skillful and the brave._

 3. For Scotland and her freedom's right
      The Bruce his part had played;
    _In five successive fields of fight_
      _Been conquered and dismayed._
    _Once more, against the English host_
    _His band he led, and once more lost_
      _The meed for which he fought;_
    And now, from battle faint and worn,
    The homeless fugitive forlorn
      A hut's lone shelter sought.

 4. And cheerless was that resting-place
      For him who claimed a throne;
    His canopy, devoid of grace,--
      The rude, rough beams alone;
    The heather couch his only bed,
    Yet well I know had slumber fled
      From couch of eider down;
    Through darksome night to dawn of day,
    Immersed in wakeful thought he lay,
      Of Scotland and her crown.

 5. The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
      Fell on that hapless bed,
    And tinged with light each shapeless beam
      Which roofed the lowly shed;
    When, looking up with wistful eye,
    The Bruce beheld a spider try
      His filmy thread to fling
    From beam to beam of that rude cot;
    And well the insect's toilsome lot
      Taught Scotland's future king.

 6. Six times his gossamery thread
      The wary spider threw:
    In vain the filmy line was sped;
      For, powerless or untrue,
    Each aim appeared and back recoiled
    The patient insect, _six times foiled_,
      And yet unconquered still;
    And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
    Saw him prepare once more to try
      His courage, strength, and skill.

 7. _One effort more, the seventh and last_,--
      The hero hailed the sign!
    And on the wished-for beam hung fast
      The slender, silken line.
    Slight as it was, his spirit caught
    The more than omen; for his thought
      The lesson well could trace,
    Which even "he who runs may read,"
    That _perseverance gains its meed_,
      And _patience wins the race_.

 8. Is it a tale of mere romance'?
      Its moral is the same,--
    A light and trivial circumstance'?
      Some thought, it still may claim.
    Art thou a father'? teach thy son
    Never to deem that _all is done_,
      While _aught remains untried_;
    To hope, though every hope seems crossed,
    And when his bark is tempest-tossed
      Still calmly to confide.

 9. Hast thou been long and often foiled
 (<)  By adverse wind and seas'?
    And vainly struggled, vainly toiled,
      For what some win with ease'?
    Yet bear up heart, and hope, and will,
    Nobly resolved to struggle still,
      With patience persevere;
    Knowing, when darkest seems the night,
    The dawn of morning's glorious light
      Is swiftly drawing near.

10. Art thou a Christian? shall the frown
      Of fortune cause dismay'?
    The Bruce but won an _earthly crown_,
      Which long hath passed away;
    For thee a _heavenly crown_ awaits;
    For thee are oped the pearly gates,--
      Prepared the deathless palm:
    But bear in mind that _only those_
    _Who persevere unto the close,_
      _Can join in Victory's psalm_.

QUESTIONS.--1. Will smooth seas and favoring gales make a skillful
mariner? 2. What will make skillful and brave men? 3. In what respect is
adversity better than prosperity? 4. What story illustrates this fact?
5. How many times did the spider try, before it succeeded? 6. In how
many battles had Bruce been defeated? 7. What important lesson is taught
youth? 8. What encouragement is given to the Christian?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PA' TRI OT' IC, having love of country.
   OB SER VA' TION, remark, expression.
   POP' U LAR, well received; prevailing.
   E QUAL' I TY, sameness of social position.
   AUD' I BLE, that may be heard.
   DE TER' MIN ED, fully resolved.
   HES' I TATE, scruple.
   BRA' VO, well done.
   BROILS, wrangles; quarrels.
   RENOWN' ED, famed; celebrated.
   O' DI OUS, hateful; offensive.
   COUNT' ESS, wife of a count or earl.
   FAG-END', the meaner part.
   NO BIL' I TY, noble rank.
   BUR LESQUE', (_burlesk',_) ridicule.
   HE RED' I TA RY, coming by descent.
   CON' STI TUTES, forms; composes.
   APH' O RISMS, precepts; maxims.
   TEM' PO RA RY, continuing for a time.
   BECK, sign with the hand; nod.

[Headnote 1: LA VA' TER, (John Gaspar,) a celebrated physiognomist, that
is, one skilled in the art of determining character by the external
features, born in Zurich, in 1741.]

That part of this dialogue uttered by Caroline, should be read in a very
earnest and spirited style,--that uttered by Horace in a more grave,
deliberate, and candid manner.


_Caroline_. What a pity it is that we are born under a Republican

_Horace_. Upon my word, Caroline, that is a patriotic observation for an

_Caroline_. Oh, I know that it is not a _popular_ one! We must all join
in the cry of liberty and equality, and bless our stars that we have
neither kings nor emperors to rule over us, and that our very first
audible squeak was republicanism. If we don't join in the shout, and
hang our caps on liberty-poles, we are considered monsters. For my part,
I am _tired_ of it, and am determined to _say what I think_. I _hate_
republicanism; I hate liberty and equality; and I don't hesitate to
_declare_ that I am for monarchy. You may laugh, but I would say it at
the stake.

_Horace_. Bravo, Caroline! You have almost run yourself out of breath.
You deserve to be prime minister to the king.

_Caroline_. You mistake; I have no wish to mingle in political broils,
not even if I could be as renowned as Pitt or Fox; but I must say, I
think our equality is _odious_. What do you think! To-day, the new
chamber-maid put her head into the door, and said, "Caroline, your marm
wants you!"

_Horace_. _Excellent!_ I suppose if ours were a _monarchical_
government, she would have bent to the ground, or saluted your little
foot, before she spoke.

_Caroline_. No, Horace; you _know_ there are no such forms in this

_Horace_. May I ask your highness what you _would_ like to be?

_Caroline_. I should like to be a countess.

_Horace_. Oh, you are moderate in your ambition! A countess, now-a-days,
is the fag-end of nobility.

_Caroline_. Oh! but it sounds so delightfully,--_"The young Countess

_Horace_. If _sound_ is all, you shall have that pleasure; we will call
you _the young countess_.

_Caroline_. That would be mere burlesque, Horace, and would make one

_Horace_. Nothing can be more inconsistent in us, than aiming at titles.

_Caroline_. For _us_, I grant you; but, if they were _hereditary,_ if we
had been born to them, if they came to us through belted knights and
high-born dames, _then_ we might be proud to wear them. I never shall
cease to regret that I was not born under a monarchy.

_Horace_. You seem to forget that all are not lords and ladies in
_royal_ dominions. Suppose you should have drawn your first breath among
the _lower classes_,--suppose it should have been your lot to crouch and
bend, or be trodden under foot by some titled personage, whom in your
heart you despised; what then?

_Caroline_. You may easily suppose that I did not mean to take _those_
chances. No; I meant to be born among the _higher_ ranks.

_Horace_. Your own reason must tell you, that _all_ can not be born
among the _higher ranks_; for then the _lower ones_ would be wanting,
which constitute the comparison. Now, Caroline, is it not better to be
born under a government where there are no such ranks, and where _the
only nobility is talent and virtue'?_

_Caroline_. Talent and virtue! I think _wealth_ constitutes our
nobility, and the right of abusing each other, our liberty.

_Horace_. You are as fond of aphorisms as Lavater[Headnote 1] was.

_Caroline_. Let me ask you if our rich men, who ride in their own
carriages, who have fine houses, and who count by millions, are not our
_great_ men?

_Horace_. They have all the greatness that _money_ can buy; but this is
very limited.

_Caroline_. Well, in _my_ opinion, _money is power_.

_Horace_. You mistake. Money may be _temporary power_, but _talent_ is
_power itself_; and, _when united with virtue, is godlike power_, before
which the mere man of millions quails.

_Caroline_. Well, Horace, I really wish you the possession of _talent_,
and _principle_, and _wealth_ into the bargain. The latter, you think,
will follow the two former, simply at your beck;--you smile; but _I_
feel as determined in _my_ way of thinking, as _you_ do in _yours_.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the subject of this dialogue? 2. What did
Caroline regret? 3. What reply did Horace make? 4. What did Caroline
wish to be? 5. What did Horace say constituted true nobility?

       *       *       *       *       *


   RE SERV'ING, keeping; retaining.
   AC CU' MU LA TED, collected.
   IN DIG NA' TION, angry feeling.
   RE SOURC' ES, means; funds.
   DIS SER TA' TION, discourse; essay.
   EX PAN' SION, enlargement.
   DE POS' IT ED, put; laid.
   EX ER' TION (_egs er shun_,) effort.
   JU DI' CIOUS, wise, prudent.
   VO CA' TION, business; employment.
   EU PHON' IC, agreeable; well-sounding.
   CO TEM' PO RA RIES, those living at the same time.
   DI GRES' SION, departure from the subject.
   PRE DIC' TIONS, prophecies.
   IM PELL' ED, driven forward.

   AR IS TOC' RA CY, (ARISTO, _the best_; CRACY, _government_,)
   government by the best, or nobles. See SANDERS' ANALYSIS,
   page 200, Ex. 283.

[Headnote 1: SOC' RA TES, the most celebrated philosopher of antiquity,
was born at Athens, 470 years before Christ. The purity of his doctrines,
and his independence of character, rendered him popular with the most
enlightened Athenians, though they created him many enemies. He was
_falsely accused_, arraigned, and condemned to drink _hemlock_, the
juice of a poisonous plant. When the hour to take the poison had come,
the executioner handed him the cup, with tears in his eyes. Socrates
received it with composure, drank it with unaltered countenance, and,
in a few moments, expired.]

[Headnote 2: DE MOS' THE NES, a great Grecian orator, who, rather than
fall into the hands of his enemies, destroyed himself by taking poison.
It is said that, when a youth, he frequently declaimed on the sea-shore,
while the waves were roaring around him, in order to secure a large
compass of voice, and to accustom himself to the tumult of a popular

[Headnote 3: KING DA' VID, the sweet singer and poet of Israel. For the
interesting account of his triumph over Goliath, the great champion of
the Philistines, see I Sam., chap. 17.]


1. I remember it well! Its horn handle, so smooth and clear, glowing
with the unmeaning, but magic word, "_Bunkum;_" and the blade
significantly inviting you to the test, by the two monosyllables, "_Try

2. I know not how it is, but I never could take half the comfort in any
thing which I have since possessed, that I took in this _jack-knife_. I
earned it myself; and, therefore, I had a feeling of independence; it
was bought with my _own money_,--not teazed out of my uncle, or still
kinder father,--_money_ that I had silently earned on the afternoons of
those days set apart for boys to amuse themselves.

3. Yes! with a spirit of persevering industry and self-denial, at which
I now wonder, I went, every afternoon, during "berry-time," and picked
the ripened fruit with eagerness; for my heart was in the task. I sold
my berries, and, carefully reserving the proceeds, shortly accumulated
enough to purchase the treasure, for which I so eagerly longed.

4. I went to one of the village-stores, and requested the clerk to show
me his jack-knives; but he, seeing that I was only a boy, and thinking
that I merely meant to amuse myself in looking at the nicest, and
wishing it was mine, told me not to plague him, as he was otherwise

5. I turned with indignation; but I felt the inward comfort of a man who
has _confidence_ in his own resources, and knows he has the power in his
own hands. I quietly jingled the money in my pockets, and went to the
opposite store. I asked for jack-knives, and was shown a lot fresh from
the city, which were temptingly laid down before me, and left for me to
select one, while the trader went to another part of his store to wait
upon an older customer. I looked over them, opened them, breathed upon
the blades, and shut them again.

6. One was too hard to open, another had no spring; finally, after
examining them with all the judgment which, in my opinion, the extent of
the investment required, I selected one with a hole through the handle;
and, after a dissertation with the owner upon jack-knives in general,
and _this one_ in particular,--upon hawk-bill, and dagger-blades,--and
handles, iron, bone, and buck-horn,--I succeeded in closing a bargain.

7. I took the instrument I had purchased, and felt a sudden expansion of
my boyish frame! It was my world! I deposited it in my pocket among
other valuables,--twine, marbles, slate-pencils, &c. I went home to my
father; I told him how long I had toiled for it, and how eagerly I had
spent time, which others had allotted to play, to possess myself of my

8. My father gently chided me for not telling him of my wants; but I
observed his glistening eye turn affectionately to my mother and then to
me, and I thought that his manly form seemed to straighten up and to
look prouder than I had ever before seen him. At any rate, he came to
me, and, patting my curly head, told me there was no object in life,
which was reasonably to be desired, that _honesty, self-denial,
well-directed industry_, and _perseverance_ would not place within my
reach; and if, through life, I carried the spirit of independent
exertion into practice, which I had displayed in the purchase of the
jack-knife, I should become a "_great man_."

9. From that moment, I was a new being. I had discovered that I could
_rely upon myself_. I took my jack-knife, and many a time, while cutting
the walnut-saplings for my bow, or the straight pine for my arrow, or
carving my mimic ship, did I muse upon these words of my father,--so
deeply are the kind expressions of a judicious parent engraven on the
heart and memory of boyhood.

10. My knife was my constant companion. It was my carpenter, my
ship-builder, and my toy-manufacturer. It was out upon all occasions,
never amiss, and always "handy;" and, as I valued it, I never let it
part from me. I own my selfishness; I would divide my apples among my
playmates, my whole store of marbles was at their service,--they might
knock my bats, kick my foot-ball as they chose; but I had no partnership
of enjoyments in my jack-knife. Its possession was connected in my mind
with something so _exclusive_, that I could not permit another to take
it for a moment. Oh! there is a wild and delicious luxury in one's
boyish anticipations and youthful day-dreams!

11. If, however, the _use_ of my jack-knife afforded me pleasure, the
idea of its possession was no less a source of enjoyment. I was, for the
time being, a little prince among my fellows,--a perfect monarch. Let no
one exclaim against aristocracy; were we all perfectly _equal to-day_,
there would be an _aristocracy to-morrow_. Talent, judgment, skill,
tact, industry, perseverance, will place some on the top, while the
contrary attributes will place others at the bottom of fortune's
ever-revolving wheel!

12. The plowman is an aristocrat, if he excels in his vocation: he is an
aristocrat, if he turns a better or a straighter furrow than his
neighbor. The poorest poet is an aristocrat, if he writes more
feelingly, in a purer language, or with more euphonic jingle than his
cotemporaries. The fisherman is an aristocrat, if he wields his harpoon
with more skill, and hurls it with a deadlier energy than his messmates,
or has even learned to fix his bait more alluringly on his barbed hook.

13. All _have_ had, and _still_ have their foibles; all have some
possession, upon which they pride themselves, and I was proud of my
jack-knife! Spirit of Socrates, [Headnote 1] forgive me! was there no
pride in dying like a philosopher'? Spirit of Demosthenes, [Headnote 2]
forgive me! was there no pride in your addresses to the boundless and
roaring ocean'? Spirit of David! [Headnote 3] was there no pride in the
deadly hurling of the smooth pebble, which sank deep into the forehead
of your enemy'?

14. But I must take my jack-knife and _cut short_ this digression. Let
no man say _this_ or _that_ occurrence "will make _no difference fifty
years hence_,"--a common, but dangerous phrase. I am _now_ a man of
three-score years. I can point my finger _here_ to my ships, _there_ to
my warehouse. My name is well known in two hemispheres. I have drank
deeply of intellectual pleasures, have served my country in many
important stations, have had my gains and my losses.

15. I have seen many, who started with fairer prospects, but with no
compass, wrecked before me; but I have been impelled in my operations,
no matter how extensive, by the _same spirit_ which conceived and
executed the purchase of the jack-knife. And I have found my reward in
it; and, perhaps, in after years, there will be those who will say that
the predictions of my father were fulfilled in their case; and that,
from _small beginnings_, by "_honesty, self-denial, well-directed
industry_, and _perseverance_," they also, BECAME TRULY "GREAT MEN."

QUESTIONS.--1. How did this boy obtain his first jack-knife? 2. What did
his father say to him, when he told how he had earned it? 3. What use
did he make of his knife? 4. What is said about _aristocracy_? 5. What
is said of this boy when he came to be three-score years old?

       *       *       *       *       *


   COIN' ED, stamped.
   BAR' TER, trade; exchange.
   COM MOD' I TIES, goods; wares.
   BULL'ION, uncoined silver or gold.
   BUC' CA NEERS, pirates; freebooters.
   IM MENSE', very great; enormous.
   DAIN' TIES, delicacies.
   SMALL-CLOTHES, breeches.
   AT TIR' ED, dressed; arrayed.
   PE' ONY, plant and beautiful flower.
   PER' SON A BLE, handsome; graceful.
   ES PE' CIAL LY, mainly; chiefly.
   RE CEP' TA CLE, that which receives or holds.
   PON' DER OUS, heavy; bulky.
   RE SUM' ING, taking again.


1. Captain John Hull was the mint-master of Massachusetts, and coined
all the money that was made there. This was a new line of business; for,
in the earlier days of the colony, the current coinage consisted of gold
and silver money of England, Portugal, and Spain.

2. These coins being scarce, the people were often forced to barter
their commodities, instead of selling them. For instance, if a man
wanted to buy a coat, he, perhaps, exchanged a bear-skin for it. If he
wished for a barrel of molasses, he might purchase it with a pile of
pine-boards. Musket-bullets were used instead of farthings.

3. The Indians had a sort of money, called _wampum_, which was made of
clam-shells; and this strange sort of specie was, likewise, taken in
payment of debts, by the English settlers. Bank-bills had never been
heard of. There was not money enough of any kind, in many parts of the
country, to pay the salaries of the ministers; so that they sometimes
had to take quintals of fish, bushels of corn, or cords of wood, instead
of silver or gold.

4. As the people grew more numerous, and their trade one with another
increased, the want of current money was still more sensibly felt. To
supply the demand, the general court passed a law for establishing a
coinage of shillings, sixpences, and threepences. Captain John Hull was
appointed to manufacture this money, and was to have _one shilling_, out
of every twenty, to pay him for the trouble of making them.

5. Hereupon, all the old silver in the colony was handed over to Captain
John Hull. The battered silver cans, and tankards, and silver-buckles,
and broken spoons, and silver-buttons of worn-out coats, and silver
hilts of swords that had figured at courts,--all such curious old
articles were, doubtless, thrown into the melting-pot together. But by
far the greater part of the silver consisted of bullion from the mines
of South America, which the English buccaneers, (who were little better
than pirates,) had taken from the Spaniards, and brought to

6. All this old and new silver being melted down and coined, the result
was an immense amount of splendid shillings, sixpences, and threepences.
Each had the date, 1652, on the one side, and the figure of a
_pine-tree_ on the other. Hence, they were called _pine-tree shillings_.
And, for every _twenty shillings_ that he coined, you will remember,
Captain John Hull was entitled to put _one shilling_ into his own

7. The magistrates soon began to suspect that the mint-master would have
the best of the bargain. They offered him a large sum of money, if he
would but give up that _twentieth shilling_, which he was continually
dropping into his own pocket. But Captain Hull declared himself
perfectly satisfied with the shilling. And well he might be; for, so
diligently did he labor, that, in a few years, his pockets, his
money-bags, and his strong box, were overflowing with pine-tree
shillings. This was probably the case when he came into possession of
Grandfather's chair; and, as he had worked so hard at the mint, it was
certainly proper that he should have a comfortable chair to rest himself

8. When the mint-master had grown very rich, a young man, Samuel Sewell
by name, fell in love with his only daughter. His daughter, whom we will
call Betsey, was a fine, hearty damsel, by no means so slender as some
young ladies of our own days. As Samuel was a young man of good
character, industrious in his business, and a member of the church, the
mint-master very readily gave his consent.

9. "Yes; you may take her," said he, in his rough way; "and you'll find
her a heavy burden enough!" On the wedding-day, we may suppose that
honest John Hull dressed himself in a plum-colored coat, all the buttons
of which were made of pine-tree shillings. The buttons of his waistcoat
were sixpences; and the knees of his small-clothes were buttoned with
silver threepences.

10. Thus attired, he sat with great dignity in Grandfather's chair; and,
being a portly old gentleman, he completely filled it from elbow to
elbow. On the opposite side of the room, between her bridemaids, sat
Miss Betsey, blushing like a full-blown peony.

11. There, too, was the bridegroom, dressed in a fine purple coat, and
gold-lace waistcoat, with as much other finery as the Puritan laws and
customs would allow him to put on. His hair was cropped close to his
head, because Governor Endicott had forbidden any man to wear it below
the ears. But he was a very personable young man; and so thought the
bridemaids and Miss Betsey herself.

12. The mint-master, also, was pleased with his new son-in-law;
especially as he had courted Miss Betsey out of pure love, and had said
nothing at all about her portion. So, when the marriage ceremony was
over, Captain Hull whispered a word to two of his men-servants, who
immediately went out, and soon returned, lugging in a large pair of
scales. They were such a pair as wholesale merchants use for weighing
bulky commodities; and quite a bulky commodity was now to be weighed in

13. "Daughter Betsey," said the mint-master, "get into one side of these
scales." Miss Betsey, or Mrs. Sewell, as we must now call her, did as
she was bid, like a dutiful child, without any question of the why and
wherefore. But what her father could mean, unless to make her husband
pay for her by the pound, (in which case she would have been a dear
bargain,) she had not the least idea.

14. "And now," said honest John Hull to the servants, "bring that box
hither." The box, to which the mint-master pointed, was a huge, square,
iron-bound, oaken chest. The servants tugged with might and main; but
could not lift this enormous receptacle, and were finally obliged to
drag it across the floor.

15. Captain Hull then took a key from his girdle, unlocked the chest,
and lifted its ponderous lid. Behold! _it was full to the brim of bright
pine-tree shillings_, fresh from the mint; and Samuel Sewell began to
think that his father-in-law had got possession of all the money in the
Massachusetts' treasury. But it was only the mint-master's honest share
of the coinage.

16. Then the servants, at Captain Hull's command, heaped double handfuls
of shillings into one side of the scales, while Betsey remained in the
other. Jingle, jingle, went the shillings, as handful after handful was
thrown in, till, plump and ponderous as she was, they fairly weighed the
young lady from the floor.

17. "There, son Samuel," said the honest mint-master, resuming his seat
in Grandfather's chair, "take these shillings for my daughter's portion.
Use her kindly, and thank Heaven for her. _It is not every wife that's
worth her weight in silver!_"

QUESTIONS.--1. What was Captain John Hull's business? 2. What portion of
the money coined, was he to receive? 3. How did he get silver to coin?
4. Describe the shillings he coined. 5. How did he become wealthy? 6.
Describe his dress on his daughter's wedding-day. 7. What did he say to
his son-in-law, after weighing her with shillings?

       *       *       *       *       *


   LODG' ES, dens; caves.
   MAR' VEL OUS, wonderful.
   TIP' PED, pointed.
   HERD, gather in herds.
   FA' MOUS, noted; remarkable.
   ROE' BUCK, small species of deer.
   STRAIGHT' WAY, immediately.
   E RECT', upright.
   FROL' IC, fun; play.
   FORD, place where water can be waded.
   FLECK' ED, spotted; striped.
   FLUT' TER ED, quivered.
   PAL' PI TA TED, beat; throbbed.
   WA' RY, watchful; cautious.
   FA' TAL, deadly; mortal.
   EX ULT' ED, (_x_ like _gz_,) greatly rejoiced.



This lesson is taken from "The Song of Hiawatha," a poem, founded upon
traditions current among some tribes of North American Indians,
respecting an imaginary being of more than mortal powers and gifts,
named Hiawatha. The scene of the poem is laid among the Ojibways, or
Chippewas, a tribe of Indians, occupants, from the period of our
earliest history, of the basin of Lake Superior.

   Then the little Hiawatha
   Learned of every bird its language,
   Learned their names and all their secrets,
   How they built their nests in summer,
   Where they hid themselves in winter,
   Talked with them where'er he met them,
   Called them "Hiawatha's chickens."

   Of all beasts he learned the language,
   Learned their names and all their secrets,
   How the beavers built their lodges,
   Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
   How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
   Why the rabbit was so timid,
   Talked with them whene'er he met them,
   Called them "Hiawatha's brothers."

   Then Ia'goo, the great boaster,
   He, the marvelous story-teller,
   He, the traveler and the talker,
   Made a bow for Hiawatha;
   From a branch of ash he made it,
   From an oak-bough made the arrows,
   Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers,
   And the cord he made of deer-skin.

   Then he said to Hiawatha,
   "Go, my son, into the forest,
   Where the red deer herd together,
   Kill for us a famous roebuck,
   Kill for us a deer with antlers."
   Forth into the forest straightway
   All alone walked Hiawatha
   Proudly with his bow and arrows.

   And the birds sang round him, o'er him
   "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha."
   Sang the robin, sang the bluebird,
   "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha."
   Up the oak-tree, close beside him,
   Sprang the squirrel, lightly leaping
   In and out among the branches;
   Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree,
   Laughed, and said between his laughing,
   "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha."

   And the rabbit from his pathway
   Leaped aside, and, at a distance,
   Sat erect upon his haunches,
   Half in fear, and half in frolic,
   Saying to the little hunter,
   "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha."

   But he heeded not nor heard them,
   For his thoughts were with the red deer;
   On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
   Leading downward to the river,
   To the ford across the river,
   And as one in slumber walked he.

   Hidden in the alder bushes,
   There he waited till the deer came,
   Till he saw too antlers lifted,
   Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
   Saw two nostrils point to windward,
   And the deer came down the pathway,
   Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
   And his heart within him fluttered,
   Trembled like the leaves above him,
   Like the birch leaf palpitated,
   As the deer came down the pathway.

   Then, upon one knee uprising,
   Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
   Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
   Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
   But the wary roebuck started,
   Stamped with all his hoofs together,
   Listened with one foot uplifted,
   Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
   Ah, the singing, fatal arrow,
   Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him.

   Dead he lay there in the forest,
   By the ford across the river;
   Beat his timid heart no longer;
   But the heart of Hiawatha
   Throbbed, and shouted, and exulted,
   As he bore the red deer homeward.

       *       *       *       *       *


   TRAIL, track; footprints.
   IN' DICATED, pointed out; shown.
   MURK' Y, dark; gloomy.
   FLAM' BEAU, (_flam' bo_,) lighted torch.
   RE FLECT' ING, throwing back.
   LU' RID LY, gloomily; dismally.
   SUS PECT' ING, mistrusting.
   AS SAIL' ANTS, assaulters.
   ECH' O, (_ek' o_,) sound reverberated.
   RE LAPS' ED, fell back; returned.
   EN VEL' OPED, inwrapped.
   SUF FO CATED, smothered.
   BRAND' ISHING, flourishing; waving.
   RIG' ID, stiff.
   BIV' OUAC, (_biv' wak_,) pass the night without tents.
   PEER' ED, came in sight; appeared.
   DE CLIV' I TY, gradual descent.
   PRO LONG' ED, lengthened; continued.
   COM' RADE, companion; associate.



1. I had left the hunting party more than an hour, when I came upon the
track of my old friend Konwell, who was, with his dogs, on the bloody
trail of a panther. The animal must have had one of his legs broken;
this was indicated by the marks on the soft ground; and it was plain
that the tracks were made by three feet instead of four, and accompanied
by blood at every leap.

2. I determined to follow; and, after a tramp of nearly an hour, I
overtook my friend at the entrance of a cavern, where he stood waiting
for me. The wounded animal had taken refuge in this cave, leaving us to
do whatever we thought best. The poor beast doubtless supposed that
within this murky recess he was safe from pursuit; but he was mistaken.
Konwell informed me that he had hidden a bundle of pine splinters in a
gulley, about half a mile distant, and that if I would keep guard over
the mouth of the cave, he would go and bring it.

3. I agreed to this measure; and, with ready gun and drawn knife,
prepared for any attack that might be made. I lay down at the entrance
of the panther's cave. My friend soon returned, bringing the pine, as he
had promised. His next movement was to kindle a large fire at the mouth
of the cave, at which we lighted our torches; and, having taken the
flambeaus in our left hand, while we carried our guns in the right, we
cautiously entered the cave. I crept on before; but the space within
soon became so high and roomy, that we could stand upright, and keep
close to each other.

4. Bending toward the left, the cavity extended a considerable distance
within the hill. After we had advanced about two hundred steps, we saw
the glaring eyes of the wounded beast, which gleamed forth like two
fiery balls, reflecting most luridly the light of our torches. Konwell
now took my flambeau and stepped behind me. I leveled my gun in the
direction of those flaming eyes, and fired. After the report, we heard a
bustle; but could not exactly make out what it meant.

5. I reloaded my gun, resumed my torch, and Konwell now took his place
in front. But, as those flaming eyes were no longer to be seen, we felt
obliged to go farther. Our guns ready loaded, we believed ourselves to
be prepared for anything. We proceeded carefully, as men are likely to
do when suspecting danger, when, instantly, the panther started up from
a hollow, in which he was lying, quite close to our feet.

6. It was a fearful sight to look upon him as he stood with ears laid
back, his white teeth set together, as if in intense anger, and those
wide open eyes glowing and sparkling as they rested upon us, his
assailants. I can never forget his appearance. In a moment our guns were
discharged, and the cave returned the thundering echo. We had both fired
so precisely at the same moment, that neither of us could believe the
other had discharged his gun.

7. We were certain that our enemy had been struck, but we knew not
whether killed or only disabled. Quick as thought, we dropped our guns
and drew our knives from the sheath. And haste was necessary; for the
echo had not relapsed into silence, before we felt the weight of the
panther against us; and we began cutting at him with our knives, and, at
the same moment, in consequence of our hurried movements, our torches
died out, and we were left in utter darkness.

8. Deafened by the noise and utterly bewildered, I turned to fly from
the now raging enemy, and only became perfectly aware of what I was
doing, when I found myself standing beside Konwell outside the cave in
the open air. I only know now, that, enveloped in thick darkness, and
almost suffocated with the smoke of gunpowder, I groped about, not
knowing what I wished or intended; and that Konwell, at last, drew me
forcibly to the mouth of the cave.

9. There we stood, each one brandishing his hunting-knife in his right
hand, and holding the extinguished torch in the left; as we looked on
each other, we scarcely knew whether to laugh or to be frightened at the
strange figures we made. We were black with powder-smoke, covered with
sweat and blood, and our clothing torn to rags.

10. Konwell complained of a pain in his breast. I opened the bosom of
his shirt, and found two deep gashes made by the panther's claws,
extending from the left shoulder to the pit of the stomach. I also
received a few scratches, but our stout hunting-shirts were torn to

11. Until this moment, neither of us had felt that he was wounded; and
even now, before we began to think of dressing those wounds, we made a
large fire at the mouth of the cavern, in order to prevent the panther
from coming forth. This done, we sat down beside the genial blaze to
wash and bind up our scratches, and consult on what plan it was now best
to proceed.

12. That the panther was still in the cave we were certain; but, whether
living or dead, we did not know; at all events, he was wounded; for our
hunting-knives were covered with blood quite up to the hilt. But we had
no choice left; we must return; for our guns and Konwell's powder-flask,
which the animal dragged off with him, still lay within the cavern. We
therefore plucked up new courage; and, having relighted our torches, we
brandished our knives, and prepared, though not without some heart
throbbings, once more to enter the panther's den.

13. With light and cautious steps, lest we might be as unpleasantly
surprised as we had been when we made our hasty retreat, we advanced,
holding our torches before us, to the spot where we had dropped our
guns, and without meeting with any hinderance from our enemy. Once more
in possession of our trusty weapons, we reloaded them, and stepped
forward with lighter hearts, yet still with great caution, when Konwell
exclaimed, as he raised the flaming pine high above his head, and
pointed with it in a certain direction, "_See! there he is!_"

14. This was the first word that had been spoken since we reentered the
cavern. I looked in the indicated direction, and there, indeed, lay the
panther, stretched out at full length, but no longer dangerous. His eyes
were set, his limbs were rigid,--the last agony was over. We skinned and
cut him up as he lay. All three bullets had struck him, and both knives
penetrated his body; and it must have been in the death-struggle that he
leaped upon us.

15. When our work was ended, and we again came to the open air, the sun
was low in the horizon, and all haste was necessary that we should set
out on our forest-path without further delay. Our wounds smarted not a
little, and, although we took time once more to wash them, they became
so stiff that our progress was both toilsome and tedious. We soon became
convinced that we should not succeed in reaching our companions while
daylight remained, and we determined to bivouac for the night, at the
foot of a rocky declivity, which promised a good shelter from the
cutting wind.

16. To add to our discomfort, hunger began to make itself painfully
felt; but this was soon overpowered by weariness, and, having gathered
up the dry pine branches, we kindled up a good fire, and, without
troubling ourselves to prepare any thing for supper, we stretched
ourselves on the grass before it, and found the warmth most grateful.

17. Worn out by the toils of the day, in a few minutes Konwell was fast
asleep; but, although much inclined to follow his example, I was
prevented by the restlessness of my dog, which seemed to wish to warn me
of the presence of danger. The faithful animal, cringing closely to me,
laid his nose on my shoulder, raising his head from time to time, and
whined, as though he wished to communicate something, and then, for a
few moments, would remain quiet. Then, suddenly, he would rise up as in
the attitude of listening, occasionally uttering a low growl.

18. Completely awakened by this strange behavior on the part of my
faithful dog, it seemed to me as if I heard a slight rustling among the
dry bushes; and, rising up to a half-sitting posture, I looked toward
the rock behind me, and, to my great astonishment, became aware of a
pair of glaring eyes fastened upon me. As my head was between the fire
and those fearful eyes, I could plainly distinguish the fiery balls as,
reflected on by the red light, they peered above the naked rocks.

19. It was a panther, and evidently, from the position in which I saw
it, was ready for a spring. Happily on this, as on every other night, my
trusty gun lay close beside me. I seized it, and, half-rising, so that
the fire behind me afforded light for a steady aim, I leveled it exactly
between the eyes. I fired, the bullet sped on its deadly errand, and the
crack of the noble rifle, thundering against the steep rocks, returned
with loud and prolonged echo.

20. Konwell, to whom the report of a gun was ever the sweetest music,
now started up, as if roused by an electric shock, and grasped his gun.
The dog continued his barking, smelling all around, and looking in my
face as if to inquire in what direction he should go. There was no
rustling movement on the rock, and the bullet must have taken effect.

21. Konwell shook his head as he inquired, "Why I had shot?" Without
answering, I began to reload my gun: this finished, I took up a blazing
pine brand from the fire, and proceeded to climb the steep wall of rock,
that raised itself like a barrier, about twenty steps distant from the
spot upon which we rested. Here I found an old panther, the largest I
had ever seen, lying dead--my well-directed bullet had finished him. I
flung the body over the rock, and my old comrade dragged him to the

22. The ball had struck him directly in the right eye, passing through
the brain. He was a fearful-looking animal, with terrible teeth and
claws, and the more to be dreaded, as, when we cut him up, his stomach
was found entirely empty. I believed that hunger had driven him so close
to the fire; but Konwell thought he had scented the fresh venison we had
with us. Be that as it may, there was little doubt but that he would
have made a leap, as soon as the intervening fire had burned down; to
its friendly presence, therefore, on this occasion, as a means of
Providence, we owed our lives.

QUESTIONS.--1. What had Konwell driven into a den? 2. What preparation
did he make, before entering into the cavern? 3. How far had the men
proceeded before they saw the panther? 4. Describe the appearance of the
panther, as they came near him after the first shot? 5. What did the
panther do after the men both fired at him? 6. Did they finally succeed
in killing the panther? 7. Describe the manner in which they killed
another panther.

       *       *       *       *       *


   RAP' IDs, part of a river where the current is swift.
   TUR' BU LENCE, violent agitation.
   HELM, instrument for steering a vessel.
   EX CUR' SION, tour; ramble.
   A HOY', sea term used in hailing a vessel.
   QUAFF, drink largely.
   HOIST, raise; lift up.
   BLAS PHEM' ING, uttering impious language.
   SHRIEK' ING, screaming; crying out.



1. I remember once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Palls. I said to a
gentleman, "What river is that, sir?" "That," said he, "is Niagara

2. "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bright, and fair, and
glassy. How far off are the rapids?" "Only a mile or two," was the

3. "Is it _possible_ that only a mile from us, we shall find the water
in the turbulence which it must show near the Falls'?"

"You will find it so, sir." And so I found it; and the first sight of
Niagara I shall never forget.

4. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river; it is bright, smooth,
beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the silver wake you
leave behind, adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars,
sails, and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure

5. Suddenly, some one cries out from the bank, "_Young men, ahoy!_"

"What is it?"

"_The rapids are below you!_"

6. "Ha! ha! we have heard of the rapids; but we are not such fools as to
get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm, and steer
to the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and
speed to the land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed,--there is no

7. "Young men, ahoy there!"

"What is it?"

"_The rapids are below you!_"

8. "Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we
for the future! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil
thereof. We will enjoy life while we may,--will catch pleasure as it
flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to steer out of danger when we are
sailing swiftly with the current."

9 (_ff._) "YOUNG MEN, AHOY!"

"What is it?"


10. "Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass
that point! Up with the helm! Now turn! Pull hard! (=) Quick! quick!
quick! pull for your lives! pull till the blood starts from your
nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon your brow! Set the
mast in the socket! hoist the sail! (_sl._) Ah! ah! it is too late!
Shrieking, howling, blaspheming; over they go."

11. Thousands go over the rapids of intemperance every year, through
_the power of habit_, crying all the while, "_When I find out that it_
[Footnote: Temperate drinking.] _is injuring me, I will give it up!_"

QUESTIONS.--1. Where are the Niagara Falls? 2. How does the water appear
just above the Falls? 3. How does it appear farther up? 4. What reply
are the young men represented as making, when first told the rapids were
below them? 5. What, when told the second time? 6. What must they do, to
escape destruction? 7. What is said of _the power of habit?_

       *       *       *       *       *


   BE SOT' TED, stupefied.
   BUR LESQU' ED, mocked; derided.
   DE FI' ED, set at defiance.
   CHER' ISH ED, fostered; encouraged.
   STREW' ED, scattered; spread.
   LIV' ID, discolored; black and blue.
   MIR' ROR ED, reflected, as in a glass.
   RE VEAL' INGS, disclosures.
   PLIGHT' ED, pledged.
   FOR SWORN', perjured.
   STAMP' ED, impressed; fixed deeply.
   BLIGHT, blasting disease.
   A TONE', make reparation.
   PRO CLAIM' ED, openly declared.
   LOATHE, detest; abhor.
   BEV' ER AGE, drink.

These verses should be read in a firm, half-indignant, yet imploring
tone of voice,--except the last verse, which should be expressed in a
very decided and impassioned manner.


[Footnote: These beautiful and touching verses were written by a young
lady, in reply to a friend who had called her a monomaniac on the
subject of temperance.]

1. Go, feel what I have felt,
     Go, bear what I have borne;
   Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt,
     And the cold, proud world's scorn;
   Thus struggle on from year to year,
   Thy sole relief,--the scalding tear.

2. Go, weep as I have wept,
     O'er a loved father's fall,
   See every cherished promise swept,--
     Youth's sweetness turned to gall;
   Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way
   That led me up to woman's day.

3. Go, kneel as I have knelt;
     Implore, beseech, and pray,
   Strive the besotted heart to melt,
     The downward course to stay;
   Be cast with bitter curse aside,--
   Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied.

4. Go, stand where I have stood,
     And see the strong man bow;
   With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood,
     And cold and livid brow;
   Go, catch his wandering glance, and see
   There mirrored, his soul's misery.

5. Go, hear what I have heard,--
     The sobs of sad despair,
   As memory's feeling fount hath stirred,
     And its revealings there
   Have told him what he might have been,
   Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen.

6. Go to my mother's side,
     And her crushed spirit cheer;
   Thine own deep anguish hide,
     Wipe from her cheek the tear;
   Mark her dimmed eye,--her furrowed brow,
   The gray that streaks her dark hair now;
   Her toil-worn frame, her trembling limb,
   And trace the ruin back to him
   Whose plighted faith, in early youth,
   Promised eternal love and truth;
   But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
   That promise to the deadly cup,
   And led her down from love and light,
   From all that made her pathway bright,
   And chained her there 'mid want and strife,
   That lowly thing,--_a drunkard's wife!_
   And stamped on childhood's brow so mild,
   That withering blight, _a drunkard's child!_

7. Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know,
     All that _my soul_ hath felt and known,
   Then look upon the wine-cup's glow;
     See if its brightness can atone;
   Think if its flavor you will try,
   If all proclaimed, "_'Tis drink and die!_"

8.   Tell me I _hate_ the bowl;
       _Hate_ is a feeble word:
(f.) _I loathe_, ABHOR,--_my very soul_
       _With strong disgust is stirred_,
     Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell,

QUESTIONS.--1. By whom was this poetry written? 2. What circumstance
induced her to write it? 3. What is the meaning of _monomaniac?_ Ans.
One who is deranged in a single faculty of the mind, or with regard to a
particular subject, the other faculties being in regular exercise. 4.
What reasons does she assign for her hatred of alcoholic drink? 5. What
does she say of her mother? 6. With what tone of voice should the last
verse be read? See page 40, Rule 4. 7. Why are some words and sentences
printed in Italics and Capitals? See page 22, Note III.

       *       *       *       *       *


   REC' ORDS, accounts; minutes.
   AD VENT' URES, doings; strange occurences.
   EN CUM' BER, load; clog.
   GRAT I FI CA' TION, indulgence.
   SCHEME, plan; progress.
   DE LIB ER A' TION, thought; consideration.
   LUX U RI OUS, pleasure-loving.
   EX PE DI' TION, tour; enterprise.
   MO ROSE', sour; ill-humored.
   RE VOLT' ING, disgusting; abhorrent.
   CON TEM' PLATE, consider; think upon.
   REL' IC, remains.
   IN VES' TI GATE, examine; look into.
   AC COM' PLISH ED, effected.
   PIC TUR ESQUE', (_pikt yur esk'_)grand; beautiful; picture-like.



1. Horace and Herman, two young men who were friends, set out to travel
in distant countries. Before they departed, each had formed a _plan_ of
proceeding. Horace determined to give himself up entirely to
_pleasure,_--to go wherever his humor might dictate,--and to keep no
records of his adventures. In short, he resolved to _enjoy himself_ as
much as possible, and, by no means, to encumber his mind with cares,
duties, or troubles of any kind.

2. Herman was as fond of amusement as Horace; but the _mode_ he adopted
for the gratification of his wishes, was quite different. In the first
place, he made out a scheme of his travels: he procured maps, read
books, and, after mature deliberation, adopted a certain route, as most
likely to afford him pleasure as well as instruction.

3. In the formation of this plan, he spent several weeks; and, in this
occupation, he found quite as much satisfaction as he afterwards did in
traveling. Thus he obtained one great advantage over his idle and
luxurious friend, who foolishly thought that the essence of enjoyment
lay in freedom from thought, restraint, and toil. Even before they set
out on their journey, Herman had actually found nearly as _much_
pleasure as Horace received in the whole course of his expedition.

4. The two young men started together; and, as there were then no canals
or railroads, they both set out on foot. They had not proceeded far
before they separated,--Horace taking one road and Herman another.

5. After the lapse of three years, they both returned; but what a
difference between them! Horace was morose and dissatisfied; he had seen
a good deal of the world, but, as he had traveled with no other design
than to _gratify himself_ from hour to hour, he had soon exhausted the
cup of pleasure, and found nothing at the bottom but the bitter dregs of

6. He pursued pleasure, till, at last, he found the pursuit to be
distasteful and revolting. He grew tired even of amusement. He indulged
his tastes, humors, and passions, until indulgence itself was
disgusting. When he returned to his friends, he had laid up nothing in
his memory, by the relation of which he could amuse them; he had kept no
record of things he had seen; he brought back no store of pleasing and
useful recollections for himself, or others. Such was the result of
three years' travel for pleasure.

7. It was quite otherwise with Herman. Adhering to his plans, he visited
a great many places, and, each day, he recorded in his journal what he
had seen. Whenever he met with an interesting object, he stopped to
contemplate it. If it was some aged relic, famous in history, he took
pains to investigate its story, and to write it down. If it was an
object of interest to the eye, he made a sketch of it in a book which he
kept for that purpose.

8. In this way, Herman accomplished three good objects. In the first
place, by taking pleasure in a moderate way, and mixing with it a little
toil and industry, he prevented that cloying surfeit which, at last,
sickened and disgusted Horace.

9. In the second place, he greatly increased his enjoyments by the plan
he adopted. Merely executing a plan is agreeable, and a source of great
pleasure. It is natural to derive happiness from following out a
design,--from seeing, hour by hour, day by day, how results come about,
in conformity to our intentions.

10. But _this_ was not the _only_ advantage which Herman received from
his system. The very toil he bestowed; the investigations he made; the
pleasant thoughts and curious knowledge that were unfolded to his mind;
the excitement he found in his exertions; the pleasure he took in
drawing picturesque scenes; _all_ constituted a rich harvest of
pleasure, which was wholly denied to Horace.

11. Thus it was that labor and industry, exerted in carrying out a plan,
afforded the young traveler a vast deal of gratification. The very
things that Horace looked upon as hateful, were, in fact, the sources of
his friend's most permanent enjoyment.

12. In the third place, Herman had come back laden with rich stores of
knowledge, observation, and experience. Not only was his journal rich in
tales, legends, scenes, incidents, and historical records, but in
putting these things down on paper, his memory had been improved, and he
had acquired the habit of observing and remembering. His mind was full
of pleasant things, and nothing could be more interesting than to hear
him tell of his travels, and of what he had seen.

13. While Horace was dull, silent, and sour, Herman was full of
conversation, life, and interest. The one was happy', the other
unhappy`; one was agreeable', the other disagreeable`; one had exhausted
the cup of pleasure', the other seemed always to have the cup full and
sparkling before him`. It was agreed on all hands that Horace was a
disagreeable person, and everybody shunned him; while Herman was
considered by all a most agreeable companion, and everybody sought his

14. So much for the two travelers; _one_, a luxurious lover of pleasure,
who thought only of the passing moment, and, in his folly, abused and
threw away his powers of enjoyment; the _other_, a lover of pleasure
also; but who pursued it moderately, with a wise regard to the future,
and careful attention, every day, to the rules of duty; and who thus
secured his true happiness.

QUESTIONS.--1. What plan had Horace determined to pursue while
traveling? 2. What was Herman's plan? 3. What is said of Horace, after
his return? 4. How was it with Herman? 5. What is said of the two in
contrast? 6. What effect has the emphasis on the place of the accent in
the words _unhappy_ and _disagreeable_, 13th paragraph? See page 22,
note V.

       *       *       *       *       *


   IM' PORT, meaning.
   GROV' EL ING, mean; creeping.
   A CHIEVE' MENT, performance.
   AS PI RA' TION, wish; ardent desire.
   SAN' GUINE, ardent; hopeful.
   RE' AL IZ ED, attained.
   IN SPI RA' TION, natural impulse.
   STATE' LI NESS, dignity: majesty.
   AD VENT' TUR OUS, daring; enterprising.
   EX UL TA' TION, (_x_ like _gz_,) triumph.
   RI' VALS, competitors.
   DIG' NI TY, elevation; majesty.
   OR' A CLES, wise words or sentences.
   A' PEX, hight; summit.
   TEN' E MENT, dwelling; _here means_, the body.
   AD MON' ISH. warn.
   RAPT' UR OUS, joyous; ecstatic.
   AN TIC I PA' TION, foretaste.

   PHI LOS' O PHY, (PHILO, _love_; SOPHY, _wisdom_,) love of wisdom;
   reason of things. See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 236,
   Ex. 334


1. HIGHER! It is a word of noble import. It lifts the soul of man from
low and groveling pursuits, to the achievement of great and noble deeds,
and ever keeps the object of his aspiration in view, till his most
sanguine expectations are fully realized.

2. HIGHER! lisps the infant that clasps its parent's knee, and makes its
feeble effort to rise from the floor. It is the first inspiration of
childhood to burst the narrow confines of the cradle, and to exercise
those feeble, tottering limbs, which are to walk forth in the
stateliness of manhood.

3. HIGHER! echoes the proud school-boy in his swing; or, as he climbs
the tallest tree of the forest, that he may look down upon his less
adventurous comrades with a flush of exultation,--and abroad over the
fields, the meadows, and his native village.

4. HIGHER! earnestly breathes the student of philosophy and nature. He
has a host of rivals; but he must excel them all. The midnight oil burns
dim; but he finds light and knowledge in the lamps of heaven, and his
soul is never weary, when the last of them is hid by the splendors of
the morning.

5. And HIGHER! his voice thunders forth, when the dignity of manhood has
mantled his form, and the multitude is listening with delight to his
oracles, burning with eloquence, and ringing like true steel in the
cause of _Freedom_ and _Right_. And when time has changed his locks to
silver,--when the young and the old unite to do him honor, he still
breathes forth from his generous heart fond wishes for their welfare.

6. HIGHER YET! He has reached the apex of earthly honor; yet his spirit
burns as warm as in youth, though with a steadier and purer light. And
even now, while his frail tenement begins to admonish him, that "the
time of his departure is at hand," he looks forward, with rapturous
anticipation, to the never-fading glory, attainable only in the presence
of the Most High.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the word _Higher_, first paragraph? 2.
When does the school-boy say Higher? 3. What is said of the student? 4.
What, when he arrives at manhood? 5. What, when he becomes old? 6. Where
is the passage within the quotation to be found? Ans. 2 Timothy, 4th
chapter, 6th verse.

       *       *       *       *       *


   IN TENS' ER, more fervent.
   STUB' BORN, unyielding; rugged.
   DEEM, think; imagine.
   OLD' EN, old; ancient.
   CLINGS, sticks; adheres closely.
   GAL' LANT, fine; noble.
   YAWN' ING, wide-opening.
   FU' RY, rage; madness.
   RAVE, rage; become furious.
   HEC' TIC, habitual; continuous.
   MEN' TAL, intellectual.
   WIELD, sway; exert.
   PRIV' I LEGE, right; opportunity.
   DOW' ER, gift; portion.


[Footnote:  These  lines were suggested by the simple incident of an
industrious wood-sawyer's reply to a man who told him that _his was a
hard work_. "Yes, it is hard, to be sure; but _it is harder to do
nothing_," was his answer.]


1. Ho, ye who at the anvil toil, And strike the sounding blow, Where,
from the burning iron's breast, The sparks fly to and fro, While
answering to the hammer's ring, And fire's intenser glow!--Oh, while ye
feel 'tis hard to toil And sweat the long day through, Remember, it is
harder still _To have no work to do!_

2. Ho, ye who till the stubborn soil, Whose hard hands guide the plow,
Who bend beneath the summer sun, With burning cheek and brow!--Ye deem
the curse still clings to earth From olden time till now; But, while ye
feel 'tis hard to toil And labor all day through, Remember, it is harder
still _To have no work to do_!

3. Ho, ye who plow the sea's blue field, Who ride the restless wave,
Beneath whose gallant vessel's keel There lies a yawning grave, Around
whose bark the wint'ry winds Like fiends of fury rave!--Oh, while ye
feel 'tis hard to toil And labor long hours through, Remember, it is
harder still _To have no work to do!_ 4 Ho, ye upon whose fevered cheeks
The hectic glow is bright, Whose mental toil wears out the day, And half
the weary night, Who labor for the souls of men, Champions of truth and
right!--Although ye feel your toil is hard, Even with this glorious
view, Remember, it is harder still _To have no work to do!_ 5. Ho, all
who labor,--all who strive Ye wield a lofty power; Do with your might,
do with your strength, Fill every golden hour! The glorious privilege
_to do_ Is man's most noble dower. Oh, to your birthright and yourselves
To your own souls be true! A weary, wretched life is theirs, _Who have
no work to do!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What incident suggested these thoughts to the writer? 2.
Who toil at the anvil? 3. Who till the stubborn soil? 4. Who plow the
sea's blue wave? 5. Who toil mentally? 6. Who labor for the souls of
men? 7. What is man's most noble dower? 8. What is said to all these
different laborers? 9. What is the meaning of the suffix _less_ in the
word _restless?_ See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 140, Ex. 187.

       *       *       *       *       *


   E LIC' IT, draw forth.
   IN TEL' LI GENT, knowing; well-informed.
   RE FRAIN, hold in, or keep back.
   IG NO RA' MUS, ignorant person.
   RE TORT', reply; answer back.
   IN DEL' I BLY, in a way not to be effaced.
   MYS' TE RIES, profound secrets.
   AB SORB' ED, engrossed; occupied.
   MOR TI FI CA' TION, deep disappointment.
   OB STA CLE, hinderance; impediment.
   RE VOLT ED, shrank back.
   POR' ING, earnestly perusing.
   EM I NENCE, distinction.
   IN FOR MA' TION, knowledge.
   IL LIT' ER ATE, ignorant; unlearned.
   PRO FES' SION, business; employment.
   DIS' CI PLIN ED trained; instructed.
   CON TEMPT' U OUS, scornful; hateful.
   AN TAG' O NIST, opponent; adversary.


1. "How far is it from here to the sun?" asked Harmon Lee of his
father's apprentice, James Wallace, intending by the question to elicit
some reply that would exhibit the boy's ignorance.

2. James Wallace, a boy of fourteen, turned his bright, intelligent eyes
upon the son of his employer, and replied, "I don't know, Harmon. How
far is it?"

3. There was something so honest and earnest in the tone of the boy,
that, much as Harmon had felt disposed, at first, to sport with his
ignorance, he could not refrain from giving him a true answer. Still,
his contempt for the ignorant apprentice was not to be concealed, and he
replied, "_Ninety-five millions of miles_, you ignoramus!" James did not
retort; but, repeating over in his mind the distance named, fixed it
indelibly upon his memory.

4. On the same evening, after he had finished his day's work, he
obtained a small text-book on astronomy, which belonged to Harmon Lee,
and went up into his garret with a candle, and there, alone, attempted
to dive into the mysteries of that sublime science. As he read, the
earnestness of his attention fixed nearly every fact upon his mind. So
intent was he, that he perceived not the flight of time, until the
town-clock struck ten.

5. He lay down upon his hard bed, and gave full scope to his thoughts.
Hour after hour passed away, but he could not sleep, so absorbed was he
in reviewing the new and wonderful things he had read. At last, wearied
nature gave way, and he fell into a slumber, filled with dreams of
planets, moons, comets, and fixed stars.

6. The next morning the apprentice boy resumed his place at the
work-bench with a new feeling; and, with _this_ feeling, was mingled one
of regret, that he could not go to school as well as Harmon.

"But I can study at night, while he is asleep," he said to himself.

7. Just then Harmon Lee came into the shop, and, approaching James,
said, for the purpose of teasing him, "How big round is the earth,

"_Twenty-five thousand miles,_" was the quick reply.

8. Harmon looked surprised, for a moment, and then responded, with a
sneer,--for he was not a kind-hearted boy, but, on the contrary, very
selfish, and disposed to _injure_ rather than _do good_ to others,--"Oh!
how wonderfully wise you are all at once! And no doubt you can tell how
many moons Jupiter has? Come, let us hear."

9. "Jupiter has four moons," James answered, with something of
exultation in his tone.

"And, no doubt, you can tell how many rings it has?"

"Jupiter has no rings. Saturn has rings, and Jupiter belts," James
replied, in a decisive tone.

10. For a moment or two Harmon was silent with surprise and
mortification, to think that his father's _apprentice_, whom he esteemed
so far below him, should be possessed of knowledge equal to his, and on
the points in reference to which he had chosen to question him,--and
that he should be able to convict him of an error, into which he had
purposely fallen.

11. "I should like to know how long it is since you became so
wonderfully wise," said Harmon, with a sneer.

"Not very long," James replied calmly. "I have been reading one of your
books on astronomy."

12. "I should like to know what business _you_ have to touch one of _my_
books! You had better be minding your work."

"I did not neglect it, Harmon; I read at _night_, after I was done with
my work; and I did not hurt your book."

"I don't care if you _didn't_ hurt it. You are not going to have _my_
books, I can tell you. So, you just let them alone."

13. Poor James's heart sank within him at this unexpected obstacle, so
suddenly thrown in his way. He had no money of his own to buy, and knew
of no one from whom he could borrow the book, that had become so
necessary to his happiness. "Do, Harmon," he said, "lend me the book; I
will take good care of it."

"No; I will not. And don't you dare to touch it," was the angry reply.

14. James Wallace knew well enough the selfish disposition of Harmon, to
be convinced that there was now but little hope of his having the use of
his books, except by stealth; and from that his naturally open and
honest principles revolted. All day he thought earnestly of the means
whereby he should be able to obtain a book on astronomy, to quench the
ardent thirst he had created in his own mind.

15. He was learning the trade of a blind-maker. Having been already an
apprentice for two years, and being industrious and intelligent, he had
acquired a readiness with tools, and much skill in some parts of his
trade. While sitting alone, after he had finished his work for the day,
it occurred to him that he might, by working in the evening, earn some
money, and with it buy such books as he wanted.

16. By consent of his employer, he succeeded in getting a small job,
from one of his neighbors; and, in a short time, by working evenings, he
obtained sufficient money to purchase a book of his own, and had a half
dollar left, with which he bought a second-hand dictionary. Every night
found him poring over his books; and, as soon as it was light enough in
the morning to see, he was up and reading. During the day, his mind was
pondering over the things he had read, while his hands were diligently
employed in the labor assigned him.

17. It occurred, just at this time, that a number of benevolent
individuals established, in the town where James lived, one of those
excellent institutions, an Apprentices' Library. To this he applied, and
obtained the books he needed. And thus, did this poor apprentice boy lay
the foundation of future eminence and usefulness. At the age of
twenty-one, he was master of his trade; and, what was more, had laid up
a vast amount of general and scientific information.

18. Let us now turn to mark the progress of the young student, Harmon
Lee, in one of the best seminaries in his native city, and afterwards at
college. The idea that he was to be a lawyer, soon took possession of
his mind, and this caused him to feel contempt for other boys, who were
merely designed for trades or store-keeping.

19. Like too many others, he had no love for learning. To be a _lawyer_
he thought would be much more honorable than to be a mere mechanic; and,
for this reason _alone_, he desired to be one. As for James Wallace, the
poor illiterate apprentice, he was most heartily despised, and never
treated by Harmon with the least degree of kind consideration.

20. At the age of eighteen, Harmon was sent away to one of the eastern
universities, and there remained until he was twenty years of age, when
he graduated, and came home with the honorary title of Bachelor of Arts.
On the very day that James completed his term of apprenticeship, Harmon
was admitted to the bar.

21. From some cause, James determined he would make law _his_
profession. To the acquirement of a knowledge of legal matters,
therefore, he bent all the energies of a well disciplined mind. Two
years passed away in an untiring devotion to the studies he had assigned
himself, and he then made application for admission to the bar.

22. Young Wallace passed his examinations with some applause, and the
first case on which he was employed, chanced to be one of great
difficulty, which required all his skill; the lawyer on the opposite
side was Harmon Lee, who entertained for his father's apprentice the
utmost contempt.

23. The cause came on. There was a profound silence and a marked
attention and interest, when the young stranger arose in the court-room
to open the case. A smile of contempt curled the lip of Harmon Lee, but
Wallace saw it not. The prominent points of the case were presented in
plain, but concise language to the court; and a few remarks bearing upon
its merits being made, the young lawyer took his seat, and gave room for
the defense.

24. Instantly Harmon Lee was on his feet, and began referring to the
points presented by his "very learned brother," in a very flippant
manner. There were those present who marked the light that kindled in
the eye of Wallace, and the flash that passed over his countenance at
the first contemptuous word and tone that were uttered by his antagonist
at the bar. These soon gave place to attention, and an air of conscious
power. Nearly an hour had passed when Harmon resumed his seat with a
look of exultation, which was followed by a pitying and contemptuous
smile, as Wallace again slowly rose.

25. Ten minutes, however, had not passed when that smile had changed to
a look of surprise, mortification, and alarm. The young lawyer's first
speech showed him to be a man of calm, deep, systematic thought,--well
skilled in points of law and in authorities,--and, more than all, a
lawyer of practical and comprehensive views. When he sat down, no
important point in the case had been left untouched, and none that had
been touched, required further elucidation.

20. Lee followed briefly, in a vain attempt to torture his language and
break down his positions. But he felt that he was contending with
weapons whose edges were turned at every blow. When he took his seat
again, Wallace merely remarked that he was prepared, without further
argument, to submit the case to the court.

27. The case was accordingly submitted, and a decision unhesitatingly
made in favor of the plaintiff, or Wallace's client. From that hour
James Wallace took his true position. _The despised apprentice became
the able and profound lawyer,_ and was esteemed for real talent and real
moral worth, which, when combined, ever place their possessor in his
true position. Ten years from that day, Wallace was elevated to the
bench, while Lee, a second-rate lawyer, never rose above that position.

QUESTIONS.--1. What profession did James study, after he had learned his
trade? 2. Who was his opponent in the first cause he tried? 3. Which won
the case? 4. What did James finally become?

       *       *       *       *       *


   TAUNT' ING LY, insultingly.
   DIG' NI FI ED, noble.
   DIS PU' TANTS, persons disputing.
   RES O LU' TION, decision.
   IM AG' IN ED, fancied.
   RE FLEC' TION, thought; consideration.
   SU PE RI OR' I TY, preeminence.
   SUB OR DI NATE, one inferior in position.
   BUF' FET ED, struggled against.
   THRALLS, bondage.
   DES POT' IC, tyrannical.
   OP PRES' SION, tyranny.
   PEN' U RY, poverty; destitution.
   PRED E CES' SORS, those who have gone before.
   DIS PEN SA' TIONS, dealings.
   CRI TE' RI ON, standard; measure.



1. "Oh, you're a _'prentice!_" said a little boy, the other day,
tauntingly, to his companion. The boy addressed turned proudly round,
and, while the fire of injured pride, and the look of pity were
strangely blended in his countenance, coolly answered, "_So was

2. This dignified reply struck me forcibly, and I turned to mark the
disputants more closely. The former, I perceived by his dress, was of a
higher class in society than his humble, yet more dignified companion.
The latter was a sprightly, active lad, scarce twelve years old, and
coarsely, but neatly attired. But, young as he was, there was visible in
his countenance much of genius, manly dignity, and determinate
resolution; while that of the former showed only fostered pride, and the
imagined superiority of riches.

3. That little fellow, thought we, gazing at our young hero, displays
already much of the man, though his calling be a humble one; and, though
poverty extends to him her dreary, cheerless reality, still he looks on
the brightest side of the scene, and already rises in anticipation from
poverty and wretchedness! Once, "_so was Franklin_" and the world may
one day witness in our little "_'prentice_" as great a philosopher as
they have already seen in his noble pattern! And we passed on, buried in

4. The motto of our infantile philosopher contains much,--too much to be
forgotten, and should be engraven on the minds of all. What can better
cheer man in a humble calling, than the reflection that the greatest and
the best of earth--the greatest statesmen, the brightest philosophers,
and the proudest warriors--have once graced the same profession?

   "Look at Franklin! He who
   With the thunder talked, as friend to friend,
   And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
   In sportive twist."

What was he? A _printer!_ once a subordinate in a printing office!
Poverty stared him in the face; but her blank, hollow look, could
nothing daunt him. He struggled against a harder current than most are
called to encounter; but he did not yield. He pressed manfully onward;
bravely buffeted misfortune's billows, and gained the desired haven!

6. Look at Cincinnatus! At the call of his country he laid aside the
plow and seized the sword. But having wielded it with success, when his
country was no longer endangered, and public affairs needed not his
longer stay, "he beat his sword Into a ploughshare," and returned with
honest delight to his little farm.

7. Look at Washington! What was his course of life? He was first a
_farmer;_ next a _Commander in Chief_ of the hosts of freedom, fighting
for the liberation of his country from the thralls of despotic
oppression; next, called to the highest seat of government by his
ransomed brethren, a _President of the largest Republic on earth_, and
lastly, a _farmer_ again.

8. What was the famous Ben Jonson? He was first a _brick-layer, or
mason!_ What was he in after years? 'Tis needless to answer.

What was Burns? An Ayrshire _plowman!_ What was he in after life, in the
estimation of his countrymen, and the world? Your library gives the

9. But shall we go on, and call up, in proud array, all the mighty host
of worthies that have lived and died, who were cradled in the lap of
penury, and received their first lessons in the school of affliction'?
Nay'; we have cited instances enough already,--yea, more than enough to
prove the point in question--namely, _that there is no profession,
however low in the opinion of the world, but has been honored with
earth's greatest and worthiest._

10. Young man! Does the iron hand of misfortune press hard upon you, and
disappointments well-nigh sink your despairing soul'? Have courage!
Mighty ones have been your predecessors, and have withstood the current
of opposition that threatened to overwhelm their fragile bark.

11. Do you despise your humble station, and repine that Providence has
not placed you in some nobler sphere'? Murmur not against the
dispensations of an All-wise Creator! Remember that wealth is no
criterion of moral rectitude or intellectual worth,--that riches
dishonestly gained, are a lasting curse,--that virtue and uprightness
work out a rich reward,--and that

  "An honest man's the noblest work of God."

12. And when dark Disappointment comes, do not wither at her stare; but
press forward, and the prize is yours! It was thus with _Franklin_,--it
can be thus with _you_. He strove for the prize, and he won it! So may
_you!_ 'Tis well worth contending for; and may success attend you, and
the "stars" grow brighter, as the "stripes" wear deeper!

QUESTIONS.--1. What did the rich boy say of the poor boy? 2. What reply
did the poor boy make? 3. What other examples are cited of eminent men
who were once poor? 4. What is said of Cincinnatus? 5. Of Washington? 6.
Of Ben Jonson? 7. Of Burns? 8. What do all these examples prove? 9. What
encouragement is given to young men? 10. What are the full forms of the
words _you're, 'prentice?_

       *       *       *       *       *


   MAG'IC, power of enchantment.
   CONTEN'TION, strife; controversy.
   TRA DI'TION, facts or events handed down from age to age.
   SUB TILE, thin; slight; slender.
   IN VEST'ED, clothed.
   CREST'ED, adorned with a plume or crest.
   AZ'URE, light-blue; sky-colored.
   PER SPECT' IVE, (PER, _through_; SPECT, _to see_; IVE, _having
   the power_,) having the power to see through; a view through.
   UN  DI  VERT'  ED, (UN, _not_; DI, _aside_; VERTED, _turned_,)
   not turned aside; unheeded.
   VEST'URE, garment.
   SE DATE', calm; quiet.
   FAN TAS'TIC, fanciful; visionary.
   RA DI ANCE, brightness; luster.
   IN VEC'TIVE, railing speech.
   I DE'AL, imaginary.
   FA TIGU ING, wearisome, toilsome.
   AS PIR'ING, aiming; seeking to rise.



 1. In distant days,--of wild romance,
      Of magic, mist, and fable,--
    When stones could argue, trees advance,[Footnote 1]
      And brutes to talk were able,--
    When shrubs and flowers were said to preach,
    And manage all the parts of speech,--

 2. 'Twas _then_, no doubt, if 'twas at all,
      (But doubts we need not mention,)
    That _Then_ and _Now_, two adverbs small,
      Engaged in sharp contention;
    But how they made each other hear,
    Tradition doth not make appear.

 3. _Then_ was a sprite of subtile frame,
      With rainbow tints invested.--
    On clouds of dazzling light she came,
      And stars her forehead crested;
    Her sparkling eyes of azure hue,
    Seemed borrowed from the distant blue.

 4. _Now_ rested on the solid earth,
      And sober was her vesture;
    She seldom either grief or mirth
      Expressed, by word or gesture;
    Composed, sedate, and firm she stood,
    And looked industrious, calm, and good.

 5. _Then_ sang a wild, fantastic song,
      Light as the gale she flies on,
    Still stretching, as she sailed along,
      Toward the far horizon,
    Where clouds of radiance, fringed with gold,
    O'er hills of emerald beauty rolled.

 6. _Now_ rarely raised her sober eye
      To view that golden distance;
    Nor let one idle minute fly
      In hope of _Then's_ assistance;
    But still with busy hands she stood,
    Intent on doing _present_ good.

 7. She ate the sweet, but homely fare,
      That passing moments brought her;
    While _Then_, expecting dainties rare,
      Despised such bread and water;
    And waited for the fruits and flowers
    Of future, still receding hours.

 8. _Now_, venturing once to ask her why,
      She answered with invective;
    And pointed, as she made reply,
      _Toward that long perspective
    Of years to come_,--in distant blue,
    Wherein she meant to _live_ and _do_,

 9. "Alas!" says she, _"how hard you toil!_
      With undiverted sadness;
    Behold yon land of wine and oil!
      Those sunny hills of gladness!
    Those joys I wait, with eager brow,"
    _"And so you always will!"_ said _Now_.

10. "That fairy land that looks so real,
      Recedes as you pursue it;
   Thus, while you wait for time's ideal,
      _I take my work and do it;_
   Intent to form, when time is gone,
   A _pleasant past_ to look upon."

11. "Ah, well," said _Then_, "I envy not
      Your dull, fatiguing labors,--
    Aspiring to a brighter lot,
      With thousands of my neighbors;
    Soon as I reach that golden hill,"--
    "But that," says _Now_, "you _never will!"_

12. "And e'en suppose you should," said she,
      "(Though mortal ne'er attained it,)
    Your nature you must change with me,
      The moment you have gained it;
    Since hope fulfilled, (you must allow,)
    Turns NOW to _Then_, and THEN to _Now_."

[Footnote 1: The reference is to Orpheus, (or' fuse,) an ancient poet
and musician of Greece. The skill of Orpheus on the lyre, was fabled to
have been such as to move the very trees and rocks, and to assemble the
beasts around him as he touched its chords.]

QUESTIONS.--1. What two words are represented as holding a controversy?
2. Describe the appearance of each. 3. When did _Then_ propose to do
something? 4. How did Now act? 5. What answer did _Then_ make, when
_Now_ asked her why she waited? 6. What was _Now's_ reply? 7. What did
_Now_ finally say to _Then_? 8. How should passages, within a
parenthesis, be read? See SANDERS' UNION READER, NUMBER THREE, page 20.

       *       *       *       *       *


   IN GEN' IOUS, artful; skillful.
   STRAT' A GEM, trick; artifice.
   EX CEED' ED, surpassed.
   SIG' NALS, signs.
   AM' I CA BLE, friendly; peaceable.
   RE PEL', (RE, _back_; PEL, _to drive_,)drive back.
   MU' TU AL, reciprocal.
   EX TRAOR' DI NA RY, uncommon.
   IN VET' ER ATE, obstinate; violent.
   HARANGUE', declamatory speech.
   EN TER TAIN' ED, held; had.
   SUS PI' CION, mistrust.
   EN COUN' TER ED, met face to face.
   EX' E CU TED, carried out.
   FOR' MI DA BLE, fearful; dreadful.
   PER FID' I OUS, treacherous.
   PRE CIP' ITATELY, headlong.
   IN AN' I MATE, dead; lifeless.



1. In the early part of the war, a sergeant and twelve armed men
undertook a journey through the wilderness, in the State of New
Hampshire. Their route was remote from any settlement, and they were
under the necessity of encamping over night in the woods. Nothing
material happened the first day of their excursion; but, early in the
afternoon of the second, they, from an eminence, discovered a body of
armed Indians advancing toward them, whose number rather exceeded their

2. As soon as the whites were perceived by their red brethren, the
latter made signals, and the two parties approached each other in an
amicable manner. The Indians appeared to be much gratified with meeting
the sergeant and his men, whom, they observed, they considered as their
protectors. They said they belonged to a tribe which had raised the
hatchet with zeal in the cause of liberty, and were determined to do all
in their power to repel the common enemy.

3. They shook hands in friendship. When they had conversed with each
other for some time, and exchanged mutual good wishes, they, at length,
separated, and each party traveled in a different direction. After
proceeding to the distance of a mile or more, the sergeant, who was
acquainted with all the different tribes, and knew on which side of the
contest they were respectively ranked, halted his men, and addressed
them in the following words:

4. "My brave companions, we must use the utmost caution, or this night
may be our last. Should we not make some extraordinary exertions to
defend ourselves, to-morrow's sun may find us sleeping, never to wake.
You are surprised, comrades, at my words, and your anxiety will not be
lessened, when I inform you that we have just passed _our most
inveterate foe_, who, under the mask of pretended friendship, which you
have witnessed, would lull us to security, and, by such means, in the
unguarded moments of our midnight slumber, without resistance, seal our

5. The men with astonishment listened to this short harangue; and their
surprise was greater, as not one of them had entertained the suspicion
but that they had just encountered friends. They all immediately
resolved to enter into some scheme for their mutual preservation, and
the destruction of their enemies. By the proposal of their leader, the
following plan was adopted and executed.

6. The spot selected for their night's encampment, was near a stream of
water, which served to cover their rear. They felled a large tree,
before which, on the approach of night, a brilliant fire was lighted.
Each individual cut a log of wood, about the size of his body, rolled it
nicely in his blanket, placed his hat upon one end, and laid it before
the fire, that the enemy might be deceived, and mistake it for a man.

7. After they had thus fitted out logs, equal in number to the
sergeant's party, and had so artfully arranged them, that they might be
easily mistaken for so many soldiers, the men with loaded muskets placed
themselves behind the fallen tree, by which time the shades of evening
began to close around. The fire was kept burning brilliantly until late
in the evening, when it was suffered to decline.

8. The critical time was now approaching, when an attack might be
expected from the Indians; but the sergeant's men rested in their place
of concealment with great anxiety, till near midnight, without
perceiving any movement of the enemy. At length, a tall Indian was
discovered, through the glimmering of the fire, cautiously moving toward
them, making no noise, and apparently using every means in his power to
conceal himself from any one about the camp.

9. For a time, his actions showed him to be suspicious that a guard
might be stationed to watch any unusual appearance, who would give the
alarm in case of danger; but, all appearing quiet, he ventured forward
more boldly, rested upon his toes, and was distinctly seen to move his
finger as he numbered each log of wood, or what he supposed to be a
human being quietly enjoying repose.

10. To satisfy himself more fully, as to the number, he counted them
over a second time, and cautiously retired. He was succeeded by another
Indian, who went through the same movements, and retired in the same
manner. Soon after, the whole party, sixteen in number, were discovered
approaching, and greedily eyeing their supposed victims.

11. The feelings of the sergeant's men can be better imagined than
described, when they saw the base and cruel purpose of their enemies,
who were now so near that they could scarcely be restrained from firing
upon them. The plan, however, of the sergeant, was to have his men
remain silent in their places of concealment, till the muskets of the
savages were discharged, that their own fire might be effectual, and
opposition less formidable.

12. Their suspense was not of long duration. The Indians, in a body,
cautiously approached till within a short distance: they then halted,
took deliberate aim, discharged their pieces upon inanimate logs, gave a
dreadful war-whoop, and instantly rushed forward, with tomahawk and
scalping knife in hand, to dispatch the living, and obtain the scalps of
the dead.

13. As soon as they had collected in close order, more effectually to
execute their horrid intentions, the sergeant's party discharged their
pieces, not on logs of wood, but perfidious savages,--many of whom fell
under the hot fire of the little band, and the rest precipitately fled.
But for this ingenious scheme, it is probable that not one of these
twelve men would have escaped the tomahawk of the savages.

QUESTIONS.--1. What did the sergeant say to his men, after parting with
the Indians? 2. What plan did the sergeant propose for their
preservation? 3. Did the plan succeed? 4. Describe the closing scene.

       *       *       *       *       *


   VEN' ER A BLE, worthy of reverence.
   IN VA' SION, irruption; inroad.
   EX CIT' ED, roused; stirred up.
   IRE, wrath; indignation.
   VENGE' ANCE, retaliation.
   RE LEAS' ED, set free; liberated.
   TRO PHIES, memorials of victory.
   BE REFT', deprived.
   VULT' URE, rapacious bird.
   TRAV' ERS ED, crossed over.
   DE SCRIP' TION, representation.
   MA TER' NAL, motherly.
   FIL' IAL, becoming a child.
   CON SAN GUIN' I TY, blood relationship.
   IN TEL' LI GENCE, news; information.
   I DEN' TI TY, sameness.
   SUR VIV' ED, remained alive.
   AS CER TAIN' ED, found out.
   IN TER' PRET ER, explainer.
   LIN' E A MENTS, features.


[Footnote: The great massacre at Wyoming was, perhaps, the most bloody
and terrible chapter of the Revolution. A combined Indian and Tory force
had flung itself upon the peaceful valley, and murdered or made captive
nearly all its unoffending inhabitants; its old and its young,--men,
women, and children alike,--were either indiscriminately butchered or
made prisoners. Among the prisoners taken on that occasion, was an
infant child by the name of Frances Slocum. The story is a very strange
one; we copy it from Lossing's very excellent work, "The Field Book of
the Revolution."]


1. I passed the evening with the venerable Joseph Slocum, whose family
was among the sufferers, in Wyoming Valley. He related to me all the
particulars of the capture and final discovery of his sister Frances,
and other incidents connected with the sufferings of his family.

2. His father was a Quaker, and was distinguished for his kindness to
the Indians. He remained unharmed at the time of the invasion, and,
while the torch was applied to the dwellings of others, _his_ was left
untouched. But his son Giles was in the battle. This, doubtless, excited
the ire of the Indians, and they resolved on vengeance. 3. Late in the
autumn, they were seen prowling about the house, which was situated
about one hundred rods from the Wilkesbarre Fort. A neighbor, named
Kingsley, had been made prisoner, and his wife and two sons had a
welcome home in Mr. Slocum's family. One morning, the boys were grinding
a knife near the house, when a rifle-shot and a shriek brought Mrs.
Slocum to the door. An Indian was scalping the eldest boy, a lad of
fifteen, with the knife he had been grinding.

4. The savage then went into the house, and caught up a little son of
Mrs. Slocum. "See!" exclaimed the frightened mother, "he can do thee no
good; he is lame." The Indian released the boy, took up her little
daughter Frances, aged five years, gently in his arms, and, seizing the
younger Kingsley, hastened to the mountains.

5. Two Indians who were with him, carried off a black girl, about
seventeen years of age. Mr. Slocum's daughter caught up her brother
Joseph, (my informant,) two and a half years old, and fled in safety to
the fort, where an alarm was given; but the savages were beyond
successful pursuit.

6. About six weeks afterward, Mr. Slocum and his father-in-law Ira
Tripp, were shot and scalped by some Indians while foddering cattle near
the house. Again the savages escaped with their horrid trophies. Mrs.
Slocum, bereft of father, husband, and child, and stripped of all
possessions but the house that sheltered her, could not leave the
valley, for nine helpless children were yet in her household.

7. She trusted in the God of Elijah; and, if she was not fed by the
ravens, she was spared by the vultures. She mourned not for the dead;
for they were at rest: but little Frances, her lost darling, where was
she? The lamp of hope kept on burning; but years rolled by, and no
tidings of the little one came.

8. When peace returned, and friendly intercourse with Canada was
established, two of the little captive's brothers started in search of
her. They traversed the wilderness to Niagara, offering rewards for her
recovery; but all in vain. They returned to Wyoming, convinced that the
child was dead. But the mother's heart was still the shrine of hope, and
she felt assured that Frances was not in the grave.

9. Her soul appeared to commune with that of her child, and she often
said, "I know Frances is still living." At length, the mother's heart
was cheered: a woman (for many years had now passed, and Frances, if
living, must have arrived to womanhood) was found among the Indians,
answering the description of the lost one. She only remembered being
carried away from the Susquehanna.

10. Mrs. Slocum took her home, and cherished her with a mother's
tenderness. Yet the mysterious link of sympathy which binds the maternal
spirit to its offspring, was unfelt, and the bereaved mother was
bereaved still. "It may be Frances, but it does not seem so; yet the
woman shall ever be welcome," said Mrs. Slocum. The foundling, also,
felt no filial yearnings; and, both becoming convinced that no
consanguinity existed, the orphan returned to her Indian friends.

11. From time to time, the hope of the mother would be revived, and
journeys were made to distant Indian settlements in search of the lost
sister; but in vain. The mother went "down into the grave, mourning,"
and little Frances was almost forgotten. Her brothers had become aged
men, and their grandchildren were playing upon the very spot, whence she
had been taken.

12. In the summer of 1837, fifty-nine years after her capture,
intelligence of Frances was received. Colonel Ewing, an Indian agent and
trader, in a letter from Logansport, Indiana, to the editor of the
_Lancaster Intelligencer_, gave such information, that all doubts
respecting her identity were removed; and Joseph Slocum, with the sister
who carried him to the fort, and yet survived, immediately journeyed to
Ohio, where they were joined by their younger brother Isaac.

13. They proceeded to Logansport, where they found Mr. Ewing, and
ascertained that the woman spoken of by him, lived about twelve miles
from the village. She was immediately sent for; and, toward evening the
next day, she came into the town, riding a spirited young horse,
accompanied by her two daughters, and the husband of one of them,--all
dressed in full Indian costume.

14. An interpreter was procured, (for she could not speak or understand
English,) and she listened seriously to what her brothers had to say.
She answered but little, and, at sunset, departed for her home,
promising to return the next morning. The brother and sister were quite
sure that it was indeed Frances, though in her face nothing but Indian
lineaments were seen, her color alone revealing her origin.

15. True to her appointment, she appeared the following morning,
accompanied as before. Mr. Joseph Slocum then mentioned a mark of
recognition, which, his mother had said, was a sure test. While playing,
one day, with a hammer in a blacksmith's shop, Joseph, then a child two
and a half years old, gave Frances a blow upon the middle finger of the
left hand, which crushed the bone, and deprived the finger of its nail.

16. This test Mr. Slocum had withheld until others should fail. When he
mentioned it, the aged woman was greatly agitated; and, while tears
filled the furrows of her face, she held out the wounded finger. There
was no longer a doubt, and a scene of great interest ensued. Her
affections for her kindred, that had slumbered half a century, were
aroused, and she made earnest inquiries after her father, mother,
brothers, and sisters. Her full heart--full with the cherished secrets
of her history--was opened, and the story of her life freely given.

17. She said the savages, who were Delawares, after taking her to a
rocky cave in the mountains, departed to the Indian country. The first
night was the unhappiest of her life. She was kindly treated,--being
carried tenderly in their arms when she was weary. She was adopted in an
Indian family, and brought up as their daughter. For years she lived a
roving life, and loved it. She was taught the use of the bow and arrow,
and became expert in all the employments of savage existence.

18. When she was grown to womanhood, both her Indian parents died, and
she soon afterward married a young chief of the nation, and removed to
the Ohio country. She was treated with more respect than the Indian
women generally; and so happy was she in her domestic relations, that
the chance of being discovered, and compelled to return among the
whites, was the greatest evil that she feared; for she had been taught
that they were the implacable enemies of the Indians, whom she loved.

19. Her husband died; and, her people having joined the Miamies, she
went with them, and married one of that tribe. The last husband was also
dead, and she had been a widow many years. Children and grandchildren
were around her, and her life was passing pleasantly away. When she
concluded the narrative, she lifted her right hand in a solemn manner,
and said, "All this is as true as that there is a Great Spirit in the
heavens!" she had entirely forgotten her native language, and was a

20. On the day after the second interview, the brothers and sisters,
with the interpreter, rode out to her dwelling. It was a well-built
log-house, in the midst of cultivation. A large herd of cattle and sixty
horses were grazing in the pasture. Everything betokened plenty and
comfort; for she was wealthy, when her wants and her means were
compared. Her annuity from government, which she received as one of the
Miami tribe, had been saved, and she had about one thousand dollars in

21. Her white friends passed several days very agreeably with her; and
subsequently her brother Joseph, with his daughter, the wife of the Hon.
Mr. Bennet, of Wyoming, made her another visit, and bade her a last
farewell. She died a few years ago, and was buried with considerable
pomp; for she was regarded as a queen among her tribe.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is the Wyoming Valley? 2. Relate the incidents
connected with the capture of little Frances. 3. What efforts were made
to find her? 4. How many years after her capture before she was found?
5. Where did they find her? 6. By what test did Mr. Slocum prove that
she was his sister? 7. What history did she relate of herself? 8.
Describe her home.

       *       *       *       *       *


   FRING' ING, bordering; edging.
   LEDGE, layer; ridge.
   DAI  SY,  (literally  _day's  eye_,) a little wild flower very
   common in summer.
   RI' OT OUS, noisy; reveling.
   BOIS' TER OUS, tumultuous; violent.
   CULL' ING, selecting; picking.
   BOU QUETS', (_boo kas_,) bunches of flowers.
   SULK' Y, morose.
   BOTH' ER ING, perplexing.
   UN WONT' ED, rare: uncommon.
   TE' DI OUS, tiresome; wearisome.



1. _The silver rain, the golden rain,_
   _The tripping, dancing, laughing rain!_
   Stringing its pearls on the green leaf's edge,
   Fringing with gems the brown rock's ledge,
   Spinning a vail for the water-fall,
   And building an amber-colored wall
   Across the West where the sun-beams fall:
   _The gentle rain_, in the shady lane,
   _The pattering, peering, winning rain!_

2. _The noisy rain, the marching rain,_
   _The rushing tread of the heavy rain!_
   Pouring its rivers from out the blue,
   Down on the grass where the daisies grew,
   Darting in clouds of angry drops
   Across the hills and the green tree-tops,
   And kissing, at last, in its giant glee,
   The foaming lips of the great green sea:
   _The fierce, wild rain, the riotous rain,_
   _The boisterous, dashing, shouting rain!_

3. _The still night rain, the solemn rain!_
   _The soldier-step of the midnight rain!_
   With its measured beat on the roof o'erhead,
   With its tidings sweet of the faithful dead,
   Whispers from loves who are laid asleep
   Under the sod where the myrtles creep,
   Culling bouquets from the sun-lit past,
   Of flowers too sweet, too fair to last:
   _The faithful rain, the untiring rain,_
   _The cooing, sobbing, weeping rain!_

4. _The sulky rain, the spiteful rain,_
   _The bothering, pilfering, thieving rain!_
   Creeping so lazily over the sky,
   A leaden mask o'er a bright blue eye,
   And shutting in, with its damp, strong hands,
   The rosy faces in curls, and bands
   Of girls who think, with unwonted frown
   Of the charming laces and things down-town,
   That might as well for this tiresome rain,
   Be in the rose land of Almahain:
   _The horrid rain, the tedious rain,_
   _The never-ending, dingy rain!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the meaning of the suffix _ing_, in such words as
_tripping, dancing, laughing_, &c.? See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS,
page 153, Ex. 206. 2. What is the use of the hyphen in such words as
_water-fall, amber-colored_, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page l65.

       *       *       *       *       *


   LAV' ISH, liberal; profuse.
   PER' FUMES, pleasant odors.
   HAR MO' NI OUS, concordant.
   RAPT' URE, extreme joyousness.
   GERMS, seed-buds; beginnings.
   PAR'TICLES, minute parts; atoms.
   MOTES, very small particles.
   VENT' URE, dare; have courage.
   COL' UMNS, pillars.
   DOME, arched roof; cupola.
   TI' NY, very small.
   ES' SENCE, perfume.



1. Who dares to scorn the meanest thing,
     The humblest weed that grows,
   While pleasure spreads its joyous wing
     On every breeze that blows?
   The simplest flower that, hidden, blooms
     The lowest on the ground,
   Is lavish of its rare perfumes,
     And scatters sweetness round.

2. The poorest friend upholds a part
     Of life's harmonious plan;
   The weakest hand may have the art
     To serve the strongest man.
   The bird that highest, clearest sings,
     To greet the morning's birth,
   Falls down to drink, with folded wings,
     Love's rapture on the earth.

3. From germs too small for mortal sight
     Grow all things that are seen,
   Their floating particles of light
     Weave Nature's robe of green.
   The motes that fill the sunny rays
     Build ocean, earth, and sky,--
   The wondrous orbs that round us blaze
     Are motes to Deity!

4. Life, love, devotion, closely twine,
     Like tree, and flower, and fruit;
   They ripen by a power divine,
     Though fed by leaf and root.
   And he who would be truly great,
     Must venture to be small;
   On airy columns rests the dome
     That, shining, circles all.

5. Small duties grow to mighty deeds;
     Small words to thoughts of power;
   Great forests spring from tiny seeds,
     As moments make the hour.
   And life, howe'er it lowly grows,
     The essence to it given,
   Like odor from the breathing rose,
     Floats evermore to Heaven.

       *       *       *       *       *


   EX TINCT', extinguished.
   IN COR' PO RA TED, united.
   TAC' IT, silent; implied.
   SUB SIST' ED, existed.
   HOS PI TAL' I TY, kind treatment.
   IN POR' TU NATE, urgent; pressing.
   EN CROACH' MENT, intrusion.
   IR' RI TA TED, provoked; exasperated.
   MAS' SA CRE, (_mas' sa ker_,) slaughter.
   GRAV' I TY, seriousness.
   DE LIB' ER ATE, take council.
   TREA' SON, treachery; disloyalty.
   AP PRIS' ING, informing.
   BE TRAY', expose.
   IN VIN CI BLE, unconquerable.
   WAX' ED, became, grew.
   BE SOUGHT', entreated; implored.
   SUF FICE, (_c like z_,) prove sufficient.


[Footnote: In Orange County, New York.]


1. Little more than a century ago, the beautiful region watered by this
stream, was possessed by a small tribe of Indians, which has long since
become extinct, or incorporated with some other savage nation of the
West. Three or four hundred yards from where the stream discharges
itself into the Hudson, a white family, of the name of Stacy, had
established itself in a log-house, by tacit permission of the tribe, to
whom Stacy had made himself useful by his skill in a variety of little
arts, highly estimated by the savages.

2. In particular, a friendship subsisted between him and an old Indian,
called Naoman, who often came to his house, and partook of his
hospitality. _The Indians never forgive injuries, nor forget benefits_.
The family consisted of Stacy, his wife, and two children, a boy and a
girl, the former five, the latter three years old.

3. One day, Naoman came to Stacy's log-hut, in his absence, lighted his
pipe, and sat down. He looked very serious, sometimes sighed deeply, but
said not a word. Stacy's wife asked him what was the matter,--if he was
sick. He shook his head, sighed, but said nothing, and soon went away.
The next day, he came again and behaved in the same manner. Stacy's wife
began to think strange of this, and related it to her husband, who
advised her to urge the old man to an explanation the next time he came.

4. Accordingly, when he repeated his visit the day after, she was more
importunate than usual. At last, the old Indian said. "I am a red man,
and the pale faces are our enemies: why should I speak?"--"But my
husband and I are your friends: you have eaten salt with us a thousand
times, and my children have sat on your knees as often. If you have
anything on your mind, tell it me."--"It will cost me my life if it is
known, and the white-faced women are not good at keeping secrets,"
replied Naoman.

5. "Try me, and see."--"Will you swear by your Great Spirit that you
will tell none but your husband?"--"I have none else to tell."--"But
will you swear?"--"I do swear by our Great Spirit, I will tell none but
my husband."--"Not if my tribe should _kill you_ for not telling?"--"Not
if your tribe should kill me for not telling."

6. Naoman then proceeded to tell her that, owing to some encroachments
of the white people below the mountains, his tribe had become irritated,
and were resolved that night to massacre all the white settlers within
their reach; that she must send for her husband, inform him of the
danger, and, as secretly and speedily as possible, take their canoe and
paddle, with all haste, over the river to Fishkill for safety. "Be
quick, and do nothing that may excite suspicion," said Naoman, as he

7. The good wife sought her husband, who was down on the river fishing,
told him the story, and, as no time was to be lost, they proceeded to
their boat, which was unluckily filled with water. It took some time to
clear it out, and, meanwhile, Stacy recollected his gun, which had been
left behind. He proceeded to the house, and returned with it. All this
took up considerable time, and precious time it proved to this poor

8. The daily visits of old Naoman, and his more than ordinary gravity,
had excited suspicion in some of the tribe, who had, accordingly, paid
particular attention to the movements of Stacy. One of the young
Indians, who had been kept on the watch, seeing the whole family about
to take to the boat, ran to the little Indian village, about a mile off,
and gave the alarm. Five Indians collected, ran down to the river, where
their canoes were moored, jumped in, and paddled after Stacy, who, by
this time, had got some distance out into the stream.

9. They gained on him so fast, that twice he dropped his paddle, and
took up his gun. But his wife prevented his shooting by telling him
that, if he fired, and they were afterwards overtaken, they would meet
with no mercy from the Indians. He accordingly refrained, and plied his
paddle till the sweat rolled in big drops down his forehead. All would
not do; they were overtaken within a hundred yards from the shore, and
carried back with shouts of yelling triumph.

10. When they got ashore, the Indians set fire to Stacy's house, and
dragged himself, his wife, and children, to their village. Here the
principal old men, and Naoman among them, assembled to deliberate on the
affair. The chief men of the council stated that some of the tribe had,
undoubtedly, been guilty of treason, in apprising Stacy, the white man,
of the designs of the tribe, whereby they took the alarm, and well-nigh

11. He proposed to examine the prisoners, to learn who gave the
information. The old men assented to this, and Naoman among the rest.
Stacy was first interrogated by one of the old men, who spoke English
and interpreted to the others. Stacy refused to betray his informant.
His wife was then questioned; while, at the same moment, two Indians
stood threatening the two children, with tomahawks, in case she did not

12. She attempted to evade the truth, by declaring she had a dream the
night before, which alarmed her, and that she had persuaded her husband
to fly. "The Great Spirit never deigns to talk in dreams to a white
face," said the old Indian. "Woman, thou hast two tongues, and two
faces. Speak the truth, or thy children shall surely die." The little
boy and girl were then brought close to her, and the two savages stood
over them, ready to execute their bloody orders.

13. "Wilt thou name," said the old Indian, "the red man who betrayed his
tribe? I will ask thee three times." The mother answered not. "Wilt thou
name the traitor? This is the second time." The poor mother looked at
her husband, and then at her children, and stole a glance at Naoman, who
sat smoking his pipe with invincible gravity.

14. She wrung her hands, and wept; but remained silent. "Wilt thou name
the traitor? 'Tis the third and last time." The agony of the mother
waxed more bitter; again she sought the eye of Naoman; but it was cold
and motionless. A pause of a moment awaited her reply, and the tomahawks
were raised over the heads of the children, who besought their mother
not to let them be murdered.

15. "Stop!" cried Naoman. All eyes were turned upon him. "Stop!"
repeated he, in a tone of authority. "White woman, thou hast kept thy
word with me to the last moment. _I am the traitor_. I have eaten of the
salt, warmed myself at the fire, shared the kindness, of these Christian
white people, and it was _I_ that told them of their danger. I am a
withered, leafless, branchless trunk. Cut me down, if you will: I am

16. A yell of indignation sounded on all sides. Naoman descended from
the little bank where he sat, shrouded his face with his mantle of
skins, and submitted to his fate. He fell dead at the feet of the white
woman by a blow of the tomahawk.

17. But the sacrifice of Naoman, and the firmness of the Christian white
woman, did not suffice to save the lives of the other victims. They
perished,--how, it is needless to say; and the memory of their fate has
been preserved in the name of the pleasant stream, on whose banks they
lived and died, which, to this day, is called MURDERER'S CREEK.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is Murderer's Creek? 2. What is said of Naoman and
Stacy's family? 3. Why did Naoman, at first, refuse to tell Mrs. Stacy
of her danger? 4. Did Stacy's family make their escape? 5. Where were
they taken? 6. Did Mrs. Stacy tell who had informed her? 7. What
measures did the Indians adopt, to make her tell? What did Naoman say?
9. What did the Indians do with Naoman and Stacy's family?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PER' IL OUS, hazardous; dangerous.
   DE FILES', narrow passages.
   PREC' I PIC ES, steep descents.
   SOL'I TUDE, lonely places.
   AM MU NI' TION, military stores, as powder, balls, &c.
   DRA GOONS, mounted soldiers.
   SUM' MIT, top; highest point.
   AV A LANCHE', snow-slip.
   CROUCH' ED, cringed.
   AD VANCE', forward; proceed.
   BE NUMB' ED, deprived of feeling.
   EX PLOITS', heroic deeds.
   IL LUS' TRATES, explains; makes clear.
   HE RO'IC, brave; fearless.
   UN FLINCH'ING, determined; resolute.

   BAY' O NET, a short, pointed instrument of iron, or broad dagger,
   fitted to the barrel of a gun. It is so called, because the first
   bayonets were made at Bayonne, in France.


1. When Napoleon was carrying war into Italy, he ordered one of his
officers, Marshal Macdonald, to cross the Splugen with fifteen thousand
soldiers, and join him on the plains below. The Splugen is one of the
four great roads which cross the Alps from Switzerland to Italy.

2. When Macdonald received the order, it was about the last of November,
and the winter storms were raging among the mountain passes. It was a
perilous undertaking, yet he must obey; and the men began their terrible
march through narrow defiles and overhanging precipices, six thousand
feet up, up among the gloomy solitudes of the Alps.

3. The cannon were placed on sleds drawn by oxen, and the ammunition was
packed on mules. First came the guides, sticking their long poles in the
snow, in order to find the path; then came workmen to clear away the
drifts; then the dragoons, mounted on their most powerful horses, to
beat down the track; after which followed the main body of the army.

4. They encountered severe storms and piercing cold. When half-way up
the summit, a rumbling noise was heard among the cliffs. The guides
looked at each other in alarm; for they knew well what it meant. It grew
louder and louder. "_An avalanche! an avalanche!_" they shrieked, and
the next moment a field of ice and snow came leaping down the mountain,
striking the line of march, and sweeping thirty dragoons in a wild
plunge below. The black forms of the horses and their riders were seen
for an instant struggling for life, and then they disappeared forever.

5. The sight struck the soldiers with horror; they crouched and shivered
in the blast. Their enemy was not now flesh and blood, but wild winter
storms; swords and bayonets could not defend them from the desolating
avalanche. Flight or retreat was hopeless; for all around lay the
drifted snow, like a vast winding-sheet. On they must go, or death was
certain, and the brave men struggled forward.

6. "Soldiers!" exclaimed their commander, "you are called to Italy; your
general needs you. Advance and conquer, first the mountain and the snow,
then the plains and the enemy!" Blinded by the winds, benumbed with the
cold, and far beyond the reach of aid, Macdonald and his men pressed on.
Sometimes a whole company of soldiers were suddenly swept away by an

7. On one occasion, a poor drummer, crawling out from the mass of snow,
which had torn him from his comrades, began to beat his drum for relief.
The muffled sound came up from his gloomy resting-place, and was heard
by his brother soldiers; but none could go to his rescue. For an hour,
he beat rapidly, then the strokes grew fainter, until they were heard no
more, and the poor drummer laid himself down to die. Two weeks were
occupied in this perilous march, and two hundred men perished in the

8. This passage of the Splugen is one of the bravest exploits in the
history of Napoleon's generals, and illustrates the truth of the
proverb, "_Where there is a will there is a way_." No one can read the
heroic deeds of brave men grappling with danger and death, without a
feeling of respect and admiration; but heroic deeds are always the fruit
of _toil_ and _self-sacrifice_. _No one can accomplish great things,
unless he aims at great things, and pursues that aim with unflinching
courage and perseverance._

QUESTIONS.--1. What orders had Napoleon given to Marshal Macdonald? 2.
What time of year was it? 3. Describe the march of the army over the
Alps. 4. What disaster occurred to them? 5. How did their commander
address the army? 6 Describe the drummer boy's fate. 7. How many men
perished? 8. What does this exploit of the army illustrate? 9. What is
said of heroic deeds?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PROV' ERBS, sayings; maxims.
   TRAC' ED, shown; marked out.
   WOO ERS, suitors; lovers.
   DENSE, close; thick.
   STRIV' ING, making efforts.
   CON TROL', restraint; government.
   COPE, strive; contend.
   DE FY' ING, daring; outbraving.
   GHOST, specter; apparition.
   RE LY' ING, trusting; depending.
   WIN' NING, getting; gaining.
   BRAM' BLES, prickly shrubs.



1. We have faith in old proverbs full surely,
     For wisdom has traced what they tell,
   And truth may be drawn up as purely
     From them, as it may from a "well."
   Let us question the thinkers and doers,
     And hear what they honestly say,
   And you'll find they believe, like bold wooers,
     In "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

2. The hills have been high for man's mounting,
     The woods have been dense for his ax,
   The stars have been thick for his counting,
     The sands have been wide for his tracks.
   The sea has been deep for his diving,
     The poles have been broad for his sway,
   But bravely he's proved by his striving,
     That "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

3. Have ye vices that ask a destroyer,
     Or passions that need your control?
   Let Reason become your employer,
     And your body be ruled by your soul.
   Fight on, though ye bleed at the trial,
     Resist with all strength that ye may,
   Ye may conquer Sin's host by denial,
     For, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

4. Have ye poverty's pinching to cope with'?
     Does suffering weigh down your might'?
   Only call up a spirit to hope with,
     And dawn may come out of the night.
   Oh! much may be done by defying
     The ghost of Despair and Dismay,
   And much may be gained by relying
     On "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

5. Should ye see afar off that worth winning,
     Set out on a journey with trust,
   And ne'er heed though your path at beginning
     Should be among brambles and dust.
   Though it is by footsteps ye do it,
     And hardships may hinder and stay,
   Keep a heart and be sure ye go through it,
     For, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the meaning of this proverb, "_Where there's a
WILL there's a WAY?_" 2. What instances can you mention in which its
truth has been realized? 3. Do you apply this proverb in getting your

       *       *       *       *       *


   TAL' IS MAN, charm; amulet.
   VAN, front or head of an army.
   FI' ER Y, ardent; passionate.
   PLUMES, supplies with feathers.
   TENSE' LY, tightly.
   SWERVES, deviates.
   DAUNT, frighten; terrify.
   BAN' ISH, expel; drive away.

   TEL EGRAPH,(TELE,_far off_; GRAPH, _writing or marking_,) a machine
   to convey news far off. See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, p. 161, Ex. 419.

"I CAN!"

1. "I CAN!" oh yes,--we _know_ you can!
     We read it in your eye;
   There is a mystic talisman
     Flashing all gloriously!
   Speak it out boldly, let it ring,
     There is a volume there,
   There's meaning in the eagle's wing
     _Then soar, and do, and dare!_

2. "I CAN!" climbs to the mountain top,
     And plows the billowy main;
   He lifts the hammer in the shop,
     And drives the saw and plane;
   He's fearless in the battle shock,
     And always leads the van
   Of young America's brave sons,--
     They never quailed nor ran.

3. "I CAN!" He is a fiery youth,
     And WILL a brother twin,
   And, arm in arm, in love and truth.
     They'll either die or win.
   Shoulder to shoulder, ever ready,
     All firm and fearless still
   These brothers labor,--true and steady,--
     "I CAN," and brave "I WILL."

4. "I CAN," e'en on his pleasure trips,
     Travels by telegraph;
   He plumes the snowy wing of ships,
     And never works by half;
   His music is the humming loom,
     And shuttles are his dancers.,
   Then clear the way, and quick give room
     For the noble-souled "I CAN," sirs!

5. "I CAN!" Indeed, we _know_ you can!
     'Tis lithe in every limb,
   To your blood 'tis a busy fan,
     How can the flame burn dim?
   It tensely draws your sturdy nerves,--
     No bow's without a string,
   And when nor bow nor bow-string swerves,
     An arrow's on the wing.

6. There is a magic in the power
     Of an unbending _will_,
   That makes us stronger every hour,
     For greater efforts still.
   Then banish from you every CAN'T,
     And show yourself a MAN,
   And nothing will your purpose daunt,
     Led by the brave "I CAN!"

QUESTIONS.--1. What does "_I can_" do? 2. Who is called his twin
brother? 3. What is said of an unbending will?

       *       *       *       *       *


   CAS' ED, invested.
   ARM' OR, defensive arms.
   STORM' ING, taking by assault.
   AIR' Y, fanciful; visionary.
   FOR' TRESS, fort; strong-hold.
   DE TAIN', hinder; keep back.
   WEAP' ONS, instruments for defense, or offense.
   UN WOR' THY, undeserving.
   RE GRET', sorrow for the past.
   PHAN' TOM, specter; ghost-like.
   SCARCE' LY, hardly.



 1. ARISE`! for the day is passing,
      And you lie dreaming on;
    Your brothers are cased in armor,
      And forth to the fight are gone!
    A place in the ranks awaits you;
      Each man has some part to play;
    The Past and the Future are nothing
      In the face of stern TO-DAY.

 2. ARISE from your dreams of the Future,--
     Of gaining some hard-fought field,
    Of storming some airy fortress,
      Or bidding some giant yield;
    Your Future has deeds of glory,
      Of honor, (God grant it may!)
    But your arm will never be stronger,
      Or needed as _now_,--TO-DAY.

 3. ARISE`! if the Past detain you,
      Her sunshine and storms forget;
    No chains so unworthy to hold you
      As those of a vain regret;
    Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever;
      Cast her phantom arms away,
    Nor look back, save to learn the lesson
      Of a nobler strife TO-DAY.

 4. ARISE`! for the day is passing;
      The sound that you scarcely hear,
    Is the enemy marching to battle!
(f.)  _Rise_`! RISE`! for the foe is near!
    Stay not to sharpen your weapons,
      Or the hour will strike at last,
    When, from dreams of a coming battle,
      You may wake to find it past!

QUESTIONS.--1. What reasons are assigned why we should arouse to effort
_now, to-day?_ 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _arise?_ See
Rule VIII., page 33. 3. How, according to the notation mark, should the
last verse be read?

       *       *       *       *       *


   REV O LU' TION, change of government.
   FAN' CI ED, thought; imagined,
   UN GEN' ER OUS, mean; ignoble.
   AC KNOWL' EDG ED, owned.
   PLOT' TING, planning; contriving.
   DE SIGN', purpose; intention.
   COR RE SPOND' ENCE, intercourse by letters.
   CON' QUEST, victory.
   IN' TER VIEW, meeting; conference.
   SOL' I TA RY, lonely; retired.
   CON GRAT' U LA TING, rejoicing with.
   IS' SU ED, started up; come forth.
   SUS PECT' ING, mistrusting.
   DE TECT' ED, exposed; found out.
   A' MI A BLE, lovely; agreeable.
   FEL' ON, criminal.
   CON' SE QUENCE, (CON, _with_; SEQUENCE, _a following_,) a following
   with, as an effect, or result.
   IM PRESS' IVE, (IM, _in_; PRESS, _to bear upon_; IVE, _tending to_,)
   tending to press in, or upon; producing an effect.
   IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_,) rolled in; enveloped.


1. One of the saddest events in the history of the American Revolution
is the _treason of Arnold_, and, in consequence of it, _the death of
Major Andre_. Arnold was an officer in the American army, who, though
brave, had a proud and impatient spirit.

2. He fancied he had not all the honor and the pay due for his services,
and, having plunged himself into debt by his expensive style of living,
these things soured his heart; and, as is the case with ungenerous
minds, he never acknowledged a fault, or forgave an injury. More than
this, he sought revenge against his countrymen by plotting _treason
against his country_.

3. Soon after forming this bad design, he opened a secret correspondence
with the English General, Henry Clinton, and, at the same time, asked
General Washington to give him the command of West Point, an important
post on the Hudson river. Washington let him have it, and this he
determined to betray into the hands of the enemy, provided he could make
out of it a good bargain for himself.

4. He wrote to General Clinton what he would do, and asked to have a
secret interview with some English officer, in order to agree upon the
terms. General Clinton was delighted; for he thought an army divided
against itself, must prove an easy conquest; and he asked Major Andre, a
gallant young officer, to meet Arnold, and settle the price of his

5. Andre did not wish to engage in such business; but he obeyed, and
went up the Hudson in an English sloop-of-war for this purpose. Arnold
agreed to meet him at a certain spot, and when night came on, sent a
little boat to bring him ashore. He landed at the foot of a mountain
called the Long Clove, on the western side of the river, a few miles
from Haverstraw, where he found the traitor hid in a clump of bushes.

6. Little did poor Andre foresee the fatal consequences of this step.
All that still star-light night they sat and talked; daylight came, and
the business was not concluded. Arnold dismissed the boatmen, and led
his companion to a solitary farm-house on the river's bank, where the
papers were finally drawn up, and hid in one of Andre's stockings. Andre
felt how exposed he was to danger in the enemy's country, and heartily
wished himself back to the sloop.

7. Forced now, however, to go by land, Arnold gave him a pass to go
through the American lines; and, at sunset, he set off, on horseback,
with a guide. They crossed the river, and, getting along on their
dangerous journey with but few alarms, the guide left the next morning,
and Andre rode briskly on, congratulating himself upon leaving all
dangers behind, for he was rapidly nearing the English lines, when there
was a loud shout, "_Stand!_ HALT!" and three men [Footnote: Paulding,
Williams, and Van Wart.] issued from the woods, one seizing the bridle,
and the others presenting their guns.

8. Andre told them he had a pass to White Plains, on urgent business
from General Arnold, and begged them not to detain him; but the men,
suspecting that all was not right, began to search him; and, hauling off
his boots, they discovered his papers in his stockings.

9. Finding himself detected, he offered them any sum of money, if they
would let him go. "No;" answered the sturdy men, "not if you would give
us ten thousand guineas;" for, though poor, they were above selling
their country at any price. Andre was sent a prisoner to General
Washington's camp. Arnold, on learning the news of his capture,
immediately fled from West Point, and made his escape to the English

10. According to the rules of war, poor Andre was sentenced to the death
of a spy. Great efforts were made to save him. General Clinton offered a
large sum to redeem him. So young, so amiable, so gallant, and to meet a
felon's doom! but, in ten days he was hung.

11. Arnold lived; but, with the thirty thousand dollars--the price of
his treachery--he lived a miserable man, despised even by those who
bought him. And one impressive lesson which the story teaches, is, that
_the consequences of guilt do not fall alone on the guilty man;_ others
are often involved in distress, disgrace, and ruin.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is one of the saddest events in the history of the
American Revolution? 2. Who was Arnold? 3. What reason is assigned why
he plotted treason against his country? 4. What measures did he adopt to
do this? 5. With whom, and where did he make the agreement? 6. By whom
was Andre detected? 7. What became of Andre and Arnold?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SE CUR' ED, obtained.
   HES' I TA TED, paused.
   MIS' ER A BLE, wretched.
   SUP' PLI ANT, petitioner; beggar.
   PECUL' IAR, singular; remarkable.
   IN DIC' A TIVE, showing; intimating.
   SO LIC' IT ED, asked; requested.
   COS TUME', mode of dress.
   VIG' OR OUS, stout; strong.
   SYN' O NYM, a word meaning the same as some other word.
   IN' FA MY, utter disgrace.

[Headnote 1: TAL' LEY RAND, a distinguished French statesman, was born
Feb. 13th, 1754. He died May 20th, 1838.]


1. There was a day when Talleyrand [Headnote 1] arrived in Havre, direct
from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by
the blood-hounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of
property or power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America, in a ship
about to sail. He was a beggar and a wanderer in a strange land, to earn
his bread by daily labor.

2. "Is there an American staying at your house?" he asked the landlord
of the hotel. "I am bound to cross the water, and should like a letter
to a person of influence in the New World." The landlord hesitated a
moment, then replied: "There is a gentleman up-stairs, either from
America or Britain; but whether an American or an Englishman, I can not

3. He pointed the way, and Talleyrand, who, in his life, was Bishop,
Prince, and Prime Minister, ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant,
he stood before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered. In the far
corner of the dimly-lighted room, sat a man of some fifty years, his
arms folded, and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly
opposite, a faint light rested on his forehead.

4. His eyes looked from beneath the downcast brows, and gazed on
Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching expression. His face was
striking in outline,--the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will. His
form, vigorous, even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad in a
dark, but rich and distinguished costume.

5. Talleyrand advanced, stated that he was a fugitive; and, under the
impression that the gentleman before him was an American, he solicited
his kind and generous offices. He related his history in eloquent French
and broken English.

6. "I am a wanderer, and an exile. I am forced to flee to the New World,
without a friend or home. You are an American! Give me, then, I beseech
you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able to earn my bread. I am
willing to toil in any manner; the scenes of Paris have seized me with
such horror, that a life of labor would be a paradise to a career of
luxury in France. You will give me a letter to one of your friends? A
gentleman like yourself has, doubtless, many friends."

7. The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand never forgot,
he retreated to the door of the next chamber,--his eyes looking still
from beneath his darkened brow. He spoke as he retreated backward,--his
voice was full of meaning. "I am the only man born in the New World, who
can raise his hand to God and say, I have not a friend, not one, in all
America!" Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness of that look
which accompanied these words.

8. "Who are you?" he cried, as the strange man retreated to the next
room: "your name?" "My name," he replied, with a smile that had more of
mockery than joy in its convulsive expression,--"my name is Benedict
Arnold!" He was gone: Talleyrand sank into his chair, gasping the words,

9. Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth another Cain, with the
wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even in that secluded room, in that inn
at Havre, his crimes found him out, and forced him to tell his name:
that name the synonym of infamy. The last twenty years of his life are
covered with a cloud, from whose darkness but a few gleams of light
flash out upon the page of history.

10. The manner of his death is not exactly known; but we can not doubt
that he died utterly friendless,--that remorse pursued him to the grave,
whispering "John Andre" in his ear,--and that the memory of his course
of infamy gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring forever, "True to
your country, what might you have been, O ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!"

QUESTIONS.--1. Who was Talleyrand? 2. Why was he obliged to flee from
Paris? 3. Whom did he seek at Havre? 4. Why did he wish to see the
stranger? 5. Describe the appearance of this stranger. 6. What did he
say to Talleyrand? 7. Who did the stranger prove to be? 8. What is said
of Arnold? 9. Where is Havre? 10. Where is Paris? 11. What is meant by
_New World_?

       *       *       *       *       *


   LO CO MO' TIVE, steam-engine to propel rail-cars.
   COL LIS' ION, (_s_ like _zh_,) shock; violent contact.
   EN GIN EER', one who manages an engine.
   PRE CIP' I TA TED, thrown headlong.
   RE-EN FORCE' MENTS, additional forces.
   OB' STI NATE, unyielding.
   CORPS, (_kore_,) body of troops.
   BANK' RUPT CY, insolvency.
   E NOR' MOUS, immense; very large.
   AS' SETS, amounts due.
   RE MIT' TANCE, money remitted.
   PRE SERV' ED, secured; saved.
   MA TU' RI TY, time of payment.
   RE PRIEVE', respite.
   IN SOLV' ENT, one unable to pay his debts.
   PROV O CA' TION, incitement to anger.
   IG NO MIN' I OUS, disgraceful.
   SAC RI FIC' ED, (_c_ like _z_,) thrown away.



1. A railroad train was rushing along at almost lightning speed. A curve
was just ahead, beyond which was a station, at which the cars usually
passed each other. The conductor was late,--so late that the period
during which the down train was to wait, had nearly elapsed: but he
hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly, a locomotive dashed into
sight right ahead. In an instant, there was a collision. A shriek, a
shock, and fifty souls were in eternity; and all because an engineer had
been _behind time_.

2. A great battle was going on. Column after column had been
precipitated for eight mortal hours on the enemy posted along the ridge
of a hill. The summer sun was sinking to the west; re-enforcements for
the obstinate defenders were already in sight; it was necessary to carry
the position with one final charge, or every thing would be lost. A
powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and, if it
came up in season, all would yet be right. The great conqueror,
confident in its arrival, formed his reserve into an attacking column,
and led them down the hill. The whole world knows the result. Grouchy
[Footnote: Pronounced _Groo' shee_.] failed to appear; the imperial
guard was beaten back; Waterloo was lost. Napoleon died a prisoner at
St. Helena, because one of his marshals was _behind time_.

3. A leading firm, in commercial circles had long struggled against
bankruptcy. As it had enormous assets in California, it expected
remittances by a certain day; and if the sums promised arrived, its
credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But
week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. At last, came the
fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to enormous amounts. The
steamer was telegraphed at daybreak; but it was found on inquiry that
she brought no funds; and the house failed. The next arrival brought
nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late; they were
ruined, because their agent, in remitting, had been _behind time_.

4. A condemned man was led out for execution, he had taken human life,
but under circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy
was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for a reprieve,
a favorable answer had been expected the night before, and, though it
had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive
in season. Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the
messenger. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the
drop, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a
lifeless body hung suspended in the air. Just at that moment a horseman
came into sight, galloping down the hill, his steed covered with foam.
He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved to the crowd. He
was the express rider with the reprieve. But he had come too late. A
comparatively innocent man had died an ignominious death, because a
watch had been five minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive _behind

5. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the most important
affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the wealth of nations, honor,
happiness, life itself, are daily sacrificed because somebody is "behind
time." There are men who always fail in whatever they undertake, simply
because they are "behind time." Five minutes in a crisis are worth
years. It is but a little period, yet it has often saved a fortune, or
redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that should be cultivated more
than another by him who would succeed in life, it is _punctuality_; if
there is one error that should be avoided, it is being _behind time_.

QUESTIONS.--1. What sad results are mentioned, in consequence of being
_behind time?_ 2. What virtue should be cultivated, and what error
avoided? 3. What is the use of the hyphen in the word _re-enforcements?_

       *       *       *       *       *


   TWIN' ED, interwoven.
   GAR' LAND, wreath of flowers.
   MUS' ED, thought; meditated.
   AN TIQUE', (_an teek'_,) ancient.
   MOLD, shape; form.
   RARE, scarce; seldom seen.
   SOOTH ED, calmed; quieted.
   THROB' BED, beat; palpitated.
   CO' ZY, snug; comfortable.
   EBB' ED, flowed back.
   JOUR' NEY, travel.
   LONG' ING, earnestly desiring.
   TIE, bond of affection.
   RIV' EN, torn asunder.


1. A little girl sat amid the flowers,
   In the blush and bloom of childhood's hours;
   She twined the buds in a garland fair,
   And bound them up in her shining hair:
   "Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
   When ten years more have gone over me,
   And I am a maiden with youth's bright glow
   Flushing my cheek, and lighting my brow!"

2. A maiden mused in a pleasant room,
   Where the air was filled with a soft perfume;
   Vases were near of antique mold,
   And beautiful pictures, rare and old;
   And she, amid all the beauty there,
   Was by far the loveliest and most fair.
   "Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
   When my heart's own choice comes back to me,
   When I proudly stand by my dear one's side,
   With the thrilling joy of a youthful bride!"

3. A mother bent o'er the cradle nest
   Where she soothed her babe to his smiling rest;
   She watched the sleep of her cherub-boy,
   And her spirit throbbed with exulting joy.
   "Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
   When he reaches manhood, proud and free,
   And the world bows down, in its rapture wild,
   It the earnest words of my darling child!"

4. An aged one sat by the cozy hearth,
   Counting life's sands as they ebbed from earth;
   Feeble and frail; the race she run
   Had borne her along to the setting sun.
   "Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,
   When from time's long fever my soul is free,
   When the world fades out with its weary strife,
   And I soar away to a better life!"

5. 'Tis thus we journey from youth to age,
   Longing to turn to another page,
   Striving to hasten the years away,
   Lighting our hearts with the future's ray,
   Hoping on earth till its visions fade,
   Wishing and waiting, through sun and shade,
   But turning, when earth's last tie is riven,
   To the beautiful rest of a fadeless Heaven.

QUESTIONS.--1. When did the little girl think she would be happy? 2.
What did she say when she became old? 3. What are we constantly
expecting from youth to age? 4. What is the meaning of the suffix _ing_,
in such words as _longing, striving, lighting_, &c.? See SANDERS &
McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 134, Ex. 176.

       *       *       *       *       *


   VET' ER AN, old soldier.
   GRASP' ED, seized hold of.
   AN' CIENT, old.
   MUR' MUR, ED, uttered in a low voice.
   IM MOR' TAL, imperishable.
   RAG' ED, was furious.
   RE MAIN', still exists.
   SIRE, father.
   LIGHT' EN ED, (EN, _make_; ED, _did_,) did make light.



1. He lay upon his dying bed,
(pl.) His eye was growing dim,
   When, with a feeble voice, he called
     His weeping son to him:
   "Weep not, my boy," the veteran said,
     "I bow to Heaven's high will;
   But quickly from yon antlers bring,
     The sword of Bunker Hill."

2. The sword was brought; the soldier's eye
     Lit with a sudden flame;
   And, as he grasped the ancient blade,
     He murmured Warren's[1] name;
   Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold,
     But what is richer still,
   I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,
     The sword of Bunker Hill.

3. "'Twas on that dread, immortal day,
     I dared the Briton's band,
   A captain raised his blade on me,
     I tore it from his hand;
   And while the glorious battle raged,
     It lightened Freedom's will;
   For, boy, the God of Freedom blessed
     The sword of Bunker Hill.

4. "Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke,--
     A smile--and he was dead;
   But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade,
     Upon that dying bed.
   The son remains, the sword remains,
     Its glory growing still,
   And twenty millions bless the sire
     And sword of Bunker Hill.

[Footnote 1: General Warren, a brave and valuable officer, fell by a
musket-ball, while fighting the British at Bunker's Hill, June 17th,

QUESTIONS.--1. What request did the old veteran make of his son? 2. What
bequest did he make to him? 3. How did he obtain that sword? 4. What did
he say to his son? 5. Who was Warren?

       *       *       *       *       *


   LE' GEND, fictitious narrative.
   MOR' TAL, deadly.
   COM' BAT, battle; conflict.
   PRI ME' VAL, first; primitive.
   MUS' CU LAR, strong; vigorous.
   CA DAV' ER OUS, pale; sickly.
   REF U GEE', runaway; fugitive.
   QUAR' TER, mercy; indulgence.
   PIN' ION ED, confined; shackled.
   A BYSS', yawning gulf.
   PRO POS' AL, offer; proposition.
   DI SHEV' EL ED, disordered.
   IM BO' SOM ED, surrounded; inclosed.
   CON FESS' ED, owned; acknowledged.
   RE LENT' ING, pitying; compassionate.
   RAN' DOM, venture.
   SU PER STI' TION, false religious belief.
   A VENGE', take satisfaction for.
   UN CON' SCIOUS, unaware.
   SUB LIM' I TY, grandeur.



1. It was here in the wilds of the Wis sa hi' kon, on the day of battle,
as the noonday sun came shining through the thickly clustered leaves,
that two men met in mortal combat. They grappled in deadly conflict near
a rock that rose, like the huge wreck of some primeval world, at least
one hundred feet above the dark waters of the Wis sa hi'kon.

2. That man with the dark brow and the darker gray eye,--with the
muscular form, clad in the blue hunting-frock of the Revolution,--is a
Continental, named Warner. His brother was murdered at the massacre of
Pao'li. That _other_ man, with long black hair drooping along his
cadaverous face, is clad in the half-military costume of a Tory refugee.
_That_ is the murderer of Pao'li, named Dabney.

3. They had met there in the woods by accident; and now they fought, not
with sword or rifle, but with long and deadly hunting-knives, that flash
in the light as they go turning, and twining, and twisting over the
green-sward. At last, the Tory is down!--down on the green-sward, with
the knee of the Continental upon his breast,--that up-raised knife
quivering in the light,--that dark-gray eye flashing death into his

4. "Quarter! I yield!" gasped the Tory, as the knee was pressed upon his
breast. "Spare me!--I yield!"

5. "_My_ brother," said the patriot soldier, in a low tone of deadly
hate,--"_My_ brother cried for quarter on the night of Pa o' li, and,
even as he clung to your knees, you struck that knife into his heart.
Oh, I will give you the quarter of Pa o' li!" And his hand was raised
for the blow, and his teeth were clinched in deadly hate. He paused for
a moment, and then pinioned the Tory's arms, and, with one rapid stride,
dragged him to the verge of the rock, and held him quivering over the

6. "Mercy!" gasped the Tory, turning black and ashy by turns, as that
awful gulf yawned below. "_Mercy! I have a wife! a child! spare me!_"

7. Then the Continental, with his muscular strength gathered for the
effort, shook the murderer once more over the abyss, and then hissed
this bitter sneer between his teeth,--"_My brother had a wife and two
children_. The morning after the night of Pa o' li, that wife was a
widow,--those children were orphans! Would not you like to go and beg
your life of that widow and her children?"

8. The proposal, made by the Continental in the mere mockery of hate,
was taken in serious earnest by the horror-stricken Tory. He begged to
be taken to the widow and her children, to have the pitiful privilege of
begging his life. After a moment's serious thought, the patriot soldier
consented. He bound the Tory's arms yet tighter, placed him on the rock
again, and then led him up the woods. A quiet cottage, imbosomed among
the trees, broke on their eyes.

9. They entered that cottage. There, beside the desolate hearth-stone,
sat the widow and her children. She was a matronly woman of about thirty
years, with a face faded by care, a deep, dark eye, and long, disheveled
hair about her shoulder. On one side was a dark-haired boy, of some six
years; on the other, a little girl, one year younger, with light hair
and blue eyes. The Bible, an old, venerable volume, lay open on that
mother's lap.

10. And then that pale-faced Tory flung himself on his knees, confessed
that he had butchered her husband on the night of Pa o'li, but begged
his life at her hands! _"Spare me, for the sake of my wife--my child!"_
He had expected that his pitiful moan would touch the widow's heart; but
not one relenting gleam softened her pale face.

11. "The Lord shall judge between us!" she said in a cold, icy tone,
that froze the murderer's heart. "Look! The Bible lies open before me. I
will close that volume, and then this boy shall open it, and place his
finger at random upon a line, and by _that line_ you shall live or die!"
This was a strange proposal, made in full faith of a wild and dark
superstition of the olden time. For a moment, the Tory, kneeling there,
livid as ashes, was wrapt in thought. Then, in a faltering voice, he
signified his consent.

12. Raising her dark eyes to heaven, the mother prayed the Great Father
to direct the finger of her son. She closed the book, and handed it to
that boy, whose young cheek reddened with loathing as he gazed upon his
father's murderer. He took the Bible, opened its holy pages at random,
and placed his fingers upon a verse.

13. Then there was a silence. That Continental soldier, who had sworn to
avenge his brother's death, stood there with dilating eyes and parted
lips. Then the culprit, kneeling on the floor, with a face like
discolored clay, felt his heart leap to his throat. Then, in a clear,
bold voice, the widow read this line from the Old Testament. It was
short, yet terrible: "_That man shall die!_"

14. Look! The brother springs forward to plunge a knife into the
murderer's heart; but the Tory, pinioned as he is, begs that one more
trial may be made by the little girl,--that child of five years, with
golden hair and laughing eyes. The widow consents. There is an awful
pause. With a smile in her eye, without knowing what she does, the
little girl opens the Bible,--she turns her laughing face away,--she
places her fingers upon the page.

15. That awful silence grows deeper. The deep-drawn breath of the
brother, and the broken gasps of the murderer, alone disturb the
stillness. The widow and dark-eyed boy are breathless. That little girl,
unconscious as she was, caught a feeling of awe from the countenances
around her, and stood breathless, her face turned aside, and her tiny
fingers resting on that line of life or death. At last, gathering
courage, the widow bent her eyes on the page, and read. It was a line
from the New Testament: "LOVE YOUR ENEMIES." Ah! that moment was

16. Oh, awful Book of God! in whose dread pages we see Job talking face
to face with Jehovah, or Jesus waiting by Samaria's well, or wandering
by the waves of dark Galilee! Oh, awful Book! shining to-night, as I
speak, the light of that widow's home,--the glory of the mechanic's
shop,--shining where the world comes not, to look on the last night of
the convict in his cell, lightening the way to God, even over that dread

17. Oh, Book of terrible majesty and child-like love,--for sublimity
that crushes the soul into awe,--of beauty that melts the heart with
rapture! you never shone more strangely beautiful than there in the
lonely cot of the Wissa hi'kon, where you saved the murderer's life.
For,--need I tell you?--_that murderer's life was saved_. That widow
recognized the finger of God, and even the stern brother was awed into
silence. The murderer went his way.

18. Now look ye, how wonderful are the ways of Heaven! That very night,
as the widow sat by her lonely hearth, her orphans by her side,--sat
there with a crushed heart and hot eye-balls, thinking of her husband,
who, she supposed, now lay moldering on the blood-drenched soil of Pa o'
li,--there was a tap at the door. She opened it, and that husband,
living, though covered with wounds, was in her arms! He had fallen at Pa
o' li, but not in death. _He was alive_,--his wife lay panting on his
breast. That night there was a prayer in that wood-embowered cot of the
Wis sa hi' kon.

QUESTIONS.--1. What two men are said to have engaged in deadly combat?
2. Which gained the mastery? 3. What did the patriot soldier say to the
Tory, when he cried, _Quarter_? 4. What, when the Tory told him he had a
wife and child? 5. What proposal was made to him? 6. How was his fate to
be decided? 7. Was his life spared? 8. What proved the justice of the

       *       *       *       *       *


   VES' TI BULE, porch, entrance.
   VI' BRATE, move to and fro.
   IM MOR' TALS, undying creatures.
   MON' U MENTS, memorials.
   A CHIEVE', accomplish.
   MU TA BLE, changeable.
   IM MOR TAL' I TY, deathless existence.
   IL LU' MIN ATE, enlighten.
   UN DER STAND' ING, intellect.
   RE AL' I TIES, truths; facts.
   AS SAULTS', violent attacks.
   DE SER' TION, abandonment.
   IN EX HAUST' I BLE, never-failing.
   CHAR' TER, title; deed.



1. Young friends', in whatever pursuits you may engage, you must not
forget that the lawful objects of human efforts, are but means to higher
results and nobler ends. Start not forward in life with the idea of
becoming mere seekers of pleasure,--sportive butterflies searching for
gaudy flowers. Consider and act with reference to the true ends of

2. This world is but the vestibule of an immortal life. Every action of
your life touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity. These
thoughts and motives within you, stir the pulses of a deathless spirit.
Act not, then, as mere creatures of this life, who, for a little while,
are to walk the valleys and the hills, to enjoy the sunshine and to
breathe the air, and then pass away and be no more; but _act_ as
immortals, with an _aim_ and a _purpose_ worthy of your high nature.

3. Set before you, as the chief object to be obtained, an _end_ that is
superior to any on earth,--_a desirable end_, A PERFECT END. Labor to
accomplish a work which shall survive unchanged and beautiful, when time
shall have withered the garland of youth, when thrones of power and
monuments of art shall have crumbled into ashes; and, finally, aim to
achieve something, which, when these our mutable and perishing voices
are hushed forever, shall live amid the songs and triumphs of

4. Well will it be for you, if you have a _guide_ within, which will aid
you in every issue which will arm you in every temptation, and comfort
you in every sorrow. Consult, then, that Volume whose precepts will
never fail you. Consult it with a deep aspiration after the true and
good, and it shall illuminate your understanding with divine realities.

5. Open your soul, and it shall breathe into it a holy influence, and
fill all its wants. Bind it close to your heart; it will be a shield
against all the assaults of evil. Read it in the lonely hour of
desertion; it will be the best of companions. Open it when the voyage of
life is troubled'; it is a sure chart. Study it in poverty'; it will
unhoard to you inexhaustible riches. Commune with it in sickness'; it
contains the medicine of the soul. Clasp it when dying'; IT IS THE

QUESTIONS.--1. What ought we not to forget? 2. How ought the world to be
regarded? 3. How ought we to act and labor? 4. What ought we to consult?

       *       *       *       *       *


   IN TREP' ID, brave; heroic.
   BE TO' KEN ED, showed; indicated.
   E LAS' TIC, springy; agile.
   AT' TI TUDE, posture; position.
   UN' DER GROWTH, shrubbery.
   CON FRONT', stand before.
   CA TAS' TRO PHE, disaster; calamity.
   DE TER' RED, hindered; prevented.
   HUR' RI CANE, violent tempest.
   BUF' FET ING, beating with the hands.
   ATH LET' IC, strong; powerful.
   MI RAC' U LOUS, wonderful.
   TRE MEN DOUS, terrible; frightful.
   DES' PE RATE, rash; furious.
   IN VOL' UN TA RY, spontaneous.
   CAT' A RACT, waterfall.
   RE SUS' CI TATE, revive; bring to life.
   CH AR' AC TER IZ ED, distinguished.


1. It was a calm, sunny day in the year 1750; the scene, a piece of
forest land in the north of Virginia, near a noble stream of water.
Implements of surveying were lying about, and several men reclining
under the trees, betokened, by their dress and appearance, that they
composed a party engaged in laying out the wild lands of the country.

2. These persons had apparently just finished their dinner. Apart from
the group, walked a young man of a tall and compact frame, and moved
with the elastic tread of one accustomed to constant exercise in the
open air. His countenance wore a look of decision and manliness not
usually found in one so young, for he was apparently little over
eighteen years of age. His hat had been cast off, as if for comfort, and
he had paused, with one foot advanced, in a graceful and natural

3. Suddenly there was a shriek, then another, and several in rapid
succession. The voice was that of a woman, and seemed to proceed from
the other side of a dense thicket. At the first scream, the youth turned
his head in the direction of the sound; but when it was repeated, he
pushed aside the undergrowth which separated him from it, and,
quickening his footsteps, as the cries succeeded each other in alarming
rapidity, he soon dashed into an open space on the banks of the stream,
where stood a rude log-cabin.

4. As the young man broke from the undergrowth, he saw his companions
crowded together on the banks of the river, while in the midst stood the
woman, from whom proceeded the shrieks, held back by two of the men, but
struggling vigorously for freedom. It was but the work of a moment for
the young man to make his way through the crowd and confront the female.
The instant her eye fell on him, she exclaimed, "Oh! sir, you will do
something for me. Make them release me,--for the love of God! _My
boy,--my poor boy is drowning, and they will not let me go!"_ "It would
be madness; she will jump into the river," said one, "and the rapids
would dash her to pieces in a moment!"

5. The youth had scarcely waited for these words, for he recollected the
child, a bold little boy of four years old, whose beautiful blue eyes
and flaxen ringlets made him a favorite with all who knew him. He had
been accustomed to play in the little inclosure before the cabin, but
the gate having been left open, he had stolen incautiously out, reached
the edge of the bank, and was in the act of looking over, when his
mother saw him.

6. The shriek she uttered only hastened the catastrophe she feared; for
the child, frightened at the cry of its mother, lost its balance, and
fell into the stream, which here went foaming and roaring along amid
innumerable rocks, constituting the most dangerous rapids known in that
section of the country. Scream now followed scream in rapid succession,
as the agonized mother rushed to the bank.

7. The party we left reclining in the shade within a few steps of the
accident, were immediately on the spot. Fortunate it was that they were
so near, else the mother would have jumped in after her child, and both
been lost. Several of the men approached the brink, and were on the
point of springing in after the child, when the sight of the sharp rocks
crowding the channel, the rush and whirl of the waters, and the want of
any knowledge where to look for the boy, deterred them, and they gave up
the enterprise.

8. Not so with the noble youth. His first work was to throw off his
coat; next to spring to the edge of the bank. Here he stood for a
moment, running his eyes rapidly over the scene below, taking with a
glance the different currents and the most dangerous of the rocks, in
order to shape his course when in the stream. He had scarcely formed his
conclusion, when he saw in the water a white object, which he knew to be
the boy's dress, and he plunged into the wild and roaring rapids.

9. _"Thank God, he will save my child,"_ cried the mother; _"there he
is!--oh! my boy, my darling boy, how could I leave you!"_ Every one had
rushed to the brink of the precipice, and was now following with eager
eyes the progress of the youth, as the current bore him onward, like a
feather in the embrace of the hurricane. Now it seemed as if he would be
dashed against a jutting rock, over which the water flew in foam, and a
whirlpool would drag him in, from whose grasp escape would appear

10. At times, the current bore him under, and he would be lost to sight;
then, just as the spectators gave him up, he would appear, though far
from where he vanished, still buffeting amid the vortex. Oh, how that
mother's straining eyes followed him in his perilous career! how her
heart sunk when he went under,--and with what a gush of joy when she saw
him emerge again from the waters, and, flinging the waves aside with his
athletic arms, struggle on in pursuit of her boy!

11. But it seemed as if his generous efforts were not to avail; for,
though the current was bearing off the boy before his eyes, scarcely ten
feet distant, he could not, despite his gigantic efforts, overtake the
drowning child. On flew the youth and child; and it was miraculous how
each escaped being dashed in pieces against the rocks. Twice the boy
went out of sight, and a suppressed shriek escaped the mother's lips;
but twice he reappeared, and then, with hands wrung wildly together, and
breathless anxiety, she followed his progress, as his unresisting form
was hurried with the onward current.

12. The youth now appeared to redouble his exertions, for they were
approaching the most dangerous part of the river, where the rapids,
contracting between the narrow shores, shot almost perpendicularly down
a declivity of fifteen feet. The rush of the waters at this spot was
tremendous, and no one ventured to approach its vicinity, even in a
canoe, lest he should be dashed in pieces. What, then, would be the
youth's fate, unless he soon overtook the child? He seemed fully
sensible of the increasing peril, and now urged his way through the
foaming current with a desperate strength.

13. Three times he was on the point of grasping the child, when the
waters whirled the prize from him. The third effort was made just as
they were entering within the influence of the current above the fall;
and when it failed, the mother's heart sunk within her, and she groaned,
fully expecting the youth to give up his task. But no; he only pressed
forward the more eagerly; and, as they breathlessly watched amid the
boiling waters, they saw the form of the brave youth following close
after that of the boy.

14. And now, like an arrow from the bow, pursuer and pursued shot to the
brink of the precipice. An instant they hung there, distinctly visible
amid the foaming waters. Every brain grew dizzy at the sight. But a
shout of involuntary exultation burst from the spectators, when they saw
the boy held aloft by the right arm of the youth,--a shout that was
suddenly checked with horror, when they both vanished into the abyss

15. A moment elapsed before a word was spoken, or a breath drawn. The
mother ran forward, and then stood gazing with fixed eyes at the foot of
the cataract, as if her all depended upon what the next moment should
reveal. Suddenly she gave the glad cry, (_f_.) "_There they are! See!
they are safe!_--Great God, I thank thee!" And, sure enough, there was
the youth still unharmed, and still buffeting the waters. He had just
emerged from the boiling vortex below the cataract. With one hand he
held aloft the child, and with the other he was making for the shore.

16. They ran, they shouted, they scarcely knew what they did, until they
reached his side, just as he was struggling to the bank. They drew him
out almost exhausted. The boy was senseless; but his mother declared
that he still lived, as she pressed him frantically to her bosom. The
youth could scarcely stand, so faint was he from his exertions.

17. Who can describe the scene that followed,--the mother's calmness
while she strove to resuscitate her boy, and her wild gratitude to his
preserver, when the child was out of danger, and sweetly sleeping in her
arms? Our pen shrinks at the task. But her words, pronounced then, were
remembered afterwards by more than one who heard them.

18. "_God will reward you_," said she, "as _I_ can not. He will do great
things for you in return for this day's work, and the blessings of
thousands besides mine will attend you." And so it was; for, to the
_hero_ of that hour, were subsequently confided the destinies of a
mighty nation. But, throughout his long career, what tended to make him
more honored and respected beyond all men, was the _self-sacrificing
spirit_, which, in the rescue of that mother's child, as in the more
august events of his life, characterized OUR BELOVED WASHINGTON.

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the scene where this accident took place. 2.
What did the woman say to the young man? 3. Why would not the men
release the woman? 4. What did the young man do? 5. Did he finally
succeed in saving the child? 6. What did the mother say to him? 7. Who
did this youth prove to be?

       *       *       *       *       *


   RAB' BI, teacher or doctor.
   HEA' THEN, pagan; gentile.
   BOUND' A RIES, limits.
   WAN' DER ED, strayed.
   SUB MIS' SIVE, resigned; humble.
   PIL' GRIM, wanderer.
   RE PEL' LED, drove off.
   IN HOS' PI TA BLE, unkind to strangers.
   MAN' TLE, garment, cloak.
   CON SOL' ING, comforting.
   RE POS' ING, lying down; resting.
   CA LAM' I TY, misfortune.
   POUN' CED, fell or jumped suddenly.
   IM PLOR' ING, begging; entreating.
   DE SPOIL' ED, robbed.
   CHURL' ISH, surly; rude.



 1. A pious Rabbi, forced by heathen hate,
      To quit the boundaries of his native land,
    Wandered abroad, submissive to his fate,
      Through pathless woods and wastes of burning sand.

 2. A patient ass, to bear him in his flight,
      A dog, to guard him from the robber's stealth,
    A lamp, by which to read the law at night,--
      Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly wealth.

 3. At set of sun he reached a little town,
      And asked for shelter and a crumb of food;
    But every face repelled him with a frown,
      And so he sought a lodging in the wood.

 4. "'Tis very hard," the weary traveler said,
      "And most inhospitable, I protest,
    To send me fasting to this forest bed;
      But God is good, and means it for the best!"

 5. He lit his lamp to read the sacred law,
      Before he spread his mantle for the night;
    But the wind rising with a sudden flaw,
      He read no more,--the gust put out the light.

 6. "'Tis strange," he said, "'tis very strange, indeed,
      That ere I lay me down to take my rest,
    A chapter of the law I may not read,--
      But God is good, and all is for the best!"

 7. With these consoling words the Rabbi tries
      To sleep,--his head reposing on a log,--
    But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes,
      A wolf came up and killed his faithful dog.

 8. "What new calamity is this?" he cried;
      "My honest dog--a friend who stood the test
    When others failed--lies murdered at my side!
      Well,--God is good, and means it for the best."

 9. Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, when, alas!--
      As if, at once, to crown his wretched lot,
    A hungry lion pounced upon the ass,
      And killed the faithful donkey on the spot.

10. "Alas!--alas!" the weeping Rabbi said,
      "Misfortune haunts me like a hateful guest;
    My dog is gone, and now my ass is dead,--
      Well, God is good, and all is for the best!"

11. At dawn of day, imploring heavenly grace,
      Once more he sought the town, but all in vain;
    A band of robbers had despoiled the place,
      And all the churlish citizens were slain.

12. "Now God be praised!" the grateful Rabbi cried,
      "If I had tarried in the town to rest,
    I too, with these poor villagers had died,--
      Sure, God is good, and all is for the best!"

13. "Had not the saucy wind put out my lamp,
      By which the sacred law I would have read,
    The light had shown the robbers to my camp,
      And here the villains would have left me dead.

14. "Had not my faithful animals been slain,
      Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the robbers near,
    And so their master, it is very plain,
      Instead of them, had fallen murdered here.

15. "Full well I see that this hath happened so
      To put my faith and patience to the test;
    Thanks to His name! for now I surely know
      That God is good, and all is for the best!"

       *       *       *       *       *


   FU TU' RI TY, events to come.
   CON SULT', counsel with.
   PRE TEN' SIONS, claims; assumptions.
   FOR' TI TUDE, patience; endurance.
   MOD' EL, pattern; example.
   RES IG NA' TION, submissiveness.
   O VER WHELMS', overcomes.
   IN GRAT' I TUDE, unthankfulness.
   VAG' A BOND, vagrant; worthless.
   IM' PU DENCE, sauciness.
   DES' TI NY, fate; final lot.
   DE CEAS' ED, dead.
   DE PRIV' ED, robbed.
   IN CUR' RED, brought on; caused.
   CON SUL TA' TIONS, couselings.
   CAL CU LA' TIONS, reckonings.
   PRE TER NAT' U RAL, (PRETER, _beyond_;) beyond what is natural;
   IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_;) rolled in; enveloped.
   IN TER RUPT', (INTER, _in, between_; RUPT, _to break_;) break in
   between; stop; hinder.

[Headnote 1: JOB, a patriarch, celebrated for his patience, constancy,
and piety. For note on DAVID, see page 138.]

NOTE.--The dash at the end of a remark denotes that the speaker is
interrupted by the one with whom he is conversing.


_Mrs. Credulous._ Are you the fortune-teller, sir, that knows every

_Fortune-Teller._ I sometimes consult futurity, madam; but I make no
pretensions to any supernatural knowledge.

_Mrs. C._ Ay, so _you_ say; but every body else says you know _every
thing_; and I have come all the way from Boston to consult you; for you
must know I have met with a dreadful loss.

_F. T._ We are liable to losses in this world, madam.

_Mrs. C._ Yes; and I have had my share of them, though I shall be only
fifty, come Thanksgiving.

_F. T._ You must have learned to bear misfortunes with fortitude, by
this time.

_Mrs. C._ I don't know how that is, though my dear husband, rest his
soul, used to say, "Molly, you are as patient as Job,[Headnote 1] though
you never had any children to lose, as he had."

_F. T._ Job was a model of patience, madam, and few could lose their all
with so much resignation.

_Mrs. C._ Ah, sir', that is too true'; for even the small loss _I_ have
suffered, overwhelms me!

_F. T._ The loss of property, madam, comes home to the bosom of the best
of us.

_Mrs. C._ Yes, sir; and when the thing lost can not be replaced, it is
doubly distressing. When my poor, good man, on our wedding day, gave me
the ring, "Keep it, Molly," said he, "till you die, for my sake." And
now, that I should have lost it, after keeping it thirty years, and
locking it up so carefully all the time, as I did--

_F. T._ We can not be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends
often deceive us.

_Mrs. C._ True, sir, true,--but who would have thought that the child I
took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could
have been guilty of such ingratitude? She never would have touched what
was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it.

_F. T._ Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes!

_Mrs. C._ Yes; but to think that the impudent creature should deny she
took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself.

_F. T._ Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. But my time is
precious, and the star that rules your destiny will set, and your fate
be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The
star informs me, madam, that you are a widow.

_Mrs. C._ La! sir, were you acquainted with my deceased husband?

_F. T._ No, madam; we do not receive our knowledge by such means. Thy
name is Mary, and thy dwelling-place is Boston.

_Mrs. C._ Some spirit must have told you this, for certain.

_F. T._ This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty
years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband.

_Mrs. C._ I perceive, sir, you know _every_ thing.

_F. T._ Madam, I can not help knowing what I _do_ know; I must therefore
inform you that your adopted daughter, in the dead of night--

_Mrs. C._ No, sir; it was in the day-time.

_F. T._ Do not interrupt me, madam. In the dead of night, your adopted
daughter planned the robbery which deprived you of your wedding-ring.

_Mrs. C._ No earthly being could have told you this, for I never let my
right hand know that I possessed it, lest some evil should happen to it.

_F. T._ Hear me, madam; you have come all this distance to consult the
fates, and find your ring.

_Mrs. C._ You have guessed my intention exactly, sir.

_F. T._ Guessed'! madam'. I _know_ this is your object; and I know,
moreover, that your ungrateful daughter has incurred your displeasure,
by receiving the addresses of a worthless man.

_Mrs. C._ Every word is gospel truth.

_F. T._ This man has persuaded your daughter--

_Mrs. C._ I knew he did, I told her so. But good sir, can you tell me
who has the ring?

_F. T._ This young man has it.

_Mrs. C._ But he denies it.

_F. T._ No matter, madam, he has it.

_Mrs. C._ But how shall I obtain it again?

_F. T._ The law points out the way, madam,--it is _my_ business to point
out the rogue,--you must catch him.

_Mrs. C._ You are right, sir,--and if there is law to be had, I will
spend every cent I own, but I will have it. I knew he was the robber,
and I thank you for the information. [_Going_.]

_F. T._ But thanks, madam, will not pay for all my nightly vigils,
consultations, and calculations.

_Mrs. C._ Oh, right, sir! I forgot to pay you. What am I indebted to

_F. T._ Only five dollars, madam.

_Mrs. C._ [_Handing him the money_.] There it is, sir. I would have paid
twenty rather than not have found the ring.

_F. T._ I never take but five, madam. Farewell, madam, your friend is at
the door with your chaise.

[_He leaves the room_.]

[_Enter, Friend_.]

_Friend_. Well, Mary, what does the fortune-teller say?

_Mrs. C._ Oh, he told me I was a widow, and lived in Boston, and had an
adopted daughter,--and----

_Friend._ But you knew all this before, did you not?

_Mrs. C._ Yes; but how should _he_ know it? He told me, too, that I had
lost a ring,--

_Friend._ Did he tell you where to find it?

_Mrs. C._ Oh yes! he says that fellow has it, and I must go to law and
get it, if he will not give it up. What do you think of that?

_Friend._ It is precisely what any fool could have told you. But how
much did you pay for this precious information?

_Mrs. C._ Only five dollars.

_Friend._ How much was the ring worth?

_Mrs. C._ Why, two dollars, at least.

_Friend._ Then you have paid ten dollars for a chaise to bring you here,
five dollars for the information that you had already, and all this to
gain possession of a ring not worth one quarter of the expense!

_Mrs. C._ Oh, the rascal! how he has cheated me! I will go to the
world's end but I will be revenged.

_Friend._ You had better go home, and say nothing about it; for every
effort to recover your money, will only expose your folly.

QUESTIONS.--1. What had Mrs. Credulous said, by which the fortune-teller
knew all the circumstances relative to the loss of her ring? 2. How was
she told she must get her ring? 3. What did she pay the fortune-teller?
4. How much for the chaise? 5. What was her ring worth? 6. Was she a
bright dame?

       *       *       *       *       *


   UN FAL' TER ING, steady.
   CON FID' ING LY, trustingly.
   SOOTH' ING LY, tenderly, calmly.
   AL LUR'ING, seductive; flattering.
   AP PRO' PRI ATE, proper; peculiar.
   SUB MIS' SION, resignation.
   IN' VA LID, sick or infirm person.
   CON TENT' MENT, satifaction.
   MEA' GER, scanty.
   CON' FI DENCE, faith; reliance.
   AS SUAG' ED, relieved; mitigated.
   FER' VEN CY, heat; ardent feeling.
   RA DI A TION luster.
   FRU I' TION, realization; enjoyment.


[Footnote: AL' LE GO RY is a word of Greek origin. It is made up of two
parts; ALL, _other_; and EGORY, _discourse_; the literal meaning of the
compound being, _discourse_ about _other_ things; that is, things other
than those expressed by the words, literally interpreted. Allegory is,
therefore, the general name for that class of compositions, as _Fables_,
_Apologues_, _Parables_, and _Myth_, in which there is a _double_
signification, one _literal_ and the other _figurative_; the literal
being designed merely to give a more clear and impressive view of that
which is figurative.]

1. Many years ago, three beautiful sisters came into our world to
lighten the burdens of earth's toiling pilgrims, and aid them in
preparation for a higher state of existence. Alike commissioned by the
Great Father, they were sent on errands of mercy, and were not to turn
away from scenes of darkness, sorrow, and suffering.

2. FAITH had a firm, unfaltering step; HOPE, a beaming eye, ever turned
to the future; and LOVE, a pitying glance, and a helping hand. They
journeyed confidingly together; and when they found a stricken being in
danger of perishing by the wayside, FAITH soothingly whispered, "My
Father doeth all things well;" HOPE pointed to the cooling shade just in
advance; and LOVE assisted him to rise, and aided his feeble steps.

3. Groups of fair children played near the path in which they were
traveling. Some of these did not understand the tones of FAITH; but they
all listened eagerly to the alluring strains of HOPE, who painted
brighter scenes than those they were enjoying, and flowers more fragrant
than any they yet had gathered. LOVE delighted to linger with the
youthful band, lessening their trials, and increasing their pleasures.

4. Her gentle touch arrested the little hand that was lifted against a
playmate, and her soothing voice calmed the angry passions which were
swelling in the bosom. When a child stumbled in the way, she tenderly
raised it up again, or when a thorn pierced the unwary finger, she
kindly removed it, and bound up the bleeding wound.

5. While the sisters were busy in their appropriate mission, a
pale-cheeked lad mingled with the group of merry children, though too
weak to share their sports. FAITH stole to his side, and whispered of
the great Parent above, who afflicts in wisdom, and chastens in love.
His eye brightened while she spoke, and he looked upward with that trust
and submission which he had never before experienced.

6. Then HOPE came, with visions of returning health, when his frame
would be strong and his heart buoyant. But when HOPE and FAITH were
gone, again his head drooped, and the tear started. Then LOVE sat down
by the invalid, twining a garland of summer blossoms for his pale brow,
and singing sweet melodies which charmed his listening ear. The pain was
all gone now; smiles wreathed his pallid lips, and the sick boy laughed
as merrily as his more robust companions.

7. The sisters, in their journeyings, entered the abode of poverty. It
was a humble dwelling, and yet it looked cheerful, yea, even inviting,
when the three graced it with their presence. FAITH shed a spirit of
calm contentment and heavenly trust in those lowly walls; HOPE whispered
of the better mansions prepared for the followers of the Lamb; and LOVE,
not less exalted than her sisters, threw a charm over the meager fare
and scanty attire of the inmates. FAITH taught them to offer the daily
prayer in trusting confidence; HOPE pointed beyond this world to joys
which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard; while LOVE lessened each burden,
and increased each simple pleasure. FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY! ye,
indeed, can make a paradise of the humblest home!

8. There was a darkened chamber, with a wan form tossing restlessly upon
the couch. Wealth was there; but it could not allay pain, or prolong
life. FAITH, noiseless as a spirit form, glided to the sick one's side.
"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him," was her language, as she
pointed upward. HOPE fain would have whispered of length of days, but
she knew this could not be; so she spoke of life eternal, where there is
no more pain. Then LOVE smoothed the pillow, and bathed the fevered
brow, pausing not in her tender ministries through the night-watches.
When morning dawned, the spirit of the sick man passed away, though not
until FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE had assuaged the anguish of the parting

9. Weeping mourners gathered around the dead. There were tears,--for
"tears well befit earth's partings;" there was sorrow,--for what
bitterness is like unto that of the bereaved, when the grave opens to
infold the heart's best treasure? Yet FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE were
there, assuaging those tears, and mitigating that sorrow. FAITH, even
while her cheeks were wet, exclaimed, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath
taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

10. HOPE'S language was, "Not lost, but gone before;" and her eye,
having lost none of its brightness, saw with prophetic vision a reunion
yet to come. LOVE tenderly wiped away each gathering tear, and gave
deeper fervency to the trusting confidence of FAITH, and the inspiring
strains of HOPE. And when the sleeper was committed to the dust, these
gentle sisters lingered in the lonely house, and by the darkened hearth.

11. Such are FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY,--given by God to lighten human
sorrow, and bless the creatures He has made. They have each a mission to
fulfill,--different, it is true, and yet they move in harmony. FAITH
enables us to submit trustingly to daily trials, viewing a kind Father's
hand in each passing event. HOPE, when the sky is dark, and the path
thorny, points not only to fairer scenes below, but to that brighter
world where there is no night and no sorrow.

12. LOVE lightens every burden, and reflects upon earth a faint
radiation of heavenly blessedness,--for the Scriptures assure us that
"God is love: and every one that loveth is born of God." The time will
come when, the purposes of the wise Creator being accomplished, Faith
and Hope will cease. Faith will be lost in sight, Hope in fruition; but
Love will remain, binding the spirits of the redeemed in blissful
communion, and uniting them to God the Father and Christ the Elder

13. Faith, Hope, and Charity! blessed spirits! May they be inmates of
every heart! May they assist each of us in the peculiar trials which
none can know but ourselves! They will come to us if we seek their
presence; but they must be carefully nurtured. Let us cherish them in
our bosoms, and they will bless us constantly in our pilgrimage below,
and conduct us to the presence of our God.

       *       *       *       *       *


   TRANSPORT' ED, highly delighted.
   THREAT' EN ING, impending.
   COR' O NAL, crown; chaplet.
   MYR' I AD, innumerable.
   LUS' CIOUS, delicious.
   LUS TY, strong; vigorous.
   WAR' BLING, singing; caroling.
   CHURL, sour, surly man.
   RE FRESH', cool; make fresh.
   LAN' GUID, dull; sluggish.
   DROUTH' Y, dry; arid.
   SUS TAIN', uphold; support.
   UN GRUDG'ING, free-hearted; liberal.
   NIG GARD, miser; stingy person.



    1. "_Not to myself alone,_"
  The little opening flower transported cries.
    "Not to myself alone I bud and bloom;
    With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume,
  And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes.
    The bee comes sipping, every eventide,
        His dainty fill;
    The butterfly within my cup doth hide
        From threatening ill."

    2. "_Not to myself alone,_"
  The circling star with honest pride doth boast,
    "Not to myself alone I rise and set;
    I write upon night's coronal of jet
  His power and skill who formed our myriad host;
    A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate,
        I gem the sky.
    That man might ne'er forget, in every fate,
        His home on high."

    3. "_Not to myself alone_,"
  The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum,
    "Not to myself alone, from flower to flower,
    I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,
  And to the hive at evening weary come;
    For man, for man, the luscious food I pile
        With busy care,
    Content if he repay my ceaseless toil
        With scanty share."

    4. "_Not to myself alone_,"
  The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings,
    "Not to myself alone I raise my song;
    I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,
  And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;
    I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,
        And God adore;
    I call the worldling from his dross to turn,
        And sing and scar."

    5. _"Not to myself alone,"_
  The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,
    "Not to myself alone I sparkling glide;
    I scatter health and life on every side,
  And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay.
    I sing unto the common, bleak and bare,
        My gladsome tune;
    I sweeten and refresh the languid air
        In droughty June."

    6. _"Not to myself alone:"_--
  O man, forget not thou,--earth's honored priest,
    Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart,--
    In earth's great chorus to sustain _thy_ part!
  Chiefest of guests at Love's ungrudging feast,
    Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod,
        And _self_ disown;
    Live to thy neighbor; live unto thy God;
        _Not to thyself alone!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What things are mentioned, that contribute to our comfort
and happiness? 2. How does the suffix _less,_ affect the meaning of the
words _cease, view, hymn,_ &c.? 3. What is the meaning of the suffixes
_let_ and _et,_ in the words _streamlet_ and _floweret?_ See SANDERS &
McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 140, Ex. 185 and 187.

       *       *       *       *       *


   NURS'ING, nourishing; cherishing.
   AB HOR', detest; loathe.
   RE LI' ED, depended.
   FRA TER' NAL, brotherly.
   SU PER' NAL, heavenly.
   COM BINE', unite; join together.
   RE HEARS' AL, recital; repetition.
   BIG' OT RY, blind zeal; prejudice.
   SHEATHE, put in a sheath.
   U NI VERS AL, general.
   CUS TOM, practice; usage.
   TAL' ENT, natural ability.
   AF FECT'ING, making false show.
   IS' O LATE, separate; detach.



1. If men cared less for wealth and fame,
     And less for battle-fields and glory,--
   If writ in human hearts a name
     Seemed better than in song and story,--
   If men instead of nursing pride,
     Would learn to hate it and abhor it,--
       If more relied
       On _love_ to guide,--
     _The world would be the better for it._

2. If men dealt less in stocks and lands,
     And more in bonds and deeds fraternal,--
   If Love's work had more willing hands
     To link this world to the supernal,--
   If men stored up Love's oil and wine,
     And on bruised human hearts would pour it,--
       If _"yours"_ and _"mine"_
       Would once combine,--
     _The world would be the letter for it._

3. If more would _act_ the play of Life,
     And fewer spoil it in rehearsal,--
   If Bigotry would sheathe his knife
     Till Good became more universal,--
   If Custom, gray with ages grown,
     Had fewer blind men to adore it,--
       If talent shone
       In Truth alone,--
     _The world would be the better for it._

4. If men were wise in little things,
      Affecting less in all their dealings,--
   If hearts had fewer rusted strings
      To isolate their kindly feelings,--
   If men, when Wrong beats down the Right,
     Would strike together and restore it,--
        If Right made Might
        In every fight,--
     _The world would be the letter for it._

       *       *       *       *       *


In reading these antithetic sentences, an excellent effect may be
produced by dividing the class equally into two parts, and letting one
part read, in concert, the line marked _1st Voice_, and the other part,
the line marked _2d Voice;_ or, one pupil may read one line, and the
next pupil the other, alternately.


   _1st Voice_. A wise son maketh a glad father;
   _2d Voice_, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.

   _1 V_. Treasures of wickedness profit nothing;
   _2 V_. but righteousness delivereth from death.

   _1 V_. He becometh poor, that dealeth with a slack hand;
   _2 V_. but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.

   _1 V_. Blessings are upon the head of the just;
   _2 V_. but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.

   _1 V_. The memory of the just is blessed;
   _2 V_. but the name of the wicked shall rot.

   _1 V_. The wise in heart will receive commandment;
   _2 V_. but a prating fool shall fall.

   _1 V._ He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely;
   _2 V._ but he that perverteth his ways, shall be known.

   _1 V._ Wise men lay up knowledge;
   _2 V._ but the mouth of the wicked is near destruction.

   _1 V._ He is in the way of life, that keepeth instruction;
   _2 V._ but he that refuseth reproof, erreth.

   _1 V._ It is as sport to a fool to do mischief;
   _2 V._ but a man of understanding hath wisdom.

   _1 V._ The fear of the Lord prolongeth days;
   _2 V._ but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.

   _1 V._ The hope of the righteous shall be gladness;
   _2 V._ but the expectation of the wicked shall perish.

   _1 V._ The righteous shall never be removed;
   _2 V._ but the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.

   _1 V._ The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom;
   _2 V._ but the froward tongue shall be cut out.

   _1 V._ A false balance is an abomination to the Lord;
   _2 V._ but a just weight is his delight.

   _1 V._ Riches profit not in the day of wrath;
   _2 V._ but righteousness delivereth from death.

   _1 V._ The righteousness of the perfect shall direct his way;
   _2 V._ but the wicked shall fall by his own wickedness.

   _1 V._ By the blessing of the upright the city is exalted;
   _2 V._ but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked.

   _1 V._ Where no counsel is, the people fall,
   _2 V._ but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.

   _1 V._ He that diligently seeketh good, procureth favor;
   _2 V._ but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him.

   _1 V._ The righteous man regardeth the life of his beast;
   _2 V._ but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.

   _1 V_. The lip of truth shall be established forever;
   _2 V_. but a lying tongue is but for a moment.

   _1 V_. Lying lips are abomination to the Lord;
   _2 V_. but they that deal truly are His delight.

   _1 V_. The hand of the diligent shall bear rule;
   _2 V_. but the slothful shall be under tribute.

   _1 V_. A wise son heareth his father's instruction;
   _2 V_. but a scorner heareth not rebuke.

   _1 V_. He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life;
   _2 V_. but he that openeth wide his lips, shall have destruction.

   _1 V_. A scorner seeketh wisdom, and findeth it not;
   _2 V_. but knowledge is easy unto him that understandeth.

   _1 V_. There is a way which seemeth right unto a man;
   _2 V_. but the end thereof are the ways of death.

   _1 V_. A wise man feareth, and departeth from evil;
   _2 V_. but the fool rageth, and is confident.

   _1 V_. The poor is hated even of his neighbor;
   _2 V_. but the rich hath many friends.

   _1 V_. He that oppresseth the poor, reproacheth his Maker;
   _2 V_. but he that honoreth Him, hath mercy on the poor.

   _1 V_. He that is slow to wrath, is of great understanding;
   _2 V_. but he that is hasty in spirit, exalteth folly.

   _1 V_. A soft answer turneth away wrath;
   _2 V_. but grievous words stir up anger.

   _1 V_. He that walketh with wise men, shall be wise;
   _2 V_. but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.

   _1 V_. Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water;
   _2 V_. but a man of understanding will draw it out.

   _1 V_. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness;
   _2 V_. but the righteous hath hope in his death.

       *       *       *       *       *


   IM PRES' SION, idea; notion.
   AT TRAC' TIONS, allurements.
   SA TI' E TY, excessive fullness.
   SAT' ED, glutted; satiated.
   PAM' PER ED, over-fed.
   SUC' CU LENT, full of sap; juicy.
   UM BRA' GEOUS, shady.
   GOR' GEOUS, showy; brilliant.
   DREAR' I NESS, gloominess.
   REG' IS TER, record; note down.
   SUG GEST' IVE, giving signs.
   DEC LA RA' TION, announcement.
   EX TREM' I TIES, ends.
   DRA' PER Y, hangings; decorations.
   EN CHANT' MENT, charms; fascination.
   FRET' TED, furnished with frets, of ornamental raised work.
   DEC O RA' TIONS, adornments.

[Headnote 1: AR' A BESQUES, is a word, denoting ornaments after the
Arabian manner, often intricate and fantastic, from the intermingling
of foliage, fruits, &c., with other objects real or imaginary.]



1. It is the impression of many, that only in summer, including spring
and autumn, of course, is the _country_ desirable as a residence. The
country in summer, and the city for the winter. It is true, that the
winter gives attractions to the city, in endless meetings, lectures,
concerts, and indoor amusements; but it is not true that the country
loses all interest when the leaves are shed and the grass is gone. On
the contrary, to one who has learned how to use his senses and his
sensibilities, there are attractions in the winter of a peculiar kind,
and pleasures which can be reaped only then.

2. It appears to me, that winter comes in to relieve the year of
satiety. The mind grows sated with greenness. After eight or nine months
of luxuriant growths, the eye grows accustomed to vegetation. To be
sure, we never are less pleased with the wide prospect; with forms of
noble trees, with towns and meadows, and with the whole aspect of
nature. But it is the pleasure of one pampered. We lose the keen edge of
hunger. The eye enjoys, without the relish of newness. We expect to
enjoy. Every thing loses surprise.

3. Of course, the sky is blue, the grass succulent, the fields green,
the trees umbrageous, the clouds silent and mysterious. They were so
yesterday, they are so to-day, they will be so to-morrow, next week,
next month. In short, the mind does not cease to feel the charm of
endless growths; but needs variety, change of diet, less of perpetual
feasting, and something of the blessings of a fast. _This_ winter gives.
It says to us: You have had too much. You are luxurious and dainty. You
need relief and change of diet.

4. The cold blue of the sky, the cold gray of rocks, the sober warmth of
browns and russets, take the place of more gorgeous colors. If, now, one
will accept this change in the tone of nature, after a time a new and
relishful pleasure arises. The month formed by the last fortnight of
November and the first two weeks of December, is, to me, the saddest of
the year. It most nearly produces the sense of desolateness and
dreariness of any portion of the year.

5. From the hour that the summer begins to shorten its days, and
register the increasing change along the horizon, over which the sun
sets, farther and farther toward the south, we have a genial and gentle
sadness. But sadness belongs to all very deep joys. It is almost as
needful to the perfectness of joy, as shadows in landscapes are to the
charm of the picture. Then, too, comes the fading out of flowers,--each
variety in its turn, saying, "Farewell till next summer."

6. Scarcely less suggestive of departing summer are the new-comers, the
late summer golden-rod, the asters, and all autumnal flowers. Long
experience teaches us that these are the latest blossoms that fall from
the sun's lap, and next to them is snow. By association we already see
white in the yellow and blue. Then, too, birds are thinking of other
things. No more nests, no more young, no more songs,--except
signal-notes and rallying-calls; for they are evidently warned, and go
about their little remaining daily business, as persons who expect every
hour to depart to a distant land.

7. It is scarcely ever that we see the birds _go_. They are here to-day,
and gone to-morrow. They disappear without observation. The fields are
empty and silent. It seems as if the winds had blown them away with the
leaves. The first sight of northern waterfowl, far up in the air,
retreating from Labrador and the short, Arctic summer, is always to us
like the declaration: "Summer is gone; winter is behind us; it will soon
be upon you." At last come the late days of November. All is
gone,--frosts reap and glean more sharply every night.

8. A few weeks bring earnest winter. Then begin to dawn other delights.
The bracing air, the clean snow-paths, the sled and sleigh, the
revelation of forms that all summer were grass-hidden; the
sharp-outlined hills lying clear upon the sky; the exquisite tracery of
trees,--especially of all such trees as that dendral child of God, the
elm, whose branches are carried out into an endless complexity of fine
lines of spray, and which stands up in winter, showing in its whole
anatomy, that all its summer shade was founded upon the most substantial

9. In winter, too, particularly in the latter periods of it, the
extremities of shrubs and branches begin to take on ruddy hues, or
purplish browns, and the eye knows that these are the first faint
blushes of coming summer. Now, too, we find how beautiful are the mosses
in the woods; and under them we find solitary green leaves, that have
laughed all winter because they had outwitted the frost.

10. Wherever flowing springs gush from sheltered spots looking south,
one will find many green edges, young grass, and some few tougher
leaves. Now, too, in still days, the crow swings heavily through the
air, cawing with a pleasing harshness. For dieting has performed its
work. Your appetite is eager. A little now pleases you more than
abundance did in August. Every tiny leaf is to you like a cedar of

11. All these things are unknown to dwellers in cities. It is nothing to
them that a robin appeared for the first time yesterday morning, or that
a blue-bird sang over against the house. Some new _prima-donna_ [Footnote:
The first female singer in an opera.] exhausts their admiration. They are
yet studying laces, and do not care for the of swamps, for the first
catkins of the willow. They are still coveting the stores of precious
stones at the jewelers, and do not care for my ruby buds, and red
dogwood, and scarlet winter berries, and ground pine, and partridge-berry

12. There is one sight of the country, at about this time of the
year--the first of March--that few have seen, or else they have passed
it by as if it were not worthy of record. I mean the drapery of rocks in
gorges, or along precipitous sides of hills or mountains. The seams of
rocks are the outlets of springs. The water, trickling through, is
seized by the frost, and held fast in white enchantment. Every day adds
to the length of the ice drapery; and, as the surface is overlaid by new
issuings, it is furred and fretted with silver-white chasings, the most

13. Thus, one may find a succession, in a single gorge, of extraordinary
ice-curtains, and pendent draperies, of varying lengths, of every
fantastic form, of colors varying by thickness, or by the tinge of earth
or rock shining through them. In my boyhood, I used to wander along
these fairy halls, imagining them to be now altars in long, white
draperies; now, grand cathedral pillars of white marble; then, long
tapestries chased in white, with arabesques [Headnote 1] and crinkled
vines and leaves.

14. Sometimes they seemed like gigantic bridal decorations, or like the
robes of beings vast and high, hung in their wardrobes while they slept.
But, whatever fancy interpreted them, or whether they were looked upon
with two good, sober, literal eyes, they were, and still are, among the
most delightful of winter exhibitions, to those who are wise enough to
search out the hidden beauty of winter in the country.

QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the attractions of winter in the city?
2. What are some of the delights of winter in the country? 3. What is
said of the drapery of rocks? 4. What did the writer imagine them to be,
in boyhood?

       *       *       *       *       *


   UN SUL' LIED, pure; clear.
   PHE NOM' E NON, appearance.
   TRANS PAR' EN CY, clearness.
   AS TON' ISH ING, amazing.
   RAM I FI CA' TION, branch, or branching out.
   IN DE SCRIB' A BLY, beyond description.
   MA JES' TIC, grand.
   OC CA' SION AL, occurring at times.
   IM PRESS'IVE, powerful; effective.
   IN TER SECT' ING, meeting and crossing.
   PEN' E TRA TING, piercing.
   E' THER, thin or refined air.
   CON GEAL' ED, frozen.
   BUR' NISH ING, brightening.
   EN GEN' DER ED, produced.
   EM' BLEM, symbol.
   CON TEM PLA' TION, meditation.
   EL E VA' TION, loftiness.


   "Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
   Or winds begun their hazy skies to blow,
   At evening, a keen eastern breeze arose,
   And the descending rain unsullied froze.
   Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
   The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view
   The face of Nature in a rich disguise,
   And brightened every object to my eyes.
   For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
   And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass."

2. Since Sunday, [Feb. 1st, 1852,] we have had presented to our view,
the beautiful phenomenon of FROSTED TREES, the most astonishing and
brilliant that I ever remember to have noticed. The previous storm and
mist had thickly covered every exposed object,--the loftiest trees, the
minutest blade, hill and dale, with the icy garment. This transparency
was most perfect, defining every form and ramification into exact models
of the entire body, branch, or limb.

3. Dwellings and barns were incrusted by the chilling vapor. It hung
upon the manes of the cattle, and decorated, wherever seen, the humble
grass, which appeared bending, like threads of crystal. The small bushes
were indescribably beautiful, and seemed as if chiseled out of the
whitest marble. As far as the eye could extend, over brooks, fields, and
woods, the same striking and singular sight was universal.

4. I could not remain contented in the house, and toward sunset,
hastened away, where the view might be free and uninterrupted. Here, the
scene, if possible, was more impressive and interesting. There was
scarcely a breath of air, and the general silence was only interrupted
by the occasional flight of some winter bird, which, alighting on a
limb, would shake down a thousand feathery showers, until he seemed
frightened at the unusual sound. The forest trees made a truly majestic
appearance, with their naked, giant arms and mossy branches intersecting
each other, and fast bound by the frozen barriers.

5. I shall not attempt to describe the brilliancy of the undergrowth and
dwarf trees, upon whose limbs hung a delicate frosting, like unwrought
silver, nor the crimson glow of the holly-berries through their
transparent and icy covering,--all, all was a dazzling and splendid
winter array,

  "That buries wide the works of man."

It brought to my mind some of the Eastern fairy tales, and their gardens
ornamented with shrubs and plants of sparkling crystals.

6. The exposed sides of the rocks and fences were completely iced over,
not the smallest particle escaping the penetrating and congealed ether.
It was truly astonishing to examine its thickness. On some twigs, not
larger than a wheat straw, the ice measured half an inch through. One
would scarcely imagine what an immense weight of the frozen mass a tree
will sustain, before it breaks under the unusual load. Many branches
were bent so low that I could reach them with my hands; and, shaking off
their frosted barks, they would instantly spring far above my reach.
Every few minutes, I was startled by the rattling noise of these falling
icicles from some neighboring tree or grove.

7. Just when the sun went down, there was not a single cloud to be seen
in the horizon, and his cold, bright, setting rays brought out, on every
hand, frozen gems, diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, in every possible
prismatic beauty, wherever his departing beams fell. Presently the moon
bathed the whitened earth, and every congealed drop, in her soft light,
burnishing, with dazzling icy brilliancy, trees, dwellings, and streams.
I am an ardent lover of Nature and her scenery, and have often,
delighted, gazed upon the Queen of Night; but _never_ did I behold such
a brilliant moonlight night as this.

8. Who could help bringing to mind the sublimities of Job and of
David,--"The hoary frost of heaven, who hath engendered it? The waters
are hid, as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen."--"By the
breath of the Mighty God, ice is produced, and the waters which were
spread on all sides, are held in chains." The Psalmist says, "He giveth
the snow like wool, He scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes. Wash me,
and I shall be whiter than snow."--Well may poets look to the falling
snow-flake for their images of purity and innocence, ere it receives the
stain of earth. I know of no litter emblem.

9. Such a winter's night! _and the skies! the skies!_ So resplendent in
brightness are the hosts of heaven at this moment, that they should be
contemplated by every lover and student of the works of God. Their
numbers who can count,--their twinkling beauty who can describe, as
onward they roll in the deep blue of midnight? In their contemplation
are inspired "thoughts that wander through eternity," with an elevation
of feeling, as if we were separated from the toils and tumults of earth,
and exalted into a higher state of being than that in which we toiled
through the day! These heavens tell us of a WISDOM and POWER we can not
search or estimate. There we seem to stand more immediately in the
vailed presence of the Infinite Majesty, who "laid the foundations of
the earth, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God
shouted for joy."

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the appearance of frosted trees. 2. What is
said of the appearance of shrubs, bushes, &c.? 3. What, of the weight
sustained by a single tree? 4. What was the appearance at sunset?
5. What passages of Scripture did the scene bring to mind? 6. Of what
is the snowflake an emblem? 7. What is said of the skies?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SPLEN' DOR, brightness; glory.
   E TER' NAL LY, everlastingly.
   WAY'-WEA RY, tired; fatigued.
   GAZE, eager look.
   EV' ER GREEN, always green.
   LONG' ED, earnestly desired.
   RE POSE, rest; quietude.
   RAN' SOM ED, redeemed.
   PAL' ACE, mansion; abode.
   UN CEAS' ING LY, constantly.



1. There's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told,
     Where they know not the sorrows of time,--
   Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold,
     And life is a treasure sublime;
   'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul,
   Where the ages of splendor eternally roll,--
   Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal,
     On the evergreen Mountains of Life.

2. Our gaze can not soar to that beautiful land,
     But our visions have told of its bliss;
   And our souls by the gale from its gardens are fanned,
     When we faint in the desert of this;
   And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose,
   When our spirits were torn with temptations and woes,
   And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows
     From the evergreen Mountains of Life.

3. Oh! the stars never tread the blue heavens at night,
     But we think where the ransomed have trod;
   And the day never smiles from his palace of light,
     But we feel the bright smile of our God.
   We are traveling homeward, through changes and gloom,
   To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom,
   And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb,
   From the evergreen Mountains of Life.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of that land far away? 2. How do we know
there is such a land? 3. Of what do the stars remind us?

       *       *       *       *       *


   IM AG' IN A RY, not real.
   AN TIC' I PATE, take beforehand.
   PRE FER' RED, chosen.
   OC CUR' RED, happened.
   SUS TAIN', support; uphold.
   PER MIT', allow.
   IN VIS' I BLE, unseen.
   EN CHAIN', bind; fasten.
   FORE BOD' ING, dread of evil.
   IN VEN' TION, contrivance.
   CON FER' RED, bestowed.
   AP PRE HEN' SION, dread; fear.



1. Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;
     Leave things of the future to fate;
   What's the use to anticipate sorrow?
     Life's troubles come never too late.
   If to hope overmuch be an error,
    'Tis one that the wise have preferred;
   And how often have hearts been in terror
     Of evils that never occurred.

2. Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee;
     Permit not suspicion and care
   With invisible bonds to enchain thee,
     But bear what God gives thee to bear.
   By His Spirit supported and gladdened,
     Be ne'er by forebodings deterred;
   But think how oft hearts have been saddened
     By fears of what never occurred!

3. Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;
     Short and dark as our life may appear,
   We may make it still darker by sorrow,
     Still shorter by folly and fear;
   Half our troubles are half our invention,
     And often from blessings conferred,
   Have we shrunk in the wild apprehension
     Of evils that never occurred!

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of imaginary evils? 2. How may we be
supported under trials? 3. What tends to shorten life? 4. Whence proceed
half our troubles? 5. What rule for doubling the _r_ and _d_ in such
words as _occurred_, _saddened_, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page
168, Rule II.

       *       *       *       *       *


   WASTE, desolate region.
   PRO CEED', come forth.
   CHASM, gap; opening.
   COILS, folds; convolutions.
   MAN I FEST, plain; evident.
   PRE SERV' ER, protector.
   AL LE' GI ANCE, duty; loyalty.
   RAY, make bright; adorn.
   EX PAND, swell; dilate.
   FA' THER LAND, native land.
   GUER DON, reward; recompense.
   PROF' FER, offer; tender.
   PIT' E OUS, mournful; sorrowful.
   IM PET' U OUS LY, furiously.

   AT TRACT', (AT, _to_; TRACT, _draw_;) draw to; allure.

   IN  VEST', (IN, _to_; VEST, _clothe_;) clothe in or with;
   inclose; surround.

   PRO TEST, (PRO, _before_; TEST, _witness_;) witness before;
   openly declare.

[Headnote 1: PY THON is the name of a large serpent, fabled to have been
slain by the god Apollo.]



1. Sir Walter of Thurn, over the Syrian waste,
     Rides away with a flowing rein;
   But he hears a groan that checks his haste,
     As if death were in the strain.
         He spurs his steed
         Whence the sounds proceed;
     And there, from a rocky chasm, arise
     Fierce cries of pain, that assail the skies;
         And his horse uprears
         In excess of fears,
     As the glance of a lion attracts his eyes.

2. Fierce struggling there in the monster folds
     Of a serpent that round him twines;
   Sir Walter a moment the scene beholds,
     Then to save the beast inclines.
         His good sword stout
         From its sheath leaps out,
     When down it falls on the Python's [Headnote 1] crest,
     And cleaves the coils that the lion invest;
         And the noble beast,
         From its thrall released,
     Shows grateful joy most manifest.

3. He shakes his mane, and bends his form,
     And licks his preserver's hand,
   As if he yields allegiance warm
     To his supreme command.
         Like the faithful hound
         To be constant found,
     And follow his steps for evermore;
     And thus he follows, on sea and shore,
         In the battle's tide,
         He stands by his side,
     Or with him rests when the strife is o'er.

4. In Palestine Sir Walter is known,--
     Long years attest his fame;
   And many brave deeds he there hath done,
     That ray with glory his name;
         But his heart doth expand
         For the fatherland,
     And he fain its pleasant scenes would see,
     With his friendly lion for company;
         But with fearful breast,
         The sailors protest,
     As they glanced at the beast and his majesty.

5. Rich guerdon he proffers, and golden store;
     But though the prize were great,
   The sailors hurry away from the shore
     As if from the doom of fate.
         The poor beast moans
         In piteous tones,
     Then darts impetuously o'er the sands,--
     Then looks to the ship, and mournfully stands;
     Then plunges into the gloomy wave,
     The perils of the depths to brave.
     Already he nears the flying bark,
     Already his roar of grief they hark;
     But his strength is spent, and the sea is strong,
     And he may not the fearful struggle prolong.
     His dying glances are fondly cast
     Along the track where the loved one passed;
         Then sinks to his grave
         Beneath the wave,
     And the night and the ocean behold him the last.

QUESTIONS.--1. What did Sir Walter discover as he was riding over the
Syrian waste? 2. What did he do? 3. What did the lion do, after being
released? 4. Did the sailors allow the lion to go on board the ship? 5.
What did the lion then do? 6. What became of him?

       *       *       *       *       *


   VAL' IANT, strong; courageous,
   INC LI NA' TION, desire; tendency.
   RE PLEN' ISH ED, filled up.
   DIS SEV' ER, part; sunder.
   SHIV' ER, dash to pieces.
   EC STAT' IC, rapturous.
   CON CLU' SION, result.
   CON CEP' TION, thought; idea.
   DEF' ER ENCE, respect.
   PHYS I CAL, material.
   AR' RANT, mere; vile.
   TIME'-BAN DI ED, time-lost.
   DE VEL' OP ED, brought out.
   CON STEL LA' TIONS, clusters of stars.
   DE SIGN ED, planned.
   COM BIN' ED, united.

   UNINTERRUPTED,   (UN,  _not_;  INTER,  _in  between_;  RUPTED,
   _broken_;) not broken in between; unbroken.

It is sometimes desirable to have each member of the class read a piece
complete in itself. To answer this end, the following collection of
brief, though beautiful productions, have been brought together all
under one head.




It is not what we earn, but what we save, that makes us rich. It is not
what we eat, but what we digest, that makes us strong. It is not what we
read, but what we remember, that makes us learned. It is not what we
intend, but what we do, that makes us useful. It is not a few faint
wishes, but a life-long struggle, that makes us valiant.



  There's not a flower that decks the vale,
    There's not a beam that lights the mountain,
  There's not a shrub that scents the gale,
    There's not a wind that stirs the fountain,
  There's not a hue that paints the rose,
    There's not a leaf around us lying,
  But in its use or beauty shows
    God's love to us, and love undying!



To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and characters, to
restrain every irregular inclination, to subdue every rebellious
passion, to purify the motives of our conduct, to form ourselves to that
temperance which no pleasure can seduce, to that meekness which no
provocation can ruffle, to that patience which no affliction can
overwhelm, and that integrity which no interest can shake; _this is the
task which is assigned to us_,--a task which can not be performed
without the utmost diligence and care.



  The brightest stars are burning suns;
  The deepest water stillest runs;
  The laden bee the lowest flies;
  The richest mine the deepest lies;
  The stalk that's most replenished,
  Doth bow the most its modest head.
  Thus, deep Humility we find
  The mark of every master-mind;
  The highest-gifted lowliest bends,
  And merit meekest condescends,
  And shuns the fame that fools adore,--
  That puff that bids a feather soar.



A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner. Neither do uninterrupted
prosperity and success qualify man for usefulness or happiness. The
storms of adversity, like the storms of the ocean, rouse the faculties
and excite the invention, prudence, skill, and fortitude of the voyager.




  Why turn we to our mountain homes
    With more than filial feeling?
  'Tis _here_ that Freedom's altars rise,
    And Freedom's sons are kneeling!
  Why sigh we not for softer climes?
    Why cling to that which bore us?
  _'Tis here we tread on Freedom's soil,_
    _With Freedom's sunshine o'er us!_



If you do not begin, you will never come to the end. The first weed
pulled up in the garden, the first seed set in the ground, the first
dollar put in the savings-bank, and the first mile traveled on a
journey, are all important things; they make a _beginning_, and thereby
give a hope, a promise, a pledge, an assurance that you are in earnest
in what you have undertaken. How many a poor, idle, erring, hesitating
outcast is now creeping his way through the world, who might have held
up his head and prospered, if, instead of putting off his resolutions of
amendment and industry, he had only made a beginning!




1. Drop follows drop, and swells
     With rain the sweeping river;
   Word follows word, and tells
     A truth that lives forever.

2. Flake follows flake, like sprites
     Whose wings the winds dissever;
   Thought follows thought, and lights
     The realm of mind forever.

3. Beam follows beam to cheer,
     The cloud a bolt might shiver;
   Throb follows throb, and fear
     Gives place to joy forever.

4. The drop, the flake, the beam,
     Teach us a lesson ever;
   The word, the thought, the dream
     Impress the soul forever.




1. Note the ecstatic joy of the student, who has labored long over a
problem or proposition, but finally comes to a logical conclusion; who
has struggled with the misty darkness of his own mind, for a clear view
of some difficult subject, until the clouds, one after another, have
dispersed, and he beholds, with his mental vision, in bright and
glorious light, the conception for which he labored. Think you he would
exchange his joys for the pleasures of sense'? It is of a higher and
more ennobling character, and not to be bartered for paltry wealth.

2. What dignity and self-respect invest the man of thought! His very
looks bespeak of mind. He is approached with deference, as a being of
higher order in the scale of intelligence,--as one who has a right to
command and be obeyed. For what moves mind, but mind? A strong
intellect, coming in contact with one of less energy, will as naturally
move it, as superior physical strength will overcome the weaker.




  What is glory`? What is fame`?
  The echo of a long-lost name`;
  A breath`, an idle hour's brief talk`;
  The shadow of an arrant naught`;
  A flower that blossoms for a day`,
    Dying next morrow';
  A stream that hurries on its way,
    Singing of sorrow';
  A fortune that to lose were gain`;
  A word of praise, perchance of blame`;
  The wreck of a time-bandied name`--
  _Ay` this is glory`! this is fame`!_



Ah! well do we all know the worth of intelligence, the power of
knowledge, and the beauty and glory of wisdom. It is _educated manhood_
that wakes up the sleeping soil, covers the earth with good, that
gathers in the golden harvest, that clothes the naked, that feeds the
hungry. It is the _cultivated mind_ that applies the strength of the ox
and the fleetness of the horse; that bridges the river, that turns to
use the flying winds, that makes the lightning its swift messenger, that
makes beautiful palaces of dull clay, that rouses the dead ore to active
life, that covers the sea with ships, and the land with mighty engines
of wealth. It is the _developed intellect_ that flies through the upper
air, that mingles with the stars, that follows the moon in her course,
that overtakes the constellations in their orbits, that weighs the sun,
that measures the distance to the polar star. It is the _enlightened
soul_ that worships God.




1. There's not a leaf within the bower;
     There's not a bird upon the tree;
   There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
     But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee.

2. Thy hand the varied leaf designed,
     And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
   Thy power the dewdrop's tints combined,
     Till like the diamond's blaze they shone.

3. Yes, dewdrops, leaves, and buds, and all
     The smallest, like the greatest things,--
   The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,
     Alike proclaim Thee King of kings.

4. But man alone to bounteous Heaven,
     Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise;
   To favored man alone 'tis given
     To join the angelic choir in praise!

       *       *       *       *       *


   MO NOT' O NOUS, dull; uniform.
   HAR POON', barbed spear.
   AG' I TA TED, disturbed.
   RE VER' BER ATES, rebounds; re-echoes.
   WRITHES, twists, or or turns in agony.
   CON TOR' TIONS, twistings; writhings.
   VE LOC' I TY, swiftness.
   IG NITES', takes fire.
   FRIC' TION, rubbing together.
   COILS, winds into a ring.
   PRO JECT' ED, thrown out or forward.
   VO CIF' ER A TED, shouted.
   IN FU' RI A TED, enraged.
   UN RE LENT' ING, unfeeling.
   CON VUL' SIONS, violent spasms.
   REN COUN' TER, fight; conflict.


1. Let the reader suppose himself on the deck of a South-seaman,
cruising in the North Pacific ocean. He may be musing over some past
event, the ship may be sailing gently along over the smooth ocean, every
thing around solemnly still, with the sun pouring its intense rays with
dazzling brightness. Suddenly the monotonous quietude is broken by an
animated voice from the masthead, exclaiming, _"There he spouts!"_

2. The captain starts on deck in an instant, and inquires _"Where
away?"_ but, perhaps, the next moment every one aloft and on deck, can
perceive an enormous whale lying about a quarter of a mile from the
ship, on the surface of the sea, having just come up to breathe,--his
large "hump" projecting three feet out of the water. At the end of every
ten seconds, the spout is seen rushing from the fore part of his
enormous head, followed by the cry of every one on board, who join in
the chorus of _"There again!"_ keeping time with the duration of the

3. But, while they have been looking, a few seconds have expired. They
rush into the boats, which are directly lowered to receive them; and in
two minutes from the time of first observing the whale, three or four
boats are down, and are darting through the water with their utmost
speed toward their intended victim, perhaps accompanied with a song from
the headsman, who urges the quick and powerful plying of the oar, with
the common whaling chant of

  "Away, my boys, away, my boys, 'tis time for us to go."

4. But, while they are rushing along, the whale is breathing; they have
yet, perhaps, some distance to pull before they can get a chance of
striking him with the harpoon. His "spoutings are nearly out," he is
about to descend, or he hears the boats approaching. The few sailors
left on board, and who are anxiously watching the whale and the gradual
approach of the boats, exclaim, _"Ah, he is going down!"_ Yet he spouts
again, but slowly, the water is seen agitated around him; the spectators
on board with breathless anxiety think they perceive him rising in
preparation for his descent. _"He will be lost!"_ they exclaim; for the
boats are not yet near enough to strike him, and the men are still
bending their oars in each boat with all their strength, to claim the
honor of the first blow with the harpoon.

5. The bow-boat has the advantage of being the nearest to the whale; the
others, for fear of disturbing the unconscious monster, are now ordered
to drop astern. One more spout is seen slowly curling forth,--it is his
last; but the boat shoots rapidly alongside of the gigantic creature.
_"Peak your oars!"_ exclaims the mate, and directly they flourish in the
air; the glistening harpoon is seen above the head of the harpooner. In
an instant it is darted with unerring force and aim, and is buried
deeply in the side of the huge animal. It is "socket up;" that is, it is
buried in his flesh up to the socket which admits the handle or pole of
the harpoon.

6. A cheer from those in the boats, and from the seamen on board,
reverberates along the still deep at the same moment. The sea, which a
moment before was unruffled, now becomes lashed into foam by the immense
strength of the wounded whale, which, with its vast tail, strikes in all
directions at his enemies. Now his enormous head rises high into the
air, then his flukes are seen lashing everywhere, his huge body writhes
in violent contortions from the agony the harpoon has inflicted. The
water all around him is a mass of foam, and the sounds of the blows from
his tail on the surface of the sea, can be heard for miles!

7. _"Stern all!"_ cries the headsman; but the whale suddenly disappears;
he has "sounded;" the line is running through the groove at the head of
the boat, with lightning-like velocity; it smokes; it ignites from the
heat produced by the friction; but the headsman, cool and collected,
pours water upon it as it passes. But an oar is now held up in their
boat; it signifies that their line is rapidly running out; two hundred
fathoms are nearly exhausted; up flies one of the other boats, and
"bends on" another line, just in time to save that which was nearly

8. But still the monster descends; he is seeking to rid himself of his
enemies by descending deeply into the dark and unknown depths of the
vast ocean. Two more lines are exhausted,--he is _six hundred fathoms
deep! "Stand ready to bend on!"_ cries the mate to the fourth boat; (for
sometimes they take the whole four lines away with them,--_eight hundred
fathoms!!_) but, it is not required, he is rising. _"Haul in the
slack!"_ observes the headsman, while the boat-steerer coils it again
carefully into the tubs as it is drawn up.

9. The whale is now seen approaching the surface; the gurgling and
bubbling water which rises, proclaims that he is near; his nose starts
from the sea; the rushing spout is projected high and suddenly, from his
agitation. The slack of the line is now coiled in the tubs, and those in
the fast boat, haul themselves gently toward the whale. The boat-steerer
places the headsman close to the fin of the trembling animal, who
immediately buries his long lance in the vitals of the leviathan, while,
at the same moment, those in one of the other boats, dart another
harpoon into his opposite side. Then, _"Stern all!"_ is again
vociferated, and the boats shoot rapidly away from the danger.

10. Mad with the agony which he endures from these fresh attacks, the
infuriated "sea monster" rolls over and over, and coils an amazing
length of line around him. He rears his enormous head, and, with
wide-expanded jaws, snaps at every thing around him. He rushes at the
boats with his head,--they are propelled before him with vast swiftness,
and sometimes utterly destroyed.

11. He is lanced again,--and his pain appears more than he can bear. He
throws himself, in his agony, completely out of his element; the boats
are violently jerked, by which one of the lines is snapped asunder; at
the same time the other boat is upset, and its crew are swimming for
their lives. The whale is now free! he passes along the surface with
remarkable swiftness, "going head out;" but the two boats that have not
yet "fastened," and are fresh and free, now give chase.

12. The whale becomes exhausted from the blood which flows from his deep
and dangerous wounds, and the two hundred fathoms of line belonging to
the overturned boat, which he is dragging after him through the water,
checks him in his course; his pursuers again overtake him, and another
harpoon is darted and buried deeply in his flesh.

13. The fatal lance is, at length, given; the blood gushes from the
nostrils of the unfortunate animal in a thick, black stream, which
stains the clear blue water of the ocean to a considerable distance
around the scene of the affray. The immense creature may now again
endeavor to "sound," to escape from his unrelenting pursuers; but he is
powerless. He soon rises to the surface, and passes slowly along until
the death-pang seizes him, when his appearance is awful in the extreme.

14. Suffering from suffocation, or from the stoppage of some important
organ, the whole strength of his enormous frame is set in motion, for a
few seconds, when his convulsions throw him into a hundred different
contortions of the most violent description, by which the sea is beaten
into foam, and boats are sometimes crushed to atoms, with their crews.

15. But this violent action being soon over, the now unconscious animal
passes rapidly along, describing in his rapid course the segment of a
circle; this is his "flurry," which ends in his sudden dissolution. The
mighty rencounter is finished. The gigantic animal rolls over on his
side, and floats an inanimate mass on the surface of the crystal
deep,--a victim to the tyranny and selfishness, as well as a wonderful
proof of the _great power of the mind of man_.

QUESTIONS.--1. How are whales generally discovered? 2. Why do they come
to the surface of the water? 3. How far do they sometimes descend in the
ocean? 4. Describe the manner in which they are captured.

       *       *       *       *       *


   A'ER O NAUT, one who sails in the air.
   RE DOUB LED, repeated.
   MAG NIF I CENT, grand; splendid.
   EL' E VA TED, raised; excited.
   GON' DO LA, small boat.
   BE GIRT', surrounded.
   RO TA RY, turning; revolving.
   IN TEN' SI TY, extreme degree.
   A' ER OS TAT, air-balloon.
   IN TER MI NA BLE, boundless.
   VA' RI E GA TED, diversified; varied.
   VERG' ING, tending; inclining.
   OB LIQUE' LY, slantingly.
   RES PI RA' TION, act of breathing.
   ZE' NITH, point in the heavens directly over head.
   MAN' DI BLES, jaws.
   EU ROC' LY DON, tempestuous wind.



1. My hour had now come, and I entered the car. With a singular taste,
the band struck up, at this moment, the melting air of "Sweet Home." It
almost overcame me. A thousand associations of youth, friends, of all
that I must leave, rushed upon my mind. But I had no leisure for
sentiment. A buzz ran through the assemblage; unnumbered hands were
clapping, unnumbered hearts beating high; and _I_ was the cause. Every
eye was upon me. There was pride in the thought.

2. "Let go!" was the word. The cheers redoubled; handkerchiefs waved
from many a fair hand; bright faces beamed from every window, and on
every side. One dash with my knife, and I rose aloft, a habitant of air.
How magnificent was the sight which now burst upon me! How sublime were
my sensations! I waved the flag of my country; the cheers of the
multitude from a thousand housetops, reached me on the breeze; and a
taste of the rarer atmosphere elevated my spirits into ecstasy.

3. The city, with a brilliant sunshine striking the spires and domes,
now unfolded to view a sight incomparably beautiful. My gondola went
easily upward, cleaving the depths of heaven like a vital thing. A
diagram placed before you, on the table, could not permit you to trace
more definitely than I now could, the streets, the highways, basins,
wharves, and squares of the town. The hum of the city arose to my ear,
as from a vast bee-hive; and I seemed the monarch-bee, directing the

4. I heard the rattling of carriages, the hearty _yo-heavo-s!_ of
sailors from the docks that, begirt with spars, hemmed the city round. I
was a spectator of all, yet aloof, and alone. Increasing stillness
attended my way; and, at last, the murmurs of earth came to my ear like
the vast vibrations of a bell. My car tilted and trembled, as I rose. A
swift wind sometimes gave the balloon a rotary motion, which made me
deathly sick for a moment; but strong emotion conquered all my physical

5. My brain ached with the intensity of my rapture. Human sounds had
fainted from my ear. I was in the abyss of heaven, and _alone_ with my
God. I could tell my direction by the sun on my left; and, as his rays
played on the aerostat, it seemed only a bright bubble, wavering in the
sky, and I, a suspended mote, hung by chance to its train. Looking below
me, the distant Sound and Long Island appeared to the east; the bay lay
to the south, sprinkled with shipping; under me, the city, girded with
bright rivers and sparry forests.

6. The free wind was on my cheek, and in my locks; afar, the ocean
rolled its long, blue waves, checkered with masses of shadow, and gushes
of ruby sunlight; to the north and west, the interminable land,
variegated like a map, dotted with purple, and green, and silver, faded
to the eye. The atmosphere which I now breathed, seemed to dilate my
heart at every breath. I uttered some audible expressions. My voice was
weaker than the faintest sound of a reed. There was no object near to
make it reverb or echo.

7. My barometer now denoted an immense hight; and, as I looked upward
and around, the concave above seemed like a mighty waste of purple air,
verging to blackness. Below, it was lighter; but a long, lurid bar of
cloud stretched along the west, temporarily excluding the sun. The
shadows rushed afar into the void, and a solemn, Sabbath twilight
reigned around. I was now startled by a fluttering in my gondola. It was
my carrier-pigeon. I had forgotten him entirely. I attached a string to
his neck, with a label, announcing my hight, then nearly four miles, and
the state of the barometer.

8. As he sat on the side of the car, and turned his tender eyes upon me
in mute supplication, every feather shivering with apprehension, I felt
that it was a guilty act to push him into the waste beneath. But it was
done; he attempted to rise, but I out-sped him; he then fell obliquely,
fluttering and moaning, till I lost him in the haze. My greatest
altitude had not yet been reached. I was now five miles from _terra
firma_. [Footnote: Solid earth.] I began to breathe with difficulty. The
atmosphere was too rare for safe respiration.

9. I pulled my valve-cord to descend. It refused to obey my hand. For a
moment I was horror-struck. What was to be done? If I ascended much
higher, the balloon would explode. I threw over some tissue paper to
test my progress. It is well known that this will _rise_ very swiftly.
It _fell_, as if blown downward by a wind from the zenith. I was going
upward like an arrow. I attempted to pray, but my parched lips could not
move. I seized the cord again, with desperate energy. Blessed Heaven! it

10. I threw out more tissue. It rose to me like a wing of joy. I was
descending. Though far from sunset, it was now dark about me, except a
track of blood-red haze in the direction of the sun. I encountered a
strong current of wind; mist was about me; it lay like dew upon my coat.
At last, a thick bar of vapor being past, what a scene was disclosed! A
storm was sweeping through the sky, nearly a mile beneath; and I looked
down upon an ocean of rainbows, rolling in indescribable grandeur, to
the music of the thunder-peal, as it moaned afar and near, on the coming
and dying wind.

11. A frightened eagle had ascended through the tempest, and sailed for
minutes by my side, looking at me with panting weariness, and quivering
mandibles, but with a dilated eye, whose keen iris flashed unsubdued.
Proud emblem of my country! As he fanned me with his heavy wing, and
looked with a human intelligence at the car, my pulse bounded with
exulting rapture. Like the genius of my native land, he had risen above
every storm, unfettered and FREE.

12. But my transports were soon at an end. He attempted to light on the
balloon, and my heart sunk; I feared his huge claws would tear the silk.
I pulled my cord; he rose, as I sank, and the blast swept him from my
view in a moment. A flock of wild-fowl, beat by the storm, were coursing
below, on bewildered pinions; and, as I was nearing them, I knew I was
descending. A breaking rift now admitted the sun. The rainbows tossed
and gleamed; chains of fleecy rack, shining in prismatic rays of gold,
and purple, and emerald, "beautiful exceedingly," spread on every hand.

13. Vast curtains of clouds pavilioned the immensity, brighter than
celestial roses; masses of mist were lifted on high, like strips of
living fire, more radiant than the sun himself, when his glorious
noontide culminates from the equator. A kind of aerial Euroclydon now
smote my car, and three of the cords parted, which tilted my gondola to
the side, filling me with terror. I caught the broken cords in my hand,
but could not tie them.

14. The storm below was now rapidly passing away, and beneath its waving
outline, to the south-east, I saw the ocean. Ships were speeding on
their course, and their bright sails melting into distance; a rainbow
hung afar; and the rolling anthems of the Atlantic came like celestial
hymnings to my ear. Presently all was clear below me. The fresh air
played around. I had taken a noble circuit; and my last view was better
than the first, I was far over the bay, "afloating sweetly to the west."
The city, colored by the last blaze of day, brightened remotely to the

15. Below, ships were hastening to and fro through the Narrows, and the
far country lay smiling like an Eden. Bright rivers ran like ribbons of
gold and silver, till they were lost in the vast inland, stretching
beyond the view; the gilded mountains were flinging their purple shadows
over many a vale; bays were blushing to the farewell day-beams; and now
I was passing over a green island. I sailed to the mainland; saw the
tall, old trees waving to the evening breeze; heard the rural lowing of
herds, and the welcome sound of human voices; and, finally, sweeping
over forest-tops and embowered villages, at last, descended with the
sun, among a kind-hearted, surprised, and hospitable community, in as
pretty a town as one could desire to see, "safe and well."

QUESTIONS.--1. What demonstrations were made by the people as the
aeronaut began to ascend? 2. How did the city and other objects appear
to him? 3. What could he hear? 4. Describe the appearance of the ocean.
5. What did he do with his carrier-pigeon? 6. How high did he ascend?
7. Describe his descent. 8. What is said about the eagle that came near
him? 9. Describe the appearance of the clouds beneath him.

       *       *       *       *       *


   BOUN' TY, charity; favor.
   FRU' GAL, prudent; economical.
   FLOUR' ISH ED, thrived; prospered.
   DIS CHARG' ED, performed.
   BREED' ING, education.
   EM BRAC' ED, accepted.
   MAIN TAIN' ED, supported.
   TRUDG' ED, traveled.
   BE GUIL' ED, amused.
   LE' GAL, lawful.
   TWAIN, two.
   BE WITCH' ING, charming.
   YOUNK' ER, lad; youngster.
   MED' I TA TIVE, thoughtful.
   PRO  VOK' ED, (PRO, _forward, forth_; VOKED, _called_;) called
   forth; excited.
   IN CLUDE', (IN, _in_; CLUDE, _shut_;) shut in; inclose.
   IN SERT', (IN, _in_; SERT, _join, set_;) join, or set in; put in.



 1. "Once on a time," as ancient tales declare,
      There lived a farmer in a quiet dell
    In Massachusetts, but exactly where,
      Or when, is really more than I can tell,--
    Except that quite above the public bounty,
      He lived within his means and Bristol county.

 2. By patient labor and unceasing care,
      He earned, and so enjoyed, his daily bread;
    Contented always with his frugal fare,
      Ambition to be rich ne'er vexed his head;
    And thus unknown to envy, want, or wealth,
      He flourished long in comfort, peace, and health.

 3. The gentle partner of his humble lot,
      The joy and jewel of his wedded life,
    Discharged the duties of his peaceful cot,
      Like a true woman and a faithful wife;
    Her mind improved by thought and useful reading,
      Kind words and gentle manners showed her breeding.

 4. Grown old, at last, the farmer called his son,
      The youngest, (and the favorite I suppose,) And said,--
    "I long have thought, my darling John,
      'Tis time to bring my labors to a close;
    So now to toil I mean to bid adieu,
      And deed, my son, the homestead-farm to you."

 5. The boy embraced the boon with vast delight,
      And promised, while their precious lives remained,
    He'd till and tend the farm from morn till night,
      And see his parents handsomely maintained;
    God help him, he would never fail to love, nor
      Do aught to grieve his gen'rous old gov'nor.

 6. The farmer said,--"Well, let us now proceed,
      (You know there's always danger in delay,)
    And get 'Squire Robinson to write the deed;
      Come,--where's my staff?--we'll soon be on the way."
    But John replied, with tender, filial care,
      "You're old and weak--I'll catch the Dapple Mare."

 7. The mare was saddled, and the old man got on,
      The boy on foot trudged cheerfully along,
    The while, to cheer his sire, the duteous son
      Beguiled the weary way with talk and song.
    Arrived, at length, they found the 'Squire at home,
      And quickly told him wherefore they had come.

 8. The deed was writ in proper form of law,
      With many a "foresaid," "therefore," and "the same,"
    And made throughout without mistake or flaw,
      To show that John had now a legal claim
    To all his father's land--conveyed, given, sold,
      Quit-claimed, et cetera,[Footnote 1]--to have and hold.

 9. Their business done, they left the lawyer's door,
      Happier, perhaps, than when they entered there;
    And started off as they had done before,--
      The son on foot, the father on the mare.
    But ere the twain a single mile had gone,
      A brilliant thought occurred to Master John.

10. Alas for truth!--alas for filial duty!--
      Alas that Satan in the shape of pride,
    (His most bewitching form save that of beauty,)
      Whispered the lad--"My boy, you ought to ride!"
    "Get off!" exclaimed the younker--"'t isn't fair
      That you should always ride the Dapple Mare!"

11. The son was lusty, and the sire was old,
      And so, with many an oath and many a frown,
    The hapless father did as he was told;
      The man got off the steed, the boy got on,
    And rode away as fast as she could trot,
      And left his sire to trudge it home on foot!

12. That night, while seated round the kitchen fire
      The household sat, cheerful as if no word
    Or deed, provoked the injured father's ire,
      Or aught to make him sad had e'er occurred,--
    Thus spoke he to his son: "We quite forgot,
      I think, t'include that little turnip lot!"

13. "I'm very sure, my son, it wouldn't hurt it,"
      Calmly observed the meditative sire,
    "To take the deed, my lad, and just insert it;"
      Here the old man inserts it--_in the fire!_
    Then cries aloud with most triumphant air,
      "Who now, my son, shall ride the Dapple Mare?"

[Footnote 1: And so forth.]

QUESTIONS.--1. What proposition did the father make to his son? 2. What
did the son promise to do? 3. How did the son treat his father after he
got the deed? 4. What did the old gentleman do?

       *       *       *       *       *


   HARD' I HOOD, bravery.
   MAIN TRUCK, small cap at the top of a flagstaff or masthead.
   A GHAST', horrified.
   GROUPS, clusters; crowds.
   PAL' LID, pale.
   LU' RID, dismal; gloomy.
   HUE, color.
   RIV' ET TED, firmly fixed.
   FOLD' ED, embraced; clasped.



1. Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
(sl.) In the harbor of Mahon [Footnote 1];
   A dead calm rested on the bay,--
     The waves to sleep had gone,--
   When little Jack,[Footnote 2] the captain's son,
     With gallant hardihood,
   Climbed shroud and spar,--and then upon
     The main-truck rose and stood!

2. A shudder ran through every vein,--
     All eyes were turned on high!
   There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
     Between the sea and sky!
   No hold had he above,--below,
     Alone he stood in air!
   At that far hight none dared to go,--
     No aid could reach him there.

3. We gazed,--but not a man could speak;
     With horror all aghast,
   In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
     We watched the quivering mast!
   The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
     And of a lurid hue,
   As, riveted unto the spot,
     Stood officers and crew.

4. The father came on deck. He gasped,
     "O God, Thy will be done!"
   Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
     And aimed it at his son!
   "Jump far out, boy, into the wave!
     Jump, or I fire!" he said.
   "That only chance your life can save:
('') Jump! jump, boy!" He obeyed.

5. He sank,--he rose,--he lived,--he moved,--
     He for the ship struck out!
   On board we hailed the lad beloved
     With many a manly shout.
   His father drew, in silent joy,
     Those wet arms round his neck,
   Then folded to his heart the boy,
     And fainted on the deck!

[Footnote 1: MA HON', (_Ma hone_,) a sea-port town on the island of
Minorca, in the Mediterranean Sea.]

[Footnote 2: A name commonly applied to a young sailor.]

QUESTIONS.--1. What did the captain's son do, on board the Ironsides? 2.
Describe his situation. 3. What is said of the officers and crew? 4.
What did the father say and do? 5. What did the boy do?

       *       *       *       *       *


   COM MIN' GLE, mix or unite.
   PE DES' TRI AN, traveler on foot.
   PROM' I NENT, important.
   TRAG' lC, fatal; mournful.
   NAR RATE', tell; relate.
   YORE, olden time.
   WI' LY, craft; cunning.
   RE LENT' LESS, hard-hearted; cruel.
   WIG' WAM, Indian hut or cabin.
   EM BARK' ED, went aboard.
   TWANG, quick, sharp sound.
   SPA' CIOUS, large; capacious.
   WA' RI LY, cautiously.
   MYS TE' RI OUS LY, strangely.
   OM' IN OUS, foreboding ill.
   IM PLA' CA BLE, relentless.
   UN TRACE' A BLE, (UN, _not_; TRACE, _mark_; ABLE, _that can be_;)
   that can not be marked, or traced; not found out.



1. In the State of New York, where the dark, foaming waters of the Black
River, after roaring and surging through many pleasant fields, beautiful
groves, and dense woodlands, commingle with the clear, cold waters of
Lake Ontario, the wandering pedestrian or the lone fisherman may see,
resting upon a gravelly flat, the remains of an _old Indian canoe_,
whose once beautiful proportions, now untraceable in its rottenness,
bore a prominent part in the tragic event I am about to narrate.

2. Through these pleasant valleys, among the broken hills, and in the
majestic forests, of yore, the wily Indian and his dusky mate, held
undisputed possession; and many are the incidents, yet unwritten, of
tragic and thrilling interest, that transpired around the red men's
camp-fire, ere the white man disturbed their forest homes.

3. Si ous' ka, or the "Wild Flower," was the daughter of a powerful
chief of the Onondagas, and the only being ever known to turn the
relentless old chief from a savage purpose. Something of this influence
was owing to her great beauty; but more to the gentleness of which that
beauty was the emblem. Her downcast eye, her trembling lip, her quiet,
submissive motion, all bespoke its language; and many were the young
chieftains that sought to win her affections.

4. Among her admirers were two young chiefs of the Oneidas, with whom
the Onondagas were on the most friendly terms. Si ous' ka's father, in
order to cherish the friendly feeling of the two tribes, and, at the
same time, strengthen his power, besought her to accept the more
powerful chief, "Eagle Eye." He did not plead in vain; for she had long
loved the young Oneida.

5. One bright sunny morning, in early spring, as the old chief was out
hunting, the young Oneida crossed his path, upon which the old man
advanced, and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, pointed to the
dwelling of Si ous' ka. Not a word was spoken. The proud old man and the
strong, young chief proceeded toward her wigwam, and entered together.

6. Si ous' ka was seated in one corner, engaged upon some fancy
basket-work, and did not notice their approach until they had entered.
The old chief looked upon her with an expression of love, which his
stern countenance never wore except in her presence. "Sious'ka," he said
in a subdued tone, "Go to the wigwam of the Oneida, that your father's
tribe may be strengthened, and many moons may shine upon their peace and

7. There was mingled joy and modesty in the upward glance of the "Wild
Flower" of the Onondagas, and, when the young chief saw the light of her
mild eye suddenly and timidly vailed by its deeply-fringed lid, he knew
that her love had lost none of its power. The marriage song was soon
sung in the royal wigwam, in which the sweet voice of Sious'ka was
happily heard to mingle.

8. When the rejected chief of the Oneidas heard that the "Wild Flower"
had mated with the "Eagle Eye," his wrath knew no bounds, and he
secretly resolved upon revenge. Two years passed away, and, as yet, no
good opportunity had arrived; for he dared not attack "Eagle Eye" in
open conflict, for fear of his superior powers; and, assassin-like, he
sought to give the blow unperceived.

9. At length, the spring came, and a number of the tribe prepared to
visit Lake Ontario, on a fishing and hunting excursion. Among the number
who went, were the "Eagle Eye," Sious'ka, and their little boy. They
were obliged to carry their light, birchen canoes from home, and these
were packed with the necessary tackle, skins for beds, &c. The strong
men of the party carried the canoes on their shoulders, and the women
the smaller articles of furniture.

10. They had advanced across the country, until they reached the Black
River, and, by carrying their canoes around falls and rapids, gently
floated down the stream till they reached the great falls, about six
miles from the Lake. Here they halted for the night, and encamped about
half a mile above the falls.

11. The morning came; and, as the first beam of the rising sun pierced
the forest shade, the party again embarked in their canoes for the mouth
of the river, the gaudy canoe of Si ous' ka, which her father had given
her, taking the lead. They had scarcely started from the shore, ere the
sharp twang of a bow-string was heard from the shore, and an unerring
arrow pierced the heart of "Eagle Eye." He fell over the side of the
canoe, and was swept by the current over the great falls.

12. The party immediately started in pursuit of the coward murderer; but
they sought in vain. His hiding-place was too sure,--he had taken refuge
in a cave, the entrance of which was hid from observation by a thick
clump of cedars. Here he remained till he was certain the company had
departed. This cave is still there, and I have often been in its many
chambers,--some of which are very spacious.

13. The fatal shaft was winged from the bow of the revenged Oneida
chief. Having been apprised of the expedition, he had warily dogged the
steps of the party, until a favorable opportunity presented itself, and
then satisfied his secret longing for revenge upon the enemy, whom he
did not dare to attack even-handed. The party sought him far and near;
but, as no trace of any one could be found, they imagined, with
superstitious fear, that the "Great Spirit" had thus summoned "Eagle
Eye" to the "Spirit's Hunting Ground."

14. When they returned to their canoes, no traces of Si ous' ka and her
child were to be found. They, too, had mysteriously disappeared, and the
whole party, with ominous silence, hastened around the falls, and away
from the fearful place. When Si ous' ka saw the fatal shaft pierce her
companion, with, a fearful shriek she fell into the bottom of the canoe,
hid herself in the furs, and immediately her reason forsook her.

15. When she recovered, she found that her canoe, urged on by the
current, had floated into a large cave, and was firmly wedged in between
two rocks; and her little boy, with his bow and arrow in his hand, was
quietly sleeping by her side. Dislodging the canoe, she plied the oars,
and was soon outside the cave.

16. On finding her people had left her, she sought the shore, and,
fastening the canoe, proceeded below the falls, where she found the body
of the ill-fated "Eagle Eye," where it had washed ashore. With
superhuman strength, she bore the mangled body to a thick grove of
cedars, and, with her own hands, dug a rude grave, and covered his
remains with dried leaves and earth. That night she kept her lonely
watch beside the grave of all that she held dear on earth, save her boy,
intending to follow the party on the morrow.

17. The morning came, and the mid-day sun began to descend toward the
western hills, ere she left the grave of the murdered chief. But, at
length, she sorrowfully departed; and, on arriving where she moored the
canoe the day before, what was her surprise to see the murderer of her
husband, quietly sleeping upon the skins where last "Eagle Eye" had
reposed, in the bow of the canoe.

18. From that moment Si ous' ka was changed. Her quiet, submissive air
immediately gave place to fierce sternness, and the eye that had always
beamed with the smile of love, shot forth flashes of bitter hate and
passion, implacable as the most bloodthirsty of her tribe. Noiselessly
throwing the oars from the boat, with a wild shriek, she quickly swung
it around into the rapidly rolling current, and it was hurried toward
the brink of that awful cataract, over which no living being had ever
passed alive.

19. The young chief, awakened by that fearful, exulting cry of revenge,
and seeing the peril of his situation, leaped from the bark that was
hurrying him to sure destruction, and vainly sought to gain the shore.
After struggling with the swift tide for a moment, in which he was
carried nearer and nearer the awful brink, he turned, and, with a wild,
unearthly yell, plunged over, and the boiling waters only responded to
his death-wail, as he sunk to rise no more, and his spirit joined that
of his victim in the "Spirit Land."

20. After the gentle "Wild Flower" had avenged the death of the "Eagle
Eye," she returned to her father's wigwam, and spent the remainder of
her life to the memory of her heart's first devotion. The canoe, all
battered and broken, floated to the mouth of the river, bottom side up,
where it was seen by one of the party while fishing, drawn to the shore,
and left to decay. The party supposed that "Eagle Eye," Sious'ka, and
her child, had all perished in some mysterious manner.

QUESTIONS.--1. Who was Sious'ka? 2. Who became her husband? 3. What
effect had her marriage upon the rejected Oneida chief? 4. In what way
did he seek revenge? 5. How did Sious'ka avenge the death of her

       *       *       *       *       *


   EN TER TAIN' ED, had; harbored.
   PE CUL IAR' I TY, something special.
   CHA GRIN'ED, (_sha grin'ed_,) vexed.
   MOR' TI FI ED, hurt in feeling.
   OUT STRIP', go beyond; excel.
   RI' VAL RY, emulation.
   RE VERS' ES, troubles; difficulties.
   IN VIG' OR A TED, made strong.
   DES O LA' TION, waste; ruin.
   REF' UGE, shelter; protection.
   SYM' PA THIZ ED, (SYM, _with_; PATH, _feeling_; IZE, _make, have_;
   ED, _did_;) did  have  feeling with. See Note on the suffix IZE,
   p. 132 of the ANALYSIS.

[Headnote 1: SIS' ER A, captain of the army of the Canaanitish king,
Jabin. He was utterly defeated by Barak. Fleeing on foot, he took refuge
in the tent of Jael, wife of Heber. There, while asleep, Jael drove a
nail through his temples, and so he died. His mother, finding he did not
return from the battle, "looked out at a window, and cried through the
lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming?" Read 4th and 5th
chapters of Judges.]



1. Many of us who are advanced beyond the period of childhood, went out
from home to embark on the stormy sea of life. Of the feelings of a
father, and of his interest in our welfare, we have never entertained a
doubt, and our home was dear because he was there; but there was a
peculiarity in the feeling that it was the home of our mother. Where
_she_ lived, there was a place that we felt was _home_. There was _one
place_ where we would always be welcome, _one place_ where we would be
met with a smile, _one place_ where we would be sure of a friend.

2. The world might be indifferent to us. We might be unsuccessful in our
studies or our business. The new friends which we supposed we had made,
might prove to be false. The honor which we thought we deserved, might
be withheld from us. We might be chagrined and mortified by seeing a
rival outstrip us, and bear away the prize which we sought. But there
_was_ a place where no feelings of rivalry were found, and where those
whom the world overlooked, would be sure of a friendly greeting. Whether
pale and wan by study, care, or sickness, or flushed with health and
flattering success, we were _sure_ that we should be welcome there.

3. Though the world was cold toward us, yet there was _one_ who always
rejoiced in our success, and always was affected in our reverses; and
there was a _place_ to which we might go back from the storm which began
to pelt us, where we might rest, and become encouraged and invigorated
for a new conflict. So have I seen a bird, in its first efforts to fly,
leave its nest, and stretch its wings, and go forth to the wide world.
But the wind blew it back, and the rain began to fall, and the darkness
of night began to draw on, and there was no shelter abroad, and it
sought its way back to its nest, to take shelter beneath its mother's
wings, and to be refreshed for the struggles of a new day; but then it
flew away to think of its nest and its mother no more.

4. But not thus did we leave our home when we bade adieu to it to go
forth alone to the manly duties of life. Even amidst the storms that
then beat upon us, and the disappointments that we met with, and the
coldness of the world, we felt still that there _was one_ who
sympathized in our troubles, as well as rejoiced in our success, and
that, whatever might be abroad, when we entered the door of her
dwelling, we should be met with a smile. We expected that a mother, like
the mother of Sisera [Headnote 1], as she "looked out at her window,"
waiting for the coming of her son laden with the spoils of victory,
would look out for _our_ coming, and that _our_ return would renew her
joy and ours in our earlier days.

5. It makes a sad desolation when, from such a place, a mother is taken
away, and when, whatever may be the sorrows or the successes in life,
she is to greet the returning son or daughter no more. The home of our
childhood may be still lovely. The old family mansion--the green
fields--the running stream--the moss-covered well--the trees--the
lawn--the rose--the sweet-brier--may be there. Perchance, too, there may
be an aged father, with venerable locks, sitting in his loneliness, with
every thing to command respect and love; but she is not there. Her
familiar voice is not heard. The mother has been borne forth to sleep by
the side of her children who went before her, and the place is not what
it was.

6. There may be those there whom we much love; but _she_ is not there.
We may have formed new relations in life, tender and strong as they can
be; we may have another home, dear to us as was the home of our
childhood, where there is all in affection, kindness, and religion, to
make us happy; but _that_ home is not what it was, and it will _never_
be what it was again. It is a loosening of one of the cords which bound
us to earth, designed to prepare us for our eternal flight from every
thing dear here below, and to teach us that there is _no_ place here,
that is to be our permanent home.

QUESTIONS.--1. What renders home doubly endearing? 2. Where are we
always welcome? 3. Who always rejoices in our successes, and is affected
in our reverses? 4. Who was Sisera, and what account is given of him?

       *       *       *       *       *


   UN SPOT' TED, pure; unstained.
   FAL' TER, fail.
   TRA' CER Y, traces; impressions.
   IM' PRESS, mark: stamp.
   DO MIN' ION, authority; predominance.
   SHRINK, withdraw.
   PUR SU' ING, following.
   STERN ER, harsher; more rigid.
   DE FY', dare; challenge.
   WHO' SO, any person whatever.
   TO' KEN, sign; indication.
   BROTH' ER HOOD, fraternity.



1.             Write, mother, write!
   A new, unspotted book of life before thee,
     Thine is the hand to trace upon its pages
   The first few characters, to live in glory,
   Or live in shame, through long, unending ages!
               Write, mother, write!
   Thy hand, though woman's, must not faint nor falter:
     The lot is on thee,--nerve thee then with care,--
   A _mother's tracery_ time may never alter;
     Be its first impress, then, the breath of prayer!
               Write, mother, write!

2.             Write, father, write!
   Take thee a pen plucked from an eagle's pinion,
     And write _immortal actions_ for thy son;
   Teach him that man forgets man's high dominion,
     Creeping on earth, leaving _great deeds_ undone!
               Write, father, write!
   Leave on his life-book a fond father's blessing,
     To shield him 'mid temptation, toil, and sin.
   And he shall go to glory's field, possessing
     _Strength to contend, and confidence to win_.
               Write, father, write!

3.             Write, sister, write!
   Nay, shrink not, for a sister's love is holy!
     Write words the angels whisper in thine ears,--
   No bud of sweet affection, howe'er lowly,
     But planted here, will bloom in after years.
               Write, sister, write!
   Something to cheer him, his rough way pursuing,
     For manhood's lot is sterner far than ours;
   He may not pause,--he must be up and doing,
     Whilst thou sitt'st idly, dreaming among flowers.
               Write, sister, write!

4.             Write, brother, write!
   Strike a bold blow upon those kindred pages,--
     Write; shoulder to shoulder, brother, we will go;
   Heart linked to heart, though wild the conflict rages,
     We will defy the battle and the foe.
               Write, brother, write!
   We who have trodden boyhood's path together,
     Beneath the summer's sun and winter's sky,
   What matter if life brings us some foul weather,
     We may be stronger than adversity!
               Write, brother, write!

5.             Fellow immortal, write!
   One GOD reigns in the Heavens,--there is no other,--
     And _all mankind are brethren_--thus 'tis spoken,--
   And whoso aids a sorrowing, struggling brother,
     By kindly word, or deed, or friendly token,
   Shall win the favor of our heavenly Father,
     Who judges evil, and rewards the good,
   And who hath linked the race of man together,
     In one vast, universal brotherhood!
               Fellow immortal, write!

QUESTIONS.--1. What may the mother write in the Life-Book? 2. What, the
father? 3. What, the sister? 4. What, the brother? 5. What may all

       *       *       *       *       *


   ODE, short poem.
   PA TER' NAL, coming by inheritance.
   AT TIRE', clothing; raiment.
   UN CON CERN' ED LY, without care.
   REC RE A' TION, amusement.
   IN' NO CENCE, freedom from guilt.
   MED I TA' TION, contemplation.
   UN LA MENT' ED, unmourned.



Written when the author was twelve years of age.

1. Happy the man whose wish and care
     A few paternal acres bound,
   Content to breathe his native air
     In his own ground.

2. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
     Whose flocks supply him with attire;
   Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
     In winter fire.

3. Blest who can unconcern'dly find
     Hours, days, and years glide soft away,
   In health of body, peace of mind,
     Quiet by day.

4. Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
     Together mixed; sweet recreation;
   And innocence, which most doth please
     With meditation.

5. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
     Thus unlamented let me die;
   Steal from the world, and not a stone
     Tell where I lie.

QUESTIONS.--1. Who, did the writer think, were happy? 2. How did he wish
to live and die? 3. Analyse the word _recreation_, (RE _back_; CREATION,
_act of bringing into life_;) act of bringing back to life; a reviving.

       *       *       *       *       *


   AD MI RA' TION, esteem.
   FRA TER' NAL, brotherly.
   IN SIG NIF' I CANCE, worthlessness.
   CRIT' IC AL, perilous.
   THOR' OUGH LY, completely; fully.
   COM PRE HEND', understand.
   CON VIC' TION, strong belief.
   COM PE TI' TION, strife; rivalry.
   EM U LA' TION, competition.
   IN TRIN' SIC AL LY, really; truly.
   AP PRE' CI ATE, value; esteem.
   BRAWN, physical strength.
   PIN' NA CLE, summit; highest point.
   SIN' U OUS, winding; bending.
   LE GIT' I MATE, lawful.
   REQ' UI SITE, necessary.
   CON SER VA' TION, act of keeping.
   DE VEL' OP MENT, training.



1. The first great lesson a young man should learn, is, that _he knows
nothing;_ and that the earlier and more thoroughly this lesson is
learned, the better it will be for his peace of mind, and his success in
life. A young man bred at home, and growing up in the light of parental
admiration and fraternal pride, can not readily understand how it is,
that every one else can be his equal in talent and acquisition. If bred
in the country, he seeks the life of the town, he will very early obtain
an idea of his insignificance.

2. This is a critical period in his history. The result of his reasoning
will decide his fate. If, at this time, he thoroughly comprehend, and in
his soul admit and accept the fact, that _he knows nothing_ and _is
nothing;_ if he bow to the conviction that his mind and his person are
but ciphers, and that whatever he is _to be_, and is _to win_, must be
achieved by _hard work_, there is abundant hope of him.

3. If, on the contrary, a huge self-conceit still hold possession of
him, and he straightens stiffly up to the assertion of his old and
valueless self,--or, if he sink discouraged upon the threshold of a life
of fierce competitions, and more manly emulations, he might as well be a
dead man. The world has no use for such a man, and he has only to retire
or be trodden upon.

4. When a young man has thoroughly comprehended the fact that _he knows
nothing_, and that, intrinsically, he is of but _little value_, the next
thing for him to learn is that _the world cares nothing for him_,--that
he is the subject of no man's overwhelming admiration and esteem,--that
he must take care of himself.

5. If he be a stranger, he will find every man busy with his own
affairs, and none to look after him. He will not be noticed until he
becomes _noticeable_, and he will not become noticeable, until he _does
something_ to prove that he has an absolute value in society. No letter
of recommendation will give him this, or ought to give him this. No
family connection will give him this, except among those few who think
more of blood than brains.

6. Society demands that a young man _shall be somebody_, not only, but
that _he shall prove his right to the title_; and it has a right to
demand this. Society will not take this matter upon trust,--at least,
not for a long time; for it has been cheated too frequently. Society is
not very particular what a man does, so that it prove him to be a _man_:
then it will bow to him, and make room for him.

7. There is no surer sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit, than a
vague desire for _help_,--a wish to _depend_, to _lean_ upon somebody,
and enjoy the fruits of the industry of others. There are multitudes of
young men who indulge in dreams of help from some quarter, coming in at
a convenient moment, to enable them to secure the success in life which
they covet. The vision haunts them of some benevolent old gentleman,
with a pocket full of money, a trunk full of mortgages and stocks, and a
mind remarkably appreciative of merit and genius, who will, perhaps,
give or lend them from ten to twenty thousand dollars, with which they
will commence and go on swimmingly.

8. To me, one of the most disgusting sights in the world, is that of a
young man with healthy blood, broad shoulders, and a hundred and fifty
pounds, more or less, of good bone and muscle, standing with his hands
in his pockets, longing for help. I admit that there are positions in
which the most independent spirit may accept of assistance,--may, in
fact, as a choice of evils, desire it; but for a man who is able to help
himself, to desire the help of others in the accomplishment of his plans
of life, is positive proof that he has received a most unfortunate
training, or that there is a leaven of meanness in his composition, that
should make him shudder.

9. When, therefore, a young man has ascertained and fully received the
fact that he does not know any thing, that the world does not care any
thing about him, that what he wins must be won by his own brain and
brawn, and that while he holds in his own hands the means of gaining his
own livelihood and the objects of his life, he can not receive
assistance without compromising his self-respect and selling his
freedom, he is in a fair position for beginning life. When a young man
becomes aware that only by _his own efforts_ can he rise into
companionship and competition with the sharp, strong, and well-drilled
minds around him, he of ready for work, and not before.

10. The next lesson is, that of _patience_, thoroughness in preparation,
and contentment with the regular channels of business effort and
enterprise. This is, perhaps, one of the most difficult to learn, of all
the lessons of life. It is natural for the mind to reach out eagerly for
immediate results.

11. As manhood dawns, and the young man catches in its first light the
pinnacles of realized dreams, the golden domes of high possibilities,
and the purpling hills of great delights, and then looks down upon the
narrow, sinuous, long, and dusty path by which others have reached
them, he is apt to be disgusted with the passage, and to seek for
success through broader channels, by quicker means. Beginning at the
very foot of the hill, and working slowly to the top, seems a very
discouraging process; and precisely at this point, have thousands of
young men made shipwreck of their lives.

12. Let this be understood, then, at starting; that the patient conquest
of difficulties, which rise in the regular and legitimate channels of
business and enterprise, is not only essential in securing the successes
which you seek, but it is essential to that preparation of your mind,
requisite for the enjoyment of your successes, and for retaining them
when gained. It is the general rule of Providence, the world over, and
in all time, that unearned success is a curse. It is the rule of
Providence, that the process of earning success, shall be the
preparation for its conservation and enjoyment.

13. So, day by day, and week by week; so, month after month, and year
after year, _work on_, and in that process gain strength and symmetry,
and nerve and knowledge, that when success, patiently and bravely worked
for, shall come, it may find you prepared to receive it and keep it. The
development which you will get in this brave and patient labor, will
prove itself, in the end, the most valuable of your successes. It will
help to make a _man_ of you. It will give you power and self-reliance.
It will give you not only _self-respect_, but the _respect of your
fellows and the public_.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the first lesson a young man should learn?
2. What is the next lesson he should learn? 3. What does society demand
of a young man? 4. What is a sure sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit?
5. When is a young man in a fair position for beginning life? 6. What is
a general rule of Providence?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PRE SUMP' TION, arrogance.
   SOPH' ISTS, professed teachers of wisdom.
   AC COST' ED, addressed.
   GEN' IUS, natural aptitude.
   IN DUC' ED, prevailed upon.
   PHI LOS' O PHER, lover of wisdom.
   BAR' BA ROUS, foreign; uncivilized.
   DIS SUADE', turn away from.
   EX CESS' IVE. overmuch.
   ES TEEM' ED, highly regarded.
   RE TRENCH, lessen; curtail.
   SU PER' FLU OUS, extravagant; needless.
   UN DER TAK' ING, engaging in.
   IN CA PAC' I TY, inability.

[Headnote 1: THE MIS' TO CLES, a celebrated Athenian statesman and
military leader, was born about 514 before Christ.]

[Headnote 2: CI' MON, an illustrious Athenian general and statesman,
born about the year 510, before Christ. He belonged to the aristocratic
party of his time, and contributed to the banishment of Themistocles,
the leader of the opposite party. He was also the political opponent of

[Headnote 3: PER' I CLES, an Athenian statesman, born about 495 before
Christ. He labored to make Athens the capital of all Greece, and the
seat of art and refinement.]

[Headnote 4: PLA' TO, a celebrated Greek philosopher, born in Athens
about the year 429 before Christ. He was a pupil of Socrates.]



1. The young people of Athens, amazed at the glory of
Themistocles,[Headnote 1] of Cimon,[Headnote 2] of Pericles,[Headnote 3]
and full of a foolish ambition, after having received some lessons from
the sophists, who promised to render them very great politicians,
believed themselves capable of every thing, and aspired to fill the
highest places. One of them, named Glaucon, took it so strongly in his
head that he had a _peculiar genius_ for public affairs, although he was
not yet twenty years of age, that no person in his family, nor among his
friends, had the power to divert him from a notion so little befitting
his age and capacity.

2. Socrates, who liked him on account of Plato [Headnote 4] his brother,
was the only one who succeeded in making him change his resolution.
Meeting him one day, he accosted him with so dexterous a discourse, that
he induced him to listen. He had already gained much influence over him.
"You have a desire to govern the republic?" said Socrates. "True,"
replied Glaucon. "You can not have a finer design," said the
philosopher, "since, if you succeed in it, you will be in a state to
serve your friends, to enlarge your house, and to extend the limits of
your native country.

3. "You will become known not only in Athens, but through all Greece;
and it may be that your renown will reach even to the barbarous nations,
like that of Themistocles. At last, you will gain the respect and
admiration of everybody." A beginning so flattering pleased the young
man exceedingly, and he very willingly continued the conversation.
"Since you desire to make yourself esteemed and respected, it is clear
that you think to render yourself useful to the public." "Assuredly."
"Tell me, then, I beseech you, what is the first service that you intend
to render the state?"

4. As Glaucon appeared to be perplexed, and considered what he ought to
answer,--"Probably," replied Socrates, "it will be to enrich the
republic, that is to say, to increase its revenues." "Exactly so." "And,
undoubtedly, you know in what the revenues of the state consist, and the
extent to which they may be increased. You will not have failed to make
it a private study, to the end that if one source should suddenly fail,
you may be able to supply its place immediately with another." "I assure
you," answered Glaucon, "that this is what I have never thought of."

5. "Tell me, at least, then, the necessary expenses of maintaining the
republic. You can not fail to know of what importance it is to retrench
those which are superfluous." "I confess to you that I am not more
instructed with regard to this article than the other." "Then it is
necessary to defer till another time the design that you have of
enriching the republic; for it is impossible for you to benefit the
state while you are ignorant of its revenues and expenses."

6. "But," said Glaucon, "there is still another means that you pass over
in silence,--one can enrich a state by the ruin of its enemies." "You
are right." replied Socrates, "but, in order to do that, you must be the
more powerful; otherwise you run the risk of losing that which you
possess. So, he who speaks of undertaking a war, ought to know the power
of both parties, to the end that if he finds his party the stronger, he
may boldly risk the adventure; but, if he find it the weaker, he should
dissuade the people from undertaking it.

7. "But, do you know what are the forces of our republic, by sea and by
land, and what are those of our enemies'? have you a statement of them
in writing'? You will do me the pleasure to allow me a perusal of it."
"I have none yet," replied Glaucon. "I see, then," said Socrates, "that
we shall not make war so soon, if they intrust _you_ with the
government; for there remain many things for you to know, and many cares
to take."

8. The sage mentioned many other articles, not less important, in which
he found Glaucon equally inexperienced, and he pointed out how
ridiculous they render themselves, who have the rashness to intermeddle
with government, without bringing any other preparation to the task than
_a great degree of self-esteem and excessive ambition_. "Fear, my dear
Glaucon," said Socrates, "fear, lest a too ardent desire for honors
should blind you; and cause you to take a part that would cover you with
shame, in bringing to light your incapacity, and want of talent."

9. The youth was wise enough to profit by the good advice of his
instructor, and took some time to gain private information, before he
ventured to appear in public. This lesson is for all ages.

QUESTIONS.--1. To what did the young people of Athens aspire? 2. What
did Glaucon believe he possessed? 3. Who succeeded in making him change
his resolution? 4. How did Socrates do this? 5. What did Socrates
finally say to him?

       *       *       *       *       *


   CREST, topmost height.
   TOR' RENTS, rushing streams.
   TYPE, symbol; token.
   AE' RIE, (_a' ry_,) eagle's nest.
   VAULT' ED, arched.
   LIQ' UID, (_lik' wid_,) clear; flowing.
   BASK, lie exposed to warmth.
   CAN' O PY, covering.
   REV' EL RY, noisy merriment.
   BIDE, stay; continue.
   VO LUP' TU OUS, devoted to pleasure.
   HAUNTS, places of resort.
   EX PIRES', dies; becomes extinct.
   SMOL' DER ING, burning and smoking without vent.
   HER' IT AGE, inheritance.
   QUENCH' ED, extinguished.
   PEN' NON, flag; banner.
   WRENCH, wrest; twist off.
   CRA' VEN, base; cowardly.


1. I build my nest on the mountain's crest,
   Where the wild winds rock my eaglets to rest,--
   Where the lightnings flash, and the thunders crash,
   And the roaring torrents foam and dash;
   For my spirit free henceforth shall be
   A type of the sons of Liberty.

2. Aloft I fly from my aerie high,
   Through the vaulted dome of the azure sky;
   On a sunbeam bright take my airy flight,
   And float in a flood of liquid light;
   For I love to play in the noontide ray,
   And bask in a blaze from the throne of day.

3. Away I spring with a tireless wing,
   On a feathery cloud I poise and swing;
   I dart down the steep where the lightnings leap,
   And the clear blue canopy swiftly sweep;
   For, dear to me is the revelry
   Of a free and fearless Liberty.

4. I love the land where the mountains stand,
   Like the watch-towers high of a Patriot band;
   For I may not bide in my glory and pride,
   Though the land be never so fair and wide,
   Where Luxury reigns o'er voluptuous plains,
   And fetters the free-born soul in chains.

5. Then give to me in my flights to see
   The land of the pilgrims _ever free_!
   And I never will rove from the haunts I love
   But watch, from my sentinel-track above,
   Your banner free, o'er land and sea,
   And exult in your glorious Liberty.

6. _O, guard ye well the land where I dwell_,
   Lest to future times the tale I tell,
   When slow expires in smoldering fires
   The goodly heritage of your sires,--
   How Freedom's light rose clear and bright
   O'er fair Columbia's beacon-hight,
   Till ye quenched the flame in a starless night.

7. Then will I tear from your pennon fair
   The stars ye have set in triumph there;
   My olive-branch on the blast I'll launch,
   The fluttering stripes from the flagstaff wrench,
   And away I'll flee; for I scorn to see
   _A craven race_ in the land of the free!

QUESTIONS.--1. Where does the eagle build its nest? 2. Describe its
flights. 3. Where does it love to dwell? 4. Of what is the eagle a type?
5. What warning does it give to the people of this country? 6. What is
there peculiar in the construction of the first, third, and fifth lines
of each verse?

       *       *       *       *       *


   AN' THEM, ode; song.
   DAUNT' LESS, bold; fearless.
   WAG' ED, carried on.
   UN AW' ED, undismayed.
   SCROLL, roll of paper; document.
   COUNT' LESS, unnumbered.
   ROY' AL, regal; noble.
   U' NI VERSE, whole creation.
   BAF' FLED, frustrated.
   TY RAN' NIC, oppressive; despotic.
   CURB, check; restrain.
   SUC CEED' ING, following.
   HURL' ED, thrown.
   PEAL' ED, resounded.

[Headnote 1: HEL' LES PONT, now the Dardanelles, a narrow strait between
Asia and Europe.]

[Headnote 2: XER' XES, (_zerks' ees_,) the celebrated king of Persia,
during his famous expedition into Greece, caused a bridge of boats to be
built over the Hellespont; but the work having been destroyed by a
storm, he was greatly enraged against the sea, and ordered it to be
lashed, and fetters to be cast into it to restrain its violence.]



 1. Yes, _ye are few_,--and _they were few_,
      Who, daring storm and sea,
    Once raised upon old Plymouth rock
      "The anthem of the free."

 2. _And they were few_ at Lexington,
      To battle, or to die,--
    That lightning-flash, that thunder-peal,
      Told that the storm was nigh.

 3. _And they were few_, who dauntless stood,
      Upon old Bunkers hight,
    And waged with Britain's strength and pride
      The fierce, unequal fight.

 4. _And they were few_, who, all unawed
      By kingly "rights divine,"
    The Declaration, rebel scroll,[Footnote 1]
      Untrembling dared to sign.

 5. _Yes, ye are few_; for one proud glance
      Can take in all your band,
    As now against a countless host,
      Firm, true, and calm, ye stand.

 6. Unmoved by Folly's idiot laugh,
      Hate's curse, or Envy's frown,--
    Wearing your rights as royal robes,
      Your manhood as a crown,--

 7. With eyes whose gaze, unvailed by mists,
      Still rises, clearer, higher,--
    With stainless hands, and lips that Truth
      Hath touched with living fire,--

 8. With one high hope, that ever shines
      Before you as a star,--
    One prayer of faith, one fount of strength,
      _A glorious few ye are!_

 9. Ye _dare_ not fear, ye _can not_ fail,
      Your destiny ye bind
    To that sublime, eternal law
      That rules the march of mind.

10. See yon bold eagle toward the sun
      Now rising free and strong,
    And see yon mighty river roll
      Its sounding tide along!

11. Ah! yet near earth the eagle tires,
      Lost in the sea, the river;
    _But naught can stay the human mind_,--
      _'Tis upward, onward, ever!_

12. It yet shall tread the starlit paths,
      By highest angels trod,
    And pause but at the farthest world
      In the universe of God.

13. 'Tis said that Persia's baffled king,
      In mad, tyrannic pride,
    Cast fetters on the Hellespont,[Headnote 1]
      To curb its swelling tide:

14. But freedom's own true spirit heaves
      The bosom of the main;
    It tossed those fetters to the skies,
      And bounded on again!

15. The scorn of each succeeding age
      On Xerxes'[Headnote 2] head was hurled,
    And o'er that foolish deed has pealed
      The long laugh of a world.

16. Thus, thus, defeat, and scorn, and shame,
      Is _his_, who strives to bind
    _The restless, leaping waves of thought,_
      _The free tide of the mind._

[Footnote 1: The reference is to the Declaration of Independence, made
July 4th, 1776.]

QUESTIONS.--1. Who raised the anthem of the free on Plymouth Rock?
2. What is said of the few on Bunker's Hight? 3. How many signed the
Declaration of Independence? Ans. 56. 4. What is said of the eagle?
5. Of the human mind? 6. Of Freedom? 7. Where is the Hellespont?

       *       *       *       *       *


   FRESH' EN ED, grew brisk or strong.
   FIT FUL LY, at intervals.
   IN DI CA' TION, sign; token.
   EN THU' SI ASM, strong feeling.
   AP PRE HEND' ING, fearing.
   A BAN' DON, give up; forsake.
   HAW' SERS, cables; large ropes.
   VOL UN TEER' ED, offered willingly.
   IN' TER VAL, intervening time.
   DE VOT' ED, doomed; ill-fated.
   THWARTS, seats placed across a boat.
   GUAR' AN TY, warrant.
   IN EV' I TA BLY, certainly; surely.
   AC CU' MU LA TED, collected; heaped.
   STAN' CHION, (_stan' shun_,) small post.
   VI' ED, strove; contended.
   DIS' LO CA TED, out of joint; disjointed.
   AM' PU TA TED, cut off.



1. On the afternoon of December 29th, 1862, she put on steam, and, in
tow of the "Rhode Island," passed Fortress Monroe, and out to sea. As we
gradually passed out, the wind freshened somewhat; but the sun went down
in glorious clouds of purple and crimson, and the night was fair and
calm above us, though, in the interior of our little vessel, the air had
already begun to lose its freshness. We suffered more or less from its
closeness through the night, and woke in the morning to find it heavy
with impurity, from the breaths of some sixty persons, composing the
officers and crew.

2. Sunshine found us on deck, enjoying pure air, and watching the east.
During the night we had passed Cape Henry, and now, at dawn, found
ourselves on the ocean,--the land only a blue line in the distance. A
few more hours, and that had vanished. No sails were visible; and the
Passaic, which we had noticed the evening before, was now out of sight.
The morning and afternoon passed quietly; we spent most of our time on
deck, on account of the confined air below, and, being on a level with
the sea, with the spray dashing over us occasionally, amused ourselves
with noting its shifting hues and forms, from the deep green of the
first long roll, to the foam-crest and prismatic tints of the falling

3. As the afternoon advanced, the freshening wind, the thickening
clouds, and the increasing roll of the sea, gave those most accustomed
to ordinary ship-life, some new experiences. The little vessel plunged
through the rising waves, instead of riding them, and, as they increased
in violence, lay, as it were, under their crests, which washed over her
continually; so that, even when we considered ourselves safe, the
appearance was that of a vessel sinking.

4. "I'd rather go to sea in a diving-bell!" said one, as the waves
dashed over the pilot-house, and the little craft seemed buried in
water. "Give me an oyster-scow!" cried another,--"any thing! only let it
be _wood_, and something that will float _over_, instead of _under_ the
water!" Still she plunged on; and about 6:30 P.M., we made Cape
Hatteras; in half an hour we had rounded the point. A general hurrah
went up,--"Hurrah for the first iron-clad that ever rounded Cape
Hatteras! Hurrah for the little boat that is first in every thing!"

5. At half-past seven, a heavy shower fell, lasting about twenty
minutes. At this time the gale increased; black, heavy clouds covered
the sky, through which the moon glittered fitfully, allowing us to see
in the distance a long line of white, plunging foam rushing toward
us,--sure indication, to a sailor's eye, of a stormy time. A gloom
overhung every thing; the banks of cloud seemed to settle around us; the
moan of the ocean grew louder and more fearful. Still our little boat
pushed doggedly on: victorious through all, we thought that here, too,
she would conquer, though the beating waves sent shudders through her
whole frame.

6. An hour passed; the air below, which had all day been increasing in
closeness, was now almost stifling; but our men lost no courage. Some
sang as they worked; and the cadence of their voices, mingling with the
roar of waters, sounded like a defiance to Ocean. Some stationed
themselves on top of the turret, and a general enthusiasm filled all
breasts, as huge waves, twenty feet high, rose up on all sides, hung
suspended for a moment like jaws open to devour, and then, breaking,
gnashed over in foam from side to side.

7. Those of us new to the sea, and not apprehending our peril, hurrahed
for the largest wave; but the captain and one or two others, old
sailors, knowing its power, grew momentarily more and more--anxious,
feeling, with a dread instinctive to the sailor, that, in case of
extremity, no wreck yet known to ocean, could be so hopeless as this.
Solid iron from keelson to turret-top, clinging to any thing for safety,
if the "Monitor" should go down, would only insure a share in her fate.
No mast., no spar, no floating thing, to meet the outstretched hand in
the last moment.

8. The sea gathered force from each attack. Thick and fast came the
blows on the iron mail of the "Monitor," and still the brave little
vessel held her own, until, at half-past eight, the engineer, faithful
to the end, reported a leak. The pumps were instantly set in motion, and
we watched their progress with an intense interest. She had seemed to
us like an old-time knight, in armor, battling against fearful odds, but
still holding his ground. We who watched, when the blow came which made
the strong man reel and the life-blood spout, felt our hearts faint
within us; then, again, ground was gained, and the fight went on, the
water lowering somewhat under the laboring pumps.

9. From nine to ten it kept pace with them. From ten to eleven the sea
increased in violence, the waves now dashing entirely over the turret,
blinding the eyes, and causing quick catchings of the breath, as they
swept against us. At ten the engineer had reported the leak as gaining
on us; at half-past ten, with several pumps in constant motion, one of
which threw out three thousand gallons a minute, the water was rising
rapidly, and nearing the fires. When these were reached, the vessel's
doom was sealed; for, with their extinction, the pumps must cease, and
all hope of keeping the "Monitor" above water more than an hour or two,

10. Our knight had received his death-blow, and lay struggling and
helpless under the power of a stronger than he. A consultation was
held, and, not without a conflict of fueling, it was decided that
signals of distress should be made. Ocean claimed our little vessel, and
her trembling frame and failing fire proved she would soon answer his
call; yet a pang went through us, as we thought of the first iron-clad
lying alone at the bottom of this stormy sea, her guns silenced, herself
a useless mass of metal. Each quiver of her strong frame seemed to plead
with us not to abandon her.

11. The work she _had_ done, the work she _was_ to do, rose before us:
might there not be a possibility of saving her yet? Her time could not
have come so soon. But we who descended for a moment to the cabin, knew,
by the rising-water through which we waded, that the end was near. Small
time was there for regrets. Rockets were thrown up, and answered by the
"Rhode Island," whose brave men prepared at once to lower boats, though,
in that wild sea, it was almost madness.

12. The "Monitor" had been attached to the "Rhode Island" by two
hawsers, one of which had parted at about seven P.M. The other remained
firm; but now it was necessary it should be cut. How was that possible,
when every wave washed clean over the deck? What man could reach it
alive? "Who'll cut the hawser?" shouted Captain Bankhead. Acting master
Stodder volunteered, and was followed by another. Holding by one hand to
the ropes at her side, they cut through, by many blows of the hatchet,
the immense rope which united the vessels. Stodder returned in safety,
but his brave companion was washed over, and went down.

13. Meanwhile the boat launched from the "Rhode Island," had started,
manned by a crew of picked men. A mere heroic impulse could not have
accomplished this most noble deed. For hours they had watched the raging
sea. Their captain and _they_ knew the danger; every man who entered
that boat, did it at the peril of his life; and yet all were ready. Are
not such acts as these convincing proofs of the divinity of human
nature'? We watched her with straining eyes; for few thought she could
live to reach us. She neared; we were sure of her, thank Heaven!

14. In this interval, the cut hawser had become entangled in the
paddle-wheel of the "Rhode Island," and she drifted down upon us; we,
not knowing this fact, supposed her coming to our assistance; but a
moment undeceived us. The launch sent to our relief was now between us
and her,--too near for safety. The steamer bore swiftly down, stern
first, upon our starboard quarter. "_Keep off! keep off!_" we cried, and
then first saw she was helpless.

15. Even as we looked, the devoted boat was caught between the steamer
and the iron-clad,--a sharp sound of crushing wood was heard,--thwarts,
oars, and splinters flew in air,--the boat's crew leaped to the
"Monitor's" deck, Death stared us in the face; our iron prow must go
through the Rhode Island's side,--and then an end to all. One awful
moment we held our breath,--then the hawser was cleared,--the steamer
moved off, as it were, step by step, first one, then another, till a
ship's length lay between us, and then we breathed freely.

16. But the boat!--had she gone to the bottom, carrying brave souls with
her? No; there she lay, beating against our iron sides; but still,
though bruised and broken, a lifeboat to us. There was no hasty scramble
for life when it was found she floated,--all held back. The men kept
steady on at their work of bailing,--only those leaving, and in the
order named, whom the captain bade save themselves. They descended from
the turret to the deck with mingled fear and hope, for the waves tore
from side to side, and the coolest head and bravest heart could not
guaranty safety. Some were washed over as they left the turret, and,
with a vain clutch at the iron deck, a wild throwing up of the arms,
went down, their death-cry ringing in the ears of their companions.

17. The boat sometimes held her place by the "Monitor's" side, then was
dashed hopelessly out of reach, rising and falling on the waves. A
sailor would spring from the deck to reach her, to be seen for a moment
in mid-air, and then, as she rose, fall into her. So she gradually
filled up; but some poor souls who sought to reach her, failed, even as
they touched her receding sides, and went down. We had a little
messenger-boy, the special charge of one of our sailors, and the pet of
all; he must inevitably have been lost, but for the care of his adopted
father, who, holding him firmly in his arms, escaped, as by a miracle,
being washed overboard, but finally succeeded in placing him safely in
the boat.

18. The last but one to make the desperate venture, was the surgeon; he
leaped from the deck, at the very instant when the boat was being swept
away by the merciless sea. Making one final effort, he threw his body
forward as he fell, striking across the boat's side so violently, it was
thought some of his ribs must be broken. "_Haul the Doctor in!_" shouted
Lieutenant Greene, perhaps remembering how, a little time back, he
himself, almost gone down in the unknown sea, had been "hauled in" by a
quinine rope flung him by the Doctor. Stout sailor-arms pulled him in;
one more sprang to a place in her, and the boat, now full, pushed
off,--in a sinking condition, it is true, but still bearing hope with
her, for _she was wood_.

19. Over the waves we made little progress, though pulling for life. The
men stuffed their pea-jackets into the leaks, and bailed incessantly. We
neared the "Rhode Island;" but now a new peril appeared. Eight down upon
our center, borne by the might of the rushing water, came the whale-boat
sent to rescue others from the iron-clad. We barely floated; if she
struck us with her bows full on us, we must go to the bottom. One
sprang, and, as she neared, with outstretched arms, met and turned her
course. She passed against us, and his hand, caught between the two
boats, was crushed, and the arm, wrenched from its socket, fell a
helpless weight against his side; but life remained. We were saved, and
an arm was a small price to pay for life.

20. We reached the "Rhode Island;" ropes were flung over her side, and
caught with a death-grip. Some lost their hold, were washed away, and
again dragged in by the boat's crew. What chance had one whose right arm
hung a dead weight, when strong men with their two hands, went down
before him? He caught at a rope, found it impossible to save himself
alone, and then for the first time said,--"I am injured; can any one
help me?" Ensign Taylor, at the risk of his own life, brought the rope
around his shoulder in such a way that it could not slip, and he was
drawn up in safety.

21. In the mean time, the whale-boat, which had nearly caused our
destruction, had reached the side of the "Monitor;" and now the captain
said, "It is madness to remain here longer: let each man save himself."
For a moment, he descended to the cabin for a coat, and his faithful
servant followed to secure a jewel-box, containing the accumulated
treasure of years. A sad, sorry sight it was! In the heavy air the lamps
burned dimly, and the water, waist-deep, splashed sullenly against the
sides of the wardroom. One lingering look, and he left the "Monitor's"
cabin forever!

22. Time was precious; he hastened to the deck, where, in the midst of a
terrible sea, Lieutenant Greene nobly held his post. He seized the rope
from the whale-boat, wound it about an iron stanchion, then around his
wrists, and, by this means, was drawn aboard the boat. Thus, one by one,
watching their time between the waves, the men filled in, and, at last,
after making all effort for others, and none for themselves, Captain
Bankhead and Lieutenant Greene took their places in the boat The gallant
Brown pushed off, and soon laid his boat-load safe upon the "Rhode
Island's" deck.

23. Here the heartiest and most tender reception met us. Our drenched
clothing was replaced by warm and dry garments, and all on board vied
with each other in acts of kindness. The only one who had received any
injury, Surgeon Weeks, [Footnote: The writer of this account.] was
carefully attended to, the dislocated arm set, and the crushed fingers
amputated, by the gentlest and most considerate of surgeons, Dr. Webber,
of the "Rhode Island."

24. For an hour or more we watched, from the deck of the steamer, the
lonely light upon the "Monitor's" turrets; a hundred times we thought it
gone forever,--a hundred times it reappeared, till, at last, about two
o'clock, Wednesday morning, December 31st, it sank, and we saw it no
more. An actor in the scenes of that wild night, when the "Monitor" went
down, relates the story of her last cruise. _Her_ work is now over. She
lies a hundred fathoms deep under the stormy-waters off Cape Hatteras;
but she has made herself a name, which will not soon be forgotten by the
American people.

QUESTIONS.--1. When and where was the Monitor lost? 2. What signal
service had she rendered? 3. Who was the writer of this account?

       *       *       *       *       *


   RE SPON SI BIL' I TIES, obligations.
   LA' TENT, secret; hidden.
   IN IQ' UI TY, wickedness.
   EF FECT' IVE, powerful; efficient.
   REC' TI TUDE, right.
   PEN' E TRA TIVE, entering; piercing.
   MAL' ICE, ill-will; hatred.
   CHIV' AL RY, heroism; valor.
   WAN' TON LY, wastefully.
   SHEEN, brightness.
   SHIM' MER, glitter; gleam.
   RE VER' SION, future possession.
   IN SID' I OUS, crafty; deceitful.
   A THWART', across.
   SUS' TE NANCE, food; support.
   IM POS' ED, laid on; assigned.



1. Oh, if this latent power could be aroused! If woman would shake off
this slumber, and put on her strength, her beautiful garments, how would
she go forth conquering and to conquer! How would the mountains break
forth into singing, and the trees of the field clap their hands! How
would our sin-stained earth arise and shine, her light being come, and
the glory of the Lord being risen upon her!

2. One can not do the _world's_ work; but one can do _one's_ work. You
may not be able to turn the world from iniquity; but you can, at least,
keep the dust and rust from gathering on your own soul. If you can not
be directly and actively engaged in fighting the battle, you can, at
least, polish your armor and sharpen your weapons, to strike an
effective blow when the hour comes. You can stanch the blood of him who
has been wounded in the fray,--bear a cup of cold water to the thirsty
and fainting,--give help to the conquered, and smiles to the victor.

3. You can gather from the past and the present stores of wisdom, so
that, when the future demands it, you may bring forth from your
treasures things new and old. Whatever of bliss the "Divinity that
shapes our ends" may see fit to withhold from you, you are but very
little lower than the angels, so long as you have the

  "Godlike power to do,--the godlike aim to know."

4. You can be forming habits of self-reliance, sound judgment,
perseverance, and endurance, which may, one day, stand you in good
stead. You can so train yourself to right thinking and right acting,
that uprightness shall be your nature, truth your impulse. His head is
seldom far wrong, whose heart is always right. We bow down to mental
greatness, intellectual strength, and they are divine gifts; but _moral
rectitude_ is stronger than they. It is irresistible,--always in the
end triumphant.

5. There is in _goodness_ a penetrative power that nothing can
withstand. Cunning and malice melt away before its mild, open, steady
glance. Not alone on the fields where chivalry charges for laurels, with
helmet and breastplate and lance in rest, can the true knight exultingly

  "My strength is as the strength of ten,
   Because my heart is pure;"

but wherever man meets man, wherever there is a prize to be won, a goal
to be reached. Wealth, and rank, and beauty, may form a brilliant
setting to the diamond; but they only expose more nakedly the false
glare of the paste. Only when the king's daughter is all glorious
within, is it fitting and proper that her clothing should be of wrought

6. From the great and good of all ages rings out the same monotone. The
high-priest of Nature, the calm-eyed poet who laid his heart so close to
hers, that they seemed to throb in one pulsation, yet whose ear was
always open to the "still sad music of humanity," has given us the
promise of his life-long wisdom in these grand words:--

  "True dignity abides with him alone
   Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
   Can still suspect and still revere himself."

7. Through the din of twenty rolling centuries, pierces the sharp, stern
voice of the brave old Greek: "_Let every man, when he is about to do a
wicked action, above all things in the world, stand in awe of himself,
and dread the witness within him._" All greatness, and all glory, all
that earth has to give, all that Heaven can proffer, lies within the
reach of the lowliest as well as the highest; for He who spake as never
man spake, has said that the very "kingdom of God is within you."

8. Born to such an inheritance, will you wantonly cast it away? With
such a goal in prospect, will you suffer yourself to be turned aside by
the sheen and shimmer of tinsel fruit? With earth in possession, and
Heaven in reversion, will you go sorrowing and downcast, because here
and there a pearl or ruby fails you? Nay, rather forgetting those things
which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before, _press

9. Discontent and murmuring are insidious foes; trample them under your
feet. Utter no complaint, whatever betide; for complaining is a sign of
weakness. If your trouble can be helped, _help it_; if not, _bear it_.
You can be whatever you _will_ to be. Therefore, form and accomplish
worthy purposes.

10. If you walk alone, let it be with no faltering tread. Show to an
incredulous world

  "How grand may be Life's might,
   Without Love's circling crown."

Or, if the golden thread of love shine athwart the dusky warp of duty,
if other hearts depend on yours for sustenance and strength, give to
them from your fullness no stinted measure. Let the dew of your kindness
fall on the evil and the good, on the just and on the unjust.

11. Compass happiness, since happiness alone is victory. On the
fragments of your shattered plans, and hopes, and love,--on the
heaped-up ruins of your past, rear a stately palace, whose top shall
reach unto heaven, whose beauty shall gladden the eyes of all beholders,
whose doors shall stand wide open to receive the way-worn and weary.
Life is a burden, but it is imposed by God. What you _make_ of it, it
will _be_ to you, whether a millstone about your neck, or a diadem upon
your brow. _Take it up bravely, bear it on joyfully, lay it down

QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the duties of women? 2. What is said of
goodness? 3. What was the adage of the old Greek? 4. What is said of
discontent and murmuring?

       *       *       *       *       *


   ID' I OT, one devoid of reason.
   HOR' RI BLE, awful; dreadful.
   WOE' FUL, afflicted.
   HAR' ROW, disturb; harass.
   PRE SERVE', safely keep.
   SOOTH, fact; truth.
   SPOIL' ED, stripped; plundered.
   YEARN' ING, longing.
   IN SUF' FER A BLE, intolerable.
   CAN' TON, district; region.
   PAS TIME, amusement; diversion.
   ES PI' ED, saw; discovered.
   MOUNT AIN EER', dweller on a mountain.
   BRAWN' Y, strong; firm.
   FAG OTS, bundles of sticks.
   AUG MENT', increase; make larger.
   BEA' CON, signal-fire.
   BE TIDE', happen; befall.



   _Emma._ I never knew a weary night before!
   I have seen the sun a dozen times go down,
   And still no William,--and the storm was on,
   Yet have I laid me down in peace to sleep,
   The mountain with the lightning all a-blaze,
   And shaking with the thunder,--but to-night
   Mine eyes refuse to close, (_sl._) The old man rests:
   Pain hath outworn itself, and turned to ease.
   How deadly calm's the night! (_''_) What's that? I'm grown
   An idiot with my fears. I do not know,--
   The avalanche! Great Power that hurls it down,
   Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps!
   What keeps him? 'tis but four hours' journey hence:
   He'd rest; then four hours back again. _What keeps him?_
   Erni would sure be found by him,--he knows
   The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf!

   _Melchtal_. Help! (_in his sleep_.)

   _Emma_. What's the matter? Only the old man dreaming.
   He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.
   I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this
   That fills my heart with horrible alarm?
   And yet it can not see.

   _Melch_. (_waking_) Where am I?

   _Emma_. Father!

   _Melch_.  My  daughter,  is  it thou'! Thank Heaven, I'm here!
   Is't day yet'?

   _Emma_. No'.

   _Melch_. Is't far on the night'?

   _Emma_. Methinks, about the turn on't.

   _Melch_. Is the boy
   Come back'?

   _Emma_. No', father'.

   _Melch_. Nor thy husband'?

   _Emma_. No'.

   _Melch_. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee!
   Would thou hadst never seen me.

   _Emma_. Father'!

   _Melch_. Child'!

   _Emma_. Methinks I hear a step !--I do! (_knocking_.) A knock!

   _Melch_. 'Tis William!

   _Emma_.  No;  it is not William's knock. (_Opens the door_.) I
   told you so. Your will?

   _Enter_ STRANGER.

   _Stran_. Seeing a light, I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for
   shelter; For I have missed my way.

   _Emma_. Whence come you` friend'?

   _Stran_. From Altorf.

   _Emma_. Altorf'! Any news from thence'?

   _Stran_.  Ay`!  News  to  harrow parents' hearts, and make The
   barren bless themselves that they are childless!

   _Emma_. May Heaven preserve my boy!

   _Melch_. What say'st thy news?

   _Stran_. Art thou not Melchtal--he whose eyes, 'tis said,
   The tyrant has torn out'?

   _Melch_. Yes`, friend', the same.

   _Stran_. Is this thy cottage'?

   _Melch_. No`; 'tis William Tell's.

   _Stran_. 'Tis William Tell's--and that's his wife--Goodnight.

   _Emma_. (_Rushing between him and the door_.) Thou stirr'st
   not hence until thy news be told!

   _Stran_. My news! In sooth 'tis nothing thou would'st heed.

   _Emma_. 'Tis something none should heed so well as I!

   _Stran_. I must be gone,

   _Emma_. Thou seest a tigress, friend,
   Spoiled of her mate and young, and yearning for them.
   Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man?
   What more hath she to dread, who reads thy looks,
   And knows the most has come? Thy news! Is't bondage'?

   _Stran_. It is.

   _Emma_. Thank Heaven, it is not death! Of one--Or two?

   _Stran_. Of two.

   _Emma_. A father and a son,
  Is't not?

   _Stran_. It is.

   _Emma_. My husband and my son
   Are in the tyrant's power! There's worse than that!
   What's that is news to harrow parents' breasts.
   The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem,
   Drives back the blood to thine?--Thy news, I say!
   Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy!
   Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim.
   Wouldst thou not hare the fatal arrow speed,
   Rather than watch it hanging in the string?
   Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!

   _Melch_. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whatever it is!

   _Stran_. To save himself and child from certain death,
   Tell is to hit an apple, to be placed
   Upon the stripling's head.

   _Melch_. My child! my child!
   Speak to me! Stranger, hast thou killed her?

   _Emma_. No!
   No`, father'. I'm the wife of William Tell;
   Oh, but to be a man!--to have an arm
   To fit a heart swelling with the sense of wrong!
   Unnatural--insufferable wrong!
   When makes the tyrant trial of his skill?

   _Stran_. To-morrow.

   _Emma_. Spirit of the lake and hill,
   Inspire thy daughter! On the head of him
   Who makes his pastime of a mother's pangs,
   Launch down thy vengeance by a mother's hand.
   Know'st the signal when the hills shall rise'? (_To Melchtal._)

   _Melch_. Are they to rise'?

   _Emma_. I see thou knowest naught.

   _Stran_. Something's on foot! 'Twas only yesterday,
   That, traveling from our canton, I espied
   Slow toiling up a steep, a mountaineer
   Of brawny limb, upon his back a load
   Of fagots bound. Curious to see what end
   Was worthy of such labor, after him
   I took the cliff; and saw its lofty top
   Receive his load, which went but to augment
   A pile of many another.

   _Emma_.  'Tis by fire! Fire is the signal for the hills to
   rise! (_Rushes out_.)

   _Melch_. Went she not forth!

   _Stran_. She did,--she's here again,
  And brings with her a lighted brand.

   _Melch_. My child,
  What dost thou with a lighted brand?

   (_Re-enter_ EMMA _with a brand_.)

   _Emma_. Prepare
   To give the signal for the hills to rise!

   _Melch_. Where are the fagots, child, for such a blaze?

   _Emma_. I'll find the fagots, father. (_Exit_.)

   _Melch_. She's gone Again!

   _Stran_. She is,--I think into her chamber.

   _Emma_. (_Rushing in_.)--Father, the pile is fired!

   _Melch_. What pile, my child!

   _Emma_. The joists and rafters of our cottage, father!

   _Melch_. Thou hast not fired thy cottage?--but thou hast;
   Alas, I hear the crackling of the flames!

   _Emma_. Say'st thou, alas! when I do say, thank Heaven.
   Father, this blaze will set the land a-blaze
   With fire that shall preserve, and not destroy it.
   (_f_.) _Blaze on!_ BLAZE ON! Oh, may'st thou be a beacon
   To light its sons enslaved to liberty!
   How fast it spreads! A spirit's in the fire:
   It knows the work it does.--(_Goes to the door, and opens it_.)
   The land is free!
   Yonder's another blaze! Beyond that, shoots
   Another up!--Anon will every hill
   Redden with vengeance! Father, come! Whate'er
   Betides us, worse we're certain can't befall,
   And better may! Oh, be it liberty,
   Safe hearts and homes, husbands and children! Come,--
   It spreads apace. (_ff_.) Blaze on--_blaze on_--BLAZE ON!

QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for the rising inflection on _father_? See Note
I., page 32. 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _no_? See Rule
I., page 28.

       *       *       *       *       *


   HON' OR A BLE, noble; illustrious.
   IN' TEL LECT, mind; understanding.
   SCORE, account; motive.
   CLEV' ER, skillful; expert.
   SO' CIAL, familiar.
   CON FU' SION, fuss; tumult.
   CON DE SCEN' SION, loveliness; deference.
   COM PRE HEN' SION, understanding.

[Headnote 1: CROE SUS, a very wealthy king of ancient Lydia, in Asia
Minor, was born about 591 before Christ.]



1. So goes the world`;--if wealthy, you may call
   _This_--friend, _that_--brother`;--friends and brothers all
     Though you are worthless, witless,--never mind it;
   You may have been a stable-boy,--what then?
   'Tis _wealth_, my friends, makes _honorable_ men.
     You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.

2. But, if you are poor', heaven help you`! though your sire
   Had royal blood in him`, and though you
   Possess the intellect of angels too.
   'Tis all in vain`;--the world will ne'er inquire
   On such a score`:--why should it take the pains?
  'Tis easier to weigh purses`, sure, than brains'.

3. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever.
   Witty and wise`; he paid a man a visit,
   And no one noticed him', and no one ever
   Gave him a welcome`. "Strange`," cried I', "whence is it`?"
       He walked on this side', then on that`,
       He tried to introduce a social chat`;
   Now here', now there`, in vain he tried`;
   Some formally and freezingly replied,
   And some said by their silence,--"Better stay at home."

4.     A rich man burst the door,
       As Croesus [Headnote 1] rich;--I'm sure
   He could not pride himself upon his wit`;
   And, as for wisdom, he had none of it`;
   He had what's better`,--he had wealth.
       What a confusion!--all stand up erect,--
   These crowd around to ask him of his health;
       These bow in _honest_ duty and respect;
   And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
   And these conduct him there.
   "Allow me, sir, the honor`;"--Then a bow
   Down to the earth`.--_Is't_ possible to show
   Meet gratitude for such kind condescension`!

5.     The poor man hung his head,
       And to himself he said,
   "This is indeed beyond my comprehension:"
   Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
   And said,--"Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
   "To wisdom?"--"That's a silly question, friend!"
   Replied the other,--"have you never heard.
       A man may lend his store
       Of gold or silver ore,
   But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?"

QUESTIONS.--1. How do you account for the different inflections in the
last line of the second verse? See page 31, Note I. 2. What rule for the
falling inflection on _condescension_? See page 29, Note I.

       *       *       *       *       *


   EX HI BI' TIONS, displays.
   CIR CUM SCRIB' ED, encompassed.
   NA' VIES, ships of war.
   ARM' A MENTS, forces equipped for war.
   IM PED' ED, hindered, obstructed.
   LE VI' A THAN, huge sea-monster.
   MAG NIF' I CENCE, grandeur.
   UN A BAT' ED, undiminished.
   RE SERV' ED, kept.
   EN TRANC' ED, enraptured.
   PROM' ON TO RY, headland.
   RE VEAL'ED, laid open.
   SYM' BOL, token; sign.
   AD A MAN TINE, exceedingly hard.
   AP PER TAIN' ING, belonging.
   TRANS FORM' ING, changing.

[Headnote 1: AC' TI UM is the ancient name of a promontory of Albania,
in Turkey in Europe, near which was fought (B.C. 29) the celebrated
naval battle that made Augustus Caesar master of the Roman world.]

[Headnote 2: SAL' A MIS, an island opposite Attica, in Greece, near
which (B.C. 480) occurred the famous naval engagement which resulted in
the defeat of the Persians.]

[Headnote 3: NAV A RI' NO is a seaport town on the southwestern coast of
Greece. It was the scene of the memorable victory of the combined
English, French, and Russian fleets over those of the Turks and
Egyptians, gained on the 20th of October, 1827.]

[Headnote 4: TRA FAL GAR', a cape on the southwestern coast of Spain.
It is famous for the great naval battle, fought in its vicinity,
Oct. 21st, 1805, between the fleets of the French and Spanish on the
one side, and the English, under Lord Nelson, on the other. The English
were victorious, though Nelson was mortally wounded.]



1. The most fearful and impressive exhibitions of power known to our
globe, belong to the ocean. The volcano, with its ascending flame and
falling torrents of fire, and the earthquake, whose footstep is on the
ruin of cities, are circumscribed in the desolating range of their
visitations. But the ocean, when it once rouses itself in its chainless
strength, shakes a thousand shores with its storm and thunder. Navies of
oak and iron are tossed in mockery from its crest, and armaments, manned
by the strength and courage of millions, perish among its bubbles.

2. The avalanche, shaken from its glittering steep, if it rolls to the
bosom of the earth, melts away, and is lost in vapor; but if it plunge
into the embrace of the ocean, this mountain mass of ice and hail is
borne about for ages in tumult and terror; it is the drifting monument
of the ocean's dead. The tempest on land is impeded by forests, and
broken by mountains; but on the plain of the deep it rushes unresisted;
and when its strength is at last spent, ten thousand giant waves still
roll its terrors onward.

3. The mountain lake and the meadow stream are inhabited only by the
timid prey of the angler; but the ocean is the home of the
leviathan,--his ways are in the mighty deep. The glittering pebble and
the rainbow-tinted shell, which the returning tide has left on the
shore, and the watery gem which the pearl-diver reaches at the peril of
his life, are all that man can filch from the treasures of the sea. The
groves of coral which wave over its pavements, and the halls of amber
which glow in its depths, are beyond his approaches, save when he goes
down there to seek, amid their silent magnificence, his burial monument.

4. The islands, the continents, the shores of civilized and savage
realms, the capitals of kings, are worn by time, washed away by the
wave, consumed by the flame, or sunk by the earthquake; but the ocean
still remains, and still rolls on in the greatness of its unabated
strength. Over the majesty of its form and the marvel of its might, time
and disaster have no power. Such as creation's dawn beheld, it rolleth

5. The vast clouds of vapor which roll up from its bosom, float away to
encircle the globe: on distant mountains and deserts they pour out their
watery treasures, which gather themselves again in streams and torrents,
to return, with exulting bounds, to their parent ocean. These are the
messengers which proclaim in every land the exhaustless resources of the
sea; but it is reserved for those who go down in ships, and who do
business in the great waters, to see the works of the Lord and His
wonders in the deep.

6. Let one go upon deck in the middle watch of a still night, with
naught above him but the silent and solemn skies, and naught around and
beneath him but an interminable waste of waters, and with the conviction
that there is but a plank between him and eternity, a feeling of
loneliness, solitude, and desertion, mingled with a sentiment of
reverence for the vast, mysterious and unknown, will come upon him with
a power, all unknown before, and he might stand for hours entranced in
reverence and tears.

7. Man, also, has made the ocean the theater of _his_ power. The ship in
which he rides that element, is one of the highest triumphs of his
skill. At first, this floating fabric was only a frail bark, slowly
urged by the laboring oar. The sail, at length, arose and spread its
wings to the wind. Still he had no power to direct his course when the
lofty promontory sunk from sight, or the orbs above him were lost in
clouds. But the secret of the magnet is, at length, revealed to him, and
his needle now settles, with a fixedness which love has stolen as the
symbol of its constancy, to the polar star.

8. Now, however, he can dispense even with sail, and wind, and flowing
wave. He constructs and propels his vast engines of flame and vapor,
and, through the solitude of the sea, as over the solid land, goes
thundering on his track. On the ocean, too, thrones have been lost and
won. On the fate of Actium [Headnote 1] was suspended the empire of the
world. In the gulf of Salamis,[Headnote 2] the pride of Persia found a
grave; and the crescent set forever in the waters of Navarino;[Headnote
3] while, at Trafalgar [Headnote 4] and the Nile, nations held their

        As each gun,
  From its adamantine lips,
  Spread a death-shade round the ships
  Like the hurricane's eclipse
        Of the sun.

9. But, of all the wonders appertaining to the ocean, the greatest,
perhaps, is its transforming power on man. It unravels and weaves anew
the web of his moral and social being. It invests him with feelings,
associations, and habits, to which he has been an entire stranger. It
breaks up the sealed fountain of his nature, and lifts his soul into
features prominent as the cliffs which beetle over its surge.

10. Once the adopted child of the ocean, he can never bring back his
entire sympathies to land. He will still move in his dreams over that
vast waste of waters, still bound in exultation and triumph through its
foaming billows. All the other realities of life will be comparatively
tame, and he will sigh for his tossing element, as the caged eagle for
the roar and arrowy light of his mountain cataract.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the volcano and earthquake? 2. Of the
avalanche and tempest? 3. Of the ocean? 4. Of ships? 5. Where have
naval battles been fought? 6. What influence has the ocean on man?

       *       *       *       *       *


   RE LAX' ED, loosened.
   AS SI DU' I TIES, kind, constant attentions.
   CON SIGN' ED, committed; given over.
   EX TE' RI OR, outer appearance.
   UN AF FECT' ED, sincere.
   UN PRE TEND' ING, unostentatious.
   HA BIL' I MENTS, vestments.
   SU PER STI' TIOUS, full of scruples.
   REC' ON CILE, make willing.
   PEN' E TRATES, sees through.
   PER VADE', (PER, _through_; VADE, _go_, or _pass_;) pass
   through; appear throughout.



1. Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it may,--fearful, when
the vital chords are so gradually relaxed, that life passes away sweetly
as music from the slumbering harp-string,--fearful, when in his own
quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned by those who sweetly follow
him with their prayers, when the assiduities of friendship and affection
can go no farther, and who discourse of heaven and future blessedness,
till the closing ear can no longer catch the tones of the long-familiar
voice, and who, lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and
then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades each feature, a quiet
emblem of the spirit's serene repose.

2. What, then, must this dread event be to one, who meets it
comparatively alone, far away from the hearth of his home, upon a
troubled sea, between the narrow decks of a restless ship, and at that
dread hour of night, when even the sympathies of the world seem
suspended! Such has been the end of many who traverse the ocean; and
such was the hurried end of him, whose remains we have just consigned to
a watery grave.

3. He was a sailor; but, beneath his rude exterior, he carried a heart
touched with refinement, pride, and greatness. There was something about
him, which spoke of better days and a higher destiny. By what errors or
misfortunes he was reduced to his humble condition, was a secret which
he would reveal to none. Silent, reserved, and thoughtful, he stood a
stranger among his free companions, and never was his voice heard in the
laughter or the jest. He has undoubtedly left behind many who will long
look for his return, and bitterly weep when they are told they shall see
his face no more.

4. As the remains of the poor sailor were brought up on deck, wound in
that hammock which, through many a stormy night, had swung to the wind,
one could not but observe the big tear that stole unconsciously down the
rough cheeks of his hardy companions. When the funeral service was read
to that most affecting passage, "we commit this body to the deep," and
the plank was raised which precipitated to the momentary eddy of the
wave the quickly disappearing form, a heavy sigh from those around, told
that the strong heart of the sailor can be touched with grief, and that
a truly unaffected sorrow may accompany virtue, in its most unpretending
form, to its ocean grave. Yet how soon is such a scene forgotten!

  "As from the wing the sky no scar retains,
   The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
   So dies in human hearts the thought of death."

5. There is something peculiarly melancholy and impressive in a burial
at sea: there is here no coffin or hearse, procession or tolling
bell,--nothing that gradually prepares us for the final separation. The
body is wound in the drapery of its couch, much as if the deceased were
only in a quiet and temporary sleep. In these habiliments of seeming
slumber, it is dropped into the wave, the waters close over it, the
vessel passes quickly on, and not a solitary trace is left to tell where
sunk from light and life, one that loved to look at the sky and breathe
this vital air.

6. There is nothing that, for one moment, can point to the deep,
unvisited resting-place of the departed,--it is a grave in the midst of
the ocean,--in the midst of a vast, untrodden solitude. Affection can
not approach it, with its tears; the dews of heaven can not reach it;
and there is around it no violet, or shrub, or murmuring stream.

7. It may be superstitious; but no advantages of wealth, or honor, or
power, through life, would reconcile me at its close to such a burial. I
would rather share the coarse and scanty provisions of the simplest
cabin, and drop away unknown and unhonored by the world, so that my
final resting-place be beneath some green tree, by the side of some
living stream, or in some familiar spot, where the few that loved me in
life, might visit me in death.

8. But, whether our grave be in the fragrant shade, or in the fathomless
ocean, among our kindred, or in the midst of strangers, the day is
coming when we shall all appear at one universal bar, and receive from a
righteous Judge the award of our deeds. He that is wisest, penetrates
the future the deepest.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of death? 2. What, of death at sea?
3. What renders a burial at sea peculiarly melancholy and impressive?

       *       *       *       *       *


   MYS TE' RI OUS, secret; mystical.
   UN RECK' ED, unheeded.
   AR' GO SIES, ships of great burden.
   WR ATH' FUL, furious; raging.
   PAL' A CES, splendid mansions.
   SCORN' FUL, disdainful.
   DE CAY', ruin; destruction.
   BOOM' ING, roaring.
   FES' TAL, joyous; merry.
   RE CLAIM', claim again; recover.



1. What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
     Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!
   Pale, glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells,
     Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain!
   Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!
         We ask not such from thee.

2. Yet more, the depths have more! what wealth untold,
     Far down, and shining through their stillness lies!
   Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
     Won from ten thousand royal argosies!
   Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!
         Earth claims not _these_ again.

3. Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have rolled
     Above the cities of a world gone by!
   Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
     Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
   Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play!
         Man yields them to decay.

4. Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
     High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
   They hear not now the booming waters roar;
     The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
   Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
       Give back the true and brave!

5. Give back the lost and lovely,--those for whom
     The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
   The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
     And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
   Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown;
         But all is not thine own.

6. To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
     Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
   O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown,
     Yet must thou hear a voice,--_Restore the dead!_
   Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!
         _Restore the dead, thou Sea!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the treasures of the deep? 2. What
treasures has the sea won from trading vessels? 3. Over what does the
sea roll? 4. What does the writer call on the sea to restore?

       *       *       *       *       *


   UN FOR' TU NATE, wretched person.
   CER E MENTS, grave-clothes.
   SCRU' TI NY, inquiry.
   MU' TI NY, resistance to rightful rule.
   WON' DER MENT, curiosity.
   PROV' I DENCE, care; protection.
   A MAZE' MENT, astonishment.
   DIS' SO LUTE, abandoned; licentious.
   SPUR' RED, pushed on; impelled.
   CON' TU ME LY, scorn; insult.
   IN HU MAN' I TY, cruel treatment.
   IN SAN' I TY, madness.



 1. One more Unfortunate,
      Weary of breath,
    Rashly importunate,
      Gone to her death!

 2. Take her up tenderly,
      Lift her with care,
    Fashioned so slenderly,
      Young, and so fair!

 3. Look at her garments
    Clinging like cerements;
    While the wave constantly
      Drips from her clothing;
    Take her up instantly,
      Loving, not loathing.

 4. Touch her not scornfully;
    Think of her mournfully,
      Gently and humanly;
    Not of the stains of her;
    All that remains of her
      Now, is pure womanly.

 5. Make no deep scrutiny
    Into her mutiny,
      Rash and undutiful;
    Past all dishonor,
    Death has left on her
      Only the beautiful.

 6. Loop up her tresses
      Escaped from the comb,--
    Her fair auburn tresses;
    While wonderment guesses
      Where was her home?

 7. Who was her father`?
      Who was her mother`?
    Had she a sister'?
      Had she a brother'?
    Or, was there a dearer one
    Still, and a nearer one
      Yet, than all other'?

 8. Alas! for the rarity
    Of Christian charity
      Under the sun!
    Oh! it was pitiful!
    Near a whole city full,
      Home she had none.

 9. Sisterly, brotherly,
    Fatherly, motherly,
      Feelings had changed:
    Love, by harsh evidence,
    Thrown from its eminence;
    Even God's providence
      Seeming estranged.

10. Where the lamps quiver
    So far in the river,
      With many a light
    From window and casement,
    From garret to basement,
    She stood with amazement,
      Houseless by night.

11. The bleak winds of March
      Made her tremble and shiver
    But not the dark arch,
      Or the black flowing river,
    Mad from life's history,
    Glad to death's mystery,
      Swift to be hurled--
    Anywhere, anywhere,
      Out of the world!

12. In she plunged boldly,
    No matter how coldly
      The rough river ran--
    Picture it--think of it,
      Dissolute Man!

13. Take her up tenderly,
      Lift her with care,
    Fashioned so slenderly,
      Young, and so fair!

14. Perishing gloomily,
    Spurred by contumely,
    Cold inhumanity,
    Burning insanity,
      Into her rest,
    Cross her hands humbly,
    As if praying dumbly,
      Over her breast!

15. Owning her weakness,
      Her evil behavior,
    And leaving, with meekness,
      Her sins to her Savior!

       *       *       *       *       *


   RE' QUI EM, hymn in honor of the dead.
   WED, joined; united.
   HENCE' FORTH, hereafter.
   DROOP, languish; fail.
   AF FEC TION, love.
   DIM' MED, dull; obscured.


1. Breathe low, thou gentle wind,
(pl)   Breathe soft and low;
   The beautiful lies dead!
   The joy of life is fled!
   And my lone heart is wed
       Henceforth to woe!

2. That thou should'st droop and die
       At early morn!
   While yet thy graceful dew
   A joyous fragrance drew
   From every flower that grew
       Life's path along!

3. The green earth mourns for thee,
       Thou dearest one;
   A plaintive tone is heard,
   And flower and leaflet stirred,
   And every fav'rite bird
       Sings sad and lone.

4. Pale is thy brow, and dimmed
       Thy sparkling eye!
   Affection's sweetest token
   Is lost fore'er and broken!
   The last kind word is spoken,--
       Why did'st thou die?

5. Breathe low, thou gentle wind,
       Breathe soft and low;
   The beautiful lies dead!
   The joy of life is fled!
   And my lone heart is wed
       Henceforth to woe!

QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for changing _y_ into _i_ in the word
_beautiful?_ See ANALYSIS, page 13, Rule XI. 2. Why are _r_ and _m_
doubled in the words _stirred, dimmed?_ See Rule IX. 3. What is the
meaning of the suffix _let_, in the word _leaflet?_ See page 240, Ex.

       *       *       *       *       *


   LUX U' RI ANT, rich; plentiful.
   UN OS TEN TA' TIOUS, plain; not showy.
   RE VER EN' TIAL, deeply respectful.
   RE CEP' TA CLE, place of reception.
   SEM' I CIR CLE, half-circle.
   REC OG NI' TION, act of knowing.
   AG RI CUL' TUR AL, relating to farming.
   BEN E DIC' TION, blessing.
   DI' A RY, note-book; journal.
   SO JOURN' ED, resided for a while.
   AC CLA MA' TIONS, shouts.
   TRI UMPH' AL, relating to victory.
   GRAT U LA' TION, rejoicing.
   IN AUG U RA' TION, act of investing with office.
   EN FRAN' CHIS ED, freed; liberated.

[Headnote 1: SAR COPH' A GUS, (SARCO, _flesh_; and PHAGUS, _that which
eats or devours_,) is made up of two Greek words, signifying together
_flesh-eating_, and was applied by the ancients to a species of stone,
used for making coffins. Hence, sarcophagus came to signify a
_stone-coffin_. The form of the plural in Latin, is _sarcophagi_.]

[Headnote 2: BAS' TILE, (_bas' teel_,) an old state prison in Paris,
built in 1369, and destroyed by a mob in 1789.]



1. At this moment, we drew near the rude wharf at Mount Vernon; the boat
stopped, and the crowd of passengers landed. By a narrow pathway we
ascended a majestic hill thickly draped with trees. The sun scarcely
found its way through the luxuriant foliage. We mounted slowly, but had
only spent a few minutes in ascending, when we came suddenly upon a
picturesque nook, where a cluster of unostentatious, white marble
shafts, shot from the greenly sodded earth, inclosed by iron railings.
Those unpretending monuments mark the localities where repose the mortal
remains of Washington's kindred.

2. Just beyond stands a square brick building. In the center you see an
iron gate. Here the crowd pauses in reverential silence. Men lift their
hats and women bow their heads. You behold within, two sarcophagi.
[Headnote 1] In those moldering tombs lie the ashes of the great
Washington and his wife. Not a word is uttered as the crowd stand
gazing on this lowly receptacle of the dust of America's mighty dead.

3. Are there any in that group who can say, "this was _our_ country's
father'?" If there be, can they stand pilgrims at that grave without
Washington's examples, his counsels, his words, heretofore, it may be,
half-forgotten, stealing back into their minds, until the sense of
reverence and gratitude is deepened almost to awe? Do they not feel that
Washington's spirit is abroad in the world, filling the souls of a
heaven-favored people with the love of freedom and of country, though
his ashes are gathered here'?

4. Some one moves to pass on; and, with that first step, the spell is
broken; others follow. Herman and Jessie linger last. After a period of
mute and moving reflection, they turn away and slowly approach the
mansion that, in simple, rural stateliness, stands upon a noble
promontory, belted with woods, and half-girdled by the sparkling waters
of the Potomac, which flow in a semicircle around a portion of the

5. The water and woodland view from the portico is highly imposing. But
it was not the mere recognition of the picturesque and beautiful in
nature, that moved Herman and Jessie. They would have felt that they
were on holy ground, had the landscape been devoid of natural charm.
Here the feet of the first of heroes had trod, and here, in boyhood, he
had sported with his beloved brother Lawrence.

6. In those forests, those deep-wooded glens, he had hunted, when a
stripling, by the side of old Lord Fairfax; here he took his first
lessons in the art of war; to this home he brought his bride; by this
old-fashioned, hospitable-looking fireside, he sat with that dear and
faithful wife; beneath yonder alley of lofty trees he has often wandered
by her side; here he indulged the agricultural tastes in which he
delighted; here resigned his Cincinnatus vocation, and bade adieu to his
cherished home at the summons of his country.

7. Here his wife received the letter which told her that he had been
appointed Commander-in-chief of the army; here, when the glorious
struggle closed at the trumpet notes of victory--when the British had
retired--when, with tears coursing down his benignant, manly
countenance, he had uttered a touching farewell--bestowed a paternal
benediction on the American army, and resigned all public service--
_here_ he returned, thinking to resume the rural pursuits that charmed
him, and to end his days in peace!

8. Here are the trees, the shrubbery he planted with his own hands, and
noted in his diary; here are the columns of the portico round which he
twined the coral honeysuckle; the ivy he transplanted still clings to
yonder garden wall; these vistas he opened through yon pine groves to
command far-off views! Here the valiant Lafayette sojourned with him;
there hangs the key of the Bastile [Headnote 2] which he presented.

9. Here flocked the illustrious men of all climes, and were received
with warm, unpretending, almost rustic hospitality. Here the French
Houdon modeled his statue, and the English Pine painted his portrait,
and caused that jocose remark, "I am so hackneyed to the touches of the
painters' pencil, that I am altogether at their beck, and sit like
'Patience on a monument!'"

10. Then came another summons from the land he had saved, and he was
chosen by unanimous voice its chief ruler. Thousands of men, women, and
children, sent up acclamations, and called down blessings on his head,
as he made his triumphal progress from Mount Vernon to New York, to take
the presidential oath. The roar of cannon rent the air. The streets
through which he passed, were illuminated and decked with flags and
wreaths. Bonfires blazed on the hills. From ships and boats floated
festive decorations. At Gray's Ferry, he passed under triumphal arches.

11. On the bridge across the Assumpink, at Trenton, (the very bridge
over which he had retreated in such blank despair, before the army of
Cornwallis, on the eve of the battle of Princeton,) thirteen pillars,
twined with laurel and evergreens, were reared by woman's hands. The
foremost of the arches those columns supported, bore the inscription,
_"The Defender of the Mothers will he the Protector of the Daughters."_
Mothers, with their white-robed daughters, were assembled beneath the
vernal arcade. Thirteen maidens scattered flowers beneath his feet, as
they sang an ode of gratulation. The people's hero ever after spoke of
this tribute, as the one that touched him most deeply.

13. When his first presidential term expired, and his heart yearned for
the peace of his domestic hearth, the entreaties of Jefferson, Randolph,
and Hamilton, forced him to forget that home for the one he held in the
hearts of patriots, and to allow his name to be used a second time. A
second time he was unanimously elected to preside over his country's
welfare. But, the period happily expired, he thankfully laid aside the
mantle of state, the scepter of power, and, five days after the
inauguration of Adams, returned here to his Mount Vernon home. And here
the good servant, whom his Lord, when He came, found watching and ready,
calmly yielded up his breath, exclaiming, "It is well!" and his spirit
was wafted to Heaven by the blessings of his enfranchised countrymen.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is Mount Vernon? 2. What is said of Washington's
tomb? 3. Mention some of the things which he did here? 4. What
demonstrations were made by the people, as he went to New York to take
the oath of office? 5. Did he serve more than one term as President?

       *       *       *       *       *


   CHIV' AL ROUS, gallant; heroic.
   HAL' LOW, consecrate; keep sacred.
   MER' CE NA RY, mean; venal.
   AD VEN' TUR ER, fortune-seeker.
   VAN' QUISH ED, conquered.
   OUT' CAST, exile; castaway.
   TRAP' PINGS, ornaments; equipments.
   CRU SADE', battle zealously.
   CA REER' ED, moved rapidly.
   PHAL' ANX, compact body of men.
   TRANS PORT' ING, exulting.
   TRO PHIES, memorials of victory.
   PA' GEANT, pompous; showy.
   MIN' ION, favorite.



1. While we bring our offerings for the mighty of our _own_ land, shall
we not remember the chivalrous spirits of _other_ shores, who shared
with them the hour of weakness and woe'? Pile to the clouds the majestic
column of glory`; let the lips of those who can speak well, hallow each
spot where the bones of your bold repose`; but forget not those who,
with your bold, went out to battle.

2. Among those men of noble daring, there was _one_, a young and gallant
stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his delightful France. The
people whom he came to succor, were not _his_ people; he knew them only
in the melancholy story of their wrongs. He was no mercenary adventurer,
striving for the spoil of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him
for its lord, and the valley yielded him its increase. He was no
nameless man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and
looked unawed upon kings.

3. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide a broken
heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen
were about him; his wife was before him. Yet from all these loved ones
he turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down its green glories, to
battle with the winter storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and
pride, to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He came`; but not
in the day of successful rebellion', not when the new-risen sun of
Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in
the heavens'.

4. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad
in its anger`; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and
briers cumbered the garden of beauty`; when fathers were dying, and
mothers were weeping over them`; when the wife was binding up the gashed
bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the
brow of her lover`. He came when the brave began to fear the power of
man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was _then_ that this
one joined the ranks of a revolted people.

5. Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he
courted the battle's rage; with theirs, his arm was lifted; with theirs,
his blood was shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, kind
Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The
profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and, at her pure shrine,
the pilgrim-warrior, with his adored commander, knelt and worshiped.
Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at
length rose, and, crowned with benedictions, turned his happy feet
toward his long-deserted home.

6. After nearly fifty years, that _one_ has come again. Can mortal
tongue tell? can mortal heart feel, the sublimity of that coming?
Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long, transporting
shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undying, to Freedom's
farthest mountains. A congregated nation comes around him. Old men bless
him, and children reverence him. The lovely come out to look upon him;
the learned deck their halls to greet him; the rulers of the land rise
up to do him homage.

7. How his full heart labors! He views the rusting trophies of departed
days; he treads the high places where his brethren molder; he bends
before the tomb of his "father;" [Footnote: Washington] his words are
tears,--the speech of sad remembrance. But he looks round upon a
ransomed land and a joyous race; he beholds the blessings these trophies
secured, for which these brethren died, for which that "father" lived;
and again his words are tears,--the eloquence of gratitude and joy.

8. Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth's dead multitudes revive;
and of all the pageant splendors that ever glittered to the sun, when
looked his burning eye on a sight like this? Of all the myriads that
have come and gone, what cherished minion ever ruled an hour like this?
Many have struck the redeeming blow for their own freedom; but who, like
this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers?

9. Others have lived in the love of their own people; but who, like this
man, has drank his sweetest cup of welcome with another? Matchless
chief! of glory's immortal tablets there is one for him, for _him_
alone! Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame
of Liberty shall guard it, that the generations of men may repeat the
name recorded there, the beloved name of LA FAYETTE.

QUESTIONS.--1. Of what country was La Fayette a native? 2. What was his
position at home? 3. In what condition was this country when he came to
join our army? 4. How many years after, before he revisited this
country? 5. What demonstrations were manifested by the people? 6. What
is said of his fame?

       *       *       *       *       *


   PRO FU' SION, abundance; variety.
   CON FU' SION, intricacy; indistinct movement.
   COM MO TION, agitation; shaking.
   RE SULT', effect.
   DI MIN' ISH, lessen.
   MYS' TER Y, maze; secrecy.
   HIS' TO RY, plain matter of fact.
   PA' GES, boy-servants; attendants.
   SPAR' RING, boxing; disputing.
   PUP' PETS, dolls; small figures of persons.
   FIN ISH, completion.
   GLO' RI OUS, grand; splendid.
   RE JECT, refuse; deny.
   RE FLECT' ED, turned back; borrowed.



 1. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
      Throws his shuttle to and fro;
          Foot and treadle,
          Hand and pedal,
          Upward, downward,
          Hither, thither,
    How the weaver makes them go!
    As the weaver _wills_ they go.
    Up and down the web is plying,
    And across the woof is flying;
          What a rattling!
          What a battling!
          What a shuffling!
          What a scuffling!
    As the weaver makes his shuttle,
    Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

 2.       Threads in single,
            Threads in double;
          How they mingle!
            What a trouble,
          Every color!
            What profusion!
          Every motion--
            What confusion!
    While the web and woof are mingling,
    Signal bells above are jingling,
    Telling how each figure ranges,
    Telling when the color changes,
    As the weaver makes his shuttle,
    Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

 3. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
      Throws his shuttle to and fro;
    'Mid the noise and wild confusion,
      Well the weaver seems to know,
      As he makes his shuttle go,
          What each motion,
          And commotion,
          What each fusion,
          And confusion,
      In the _grand result_ will show:
          Weaving daily,
          Singing gayly,
    As he makes his busy shuttle,
    Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

 4. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
      Throws his shuttle to and fro;
    See you not how shape and order
      From the wild confusion grow,
        As he makes his shuttle go'?
    As the web and woof diminish,
    Grows beyond the beauteous finish:
          Tufted plaidings,
          Shapes and shadings,
          All the mystery
          Now is history:
    And we see the reason subtle,
    Why the weaver makes his shuttle,
    Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

 5. See the Mystic Weaver sitting,
      High in Heaven--His loom below.
      Up and down the treadles go:
    Takes for web the world's long ages,
    Takes for woof its kings and sages,
    Takes the nobles and their pages,
    Takes all stations and all stages.
      Thrones are bobbins in His shuttle;
      Armies make them scud and scuttle.

 6. Web into the woof must flow,
    Up and down the nations go,
    As the Weaver _wills_ they go.
          Men are sparring,
          Powers are jarring,
          Upward, downward,
          Hither, thither,
    See how strange the nations go,
    Just like puppets in a show.
    Up and down the web is plying
    And across the woof is flying.
          What a rattling!
          What a battling!
          What a shuffling!
          What a scuffling!
    As the Weaver makes His shuttle
    Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

 7. Calmly see the Mystic Weaver,
      Throw His shuttle to and fro;
    'Mid the noise and wild confusion,
      Well the Weaver seems to know
          What each motion
          And commotion,
          What each fusion
          And confusion,
    In the grand result will show,
          As the nations,
          Kings and stations,
          Upward, downward,
          Hither, thither,
    As in mystic dances, go.

 8. In the Present all is mystery,
    In the Past 'tis beauteous History.
    O'er the mixing and the mingling,
    How the signal bells are jingling!
    See you not the Weaver leaving
    Finished work behind in weaving'?
      See you not the reason subtle,
    As the web and woof diminish,
    Changing into beauteous finish,
      Why the Weaver makes His shuttle,
      Hither, thither, scud and scuttle'?

 9. _Glorious wonder_! What a weaving!
    To the dull beyond believing!
      Such no fabled ages know.
    Only Faith can see the mystery
    How, along the aisle of History
      Where the feet of sages go,
    Loveliest to the purest eyes,
    Grand the mystic tapet lies!
    Soft and smooth and even-spreading
    As if made for angels' treading;
    Tufted circles touching ever,
    Inwrought figures fading never;
    Every figure has its plaidings,
    Brighter form and softer shadings;
    Each illuminated,--what a riddle!--
    From a Cross that gems the middle.

10. 'Tis a saying--some reject it,--
    That its light is all reflected:
    That the tapet's hues are given
    By a Sun that shines in Heaven!
    'Tis believed, by all believing
    That great God Himself is weaving!
    Bringing out the world's dark mystery
    In the light of Faith and History;
    And, as web and woof diminish,
    Comes the grand and glorious finish:
    When begin the golden ages,
    Long foretold by seers and sages.

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the process of weaving. 2. Who are weaving the
web of history?

       *       *       *       *       *


   CON FOUND', perplex; confuse.
   WOOF, cloth; texture.
   RAR' ER, scarcer; more excellent.
   PRAI'  RIES, large tracts of land, with few trees, and covered
   with grass.
   SAV' AGE, wild; uncultivated.
   SAVAN'NA, open meadow or plain.
   PI  O  NEERS',  persons  that go before to prepare the way for
   SCOUTS, spies.
   HEART' EN, encourage.
   SCAN' NED, closely examined.
   CLEAV' ING, parting; separating.
   HOL' I DAY, day of rest or joy.



1.       Work away!
   For the Master's eye is on us,
   Never off us, still upon us,
         Night and day!
         Work away!
   Keep the busy fingers plying,
   Keep the ceaseless shuttles flying,
   See that never thread lie wrong;
   Let not clash or clatter round us,
   Sound of whirring wheels, confound us;
   Steady hand! let woof be strong
   And firm, that has to last so long?
         Work away!

2. Keep upon the anvil ringing
   Stroke of hammer; on the gloom
   Set 'twixt cradle and the tomb,
   Showers of fiery sparkles flinging;
   Keep the mighty furnace glowing;
   Keep the red ore hissing, flowing
   Swift within the ready mold;
   See that each one than the old
   Still be fitter, still be fairer
   For the servant's use, and rarer
   For the Master to behold:
         Work away!

3.       Work away!
   For the Leader's eye is on us,
   Never off us, still upon us,
         Night and day!
   Wide the trackless prairies round us,
   Dark and unsunned woods surround us,
   Steep and savage mountains bound us;
         Far away
   Smile the soft savannas green,
   Rivers sweep and roll between:
         Work away!

4. Bring your axes, woodmen true;
   Smite the forest till the blue
   Of heaven's sunny eye looks through
   Every wild and tangled glade;
   Jungled swamp and thicket shade
         Give to day!

5. O'er the torrents fling your bridges,
   Pioneers! Upon the ridges
     Widen, smooth the rocky stair,--
   They that follow far behind
   Coming after us, will find
     Surer, easier footing there;
   Heart to heart, and hand with hand,
   From the dawn to dusk of day,
         Work away!
   Scouts upon the mountain's peak,--
     Ye that see the Promised Land,
   Hearten us! for ye can speak
     Of the Country ye have scanned,
         Far away!

6.       Work away!
   For the Father's eye is on us,
   Never off us, still upon us,
         Night and day!
         WORK AND PRAY!
   Pray! and Work will be completer;
   Work! and Prayer will be the sweeter;
   Love! and Prayer and Work the fleeter
     Will ascend upon their way!

7. Fear not lest the busy finger
     Weave a net the soul to stay;
   Give her wings,--she will not linger,
     Soaring to the source of day;
   Clearing clouds that still divide us
     From the azure depths of rest,
   She will come again! beside us,
     With the sunshine on her breast,
   Sit, and sing to us, while quickest
     On their task the fingers move,
   While the outward din wars thickest,
     Songs that she hath learned above.

8. Live in Future as in Present;
     Work for both while yet the day
   Is our own! for lord and peasant,
     Long and bright as summer's day,
   Cometh, yet more sure, more pleasant,
     Cometh soon our Holiday;
         Work away!

       *       *       *       *       *


   PROP O SI' TION, proposal.
   AD HE' SION, attraction.
   AB SURD I TY, folly; nonsense.
   VIS' ION ARY, fanciful; imaginary.
   DIS CUS' SION, debate; controversy.
   THE' O RY, idea; scheme of doctrine.
   AM BAS' SA DOR, messenger; deputy.
   NAV' I GA TORS, voyagers; seamen.
   SPEC U LA' TION, theory; mental view.
   EN' TER PRISE, attempt; undertaking.
   FRI VOL' I TY, levity; triflingness.
   PRE SENT' I MENT, previous notice.

   AN TIP' O DES, (ANTI, _opposite_; PODES, _the feet_;) having
   their feet opposite to ours; that is, living on the other side
   of the earth.

[Headnote 1: GEN O ESE', a native of Genoa,--a famous fortified seaport
city in Northern Italy.]

[Headnote 2: LAC TAN' TIUS, one of the fathers of the Latin church, born
about the year A.D. 250. He was celebrated as a teacher of eloquence,
and before his conversion to Christianity, had so successfully studied
the great Roman orator that he afterwards received the appellation of
the "Christian Cicero."]




_Isabella._ And so, Don Gomez, it is your conclusion that we ought to
dismiss the proposition of this worthy Genoese.[Headnote 1]

_Don Gomez._ His scheme, your majesty, seems to me fanciful in the
extreme; but I am a plain matter-of-fact man, and do not see visions and
dreams, like some.

_Isa._ And yet Columbus has given us cogent reasons for believing that
it is practicable to reach the eastern coast of India by sailing in a
westerly direction.

_Don G._ Admitting that his theory is correct, namely, that the earth is
a sphere, how would it be possible for him to return, if he once
descended that sphere in the direction he proposes`? Would not the
coming back be all up-hill'? Could a ship accomplish it with even the
most favorable wind'?

_Columbus._ Will your majesty allow me to suggest that, if the earth is
a sphere, the same laws of adhesion and motion must operate at every
point on its surface; and the objection of Don Gomez would be quite as
valid against our being able to return from crossing the Strait of

_Don G._ This gentleman, then, would have us believe the monstrous
absurdity, that there are people on the earth who are our
antipodes,--who walk with their heads down, like flies on the ceiling.

_Col._ But, your majesty, if there is a law of attraction which makes
matter gravitate to the earth, and prevents its flying off into space,
may not this law operate at every point on the round earth's surface'?

_Isa._ Truly, it so seems to me; and I perceive nothing absurd in the
notion that this earth is a globe floating or revolving in space.

_Don G._ May it please your majesty, the ladies are privileged to give
credence to many wild tales which we plain matter-of-fact men can not
admit. Every step I take, confutes this visionary idea of the earth's
rotundity. Would not the blood run into my head, if I were standing
upside down! Were I not fearful of offending your majesty, I would quote
what the great Lactantius [Headnote 2] says.

_Isa_. We are not vain of our science, Don Gomez; so let us have the

_Don G_. "Is there any one so foolish," he asks, "as to believe that
there are antipodes with their feet opposite to ours,--that there is a
part of the world in which all things are topsy-turvy, where the trees
grow with their branches downward, and where it rains, hails, and snows,

_Col_. I have already answered this objection. If there are people on
the earth who are our antipodes, it should be remembered that we are
theirs also.

_Don G_. Really, that is the very point wherein we matter-of-fact men
abide by the assurance of our own senses. We know that we are not
walking with our heads downward.

_Isa_. To cut short the discussion, you think that the enterprise which
the Genoese proposes, is one unworthy of our serious consideration; and
that his theory of an unknown shore to the westward of us is a fallacy.

_Don G_. As a plain matter-of-fact man, I must confess that I so regard
it. Has your majesty ever seen an ambassador from this unknown coast?

_Isa_. Don Gomez, do you believe in the existence of a world of spirits?
Have you ever seen an ambassador from that unknown world?

_Don G_. Certainly not. By faith we look forward to it.

_Isa_. Even so by faith does the Genoese look forward, far over misty
ocean, to an undiscovered shore.

_Col._ Your majesty is right; but let it be added that I have reasons,
oh! most potent and resistless reasons, for the faith that is in me: the
testimony of many navigators who have picked up articles that must have
drifted from this distant coast: the nature of things, admitting that
the earth is round: the reports current among the people of one of the
northern nations, that many years ago their mariners had sailed many
leagues westward till they reached a shore where the grape grew
abundantly; these and other considerations have made it the fixed
persuasion of my mind, that there is a great discovery reserved for the
man who will sail patiently westward, trusting in God's good providence,
and turning not back till he has achieved his purpose.

_Don G._ Then truly we should never hear of him again. Speculation! mere
speculation, your majesty! When this gentleman can bring forward some
solid facts that will induce us plain matter-of-fact men to risk money
in forwarding his enterprise, it will then be time enough for royalty to
give it heed. Why, your majesty, the very boys in the streets point at
their foreheads as he passes along.

_Isa._ And so you bring forward the frivolity of boys jeering at what
they do not comprehend, as an argument why Isabella should not give heed
to this great and glorious scheme? Ay, sir, though it should fail,
still, it has been urged in language so intelligent and convincing, by
this grave and earnest man, whom you think to undervalue by calling him
an adventurer, that I am resolved to test the "absurdity," as you style
it, and that forthwith.

_Don G._ Your majesty will excuse me if I remark, that I have from your
royal consort himself the assurance that the finances are so exhausted
by the late wars, that he can not consent to advance the necessary funds
for fitting out an expedition of the kind proposed.

_Isa._ Be _mine_, then, the privilege! I have jewels, by the pledging of
which I can raise the amount required; and I have resolved that they
shall be pledged to this enterprise, without any more delay.

_Col._ Your majesty shall not repent your heroic resolve. I will return,
your majesty; be sure I will return, and lay at your feet such a jewel
as never queen wore yet, an imperishable fame,--a fame that shall couple
with your memory the benedictions of millions yet unborn, in climes yet
unknown to civilized man. There is an uplifting presentiment in my mind,
a conviction that your majesty will live to bless the hour you came to
this decision.

_Don G._ A presentiment? A plain matter-of-fact man, like myself, must
take leave of your majesty, if his practical common-sense is to be met
and superseded by presentiments! An ounce of fact, your majesty, is
worth a ton of presentiment.

_Isa._ That depends altogether upon the source of the presentiment, Don
Gomez. If it come from the Fountain of all truth, shall it not be good?

_Don G._ I humbly take my leave of your majesty.

QUESTIONS.--1. What reasons did Don Gomez advance in proof that the
earth is not a sphere? 2. What argument did Columbus present in proof
that it was? 3. What did Queen Isabella resolve to do?

       *       *       *       *       *


   CON FIRM' ING, corroborating.
   AS SUR AN CES, assertions.
   MU TI NEER', one who resists orders.
   IN FER' RED, concluded.
   CRAV' ED, begged.
   AS SO' CIA TING, joining; connecting.
   EX PEC TA' TION, hope; a looking for.
   VER' I FIED, made true; realized.
   PHOS PHO RES' CENCE, faint light.
   HES I TA' TION, doubt.
   EN JOIN' ING, commanding; ordering.
   AM PHI THE' A TER, circular theater.
   CON TR AST' ED, set in opposition.
   DE MEAN' OR, behavior.
   DE FAULT', defect; absence.
   IN SIG' NIA, marks; signs.
   IN I' TIALS, first letters.
   DEV AS TA TION, a laying waste.



1. At sunrise, on the second day, some rashes recently torn up, were
seen near the vessels. A plank, evidently hewn by an ax, a stick
skillfully carved by some cutting instrument, a bough of hawthorn in
blossom,--and lastly, a bird's nest built on a branch which the wind
had broken, and full of eggs, on which the parent bird was sitting amid
the gently-rolling waves,--were seen floating past on the waters. The
sailors brought on board these living and inanimate witnesses of their
approach to land. They were a voice from the shore, confirming the
assurances of Columbus. Before the land actually appeared in sight, its
neighborhood was inferred from these marks of life.

2. The mutineers fell on their knees before the Admiral, whom they had
insulted but the day before, craved pardon for their mistrust, and
struck up a hymn of thanksgiving to God for associating them with this
triumph. Night fell on these songs welcoming a new world. The Admiral
gave orders that the sails should be close-reefed, and the lead kept
going; and that they should sail slowly, being afraid of breakers and
shoals, and feeling certain that the first gleam of daybreak would
discover land under their bows.

3. On the last anxious night none slept. Impatient expectation had
removed all heaviness from their eyes; the pilots and the seamen,
clinging about the masts, yards, and shrouds, each tried to keep the
best place and the closest watch to get the earliest sight of the new
hemisphere. The Admiral had offered a reward to the first who should cry
_Land_, provided his announcement was verified by its actual discovery.

4. Providence, however, reserved to Columbus himself this first glimpse,
which he had purchased at the expense of twenty years of his life, and
of untiring perseverance. While walking the quarter-deck alone, at
midnight, and sweeping the dark horizon with his keen eye, a gleam of
fire passed and disappeared, and again showed itself on the level of the
waves. Fearful of being deceived by the phosphorescence of the sea, he
quietly called a Spanish gentleman of Isabella's court, in whom he had
more confidence than in the pilots, pointed out the direction in which
he had seen the light, and asked him whether he could discern any thing

5. He replied that he did, indeed, see a flickering light in that
quarter. To make the fact still more sure, Columbus called another in
whom he had confidence to look in the same direction. He said he had no
hesitation in pronouncing that there was a light on the horizon. But the
blaze was hardly seen before it again disappeared in the ocean, to show
itself anew the next moment. Whether it was the light of a fire on a low
shore, alternately appearing and disappearing beyond the broken horizon,
or whether it was the floating beacon of a fisherman's boat now rising
on the waves, and now sinking in the trough of the sea, they could not

6. Thus both land and safety appeared together in the shape of fire to
Columbus and his two friends, on the night between the 11th and 12th of
October, 1492. The Admiral, enjoining silence, kept his observation to
himself, for fear of again raising false hopes, and giving a bitter
disappointment to his ships' companies. He lost sight of the light, and
remained on deck until two in the morning,--praying, hoping, and
despairing alone, awaiting the _triumph or the return_ on which the
morrow was to decide.

7. He was seized with that anguish which precedes the great discoveries
of truth, when, suddenly, a cannon-shot, sounding over the sea, a few
hundred yards in advance of him, burst upon his ear the announcement of
a _new-born world_, which made him tremble, and fall upon his knees. It
was the signal of land in sight! made by firing a shot, as had been
arranged with the _Pinta_, which was sailing in advance of the squadron,
to guide their course and take soundings.

8. At this signal a general shout of _"Land ho!"_ arose from all the
yards and riggings of the ships. The sails were furled, and daybreak was
anxiously awaited. The mystery of the ocean had breathed its first
whisper in the bosom of night. Daybreak would clear it up openly to
every eye. Delicious and unknown perfumes reached the vessels from the
outline of the shore, with the roar of the waves upon the reefs and the
soft land breeze.

9. The fire seen by Columbus indicated the presence of man, and of the
first element of civilization. Never did the night appear so long in
clearing away from the horizon; for this horizon was to Columbus and his
companions a second creation of God. The dawn, as it spread over the
sky, gradually raised the shores of an island from the waves. Its
distant extremities were lost in the morning mist. It ascended
gradually, like an amphitheater, from the low beach to the summit of the
hills, whose dark-green covering contrasted strongly with the blue

10. Within a few paces from where the foam of the waves breaks on the
yellow sand, forests of tall and unknown trees stretched away, one above
another, over the successive terraces of the island. Green valleys and
bright clefts in the hollows, afforded a half glimpse into these
mysterious wilds. Here and there could be discovered a few scattered
huts, which, with their outlines and roofs of dry leaves, looked like
bee-hives, and thin columns of blue smoke rose above the tops of the
trees. Half-naked groups of men, women, and children, more astonished
than frightened, appeared among the thickets near the shore, advancing
timidly, and then drawing back, exhibiting, by their gestures and
demeanor, as much fear as curiosity and wonder, at the sight of these
strange vessels, which the previous night had brought to their shores.

11. Columbus, after gazing in silence on this foremost shore of the land
so often determined by his calculations, and so magnificently colored by
his imagination, found it to exceed even his own expectations. He burned
with impatience to be the first European to set foot on the sand, and to
plant the flag of Spain,--the standard of the conquest of God and of his
sovereigns, effected by his genius. But he restrained the eagerness of
himself and of his crew to land, being desirous of giving to the act of
taking possession of a new world, a _solemnity_ worthy of the greatest
deed, perhaps, ever accomplished by a seaman; and, in default of men, to
call God and His angels, sea, earth, and sky, as witnesses of his
conquest of an unknown hemisphere.

12. He put on all the insignia of his dignities as Admiral of the Ocean,
and the Viceroy of these future realms; he wrapped himself in his purple
cloak, and taking in his hand an embroidered flag, in which the initials
of Ferdinand and Isabella were interlaced, like their two kingdoms, and,
surmounted by a crown, he entered his boat, and pulled toward the shore,
followed by the boats of his two lieutenants.

13. On landing, he fell on his knees, to acknowledge, by this act of
humility and worship, the goodness and greatness of God in this new
sphere of His works. He kissed the ground, and, with his face on the
earth, he wept tears of double import, as they fell on the dust of this
hemisphere, now, for the first time, visited by Europeans,--tears of joy
for the overflowing of a proud spirit, grateful and pious,--tears of
sadness for this virgin soil, seeming to foreshadow the calamities, and
devastation, with fire and sword, and blood and destruction, which the
strangers were to bring with their pride, their knowledge, and their

14. It was the _man_ that shed these tears; but it was the _earth_ that
was destined to weep. As Columbus raised his forehead from the dust,
with a Latin prayer, which his companions have handed down to us, he
thus addressed the Sovereign Ruler of the world: (_sl_.) "Almighty and
eternal God, who, by the energy of thy creative word, hast made the
firmament, the earth, and sea, blessed and glorified be Thy name in all
places! May Thy majesty and dominion be exalted forever and ever, as
Thou hast permitted Thy holy name to be made known and spread by the
most humble of Thy servants, in this hitherto unknown portion of Thy

15. He then gave to this land the name of San Salvador. His lieutenants,
his pilots, and his seamen, full of gladness, and impressed with a
superstitious respect for him whose glance had pierced beyond the
visible horizon, and whom they had offended by their unbelief,--overcome
by the evidence of their eyes, and by that mental superiority which
overawes the minds of men,--fell at the feet of the Admiral, kissed his
hands and his clothes, and recognized, for a moment, the power and the
almost divine nature of genius; _yesterday_ the victims of his
obstinacy,--_now_ the companions of his success, and sharers in the
glory which they had mocked. Such is humanity,--persecuting discoverers,
yet reaping the fruits of their inventions.

QUESTIONS.--1. What evidences had Columbus that land was near? 2. What
did the mutineers do? 3. In what month and year was the _new world_
discovered? 4. What is said of the natives? 5. What did Columbus do on
landing? 6. What was the conduct of the officers and seamen?

       *       *       *       *       *


   FER' MENT, heat; glow.
   EN THU' SI ASM, excitement.
   PRO DIG' IOUS, very great.
   SPEC I MENS, samples.
   LEAGU' ED, joined; banded.
   PER SUAD' ED, convinced.
   PRE POS' TEROUS, absurd; ridiculous.
   VAUNT' ED, boasted.
   DE LU' SION, deception.
   CRED' U LOUS, apt to believe.
   UN RE LI' A BLE, untrustworthy.
   SUS PI'' CION, doubt; mistrust.




_Don Gomez_. WHAT! what is this you tell me? Columbus returned? A new
world discovered? Impossible!

_Secretary_. It is even so, sir. A courier arrived at the palace but an
hour since with the intelligence. Columbus was driven by stress of
weather to anchor in the Tagus. All Portugal is in a ferment of
enthusiasm, and all Spain will be equally excited soon. The sensation is

_Don G_. Oh, it is a trick! It must be a trick!

_Sec_. But he has brought home the proofs of his visit,--gold and
precious stones, strange plants and animals; and, above all, specimens
of a new race of men, copper-colored, with straight hair.

_Don G_. Still I say, a trick! He has been coasting along the African
shore, and there collected a few curiosities, which he is passing off
for proofs of his pretended discovery.

_Sec_. It is a little singular that all his men should be leagued with
him in keeping up so unprofitable a falsehood.

_Don G_. But 'tis against reason, against common sense, that such a
discovery should be made.

_Sec_. King John of Portugal has received him with royal magnificence,
has listened to his accounts, and is persuaded that they are true.

_Don G._ We shall see, we shall see. Look you, sir, a plain
matter-of-fact man, such as I, is not to be taken in by any such
preposterous story! This vaunted discovery will turn out no discovery at

_Sec._ The king and queen have given orders for preparations on the most
magnificent scale for the reception of Columbus.

_Don G._ What delusion! Her majesty is so credulous. A practical,
common-sense man, like myself, can find no points of sympathy in her

_Sec._ The Indians on board the returned vessels, are said to be unlike
any known race of men.

_Don G._ Very unreliable all that! I take the common-sense view of the
thing. I am a matter-of-fact man; and do you remember what I say, it
will all turn out a trick! The crews may have been deceived. Columbus
may have steered a southerly course, instead of a westerly. Any thing is
probable, rather than that a coast to the westward of us has been

_Sec._ I saw the courier, who told me he had conversed with all the
sailors; and they laughed at the suspicion that there could be any
mistake about the discovery, or that any other than a westerly course
had been steered.

_Don G._ Still I say, a trick! An unknown coast reached by steering
west? Impossible! The earth a globe, and men standing with their heads
down in space? Folly! An ignorant sailor from Genoa in the right, and
all our learned doctors and philosophers in the wrong? _Nonsense!_ I'm a
matter-of-fact man, sir. I will believe what I can see, and handle, and
understand. But as for believing in the antipodes, or that the earth is
round, or that Columbus has discovered land to the west,--Ring the
bell, sir; call my carriage; I will go to the palace and undeceive the

       *       *       *       *       *


   HAR' BIN GER, forerunner; precursor.
   UN PIL' LAR ED, unsupported by pillars.
   UN YIELDING, stubborn.
   DE CREES', edicts; laws.
   HAL' LOW ED, sacred; consecrated.
   MOLD' ER ING, decaying.



 1. Wake your harp's music!--louder,--higher,
      And pour your strains along;
    And smite again each quivering wire,
      In all the pride of song!
(f.)Shout like those godlike men of old,
      Who, daring storm and foe,
    On this blessed soil their anthem rolled,

 2. From native shores by tempests driven,
      They sought a purer sky;
    And found, beneath a milder heaven,
      _The home of Liberty!_
    An altar rose,--and prayers,--a ray
      Broke on their night of woe,--
    The harbinger of Freedom's day,

 3. They clung around that symbol too,
      Their refuge and their all;
    And swore, while skies and waves were blue,
      That altar should not fall!
    They stood upon the red man's sod,
      'Neath heaven's unpillared bow,
    With home,--a country, and a God,--

 4. Oh! 'twas a hard, unyielding fate
      That drove them to the seas;
    And Persecution strove with Hate,
      To darken her decrees:
    But safe, above each coral grave,
      Each booming ship did go,--
    A God was on the western wave,--

 5. They knelt them on the desert sand,
      By waters cold and rude,
    Alone upon the dreary strand
      Of oceaned solitude!
    They looked upon the high, blue air,
      And felt their spirits glow,
    Resolved to live or perish there,--

 6. The warrior's red right arm was bared,
      His eyes flashed deep and wild:
    Was there a foreign footstep dared
      To seek his home and child'?
    The dark chiefs yelled alarm, and swore
      The white man's blood should flow,
    And his hewn bones should bleach their shore,

 7. But lo! the warrior's eye grew dim,--
      His arm was left alone;
    The still, black wilds which sheltered him,
      No longer were his own!
    Time fled,--and on the hallowed ground
      His highest pine lies low,--
    And cities swell where forests frowned,

 8. Oh! stay not to recount the tale,--
      'Twas bloody, and 'tis past;
    The firmest cheek might well grow pale,
      To hear it to the last.
    The God of Heaven who prospers us,
      Could bid a nation grow,
    And shield us from the red man's curse,--

 9. Come, then,--great shades of glorious men,
      From your still glorious grave!
    Look on your own proud land again,
      O bravest of the brave!
    We call you from each mouldering tomb,
      And each blue wave below,
    To bless the world ye snatched from doom,

10. Then to your harps!--yet louder,--higher
      And pour your strains along;
    And smite again each quivering wire,
      In all the pride of song!
(f.)Shout for those godlike men of old,
      Who, daring storm and foe,
    On this blessed soil their anthem rolled,

QUESTIONS.--1. Who are meant by _godlike men of old_? 2. Why did they
flee to this country? 3. Who warred against them?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SE RENE' LY, calmly; quietly.
   SUR MOUNT', rise above; overcome.
   TRAMP, tread, or travel.
   EB' ON, black, as ebony.
   GUARD' I AN, defender; protector.
   CHIV' AL RIC, brave; heroic.
   MAIL, defensive armor.
   EX ALT', lift up.
   FRAIL' TY, weakness.
   BLIGHT' ED, blasted.
   RE NOWN', fame; celebrity.
   STEAD' FAST, firm; resolute.

   IN TER VENE', (INTER, _between_; VENE, _to come_;) come between;

   SUC CEED', (SUC, _after;_ CEED, _to come;_) come after; follow.



1. _Press on!_ there's no such word as fail!
     Press nobly on! the goal is near,--
   Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!
     Look upward, onward,--never fear!
   Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above,
     Though storms and vapor intervene;
   That Sun shines on, whose name is Love,
     Serenely o'er Life's shadowed scene.

2. _Press on!_ surmount the rocky steeps,
     Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch:
   He fails alone who feebly creeps;
     He wins, who dares the hero's march.
   Be thou a hero! let thy might
     Tramp on eternal snows its way,
   And, through the ebon walls of night,
     Hew down a passage unto day.

3. _Press on!_ if once and twice thy feet
     Slip back and stumble, harder try;
   From him who never dreads to meet
     Danger and death, they're sure to fly.
   To coward ranks the bullet speeds;
     While on their breasts who never quail,
   Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds,
     Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

4. _Press on_! if Fortune play thee false
     To-day, to-morrow she'll be true;
   Whom now she sinks she now exalts,
     Taking old gifts and granting new.
   The wisdom of the present hour
     Makes up her follies past and gone:
   To weakness strength succeeds, and power
     From frailty springs;--_press on_! PRESS ON!

5. _Press on_! what though upon the ground
     Thy love has been poured out like rain?
   That happiness is always found
     The sweetest, which is born of pain.
   Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms,
     A bird sings from some blighted tree,
   And, in the dreariest desert, blooms
     A never-dying rose for thee.

6. Therefore, _press on_! and reach the goal,
     And gain the prize, and wear the crown:
   Faint not! for, to the steadfast soul,
     Come wealth, and honor, and renown.
   To thine own self be true, and keep
     Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil;
   _Press on_! and thou shalt surely reap
     A heavenly harvest for thy toil!

QUESTIONS.--1. What encouragement is given to those who press on? 2. Who
fails, and who wins? 3. What is said of those who never dread to meet
danger and death? 4. How are they rewarded, who press on?

       *       *       *       *       *


   EX PAND, develop; enlarge.
   EL E VATE, raise; dignify.
   VAR RI A BLE, changeable.
   PHAN TAS MA GO' RIA, magic lantern; illusive representations.
   UN' DU LA TING, waving; irregular.
   MO BIL'I TY, movableness; readiness to move.
   DO' CILE, teachable; obedient.
   CE LES' TIAL, heavenly.
   DIS' SI PATES, scatters, or confuses.
   IN FIN' I TY, boundlessness.
   GYM NAS' TIC, athletic exercise.
   O PAC' I TY, state of being opaque or dark.
   PA THET' IC, feeling; tender.
   IN DOM' I TA BLE, unconquerable.
   CO-OP' ER ATE, work with; join with.

   MOUNT PER' DU, one of the high summits of the Pyrenees
   mountains, in  Spain. The name signifies "Lost Mountain;" in
   allusion, probably, to its peak being lost in the clouds.



1. There are three forms of Nature, which especially command and elevate
our souls, release her from her heavy clay and earthly limits, and send
her, exulting, to sail amidst the wonders and mysteries of the Infinite.
_First_, there is the unstable _Ocean of Air_ with its glorious banquet
of light, its vapors, its twilight, and its shifting phantasmagoria of
capricious creatures, coming into existence only to depart the next

2. _Second_, there is the fixed _Ocean of the Earth_, its undulating and
vast waves, as we see them from the tops of "the earth o'er gazing
mountains," the elevations which testify to antique mobility, and the
sublimity of its mightier mountain-tops, clad in eternal snows. _Third_,
there is the _Ocean of Waters_, less mobile than air, less fixed than
earth, but liable, in its movements, to the celestial bodies.

3. _These three things_ form the gamut by which the Infinite speaks to
our souls. Nevertheless, let us point out some very notable differences.
The _Air-ocean_ is so mobile that we can scarcely examine it. It
deceives; it decoys; it diverts; it dissipates, and breaks up our chain
of thought.

4. For an instant, it is an immense hope, the day of all infinity; anon,
it is not so; all flies from before us, and our hearts are grieved,
agitated, and filled with doubt. Why have I been permitted to see for a
moment that immense flood of light? The memory of that brief gleaming
must ever abide with me, and that memory makes all things here on earth
look dark.

5. The _fixed Ocean of the mountains_ is not thus transient or fugitive;
on the contrary, it stops us at every step, and imposes upon us the
necessity of a very hard, though wholesome gymnastic. Contemplation here
has to be bought at the price of the most violent action. Nevertheless,
the opacity of the earth, like the transparency of the air, frequently
deceives and bewilders us. Who can forget that for ten years, Ramon, in
vain, sought to reach Mount Perdu though often within sight of it?

6. Great, _very great_, is the difference between the elements; the
earth is mute and the ocean speaks. The ocean is a voice. It speaks to
the distant stars; it answers to their movements in its deep and solemn
language. It speaks to the earth on the shores, replying to the echoes
that reply again; by turns wailing, soothing, threatening--its deepest
roar is presently succeeded by a sad, pathetic silence.

7. And it especially addresses itself to man. It is creation's living
eloquence. It is Life speaking to Life. The millions, the countless
myriads of beings to which it gives birth, are its words. All these,
mingled together make the unity, the great and solemn voice of the
ocean. And "what are those wild waves saying?" They are talking of
_Life,--of Immortality._

8. An indomitable strength is at the bottom of Nature--how much more so
at Nature's summit, the Soul! And it speaks of partnership, of union.
Let us accept the swift exchange which, in the individual, exists
between the diverse elements; let us accept the superior Law which
unites the living members of the same body--Humanity; and, still more,
let us accept and respect the supreme Law which makes us co-operate with
the great Soul, associated as we are--in proportion with our
powers--with the loving harmony of the world--copartners in the life of

QUESTIONS.--1. What are three great forms of Nature? 2. What is said of
the Air-ocean? 3. How does the Ocean address itself to man?

       *       *       *       *       *


   MO NOP' O LIZED, engrossed.
   CEL' E BRA TED, praised; talked of.
   PO' TENT LY, powerfully.
   MAR' I TIME, pertaining to sea.
   SA GAC' I TY, acuteness.
   IN TRE PID' I TY, daring valor.
   SAN' GUINE, bloody; cruel.
   EC CEN TRIC' I TY, peculiarity, oddity.
   WA' RI NESS, cautiousness.
   ED' I BLE, eatable.
   E MAN' CI PA TED, freed; liberated.
   IN TER ME' DI ATE, lying between.
   DEV AS TA TING, laying waste.
   DOUB' LE, sail around.

[Headnote 1: BASQUES, (_basks_), an ancient and peculiar people, living
on the slopes of the Pyrenees Mountains.]

[Headnote 2: BRE' TON, a native of Brittany, an ancient province in

[Headnote 3: NOR' MAN, that is, Northman, a name given to the ancient
inhabitants of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden, and afterward to their
descendants who settled in the north of France.]



1. Who opened up to men the great distant navigation? Who revealed the
ocean, and marked out its zones and its liquid highways? Who discovered
the secrets of the globe? _The Whale and the Whaler!_ And all this
before Columbus and the famous gold-seekers, who have monopolized all
the glory, found again, with much outcry about their discovery, what had
so long before been discovered by the whalers.

2. That crossing of the ocean, which was so boastfully celebrated in the
fifteenth century, had often been made, not only by the narrow passage
between Iceland and Greenland, but, also, by the open sea; for the
Basques [Headnote 1] went to Newfoundland. The smallest danger was the
mere voyage; for these men, who went to the very end of the _then_ known
world, to challenge the whale to single combat, to steer right away into
the Northern sea, to attack the mighty monster, amid darkness and
storms, with the dense fog all around, and the foaming waves
below,--those who could do this, were not the men to shrink from the
ordinary dangers of the voyage.

3. Noble warfare! Great school of courage! That fishery was not _then_,
as it is _now_, an easy war to wage, made from a distance, and with a
potently murderous machine. No; the fisher then struck with his own
strong hand, impelled and guided by his own fearless heart, and he
risked life to take life. The men of that day killed but few whales; but
they gained infinitely in maritime ability, in patience, in sagacity,
and in intrepidity. They brought back _less_ of oil; but _more, far
more_ of glory.

4. Every nation has its own peculiar genius. We recognize each by its
own style of procedure. There are a hundred forms of courage, and these
graduated varieties formed, as it were, another heroic game. At the
North, the Scandinavian, the rude race from Norway to Flanders, had
their sanguine fury. At the South, the wild burst, the gay daring, the
clear-headed excitement, that impelled, at once, and guided them over
the world. In the center, the silent and patient firmness of the
Breton [Headnote 2], who yet, in the hour of danger, could display a
quite sublime eccentricity. And, lastly, the Norman [Headnote 3]
wariness, considerately courageous; daring all, but daring all for
success. Such was the beauty of man, in that sovereign manifestation of
human courage.

5. We owe a vast deal to the whale. But for it, the fishers would still
have hugged the shore; for, almost every edible fish seeks the shore and
the river. It was the whale that emancipated them, and led them afar. It
led them onward, and onward still, until they found it, after having
almost unconsciously passed from one world to the other. Greenland did
not seduce them; it was not _the land_ that they sought; but _the sea,
and the tracks of the whale_.

6. The ocean at large is its home, and _especially_ the broad and open
sea. Each species has its especial preference for this or that
latitude,--for a certain zone of water, more or less cold. And it was
_that_ preference which traced out the great divisions of the Atlantic.
The tribe of inferior whales, that have a dorsal fin, are to be found in
the warmest and in the coldest seas,--under the line and in the polar

7. In the great intermediate region, the fierce Cachalot inclines toward
the south, devastating the warm waters. On the contrary, the Free Whale
fears the warm waters,--we should rather say, that they did, formerly,
fear them,--they have become so scarce. They are never found in the warm
southern current; it is _that_ fact that led to the current being
noticed, and thence to the discovery of the _true course from America to
Europe_. From Europe to America, the trade winds will serve us.

8. If the Free Whale has a perfect horror of the warm waters, and can
not pass the equator, it is clear that he can not double the southern
end of America. How happens it, then, that when he is wounded on one
side of America, in the Atlantic, he is sometimes found on the other
side of America, and in the Pacific? _It proves that there is a
north-western passage_. Another discovery which we owe to the whale, and
one which throws a broad light alike on the form of the globe, and the
geography of the seas!

9. By degrees, the whale has led us everywhere. Rare as he is at
present, he has led us to both poles, from the uttermost recesses of the
Pacific to Behring's Strait, and the infinite wastes of the Antarctic
waters. There is even an enormous region that no vessel, whether
war-ship or merchantman, ever traverses, at a few degrees beyond the
southern points of America and Africa. No one visits that region but the

QUESTIONS.--1. What has been done by the whaler? 2. By whom had
Newfoundland been discovered? 3. What is said of the courage of the
whaler? 4. What proof is given that there is a north-western passage,
by water, from the Atlantic to the Pacific?

       *       *       *       *       *


   THRALL' DOM, bondage; slavery.
   IG NO' BLE, mean; degraded.
   HORDE, clan; tribe.
   FEUD' AL, pertaining to military tenure.
   DES' POTS, tyrants.
   PAL' TRY, mean; contemptible.
   RAP' INE,(_rapin;_) plunder; violence.
   FOR SOOTH', in truth; in fact.
   RUF' FIAN, robber; cut-throat.
   SERV' ILE, slavish; cringing.
   LIM' NERS, painters.
   DIS CI' PLE, learner; follower.
   CORSE, corpse; dead body.
   BRAWL, wrangle; contention.
   DIS TAIN' ED, sullied; stained.
   ECH' O ED, resounded.


[Footnote: RI EN' ZI, the last of the Roman Tribunes, was born in Rome
about the year 1310. He was assassinated Oct. 8th, 1354 He was a person
of extraordinary eloquence. In his day, Rome was a prey to contending
factions of nobles. This kept the city in constant turmoil, and
subjected the people to continual abuse and tyranny. It was the endeavor
of Rienzi to arouse them to a resolution to be free.]


1. Friends!
   I come not here to _talk_. You know too well
   The story of our thralldom. We are _slaves!_
   The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
   A race of _slaves!_ He sets, and his last beam
   Falls on a _slave_: not such as, swept along
   By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
   To crimson glory and undying fame;
   _But base, ignoble slaves!_ slaves to a horde
   Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
   Rich in some dozen paltry villages;
   Strong in some hundred spearmen; only great
   In that strange spell,--_a name_.

2. Each hour, dark fraud,
   Or open rapine, or protected murder,
   Cries out against them. But this very day,
   An honest man, my neighbor,--there he stands,
   Was struck, _struck_ like a dog, by one who wore
   The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
   He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
   Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
   At sight of that great ruffian!

3.                        (f.) Be we _men_,
   And suffer such dishonor'? MEN, and wash not
   The stain away in blood'? Such shames are common!
   I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,
   I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
   Full of gentleness, of calmest hope,
   Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
   Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
   To the beloved disciple!

4.                            How I loved
   That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
   Brother at once, and son! He left my side,
   A summer bloom on his fair cheek,--a smile
   Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
   That pretty, harmless boy was slain! (_p_.) I saw
   The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
   For vengeance! (_ff_.) _Rouse ye, Romans!_--ROUSE YE, SLAVES!
   Have ye brave sons? Look in the next fierce brawl
   To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? Look
   To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
   Dishonored; and if ye dare call for justice,
   Be answered by the lash!

5.                        Yet this is Rome,
   That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
   Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans!
   Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman,
   Was greater than a king! And once again,--
   Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
   Of either Brutus! Once again I swear,
   The eternal city shall be free!

QUESTIONS.--1. In what condition did the writer say the Roman people
were? 2. What wrongs are complained of? 3. What special cases are
mentioned? 4. What are the people exhorted to do? 5. What is the meaning
of the suffix _dom_, in the word _thralldom?_ See ANALYSIS, page 142,
Ex. 189. 6. What is the meaning of the suffix _less_, in the word
_harmless?_ See page 140, Ex. 187. 7. How, according to the notation
mark, should the first part of the third verse be read? 8. What rule for
the rising inflections, third verse? See page 28, Rule I.

       *       *       *       *       *


   MUL' TI PLY, increase; continue.
   COL'TER, part of the plow that cuts the sod.
   GE' NI AL, productive.
   BE NIG' NANT, kind; bounteous.
   SAUN' TER ING, loitering.
   WOOD' BINE, honeysuckle.
   RE SPLEN DENT, splendid, beautiful.
   PO' TENT, powerful.
   ROAD' STEAD, place where ships may anchor.
   RE LI' ANT, trusting; depending.
   PES TI LEN' TIAL, infectious; noxious.
   PER PET' U AL, continual.
   STER' ILE, barren.

[Headnote 1: LE ON' I DAS, the celebrated Spartan leader who, with three
hundred men, perished in the effort to resist the Persian hosts, at the
mountain pass of Thermopylae, (B.C., 480.)]

[Headnote 2: MARS' TON, that is, Marston Moor, a place in Yorkshire,
England, memorable for the defeat of Charles I., (in 1644,) by the
forces of Cromwell and others.]

[Headnote 3: BAN' NOCK BURN, a village in Stirlingshire, Scotland,
famous for the battle between the patriots, under Robert Bruce, and the
English invading army, under Edward II., fought, June 25, 1314.]

[Headnote 4: AR MA' DA, a great naval armament sent by Philip II. of
Spain, in 1588, for the conquest of England. It failed utterly, however,
of its object, having been scattered and disabled by violent storms.]


1. Clang! clang! the massive anvils ring,--
   Clang! clang! a hundred hammers swing,
   Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky,
   The mighty blows still multiply:
         Clang! clang!
   Say, brothers of the dusky brow,
   What are your strong arms forging now?

2. Clang! clang!--we forge the _colter_ now--
   The colter of the kindly plow;
   Benignant Father, bless our toil;
     May its broad furrow still unbind
     To genial rains, to sun and wind,
   The most productive soil!

3. Clang! clang!--our colter's course shall be
   On many a sweet and sunny lea,
     By many a streamlet's silver tide,
   Amidst the song of morning birds,
   Amidst the low of sauntering herds,
   Amidst soft breezes which do stray
   Through woodbine-hedges and sweet May,
     Along the green hill's side.

4. When regal Autumn's bounteous hand,
   With wide-spread glory clothes the land,--
   When, to the valleys, from the brow
     Of each resplendent slope, is rolled
     A ruddy sea of living gold,
   We bless,--we bless the PLOW.

5. Clang! clang!--again, my mates, what glows
   Beneath the hammer's potent blows?
   Clink! clank!--we forge the _giant chain_,
   Which bears the gallant vessel's strain,
   'Midst stormy winds and adverse tides;
     Secured by this, the good ship braves
     The rocky roadstead and the waves
   Which thunder on her sides.

6. Anxious no more, the merchant sees
   The mist drive dark before the breeze.
   The storm-cloud on the hill;
     Calmly he rests, though, far away
     In boisterous climes, his vessel lay
   Reliant on our skill.

7. Say, on what sands these links shall sleep,
   Fathoms beneath the solemn deep`?
   By Afric's pestilential shore',--
   By many an iceberg, lone and hoar',--
     By many a palmy western isle,
     Basking in spring's perpetual smile',--
   By stormy Labrador'?

8. Say, shall they feel the vessel reel,
   When, to the battery's deadly peal,
   The crashing broadside makes reply'?
     Or else, as at the glorious Nile,
     Hold grappling ships, that strive the while,
   For death or victory'?

9. _Hurrah!_--cling! clang!--once more, what glows,
     Dark brothers of the forge, beneath
   The iron tempest of your blows
     The furnace's fiery breath?

10. Clang! clang!--a burning torrent, clear
      And brilliant, of bright sparks is poured
    Around and up in the dusky air,
      As our hammers forge the SWORD.

11.   The _sword!_ a name of dread; yet when
    Upon the freeman's thigh 'tis bound,
      While for his altar and his hearth,--
      While for the land that gave him birth,
    The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound,
      How _sacred_ is it then!

12. Whenever for the truth and right
    It flashes in the van of fight,
    Whether in some wild mountain pass
    As that where fell Leonidas [Headnote 1];
    Or on some sterile plain and stern,
    A Marston [Headnote 2] or a Bannockburn [Headnote 3];
    Or, mid fierce crags and bursting rills,
    The Switzer's Alps, gray Tyrol's hills,--
    Or, as when sunk the Armada's [Headnote 4] pride,
    It gleams above the stormy tide,--
    Still, still, whene'er the battle word
      Is LIBERTY, when men do stand
      For _justice_ and their _native land_,
    Then Heaven bless THE SWORD!

QUESTIONS.--1. What things are mentioned as being forged? 2. What is
said of the colter? 3. What, of the iron cable? 4. What, of the sword?

       *       *       *       *       *


   BEN E FAC' TION, gift; favor.
   E LATE', flushed with success.
   IN HER' ENT, natural.
   PER FEC' TION, excellence.
   VIG' ILS, watchfulness.
   UN BRIB' ED, not influenced by gifts.
   CON SO LA' TION, comfort.
   AV' E NUE, way; entrance.
   A TROC' I TIES, enormities.
   MOCK' ER Y, derision; ridicule.
   FAC' UL TIES, powers of the mind.
   CA PAC' I TIES, abilities.





Let him that desires to see others happy, make haste to give while his
gift can be enjoyed, and remember that every moment of delay takes away
something from the value of his benefaction. And let him who proposes
his own happiness, reflect, that while he forms his purpose, the days
roll on, and "the night cometh when no man can work."




  Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
  Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
  Humanity, with all its fears,
  With all the hopes of future years,
  Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
  We know what Master laid thy keel,
  What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
  Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
  What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
  In what a forge, and what a heat,
  Were shaped the anchors of thy hope.




The true hero is the great, wise man of duty,--he whose soul is armed by
truth and supported by the smile of God,--he who meets life's perils
with a cautious but tranquil spirit, gathers strength by facing its
storms, and dies, if he is called to die, as a Christian victor at the
post of duty. And, if we must have heroes, and wars wherein to make
them, there is none so brilliant as a war with wrong,--no hero so fit to
be sung as he who hath gained the bloodless victory of truth and mercy.




  We are not always equal to our fate,
    Nor true to our conditions. Doubt and fear
    Beset the bravest, in their high career,
  At moments when the soul, no more elate
  With expectation, sinks beneath the time.
  The masters have their weakness. "I would climb,"
    Said Raleigh, gazing on the highest hill,--
  "But that I tremble with the fear to fall."
    Apt was the answer of the high-souled queen:
  "If thy heart fail thee, never climb at all!"
  The heart! if that be sound, confirms the rest,
    Crowns genius with his lion will and mien,
  And, from the conscious virtue in the breast,
  To trembling nature gives both strength and will.




I consider a human soul without education, like marble in the quarry,
which shows none of its inherent beauties until the skill of the
polisher fetches out the colors, makes the surface shine, and discovers
every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein that runs through the body of it.
Education, after the same manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws
out every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are
never able to make their appearance.




  No more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
  With av'rice painful vigils keep;
  Still unenjoyed the present store,
  Still endless sighs are breathed for more.
  Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
  Which not all India's treasure buys!
  To purchase Heaven has gold the power'?
  Can gold remove the mortal hour?
  In life, can love be bought with gold?
  Are friendship's pleasures to be sold?
  No; all that's worth a wish--a thought,
  Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought.
  Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind;
  Let _nobler views_ engage thy mind.




Oh, precious gospel! Will any merciless hand endeavor to tear away from
our hearts, this last, this sweetest consolation? Would you darken the
only avenue through which one ray of hope can enter? Would you tear from
the aged and infirm poor the only prop on which their souls can repose
in peace? Would you deprive the dying of their only source of
consolation? Would you rob the world of its richest treasure? Would you
let loose the flood-gates of every vice, and bring back upon the earth
the horrors of superstition, or the atrocities of atheism? Then endeavor
to subvert the gospel; throw around you the firebrands of infidelity;
laugh at religion, and make a mockery of futurity; but be assured that
for all these things, God will bring you into judgment.




1. Oh, who that has gazed, in the stillness of even,
     On the fast-fading hues of the west,
   Has seen not afar, in the bosom of heaven,
     Some bright little mansion of rest,
   And mourned that the path to a region so fair
     Should be shrouded with sadness and fears;--
   That the night-winds of sorrow, misfortune, and care,
   Should sweep from the deep-rolling waves of despair,
   To darken this cold world of tears?

2. And who that has gazed, has not longed for an hour,
     When misfortune forever shall cease;
   And Hope, like the rainbow, unfold, through the shower,
     Her bright-written promise of peace?
   And, oh! if that rainbow of promise may shine
     On the last scene of life's wint'ry gloom,
   May its light in the moment of parting be mine;
   I ask but one ray from a source so divine,
     To brighten the vale of the tomb.




1. What`! feed a child's body, and let his soul hunger'? pamper his
limbs, and starve his faculties'? Plant the earth, cover a thousand
hills with your droves of cattle, pursue the fish to their hiding-places
in the sea, and spread out your wheat-fields across the plain, in order
to supply the wants of that body which will soon be as cold and as
senseless as the poorest clod, and let the pure spiritual essence within
you, with all its glorious capacities for improvement, languish and

2. What`! build factories, turn in rivers upon the water-wheels, unchain
the imprisoned spirits of steam, to weave a garment for the body, and
let the soul remain unadorned and naked'? What`! send out your vessels
to the furthest ocean, and make battle with the monsters of the deep, in
order to obtain the means of lighting up your dwellings and workshops,
and prolonging the hours of labor for the meat that perisheth, and
permit that vital spark, which God has kindled, which He has intrusted
to our care, to be fanned into a bright and heavenly flame,--permit it,
I say, to languish and go out'?

3. What considerate man can enter a school, and not reflect, with awe,
that it is a seminary where immortal minds are training for eternity'?
What parent but is, at times, weighed down with the thought, that
_there_ must be laid the foundations of a building which will stand,
when not merely temple and palace, but the perpetual hills and
adamantine rocks on which they rest, have melted away`!--that a light
may _there_ be kindled which will shine, not merely when every
artificial beam is extinguished, but when the affrighted sun has fled
away from the heavens`?

       *       *       *       *       *


   FRUIT' AGE, collection of fruits.
   WAX' ES, grows; increases.
   JU' BI LANT, joyous.
   TINGE, imbue.
   GLO' RI FI ED, exalted to glory.
   UN WA' RY, incautious.
   FAM' ISH ED, afflicted with hunger.
   BAN' ISH ED, driven out; expelled.
   RE NEW' ED, made new again.
   MA TUR' ING, ripening.
   VINT' AGE, produce of the vine.
   DIS LOY' AL TY, unfaithfulness.
   BE QUEATH' ED, left by inheritance.
   CON SID' ER ATE, thoughtful.

   RE VIV' I FY, (RE, _again_; VIV, _live_; IFY, _to make_;) to
   make alive again, to bring to life; renew.



1. "_We all do fade as a leaf_." Change is the essence of life. "Passing
away," is written on all things; and passing away is passing on from
strength to strength, from glory to glory. Spring has its growth, summer
its fruitage, and autumn its festive in-gathering. The spring of eager
preparation waxes into the summer of noble work; mellowing in its turn
into the serene autumn, the golden-brown haze of October, when the soul
may robe itself in jubilant drapery, awaiting the welcome command, "Come
up higher," where mortality shall be swallowed up in life.

2. Why, then, should autumn tinge our thoughts with sadness. We fade as
the leaf, and the leaf fades only to revivify. Though it fall, it shall
rise again. Does the bud fear to become a blossom, or the blossom
shudder as it swells into fruit; and shall the redeemed weep that they
must become glorified'? Strange inconsistency`! We faint with the burden
and the heat of the day. We bow down under the crosses that are laid
upon our shoulders. We are bruised and torn by the snares and pitfalls
which beset our way, and into which our unwary feet often fall.

3. We are famished, and foot-sore, and travel-stained, from our long
journey, and yet we are saddened by tokens that we shall pass away from
all these,--away from sin and sorrow, from temptation and fall, from
disappointment, and weary waiting, and a fearful looking-for of evil, to
purity and holiness, and the full fruition of every hope,--bliss which
eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived,--to a world
whence all that made this dreary is forever banished, and where all that
made this delightful is forever renewed and increased,--a world where
the activities and energies of the soul shall have full scope, and love
and recognition wait upon its steps forever.

4. Let him alone fear, who does not fade as the leaf,--him whose
sources are not in God, and who does not draw his life thence,--him
whose spring is gathering no strength, whose summer is maturing no
fruit, and whose autumn shall have no vintage. Is not this the real
sorrow of us all? not a dread of change, but a secret consciousness of
wasted power,--of disloyalty to God, as the supreme object of our love
and service.

5. Yet even here the fading leaf brings hope. Our future is always
before us. The past is fixed. No tears can wash away its facts. Let us
waste no vain regrets upon it; but, from the wisdom which its very
mistakes and sins have bequeathed us, start afresh on the race. Though
yesterday we were weak, and selfish, and indolent, let us to-day--at
this moment--begin to be strong, and brave, and helpful, and just, and
generous, and considerate, and tender, and truthful, and pure, and
patient, and forgiving. "Now" is a glorious word. "HENCEFORTH" is always
within our grasp.

QUESTIONS.--1. To what are we compared? 2. What is said of change? 3.
What change takes place in the leaf? 4. What, in man? 5. Who have reason
to fear? 6. What is said of the past and the future?

       *       *       *       *       *


   UN HEED' ED, not regarded.
   EX POS' ED, unprotected.
   EX HORT' ED, urged; persuaded.
   AT TUN' ED, put in tune.
   ES SEN' TIAL, real; true.
   AN NOUNC' ED, proclaimed.



1. The seasons came and went, and went and came,
   To teach men gratitude; and, as they passed,
   Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else
   Had stolen unheeded by: the gentle flowers
   Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness,
   Talked of humility, and peace, and love.
   The dews came down unseen at evening tide.
   And silently their bounties shed, to teach
   Mankind unostentatious charity.

2. With arm in arm the forest rose on high,
   And lesson gave of brotherly regard;
   And, on the rugged mountain brow exposed,
   Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak
   Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still
   To courage in distress exhorted loud.
   The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze,
   Attuned the heart to melody and love.

3. Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
   Essential love; and, from her glorious brow,
   Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace,
   With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God
   Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still,
   She whispered to Revenge, Forgive! forgive!

4. The Sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced
   Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God.
   The Moon awoke, and, from her maiden face
   Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth,
   And, with her virgin stars, walked in the heavens,--
   Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked
   Of purity, and holiness, and God.

5. In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much.
   Day uttered speech to day, and night to night
   Taught knowledge: silence had a tongue: the grave,
   The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each
   A tongue, that ever said, Man! think of God!
   Think of thyself! think of eternity!

6. Fear God, the thunders said; Fear God, the waves;
   Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied;
   Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep.
   And, in the temples of the Holy One,
   Messiah's messengers, the faithful few,
   Faithful 'mong many false, the Bible opened,
   And cried: Repent! repent, ye Sons of Men!
   Believe, be saved.

QUESTIONS.--1. What do the seasons teach? 2. What, the trees?
3. What, the sun and moon? 4. What, Messiah's messengers?

       *       *       *       *       *


   BE DECK' ED, adorned.
   AR RAY', dress; attire.
   MAN' TLED, spread; rushed.
   DE VO' TION, attachment.
   I DOL A TROUS, excessive.
   SEV' ER ED, rent; sundered.
   EN CIR' CLED, inclosed; surrounded.
   SA' BLES, mourning clothes.
   GIFT' ED, talented.
   FOUND ED, established.
   AL LURE', (AL, _to_; LURE, _draw_;) draw to; entice.


[Footnote: These lines are founded on the following passage of Jewish
history:--"It was the custom of the Jews to select the tenth of their
sheep after this manner: The lambs were separated from their dams, and
inclosed in a sheep-cot, with only one narrow way out; the lambs
hastened to join the dams, and a man, placed at the entrance, with a rod
dipped in ocher, touched every tenth lamb, and so marked it with his
rod, saying, 'LET THIS BE HOLY.' Hence, God says by his prophet, '_I
will cause you to pass under the rod_.'"]


1. I saw the young bride, in her beauty and pride,
     Bedecked in her snowy array;
   And the bright flush of joy mantled high on her cheek,
     And the future looked blooming and gay:
   And with a woman's devotion she laid her fond heart
     At the shrine of idolatrous love;
   And she anchored her hopes to this perishing earth,
     By the chain which her tenderness wove.
   But I saw, when those heartstrings were bleeding and torn,
     And the chain had been severed in two,
   She had changed her white robes for the sables of grief,
     And her bloom for the paleness of woe!
   But the Healer was there, pouring balm on her heart,
     And wiping the tears from her eyes;
   And He strengthened the chain He had broken in twain,
     And fastened it firm to the skies!
   There had whispered a voice,--'twas the voice of her God:
   "I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod!_"

2. I saw the young mother in tenderness bend
     O'er the couch of her slumbering boy;
   And she kissed the soft lips as they murmured her name,
     While the dreamer lay smiling in joy.
   Oh, sweet as the rose-bud encircled with dew,
     When its fragrance is flung on the air,
   So fresh and so bright to that mother he seemed,
     As he lay in his innocence there.
   But I saw when she gazed on the same lovely form,
     Pale as marble, and silent, and cold,
   But paler and colder her beautiful boy,
     And the tale of her sorrow was told!
   But the Healer was there, who had stricken her heart,
     And taken her treasure away;
   To allure her to heaven, He has placed it on high,
     And the mourner will sweetly obey.
   There had whispered a voice,--'twas the voice of her God:
   "I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod!_"

3. I saw, too, a father and mother who leaned
     On the arms of a dear gifted son;
   And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze,
     As they saw the proud place he had won;
   And the fast coming evening of life promised fair,
     And its pathway grew smooth to their feet,
   And the starlight of love glimmered bright at the end,
     And the whispers of fancy were sweet.
   And I saw them again, bending low o'er the grave,
     Where their hearts' dearest hope had been laid;
   And the star had gone down in the darkness of night,
     And the joy from their bosoms had fled.
   But the Healer was there, and His arms were around,
     And He led them with tenderest care;
   And He showed them a star in the bright upper world,
     'Twas their star shining brilliantly there!
   They had each heard a voice,--'twas the voice of their God:
   "I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod_!"

QUESTIONS.--1. What custom is alluded to, in the passage "_I will cause
you to pass under the rod?_" See note. 2. Where is that passage found in
the Scriptures? Ans. Ezekiel, 20th chap., 37th verse. 3. What instances
are mentioned of individuals "_passing under the rod_?"

       *       *       *       *       *


   PET' U LANT, cross; fretful.
   CA LAM' I TY, misfortune.
   SA TIR' IC AL, keenly severe; cutting.
   NUI' SANCE, annoyance.
   JUST' I FY, give a right to.
   STU PID' I TY, extreme dullness.
   CUL' PABLE, blamable; censurable.
   IR RI TA BIL' I TY, excitableness.
   AP PEL LA' TION, name; title.
   VE' HE MENT, violent; furious.
   VO CIF ER A' TIONS, loud outcries.
   MEN' A CES, threats.
   CEN' SUR ED, blamed.
   VIN DI CA' TION, justification.
   LON GEV' I TY, length of life.
   CON TEMPT' I BLE, despicable.




_Cousin Mary_. More breezes? What terrible thing has happened now,
Cousin Grim? What's the matter?

_Grim_. Matter enough, I should think! I sent this stupid fellow to
bring me a pair of boots from the closet; and he has brought me two
rights, instead of a right and left.

_Cousin_. What a serious calamity! But, perhaps, he thought it was but
_right_ to leave the _left_.

_Grim_. None of your jokes, if you please. This is nothing to laugh at.

_Cousin_. So it would seem, from the expression on your face,--rather
something to storm at, roar at, and fall into a frenzy about.

_Michael_. That's right, Miss; give him a piece of your mind! He's the
crossest little man I have met with in the new country. You might scrape
old Ireland with a fine-tooth comb, and not find such another.

_Grim_. How dare you talk to me in that style? I'll discharge you this
very day!

_Michael_. I'm thinking of discharging _you_, if you don't take better
care of that _sweet temper_ of yours.

_Grim_. Leave the room, sir!

_Michael_. That I will, in search of better company, saving the lady's
presence. [_Exit._

_Grim_. There, cousin! there is a specimen of my provocations! Can you
wonder at my losing my temper?

_Cousin_. Cousin Grim, that would be the most _fortunate_ thing that
could befall you.

_Grim_. What do you mean?

_Cousin_. I mean, if you could only _lose that temper_ of yours, it
would be a blessed thing for you; though I should pity the poor fellow
who _found it._ _Grim_. You are growing satirical in your old age,
Cousin Mary.

_Cousin_. Cousin Grim, hear the plain truth; your ill temper makes you a
nuisance to yourself and every body about you.

_Grim_. Really, Miss Mary Somerville, you are getting to be

_Cousin_. No; I am getting to be _candid_. I have passed a week in your
house, on your invitation. I leave you this afternoon; but, before I go,
I mean to speak my mind.

_Grim_. It seems to me that you have spoken it rather freely already.

_Cousin_. What was there, in the circumstance of poor Michael's bringing
you the wrong boots, to justify your flying into a rage, and bellowing
as if your life had been threatened?

_Grim_. That fellow is perpetually making just such provoking blunders!

_Cousin_. And do you never make provoking blunders'? Didn't you send me
five pounds of Hyson tea, when I wrote for Souchong'? Didn't you send a
carriage for me to the cars, half an hour too late, so that I had to
hire one myself, after great trouble'? And did I roar at you, when we
met, because you had done these things'?

_Grim_. On the contrary, this is the first time you have alluded to
them. I am sorry they should have happened. But surely you should make a
_distinction_ between any such little oversight of mine, and the
stupidity of a servant, hired to attend to your orders.

_Cousin_. I do not admit that there should be a distinction. You are
both human; only, as you have had the better education, and the greater
advantages, stupidity or neglect on your part, is much the more

_Grim_. Thank you! Go on.

_Cousin_. I mean to; so don't be impatient. If an uncooked potato, or a
burnt mutton-chop, happens to fall to your lot at the dinner-table, what
a tempest follows! One would think you had been wronged, insulted,
trampled on, driven to despair. Your face is like a thunder-cloud, all
the rest of the meal. Your poor wife endeavors to hide her tears. Your
children feel timid and miserable. Your guest feels as if she would like
to see you held under the nose of the pump, and thoroughly ducked.

_Grim_. The carriage is waiting for you, Miss Somerville, and the driver
has put on your baggage.

_Cousin_. I have hired that carriage by the hour, and so am in no hurry.
Your excuse for your irritability will be, I suppose, that it is
_constitutional_, and not to be controlled. A selfish, paltry, miserable
excuse! I have turned down a leaf in Dr. Johnson's works, and will read
what he says in regard to tempers like yours.

_Grim_. You are always quoting Dr. Johnson! Cousin, I can not endure it!
Dr. Johnson is a bore!

_Cousin_. Oh, yes! to _evil-doers_,--but to none else. Hear him: "There
is in the world a class of mortals known, and contentedly known, by the
appellation of _passionate men_, who imagine themselves entitled, by
this distinction, to be provoked on every slight occasion, and to vent
their rage in vehement and fierce vociferations, in furious menaces, and
licentious reproaches."

_Grim_. That will do.

_Cousin_. "Men of this kind," he tells us, "are often pitied rather than
censured, and are not treated with the severity which their neglect of
the ease of all about them, might justly provoke." But he adds: "It is
surely not to be observed without indignation, that men may be found of
minds mean enough to be satisfied with this treatment; wretches who are
proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and----"

_Grim_. I will hear no more! Have done!

_Cousin_. So the shaft went home! I am not sorry.

_Grim_. No one but a meddlesome old maid would think of insulting a man
in his own house.

_Cousin_. So, when, at a loss for a vindication, you reproach me with
being an old maid! Cousin, it does not distress me, either to be an old
maid, or to be called one. I must, however, remark, that the manhood
that can charge against a woman her single state, either as a matter of
ridicule or reproach, is not quite up to my standard.

_Grim_. Cousin Mary, I ask your pardon! But am I, indeed, the petulant,
disagreeable fellow, you would make me out?

_Cousin_. My dear Caspar, you are generous enough in large things; but,
oh! consider that _trifles make up a good portion of the sum of life_;
and so "_a small unkindness is a great offense_." Why not be cheerful,
sunny, genial, in little things? Why not look on the bright side? Why
not present an unruffled front to petty annoyances? Why not labor,--ay,
labor,--to have those around you happy and contented, by reflecting from
yourself such a frame of mind upon them?

Life is short, at the best; why not make it cheerful? Do you know that
longevity is promoted by a tranquil, happy habit of thought and temper'?
Do you know that cheerfulness, like mercy, is twice blessed; blessing
"him that gives, and him that takes'?" Do you know that good manners, as
well as good sense, demand that we should look at objects on their
bright side'? Do you know that it is contemptible selfishness in you to
shed gloom and sorrow over a whole family by your moroseness and

_Grim_. Cousin Mary, the patience with which I have listened to your
cutting remarks, will prove to you, I hope, that, notwithstanding my
angry retorts, I am convinced there is much truth in what you have said
of me. I have a favor to ask. Send away your carriage; stay a week
longer,--a month,--a year, if you will. Hold the lash over this ugly
temper of mine,--and I give you my word that I will set about the cure
of it in earnest.

_Cousin_. You should have begun earlier,--in youth, when the temper is
pliable, and strong impressions can work great changes. But we will not
despair. I will tarry with you a while, just to see if you are serious
in your wish for a reformation, and to help you bring it about.

_Grim_. Thank you. We hear of reformed drunkards, and reformed thieves;
and _why may not a petulant temper be reformed_, but a system of total
abstinence from all harsh, unkind moods and expressions? Come, we will

QUESTIONS.--1. At what was Mr. Grim offended? 2. What did Cousin Mary
say would be fortunate for him? 3. What blunder had Mr. Grim made? 4.
How did he often behave at the table? 5. What does Dr. Johnson say of
such men? 6. What did Cousin Mary finally say to him? 7. Of what was he
convinced? 8. What did he resolve to do?

       *       *       *       *       *


   SAC' RI FICE, religious offering.
   STRAIGHT, immediately.
   SCUR' VY, low; mean.
   SCRU' PLE, hesitate.
   EN DURE', suffer'; tolerate.
   IM PURE, filthy; unclean.
   UT TER LY, entirely; completely.
   BLEM' ISH, defect; deformity.
   WA' VER ED, hesitated.
   IM PAR' TIAL, just; free from bias.
   RE FER', leave to another.
   PAR' DON, forgive.
   GHEE, kind of butter used in India.
   DIS TRUST' ING, suspecting.
   PAL PA BLE, obvious; evident.
   LAUD' ING, praising.


[Footnote: The fable, here thrown into verse, is related in English
prose by Macaulay, who says:--"Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember
rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrit Aesop."]



 1. A Brahmin went out, the legends say,
    To buy him a sheep a certain day;
    For he had solemnly vowed to slay,
    In sacrifice, a sheep that day,
    And wanted a sheep his vow to pay.
        Three neighboring rogues
        (The cunning dogs!)
        Finding this out,
        Went straight about
    (Moved, I ween, by the very Old Nick,)
    To play the Brahmin a scurvy trick.

 2. So one of them met him with the cry:--
    "O Brahmin! O Brahmin! won't you buy
    A beautiful sheep? for here have I
    A beautiful sheep for sacrifice,
    As ever was seen by mortal eyes."

 3. "Where is your sheep?" replied the Brahmin;
    "Bring him out here, and let me examine."
        With that the wag
        Opened a bag,
        And out he drew
        To public view
    An ugly, dirty, horrible dog!
    Blind as a bat, and lame as a frog;
    With a broken leg, climbing a log.
    Or limping slowly over a bog.

 4. "Wretch!" said the Brahmin indignant, "who
    Shamelessly utterest things untrue,
    And dost without a scruple endure
    To handle creatures the most impure,
    How darest thou call that cur a sheep?
    Do you think, foul knave, that I'm asleep?"

 5. "_Cur'!_" said the fellow with steady tone;
    "A _sheep_ it is, and a sheep alone;
    A sheep (see here, what a splendid fleece!)
    With flesh the sweetest, and fat as grease;
        And such a prize
        For sacrifice,
    As neither gods nor men can despise,
    Unless they both have dust in their eyes!"
    "Sir," said the Brahmin, surprised to find
    A person so utterly out of his mind,
    "'Tis certain that _you_ or _I_ am blind."

 6.     Then stepping up,
        Patting the pup,
    Rogue the second, as if amazed,
    While on the dog he steadily gazed,
    Exclaims aloud:--"The gods be praised!
    Since I've no need to market to go
    To buy me a sheep; for here's one so
    From spot and blemish perfectly free,
    That better could not possibly be.
        Isn't it nice?
        What's your price?"

 7. The Brahmin, seeing this singular thing,
    Wavered in mind, like one in a swing;
    Yet answered the stranger, firmly,--"Sir,
    This isn't a sheep, but only a cur."
    "_Cur_?" with disdain, the new-comer said;
    "Why, man, you're surely out of your head!"

 8.     As this occurred,
        Came rogue the third,
    To whom, as being a witness new,
    And likely to take impartial view,
    Brahmin proposed at once to refer,
    Whether the creature was _sheep_ or _cur_.
    All being agreed, the eager priest
    Said:--"Stranger, what do you call this beast?"
    "A _sheep_, to be sure!" the knave replied;
    "As fine a sheep as ever you spied."

 9. "Well," said the Brahmin, "the gods this day
    Have surely taken my senses away!"
        Then begging the rogue
        That carried the dog,
    To pardon him for doubting his word,
    He, with a readiness most absurd,
    Purchased the creature with rice and ghee,
    Which went, of course, to the worthless three,
    And which they shared with wonderful glee.

10.     Thus taken in,
        The poor Brahmin
        Offered it up,
        The filthy pup,
    Which so offended the gods, that they
    Sent sore disease his folly to pay:
    Thinking it right the man to chastise
    For so distrusting his natural eyes,
    And being led by palpable lies
    To offer a dog as a sacrifice.


    Look out for the arts of the puffing tribe,--
    People that praise for the sake of a bribe;
    Lavishly lauding a book or a pill,
    Or any thing else the pocket to fill;
    Singing Simplicity fast asleep,
    And making her dream a dog's a sheep.

QUESTIONS.--1. What trick did the three rogues play off on the Brahmin?
2. In what way did they do this? 3. What moral is taught in this fable?

       *       *       *       *       *


   E LAS TIC' I TY, returning vigor.
   MIN' I FIES, lessens; makes small.
   DEG RA DA' TION, abasement.
   ES TRANGED, alienates.
   UN ALMS' ED, not having received alms.
   HA BIT' U AL, accustomed.
   EX TRAV' A GANCE, superfluous expense.
   IM PER' TI NENCE, that which is not pertinent.
   SUS PI' CIOUS, distrustful.
   E CON' O MY, frugality.
   TRAN' QUIL, calm; undisturbed.
   BE NUMB' ING, dull; stupefying.
   IM PROV' I DENCE, wastefulness.



1.                   _Oh, beware of debt_!
   It crushes out the manhood of a man,
   Robs his bright eye of boldness, cheats his limbs
   Of elasticity, unnerves his hand,
   Beclouds his judgment, dulls his intellect,
   Perils his uprightness, and stains his name,
   And minifies him to his fellow-men;
   Yea, far worse degradation, to himself.

2. Who hath the hurried step, the anxious eye,
   Avoids the public haunt and open street,
   And anxious waits for evening? Restlessly
   Tosses upon his bed, and dreads the approach
   Of the tell-tale morning sunlight? Who, unmanned,
   Starts at the sudden knock, and shrinks with dread
   E'en at his own shadow; shuns with care
   The stranger's look, skulks from his fellow's glance,
   And sees in every man a creditor?

3. The _debtor_;--he is only half a man;
   He saddens and estranges his chief friends,
   Burdens his dearest relatives; he hears
   In vain the stranger's tale, the widow's prayer,
   And sends away the orphan all unalmsed.
   None dare to place him in a post of trust,
   And business men regard him with a shrug.

4. "Owe no man aught." Stand in the world erect,
   And lean alone upon thyself and God.
   The habitual borrower will be ever found
   Wicked, or weak, or both. Sweat, study, stint,
   Yea, rather _any thing_ than meanly owe.
   Let thine own honest hands feed thee and thine,
   And, if not thy friend's purse, at least, respect
   Thine own sweet independence.

5. Have fewest wants: the book, however good,
   Thou shouldst not purchase, let it go unbought;
   And fashion's vests by thee be all unworn.
   Soon luxuries become necessities,
   But self-denying thrift more joy affords
   Than all the pleasures of extravagance.
   A cottage, free from clamorous creditors,
   Is better than a mansion dunned; a coat,
   However darned, if paid for, hath an ease,
   And a respectability beside:
   Gay, ill-afforded vests can never boast.

6.                           However cheap,
   Whatever thou want'st not, buy not. That is dear,
   A mere extravagant impertinence,
   For which thou hast no need. Feel first the want
   Ere it be satisfied; bargains full oft
   Are money-wasting things, that prudent men
   Will keep afar from with suspicious eye;
   Perchance to any but of little use,
   And to themselves, most likely, none at all.

7. The habit of economy once formed,
   'Tis easy to attain to prosperous things.
   Thou then shalt lend, not borrow: shalt not want
   A helping trifle when thy friend hath need,
   Or means to seize an opportunity,--
   Seed-coin, to ensure a harvest. Thou shalt then
   Want not an alms for pinching poverty;
   And, though a sudden sickness dam the stream,
   And cut off thy supplies, thou shalt lie down
   And view thy morrows with a tranquil eye;
   Even benumbing age shall scare thee not,
   But find thee unindebted, and secure
   From all the penury and wretchedness
   That dog the footsteps of improvidence.

       *       *       *       *       *


   OM NIP' O TENT, all-powerful.
   IN TER' MI NA BLE, endless.
   MILK Y-WAY, galaxy; luminous circle in the heavens.
   AS' TRAL, starry.
   IN FIN' I TUDE, unlimited extent.
   IM PET' U OUS, rushing.
   AS TRON O MER, one skilled in the science of the stars.
   AP PROX' I MATE LY, nearly.
   OM NIS' CIENCE, knowledge of all things.
   PER TUR BA' TIONS, irregularities of motion.
   AB' SO LUTE, entire.
   PRE CIS' ION, exactness.
   AD JUST' MENTS, arrangements.
   RET' I NUE, company.
   SAT' EL LITES, small planets revolving round others.



1. If you would know the _glory_ of the Omnipotent Ruler of the
universe, examine the interminable range of suns and systems which crowd
the Milky-Way. Multiply the hundred millions of stars which belong to
our own "island universe" by the thousands of these astral systems that
exist in space, within the range of human vision, and _then_ you may
form some idea of the _infinitude_ of His kingdom; for lo! these are but
a part of His ways.

2. Examine the scale on which the universe is built. Comprehend, if you
can, the vast dimensions of our sun. Stretch outward through his system,
from planet to planet, and circumscribe the whole within the immense
circumference of Neptune's orbit. This is but a single unit out of the
myriads of similar systems.

3. Take the wings of light, and flash with impetuous speed, day and
night, and month, and year, till youth shall wear away, and middle age
is gone, and the extremest limit of human life has been attained;--count
every pulse, and, at each, speed on your way a hundred thousand miles;
and when a hundred years have rolled by, look out, and behold! the
thronging millions of blazing suns are still around you, each separated
from the other by such a distance, that, in this journey of a century,
you have only left half a score behind you.

4. Would you gather some idea of the _eternity_ past of God's
existence,--go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you in one of his
walks through space; and, as he sweeps outward from object to object,
from universe to universe, remember that the light from those filmy
stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, now falling on your eye, has
been traversing space for a million of years.

5. Would you gather some knowledge of the _omnipotence_ of God,--weigh
the earth on which we dwell, then count the millions of its inhabitants
that have come and gone for the last six thousand years. Unite their
strength into one arm, and test its power in an effort to move this
earth. It could not stir it a single foot in a thousand years; and yet
under the omnipotent hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not
fly more than a thousand miles.

6. But this is a mere atom,--the most insignificant point among his
innumerable worlds. At his bidding, every planet, and satellite, and
comet, and the sun himself, fly onward in their appointed courses. His
single arm guides the millions of sweeping suns, and around His throne
circles the great constellation of unnumbered universes.

7. Would you comprehend the idea of the _omniscience_ of God,--remember
that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by the whole human race,
by the combined efforts of its brightest intellects, has enabled the
astronomer to compute approximately the perturbations of the planetary
worlds. He has predicted roughly the return of half a score of comets.
But God has computed the mutual perturbations of millions of suns, and
planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through the ages that
are passed, and throughout the ages which are yet to come, not
approximately, but with perfect and absolute precision.

8. The universe is in motion,--system rising above system, cluster above
cluster, nebula above nebula,--all majestically sweeping around under
the providence of God, who alone knows the end from the beginning, and
before whose glory and power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven
or on earth, should bow with humility and awe.

9. Would you gain some idea of the _wisdom_ of God,--look to the
admirable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets and
satellites which sweep around the sun. Every globe has been weighed and
poised, every orbit has been measured and bent to its beautiful form.

10. All is changing; but the laws fixed by the wisdom of God, though
they permit the rocking to and fro of the system, never introduce
disorder, or lead to destruction. All is perfect and harmonious, and the
music of the spheres that burn and roll around our sun, is echoed by
that of ten millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the
bright suns that reign above.

11. If, overwhelmed with the grandeur and majesty of the universe of
God, we are led to exclaim with the Hebrew poet-king,--"When I consider
Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou
hast ordained, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of
man, that Thou visitest him?"--If fearful that the eye of God may
overlook us in the immensity of His kingdom, we have only to call to
mind that other passage, "Yet Thou hast made him but a little lower than
the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. Thou madest him
to have dominion over all the works of Thy hand; Thou hast put all
things under his feet." Such are the teachings of the word, and such are
the lessons of the works of God.

       *       *       *       *       *




1. 'Twere naught to me, yon glorious arch of night,
     Decked with the gorgeous blazonry of heaven,
   If, to my faith, amid its splendors bright,
     No vision of the Eternal One were given;
   I could but view a dreary, soulless waste,--
     A vast expanse of solitude unknown,
   More cheerless for the splendors o'er it cast,--
     For all its grandeur more intensely lone.

2. 'Twere naught to me, this ever-changeful scene
     Of earthly beauty, sunshine, and delight,--
   The wood's deep shadows and the valley's green,--
     Morn's tender glow, and sunset's splendors bright;
   Naught, if my Father spoke not from the sky,
     The cloud, the flower, the landscape, and the leaf;
   My soul would pine 'mid earth's vain pageantry,
     And droop in hopeless orphanage and grief.

3. 'Twere naught to me, the ocean's vast expanse,
     If His perfections were not mirrored there;
   Hopeless across the unmeasured waste I'd glance,
     And clasp my hands in anguish, not in prayer.
   Naught Nature's anthem, ever swelling up
     From Nature's myriad voices; for the hymn
   Breathes not of love, or gratitude, or hope,
     Robbed of the tones that tell my soul of Him.

4. This wondrous universe how less than naught
     Without my God! how desolate and drear!
   A mock'ry, earth with her vain splendors fraught!
     A gilded pageant, every rolling sphere!
   The noonday sun with all his glories crowned,
     A sickly meteor glimmers faint and pale!
   And all earth's melodies, their sweetness drowned,
     Are but the utterance of a funeral wail.

       *       *       *       *       *




1. Mr. President: I consider it a particular favor of Providence that I
am permitted to partake, on the present solemn occasion, in paying the
tribute of honor and gratitude to the memory of your immortal

2. An architect having raised a proud and noble building to the service
of the Almighty, his admirers desired to erect a monument to his memory.
How was it done? His name was inscribed upon the wall, with these
additional words: "You seek his monument--look around."

3. Let him who looks for a monument of Washington look around the United
States. The whole country is a monument to him. Your freedom, your
independence, your national power, your prosperity, and your prodigious
growth, is a monument to Washington.

4. There is no room left for panegyric, none especially to a stranger
whom you had full reason to charge with arrogance, were he able to
believe that his feeble voice could claim to be noticed in the mighty
harmony of a nation's praise. Let me, therefore, instead of such an
arrogant attempt, pray that that God, to whose providential intentions
Washington was a glorious instrument, may impart to the people of the
United States the same wisdom for the conservation of the present
prosperity of the land and for its future security, which he gave to
Washington for the foundation of it.

5. I yield to nobody in the world in reverence and respect to the
immortal memory of Washington. His life and his principles were the
guiding star of my life; to that star I looked up for inspiration and
advice, during the vicissitudes of my stormy life. Hence I drew that
devotion to my country and to the cause of national freedom, which you,
gentlemen, and millions of your fellow-citizens, and your national
government, are so kind as to honor by unexampled distinction.

6. Sir, I have studied the history of your immortal Washington, and
have, from my early youth, considered his principles as a living source
of instruction to statesmen and to patriots.

When, in that very year in which Washington issued his Farewell Address,
M. Adet, the French Minister, presented to him the flag of the French
Republic, Washington, as President of the United States, answered
officially, with these memorable words:

"Born in a land of liberty, having early learned its value, having
engaged in a perilous conflict to defend it, having devoted the best
years of my life to secure its permanent establishment in my country, my
anxious recollections, my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes, are
irresistibly attracted, whensoever in any country I see an oppressed
nation unfurl the banner of freedom."

7. Thus spoke Washington. Have I not then full reason to say, that if he
were alive his generous sympathy would be with me; and the sympathy of a
Washington never was, and never would be, a barren word. Washington, who
raised the word "honesty" as a rule of policy, never would have
professed a sentiment which his wisdom as a statesman would not have

8. Sir! here let me end. I consider it already as an immense benefit
that your generous attention connected the cause of Hungary with the
celebration of the memory of Washington.

9. Spirit of the departed! smile down from heaven upon this appreciation
of my country's cause; watch over those principles which thou hast taken
for the guiding star of thy noble life, and the time will yet come when
not only thine own country, but liberated Europe, also, will be a living
monument to thy immortal name.

       *       *       *       *       *



1. Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
   Filling the sky and earth below;
   Over the housetops, over the street,
   Over the heads of the people you meet,
               Skimming along!
   Beautiful snow! it can do no wrong.
   Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
   Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak,
   Beautiful snow from the Heaven above,
   Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

2. Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
   How the flakes gather and laugh as they go?
   Whirling about in its maddening fun,
   It plays in its glee with every one;
               Hurrying by,
   It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye!
   And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,
   Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
   The town is alive, and its heart in a glow
   To welcome the coming of beautiful snow.

3. How wild the crowd goes swaying along,
   Hailing each other with humor and song!
   How the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by,
   Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye!
               Dashing they go
   Over the crust of the beautiful snow;
   Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,
   To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by,
   To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet,
   Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street

4. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow,
   Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
   How strange it should be, when the night comes again
   If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain!
               Dying alone,
   Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan
   To be heard in the crazy town,
   Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down;
   To lie and so die, in my terrible woe,
   With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow!

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Sanders' Union Fourth Reader
 - Embracing a Full Exposition of the Principles of Rhetorical Reading; with Numerous Exercises for Practice, Both in Prose and Poetry, Various in Style, and Carefully Adapted to the Purposes of Teaching in Schools of Every Grade" ***

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