THE RHETORICAL PAUSE.
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, (||).
EXAMPLES.
1.
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.
2.
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
(--).
EXAMPLES.
1. God said--"_Let there be light!_"
2.
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
EXAMPLES.
LONG PAUSE.
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.
SHORT PAUSE.
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.
* * * * *
REMARKS TO TEACHERS.
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.
PART SECOND.
LESSON I.
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.
TRUE HEROISM.
OSBORNE.
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
uttered.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON II.
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.
YOU AND I.
CHARLES MACKAY.
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
SANDERS and McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS OF ENGLISH WORDS, p. 132, Ex. 174.
* * * * *
LESSON III.
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.
LIFE'S WORK.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON IV.
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.
THE YOUNG CAPTIVES.
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
plantations.
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
guide.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON V.
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.
MY MOTHER'S LAST KISS.
MRS. E. OAKES SMITH.
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
me?"
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
happy.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON VI.
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.
THE DEAD CHILD'S FORD.
MRS. E. OAKES SMITH.
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
41.
* * * * *
LESSON VII.
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.
LAME AND LAZY,--A FABLE.
[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
_loaf_.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON VIII.
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.
FAITHFULNESS IN LITTLE THINGS.
ELIZA A. CHASE.
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,
kindly.
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
suppose!"
"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
itself."
9. "May I ask who taught you such noble principles'?" inquired Mr.
Harris.
"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
friend.
"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?
* * * * *
LESSON IX.
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.
THE AMERICAN BOY.
SON.
Father, look up, and see that flag!
How gracefully it flies!
Those pretty stripes, they seem to be
A rainbow in the skies.
FATHER.
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.
SON.
Father, what fearful noise is that,
Now thundering in the clouds?
Why do they, cheering, wave their hat,
And rush along in crowds?
FATHER.
It is the voice of cannonry,
The glad shouts of the free;
This is a day of memory,
'Tis FREEDOM'S JUBILEE!
SON.
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_?
FATHER.
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!
SON.
(oo) HURRAH, FOR FREEDOM'S JUBILEE,
God bless our native land!
And may _I_ live to hold the boon
Of _freedom_ in my hand.
FATHER.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON X.
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.
THE SAILOR BOY'S SONG.
WRITTEN BY A GIRL THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE.
1.
(_''_) 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.
2.
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.
3.
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.
4.
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.
5.
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.
6.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON XI.
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.
CHASE OF THE PET FAWN.
MISS COOPER.
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
foe.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XII.
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.
KINDNESS.
KATE CLARENCE.
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
melody.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XIII.
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.
CARELESS WORDS.
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,
heedless_? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, DEFINER, AND ANALYZER, page 143,
Ex. 369.
* * * * *
LESSON XIV.
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.
WEBSTER AND THE WOODCHUCK.
BOSTON TRAVELER.
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
liberty."
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
again.
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
either."
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XV.
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.
DO IT YOURSELF.
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
demonstration.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON XVI.
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.
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XVII.
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.
THE ADOPTED CHILD.
MISS. HEMANS.
LADY.
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.
BOY.
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!
LADY.
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.
BOY.
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!
LADY.
(_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.
BOY.
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!
LADY.
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.
BOY.
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.?
* * * * *
LESSON XVIII.
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.
THE OLD EAGLE TREE.
REV. JOHN TODD.
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
admire.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XIX.
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.
THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE.
ELIHU BURRITT.
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
minds.
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
millions?
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XX.
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.]
NIGHT'S LESSONS.
L.H. SIGOURNEY.
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
Bergen!"
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.
11.
"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.
* * * * *
LESSON XXI.
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.
NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
CHAMBERS' JOURNAL.
FIRST VOICE.
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?
SECOND VOICE.
Strive, O man, to let a loving
Spirit cheer the sad and poor;
So shall many a fair hope blossom,
Where none grew before!
FIRST VOICE.
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.
SECOND VOICE.
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.
FIRST VOICE.
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'?
SECOND VOICE.
Though thy spirit yearneth sky-ward,
Oh, forget not human worth!
I, who chant at heaven's portal,
Build my nest on earth.
FIRST VOICE.
4. River! river'! singing gayly
From the hill-side all day long,
Teach my heart the merry music
Of thy cheery, rippling song.
SECOND VOICE.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON XXII.
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.
SOWING AND HARVESTING.
ANON.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON XXIII.
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
suffocating.]
A THRILLING INCIDENT.
ANON.
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
way.
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
boys.
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
mass.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON XXIV.
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.
THE TRUTHFUL KING.
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.
* * * * *
LESSON XXV.
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.
WHEN SHALL I ANSWER NO?
J.N. McELLIGOTT.
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.]
* * * * *
LESSON XXVI.
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.
TO MASTERS ROBERT AND JOHN.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XXVII.
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.
WHANG, THE MILLER.
GOLDSMITH.
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
satisfaction.
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?
* * * * *
LESSON XXVIII.
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.
CHIMNEY-SWALLOWS.