1. Every one knows, who lives in the country, what a chimney-swallow is.
They are among the birds that seem to love the neighborhood of man. Many
birds there are, that nestle confidingly in the protection of their
superiors, and are seldom found nesting or breeding far from human
habitations.
2. The wren builds close to your door. Sparrows and robins, if well
treated, will make their nests right under your window, in some favorite
tree, and will teach you, if you choose to go into the business, how to
build birds' nests.
3. A great deal of politeness and fidelity may be learned. The female
bird is waited upon, fed, cheered with singing, during her incubation,
in a manner that might give lessons to the household. Nay, when she
needs exercise and recreation, her husband very demurely takes her
place, and keeps the eggs warm in the most gentlemanly way.
4. Barn-swallows have a very sensible appreciation of the pleasures of
an ample barn. A barn might not be found quite the thing to live in,
(although we have seen many a place where we would take the barn sooner
than the house,) but it is one of the most charming places in a
summer-day to lounge, read, or nap in.
5. And, as you lie on your back upon the sweet-scented hay-mow, or upon
clean straw thrown down on the great floor, reading books of natural
history, it is very pleasant to see the flitting swallows glance in and
out, or course about under the roof, with motion so lithe and rapid as
to seem more like the glancing of shadows than the winging of birds.
Their mud-nests are clean, if they _are_ made of dirt; and you would
never dream, from their feathers, what sort of a house they lived in.
6. But, it was of _chimney-swallows_ that we began to write; and they
are just now roaring in the little, stubbed chimney behind us, to remind
us of our duty. Every evening we hear them; for a nest of young ones
brings the parents in with food, early and late, and every entrance or
exit is like a distant roll of thunder, or like those old-fashioned
rumblings of high winds in the chimney, which made us children think
that all out-of-doors was coming down the chimney in stormy nights.
7. These little architects build their simple nests upon the sides of
the chimney with sticks, which they are said to break off from dead
branches of trees, though they might more easily pick them up already
prepared. But they, doubtless, have their own reasons for cutting their
own timber. Then these are glued to the wall by a saliva which they
secrete, so that they carry their mortar in their mouths, and use their
bills for trowels.
8. When the young are ready to leave, they climb up the chimney to the
top, by means of their sharp claws, aided by their tail-feathers, which
are short, stiff, and at the end armed with sharp spines. Two broods are
reared in a season. From the few which congregate in any one
neighborhood, one would not suspect the great numbers which assemble at
the end of the season. Audubon estimated that _nine thousand_ entered a
large sycamore-tree, every night, to roost, near Louisville, Kentucky.
9. Sometimes the little nest has been slighted in building, or the
weight proves too great, and down it comes into the fire-place, to the
great amusement of the children, who are all a-fever to hold in their
hands these clean, bright-eyed little fellows. Who would suspect that
they had ever been bred in such a flue?
10. And it was just this thought that set us to writing. Because a bird
lives in a chimney, he need not be _smutty_. There is many a fine
feather that lives in a chimney-corner. Nor are birds the _only_
instances. Many men are born in a garret, or in a cellar, who fly out of
it, as soon as fledged, as fine as any body. A lowly home has reared
many high natures.
11. On these bare sticks, right against the bricks, in this smoky flue,
the eggs are laid, the brooding goes on, the young are hatched, fed,
grown. But then comes the day when they spread the wing, and the whole
heaven is theirs! From morning to night, they can not touch the bounds
of their liberty!
12. And, in like manner, it is with the human soul that has learned to
know its liberty. Born in a body, pent up, and cramped, it seems
imprisoned in a mere smoky flue for passions. But, when once faith has
taught the soul that it has wings, then it begins to fly; and flying,
finds that all God's domain is its liberty.
13. And, as the swallow that comes back to roost in its hard hole at
night, is quite content, so that the morning gives it again all the
bright heavens for its soaring-ground, so may men, close quartered and
cramped in bodily accommodations, be quite patient of their narrow
bounds, for their thoughts may fly out every day gloriously.
14. And as, in autumn, these children of the chimney gather in flocks,
and fly away to heavens without a winter, so men shall find a day when
they, too, shall migrate; and, rising into a higher sphere, without
storm or winter, shall remember the troubles of this mortal life, as
birds in Florida may be supposed to remember the northern chills, which
drove them forth to a fairer clime.
QUESTIONS.--1. What birds seem to love the neighborhood of man? 2. In
what respects may men be like birds?
* * * * *
LESSON XXIX.
The first part of each verse, or that portion read by the _First Voice_,
should be expressed in a slow and despondent tone of voice: the second
part, or that read by the _Second Voice_, should be expressed in a more
sprightly and cheerful manner.
THE DOUBTING HEART.
ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.
FIRST VOICE.
1. Where are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,
Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore.
SECOND VOICE.
O doubting heart!
Far over purple seas,
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.
FIRST VOICE.
2. Why must the flowers die?
Poisoned they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.
SECOND VOICE.
O doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft, white ermine snow,
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.
FIRST VOICE.
3. The sun has hid its rays
These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
SECOND VOICE.
O doubting heart!
The stormy clouds on high
Vail the same sunny sky,
That soon, (for Spring is nigh,)
Shall wake the Summer into golden mirth.
FIRST VOICE.
4. Fair Hope is dead, and light
Is quenched in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?
SECOND VOICE.
O doubting heart!
The sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past,
And angels' silver voices stir the air.
* * * * *
LESSON XXX.
DECK'ED, dressed; arrayed.
TRAIL'ING, hanging down; following one after another.
UN FAIL'ING, constant; continually.
UN PLI'ANT, stiff; unbending.
DE FI'ANT, daring; bidding defiance.
VES'PER, evening.
CRISP'ER, more brittle.
TREAS'URES, wealth; riches.
MER'IT, desert; goodness.
IN HER'IT, occupy; possess.
MOR'SEL, bit; small piece.
WAIL'ING, loudly lamenting.
RAIL'ING, clamoring.
THE COMING OF WINTER.
T.B. READ.
1. Autumn's sighing,
Moaning, dying,
Clouds are flying
On like steeds;
While their shadows
O'er the meadows.
Walk like widows
Decked in weeds.
2. Red leaves trailing,
Fall unfailing,
Dropping, sailing,
From the wood,
That, unpliant,
Stands defiant,
Like a giant
Dropping blood.
3. Winds are swelling
Round our dwelling,
All day telling
Us their woe;
And, at vesper,
Frosts grow crisper,
As they whisper
Of the snow.
4. From th' unseen land,
Frozen inland,
Down from Greenland,
Winter glides,
Shedding lightness
Like the brightness
When moon-whiteness
Fills the tides.
5. Now bright Pleasure's
Sparkling measures
With rare treasures
Overflow!
With this gladness
Comes what sadness!
Oh, what madness,
Oh, what woe!
6. Even merit
May inherit
Some bare garret,
Or the ground;
Or, a worse ill,
Beg a morsel
At some door-sill,
Like a hound.
7. Storms are trailing,
Winds are wailing,
Howling, railing,
At each door.
'Midst this trailing
Howling, railing,
List the wailing
Of the poor!
QUESTIONS.--1. What is the first sign of the coming of winter? 2. What,
the second? 3. What, the third? 4. What are some of the pleasures of
winter? 5. What is said of the poor in winter? 6. What is the use of the
apostrophes in the words _autumn's, o'er, pleasure's, 'midst,_ &c.?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXI.
LIVE' LONG, whole; entire.
EAVES, edges of a roof.
E' VEN TIDE, evening.
STRIV' EN, struggled; contended.
RE LIEV' ED, mitigated; alleviated.
WRETCH' ED NESS, distress; destitution.
OF FENSE', fault; crime.
PEN' I TENCE, repentance; contrition.
EL' O QUENT LY, forcibly; persuasively.
CHILD TIRED OF PLAY.
N.P. WILLIS.
1. Tired of play`! tired of play`!
What hast thou done this livelong day`?
The birds are silent', and so is the bee`;
The sun is creeping up steeple and tree`;
The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves',
And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves';
Twilight gathers', and day is done`,--
How hast them spent it`,--restless one'?
2. Playing`? But what hast thou done beside,
To tell thy mother at eventide`?
What promise of morn is left unbroken`?
What kind word to thy playmates spoken`?
Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven`?
How with thy faults has duty striven`?
What hast thou learned by field and hill,
By greenwood path, and by singing rill`?
3. There will come an eve to a longer day',
That will find thee tired`,--but not of play'!
And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now,
With drooping limbs, and aching brow,
And wish the shadows would faster creep,
And long to go to thy quiet sleep.
_Well_ were it then, if thine aching brow
Were as free from sin and shame as now!
_Well_ for thee, if thy lip could tell
A tale like this, of _a day spent well_.
4. If thine open hand hath relieved distress',--
If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness',--
If thou hast forgiven the sore offense',
And humbled thy heart with penitence',--
If Nature's voices have spoken to thee
With her holy meanings eloquently',--
If every creature hath won thy love',
From the creeping worm to the brooding dove',--
If never a sad, low-spoken word
Hath pled with thy human heart unheard',--
_Then_`, when the night steals on, as now,
It will bring relief to thine aching brow,
And, with joy and peace at the thought of rest,
Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast.
QUESTIONS.--1. What had the child been doing? 2. What questions did the
mother ask? 3. What did she tell the child would come? 4. What is meant
by _eve to a longer day_, third verse? 5. What, by _quiet sleep_, same
verse? 6. What ought we to do in life, in order to have a joyful and
peaceful death? 7. What rule for the rising inflection on _restless
one_, first verse? See page 32, Note I. 8. What rule for the falling
inflection on _playing_, second verse? See page 29, Rule II. 9. What
rule for the rising inflections in the fourth verse? Rule V., page 31.
* * * * *
LESSON XXXII.
NORTH-EAST' ERS, north-east winds.
EX HAUST' ED, (_x_ like _gz_,) tired out.
VIG' I LANT, watchful.
DE TECT' ED, discovered.
LEE' WARD, pertaining to the part toward which the wind blows.
RE CED' ING, retiring; passing away.
BRILL' IAN CY, brightness; luster.
TILL' ER, bar used to turn the rudder.
TORT' URE, anguish of spirit.
DE SERT' ED, relinquished; abandoned.
RA PID' I TY, speed; swiftness.
EN VEL' OP ED, inclosed; covered.
GEN' ER A TED, produced.
LETH' AR GY, drowsiness; dullness.
RES' CUE, deliverance.
IN EV' I TA BLY, surely; certainly.
ES PY' ING, seeing; discovering.
CON' TACT, (CON, _together_; TAC, _touch_,) a touching together;
close union.
THE RESCUE.
BY A SEA CAPTAIN.
1. On a bright moonlight night, in the month of February, 1831, when it
was intensely cold, the little brig which I commanded, lay quietly at
her anchors, inside of Sandy Hook. We had had a hard time, beating about
for eleven days off this coast, with cutting north-easters blowing, and
snow and sleet falling for the most part of that time.
2. Forward, the vessel was thickly coated with ice, and it was hard work
to handle her; as the rigging and sails were stiff, and yielded only
when the strength of the men was exerted to the utmost. When we, at
length, made the port, all hands were worn down and exhausted.
3. "A bitter cold night, Mr. Larkin," I said to my mate, as I tarried
for a short time upon deck. The worthy down-easter buttoned his coat
more tightly around him, and, looking up to the moon, replied, "It's a
whistler, captain; and nothing can live comfortably out of blankets
to-night."
4. "The tide is running out swift and strong, and it will be well to
keep a sharp look-out for this floating ice, Mr. Larkin," said I, as I
turned to go below. "Ay, ay, sir," responded the faithful mate.
5. About two hours afterward, I was aroused from a sound sleep by the
vigilant officer. "Excuse me for disturbing you, captain," said he, as
he detected an expression of vexation in my face, "but I wish you would
turn out, and come on deck as soon as possible."
6. "What's the matter, Mr. Larkin," said I. "Why, sir, I have been
watching a large cake of ice, which swept by at a distance, a moment
ago; and I saw something black upon it, something that I thought moved.
The moon is under a cloud, and I could not see distinctly; but I believe
there is a child floating out to the sea, this freezing night, on that
cake of ice."
7. We were on deck before either spoke another word. The mate pointed
out, with no little difficulty, the cake of ice floating off to the
leeward, with its white, glittering surface broken by a black spot. "Get
the glass, Mr. Larkin," said I; "the moon will be out of that cloud in a
moment, and then we can see distinctly."
8. I kept my eye upon the receding mass of ice, while the moon was
slowly working her way through a heavy bank of clouds. The mate stood by
me with the glass; and when the full light fell upon the water with a
brilliancy only known in our northern latitudes, I put the glass to my
eye. One glance was enough.
9. (_''_)"_Forward, there!_" I hailed at the top of my voice; and, with
one bound, I reached the main hatch, and began to clear away the little
cutter, which was stowed in the ship's yawl. Mr. Larkin had taken the
glass to look for himself, "_There are two children on that cake of
ice!_" he exclaimed, as he hastened to assist me in getting out the
boat.
10. The men answered my hail, and walked quickly aft. In a short space
of time, we launched the cutter, into which Mr. Larkin and myself
jumped, followed by the two men, who took the oars. I rigged the tiller,
and the mate sat beside me in the stern sheets.
11. "Do you see that cake of ice with something black upon it, my lads?
Put me alongside of that, and I'll give you a month's extra wages when
you are paid off," said I to the men.
12. They bent to their oars, but their strokes were uneven and feeble;
for they were worn out by the hard duty of the preceding fortnight; and,
though they did their best, the boat made little more headway than the
tide. It was a losing chase, and Mr. Larkin, who was suffering torture
as he saw how little we gained, cried out, "_Pull, lads! I'll double the
captain's prize: two months' extra pay: pull, lads! pull for life!_"
13. A convulsive effort at the oars told how willing the men were to
obey; but the strength of the strong man was gone. One of the poor
fellows washed us twice in recovering his oar, and then gave out; and
the other was nearly as far gone. Mr. Larkin sprang forward and seized
the deserted oar. "Lie down in the bottom of the boat," said he to the
man; "and, captain, take the other oar; we must row for ourselves."
14. I took the second man's place. Larkin had stripped off his coat,
and, as he pulled the bow, I waited for the signal stroke. It came
gently, but firm; and the next moment we were pulling a long, steady
stroke; gradually increasing in rapidity, until the wood seemed to smoke
in the row-locks. We kept time, each by the long, deep breathing of the
other.
15. Such a pull! We bent forward until our faces almost touched our
knees; and then throwing all our strength into the backward movement,
drew on the oar until every inch covered by the sweep was gained. Thus
we worked at the oars for fifteen minutes; and it seemed to me as many
hours. The sweat rolled off in great drops, and I was enveloped in a
steam generated from my own body.
16. "Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin?" I gasped out. "Almost,
captain," said he: "and _don't give up!_ for the love of our dear little
ones at home: _don't give up_, captain!" The oars flashed as their
blades turned up to the moonlight, for the men who plied them were
fathers, and had fathers' hearts.
17. Suddenly Mr. Larkin ceased pulling; and my heart, for a moment,
almost stopped its beating; for the terrible thought that he had given
out, crossed my mind. But I was re-assured by his voice, (_p_) "Gently,
captain, gently: a stroke or two more: there, that will do;" and the
next moment Mr. Larkin sprang upon the ice. I started up, and, calling
to the men to make fast the boat to the ice, followed him.
18. We ran to the dark spot in the center of the mass, and found two
little boys. The head of the smaller was resting in the bosom of the
larger; and both were fast asleep. The lethargy, which would have been
fatal but for the timely rescue, had overcome them.
19. Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut off his shoes, tore off his
jacket, and then, loosening his own garments to the skin, placed the
cold child in contact with his own warm body, carefully wrapping his
overcoat around him. I did the same with the other child, and we then
returned to the boat.
20. The children, as we learned when we had the delight of restoring
them to their parents, were playing on the cake of ice, which had jammed
into a bend of the river, about ten miles above New York. A movement of
the tide set the ice in motion, and the little fellows were borne away,
that cold night, and would have inevitably perished, but for Mr.
Larkin's espying them as they were sweeping out to sea.
21. "How do you feel, Mr. Larkin?" I said to the mate, the morning after
this adventure. "A little stiff in the arms, captain," the noble fellow
replied, while the big tears of grateful happiness gathered in his
eyes,--"a little stiff in the arms, captain, but very easy here,"
laying his hand on the rough chest in which beat a true and manly heart.
My quaint down-easter, He who lashes the seas into fury, and lets loose
the tempest, will care for thee! The storms may rage without, but in
_thy_ bosom peace and sunshine abide always.
QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the condition of the vessel as she lay at anchor
inside Sandy Hook. 2. What did the captain say to Mr. Larkin, as he
retired to rest? 3. Why did Mr. Larkin wake up the captain? 4. What did
they discover on a cake of ice, floating out to sea? 5. Who went to
their rescue? 6. What did the captain say to the rowers of the boat? 7.
What did Mr. Larkin say to them? 8. Did they finally succeed in rescuing
the children? 9. How came the two boys to be on that cake of ice? 10.
What did Mr. Larkin say, when the captain asked him how he felt?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXIII.
A DORN' ED, decorated; embellished.
SPOILS, booty; prey.
ANT' LERS, branching horns.
SUS PEND' ED, hung; atatched.
DIS TRACT' ED, disturbed; disordered.
FU' GI TIVE, runaway; wanderer.
BE SET', hemmed in; surrounded.
TRAI' TORS, betrayers.
HEATH, place overgrown with shrubs.
LIEGE, lord; sovereign.
LOY' AL, true; faithful.
FE' AL TY, loyalty; fidelity.
MA' TRON, married woman.
REC OG NIZ' ED, knew; recollected.
IN VAD' ERS, persons invading.
ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SCOTCH WOMAN.
ANON.
1. Many years ago, an old Scotch woman sat alone, spinning by the
kitchen fire, in her little cottage. The room was adorned with the
spoils of the chase, and many implements of war and hunting. There were
spears, bows and arrows, swords, and shields; and, against the side of
the room, hung a pair of huge antlers, once reared on the lordly brow of
a "stag of ten," [Footnote: That is, a stag ten years old. The age of
the animal is known by the number of prongs or tines, each year one new
prong being added.] on which were suspended skins, plaids, bonnets, and
one or two ponderous battle-axes.
2. The table, in the middle of the floor, was spread for supper, and
some oatmeal cakes were baking before the fire. But the dame was not
thinking of any of _these things_, nor of her two manly sons, who, in an
adjoining room, were busily preparing for the next day's sport.
3. She was thinking of the distracted state of her native land, and of
the good king, Robert Bruce, a fugitive in his own kingdom, beset, on
every hand, by open enemies and secret traitors. "Alas!" thought she,
"to-night I dwell here in peace, while to-morrow may see me driven out
into the heath; and even now our king is a wanderer, with no shelter for
his weary limbs."
4. A loud knock at the door broke in upon her musings. She rose,
trembling with fear, to unbar the entrance, and beheld a man closely
muffled in a cloak. "My good woman," said he, "will you grant a poor
traveler the shelter of your roof to-night'?"
5. "Right willingly will I," said she; "for the love of _one_, for whose
sake all travelers are welcome here." 6. "For whose sake is it that you
make all wanderers welcome?" asked the stranger.
7. "For the sake of our good king, Robert Bruce, who, though he is now
hunted like a wild beast, with horn and hound, I trust yet to see on the
throne of Scotland!"
8. "Nay, then, my good woman," replied the man, "since you love him so
well, know that you see him now _I_ am Robert Bruce."
9. "_You'!_--are _you_ our king'?" she inquired, sinking on her knees,
and reverently kissing his hand; "where, then, are your followers, and
why are you thus alone?"
10. "I have no followers now," replied Bruce, "and am, therefore,
compelled to travel alone."
11. "Nay, my liege," exclaimed the loyal dame, "that you shall do no
longer; for here are my two sons, whom I give to you, and may they long
live to serve and defend your majesty!"
12. The Scottish youths bent their knees, and took the oath of fealty;
and then, sitting beside the fire, the king entered into conversation
with his new retainers, while their mother was busied in preparing the
evening meal.
13. Suddenly, they were startled by the tramp of horses' hoofs, and the
voices of men. "'_Tis the English!_" shouted the matron, "_fight to the
last, my sons, and defend your king!_" But, at this moment, the king
recognized the voices of Lord James, of Douglas, and of Edward Bruce,
and bade them have no fear.
14. Bruce was overjoyed at meeting with his brother, and his faithful
friend Douglas, who had with them a band of one hundred and fifty men.
He bade farewell to the brave and loyal woman, and, taking with him her
two sons, left the place.
15. The two young Scots served Bruce well and faithfully, and were high
officers in his service when, at the head of a conquering army, he drove
the English invaders from the soil of Scotland, and rendered her again a
_free and independent kingdom_.
QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the room in which the Scotch woman resided. 2,
What is meant by a "_stag of ten?_" 3. Who did the stranger prove to be?
4. Who joined Bruce? 5. What did Bruce and his men then do?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXIV.
PROS PER' ITY, success; good fortune.
DIG' NI FIES, elevates; ennobles.
SUS TAIN' ED, endured; suffered.
AD VERS' I TY, calamity; misfortune.
UN ERR' ING, sure; certain.
FOR LORN', forsaken; wretched.
CAN' O PY, covering overhead.
EI DER DOWN, fine, soft feathers from the eider-duck.
DE VOID', destitute.
IM MERS' ED, inwrapped; sunk.
GOS' SA MER Y, like gossamer; filmy.
RE COIL' ED, started back.
FOIL' ED, frustrated; defeated.
RO MANCE', fiction.
TRIV' I AL, small; trifling.
CON FIDE', trust; believe.
AD' VERSE, contrary; opposite.
PALM, token of victory.
ROBERT BRUCE AND THE SPIDER.
BERNARD BARTON.
1. Not in _prosperity's broad light_,
Can reason justly scan
The _sterling worth which_, viewed aright,
_Most dignifies the man_.
Favored at once by wind and tide,
The skillful pilot well may guide
The bark in safety on;
Yet, when his harbor he has gained,
He who no conflict hath sustained,
No meed has fairly won.
2. But in _adversity's dark hour_
_Of peril and of fear,_
When clouds above the vessel lower,
With scarce one star to cheer;
When winds are loud, and waves are high,
And ocean, to a timid eye,
Appears the seaman's grave;
Amid the conflict, calm, unmoved,
By truth's unerring test is proved
_The skillful and the brave._
3. For Scotland and her freedom's right
The Bruce his part had played;
_In five successive fields of fight_
_Been conquered and dismayed._
_Once more, against the English host_
_His band he led, and once more lost_
_The meed for which he fought;_
And now, from battle faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.
4. And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne;
His canopy, devoid of grace,--
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed,
Yet well I know had slumber fled
From couch of eider down;
Through darksome night to dawn of day,
Immersed in wakeful thought he lay,
Of Scotland and her crown.
5. The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.
6. Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw:
In vain the filmy line was sped;
For, powerless or untrue,
Each aim appeared and back recoiled
The patient insect, _six times foiled_,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
7. _One effort more, the seventh and last_,--
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
The slender, silken line.
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen; for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even "he who runs may read,"
That _perseverance gains its meed_,
And _patience wins the race_.
8. Is it a tale of mere romance'?
Its moral is the same,--
A light and trivial circumstance'?
Some thought, it still may claim.
Art thou a father'? teach thy son
Never to deem that _all is done_,
While _aught remains untried_;
To hope, though every hope seems crossed,
And when his bark is tempest-tossed
Still calmly to confide.
9. Hast thou been long and often foiled
(<) By adverse wind and seas'?
And vainly struggled, vainly toiled,
For what some win with ease'?
Yet bear up heart, and hope, and will,
Nobly resolved to struggle still,
With patience persevere;
Knowing, when darkest seems the night,
The dawn of morning's glorious light
Is swiftly drawing near.
10. Art thou a Christian? shall the frown
Of fortune cause dismay'?
The Bruce but won an _earthly crown_,
Which long hath passed away;
For thee a _heavenly crown_ awaits;
For thee are oped the pearly gates,--
Prepared the deathless palm:
But bear in mind that _only those_
_Who persevere unto the close,_
_Can join in Victory's psalm_.
QUESTIONS.--1. Will smooth seas and favoring gales make a skillful
mariner? 2. What will make skillful and brave men? 3. In what respect is
adversity better than prosperity? 4. What story illustrates this fact?
5. How many times did the spider try, before it succeeded? 6. In how
many battles had Bruce been defeated? 7. What important lesson is taught
youth? 8. What encouragement is given to the Christian?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXV.
PA' TRI OT' IC, having love of country.
OB SER VA' TION, remark, expression.
POP' U LAR, well received; prevailing.
E QUAL' I TY, sameness of social position.
AUD' I BLE, that may be heard.
DE TER' MIN ED, fully resolved.
HES' I TATE, scruple.
BRA' VO, well done.
BROILS, wrangles; quarrels.
RENOWN' ED, famed; celebrated.
O' DI OUS, hateful; offensive.
COUNT' ESS, wife of a count or earl.
FAG-END', the meaner part.
NO BIL' I TY, noble rank.
BUR LESQUE', (_burlesk',_) ridicule.
HE RED' I TA RY, coming by descent.
CON' STI TUTES, forms; composes.
APH' O RISMS, precepts; maxims.
TEM' PO RA RY, continuing for a time.
BECK, sign with the hand; nod.
[Headnote 1: LA VA' TER, (John Gaspar,) a celebrated physiognomist, that
is, one skilled in the art of determining character by the external
features, born in Zurich, in 1741.]
That part of this dialogue uttered by Caroline, should be read in a very
earnest and spirited style,--that uttered by Horace in a more grave,
deliberate, and candid manner.
WEALTH AND FASHION.
_Caroline_. What a pity it is that we are born under a Republican
government!
_Horace_. Upon my word, Caroline, that is a patriotic observation for an
American.
_Caroline_. Oh, I know that it is not a _popular_ one! We must all join
in the cry of liberty and equality, and bless our stars that we have
neither kings nor emperors to rule over us, and that our very first
audible squeak was republicanism. If we don't join in the shout, and
hang our caps on liberty-poles, we are considered monsters. For my part,
I am _tired_ of it, and am determined to _say what I think_. I _hate_
republicanism; I hate liberty and equality; and I don't hesitate to
_declare_ that I am for monarchy. You may laugh, but I would say it at
the stake.
_Horace_. Bravo, Caroline! You have almost run yourself out of breath.
You deserve to be prime minister to the king.
_Caroline_. You mistake; I have no wish to mingle in political broils,
not even if I could be as renowned as Pitt or Fox; but I must say, I
think our equality is _odious_. What do you think! To-day, the new
chamber-maid put her head into the door, and said, "Caroline, your marm
wants you!"
_Horace_. _Excellent!_ I suppose if ours were a _monarchical_
government, she would have bent to the ground, or saluted your little
foot, before she spoke.
_Caroline_. No, Horace; you _know_ there are no such forms in this
country.
_Horace_. May I ask your highness what you _would_ like to be?
_Caroline_. I should like to be a countess.
_Horace_. Oh, you are moderate in your ambition! A countess, now-a-days,
is the fag-end of nobility.
_Caroline_. Oh! but it sounds so delightfully,--_"The young Countess
Caroline!"_
_Horace_. If _sound_ is all, you shall have that pleasure; we will call
you _the young countess_.
_Caroline_. That would be mere burlesque, Horace, and would make one
ridiculous.
_Horace_. Nothing can be more inconsistent in us, than aiming at titles.
_Caroline_. For _us_, I grant you; but, if they were _hereditary,_ if we
had been born to them, if they came to us through belted knights and
high-born dames, _then_ we might be proud to wear them. I never shall
cease to regret that I was not born under a monarchy.
_Horace_. You seem to forget that all are not lords and ladies in
_royal_ dominions. Suppose you should have drawn your first breath among
the _lower classes_,--suppose it should have been your lot to crouch and
bend, or be trodden under foot by some titled personage, whom in your
heart you despised; what then?
_Caroline_. You may easily suppose that I did not mean to take _those_
chances. No; I meant to be born among the _higher_ ranks.
_Horace_. Your own reason must tell you, that _all_ can not be born
among the _higher ranks_; for then the _lower ones_ would be wanting,
which constitute the comparison. Now, Caroline, is it not better to be
born under a government where there are no such ranks, and where _the
only nobility is talent and virtue'?_
_Caroline_. Talent and virtue! I think _wealth_ constitutes our
nobility, and the right of abusing each other, our liberty.
_Horace_. You are as fond of aphorisms as Lavater[Headnote 1] was.
_Caroline_. Let me ask you if our rich men, who ride in their own
carriages, who have fine houses, and who count by millions, are not our
_great_ men?
_Horace_. They have all the greatness that _money_ can buy; but this is
very limited.
_Caroline_. Well, in _my_ opinion, _money is power_.
_Horace_. You mistake. Money may be _temporary power_, but _talent_ is
_power itself_; and, _when united with virtue, is godlike power_, before
which the mere man of millions quails.
_Caroline_. Well, Horace, I really wish you the possession of _talent_,
and _principle_, and _wealth_ into the bargain. The latter, you think,
will follow the two former, simply at your beck;--you smile; but _I_
feel as determined in _my_ way of thinking, as _you_ do in _yours_.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is the subject of this dialogue? 2. What did
Caroline regret? 3. What reply did Horace make? 4. What did Caroline
wish to be? 5. What did Horace say constituted true nobility?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXVI.
RE SERV'ING, keeping; retaining.
AC CU' MU LA TED, collected.
IN DIG NA' TION, angry feeling.
RE SOURC' ES, means; funds.
DIS SER TA' TION, discourse; essay.
EX PAN' SION, enlargement.
DE POS' IT ED, put; laid.
EX ER' TION (_egs er shun_,) effort.
JU DI' CIOUS, wise, prudent.
VO CA' TION, business; employment.
EU PHON' IC, agreeable; well-sounding.
CO TEM' PO RA RIES, those living at the same time.
DI GRES' SION, departure from the subject.
PRE DIC' TIONS, prophecies.
IM PELL' ED, driven forward.
AR IS TOC' RA CY, (ARISTO, _the best_; CRACY, _government_,)
government by the best, or nobles. See SANDERS' ANALYSIS,
page 200, Ex. 283.
[Headnote 1: SOC' RA TES, the most celebrated philosopher of antiquity,
was born at Athens, 470 years before Christ. The purity of his
doctrines, and his independence of character, rendered him popular with
the most enlightened Athenians, though they created him many enemies.
He was _falsely accused_, arraigned, and condemned to drink _hemlock_,
the juice of a poisonous plant. When the hour to take the poison had
come, the executioner handed him the cup, with tears in his eyes.
Socrates received it with composure, drank it with unaltered
countenance, and, in a few moments, expired.]
[Headnote 2: DE MOS' THE NES, a great Grecian orator, who, rather than
fall into the hands of his enemies, destroyed himself by taking poison.
It is said that, when a youth, he frequently declaimed on the sea-shore,
while the waves were roaring around him, in order to secure a large
compass of voice, and to accustom himself to the tumult of a popular
assembly.]
[Headnote 3: KING DA' VID, the sweet singer and poet of Israel. For the
interesting account of his triumph over Goliath, the great champion of
the Philistines, see I Sam., chap. 17.]
MY FIRST JACK-KNIFE.
1. I remember it well! Its horn handle, so smooth and clear, glowing
with the unmeaning, but magic word, "_Bunkum;_" and the blade
significantly inviting you to the test, by the two monosyllables, "_Try
me_."
2. I know not how it is, but I never could take half the comfort in any
thing which I have since possessed, that I took in this _jack-knife_. I
earned it myself; and, therefore, I had a feeling of independence; it
was bought with my _own money_,--not teazed out of my uncle, or still
kinder father,--_money_ that I had silently earned on the afternoons of
those days set apart for boys to amuse themselves.
3. Yes! with a spirit of persevering industry and self-denial, at which
I now wonder, I went, every afternoon, during "berry-time," and picked
the ripened fruit with eagerness; for my heart was in the task. I sold
my berries, and, carefully reserving the proceeds, shortly accumulated
enough to purchase the treasure, for which I so eagerly longed.
4. I went to one of the village-stores, and requested the clerk to show
me his jack-knives; but he, seeing that I was only a boy, and thinking
that I merely meant to amuse myself in looking at the nicest, and
wishing it was mine, told me not to plague him, as he was otherwise
engaged.
5. I turned with indignation; but I felt the inward comfort of a man who
has _confidence_ in his own resources, and knows he has the power in his
own hands. I quietly jingled the money in my pockets, and went to the
opposite store. I asked for jack-knives, and was shown a lot fresh from
the city, which were temptingly laid down before me, and left for me to
select one, while the trader went to another part of his store to wait
upon an older customer. I looked over them, opened them, breathed upon
the blades, and shut them again.
6. One was too hard to open, another had no spring; finally, after
examining them with all the judgment which, in my opinion, the extent of
the investment required, I selected one with a hole through the handle;
and, after a dissertation with the owner upon jack-knives in general,
and _this one_ in particular,--upon hawk-bill, and dagger-blades,--and
handles, iron, bone, and buck-horn,--I succeeded in closing a bargain.
7. I took the instrument I had purchased, and felt a sudden expansion of
my boyish frame! It was my world! I deposited it in my pocket among
other valuables,--twine, marbles, slate-pencils, &c. I went home to my
father; I told him how long I had toiled for it, and how eagerly I had
spent time, which others had allotted to play, to possess myself of my
treasure.
8. My father gently chided me for not telling him of my wants; but I
observed his glistening eye turn affectionately to my mother and then to
me, and I thought that his manly form seemed to straighten up and to
look prouder than I had ever before seen him. At any rate, he came to
me, and, patting my curly head, told me there was no object in life,
which was reasonably to be desired, that _honesty, self-denial,
well-directed industry_, and _perseverance_ would not place within my
reach; and if, through life, I carried the spirit of independent
exertion into practice, which I had displayed in the purchase of the
jack-knife, I should become a "_great man_."
9. From that moment, I was a new being. I had discovered that I could
_rely upon myself_. I took my jack-knife, and many a time, while cutting
the walnut-saplings for my bow, or the straight pine for my arrow, or
carving my mimic ship, did I muse upon these words of my father,--so
deeply are the kind expressions of a judicious parent engraven on the
heart and memory of boyhood.
10. My knife was my constant companion. It was my carpenter, my
ship-builder, and my toy-manufacturer. It was out upon all occasions,
never amiss, and always "handy;" and, as I valued it, I never let it
part from me. I own my selfishness; I would divide my apples among my
playmates, my whole store of marbles was at their service,--they might
knock my bats, kick my foot-ball as they chose; but I had no partnership
of enjoyments in my jack-knife. Its possession was connected in my mind
with something so _exclusive_, that I could not permit another to take
it for a moment. Oh! there is a wild and delicious luxury in one's
boyish anticipations and youthful day-dreams!
11. If, however, the _use_ of my jack-knife afforded me pleasure, the
idea of its possession was no less a source of enjoyment. I was, for the
time being, a little prince among my fellows,--a perfect monarch. Let no
one exclaim against aristocracy; were we all perfectly _equal to-day_,
there would be an _aristocracy to-morrow_. Talent, judgment, skill,
tact, industry, perseverance, will place some on the top, while the
contrary attributes will place others at the bottom of fortune's
ever-revolving wheel!
12. The plowman is an aristocrat, if he excels in his vocation: he is an
aristocrat, if he turns a better or a straighter furrow than his
neighbor. The poorest poet is an aristocrat, if he writes more
feelingly, in a purer language, or with more euphonic jingle than his
cotemporaries. The fisherman is an aristocrat, if he wields his harpoon
with more skill, and hurls it with a deadlier energy than his messmates,
or has even learned to fix his bait more alluringly on his barbed hook.
13. All _have_ had, and _still_ have their foibles; all have some
possession, upon which they pride themselves, and I was proud of my
jack-knife! Spirit of Socrates, [Headnote 1] forgive me! was there no
pride in dying like a philosopher'? Spirit of Demosthenes, [Headnote 2]
forgive me! was there no pride in your addresses to the boundless and
roaring ocean'? Spirit of David! [Headnote 3] was there no pride in the
deadly hurling of the smooth pebble, which sank deep into the forehead
of your enemy'?
14. But I must take my jack-knife and _cut short_ this digression. Let
no man say _this_ or _that_ occurrence "will make _no difference fifty
years hence_,"--a common, but dangerous phrase. I am _now_ a man of
three-score years. I can point my finger _here_ to my ships, _there_ to
my warehouse. My name is well known in two hemispheres. I have drank
deeply of intellectual pleasures, have served my country in many
important stations, have had my gains and my losses.
15. I have seen many, who started with fairer prospects, but with no
compass, wrecked before me; but I have been impelled in my operations,
no matter how extensive, by the _same spirit_ which conceived and
executed the purchase of the jack-knife. And I have found my reward in
it; and, perhaps, in after years, there will be those who will say that
the predictions of my father were fulfilled in their case; and that,
from _small beginnings_, by "_honesty, self-denial, well-directed
industry_, and _perseverance_," they also, BECAME TRULY "GREAT MEN."
QUESTIONS.--1. How did this boy obtain his first jack-knife? 2. What did
his father say to him, when he told how he had earned it? 3. What use
did he make of his knife? 4. What is said about _aristocracy_? 5. What
is said of this boy when he came to be three-score years old?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXVII.
COIN' ED, stamped.
BAR' TER, trade; exchange.
COM MOD' I TIES, goods; wares.
BULL'ION, uncoined silver or gold.
BUC' CA NEERS, pirates; freebooters.
IM MENSE', very great; enormous.
DAIN' TIES, delicacies.
SMALL-CLOTHES, breeches.
AT TIR' ED, dressed; arrayed.
PE' ONY, plant and beautiful flower.
PER' SON A BLE, handsome; graceful.
ES PE' CIAL LY, mainly; chiefly.
RE CEP' TA CLE, that which receives or holds.
PON' DER OUS, heavy; bulky.
RE SUM' ING, taking again.
THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS.
1. Captain John Hull was the mint-master of Massachusetts, and coined
all the money that was made there. This was a new line of business; for,
in the earlier days of the colony, the current coinage consisted of gold
and silver money of England, Portugal, and Spain.
2. These coins being scarce, the people were often forced to barter
their commodities, instead of selling them. For instance, if a man
wanted to buy a coat, he, perhaps, exchanged a bear-skin for it. If he
wished for a barrel of molasses, he might purchase it with a pile of
pine-boards. Musket-bullets were used instead of farthings.
3. The Indians had a sort of money, called _wampum_, which was made of
clam-shells; and this strange sort of specie was, likewise, taken in
payment of debts, by the English settlers. Bank-bills had never been
heard of. There was not money enough of any kind, in many parts of the
country, to pay the salaries of the ministers; so that they sometimes
had to take quintals of fish, bushels of corn, or cords of wood, instead
of silver or gold.
4. As the people grew more numerous, and their trade one with another
increased, the want of current money was still more sensibly felt. To
supply the demand, the general court passed a law for establishing a
coinage of shillings, sixpences, and threepences. Captain John Hull was
appointed to manufacture this money, and was to have _one shilling_, out
of every twenty, to pay him for the trouble of making them.
5. Hereupon, all the old silver in the colony was handed over to Captain
John Hull. The battered silver cans, and tankards, and silver-buckles,
and broken spoons, and silver-buttons of worn-out coats, and silver
hilts of swords that had figured at courts,--all such curious old
articles were, doubtless, thrown into the melting-pot together. But by
far the greater part of the silver consisted of bullion from the mines
of South America, which the English buccaneers, (who were little better
than pirates,) had taken from the Spaniards, and brought to
Massachusetts.
6. All this old and new silver being melted down and coined, the result
was an immense amount of splendid shillings, sixpences, and threepences.
Each had the date, 1652, on the one side, and the figure of a
_pine-tree_ on the other. Hence, they were called _pine-tree shillings_.
And, for every _twenty shillings_ that he coined, you will remember,
Captain John Hull was entitled to put _one shilling_ into his own
pocket.
7. The magistrates soon began to suspect that the mint-master would have
the best of the bargain. They offered him a large sum of money, if he
would but give up that _twentieth shilling_, which he was continually
dropping into his own pocket. But Captain Hull declared himself
perfectly satisfied with the shilling. And well he might be; for, so
diligently did he labor, that, in a few years, his pockets, his
money-bags, and his strong box, were overflowing with pine-tree
shillings. This was probably the case when he came into possession of
Grandfather's chair; and, as he had worked so hard at the mint, it was
certainly proper that he should have a comfortable chair to rest himself
in.
8. When the mint-master had grown very rich, a young man, Samuel Sewell
by name, fell in love with his only daughter. His daughter, whom we will
call Betsey, was a fine, hearty damsel, by no means so slender as some
young ladies of our own days. As Samuel was a young man of good
character, industrious in his business, and a member of the church, the
mint-master very readily gave his consent.
9. "Yes; you may take her," said he, in his rough way; "and you'll find
her a heavy burden enough!" On the wedding-day, we may suppose that
honest John Hull dressed himself in a plum-colored coat, all the buttons
of which were made of pine-tree shillings. The buttons of his waistcoat
were sixpences; and the knees of his small-clothes were buttoned with
silver threepences.
10. Thus attired, he sat with great dignity in Grandfather's chair; and,
being a portly old gentleman, he completely filled it from elbow to
elbow. On the opposite side of the room, between her bridemaids, sat
Miss Betsey, blushing like a full-blown peony.
11. There, too, was the bridegroom, dressed in a fine purple coat, and
gold-lace waistcoat, with as much other finery as the Puritan laws and
customs would allow him to put on. His hair was cropped close to his
head, because Governor Endicott had forbidden any man to wear it below
the ears. But he was a very personable young man; and so thought the
bridemaids and Miss Betsey herself.
12. The mint-master, also, was pleased with his new son-in-law;
especially as he had courted Miss Betsey out of pure love, and had said
nothing at all about her portion. So, when the marriage ceremony was
over, Captain Hull whispered a word to two of his men-servants, who
immediately went out, and soon returned, lugging in a large pair of
scales. They were such a pair as wholesale merchants use for weighing
bulky commodities; and quite a bulky commodity was now to be weighed in
them.
13. "Daughter Betsey," said the mint-master, "get into one side of these
scales." Miss Betsey, or Mrs. Sewell, as we must now call her, did as
she was bid, like a dutiful child, without any question of the why and
wherefore. But what her father could mean, unless to make her husband
pay for her by the pound, (in which case she would have been a dear
bargain,) she had not the least idea.
14. "And now," said honest John Hull to the servants, "bring that box
hither." The box, to which the mint-master pointed, was a huge, square,
iron-bound, oaken chest. The servants tugged with might and main; but
could not lift this enormous receptacle, and were finally obliged to
drag it across the floor.
15. Captain Hull then took a key from his girdle, unlocked the chest,
and lifted its ponderous lid. Behold! _it was full to the brim of bright
pine-tree shillings_, fresh from the mint; and Samuel Sewell began to
think that his father-in-law had got possession of all the money in the
Massachusetts' treasury. But it was only the mint-master's honest share
of the coinage.
16. Then the servants, at Captain Hull's command, heaped double handfuls
of shillings into one side of the scales, while Betsey remained in the
other. Jingle, jingle, went the shillings, as handful after handful was
thrown in, till, plump and ponderous as she was, they fairly weighed the
young lady from the floor.
17. "There, son Samuel," said the honest mint-master, resuming his seat
in Grandfather's chair, "take these shillings for my daughter's portion.
Use her kindly, and thank Heaven for her. _It is not every wife that's
worth her weight in silver!_"
QUESTIONS.--1. What was Captain John Hull's business? 2. What portion of
the money coined, was he to receive? 3. How did he get silver to coin?
4. Describe the shillings he coined. 5. How did he become wealthy? 6.
Describe his dress on his daughter's wedding-day. 7. What did he say to
his son-in-law, after weighing her with shillings?
* * * * *
LESSON XXXVIII.
LODG' ES, dens; caves.
MAR' VEL OUS, wonderful.
TIP' PED, pointed.
HERD, gather in herds.
FA' MOUS, noted; remarkable.
ROE' BUCK, small species of deer.
STRAIGHT' WAY, immediately.
E RECT', upright.
FROL' IC, fun; play.
FORD, place where water can be waded.
FLECK' ED, spotted; striped.
FLUT' TER ED, quivered.
PAL' PI TA TED, beat; throbbed.
WA' RY, watchful; cautious.
FA' TAL, deadly; mortal.
EX ULT' ED, (_x_ like _gz_,) greatly rejoiced.
HIAWATHA'S HUNTING.
LONGFELLOW.
This lesson is taken from "The Song of Hiawatha," a poem, founded upon
traditions current among some tribes of North American Indians,
respecting an imaginary being of more than mortal powers and gifts,
named Hiawatha. The scene of the poem is laid among the Ojibways, or
Chippewas, a tribe of Indians, occupants, from the period of our
earliest history, of the basin of Lake Superior.
1.
Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in summer,
Where they hid themselves in winter,
Talked with them where'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's chickens."
2.
Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's brothers."
3.
Then Ia'goo, the great boaster,
He, the marvelous story-teller,
He, the traveler and the talker,
Made a bow for Hiawatha;
From a branch of ash he made it,
From an oak-bough made the arrows,
Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers,
And the cord he made of deer-skin.
4.
Then he said to Hiawatha,
"Go, my son, into the forest,
Where the red deer herd together,
Kill for us a famous roebuck,
Kill for us a deer with antlers."
Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly with his bow and arrows.
5.
And the birds sang round him, o'er him
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha."
Sang the robin, sang the bluebird,
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha."
Up the oak-tree, close beside him,
Sprang the squirrel, lightly leaping
In and out among the branches;
Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree,
Laughed, and said between his laughing,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha."
6.
And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and, at a distance,
Sat erect upon his haunches,
Half in fear, and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha."
7.
But he heeded not nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he.
8.
Hidden in the alder bushes,
There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw too antlers lifted,
Saw two eyes look from the thicket,
Saw two nostrils point to windward,
And the deer came down the pathway,
Flecked with leafy light and shadow.
And his heart within him fluttered,
Trembled like the leaves above him,
Like the birch leaf palpitated,
As the deer came down the pathway.
9.
Then, upon one knee uprising,
Hiawatha aimed an arrow;
Scarce a twig moved with his motion,
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,
But the wary roebuck started,
Stamped with all his hoofs together,
Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow;
Ah, the singing, fatal arrow,
Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him.
10.
Dead he lay there in the forest,
By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer;
But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed, and shouted, and exulted,
As he bore the red deer homeward.
* * * * *
LESSON XXXIX.
TRAIL, track; footprints.
IN' DICATED, pointed out; shown.
MURK' Y, dark; gloomy.
FLAM' BEAU, (_flam' bo_,) lighted torch.
RE FLECT' ING, throwing back.
LU' RID LY, gloomily; dismally.
SUS PECT' ING, mistrusting.
AS SAIL' ANTS, assaulters.
ECH' O, (_ek' o_,) sound reverberated.
RE LAPS' ED, fell back; returned.
EN VEL' OPED, inwrapped.
SUF FO CATED, smothered.
BRAND' ISHING, flourishing; waving.
RIG' ID, stiff.
BIV' OUAC, (_biv' wak_,) pass the night without tents.
PEER' ED, came in sight; appeared.
DE CLIV' I TY, gradual descent.
PRO LONG' ED, lengthened; continued.
COM' RADE, companion; associate.
A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH A PANTHER.
BOY'S BOOK OF ADVENTURES.
1. I had left the hunting party more than an hour, when I came upon the
track of my old friend Konwell, who was, with his dogs, on the bloody
trail of a panther. The animal must have had one of his legs broken;
this was indicated by the marks on the soft ground; and it was plain
that the tracks were made by three feet instead of four, and accompanied
by blood at every leap.
2. I determined to follow; and, after a tramp of nearly an hour, I
overtook my friend at the entrance of a cavern, where he stood waiting
for me. The wounded animal had taken refuge in this cave, leaving us to
do whatever we thought best. The poor beast doubtless supposed that
within this murky recess he was safe from pursuit; but he was mistaken.
Konwell informed me that he had hidden a bundle of pine splinters in a
gulley, about half a mile distant, and that if I would keep guard over
the mouth of the cave, he would go and bring it.
3. I agreed to this measure; and, with ready gun and drawn knife,
prepared for any attack that might be made. I lay down at the entrance
of the panther's cave. My friend soon returned, bringing the pine, as he
had promised. His next movement was to kindle a large fire at the mouth
of the cave, at which we lighted our torches; and, having taken the
flambeaus in our left hand, while we carried our guns in the right, we
cautiously entered the cave. I crept on before; but the space within
soon became so high and roomy, that we could stand upright, and keep
close to each other.
4. Bending toward the left, the cavity extended a considerable distance
within the hill. After we had advanced about two hundred steps, we saw
the glaring eyes of the wounded beast, which gleamed forth like two
fiery balls, reflecting most luridly the light of our torches. Konwell
now took my flambeau and stepped behind me. I leveled my gun in the
direction of those flaming eyes, and fired. After the report, we heard a
bustle; but could not exactly make out what it meant.
5. I reloaded my gun, resumed my torch, and Konwell now took his place
in front. But, as those flaming eyes were no longer to be seen, we felt
obliged to go farther. Our guns ready loaded, we believed ourselves to
be prepared for anything. We proceeded carefully, as men are likely to
do when suspecting danger, when, instantly, the panther started up from
a hollow, in which he was lying, quite close to our feet.
6. It was a fearful sight to look upon him as he stood with ears laid
back, his white teeth set together, as if in intense anger, and those
wide open eyes glowing and sparkling as they rested upon us, his
assailants. I can never forget his appearance. In a moment our guns were
discharged, and the cave returned the thundering echo. We had both fired
so precisely at the same moment, that neither of us could believe the
other had discharged his gun.
7. We were certain that our enemy had been struck, but we knew not
whether killed or only disabled. Quick as thought, we dropped our guns
and drew our knives from the sheath. And haste was necessary; for the
echo had not relapsed into silence, before we felt the weight of the
panther against us; and we began cutting at him with our knives, and, at
the same moment, in consequence of our hurried movements, our torches
died out, and we were left in utter darkness.
8. Deafened by the noise and utterly bewildered, I turned to fly from
the now raging enemy, and only became perfectly aware of what I was
doing, when I found myself standing beside Konwell outside the cave in
the open air. I only know now, that, enveloped in thick darkness, and
almost suffocated with the smoke of gunpowder, I groped about, not
knowing what I wished or intended; and that Konwell, at last, drew me
forcibly to the mouth of the cave.
9. There we stood, each one brandishing his hunting-knife in his right
hand, and holding the extinguished torch in the left; as we looked on
each other, we scarcely knew whether to laugh or to be frightened at the
strange figures we made. We were black with powder-smoke, covered with
sweat and blood, and our clothing torn to rags.
10. Konwell complained of a pain in his breast. I opened the bosom of
his shirt, and found two deep gashes made by the panther's claws,
extending from the left shoulder to the pit of the stomach. I also
received a few scratches, but our stout hunting-shirts were torn to
shreds.
11. Until this moment, neither of us had felt that he was wounded; and
even now, before we began to think of dressing those wounds, we made a
large fire at the mouth of the cavern, in order to prevent the panther
from coming forth. This done, we sat down beside the genial blaze to
wash and bind up our scratches, and consult on what plan it was now best
to proceed.
12. That the panther was still in the cave we were certain; but, whether
living or dead, we did not know; at all events, he was wounded; for our
hunting-knives were covered with blood quite up to the hilt. But we had
no choice left; we must return; for our guns and Konwell's powder-flask,
which the animal dragged off with him, still lay within the cavern. We
therefore plucked up new courage; and, having relighted our torches, we
brandished our knives, and prepared, though not without some heart
throbbings, once more to enter the panther's den.
13. With light and cautious steps, lest we might be as unpleasantly
surprised as we had been when we made our hasty retreat, we advanced,
holding our torches before us, to the spot where we had dropped our
guns, and without meeting with any hinderance from our enemy. Once more
in possession of our trusty weapons, we reloaded them, and stepped
forward with lighter hearts, yet still with great caution, when Konwell
exclaimed, as he raised the flaming pine high above his head, and
pointed with it in a certain direction, "_See! there he is!_"
14. This was the first word that had been spoken since we reentered the
cavern. I looked in the indicated direction, and there, indeed, lay the
panther, stretched out at full length, but no longer dangerous. His eyes
were set, his limbs were rigid,--the last agony was over. We skinned and
cut him up as he lay. All three bullets had struck him, and both knives
penetrated his body; and it must have been in the death-struggle that he
leaped upon us.
15. When our work was ended, and we again came to the open air, the sun
was low in the horizon, and all haste was necessary that we should set
out on our forest-path without further delay. Our wounds smarted not a
little, and, although we took time once more to wash them, they became
so stiff that our progress was both toilsome and tedious. We soon became
convinced that we should not succeed in reaching our companions while
daylight remained, and we determined to bivouac for the night, at the
foot of a rocky declivity, which promised a good shelter from the
cutting wind.
16. To add to our discomfort, hunger began to make itself painfully
felt; but this was soon overpowered by weariness, and, having gathered
up the dry pine branches, we kindled up a good fire, and, without
troubling ourselves to prepare any thing for supper, we stretched
ourselves on the grass before it, and found the warmth most grateful.
17. Worn out by the toils of the day, in a few minutes Konwell was fast
asleep; but, although much inclined to follow his example, I was
prevented by the restlessness of my dog, which seemed to wish to warn me
of the presence of danger. The faithful animal, cringing closely to me,
laid his nose on my shoulder, raising his head from time to time, and
whined, as though he wished to communicate something, and then, for a
few moments, would remain quiet. Then, suddenly, he would rise up as in
the attitude of listening, occasionally uttering a low growl.
18. Completely awakened by this strange behavior on the part of my
faithful dog, it seemed to me as if I heard a slight rustling among the
dry bushes; and, rising up to a half-sitting posture, I looked toward
the rock behind me, and, to my great astonishment, became aware of a
pair of glaring eyes fastened upon me. As my head was between the fire
and those fearful eyes, I could plainly distinguish the fiery balls as,
reflected on by the red light, they peered above the naked rocks.
19. It was a panther, and evidently, from the position in which I saw
it, was ready for a spring. Happily on this, as on every other night, my
trusty gun lay close beside me. I seized it, and, half-rising, so that
the fire behind me afforded light for a steady aim, I leveled it exactly
between the eyes. I fired, the bullet sped on its deadly errand, and the
crack of the noble rifle, thundering against the steep rocks, returned
with loud and prolonged echo.
20. Konwell, to whom the report of a gun was ever the sweetest music,
now started up, as if roused by an electric shock, and grasped his gun.
The dog continued his barking, smelling all around, and looking in my
face as if to inquire in what direction he should go. There was no
rustling movement on the rock, and the bullet must have taken effect.
21. Konwell shook his head as he inquired, "Why I had shot?" Without
answering, I began to reload my gun: this finished, I took up a blazing
pine brand from the fire, and proceeded to climb the steep wall of rock,
that raised itself like a barrier, about twenty steps distant from the
spot upon which we rested. Here I found an old panther, the largest I
had ever seen, lying dead--my well-directed bullet had finished him. I
flung the body over the rock, and my old comrade dragged him to the
fire.
22. The ball had struck him directly in the right eye, passing through
the brain. He was a fearful-looking animal, with terrible teeth and
claws, and the more to be dreaded, as, when we cut him up, his stomach
was found entirely empty. I believed that hunger had driven him so close
to the fire; but Konwell thought he had scented the fresh venison we had
with us. Be that as it may, there was little doubt but that he would
have made a leap, as soon as the intervening fire had burned down; to
its friendly presence, therefore, on this occasion, as a means of
Providence, we owed our lives.
QUESTIONS.--1. What had Konwell driven into a den? 2. What preparation
did he make, before entering into the cavern? 3. How far had the men
proceeded before they saw the panther? 4. Describe the appearance of the
panther, as they came near him after the first shot? 5. What did the
panther do after the men both fired at him? 6. Did they finally succeed
in killing the panther? 7. Describe the manner in which they killed
another panther.
* * * * *
LESSON XL.
RAP' IDs, part of a river where the current is swift.
TUR' BU LENCE, violent agitation.
HELM, instrument for steering a vessel.
EX CUR' SION, tour; ramble.
A HOY', sea term used in hailing a vessel.
QUAFF, drink largely.
HOIST, raise; lift up.
BLAS PHEM' ING, uttering impious language.
SHRIEK' ING, screaming; crying out.
THE POWER OF HABIT.
JOHN B. GOUGH.
1. I remember once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Palls. I said to a
gentleman, "What river is that, sir?" "That," said he, "is Niagara
river."
2. "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bright, and fair, and
glassy. How far off are the rapids?" "Only a mile or two," was the
reply.
3. "Is it _possible_ that only a mile from us, we shall find the water
in the turbulence which it must show near the Falls'?"
"You will find it so, sir." And so I found it; and the first sight of
Niagara I shall never forget.
4. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river; it is bright, smooth,
beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the silver wake you
leave behind, adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars,
sails, and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure
excursion.
5. Suddenly, some one cries out from the bank, "_Young men, ahoy!_"
"What is it?"
"_The rapids are below you!_"
6. "Ha! ha! we have heard of the rapids; but we are not such fools as to
get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm, and steer
to the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and
speed to the land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed,--there is no
danger."
7. "Young men, ahoy there!"
"What is it?"
"_The rapids are below you!_"
8. "Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we
for the future! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil
thereof. We will enjoy life while we may,--will catch pleasure as it
flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to steer out of danger when we are
sailing swiftly with the current."
9 (_ff._) "YOUNG MEN, AHOY!"
"What is it?"
"BEWARE! BEWARE! THE RAPIDS ARE BELOW YOU!"
10. "Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass
that point! Up with the helm! Now turn! Pull hard! (=) Quick! quick!
quick! pull for your lives! pull till the blood starts from your
nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon your brow! Set the
mast in the socket! hoist the sail! (_sl._) Ah! ah! it is too late!
Shrieking, howling, blaspheming; over they go."
11. Thousands go over the rapids of intemperance every year, through
_the power of habit_, crying all the while, "_When I find out that it_
[Footnote: Temperate drinking.] _is injuring me, I will give it up!_"
QUESTIONS.--1. Where are the Niagara Falls? 2. How does the water appear
just above the Falls? 3. How does it appear farther up? 4. What reply
are the young men represented as making, when first told the rapids were
below them? 5. What, when told the second time? 6. What must they do, to
escape destruction? 7. What is said of _the power of habit?_
* * * * *
LESSON XLI.
BE SOT' TED, stupefied.
BUR LESQU' ED, mocked; derided.
DE FI' ED, set at defiance.
CHER' ISH ED, fostered; encouraged.
STREW' ED, scattered; spread.
LIV' ID, discolored; black and blue.
MIR' ROR ED, reflected, as in a glass.
RE VEAL' INGS, disclosures.
PLIGHT' ED, pledged.
FOR SWORN', perjured.
STAMP' ED, impressed; fixed deeply.
BLIGHT, blasting disease.
A TONE', make reparation.
PRO CLAIM' ED, openly declared.
LOATHE, detest; abhor.
BEV' ER AGE, drink.
These verses should be read in a firm, half-indignant, yet imploring
tone of voice,--except the last verse, which should be expressed in a
very decided and impassioned manner.
THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER.
[Footnote: These beautiful and touching verses were written by a young
lady, in reply to a friend who had called her a monomaniac on the
subject of temperance.]
1. Go, feel what I have felt,
Go, bear what I have borne;
Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt,
And the cold, proud world's scorn;
Thus struggle on from year to year,
Thy sole relief,--the scalding tear.
2. Go, weep as I have wept,
O'er a loved father's fall,
See every cherished promise swept,--
Youth's sweetness turned to gall;
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way
That led me up to woman's day.
3. Go, kneel as I have knelt;
Implore, beseech, and pray,
Strive the besotted heart to melt,
The downward course to stay;
Be cast with bitter curse aside,--
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied.
4. Go, stand where I have stood,
And see the strong man bow;
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood,
And cold and livid brow;
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see
There mirrored, his soul's misery.
5. Go, hear what I have heard,--
The sobs of sad despair,
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred,
And its revealings there
Have told him what he might have been,
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen.
6. Go to my mother's side,
And her crushed spirit cheer;
Thine own deep anguish hide,
Wipe from her cheek the tear;
Mark her dimmed eye,--her furrowed brow,
The gray that streaks her dark hair now;
Her toil-worn frame, her trembling limb,
And trace the ruin back to him
Whose plighted faith, in early youth,
Promised eternal love and truth;
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
That promise to the deadly cup,
And led her down from love and light,
From all that made her pathway bright,
And chained her there 'mid want and strife,
That lowly thing,--_a drunkard's wife!_
And stamped on childhood's brow so mild,
That withering blight, _a drunkard's child!_
7. Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know,
All that _my soul_ hath felt and known,
Then look upon the wine-cup's glow;
See if its brightness can atone;
Think if its flavor you will try,
If all proclaimed, "_'Tis drink and die!_"
8. Tell me I _hate_ the bowl;
_Hate_ is a feeble word:
(f.) _I loathe_, ABHOR,--_my very soul_
_With strong disgust is stirred_,
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell,
Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELL!!
QUESTIONS.--1. By whom was this poetry written? 2. What circumstance
induced her to write it? 3. What is the meaning of _monomaniac?_ Ans.
One who is deranged in a single faculty of the mind, or with regard to a
particular subject, the other faculties being in regular exercise. 4.
What reasons does she assign for her hatred of alcoholic drink? 5. What
does she say of her mother? 6. With what tone of voice should the last
verse be read? See page 40, Rule 4. 7. Why are some words and sentences
printed in Italics and Capitals? See page 22, Note III.
* * * * *
LESSON XLII.
REC' ORDS, accounts; minutes.
AD VENT' URES, doings; strange occurences.
EN CUM' BER, load; clog.
GRAT I FI CA' TION, indulgence.
SCHEME, plan; progress.
DE LIB ER A' TION, thought; consideration.
LUX U RI OUS, pleasure-loving.
EX PE DI' TION, tour; enterprise.
MO ROSE', sour; ill-humored.
RE VOLT' ING, disgusting; abhorrent.
CON TEM' PLATE, consider; think upon.
REL' IC, remains.
IN VES' TI GATE, examine; look into.
AC COM' PLISH ED, effected.
PIC TUR ESQUE', (_pikt yur esk'_)grand; beautiful; picture-like.
THE TWO YOUNG TRAVELERS.
MERRY'S MUSEUM.
1. Horace and Herman, two young men who were friends, set out to travel
in distant countries. Before they departed, each had formed a _plan_ of
proceeding. Horace determined to give himself up entirely to
_pleasure,_--to go wherever his humor might dictate,--and to keep no
records of his adventures. In short, he resolved to _enjoy himself_ as
much as possible, and, by no means, to encumber his mind with cares,
duties, or troubles of any kind.
2. Herman was as fond of amusement as Horace; but the _mode_ he adopted
for the gratification of his wishes, was quite different. In the first
place, he made out a scheme of his travels: he procured maps, read
books, and, after mature deliberation, adopted a certain route, as most
likely to afford him pleasure as well as instruction.
3. In the formation of this plan, he spent several weeks; and, in this
occupation, he found quite as much satisfaction as he afterwards did in
traveling. Thus he obtained one great advantage over his idle and
luxurious friend, who foolishly thought that the essence of enjoyment
lay in freedom from thought, restraint, and toil. Even before they set
out on their journey, Herman had actually found nearly as _much_
pleasure as Horace received in the whole course of his expedition.
4. The two young men started together; and, as there were then no canals
or railroads, they both set out on foot. They had not proceeded far
before they separated,--Horace taking one road and Herman another.
5. After the lapse of three years, they both returned; but what a
difference between them! Horace was morose and dissatisfied; he had seen
a good deal of the world, but, as he had traveled with no other design
than to _gratify himself_ from hour to hour, he had soon exhausted the
cup of pleasure, and found nothing at the bottom but the bitter dregs of
discontent.
6. He pursued pleasure, till, at last, he found the pursuit to be
distasteful and revolting. He grew tired even of amusement. He indulged
his tastes, humors, and passions, until indulgence itself was
disgusting. When he returned to his friends, he had laid up nothing in
his memory, by the relation of which he could amuse them; he had kept no
record of things he had seen; he brought back no store of pleasing and
useful recollections for himself, or others. Such was the result of
three years' travel for pleasure.
7. It was quite otherwise with Herman. Adhering to his plans, he visited
a great many places, and, each day, he recorded in his journal what he
had seen. Whenever he met with an interesting object, he stopped to
contemplate it. If it was some aged relic, famous in history, he took
pains to investigate its story, and to write it down. If it was an
object of interest to the eye, he made a sketch of it in a book which he
kept for that purpose.
8. In this way, Herman accomplished three good objects. In the first
place, by taking pleasure in a moderate way, and mixing with it a little
toil and industry, he prevented that cloying surfeit which, at last,
sickened and disgusted Horace.
9. In the second place, he greatly increased his enjoyments by the plan
he adopted. Merely executing a plan is agreeable, and a source of great
pleasure. It is natural to derive happiness from following out a
design,--from seeing, hour by hour, day by day, how results come about,
in conformity to our intentions.
10. But _this_ was not the _only_ advantage which Herman received from
his system. The very toil he bestowed; the investigations he made; the
pleasant thoughts and curious knowledge that were unfolded to his mind;
the excitement he found in his exertions; the pleasure he took in
drawing picturesque scenes; _all_ constituted a rich harvest of
pleasure, which was wholly denied to Horace.
11. Thus it was that labor and industry, exerted in carrying out a plan,
afforded the young traveler a vast deal of gratification. The very
things that Horace looked upon as hateful, were, in fact, the sources of
his friend's most permanent enjoyment.
12. In the third place, Herman had come back laden with rich stores of
knowledge, observation, and experience. Not only was his journal rich in
tales, legends, scenes, incidents, and historical records, but in
putting these things down on paper, his memory had been improved, and he
had acquired the habit of observing and remembering. His mind was full
of pleasant things, and nothing could be more interesting than to hear
him tell of his travels, and of what he had seen.
13. While Horace was dull, silent, and sour, Herman was full of
conversation, life, and interest. The one was happy', the other
unhappy`; one was agreeable', the other disagreeable`; one had exhausted
the cup of pleasure', the other seemed always to have the cup full and
sparkling before him`. It was agreed on all hands that Horace was a
disagreeable person, and everybody shunned him; while Herman was
considered by all a most agreeable companion, and everybody sought his
society.
14. So much for the two travelers; _one_, a luxurious lover of pleasure,
who thought only of the passing moment, and, in his folly, abused and
threw away his powers of enjoyment; the _other_, a lover of pleasure
also; but who pursued it moderately, with a wise regard to the future,
and careful attention, every day, to the rules of duty; and who thus
secured his true happiness.
QUESTIONS.--1. What plan had Horace determined to pursue while
traveling? 2. What was Herman's plan? 3. What is said of Horace, after
his return? 4. How was it with Herman? 5. What is said of the two in
contrast? 6. What effect has the emphasis on the place of the accent in
the words _unhappy_ and _disagreeable_, 13th paragraph? See page 22,
note V.
* * * * *
LESSON XLIII.
IM' PORT, meaning.
GROV' EL ING, mean; creeping.
A CHIEVE' MENT, performance.
AS PI RA' TION, wish; ardent desire.
SAN' GUINE, ardent; hopeful.
RE' AL IZ ED, attained.
IN SPI RA' TION, natural impulse.
STATE' LI NESS, dignity: majesty.
AD VENT' TUR OUS, daring; enterprising.
EX UL TA' TION, (_x_ like _gz_,) triumph.
RI' VALS, competitors.
DIG' NI TY, elevation; majesty.
OR' A CLES, wise words or sentences.
A' PEX, hight; summit.
TEN' E MENT, dwelling; _here means_, the body.
AD MON' ISH. warn.
RAPT' UR OUS, joyous; ecstatic.
AN TIC I PA' TION, foretaste.
PHI LOS' O PHY, (PHILO, _love_; SOPHY, _wisdom_,) love of wisdom;
reason of things. See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 236,
Ex. 334
HIGHER!
1. HIGHER! It is a word of noble import. It lifts the soul of man from
low and groveling pursuits, to the achievement of great and noble deeds,
and ever keeps the object of his aspiration in view, till his most
sanguine expectations are fully realized.
2. HIGHER! lisps the infant that clasps its parent's knee, and makes its
feeble effort to rise from the floor. It is the first inspiration of
childhood to burst the narrow confines of the cradle, and to exercise
those feeble, tottering limbs, which are to walk forth in the
stateliness of manhood.
3. HIGHER! echoes the proud school-boy in his swing; or, as he climbs
the tallest tree of the forest, that he may look down upon his less
adventurous comrades with a flush of exultation,--and abroad over the
fields, the meadows, and his native village.
4. HIGHER! earnestly breathes the student of philosophy and nature. He
has a host of rivals; but he must excel them all. The midnight oil burns
dim; but he finds light and knowledge in the lamps of heaven, and his
soul is never weary, when the last of them is hid by the splendors of
the morning.
5. And HIGHER! his voice thunders forth, when the dignity of manhood has
mantled his form, and the multitude is listening with delight to his
oracles, burning with eloquence, and ringing like true steel in the
cause of _Freedom_ and _Right_. And when time has changed his locks to
silver,--when the young and the old unite to do him honor, he still
breathes forth from his generous heart fond wishes for their welfare.
6. HIGHER YET! He has reached the apex of earthly honor; yet his spirit
burns as warm as in youth, though with a steadier and purer light. And
even now, while his frail tenement begins to admonish him, that "the
time of his departure is at hand," he looks forward, with rapturous
anticipation, to the never-fading glory, attainable only in the presence
of the Most High.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the word _Higher_, first paragraph? 2.
When does the school-boy say Higher? 3. What is said of the student? 4.
What, when he arrives at manhood? 5. What, when he becomes old? 6. Where
is the passage within the quotation to be found? Ans. 2 Timothy, 4th
chapter, 6th verse.
* * * * *
LESSON XLIV.
IN TENS' ER, more fervent.
STUB' BORN, unyielding; rugged.
DEEM, think; imagine.
OLD' EN, old; ancient.
CLINGS, sticks; adheres closely.
GAL' LANT, fine; noble.
YAWN' ING, wide-opening.
FU' RY, rage; madness.
RAVE, rage; become furious.
HEC' TIC, habitual; continuous.
MEN' TAL, intellectual.
WIELD, sway; exert.
PRIV' I LEGE, right; opportunity.
DOW' ER, gift; portion.
LABOR.
[Footnote: These lines were suggested by the simple incident of an
industrious wood-sawyer's reply to a man who told him that _his was a
hard work_. "Yes, it is hard, to be sure; but _it is harder to do
nothing_," was his answer.]
CAROLINE F. ORNE.
1. Ho, ye who at the anvil toil, And strike the sounding blow, Where,
from the burning iron's breast, The sparks fly to and fro, While
answering to the hammer's ring, And fire's intenser glow!--Oh, while ye
feel 'tis hard to toil And sweat the long day through, Remember, it is
harder still _To have no work to do!_
2. Ho, ye who till the stubborn soil, Whose hard hands guide the plow,
Who bend beneath the summer sun, With burning cheek and brow!--Ye deem
the curse still clings to earth From olden time till now; But, while ye
feel 'tis hard to toil And labor all day through, Remember, it is harder
still _To have no work to do_!
3. Ho, ye who plow the sea's blue field, Who ride the restless wave,
Beneath whose gallant vessel's keel There lies a yawning grave, Around
whose bark the wint'ry winds Like fiends of fury rave!--Oh, while ye
feel 'tis hard to toil And labor long hours through, Remember, it is
harder still _To have no work to do!_ 4 Ho, ye upon whose fevered cheeks
The hectic glow is bright, Whose mental toil wears out the day, And half
the weary night, Who labor for the souls of men, Champions of truth and
right!--Although ye feel your toil is hard, Even with this glorious
view, Remember, it is harder still _To have no work to do!_ 5. Ho, all
who labor,--all who strive Ye wield a lofty power; Do with your might,
do with your strength, Fill every golden hour! The glorious privilege
_to do_ Is man's most noble dower. Oh, to your birthright and yourselves
To your own souls be true! A weary, wretched life is theirs, _Who have
no work to do!_
QUESTIONS.--1. What incident suggested these thoughts to the writer? 2.
Who toil at the anvil? 3. Who till the stubborn soil? 4. Who plow the
sea's blue wave? 5. Who toil mentally? 6. Who labor for the souls of
men? 7. What is man's most noble dower? 8. What is said to all these
different laborers? 9. What is the meaning of the suffix _less_ in the
word _restless?_ See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 140, Ex. 187.
* * * * *
LESSON XLV.
E LIC' IT, draw forth.
IN TEL' LI GENT, knowing; well-informed.
RE FRAIN, hold in, or keep back.
IG NO RA' MUS, ignorant person.
RE TORT', reply; answer back.
IN DEL' I BLY, in a way not to be effaced.
MYS' TE RIES, profound secrets.
AB SORB' ED, engrossed; occupied.
MOR TI FI CA' TION, deep disappointment.
OB STA CLE, hinderance; impediment.
RE VOLT ED, shrank back.
POR' ING, earnestly perusing.
EM I NENCE, distinction.
IN FOR MA' TION, knowledge.
IL LIT' ER ATE, ignorant; unlearned.
PRO FES' SION, business; employment.
DIS' CI PLIN ED trained; instructed.
CON TEMPT' U OUS, scornful; hateful.
AN TAG' O NIST, opponent; adversary.
THE AMBITIOUS APPRENTICE.
1. "How far is it from here to the sun?" asked Harmon Lee of his
father's apprentice, James Wallace, intending by the question to elicit
some reply that would exhibit the boy's ignorance.
2. James Wallace, a boy of fourteen, turned his bright, intelligent eyes
upon the son of his employer, and replied, "I don't know, Harmon. How
far is it?"
3. There was something so honest and earnest in the tone of the boy,
that, much as Harmon had felt disposed, at first, to sport with his
ignorance, he could not refrain from giving him a true answer. Still,
his contempt for the ignorant apprentice was not to be concealed, and he
replied, "_Ninety-five millions of miles_, you ignoramus!" James did not
retort; but, repeating over in his mind the distance named, fixed it
indelibly upon his memory.
4. On the same evening, after he had finished his day's work, he
obtained a small text-book on astronomy, which belonged to Harmon Lee,
and went up into his garret with a candle, and there, alone, attempted
to dive into the mysteries of that sublime science. As he read, the
earnestness of his attention fixed nearly every fact upon his mind. So
intent was he, that he perceived not the flight of time, until the
town-clock struck ten.
5. He lay down upon his hard bed, and gave full scope to his thoughts.
Hour after hour passed away, but he could not sleep, so absorbed was he
in reviewing the new and wonderful things he had read. At last, wearied
nature gave way, and he fell into a slumber, filled with dreams of
planets, moons, comets, and fixed stars.
6. The next morning the apprentice boy resumed his place at the
work-bench with a new feeling; and, with _this_ feeling, was mingled one
of regret, that he could not go to school as well as Harmon.
"But I can study at night, while he is asleep," he said to himself.
7. Just then Harmon Lee came into the shop, and, approaching James,
said, for the purpose of teasing him, "How big round is the earth,
James?"
"_Twenty-five thousand miles,_" was the quick reply.
8. Harmon looked surprised, for a moment, and then responded, with a
sneer,--for he was not a kind-hearted boy, but, on the contrary, very
selfish, and disposed to _injure_ rather than _do good_ to others,--"Oh!
how wonderfully wise you are all at once! And no doubt you can tell how
many moons Jupiter has? Come, let us hear."
9. "Jupiter has four moons," James answered, with something of
exultation in his tone.
"And, no doubt, you can tell how many rings it has?"
"Jupiter has no rings. Saturn has rings, and Jupiter belts," James
replied, in a decisive tone.
10. For a moment or two Harmon was silent with surprise and
mortification, to think that his father's _apprentice_, whom he esteemed
so far below him, should be possessed of knowledge equal to his, and on
the points in reference to which he had chosen to question him,--and
that he should be able to convict him of an error, into which he had
purposely fallen.
11. "I should like to know how long it is since you became so
wonderfully wise," said Harmon, with a sneer.
"Not very long," James replied calmly. "I have been reading one of your
books on astronomy."
12. "I should like to know what business _you_ have to touch one of _my_
books! You had better be minding your work."
"I did not neglect it, Harmon; I read at _night_, after I was done with
my work; and I did not hurt your book."
"I don't care if you _didn't_ hurt it. You are not going to have _my_
books, I can tell you. So, you just let them alone."
13. Poor James's heart sank within him at this unexpected obstacle, so
suddenly thrown in his way. He had no money of his own to buy, and knew
of no one from whom he could borrow the book, that had become so
necessary to his happiness. "Do, Harmon," he said, "lend me the book; I
will take good care of it."
"No; I will not. And don't you dare to touch it," was the angry reply.
14. James Wallace knew well enough the selfish disposition of Harmon, to
be convinced that there was now but little hope of his having the use of
his books, except by stealth; and from that his naturally open and
honest principles revolted. All day he thought earnestly of the means
whereby he should be able to obtain a book on astronomy, to quench the
ardent thirst he had created in his own mind.
15. He was learning the trade of a blind-maker. Having been already an
apprentice for two years, and being industrious and intelligent, he had
acquired a readiness with tools, and much skill in some parts of his
trade. While sitting alone, after he had finished his work for the day,
it occurred to him that he might, by working in the evening, earn some
money, and with it buy such books as he wanted.
16. By consent of his employer, he succeeded in getting a small job,
from one of his neighbors; and, in a short time, by working evenings, he
obtained sufficient money to purchase a book of his own, and had a half
dollar left, with which he bought a second-hand dictionary. Every night
found him poring over his books; and, as soon as it was light enough in
the morning to see, he was up and reading. During the day, his mind was
pondering over the things he had read, while his hands were diligently
employed in the labor assigned him.
17. It occurred, just at this time, that a number of benevolent
individuals established, in the town where James lived, one of those
excellent institutions, an Apprentices' Library. To this he applied, and
obtained the books he needed. And thus, did this poor apprentice boy lay
the foundation of future eminence and usefulness. At the age of
twenty-one, he was master of his trade; and, what was more, had laid up
a vast amount of general and scientific information.
18. Let us now turn to mark the progress of the young student, Harmon
Lee, in one of the best seminaries in his native city, and afterwards at
college. The idea that he was to be a lawyer, soon took possession of
his mind, and this caused him to feel contempt for other boys, who were
merely designed for trades or store-keeping.
19. Like too many others, he had no love for learning. To be a _lawyer_
he thought would be much more honorable than to be a mere mechanic; and,
for this reason _alone_, he desired to be one. As for James Wallace, the
poor illiterate apprentice, he was most heartily despised, and never
treated by Harmon with the least degree of kind consideration.
20. At the age of eighteen, Harmon was sent away to one of the eastern
universities, and there remained until he was twenty years of age, when
he graduated, and came home with the honorary title of Bachelor of Arts.
On the very day that James completed his term of apprenticeship, Harmon
was admitted to the bar.
21. From some cause, James determined he would make law _his_
profession. To the acquirement of a knowledge of legal matters,
therefore, he bent all the energies of a well disciplined mind. Two
years passed away in an untiring devotion to the studies he had assigned
himself, and he then made application for admission to the bar.
22. Young Wallace passed his examinations with some applause, and the
first case on which he was employed, chanced to be one of great
difficulty, which required all his skill; the lawyer on the opposite
side was Harmon Lee, who entertained for his father's apprentice the
utmost contempt.
23. The cause came on. There was a profound silence and a marked
attention and interest, when the young stranger arose in the court-room
to open the case. A smile of contempt curled the lip of Harmon Lee, but
Wallace saw it not. The prominent points of the case were presented in
plain, but concise language to the court; and a few remarks bearing upon
its merits being made, the young lawyer took his seat, and gave room for
the defense.
24. Instantly Harmon Lee was on his feet, and began referring to the
points presented by his "very learned brother," in a very flippant
manner. There were those present who marked the light that kindled in
the eye of Wallace, and the flash that passed over his countenance at
the first contemptuous word and tone that were uttered by his antagonist
at the bar. These soon gave place to attention, and an air of conscious
power. Nearly an hour had passed when Harmon resumed his seat with a
look of exultation, which was followed by a pitying and contemptuous
smile, as Wallace again slowly rose.
25. Ten minutes, however, had not passed when that smile had changed to
a look of surprise, mortification, and alarm. The young lawyer's first
speech showed him to be a man of calm, deep, systematic thought,--well
skilled in points of law and in authorities,--and, more than all, a
lawyer of practical and comprehensive views. When he sat down, no
important point in the case had been left untouched, and none that had
been touched, required further elucidation.
20. Lee followed briefly, in a vain attempt to torture his language and
break down his positions. But he felt that he was contending with
weapons whose edges were turned at every blow. When he took his seat
again, Wallace merely remarked that he was prepared, without further
argument, to submit the case to the court.
27. The case was accordingly submitted, and a decision unhesitatingly
made in favor of the plaintiff, or Wallace's client. From that hour
James Wallace took his true position. _The despised apprentice became
the able and profound lawyer,_ and was esteemed for real talent and real
moral worth, which, when combined, ever place their possessor in his
true position. Ten years from that day, Wallace was elevated to the
bench, while Lee, a second-rate lawyer, never rose above that position.
QUESTIONS.--1. What profession did James study, after he had learned his
trade? 2. Who was his opponent in the first cause he tried? 3. Which won
the case? 4. What did James finally become?
* * * * *
LESSON XLVI.
TAUNT' ING LY, insultingly.
DIG' NI FI ED, noble.
DIS PU' TANTS, persons disputing.
RES O LU' TION, decision.
IM AG' IN ED, fancied.
RE FLEC' TION, thought; consideration.
SU PE RI OR' I TY, preeminence.
SUB OR DI NATE, one inferior in position.
BUF' FET ED, struggled against.
THRALLS, bondage.
DES POT' IC, tyrannical.
OP PRES' SION, tyranny.
PEN' U RY, poverty; destitution.
PRED E CES' SORS, those who have gone before.
DIS PEN SA' TIONS, dealings.
CRI TE' RI ON, standard; measure.
"SO WAS FRANKLIN."
ANON.
1. "Oh, you're a _'prentice!_" said a little boy, the other day,
tauntingly, to his companion. The boy addressed turned proudly round,
and, while the fire of injured pride, and the look of pity were
strangely blended in his countenance, coolly answered, "_So was
Franklin!_"
2. This dignified reply struck me forcibly, and I turned to mark the
disputants more closely. The former, I perceived by his dress, was of a
higher class in society than his humble, yet more dignified companion.
The latter was a sprightly, active lad, scarce twelve years old, and
coarsely, but neatly attired. But, young as he was, there was visible in
his countenance much of genius, manly dignity, and determinate
resolution; while that of the former showed only fostered pride, and the
imagined superiority of riches.
3. That little fellow, thought we, gazing at our young hero, displays
already much of the man, though his calling be a humble one; and, though
poverty extends to him her dreary, cheerless reality, still he looks on
the brightest side of the scene, and already rises in anticipation from
poverty and wretchedness! Once, "_so was Franklin_" and the world may
one day witness in our little "_'prentice_" as great a philosopher as
they have already seen in his noble pattern! And we passed on, buried in
meditation.
4. The motto of our infantile philosopher contains much,--too much to be
forgotten, and should be engraven on the minds of all. What can better
cheer man in a humble calling, than the reflection that the greatest and
the best of earth--the greatest statesmen, the brightest philosophers,
and the proudest warriors--have once graced the same profession?
5.
"Look at Franklin! He who
With the thunder talked, as friend to friend,
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
In sportive twist."
What was he? A _printer!_ once a subordinate in a printing office!
Poverty stared him in the face; but her blank, hollow look, could
nothing daunt him. He struggled against a harder current than most are
called to encounter; but he did not yield. He pressed manfully onward;
bravely buffeted misfortune's billows, and gained the desired haven!
6. Look at Cincinnatus! At the call of his country he laid aside the
plow and seized the sword. But having wielded it with success, when his
country was no longer endangered, and public affairs needed not his
longer stay, "he beat his sword Into a ploughshare," and returned with
honest delight to his little farm.
7. Look at Washington! What was his course of life? He was first a
_farmer;_ next a _Commander in Chief_ of the hosts of freedom, fighting
for the liberation of his country from the thralls of despotic
oppression; next, called to the highest seat of government by his
ransomed brethren, a _President of the largest Republic on earth_, and
lastly, a _farmer_ again.
8. What was the famous Ben Jonson? He was first a _brick-layer, or
mason!_ What was he in after years? 'Tis needless to answer.
What was Burns? An Ayrshire _plowman!_ What was he in after life, in the
estimation of his countrymen, and the world? Your library gives the
answer!
9. But shall we go on, and call up, in proud array, all the mighty host
of worthies that have lived and died, who were cradled in the lap of
penury, and received their first lessons in the school of affliction'?
Nay'; we have cited instances enough already,--yea, more than enough to
prove the point in question--namely, _that there is no profession,
however low in the opinion of the world, but has been honored with
earth's greatest and worthiest._
10. Young man! Does the iron hand of misfortune press hard upon you, and
disappointments well-nigh sink your despairing soul'? Have courage!
Mighty ones have been your predecessors, and have withstood the current
of opposition that threatened to overwhelm their fragile bark.
11. Do you despise your humble station, and repine that Providence has
not placed you in some nobler sphere'? Murmur not against the
dispensations of an All-wise Creator! Remember that wealth is no
criterion of moral rectitude or intellectual worth,--that riches
dishonestly gained, are a lasting curse,--that virtue and uprightness
work out a rich reward,--and that
"An honest man's the noblest work of God."
12. And when dark Disappointment comes, do not wither at her stare; but
press forward, and the prize is yours! It was thus with _Franklin_,--it
can be thus with _you_. He strove for the prize, and he won it! So may
_you!_ 'Tis well worth contending for; and may success attend you, and
the "stars" grow brighter, as the "stripes" wear deeper!
QUESTIONS.--1. What did the rich boy say of the poor boy? 2. What reply
did the poor boy make? 3. What other examples are cited of eminent men
who were once poor? 4. What is said of Cincinnatus? 5. Of Washington? 6.
Of Ben Jonson? 7. Of Burns? 8. What do all these examples prove? 9. What
encouragement is given to young men? 10. What are the full forms of the
words _you're, 'prentice?_
* * * * *
LESSON XLVII.
MAG'IC, power of enchantment.
CONTEN'TION, strife; controversy.
TRA DI'TION, facts or events handed down from age to age.
SUB TILE, thin; slight; slender.
IN VEST'ED, clothed.
CREST'ED, adorned with a plume or crest.
AZ'URE, light-blue; sky-colored.
PER SPECT' IVE, (PER, _through_; SPECT, _to see_; IVE, _having
the power_,) having the power to see through; a view through.
UN DI VERT' ED, (UN, _not_; DI, _aside_; VERTED, _turned_,)
not turned aside; unheeded.
VEST'URE, garment.
SE DATE', calm; quiet.
FAN TAS'TIC, fanciful; visionary.
RA DI ANCE, brightness; luster.
IN VEC'TIVE, railing speech.
I DE'AL, imaginary.
FA TIGU ING, wearisome, toilsome.
AS PIR'ING, aiming; seeking to rise.
NOW AND THEN.
JANE TAYLOR.
1. In distant days,--of wild romance,
Of magic, mist, and fable,--
When stones could argue, trees advance,[Footnote 1]
And brutes to talk were able,--
When shrubs and flowers were said to preach,
And manage all the parts of speech,--
2. 'Twas _then_, no doubt, if 'twas at all,
(But doubts we need not mention,)
That _Then_ and _Now_, two adverbs small,
Engaged in sharp contention;
But how they made each other hear,
Tradition doth not make appear.
3. _Then_ was a sprite of subtile frame,
With rainbow tints invested.--
On clouds of dazzling light she came,
And stars her forehead crested;
Her sparkling eyes of azure hue,
Seemed borrowed from the distant blue.
4. _Now_ rested on the solid earth,
And sober was her vesture;
She seldom either grief or mirth
Expressed, by word or gesture;
Composed, sedate, and firm she stood,
And looked industrious, calm, and good.
5. _Then_ sang a wild, fantastic song,
Light as the gale she flies on,
Still stretching, as she sailed along,
Toward the far horizon,
Where clouds of radiance, fringed with gold,
O'er hills of emerald beauty rolled.
6. _Now_ rarely raised her sober eye
To view that golden distance;
Nor let one idle minute fly
In hope of _Then's_ assistance;
But still with busy hands she stood,
Intent on doing _present_ good.
7. She ate the sweet, but homely fare,
That passing moments brought her;
While _Then_, expecting dainties rare,
Despised such bread and water;
And waited for the fruits and flowers
Of future, still receding hours.
8. _Now_, venturing once to ask her why,
She answered with invective;
And pointed, as she made reply,
_Toward that long perspective
Of years to come_,--in distant blue,
Wherein she meant to _live_ and _do_,
9. "Alas!" says she, _"how hard you toil!_
With undiverted sadness;
Behold yon land of wine and oil!
Those sunny hills of gladness!
Those joys I wait, with eager brow,"
_"And so you always will!"_ said _Now_.
10. "That fairy land that looks so real,
Recedes as you pursue it;
Thus, while you wait for time's ideal,
_I take my work and do it;_
Intent to form, when time is gone,
A _pleasant past_ to look upon."
11. "Ah, well," said _Then_, "I envy not
Your dull, fatiguing labors,--
Aspiring to a brighter lot,
With thousands of my neighbors;
Soon as I reach that golden hill,"--
"But that," says _Now_, "you _never will!"_
12. "And e'en suppose you should," said she,
"(Though mortal ne'er attained it,)
Your nature you must change with me,
The moment you have gained it;
Since hope fulfilled, (you must allow,)
Turns NOW to _Then_, and THEN to _Now_."
[Footnote 1: The reference is to Orpheus, (or' fuse,) an ancient poet
and musician of Greece. The skill of Orpheus on the lyre, was fabled to
have been such as to move the very trees and rocks, and to assemble the
beasts around him as he touched its chords.]
QUESTIONS.--1. What two words are represented as holding a controversy?
2. Describe the appearance of each. 3. When did _Then_ propose to do
something? 4. How did Now act? 5. What answer did _Then_ make, when
_Now_ asked her why she waited? 6. What was _Now's_ reply? 7. What did
_Now_ finally say to _Then_? 8. How should passages, within a
parenthesis, be read? See SANDERS' UNION READER, NUMBER THREE, page 20.
* * * * *
LESSON XLVIII.
IN GEN' IOUS, artful; skillful.
STRAT' A GEM, trick; artifice.
EX CEED' ED, surpassed.
SIG' NALS, signs.
AM' I CA BLE, friendly; peaceable.
RE PEL', (RE, _back_; PEL, _to drive_,)drive back.
MU' TU AL, reciprocal.
EX TRAOR' DI NA RY, uncommon.
IN VET' ER ATE, obstinate; violent.
HARANGUE', declamatory speech.
EN TER TAIN' ED, held; had.
SUS PI' CION, mistrust.
EN COUN' TER ED, met face to face.
EX' E CU TED, carried out.
FOR' MI DA BLE, fearful; dreadful.
PER FID' I OUS, treacherous.
PRE CIP' ITATELY, headlong.
IN AN' I MATE, dead; lifeless.
AN INGENIOUS STRATAGEM.
DAYS OF WASHINGTON.
1. In the early part of the war, a sergeant and twelve armed men
undertook a journey through the wilderness, in the State of New
Hampshire. Their route was remote from any settlement, and they were
under the necessity of encamping over night in the woods. Nothing
material happened the first day of their excursion; but, early in the
afternoon of the second, they, from an eminence, discovered a body of
armed Indians advancing toward them, whose number rather exceeded their
own.
2. As soon as the whites were perceived by their red brethren, the
latter made signals, and the two parties approached each other in an
amicable manner. The Indians appeared to be much gratified with meeting
the sergeant and his men, whom, they observed, they considered as their
protectors. They said they belonged to a tribe which had raised the
hatchet with zeal in the cause of liberty, and were determined to do all
in their power to repel the common enemy.
3. They shook hands in friendship. When they had conversed with each
other for some time, and exchanged mutual good wishes, they, at length,
separated, and each party traveled in a different direction. After
proceeding to the distance of a mile or more, the sergeant, who was
acquainted with all the different tribes, and knew on which side of the
contest they were respectively ranked, halted his men, and addressed
them in the following words:
4. "My brave companions, we must use the utmost caution, or this night
may be our last. Should we not make some extraordinary exertions to
defend ourselves, to-morrow's sun may find us sleeping, never to wake.
You are surprised, comrades, at my words, and your anxiety will not be
lessened, when I inform you that we have just passed _our most
inveterate foe_, who, under the mask of pretended friendship, which you
have witnessed, would lull us to security, and, by such means, in the
unguarded moments of our midnight slumber, without resistance, seal our
fate."
5. The men with astonishment listened to this short harangue; and their
surprise was greater, as not one of them had entertained the suspicion
but that they had just encountered friends. They all immediately
resolved to enter into some scheme for their mutual preservation, and
the destruction of their enemies. By the proposal of their leader, the
following plan was adopted and executed.
6. The spot selected for their night's encampment, was near a stream of
water, which served to cover their rear. They felled a large tree,
before which, on the approach of night, a brilliant fire was lighted.
Each individual cut a log of wood, about the size of his body, rolled it
nicely in his blanket, placed his hat upon one end, and laid it before
the fire, that the enemy might be deceived, and mistake it for a man.
7. After they had thus fitted out logs, equal in number to the
sergeant's party, and had so artfully arranged them, that they might be
easily mistaken for so many soldiers, the men with loaded muskets placed
themselves behind the fallen tree, by which time the shades of evening
began to close around. The fire was kept burning brilliantly until late
in the evening, when it was suffered to decline.
8. The critical time was now approaching, when an attack might be
expected from the Indians; but the sergeant's men rested in their place
of concealment with great anxiety, till near midnight, without
perceiving any movement of the enemy. At length, a tall Indian was
discovered, through the glimmering of the fire, cautiously moving toward
them, making no noise, and apparently using every means in his power to
conceal himself from any one about the camp.
9. For a time, his actions showed him to be suspicious that a guard
might be stationed to watch any unusual appearance, who would give the
alarm in case of danger; but, all appearing quiet, he ventured forward
more boldly, rested upon his toes, and was distinctly seen to move his
finger as he numbered each log of wood, or what he supposed to be a
human being quietly enjoying repose.
10. To satisfy himself more fully, as to the number, he counted them
over a second time, and cautiously retired. He was succeeded by another
Indian, who went through the same movements, and retired in the same
manner. Soon after, the whole party, sixteen in number, were discovered
approaching, and greedily eyeing their supposed victims.
11. The feelings of the sergeant's men can be better imagined than
described, when they saw the base and cruel purpose of their enemies,
who were now so near that they could scarcely be restrained from firing
upon them. The plan, however, of the sergeant, was to have his men
remain silent in their places of concealment, till the muskets of the
savages were discharged, that their own fire might be effectual, and
opposition less formidable.
12. Their suspense was not of long duration. The Indians, in a body,
cautiously approached till within a short distance: they then halted,
took deliberate aim, discharged their pieces upon inanimate logs, gave a
dreadful war-whoop, and instantly rushed forward, with tomahawk and
scalping knife in hand, to dispatch the living, and obtain the scalps of
the dead.
13. As soon as they had collected in close order, more effectually to
execute their horrid intentions, the sergeant's party discharged their
pieces, not on logs of wood, but perfidious savages,--many of whom fell
under the hot fire of the little band, and the rest precipitately fled.
But for this ingenious scheme, it is probable that not one of these
twelve men would have escaped the tomahawk of the savages.
QUESTIONS.--1. What did the sergeant say to his men, after parting with
the Indians? 2. What plan did the sergeant propose for their
preservation? 3. Did the plan succeed? 4. Describe the closing scene.
* * * * *
LESSON XLIX.
VEN' ER A BLE, worthy of reverence.
IN VA' SION, irruption; inroad.
EX CIT' ED, roused; stirred up.
IRE, wrath; indignation.
VENGE' ANCE, retaliation.
RE LEAS' ED, set free; liberated.
TRO PHIES, memorials of victory.
BE REFT', deprived.
VULT' URE, rapacious bird.
TRAV' ERS ED, crossed over.
DE SCRIP' TION, representation.
MA TER' NAL, motherly.
FIL' IAL, becoming a child.
CON SAN GUIN' I TY, blood relationship.
IN TEL' LI GENCE, news; information.
I DEN' TI TY, sameness.
SUR VIV' ED, remained alive.
AS CER TAIN' ED, found out.
IN TER' PRET ER, explainer.
LIN' E A MENTS, features.
FRANCES SLOCUM, THE YOUNG CAPTIVE.
[Footnote: The great massacre at Wyoming was, perhaps, the most bloody
and terrible chapter of the Revolution. A combined Indian and Tory force
had flung itself upon the peaceful valley, and murdered or made captive
nearly all its unoffending inhabitants; its old and its young,--men,
women, and children alike,--were either indiscriminately butchered or
made prisoners. Among the prisoners taken on that occasion, was an
infant child by the name of Frances Slocum. The story is a very strange
one; we copy it from Lossing's very excellent work, "The Field Book of
the Revolution."]
B.J. LOSSING.
1. I passed the evening with the venerable Joseph Slocum, whose family
was among the sufferers, in Wyoming Valley. He related to me all the
particulars of the capture and final discovery of his sister Frances,
and other incidents connected with the sufferings of his family.
2. His father was a Quaker, and was distinguished for his kindness to
the Indians. He remained unharmed at the time of the invasion, and,
while the torch was applied to the dwellings of others, _his_ was left
untouched. But his son Giles was in the battle. This, doubtless, excited
the ire of the Indians, and they resolved on vengeance. 3. Late in the
autumn, they were seen prowling about the house, which was situated
about one hundred rods from the Wilkesbarre Fort. A neighbor, named
Kingsley, had been made prisoner, and his wife and two sons had a
welcome home in Mr. Slocum's family. One morning, the boys were grinding
a knife near the house, when a rifle-shot and a shriek brought Mrs.
Slocum to the door. An Indian was scalping the eldest boy, a lad of
fifteen, with the knife he had been grinding.
4. The savage then went into the house, and caught up a little son of
Mrs. Slocum. "See!" exclaimed the frightened mother, "he can do thee no
good; he is lame." The Indian released the boy, took up her little
daughter Frances, aged five years, gently in his arms, and, seizing the
younger Kingsley, hastened to the mountains.
5. Two Indians who were with him, carried off a black girl, about
seventeen years of age. Mr. Slocum's daughter caught up her brother
Joseph, (my informant,) two and a half years old, and fled in safety to
the fort, where an alarm was given; but the savages were beyond
successful pursuit.
6. About six weeks afterward, Mr. Slocum and his father-in-law Ira
Tripp, were shot and scalped by some Indians while foddering cattle near
the house. Again the savages escaped with their horrid trophies. Mrs.
Slocum, bereft of father, husband, and child, and stripped of all
possessions but the house that sheltered her, could not leave the
valley, for nine helpless children were yet in her household.
7. She trusted in the God of Elijah; and, if she was not fed by the
ravens, she was spared by the vultures. She mourned not for the dead;
for they were at rest: but little Frances, her lost darling, where was
she? The lamp of hope kept on burning; but years rolled by, and no
tidings of the little one came.
8. When peace returned, and friendly intercourse with Canada was
established, two of the little captive's brothers started in search of
her. They traversed the wilderness to Niagara, offering rewards for her
recovery; but all in vain. They returned to Wyoming, convinced that the
child was dead. But the mother's heart was still the shrine of hope, and
she felt assured that Frances was not in the grave.
9. Her soul appeared to commune with that of her child, and she often
said, "I know Frances is still living." At length, the mother's heart
was cheered: a woman (for many years had now passed, and Frances, if
living, must have arrived to womanhood) was found among the Indians,
answering the description of the lost one. She only remembered being
carried away from the Susquehanna.
10. Mrs. Slocum took her home, and cherished her with a mother's
tenderness. Yet the mysterious link of sympathy which binds the maternal
spirit to its offspring, was unfelt, and the bereaved mother was
bereaved still. "It may be Frances, but it does not seem so; yet the
woman shall ever be welcome," said Mrs. Slocum. The foundling, also,
felt no filial yearnings; and, both becoming convinced that no
consanguinity existed, the orphan returned to her Indian friends.
11. From time to time, the hope of the mother would be revived, and
journeys were made to distant Indian settlements in search of the lost
sister; but in vain. The mother went "down into the grave, mourning,"
and little Frances was almost forgotten. Her brothers had become aged
men, and their grandchildren were playing upon the very spot, whence she
had been taken.
12. In the summer of 1837, fifty-nine years after her capture,
intelligence of Frances was received. Colonel Ewing, an Indian agent and
trader, in a letter from Logansport, Indiana, to the editor of the
_Lancaster Intelligencer_, gave such information, that all doubts
respecting her identity were removed; and Joseph Slocum, with the sister
who carried him to the fort, and yet survived, immediately journeyed to
Ohio, where they were joined by their younger brother Isaac.
13. They proceeded to Logansport, where they found Mr. Ewing, and
ascertained that the woman spoken of by him, lived about twelve miles
from the village. She was immediately sent for; and, toward evening the
next day, she came into the town, riding a spirited young horse,
accompanied by her two daughters, and the husband of one of them,--all
dressed in full Indian costume.
14. An interpreter was procured, (for she could not speak or understand
English,) and she listened seriously to what her brothers had to say.
She answered but little, and, at sunset, departed for her home,
promising to return the next morning. The brother and sister were quite
sure that it was indeed Frances, though in her face nothing but Indian
lineaments were seen, her color alone revealing her origin.
15. True to her appointment, she appeared the following morning,
accompanied as before. Mr. Joseph Slocum then mentioned a mark of
recognition, which, his mother had said, was a sure test. While playing,
one day, with a hammer in a blacksmith's shop, Joseph, then a child two
and a half years old, gave Frances a blow upon the middle finger of the
left hand, which crushed the bone, and deprived the finger of its nail.
16. This test Mr. Slocum had withheld until others should fail. When he
mentioned it, the aged woman was greatly agitated; and, while tears
filled the furrows of her face, she held out the wounded finger. There
was no longer a doubt, and a scene of great interest ensued. Her
affections for her kindred, that had slumbered half a century, were
aroused, and she made earnest inquiries after her father, mother,
brothers, and sisters. Her full heart--full with the cherished secrets
of her history--was opened, and the story of her life freely given.
17. She said the savages, who were Delawares, after taking her to a
rocky cave in the mountains, departed to the Indian country. The first
night was the unhappiest of her life. She was kindly treated,--being
carried tenderly in their arms when she was weary. She was adopted in an
Indian family, and brought up as their daughter. For years she lived a
roving life, and loved it. She was taught the use of the bow and arrow,
and became expert in all the employments of savage existence.
18. When she was grown to womanhood, both her Indian parents died, and
she soon afterward married a young chief of the nation, and removed to
the Ohio country. She was treated with more respect than the Indian
women generally; and so happy was she in her domestic relations, that
the chance of being discovered, and compelled to return among the
whites, was the greatest evil that she feared; for she had been taught
that they were the implacable enemies of the Indians, whom she loved.
19. Her husband died; and, her people having joined the Miamies, she
went with them, and married one of that tribe. The last husband was also
dead, and she had been a widow many years. Children and grandchildren
were around her, and her life was passing pleasantly away. When she
concluded the narrative, she lifted her right hand in a solemn manner,
and said, "All this is as true as that there is a Great Spirit in the
heavens!" she had entirely forgotten her native language, and was a
pagan.
20. On the day after the second interview, the brothers and sisters,
with the interpreter, rode out to her dwelling. It was a well-built
log-house, in the midst of cultivation. A large herd of cattle and sixty
horses were grazing in the pasture. Everything betokened plenty and
comfort; for she was wealthy, when her wants and her means were
compared. Her annuity from government, which she received as one of the
Miami tribe, had been saved, and she had about one thousand dollars in
specie.