21. Her white friends passed several days very agreeably with her; and

subsequently her brother Joseph, with his daughter, the wife of the Hon.

Mr. Bennet, of Wyoming, made her another visit, and bade her a last

farewell. She died a few years ago, and was buried with considerable

pomp; for she was regarded as a queen among her tribe.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is the Wyoming Valley? 2. Relate the incidents

connected with the capture of little Frances. 3. What efforts were made

to find her? 4. How many years after her capture before she was found?

5. Where did they find her? 6. By what test did Mr. Slocum prove that

she was his sister? 7. What history did she relate of herself? 8.

Describe her home.

* * * * *

LESSON L.

FRING' ING, bordering; edging.

LEDGE, layer; ridge.

DAI SY, (literally _day's eye_,) a little wild flower very

common in summer.

RI' OT OUS, noisy; reveling.

BOIS' TER OUS, tumultuous; violent.

CULL' ING, selecting; picking.

BOU QUETS', (_boo kas_,) bunches of flowers.

SULK' Y, morose.

BOTH' ER ING, perplexing.

UN WONT' ED, rare: uncommon.

TE' DI OUS, tiresome; wearisome.

THE RAIN-DROPS.

DELIA LOUISE COLTON.

1. _The silver rain, the golden rain,_

_The tripping, dancing, laughing rain!_

Stringing its pearls on the green leaf's edge,

Fringing with gems the brown rock's ledge,

Spinning a vail for the water-fall,

And building an amber-colored wall

Across the West where the sun-beams fall:

_The gentle rain_, in the shady lane,

_The pattering, peering, winning rain!_

2. _The noisy rain, the marching rain,_

_The rushing tread of the heavy rain!_

Pouring its rivers from out the blue,

Down on the grass where the daisies grew,

Darting in clouds of angry drops

Across the hills and the green tree-tops,

And kissing, at last, in its giant glee,

The foaming lips of the great green sea:

_The fierce, wild rain, the riotous rain,_

_The boisterous, dashing, shouting rain!_

3. _The still night rain, the solemn rain!_

_The soldier-step of the midnight rain!_

With its measured beat on the roof o'erhead,

With its tidings sweet of the faithful dead,

Whispers from loves who are laid asleep

Under the sod where the myrtles creep,

Culling bouquets from the sun-lit past,

Of flowers too sweet, too fair to last:

_The faithful rain, the untiring rain,_

_The cooing, sobbing, weeping rain!_

4. _The sulky rain, the spiteful rain,_

_The bothering, pilfering, thieving rain!_

Creeping so lazily over the sky,

A leaden mask o'er a bright blue eye,

And shutting in, with its damp, strong hands,

The rosy faces in curls, and bands

Of girls who think, with unwonted frown

Of the charming laces and things down-town,

That might as well for this tiresome rain,

Be in the rose land of Almahain:

_The horrid rain, the tedious rain,_

_The never-ending, dingy rain!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the meaning of the suffix _ing_, in such words as

_tripping, dancing, laughing_, &c.? See SANDERS & McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS,

page 153, Ex. 206. 2. What is the use of the hyphen in such words as

_water-fall, amber-colored_, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page l65.

* * * * *

LESSON LI.

LAV' ISH, liberal; profuse.

PER' FUMES, pleasant odors.

HAR MO' NI OUS, concordant.

RAPT' URE, extreme joyousness.

GERMS, seed-buds; beginnings.

PAR'TICLES, minute parts; atoms.

MOTES, very small particles.

VENT' URE, dare; have courage.

COL' UMNS, pillars.

DOME, arched roof; cupola.

TI' NY, very small.

ES' SENCE, perfume.

"SMALL THINGS."

F. BENNOCH.

1. Who dares to scorn the meanest thing,

The humblest weed that grows,

While pleasure spreads its joyous wing

On every breeze that blows?

The simplest flower that, hidden, blooms

The lowest on the ground,

Is lavish of its rare perfumes,

And scatters sweetness round.

2. The poorest friend upholds a part

Of life's harmonious plan;

The weakest hand may have the art

To serve the strongest man.

The bird that highest, clearest sings,

To greet the morning's birth,

Falls down to drink, with folded wings,

Love's rapture on the earth.

3. From germs too small for mortal sight

Grow all things that are seen,

Their floating particles of light

Weave Nature's robe of green.

The motes that fill the sunny rays

Build ocean, earth, and sky,--

The wondrous orbs that round us blaze

Are motes to Deity!

4. Life, love, devotion, closely twine,

Like tree, and flower, and fruit;

They ripen by a power divine,

Though fed by leaf and root.

And he who would be truly great,

Must venture to be small;

On airy columns rests the dome

That, shining, circles all.

5. Small duties grow to mighty deeds;

Small words to thoughts of power;

Great forests spring from tiny seeds,

As moments make the hour.

And life, howe'er it lowly grows,

The essence to it given,

Like odor from the breathing rose,

Floats evermore to Heaven.

* * * * *

LESSON LII.

EX TINCT', extinguished.

IN COR' PO RA TED, united.

TAC' IT, silent; implied.

SUB SIST' ED, existed.

HOS PI TAL' I TY, kind treatment.

IN POR' TU NATE, urgent; pressing.

EN CROACH' MENT, intrusion.

IR' RI TA TED, provoked; exasperated.

MAS' SA CRE, (_mas' sa ker_,) slaughter.

GRAV' I TY, seriousness.

DE LIB' ER ATE, take council.

TREA' SON, treachery; disloyalty.

AP PRIS' ING, informing.

BE TRAY', expose.

IN VIN CI BLE, unconquerable.

WAX' ED, became, grew.

BE SOUGHT', entreated; implored.

SUF FICE, (_c like z_,) prove sufficient.

MURDERER'S CREEK.

[Footnote: In Orange County, New York.]

JAMES K. PAULDING.

1. Little more than a century ago, the beautiful region watered by this

stream, was possessed by a small tribe of Indians, which has long since

become extinct, or incorporated with some other savage nation of the

West. Three or four hundred yards from where the stream discharges

itself into the Hudson, a white family, of the name of Stacy, had

established itself in a log-house, by tacit permission of the tribe, to

whom Stacy had made himself useful by his skill in a variety of little

arts, highly estimated by the savages.

2. In particular, a friendship subsisted between him and an old Indian,

called Naöman, who often came to his house, and partook of his

hospitality. _The Indians never forgive injuries, nor forget benefits_.

The family consisted of Stacy, his wife, and two children, a boy and a

girl, the former five, the latter three years old.

3. One day, Naöman came to Stacy's log-hut, in his absence, lighted his

pipe, and sat down. He looked very serious, sometimes sighed deeply, but

said not a word. Stacy's wife asked him what was the matter,--if he was

sick. He shook his head, sighed, but said nothing, and soon went away.

The next day, he came again and behaved in the same manner. Stacy's wife

began to think strange of this, and related it to her husband, who

advised her to urge the old man to an explanation the next time he came.

4. Accordingly, when he repeated his visit the day after, she was more

importunate than usual. At last, the old Indian said. "I am a red man,

and the pale faces are our enemies: why should I speak?"--"But my

husband and I are your friends: you have eaten salt with us a thousand

times, and my children have sat on your knees as often. If you have

anything on your mind, tell it me."--"It will cost me my life if it is

known, and the white-faced women are not good at keeping secrets,"

replied Naöman.

5. "Try me, and see."--"Will you swear by your Great Spirit that you

will tell none but your husband?"--"I have none else to tell."--"But

will you swear?"--"I do swear by our Great Spirit, I will tell none but

my husband."--"Not if my tribe should _kill you_ for not telling?"--"Not

if your tribe should kill me for not telling."

6. Naöman then proceeded to tell her that, owing to some encroachments

of the white people below the mountains, his tribe had become irritated,

and were resolved that night to massacre all the white settlers within

their reach; that she must send for her husband, inform him of the

danger, and, as secretly and speedily as possible, take their canoe and

paddle, with all haste, over the river to Fishkill for safety. "Be

quick, and do nothing that may excite suspicion," said Naöman, as he

departed.

7. The good wife sought her husband, who was down on the river fishing,

told him the story, and, as no time was to be lost, they proceeded to

their boat, which was unluckily filled with water. It took some time to

clear it out, and, meanwhile, Stacy recollected his gun, which had been

left behind. He proceeded to the house, and returned with it. All this

took up considerable time, and precious time it proved to this poor

family.

8. The daily visits of old Naöman, and his more than ordinary gravity,

had excited suspicion in some of the tribe, who had, accordingly, paid

particular attention to the movements of Stacy. One of the young

Indians, who had been kept on the watch, seeing the whole family about

to take to the boat, ran to the little Indian village, about a mile off,

and gave the alarm. Five Indians collected, ran down to the river, where

their canoes were moored, jumped in, and paddled after Stacy, who, by

this time, had got some distance out into the stream.

9. They gained on him so fast, that twice he dropped his paddle, and

took up his gun. But his wife prevented his shooting by telling him

that, if he fired, and they were afterwards overtaken, they would meet

with no mercy from the Indians. He accordingly refrained, and plied his

paddle till the sweat rolled in big drops down his forehead. All would

not do; they were overtaken within a hundred yards from the shore, and

carried back with shouts of yelling triumph.

10. When they got ashore, the Indians set fire to Stacy's house, and

dragged himself, his wife, and children, to their village. Here the

principal old men, and Naoman among them, assembled to deliberate on the

affair. The chief men of the council stated that some of the tribe had,

undoubtedly, been guilty of treason, in apprising Stacy, the white man,

of the designs of the tribe, whereby they took the alarm, and well-nigh

escaped.

11. He proposed to examine the prisoners, to learn who gave the

information. The old men assented to this, and Naöman among the rest.

Stacy was first interrogated by one of the old men, who spoke English

and interpreted to the others. Stacy refused to betray his informant.

His wife was then questioned; while, at the same moment, two Indians

stood threatening the two children, with tomahawks, in case she did not

confess.

12. She attempted to evade the truth, by declaring she had a dream the

night before, which alarmed her, and that she had persuaded her husband

to fly. "The Great Spirit never deigns to talk in dreams to a white

face," said the old Indian. "Woman, thou hast two tongues, and two

faces. Speak the truth, or thy children shall surely die." The little

boy and girl were then brought close to her, and the two savages stood

over them, ready to execute their bloody orders.

13. "Wilt thou name," said the old Indian, "the red man who betrayed his

tribe? I will ask thee three times." The mother answered not. "Wilt thou

name the traitor? This is the second time." The poor mother looked at

her husband, and then at her children, and stole a glance at Naoman, who

sat smoking his pipe with invincible gravity.

14. She wrung her hands, and wept; but remained silent. "Wilt thou name

the traitor? 'Tis the third and last time." The agony of the mother

waxed more bitter; again she sought the eye of Naoman; but it was cold

and motionless. A pause of a moment awaited her reply, and the tomahawks

were raised over the heads of the children, who besought their mother

not to let them be murdered.

15. "Stop!" cried Naöman. All eyes were turned upon him. "Stop!"

repeated he, in a tone of authority. "White woman, thou hast kept thy

word with me to the last moment. _I am the traitor_. I have eaten of the

salt, warmed myself at the fire, shared the kindness, of these Christian

white people, and it was _I_ that told them of their danger. I am a

withered, leafless, branchless trunk. Cut me down, if you will: I am

ready."

16. A yell of indignation sounded on all sides. Naöman descended from

the little bank where he sat, shrouded his face with his mantle of

skins, and submitted to his fate. He fell dead at the feet of the white

woman by a blow of the tomahawk.

17. But the sacrifice of Naöman, and the firmness of the Christian white

woman, did not suffice to save the lives of the other victims. They

perished,--how, it is needless to say; and the memory of their fate has

been preserved in the name of the pleasant stream, on whose banks they

lived and died, which, to this day, is called MURDERER'S CREEK.

QUESTIONS.--1. Where is Murderer's Creek? 2. What is said of Naöman and

Stacy's family? 3. Why did Naöman, at first, refuse to tell Mrs. Stacy

of her danger? 4. Did Stacy's family make their escape? 5. Where were

they taken? 6. Did Mrs. Stacy tell who had informed her? 7. What

measures did the Indians adopt, to make her tell? What did Naoman say?

9. What did the Indians do with Naoman and Stacy's family?

* * * * *

LESSON LIII.

PER' IL OUS, hazardous; dangerous.

DE FILES', narrow passages.

PREC' I PIC ES, steep descents.

SOL'I TUDE, lonely places.

AM MU NI' TION, military stores, as powder, balls, &c.

DRA GOONS, mounted soldiers.

SUM' MIT, top; highest point.

AV A LANCHE', snow-slip.

CROUCH' ED, cringed.

AD VANCE', forward; proceed.

BE NUMB' ED, deprived of feeling.

EX PLOITS', heroic deeds.

IL LUS' TRATES, explains; makes clear.

HE RO'IC, brave; fearless.

UN FLINCH'ING, determined; resolute.

BAY' O NET, a short, pointed instrument of iron, or broad dagger,

fitted to the barrel of a gun. It is so called, because the first

bayonets were made at Bayonne, in France.

NAPOLEON'S ARMY CROSSING THE ALPS.

1. When Napoleon was carrying war into Italy, he ordered one of his

officers, Marshal Macdonald, to cross the Splugen with fifteen thousand

soldiers, and join him on the plains below. The Splugen is one of the

four great roads which cross the Alps from Switzerland to Italy.

2. When Macdonald received the order, it was about the last of November,

and the winter storms were raging among the mountain passes. It was a

perilous undertaking, yet he must obey; and the men began their terrible

march through narrow defiles and overhanging precipices, six thousand

feet up, up among the gloomy solitudes of the Alps.

3. The cannon were placed on sleds drawn by oxen, and the ammunition was

packed on mules. First came the guides, sticking their long poles in the

snow, in order to find the path; then came workmen to clear away the

drifts; then the dragoons, mounted on their most powerful horses, to

beat down the track; after which followed the main body of the army.

4. They encountered severe storms and piercing cold. When half-way up

the summit, a rumbling noise was heard among the cliffs. The guides

looked at each other in alarm; for they knew well what it meant. It grew

louder and louder. "_An avalanche! an avalanche!_" they shrieked, and

the next moment a field of ice and snow came leaping down the mountain,

striking the line of march, and sweeping thirty dragoons in a wild

plunge below. The black forms of the horses and their riders were seen

for an instant struggling for life, and then they disappeared forever.

5. The sight struck the soldiers with horror; they crouched and shivered

in the blast. Their enemy was not now flesh and blood, but wild winter

storms; swords and bayonets could not defend them from the desolating

avalanche. Flight or retreat was hopeless; for all around lay the

drifted snow, like a vast winding-sheet. On they must go, or death was

certain, and the brave men struggled forward.

6. "Soldiers!" exclaimed their commander, "you are called to Italy; your

general needs you. Advance and conquer, first the mountain and the snow,

then the plains and the enemy!" Blinded by the winds, benumbed with the

cold, and far beyond the reach of aid, Macdonald and his men pressed on.

Sometimes a whole company of soldiers were suddenly swept away by an

avalanche.

7. On one occasion, a poor drummer, crawling out from the mass of snow,

which had torn him from his comrades, began to beat his drum for relief.

The muffled sound came up from his gloomy resting-place, and was heard

by his brother soldiers; but none could go to his rescue. For an hour,

he beat rapidly, then the strokes grew fainter, until they were heard no

more, and the poor drummer laid himself down to die. Two weeks were

occupied in this perilous march, and two hundred men perished in the

undertaking.

8. This passage of the Splugen is one of the bravest exploits in the

history of Napoleon's generals, and illustrates the truth of the

proverb, "_Where there is a will there is a way_." No one can read the

heroic deeds of brave men grappling with danger and death, without a

feeling of respect and admiration; but heroic deeds are always the fruit

of _toil_ and _self-sacrifice_. _No one can accomplish great things,

unless he aims at great things, and pursues that aim with unflinching

courage and perseverance._

QUESTIONS.--1. What orders had Napoleon given to Marshal Macdonald? 2.

What time of year was it? 3. Describe the march of the army over the

Alps. 4. What disaster occurred to them? 5. How did their commander

address the army? 6 Describe the drummer boy's fate. 7. How many men

perished? 8. What does this exploit of the army illustrate? 9. What is

said of heroic deeds?

* * * * *

LESSON LIV.

PROV' ERBS, sayings; maxims.

TRAC' ED, shown; marked out.

WOO ERS, suitors; lovers.

DENSE, close; thick.

STRIV' ING, making efforts.

CON TROL', restraint; government.

COPE, strive; contend.

DE FY' ING, daring; outbraving.

GHOST, specter; apparition.

RE LY' ING, trusting; depending.

WIN' NING, getting; gaining.

BRAM' BLES, prickly shrubs.

WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY.

ELIZA COOK.

1. We have faith in old proverbs full surely,

For wisdom has traced what they tell,

And truth may be drawn up as purely

From them, as it may from a "well."

Let us question the thinkers and doers,

And hear what they honestly say,

And you'll find they believe, like bold wooers,

In "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

2. The hills have been high for man's mounting,

The woods have been dense for his ax,

The stars have been thick for his counting,

The sands have been wide for his tracks.

The sea has been deep for his diving,

The poles have been broad for his sway,

But bravely he's proved by his striving,

That "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

3. Have ye vices that ask a destroyer,

Or passions that need your control?

Let Reason become your employer,

And your body be ruled by your soul.

Fight on, though ye bleed at the trial,

Resist with all strength that ye may,

Ye may conquer Sin's host by denial,

For, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

4. Have ye poverty's pinching to cope with'?

Does suffering weigh down your might'?

Only call up a spirit to hope with,

And dawn may come out of the night.

Oh! much may be done by defying

The ghost of Despair and Dismay,

And much may be gained by relying

On "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

5. Should ye see afar off that worth winning,

Set out on a journey with trust,

And ne'er heed though your path at beginning

Should be among brambles and dust.

Though it is by footsteps ye do it,

And hardships may hinder and stay,

Keep a heart and be sure ye go through it,

For, "_Where there's a WILL there's a WAY._"

QUESTIONS.--1. What is the meaning of this proverb, "_Where there's a

WILL there's a WAY?_" 2. What instances can you mention in which its

truth has been realized? 3. Do you apply this proverb in getting your

lessons?

* * * * *

LESSON LV.

TAL' IS MAN, charm; amulet.

VAN, front or head of an army.

FI' ER Y, ardent; passionate.

PLUMES, supplies with feathers.

TENSE' LY, tightly.

SWERVES, deviates.

DAUNT, frighten; terrify.

BAN' ISH, expel; drive away.

TEL EGRAPH,(TELE,_far off_; GRAPH, _writing or marking_,) a machine

to convey news far off. See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, p. 161, Ex. 419.

"I CAN!"

1. "I CAN!" oh yes,--we _know_ you can!

We read it in your eye;

There is a mystic talisman

Flashing all gloriously!

Speak it out boldly, let it ring,

There is a volume there,

There's meaning in the eagle's wing

_Then soar, and do, and dare!_

2. "I CAN!" climbs to the mountain top,

And plows the billowy main;

He lifts the hammer in the shop,

And drives the saw and plane;

He's fearless in the battle shock,

And always leads the van

Of young America's brave sons,--

They never quailed nor ran.

3. "I CAN!" He is a fiery youth,

And WILL a brother twin,

And, arm in arm, in love and truth.

They'll either die or win.

Shoulder to shoulder, ever ready,

All firm and fearless still

These brothers labor,--true and steady,--

"I CAN," and brave "I WILL."

4. "I CAN," e'en on his pleasure trips,

Travels by telegraph;

He plumes the snowy wing of ships,

And never works by half;

His music is the humming loom,

And shuttles are his dancers.,

Then clear the way, and quick give room

For the noble-souled "I CAN," sirs!

5. "I CAN!" Indeed, we _know_ you can!

'Tis lithe in every limb,

To your blood 'tis a busy fan,

How can the flame burn dim?

It tensely draws your sturdy nerves,--

No bow's without a string,

And when nor bow nor bow-string swerves,

An arrow's on the wing.

6. There is a magic in the power

Of an unbending _will_,

That makes us stronger every hour,

For greater efforts still.

Then banish from you every CAN'T,

And show yourself a MAN,

And nothing will your purpose daunt,

Led by the brave "I CAN!"

QUESTIONS.--1. What does "_I can_" do? 2. Who is called his twin

brother? 3. What is said of an unbending will?

* * * * *

LESSON LVI.

CAS' ED, invested.

ARM' OR, defensive arms.

STORM' ING, taking by assault.

AIR' Y, fanciful; visionary.

FOR' TRESS, fort; strong-hold.

DE TAIN', hinder; keep back.

WEAP' ONS, instruments for defense, or offense.

UN WOR' THY, undeserving.

RE GRET', sorrow for the past.

PHAN' TOM, specter; ghost-like.

SCARCE' LY, hardly.

NOW, TO-DAY.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

1. ARISE`! for the day is passing,

And you lie dreaming on;

Your brothers are cased in armor,

And forth to the fight are gone!

A place in the ranks awaits you;

Each man has some part to play;

The Past and the Future are nothing

In the face of stern TO-DAY.

2. ARISE from your dreams of the Future,--

Of gaining some hard-fought field,

Of storming some airy fortress,

Or bidding some giant yield;

Your Future has deeds of glory,

Of honor, (God grant it may!)

But your arm will never be stronger,

Or needed as _now_,--TO-DAY.

3. ARISE`! if the Past detain you,

Her sunshine and storms forget;

No chains so unworthy to hold you

As those of a vain regret;

Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever;

Cast her phantom arms away,

Nor look back, save to learn the lesson

Of a nobler strife TO-DAY.

4. ARISE`! for the day is passing;

The sound that you scarcely hear,

Is the enemy marching to battle!

(f.) _Rise_`! RISE`! for the foe is near!

Stay not to sharpen your weapons,

Or the hour will strike at last,

When, from dreams of a coming battle,

You may wake to find it past!

QUESTIONS.--1. What reasons are assigned why we should arouse to effort

_now, to-day?_ 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _arise?_ See

Rule VIII., page 33. 3. How, according to the notation mark, should the

last verse be read?

* * * * *

LESSON LVII.

REV O LU' TION, change of government.

FAN' CI ED, thought; imagined,

UN GEN' ER OUS, mean; ignoble.

AC KNOWL' EDG ED, owned.

PLOT' TING, planning; contriving.

DE SIGN', purpose; intention.

COR RE SPOND' ENCE, intercourse by letters.

CON' QUEST, victory.

IN' TER VIEW, meeting; conference.

SOL' I TA RY, lonely; retired.

CON GRAT' U LA TING, rejoicing with.

IS' SU ED, started up; come forth.

SUS PECT' ING, mistrusting.

DE TECT' ED, exposed; found out.

A' MI A BLE, lovely; agreeable.

FEL' ON, criminal.

CON' SE QUENCE, (CON, _with_; SEQUENCE, _a following_,) a following

with, as an effect, or result.

IM PRESS' IVE, (IM, _in_; PRESS, _to bear upon_; IVE, _tending to_,)

tending to press in, or upon; producing an effect.

IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_,) rolled in; enveloped.

THE CAPTURE OF MAJOR ANDRE.

1. One of the saddest events in the history of the American Revolution

is the _treason of Arnold_, and, in consequence of it, _the death of

Major Andre_. Arnold was an officer in the American army, who, though

brave, had a proud and impatient spirit.

2. He fancied he had not all the honor and the pay due for his services,

and, having plunged himself into debt by his expensive style of living,

these things soured his heart; and, as is the case with ungenerous

minds, he never acknowledged a fault, or forgave an injury. More than

this, he sought revenge against his countrymen by plotting _treason

against his country_.

3. Soon after forming this bad design, he opened a secret correspondence

with the English General, Henry Clinton, and, at the same time, asked

General Washington to give him the command of West Point, an important

post on the Hudson river. Washington let him have it, and this he

determined to betray into the hands of the enemy, provided he could make

out of it a good bargain for himself.

4. He wrote to General Clinton what he would do, and asked to have a

secret interview with some English officer, in order to agree upon the

terms. General Clinton was delighted; for he thought an army divided

against itself, must prove an easy conquest; and he asked Major Andre, a

gallant young officer, to meet Arnold, and settle the price of his

treason.

5. Andre did not wish to engage in such business; but he obeyed, and

went up the Hudson in an English sloop-of-war for this purpose. Arnold

agreed to meet him at a certain spot, and when night came on, sent a

little boat to bring him ashore. He landed at the foot of a mountain

called the Long Clove, on the western side of the river, a few miles

from Haverstraw, where he found the traitor hid in a clump of bushes.

6. Little did poor Andre foresee the fatal consequences of this step.

All that still star-light night they sat and talked; daylight came, and

the business was not concluded. Arnold dismissed the boatmen, and led

his companion to a solitary farm-house on the river's bank, where the

papers were finally drawn up, and hid in one of Andre's stockings. Andre

felt how exposed he was to danger in the enemy's country, and heartily

wished himself back to the sloop.

7. Forced now, however, to go by land, Arnold gave him a pass to go

through the American lines; and, at sunset, he set off, on horseback,

with a guide. They crossed the river, and, getting along on their

dangerous journey with but few alarms, the guide left the next morning,

and Andre rode briskly on, congratulating himself upon leaving all

dangers behind, for he was rapidly nearing the English lines, when there

was a loud shout, "_Stand!_ HALT!" and three men [Footnote: Paulding,

Williams, and Van Wart.] issued from the woods, one seizing the bridle,

and the others presenting their guns.

8. Andre told them he had a pass to White Plains, on urgent business

from General Arnold, and begged them not to detain him; but the men,

suspecting that all was not right, began to search him; and, hauling off

his boots, they discovered his papers in his stockings.

9. Finding himself detected, he offered them any sum of money, if they

would let him go. "No;" answered the sturdy men, "not if you would give

us ten thousand guineas;" for, though poor, they were above selling

their country at any price. Andre was sent a prisoner to General

Washington's camp. Arnold, on learning the news of his capture,

immediately fled from West Point, and made his escape to the English

sloop.

10. According to the rules of war, poor Andre was sentenced to the death

of a spy. Great efforts were made to save him. General Clinton offered a

large sum to redeem him. So young, so amiable, so gallant, and to meet a

felon's doom! but, in ten days he was hung.

11. Arnold lived; but, with the thirty thousand dollars--the price of

his treachery--he lived a miserable man, despised even by those who

bought him. And one impressive lesson which the story teaches, is, that

_the consequences of guilt do not fall alone on the guilty man;_ others

are often involved in distress, disgrace, and ruin.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is one of the saddest events in the history of the

American Revolution? 2. Who was Arnold? 3. What reason is assigned why

he plotted treason against his country? 4. What measures did he adopt to

do this? 5. With whom, and where did he make the agreement? 6. By whom

was Andre detected? 7. What became of Andre and Arnold?

* * * * *

LESSON LVIII.

SE CUR' ED, obtained.

HES' I TA TED, paused.

MIS' ER A BLE, wretched.

SUP' PLI ANT, petitioner; beggar.

PECUL' IAR, singular; remarkable.

IN DIC' A TIVE, showing; intimating.

SO LIC' IT ED, asked; requested.

COS TUME', mode of dress.

VIG' OR OUS, stout; strong.

SYN' O NYM, a word meaning the same as some other word.

IN' FA MY, utter disgrace.

[Headnote 1: TAL' LEY RAND, a distinguished French statesman, was born

Feb. 13th, 1754. He died May 20th, 1838.]

BENEDICT ARNOLD.

1. There was a day when Talleyrand [Headnote 1] arrived in Havre, direct

from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the French Revolution. Pursued by

the blood-hounds of the Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of

property or power, Talleyrand secured a passage to America, in a ship

about to sail. He was a beggar and a wanderer in a strange land, to earn

his bread by daily labor.

2. "Is there an American staying at your house?" he asked the landlord

of the hotel. "I am bound to cross the water, and should like a letter

to a person of influence in the New World." The landlord hesitated a

moment, then replied: "There is a gentleman up-stairs, either from

America or Britain; but whether an American or an Englishman, I can not

tell."

3. He pointed the way, and Talleyrand, who, in his life, was Bishop,

Prince, and Prime Minister, ascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant,

he stood before the stranger's door, knocked, and entered. In the far

corner of the dimly-lighted room, sat a man of some fifty years, his

arms folded, and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly

opposite, a faint light rested on his forehead.

4. His eyes looked from beneath the downcast brows, and gazed on

Talleyrand's face with a peculiar and searching expression. His face was

striking in outline,--the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will. His

form, vigorous, even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad in a

dark, but rich and distinguished costume.

5. Talleyrand advanced, stated that he was a fugitive; and, under the

impression that the gentleman before him was an American, he solicited

his kind and generous offices. He related his history in eloquent French

and broken English.

6. "I am a wanderer, and an exile. I am forced to flee to the New World,

without a friend or home. You are an American! Give me, then, I beseech

you, a letter of yours, so that I may be able to earn my bread. I am

willing to toil in any manner; the scenes of Paris have seized me with

such horror, that a life of labor would be a paradise to a career of

luxury in France. You will give me a letter to one of your friends? A

gentleman like yourself has, doubtless, many friends."

7. The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talleyrand never forgot,

he retreated to the door of the next chamber,--his eyes looking still

from beneath his darkened brow. He spoke as he retreated backward,--his

voice was full of meaning. "I am the only man born in the New World, who

can raise his hand to God and say, I have not a friend, not one, in all

America!" Talleyrand never forgot the overwhelming sadness of that look

which accompanied these words.

8. "Who are you?" he cried, as the strange man retreated to the next

room: "your name?" "My name," he replied, with a smile that had more of

mockery than joy in its convulsive expression,--"my name is Benedict

Arnold!" He was gone: Talleyrand sank into his chair, gasping the words,

"ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!"

9. Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth another Cain, with the

wanderer's mark upon his brow. Even in that secluded room, in that inn

at Havre, his crimes found him out, and forced him to tell his name:

that name the synonym of infamy. The last twenty years of his life are

covered with a cloud, from whose darkness but a few gleams of light

flash out upon the page of history.

10. The manner of his death is not exactly known; but we can not doubt

that he died utterly friendless,--that remorse pursued him to the grave,

whispering "John Andre" in his ear,--and that the memory of his course

of infamy gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring forever, "True to

your country, what might you have been, O ARNOLD, THE TRAITOR!"

QUESTIONS.--1. Who was Talleyrand? 2. Why was he obliged to flee from

Paris? 3. Whom did he seek at Havre? 4. Why did he wish to see the

stranger? 5. Describe the appearance of this stranger. 6. What did he

say to Talleyrand? 7. Who did the stranger prove to be? 8. What is said

of Arnold? 9. Where is Havre? 10. Where is Paris? 11. What is meant by

_New World_?

* * * * *

LESSON LIX.

LO CO MO' TIVE, steam-engine to propel rail-cars.

COL LIS' ION, (_s_ like _zh_,) shock; violent contact.

EN GIN EER', one who manages an engine.

PRE CIP' I TA TED, thrown headlong.

RE-EN FORCE' MENTS, additional forces.

OB' STI NATE, unyielding.

CORPS, (_kore_,) body of troops.

BANK' RUPT CY, insolvency.

E NOR' MOUS, immense; very large.

AS' SETS, amounts due.

RE MIT' TANCE, money remitted.

PRE SERV' ED, secured; saved.

MA TU' RI TY, time of payment.

RE PRIEVE', respite.

IN SOLV' ENT, one unable to pay his debts.

PROV O CA' TION, incitement to anger.

IG NO MIN' I OUS, disgraceful.

SAC RI FIC' ED, (_c_ like _z_,) thrown away.

BEHIND TIME.

FREEMAN HUNT.

1. A railroad train was rushing along at almost lightning speed. A curve

was just ahead, beyond which was a station, at which the cars usually

passed each other. The conductor was late,--so late that the period

during which the down train was to wait, had nearly elapsed: but he

hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly, a locomotive dashed into

sight right ahead. In an instant, there was a collision. A shriek, a

shock, and fifty souls were in eternity; and all because an engineer had

been _behind time_.

2. A great battle was going on. Column after column had been

precipitated for eight mortal hours on the enemy posted along the ridge

of a hill. The summer sun was sinking to the west; re-enforcements for

the obstinate defenders were already in sight; it was necessary to carry

the position with one final charge, or every thing would be lost. A

powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and, if it

came up in season, all would yet be right. The great conqueror,

confident in its arrival, formed his reserve into an attacking column,

and led them down the hill. The whole world knows the result. Grouchy

[Footnote: Pronounced _Groo' shee_.] failed to appear; the imperial

guard was beaten back; Waterloo was lost. Napoleon died a prisoner at

St. Helena, because one of his marshals was _behind time_.

3. A leading firm, in commercial circles had long struggled against

bankruptcy. As it had enormous assets in California, it expected

remittances by a certain day; and if the sums promised arrived, its

credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But

week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. At last, came the

fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to enormous amounts. The

steamer was telegraphed at daybreak; but it was found on inquiry that

she brought no funds; and the house failed. The next arrival brought

nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late; they were

ruined, because their agent, in remitting, had been _behind time_.

4. A condemned man was led out for execution, he had taken human life,

but under circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy

was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for a reprieve,

a favorable answer had been expected the night before, and, though it

had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive

in season. Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the

messenger. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place on the

drop, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a

lifeless body hung suspended in the air. Just at that moment a horseman

came into sight, galloping down the hill, his steed covered with foam.

He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved to the crowd. He

was the express rider with the reprieve. But he had come too late. A

comparatively innocent man had died an ignominious death, because a

watch had been five minutes too slow, making its bearer arrive _behind

time_.

5. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the most important

affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the wealth of nations, honor,

happiness, life itself, are daily sacrificed because somebody is "behind

time." There are men who always fail in whatever they undertake, simply

because they are "behind time." Five minutes in a crisis are worth

years. It is but a little period, yet it has often saved a fortune, or

redeemed a people. If there is one virtue that should be cultivated more

than another by him who would succeed in life, it is _punctuality_; if

there is one error that should be avoided, it is being _behind time_.

QUESTIONS.--1. What sad results are mentioned, in consequence of being

_behind time?_ 2. What virtue should be cultivated, and what error

avoided? 3. What is the use of the hyphen in the word _re-enforcements?_

See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page 165.

* * * * *

LESSON LX.

TWIN' ED, interwoven.

GAR' LAND, wreath of flowers.

MUS' ED, thought; meditated.

AN TIQUE', (_an teek'_,) ancient.

MOLD, shape; form.

RARE, scarce; seldom seen.

SOOTH ED, calmed; quieted.

THROB' BED, beat; palpitated.

CO' ZY, snug; comfortable.

EBB' ED, flowed back.

JOUR' NEY, travel.

LONG' ING, earnestly desiring.

TIE, bond of affection.

RIV' EN, torn asunder.

"HOW HAPPY I'LL BE."

1. A little girl sat amid the flowers,

In the blush and bloom of childhood's hours;

She twined the buds in a garland fair,

And bound them up in her shining hair:

"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,

When ten years more have gone over me,

And I am a maiden with youth's bright glow

Flushing my cheek, and lighting my brow!"

2. A maiden mused in a pleasant room,

Where the air was filled with a soft perfume;

Vases were near of antique mold,

And beautiful pictures, rare and old;

And she, amid all the beauty there,

Was by far the loveliest and most fair.

"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,

When my heart's own choice comes back to me,

When I proudly stand by my dear one's side,

With the thrilling joy of a youthful bride!"

3. A mother bent o'er the cradle nest

Where she soothed her babe to his smiling rest;

She watched the sleep of her cherub-boy,

And her spirit throbbed with exulting joy.

"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,

When he reaches manhood, proud and free,

And the world bows down, in its rapture wild,

It the earnest words of my darling child!"

4. An aged one sat by the cozy hearth,

Counting life's sands as they ebbed from earth;

Feeble and frail; the race she run

Had borne her along to the setting sun.

"Ah, me!" said she, "_how happy I'll be_,

When from time's long fever my soul is free,

When the world fades out with its weary strife,

And I soar away to a better life!"

5. 'Tis thus we journey from youth to age,

Longing to turn to another page,

Striving to hasten the years away,

Lighting our hearts with the future's ray,

Hoping on earth till its visions fade,

Wishing and waiting, through sun and shade,

But turning, when earth's last tie is riven,

To the beautiful rest of a fadeless Heaven.

QUESTIONS.--1. When did the little girl think she would be happy? 2.

What did she say when she became old? 3. What are we constantly

expecting from youth to age? 4. What is the meaning of the suffix _ing_,

in such words as _longing, striving, lighting_, &c.? See SANDERS &

McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 134, Ex. 176.

* * * * *

LESSON LXI.

VET' ER AN, old soldier.

GRASP' ED, seized hold of.

AN' CIENT, old.

MUR' MUR, ED, uttered in a low voice.

IM MOR' TAL, imperishable.

RAG' ED, was furious.

RE MAIN', still exists.

SIRE, father.

LIGHT' EN ED, (EN, _make_; ED, _did_,) did make light.

THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL.

WILLIAM R. WALLACE.

1. He lay upon his dying bed,

(pl.) His eye was growing dim,

When, with a feeble voice, he called

His weeping son to him:

"Weep not, my boy," the veteran said,

"I bow to Heaven's high will;

But quickly from yon antlers bring,

The sword of Bunker Hill."

2. The sword was brought; the soldier's eye

Lit with a sudden flame;

And, as he grasped the ancient blade,

He murmured Warren's[1] name;

Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold,

But what is richer still,

I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,

The sword of Bunker Hill.

3. "'Twas on that dread, immortal day,

I dared the Briton's band,

A captain raised his blade on me,

I tore it from his hand;

And while the glorious battle raged,

It lightened Freedom's will;

For, boy, the God of Freedom blessed

The sword of Bunker Hill.

4. "Oh! keep this sword," his accents broke,--

A smile--and he was dead;

But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade,

Upon that dying bed.

The son remains, the sword remains,

Its glory growing still,

And twenty millions bless the sire

And sword of Bunker Hill.

[Footnote 1: General Warren, a brave and valuable officer, fell by a

musket-ball, while fighting the British at Bunker's Hill, June 17th,

1775.]

QUESTIONS.--1. What request did the old veteran make of his son? 2. What

bequest did he make to him? 3. How did he obtain that sword? 4. What did

he say to his son? 5. Who was Warren?

* * * * *

LESSON LXII.

LE' GEND, fictitious narrative.

MOR' TAL, deadly.

COM' BAT, battle; conflict.

PRI ME' VAL, first; primitive.

MUS' CU LAR, strong; vigorous.

CA DAV' ER OUS, pale; sickly.

REF U GEE', runaway; fugitive.

QUAR' TER, mercy; indulgence.

PIN' ION ED, confined; shackled.

A BYSS', yawning gulf.

PRO POS' AL, offer; proposition.

DI SHEV' EL ED, disordered.

IM BO' SOM ED, surrounded; inclosed.

CON FESS' ED, owned; acknowledged.

RE LENT' ING, pitying; compassionate.

RAN' DOM, venture.

SU PER STI' TION, false religious belief.

A VENGE', take satisfaction for.

UN CON' SCIOUS, unaware.

SUB LIM' I TY, grandeur.

THE BIBLE LEGEND OF THE WIS SA HI' KON.

LIPPARD.

1. It was here in the wilds of the Wis sa hi' kon, on the day of battle,

as the noonday sun came shining through the thickly clustered leaves,

that two men met in mortal combat. They grappled in deadly conflict near

a rock that rose, like the huge wreck of some primeval world, at least

one hundred feet above the dark waters of the Wis sa hi'kon.

2. That man with the dark brow and the darker gray eye,--with the

muscular form, clad in the blue hunting-frock of the Revolution,--is a

Continental, named Warner. His brother was murdered at the massacre of

Pao'li. That _other_ man, with long black hair drooping along his

cadaverous face, is clad in the half-military costume of a Tory refugee.

_That_ is the murderer of Pao'li, named Dabney.

3. They had met there in the woods by accident; and now they fought, not

with sword or rifle, but with long and deadly hunting-knives, that flash

in the light as they go turning, and twining, and twisting over the

green-sward. At last, the Tory is down!--down on the green-sward, with

the knee of the Continental upon his breast,--that up-raised knife

quivering in the light,--that dark-gray eye flashing death into his

face!

4. "Quarter! I yield!" gasped the Tory, as the knee was pressed upon his

breast. "Spare me!--I yield!"

5. "_My_ brother," said the patriot soldier, in a low tone of deadly

hate,--"_My_ brother cried for quarter on the night of Pa o' li, and,

even as he clung to your knees, you struck that knife into his heart.

Oh, I will give you the quarter of Pa o' li!" And his hand was raised

for the blow, and his teeth were clinched in deadly hate. He paused for

a moment, and then pinioned the Tory's arms, and, with one rapid stride,

dragged him to the verge of the rock, and held him quivering over the

abyss.

6. "Mercy!" gasped the Tory, turning black and ashy by turns, as that

awful gulf yawned below. "_Mercy! I have a wife! a child! spare me!_"

7. Then the Continental, with his muscular strength gathered for the

effort, shook the murderer once more over the abyss, and then hissed

this bitter sneer between his teeth,--"_My brother had a wife and two

children_. The morning after the night of Pa o' li, that wife was a

widow,--those children were orphans! Would not you like to go and beg

your life of that widow and her children?"

8. The proposal, made by the Continental in the mere mockery of hate,

was taken in serious earnest by the horror-stricken Tory. He begged to

be taken to the widow and her children, to have the pitiful privilege of

begging his life. After a moment's serious thought, the patriot soldier

consented. He bound the Tory's arms yet tighter, placed him on the rock

again, and then led him up the woods. A quiet cottage, imbosomed among

the trees, broke on their eyes.

9. They entered that cottage. There, beside the desolate hearth-stone,

sat the widow and her children. She was a matronly woman of about thirty

years, with a face faded by care, a deep, dark eye, and long, disheveled

hair about her shoulder. On one side was a dark-haired boy, of some six

years; on the other, a little girl, one year younger, with light hair

and blue eyes. The Bible, an old, venerable volume, lay open on that

mother's lap.

10. And then that pale-faced Tory flung himself on his knees, confessed

that he had butchered her husband on the night of Pa o'li, but begged

his life at her hands! _"Spare me, for the sake of my wife--my child!"_

He had expected that his pitiful moan would touch the widow's heart; but

not one relenting gleam softened her pale face.

11. "The Lord shall judge between us!" she said in a cold, icy tone,

that froze the murderer's heart. "Look! The Bible lies open before me. I

will close that volume, and then this boy shall open it, and place his

finger at random upon a line, and by _that line_ you shall live or die!"

This was a strange proposal, made in full faith of a wild and dark

superstition of the olden time. For a moment, the Tory, kneeling there,

livid as ashes, was wrapt in thought. Then, in a faltering voice, he

signified his consent.

12. Raising her dark eyes to heaven, the mother prayed the Great Father

to direct the finger of her son. She closed the book, and handed it to

that boy, whose young cheek reddened with loathing as he gazed upon his

father's murderer. He took the Bible, opened its holy pages at random,

and placed his fingers upon a verse.

13. Then there was a silence. That Continental soldier, who had sworn to

avenge his brother's death, stood there with dilating eyes and parted

lips. Then the culprit, kneeling on the floor, with a face like

discolored clay, felt his heart leap to his throat. Then, in a clear,

bold voice, the widow read this line from the Old Testament. It was

short, yet terrible: "_That man shall die!_"

14. Look! The brother springs forward to plunge a knife into the

murderer's heart; but the Tory, pinioned as he is, begs that one more

trial may be made by the little girl,--that child of five years, with

golden hair and laughing eyes. The widow consents. There is an awful

pause. With a smile in her eye, without knowing what she does, the

little girl opens the Bible,--she turns her laughing face away,--she

places her fingers upon the page.

15. That awful silence grows deeper. The deep-drawn breath of the

brother, and the broken gasps of the murderer, alone disturb the

stillness. The widow and dark-eyed boy are breathless. That little girl,

unconscious as she was, caught a feeling of awe from the countenances

around her, and stood breathless, her face turned aside, and her tiny

fingers resting on that line of life or death. At last, gathering

courage, the widow bent her eyes on the page, and read. It was a line

from the New Testament: "LOVE YOUR ENEMIES." Ah! that moment was

sublime!

16. Oh, awful Book of God! in whose dread pages we see Job talking face

to face with Jehovah, or Jesus waiting by Samaria's well, or wandering

by the waves of dark Galilee! Oh, awful Book! shining to-night, as I

speak, the light of that widow's home,--the glory of the mechanic's

shop,--shining where the world comes not, to look on the last night of

the convict in his cell, lightening the way to God, even over that dread

gibbet!

17. Oh, Book of terrible majesty and child-like love,--for sublimity

that crushes the soul into awe,--of beauty that melts the heart with

rapture! you never shone more strangely beautiful than there in the

lonely cot of the Wissa hi'kon, where you saved the murderer's life.

For,--need I tell you?--_that murderer's life was saved_. That widow

recognized the finger of God, and even the stern brother was awed into

silence. The murderer went his way.

18. Now look ye, how wonderful are the ways of Heaven! That very night,

as the widow sat by her lonely hearth, her orphans by her side,--sat

there with a crushed heart and hot eye-balls, thinking of her husband,

who, she supposed, now lay moldering on the blood-drenched soil of Pa o'

li,--there was a tap at the door. She opened it, and that husband,

living, though covered with wounds, was in her arms! He had fallen at Pa

o' li, but not in death. _He was alive_,--his wife lay panting on his

breast. That night there was a prayer in that wood-embowered cot of the

Wis sa hi' kon.

QUESTIONS.--1. What two men are said to have engaged in deadly combat?

2. Which gained the mastery? 3. What did the patriot soldier say to the

Tory, when he cried, _Quarter_? 4. What, when the Tory told him he had a

wife and child? 5. What proposal was made to him? 6. How was his fate to

be decided? 7. Was his life spared? 8. What proved the justice of the

decision?

* * * * *

LESSON LXIII.

VES' TI BULE, porch, entrance.

VI' BRATE, move to and fro.

IM MOR' TALS, undying creatures.

MON' U MENTS, memorials.

A CHIEVE', accomplish.

MU TA BLE, changeable.

IM MOR TAL' I TY, deathless existence.

IL LU' MIN ATE, enlighten.

UN DER STAND' ING, intellect.

RE AL' I TIES, truths; facts.

AS SAULTS', violent attacks.

DE SER' TION, abandonment.

IN EX HAUST' I BLE, never-failing.

CHAR' TER, title; deed.

ADVICE TO THE YOUNG.

E.H. CHAPIN.

1. Young friends', in whatever pursuits you may engage, you must not

forget that the lawful objects of human efforts, are but means to higher

results and nobler ends. Start not forward in life with the idea of

becoming mere seekers of pleasure,--sportive butterflies searching for

gaudy flowers. Consider and act with reference to the true ends of

existence.

2. This world is but the vestibule of an immortal life. Every action of

your life touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity. These

thoughts and motives within you, stir the pulses of a deathless spirit.

Act not, then, as mere creatures of this life, who, for a little while,

are to walk the valleys and the hills, to enjoy the sunshine and to

breathe the air, and then pass away and be no more; but _act_ as

immortals, with an _aim_ and a _purpose_ worthy of your high nature.

3. Set before you, as the chief object to be obtained, an _end_ that is

superior to any on earth,--_a desirable end_, A PERFECT END. Labor to

accomplish a work which shall survive unchanged and beautiful, when time

shall have withered the garland of youth, when thrones of power and

monuments of art shall have crumbled into ashes; and, finally, aim to

achieve something, which, when these our mutable and perishing voices

are hushed forever, shall live amid the songs and triumphs of

IMMORTALITY.

4. Well will it be for you, if you have a _guide_ within, which will aid

you in every issue which will arm you in every temptation, and comfort

you in every sorrow. Consult, then, that Volume whose precepts will

never fail you. Consult it with a deep aspiration after the true and

good, and it shall illuminate your understanding with divine realities.

5. Open your soul, and it shall breathe into it a holy influence, and

fill all its wants. Bind it close to your heart; it will be a shield

against all the assaults of evil. Read it in the lonely hour of

desertion; it will be the best of companions. Open it when the voyage of

life is troubled'; it is a sure chart. Study it in poverty'; it will

unhoard to you inexhaustible riches. Commune with it in sickness'; it

contains the medicine of the soul. Clasp it when dying'; IT IS THE

CHARTER OF IMMORTALITY.

QUESTIONS.--1. What ought we not to forget? 2. How ought the world to be

regarded? 3. How ought we to act and labor? 4. What ought we to consult?

* * * * *

LESSON LXIV.

IN TREP' ID, brave; heroic.

BE TO' KEN ED, showed; indicated.

E LAS' TIC, springy; agile.

AT' TI TUDE, posture; position.

UN' DER GROWTH, shrubbery.

CON FRONT', stand before.

CA TAS' TRO PHE, disaster; calamity.

DE TER' RED, hindered; prevented.

HUR' RI CANE, violent tempest.

BUF' FET ING, beating with the hands.

ATH LET' IC, strong; powerful.

MI RAC' U LOUS, wonderful.

TRE MEN DOUS, terrible; frightful.

DES' PE RATE, rash; furious.

IN VOL' UN TA RY, spontaneous.

CAT' A RACT, waterfall.

RE SUS' CI TATE, revive; bring to life.

CH AR' AC TER IZ ED, distinguished.

THE INTREPID YOUTH.

1. It was a calm, sunny day in the year 1750; the scene, a piece of

forest land in the north of Virginia, near a noble stream of water.

Implements of surveying were lying about, and several men reclining

under the trees, betokened, by their dress and appearance, that they

composed a party engaged in laying out the wild lands of the country.

2. These persons had apparently just finished their dinner. Apart from

the group, walked a young man of a tall and compact frame, and moved

with the elastic tread of one accustomed to constant exercise in the

open air. His countenance wore a look of decision and manliness not

usually found in one so young, for he was apparently little over

eighteen years of age. His hat had been cast off, as if for comfort, and

he had paused, with one foot advanced, in a graceful and natural

attitude.

3. Suddenly there was a shriek, then another, and several in rapid

succession. The voice was that of a woman, and seemed to proceed from

the other side of a dense thicket. At the first scream, the youth turned

his head in the direction of the sound; but when it was repeated, he

pushed aside the undergrowth which separated him from it, and,

quickening his footsteps, as the cries succeeded each other in alarming

rapidity, he soon dashed into an open space on the banks of the stream,

where stood a rude log-cabin.

4. As the young man broke from the undergrowth, he saw his companions

crowded together on the banks of the river, while in the midst stood the

woman, from whom proceeded the shrieks, held back by two of the men, but

struggling vigorously for freedom. It was but the work of a moment for

the young man to make his way through the crowd and confront the female.

The instant her eye fell on him, she exclaimed, "Oh! sir, you will do

something for me. Make them release me,--for the love of God! _My

boy,--my poor boy is drowning, and they will not let me go!"_ "It would

be madness; she will jump into the river," said one, "and the rapids

would dash her to pieces in a moment!"

5. The youth had scarcely waited for these words, for he recollected the

child, a bold little boy of four years old, whose beautiful blue eyes

and flaxen ringlets made him a favorite with all who knew him. He had

been accustomed to play in the little inclosure before the cabin, but

the gate having been left open, he had stolen incautiously out, reached

the edge of the bank, and was in the act of looking over, when his

mother saw him.

6. The shriek she uttered only hastened the catastrophe she feared; for

the child, frightened at the cry of its mother, lost its balance, and

fell into the stream, which here went foaming and roaring along amid

innumerable rocks, constituting the most dangerous rapids known in that

section of the country. Scream now followed scream in rapid succession,

as the agonized mother rushed to the bank.

7. The party we left reclining in the shade within a few steps of the

accident, were immediately on the spot. Fortunate it was that they were

so near, else the mother would have jumped in after her child, and both

been lost. Several of the men approached the brink, and were on the

point of springing in after the child, when the sight of the sharp rocks

crowding the channel, the rush and whirl of the waters, and the want of

any knowledge where to look for the boy, deterred them, and they gave up

the enterprise.

8. Not so with the noble youth. His first work was to throw off his

coat; next to spring to the edge of the bank. Here he stood for a

moment, running his eyes rapidly over the scene below, taking with a

glance the different currents and the most dangerous of the rocks, in

order to shape his course when in the stream. He had scarcely formed his

conclusion, when he saw in the water a white object, which he knew to be

the boy's dress, and he plunged into the wild and roaring rapids.

9. _"Thank God, he will save my child,"_ cried the mother; _"there he

is!--oh! my boy, my darling boy, how could I leave you!"_ Every one had

rushed to the brink of the precipice, and was now following with eager

eyes the progress of the youth, as the current bore him onward, like a

feather in the embrace of the hurricane. Now it seemed as if he would be

dashed against a jutting rock, over which the water flew in foam, and a

whirlpool would drag him in, from whose grasp escape would appear

impossible.

10. At times, the current bore him under, and he would be lost to sight;

then, just as the spectators gave him up, he would appear, though far

from where he vanished, still buffeting amid the vortex. Oh, how that

mother's straining eyes followed him in his perilous career! how her

heart sunk when he went under,--and with what a gush of joy when she saw

him emerge again from the waters, and, flinging the waves aside with his

athletic arms, struggle on in pursuit of her boy!

11. But it seemed as if his generous efforts were not to avail; for,

though the current was bearing off the boy before his eyes, scarcely ten

feet distant, he could not, despite his gigantic efforts, overtake the

drowning child. On flew the youth and child; and it was miraculous how

each escaped being dashed in pieces against the rocks. Twice the boy

went out of sight, and a suppressed shriek escaped the mother's lips;

but twice he reappeared, and then, with hands wrung wildly together, and

breathless anxiety, she followed his progress, as his unresisting form

was hurried with the onward current.

12. The youth now appeared to redouble his exertions, for they were

approaching the most dangerous part of the river, where the rapids,

contracting between the narrow shores, shot almost perpendicularly down

a declivity of fifteen feet. The rush of the waters at this spot was

tremendous, and no one ventured to approach its vicinity, even in a

canoe, lest he should be dashed in pieces. What, then, would be the

youth's fate, unless he soon overtook the child? He seemed fully

sensible of the increasing peril, and now urged his way through the

foaming current with a desperate strength.

13. Three times he was on the point of grasping the child, when the

waters whirled the prize from him. The third effort was made just as

they were entering within the influence of the current above the fall;

and when it failed, the mother's heart sunk within her, and she groaned,

fully expecting the youth to give up his task. But no; he only pressed

forward the more eagerly; and, as they breathlessly watched amid the

boiling waters, they saw the form of the brave youth following close

after that of the boy.

14. And now, like an arrow from the bow, pursuer and pursued shot to the

brink of the precipice. An instant they hung there, distinctly visible

amid the foaming waters. Every brain grew dizzy at the sight. But a

shout of involuntary exultation burst from the spectators, when they saw

the boy held aloft by the right arm of the youth,--a shout that was

suddenly checked with horror, when they both vanished into the abyss

below!

15. A moment elapsed before a word was spoken, or a breath drawn. The

mother ran forward, and then stood gazing with fixed eyes at the foot of

the cataract, as if her all depended upon what the next moment should

reveal. Suddenly she gave the glad cry, (_f_.) "_There they are! See!

they are safe!_--Great God, I thank thee!" And, sure enough, there was

the youth still unharmed, and still buffeting the waters. He had just

emerged from the boiling vortex below the cataract. With one hand he

held aloft the child, and with the other he was making for the shore.

16. They ran, they shouted, they scarcely knew what they did, until they

reached his side, just as he was struggling to the bank. They drew him

out almost exhausted. The boy was senseless; but his mother declared

that he still lived, as she pressed him frantically to her bosom. The

youth could scarcely stand, so faint was he from his exertions.

17. Who can describe the scene that followed,--the mother's calmness

while she strove to resuscitate her boy, and her wild gratitude to his

preserver, when the child was out of danger, and sweetly sleeping in her

arms? Our pen shrinks at the task. But her words, pronounced then, were

remembered afterwards by more than one who heard them.

18. "_God will reward you_," said she, "as _I_ can not. He will do great

things for you in return for this day's work, and the blessings of

thousands besides mine will attend you." And so it was; for, to the

_hero_ of that hour, were subsequently confided the destinies of a

mighty nation. But, throughout his long career, what tended to make him

more honored and respected beyond all men, was the _self-sacrificing

spirit_, which, in the rescue of that mother's child, as in the more

august events of his life, characterized OUR BELOVED WASHINGTON.

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the scene where this accident took place. 2.

What did the woman say to the young man? 3. Why would not the men

release the woman? 4. What did the young man do? 5. Did he finally

succeed in saving the child? 6. What did the mother say to him? 7. Who

did this youth prove to be?

* * * * *

LESSON LXV.

RAB' BI, teacher or doctor.

HEA' THEN, pagan; gentile.

BOUND' A RIES, limits.

WAN' DER ED, strayed.

SUB MIS' SIVE, resigned; humble.

PIL' GRIM, wanderer.

RE PEL' LED, drove off.

IN HOS' PI TA BLE, unkind to strangers.

MAN' TLE, garment, cloak.

CON SOL' ING, comforting.

RE POS' ING, lying down; resting.

CA LAM' I TY, misfortune.

POUN' CED, fell or jumped suddenly.

IM PLOR' ING, begging; entreating.

DE SPOIL' ED, robbed.

CHURL' ISH, surly; rude.

THE FOUR MISFORTUNES.

JOHN G. SANE.

1. A pious Rabbi, forced by heathen hate,

To quit the boundaries of his native land,

Wandered abroad, submissive to his fate,

Through pathless woods and wastes of burning sand.

2. A patient ass, to bear him in his flight,

A dog, to guard him from the robber's stealth,

A lamp, by which to read the law at night,--

Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly wealth.

3. At set of sun he reached a little town,

And asked for shelter and a crumb of food;

But every face repelled him with a frown,

And so he sought a lodging in the wood.

4. "'Tis very hard," the weary traveler said,

"And most inhospitable, I protest,

To send me fasting to this forest bed;

But God is good, and means it for the best!"

5. He lit his lamp to read the sacred law,

Before he spread his mantle for the night;

But the wind rising with a sudden flaw,

He read no more,--the gust put out the light.

6. "'Tis strange," he said, "'tis very strange, indeed,

That ere I lay me down to take my rest,

A chapter of the law I may not read,--

But God is good, and all is for the best!"

7. With these consoling words the Rabbi tries

To sleep,--his head reposing on a log,--

But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes,

A wolf came up and killed his faithful dog.

8. "What new calamity is this?" he cried;

"My honest dog--a friend who stood the test

When others failed--lies murdered at my side!

Well,--God is good, and means it for the best."

9. Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, when, alas!--

As if, at once, to crown his wretched lot,

A hungry lion pounced upon the ass,

And killed the faithful donkey on the spot.

10. "Alas!--alas!" the weeping Rabbi said,

"Misfortune haunts me like a hateful guest;

My dog is gone, and now my ass is dead,--

Well, God is good, and all is for the best!"

11. At dawn of day, imploring heavenly grace,

Once more he sought the town, but all in vain;

A band of robbers had despoiled the place,

And all the churlish citizens were slain.

12. "Now God be praised!" the grateful Rabbi cried,

"If I had tarried in the town to rest,

I too, with these poor villagers had died,--

Sure, God is good, and all is for the best!"

13. "Had not the saucy wind put out my lamp,

By which the sacred law I would have read,

The light had shown the robbers to my camp,

And here the villains would have left me dead.

14. "Had not my faithful animals been slain,

Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the robbers near,

And so their master, it is very plain,

Instead of them, had fallen murdered here.

15. "Full well I see that this hath happened so

To put my faith and patience to the test;

Thanks to His name! for now I surely know

That God is good, and all is for the best!"

* * * * *

LESSON LXVI.

FU TU' RI TY, events to come.

CON SULT', counsel with.

PRE TEN' SIONS, claims; assumptions.

FOR' TI TUDE, patience; endurance.

MOD' EL, pattern; example.

RES IG NA' TION, submissiveness.

O VER WHELMS', overcomes.

IN GRAT' I TUDE, unthankfulness.

VAG' A BOND, vagrant; worthless.

IM' PU DENCE, sauciness.

DES' TI NY, fate; final lot.

DE CEAS' ED, dead.

DE PRIV' ED, robbed.

IN CUR' RED, brought on; caused.

CON SUL TA' TIONS, couselings.

CAL CU LA' TIONS, reckonings.

PRE TER NAT' U RAL, (PRETER, _beyond_;) beyond what is natural;

miraculous.

IN VOLV' ED, (IN, _in_; VOLVED, _rolled_;) rolled in; enveloped.

IN TER RUPT', (INTER, _in, between_; RUPT, _to break_;) break in

between; stop; hinder.

[Headnote 1: JOB, a patriarch, celebrated for his patience, constancy,

and piety. For note on DAVID, see page 138.]

NOTE.--The dash at the end of a remark denotes that the speaker is

interrupted by the one with whom he is conversing.

MRS. CREDULOUS AND THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

_Mrs. Credulous._ Are you the fortune-teller, sir, that knows every

thing?

_Fortune-Teller._ I sometimes consult futurity, madam; but I make no

pretensions to any supernatural knowledge.

_Mrs. C._ Ay, so _you_ say; but every body else says you know _every

thing_; and I have come all the way from Boston to consult you; for you

must know I have met with a dreadful loss.

_F. T._ We are liable to losses in this world, madam.

_Mrs. C._ Yes; and I have had my share of them, though I shall be only

fifty, come Thanksgiving.

_F. T._ You must have learned to bear misfortunes with fortitude, by

this time.

_Mrs. C._ I don't know how that is, though my dear husband, rest his

soul, used to say, "Molly, you are as patient as Job,[Headnote 1] though

you never had any children to lose, as he had."

_F. T._ Job was a model of patience, madam, and few could lose their all

with so much resignation.

_Mrs. C._ Ah, sir', that is too true'; for even the small loss _I_ have

suffered, overwhelms me!

_F. T._ The loss of property, madam, comes home to the bosom of the best

of us.

_Mrs. C._ Yes, sir; and when the thing lost can not be replaced, it is

doubly distressing. When my poor, good man, on our wedding day, gave me

the ring, "Keep it, Molly," said he, "till you die, for my sake." And

now, that I should have lost it, after keeping it thirty years, and

locking it up so carefully all the time, as I did--

_F. T._ We can not be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends

often deceive us.

_Mrs. C._ True, sir, true,--but who would have thought that the child I

took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could

have been guilty of such ingratitude? She never would have touched what

was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it.

_F. T._ Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes!

_Mrs. C._ Yes; but to think that the impudent creature should deny she

took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself.

_F. T._ Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. But my time is

precious, and the star that rules your destiny will set, and your fate

be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The

star informs me, madam, that you are a widow.

_Mrs. C._ La! sir, were you acquainted with my deceased husband?

_F. T._ No, madam; we do not receive our knowledge by such means. Thy

name is Mary, and thy dwelling-place is Boston.

_Mrs. C._ Some spirit must have told you this, for certain.

_F. T._ This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty

years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband.

_Mrs. C._ I perceive, sir, you know _every_ thing.

_F. T._ Madam, I can not help knowing what I _do_ know; I must therefore

inform you that your adopted daughter, in the dead of night--

_Mrs. C._ No, sir; it was in the day-time.

_F. T._ Do not interrupt me, madam. In the dead of night, your adopted

daughter planned the robbery which deprived you of your wedding-ring.

_Mrs. C._ No earthly being could have told you this, for I never let my

right hand know that I possessed it, lest some evil should happen to it.

_F. T._ Hear me, madam; you have come all this distance to consult the

fates, and find your ring.

_Mrs. C._ You have guessed my intention exactly, sir.

_F. T._ Guessed'! madam'. I _know_ this is your object; and I know,

moreover, that your ungrateful daughter has incurred your displeasure,

by receiving the addresses of a worthless man.

_Mrs. C._ Every word is gospel truth.

_F. T._ This man has persuaded your daughter--

_Mrs. C._ I knew he did, I told her so. But good sir, can you tell me

who has the ring?

_F. T._ This young man has it.

_Mrs. C._ But he denies it.

_F. T._ No matter, madam, he has it.

_Mrs. C._ But how shall I obtain it again?

_F. T._ The law points out the way, madam,--it is _my_ business to point

out the rogue,--you must catch him.

_Mrs. C._ You are right, sir,--and if there is law to be had, I will

spend every cent I own, but I will have it. I knew he was the robber,

and I thank you for the information. [_Going_.]

_F. T._ But thanks, madam, will not pay for all my nightly vigils,

consultations, and calculations.

_Mrs. C._ Oh, right, sir! I forgot to pay you. What am I indebted to

you?

_F. T._ Only five dollars, madam.

_Mrs. C._ [_Handing him the money_.] There it is, sir. I would have paid

twenty rather than not have found the ring.

_F. T._ I never take but five, madam. Farewell, madam, your friend is at

the door with your chaise.

[_He leaves the room_.]

[_Enter, Friend_.]

_Friend_. Well, Mary, what does the fortune-teller say?

_Mrs. C._ Oh, he told me I was a widow, and lived in Boston, and had an

adopted daughter,--and----

_Friend._ But you knew all this before, did you not?

_Mrs. C._ Yes; but how should _he_ know it? He told me, too, that I had

lost a ring,--

_Friend._ Did he tell you where to find it?

_Mrs. C._ Oh yes! he says that fellow has it, and I must go to law and

get it, if he will not give it up. What do you think of that?

_Friend._ It is precisely what any fool could have told you. But how

much did you pay for this precious information?

_Mrs. C._ Only five dollars.

_Friend._ How much was the ring worth?

_Mrs. C._ Why, two dollars, at least.

_Friend._ Then you have paid ten dollars for a chaise to bring you here,

five dollars for the information that you had already, and all this to

gain possession of a ring not worth one quarter of the expense!

_Mrs. C._ Oh, the rascal! how he has cheated me! I will go to the

world's end but I will be revenged.

_Friend._ You had better go home, and say nothing about it; for every

effort to recover your money, will only expose your folly.

QUESTIONS.--1. What had Mrs. Credulous said, by which the fortune-teller

knew all the circumstances relative to the loss of her ring? 2. How was

she told she must get her ring? 3. What did she pay the fortune-teller?

4. How much for the chaise? 5. What was her ring worth? 6. Was she a

bright dame?

* * * * *

LESSON LXVII.

UN FAL' TER ING, steady.

CON FID' ING LY, trustingly.

SOOTH' ING LY, tenderly, calmly.

AL LUR'ING, seductive; flattering.

AP PRO' PRI ATE, proper; peculiar.

SUB MIS' SION, resignation.

IN' VA LID, sick or infirm person.

CON TENT' MENT, satifaction.

MEA' GER, scanty.

CON' FI DENCE, faith; reliance.

AS SUAG' ED, relieved; mitigated.

FER' VEN CY, heat; ardent feeling.

RA DI A TION luster.

FRU I' TION, realization; enjoyment.

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.--AN ALLEGORY.

[Footnote: AL' LE GO RY is a word of Greek origin. It is made up of two

parts; ALL, _other_; and EGORY, _discourse_; the literal meaning of the

compound being, _discourse_ about _other_ things; that is, things other

than those expressed by the words, literally interpreted. Allegory is,

therefore, the general name for that class of compositions, as _Fables_,

_Apologues_, _Parables_, and _Myth_, in which there is a _double_

signification, one _literal_ and the other _figurative_; the literal

being designed merely to give a more clear and impressive view of that

which is figurative.]

1. Many years ago, three beautiful sisters came into our world to

lighten the burdens of earth's toiling pilgrims, and aid them in

preparation for a higher state of existence. Alike commissioned by the

Great Father, they were sent on errands of mercy, and were not to turn

away from scenes of darkness, sorrow, and suffering.

2. FAITH had a firm, unfaltering step; HOPE, a beaming eye, ever turned

to the future; and LOVE, a pitying glance, and a helping hand. They

journeyed confidingly together; and when they found a stricken being in

danger of perishing by the wayside, FAITH soothingly whispered, "My

Father doeth all things well;" HOPE pointed to the cooling shade just in

advance; and LOVE assisted him to rise, and aided his feeble steps.

3. Groups of fair children played near the path in which they were

traveling. Some of these did not understand the tones of FAITH; but they

all listened eagerly to the alluring strains of HOPE, who painted

brighter scenes than those they were enjoying, and flowers more fragrant

than any they yet had gathered. LOVE delighted to linger with the

youthful band, lessening their trials, and increasing their pleasures.

4. Her gentle touch arrested the little hand that was lifted against a

playmate, and her soothing voice calmed the angry passions which were

swelling in the bosom. When a child stumbled in the way, she tenderly

raised it up again, or when a thorn pierced the unwary finger, she

kindly removed it, and bound up the bleeding wound.

5. While the sisters were busy in their appropriate mission, a

pale-cheeked lad mingled with the group of merry children, though too

weak to share their sports. FAITH stole to his side, and whispered of

the great Parent above, who afflicts in wisdom, and chastens in love.

His eye brightened while she spoke, and he looked upward with that trust

and submission which he had never before experienced.

6. Then HOPE came, with visions of returning health, when his frame

would be strong and his heart buoyant. But when HOPE and FAITH were

gone, again his head drooped, and the tear started. Then LOVE sat down

by the invalid, twining a garland of summer blossoms for his pale brow,

and singing sweet melodies which charmed his listening ear. The pain was

all gone now; smiles wreathed his pallid lips, and the sick boy laughed

as merrily as his more robust companions.

7. The sisters, in their journeyings, entered the abode of poverty. It

was a humble dwelling, and yet it looked cheerful, yea, even inviting,

when the three graced it with their presence. FAITH shed a spirit of

calm contentment and heavenly trust in those lowly walls; HOPE whispered

of the better mansions prepared for the followers of the Lamb; and LOVE,

not less exalted than her sisters, threw a charm over the meager fare

and scanty attire of the inmates. FAITH taught them to offer the daily

prayer in trusting confidence; HOPE pointed beyond this world to joys

which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard; while LOVE lessened each burden,

and increased each simple pleasure. FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY! ye,

indeed, can make a paradise of the humblest home!

8. There was a darkened chamber, with a wan form tossing restlessly upon

the couch. Wealth was there; but it could not allay pain, or prolong

life. FAITH, noiseless as a spirit form, glided to the sick one's side.

"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him," was her language, as she

pointed upward. HOPE fain would have whispered of length of days, but

she knew this could not be; so she spoke of life eternal, where there is

no more pain. Then LOVE smoothed the pillow, and bathed the fevered

brow, pausing not in her tender ministries through the night-watches.

When morning dawned, the spirit of the sick man passed away, though not

until FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE had assuaged the anguish of the parting

pang.

9. Weeping mourners gathered around the dead. There were tears,--for

"tears well befit earth's partings;" there was sorrow,--for what

bitterness is like unto that of the bereaved, when the grave opens to

infold the heart's best treasure? Yet FAITH, and HOPE, and LOVE were

there, assuaging those tears, and mitigating that sorrow. FAITH, even

while her cheeks were wet, exclaimed, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath

taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

10. HOPE'S language was, "Not lost, but gone before;" and her eye,

having lost none of its brightness, saw with prophetic vision a reunion

yet to come. LOVE tenderly wiped away each gathering tear, and gave

deeper fervency to the trusting confidence of FAITH, and the inspiring

strains of HOPE. And when the sleeper was committed to the dust, these

gentle sisters lingered in the lonely house, and by the darkened hearth.

11. Such are FAITH, HOPE, and CHARITY,--given by God to lighten human

sorrow, and bless the creatures He has made. They have each a mission to

fulfill,--different, it is true, and yet they move in harmony. FAITH

enables us to submit trustingly to daily trials, viewing a kind Father's

hand in each passing event. HOPE, when the sky is dark, and the path

thorny, points not only to fairer scenes below, but to that brighter

world where there is no night and no sorrow.

12. LOVE lightens every burden, and reflects upon earth a faint

radiation of heavenly blessedness,--for the Scriptures assure us that

"God is love: and every one that loveth is born of God." The time will

come when, the purposes of the wise Creator being accomplished, Faith

and Hope will cease. Faith will be lost in sight, Hope in fruition; but

Love will remain, binding the spirits of the redeemed in blissful

communion, and uniting them to God the Father and Christ the Elder

Brother.

13. Faith, Hope, and Charity! blessed spirits! May they be inmates of

every heart! May they assist each of us in the peculiar trials which

none can know but ourselves! They will come to us if we seek their

presence; but they must be carefully nurtured. Let us cherish them in

our bosoms, and they will bless us constantly in our pilgrimage below,

and conduct us to the presence of our God.

* * * * *

LESSON LXVIII.

TRANSPORT' ED, highly delighted.

THREAT' EN ING, impending.

COR' O NAL, crown; chaplet.

MYR' I AD, innumerable.

LUS' CIOUS, delicious.

LUS TY, strong; vigorous.

WAR' BLING, singing; caroling.

CHURL, sour, surly man.

RE FRESH', cool; make fresh.

LAN' GUID, dull; sluggish.

DROUTH' Y, dry; arid.

SUS TAIN', uphold; support.

UN GRUDG'ING, free-hearted; liberal.

NIG GARD, miser; stingy person.

"NOT TO MYSELF ALONE."

S.W. PARTRIDGE.

1. "_Not to myself alone,_"

The little opening flower transported cries.

"Not to myself alone I bud and bloom;

With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume,

And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes.

The bee comes sipping, every eventide,

His dainty fill;

The butterfly within my cup doth hide

From threatening ill."

2. "_Not to myself alone,_"

The circling star with honest pride doth boast,

"Not to myself alone I rise and set;

I write upon night's coronal of jet

His power and skill who formed our myriad host;

A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate,

I gem the sky.

That man might ne'er forget, in every fate,

His home on high."

3. "_Not to myself alone_,"

The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum,

"Not to myself alone, from flower to flower,

I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,

And to the hive at evening weary come;

For man, for man, the luscious food I pile

With busy care,

Content if he repay my ceaseless toil

With scanty share."

4. "_Not to myself alone_,"

The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings,

"Not to myself alone I raise my song;

I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,

And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;

I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,

And God adore;

I call the worldling from his dross to turn,

And sing and scar."

5. _"Not to myself alone,"_

The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,

"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide;

I scatter health and life on every side,

And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay.

I sing unto the common, bleak and bare,

My gladsome tune;

I sweeten and refresh the languid air

In droughty June."

6. _"Not to myself alone:"_--

O man, forget not thou,--earth's honored priest,

Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart,--

In earth's great chorus to sustain _thy_ part!

Chiefest of guests at Love's ungrudging feast,

Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod,

And _self_ disown;

Live to thy neighbor; live unto thy God;

_Not to thyself alone!_

QUESTIONS.--1. What things are mentioned, that contribute to our comfort

and happiness? 2. How does the suffix _less,_ affect the meaning of the

words _cease, view, hymn,_ &c.? 3. What is the meaning of the suffixes

_let_ and _et,_ in the words _streamlet_ and _floweret?_ See SANDERS &

McELLIGOTT'S ANALYSIS, page 140, Ex. 185 and 187.

* * * * *

LESSON LXIX.

NURS'ING, nourishing; cherishing.

AB HOR', detest; loathe.

RE LI' ED, depended.

FRA TER' NAL, brotherly.

SU PER' NAL, heavenly.

COM BINE', unite; join together.

RE HEARS' AL, recital; repetition.

BIG' OT RY, blind zeal; prejudice.

SHEATHE, put in a sheath.

U NI VERS AL, general.

CUS TOM, practice; usage.

TAL' ENT, natural ability.

AF FECT'ING, making false show.

IS' O LATE, separate; detach.

THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.

W.H. COBB.

1. If men cared less for wealth and fame,

And less for battle-fields and glory,--

If writ in human hearts a name

Seemed better than in song and story,--

If men instead of nursing pride,

Would learn to hate it and abhor it,--

If more relied

On _love_ to guide,--

_The world would be the better for it._

2. If men dealt less in stocks and lands,

And more in bonds and deeds fraternal,--

If Love's work had more willing hands

To link this world to the supernal,--

If men stored up Love's oil and wine,

And on bruised human hearts would pour it,--

If _"yours"_ and _"mine"_

Would once combine,--

_The world would be the letter for it._

3. If more would _act_ the play of Life,

And fewer spoil it in rehearsal,--

If Bigotry would sheathe his knife

Till Good became more universal,--

If Custom, gray with ages grown,

Had fewer blind men to adore it,--

If talent shone

In Truth alone,--

_The world would be the better for it._

4. If men were wise in little things,

Affecting less in all their dealings,--

If hearts had fewer rusted strings

To isolate their kindly feelings,--

If men, when Wrong beats down the Right,

Would strike together and restore it,--

If Right made Might

In every fight,--

_The world would be the letter for it._

* * * * *

LESSON LXX.

In reading these antithetic sentences, an excellent effect may be

produced by dividing the class equally into two parts, and letting one

part read, in concert, the line marked _1st Voice_, and the other part,

the line marked _2d Voice;_ or, one pupil may read one line, and the

next pupil the other, alternately.

SELECT PROVERBS OF SOLOMON.

_1st Voice_. A wise son maketh a glad father;

_2d Voice_, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.

_1 V_. Treasures of wickedness profit nothing;

_2 V_. but righteousness delivereth from death.

_1 V_. He becometh poor, that dealeth with a slack hand;

_2 V_. but the hand of the diligent maketh rich.

_1 V_. Blessings are upon the head of the just;

_2 V_. but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.

_1 V_. The memory of the just is blessed;

_2 V_. but the name of the wicked shall rot.

_1 V_. The wise in heart will receive commandment;

_2 V_. but a prating fool shall fall.

_1 V._ He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely;

_2 V._ but he that perverteth his ways, shall be known.

_1 V._ Wise men lay up knowledge;

_2 V._ but the mouth of the wicked is near destruction.

_1 V._ He is in the way of life, that keepeth instruction;

_2 V._ but he that refuseth reproof, erreth.

_1 V._ It is as sport to a fool to do mischief;

_2 V._ but a man of understanding hath wisdom.

_1 V._ The fear of the Lord prolongeth days;

_2 V._ but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.

_1 V._ The hope of the righteous shall be gladness;

_2 V._ but the expectation of the wicked shall perish.

_1 V._ The righteous shall never be removed;

_2 V._ but the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.

_1 V._ The mouth of the just bringeth forth wisdom;

_2 V._ but the froward tongue shall be cut out.

_1 V._ A false balance is an abomination to the Lord;

_2 V._ but a just weight is his delight.

_1 V._ Riches profit not in the day of wrath;

_2 V._ but righteousness delivereth from death.

_1 V._ The righteousness of the perfect shall direct his way;

_2 V._ but the wicked shall fall by his own wickedness.

_1 V._ By the blessing of the upright the city is exalted;

_2 V._ but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked.

_1 V._ Where no counsel is, the people fall,

_2 V._ but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.

_1 V._ He that diligently seeketh good, procureth favor;

_2 V._ but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him.

_1 V._ The righteous man regardeth the life of his beast;

_2 V._ but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.

_1 V_. The lip of truth shall be established forever;

_2 V_. but a lying tongue is but for a moment.

_1 V_. Lying lips are abomination to the Lord;

_2 V_. but they that deal truly are His delight.

_1 V_. The hand of the diligent shall bear rule;

_2 V_. but the slothful shall be under tribute.

_1 V_. A wise son heareth his father's instruction;

_2 V_. but a scorner heareth not rebuke.

_1 V_. He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life;

_2 V_. but he that openeth wide his lips, shall have destruction.

_1 V_. A scorner seeketh wisdom, and findeth it not;

_2 V_. but knowledge is easy unto him that understandeth.

_1 V_. There is a way which seemeth right unto a man;

_2 V_. but the end thereof are the ways of death.

_1 V_. A wise man feareth, and departeth from evil;

_2 V_. but the fool rageth, and is confident.

_1 V_. The poor is hated even of his neighbor;

_2 V_. but the rich hath many friends.

_1 V_. He that oppresseth the poor, reproacheth his Maker;

_2 V_. but he that honoreth Him, hath mercy on the poor.

_1 V_. He that is slow to wrath, is of great understanding;

_2 V_. but he that is hasty in spirit, exalteth folly.

_1 V_. A soft answer turneth away wrath;

_2 V_. but grievous words stir up anger.

_1 V_. He that walketh with wise men, shall be wise;

_2 V_. but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.

_1 V_. Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water;

_2 V_. but a man of understanding will draw it out.

_1 V_. The wicked is driven away in his wickedness;

_2 V_. but the righteous hath hope in his death.

* * * * *

LESSON LXXI.

IM PRES' SION, idea; notion.

AT TRAC' TIONS, allurements.

SA TI' E TY, excessive fullness.

SAT' ED, glutted; satiated.

PAM' PER ED, over-fed.

SUC' CU LENT, full of sap; juicy.

UM BRA' GEOUS, shady.

GOR' GEOUS, showy; brilliant.

DREAR' I NESS, gloominess.

REG' IS TER, record; note down.

SUG GEST' IVE, giving signs.

DEC LA RA' TION, announcement.

EX TREM' I TIES, ends.

DRA' PER Y, hangings; decorations.

EN CHANT' MENT, charms; fascination.

FRET' TED, furnished with frets, of ornamental raised work.

DEC O RA' TIONS, adornments.

[Headnote 1: AR' A BESQUES, is a word, denoting ornaments after the

Arabian manner, often intricate and fantastic, from the intermingling

of foliage, fruits, &c., with other objects real or imaginary.]

WINTER BEAUTY.

HENRY WARD BEECHER.

1. It is the impression of many, that only in summer, including spring

and autumn, of course, is the _country_ desirable as a residence. The

country in summer, and the city for the winter. It is true, that the

winter gives attractions to the city, in endless meetings, lectures,

concerts, and indoor amusements; but it is not true that the country

loses all interest when the leaves are shed and the grass is gone. On

the contrary, to one who has learned how to use his senses and his

sensibilities, there are attractions in the winter of a peculiar kind,

and pleasures which can be reaped only then.

2. It appears to me, that winter comes in to relieve the year of

satiety. The mind grows sated with greenness. After eight or nine months

of luxuriant growths, the eye grows accustomed to vegetation. To be

sure, we never are less pleased with the wide prospect; with forms of

noble trees, with towns and meadows, and with the whole aspect of

nature. But it is the pleasure of one pampered. We lose the keen edge of

hunger. The eye enjoys, without the relish of newness. We expect to

enjoy. Every thing loses surprise.

3. Of course, the sky is blue, the grass succulent, the fields green,

the trees umbrageous, the clouds silent and mysterious. They were so

yesterday, they are so to-day, they will be so to-morrow, next week,

next month. In short, the mind does not cease to feel the charm of

endless growths; but needs variety, change of diet, less of perpetual

feasting, and something of the blessings of a fast. _This_ winter gives.

It says to us: You have had too much. You are luxurious and dainty. You

need relief and change of diet.

4. The cold blue of the sky, the cold gray of rocks, the sober warmth of

browns and russets, take the place of more gorgeous colors. If, now, one

will accept this change in the tone of nature, after a time a new and

relishful pleasure arises. The month formed by the last fortnight of

November and the first two weeks of December, is, to me, the saddest of

the year. It most nearly produces the sense of desolateness and

dreariness of any portion of the year.

5. From the hour that the summer begins to shorten its days, and

register the increasing change along the horizon, over which the sun

sets, farther and farther toward the south, we have a genial and gentle

sadness. But sadness belongs to all very deep joys. It is almost as

needful to the perfectness of joy, as shadows in landscapes are to the

charm of the picture. Then, too, comes the fading out of flowers,--each

variety in its turn, saying, "Farewell till next summer."

6. Scarcely less suggestive of departing summer are the new-comers, the

late summer golden-rod, the asters, and all autumnal flowers. Long

experience teaches us that these are the latest blossoms that fall from

the sun's lap, and next to them is snow. By association we already see

white in the yellow and blue. Then, too, birds are thinking of other

things. No more nests, no more young, no more songs,--except

signal-notes and rallying-calls; for they are evidently warned, and go

about their little remaining daily business, as persons who expect every

hour to depart to a distant land.

7. It is scarcely ever that we see the birds _go_. They are here to-day,

and gone to-morrow. They disappear without observation. The fields are

empty and silent. It seems as if the winds had blown them away with the

leaves. The first sight of northern waterfowl, far up in the air,

retreating from Labrador and the short, Arctic summer, is always to us

like the declaration: "Summer is gone; winter is behind us; it will soon

be upon you." At last come the late days of November. All is

gone,--frosts reap and glean more sharply every night.

8. A few weeks bring earnest winter. Then begin to dawn other delights.

The bracing air, the clean snow-paths, the sled and sleigh, the

revelation of forms that all summer were grass-hidden; the

sharp-outlined hills lying clear upon the sky; the exquisite tracery of

trees,--especially of all such trees as that dendral child of God, the

elm, whose branches are carried out into an endless complexity of fine

lines of spray, and which stands up in winter, showing in its whole

anatomy, that all its summer shade was founded upon the most substantial

reality.

9. In winter, too, particularly in the latter periods of it, the

extremities of shrubs and branches begin to take on ruddy hues, or

purplish browns, and the eye knows that these are the first faint

blushes of coming summer. Now, too, we find how beautiful are the mosses

in the woods; and under them we find solitary green leaves, that have

laughed all winter because they had outwitted the frost.

10. Wherever flowing springs gush from sheltered spots looking south,

one will find many green edges, young grass, and some few tougher

leaves. Now, too, in still days, the crow swings heavily through the

air, cawing with a pleasing harshness. For dieting has performed its

work. Your appetite is eager. A little now pleases you more than

abundance did in August. Every tiny leaf is to you like a cedar of

Lebanon.

11. All these things are unknown to dwellers in cities. It is nothing

to them that a robin appeared for the first time yesterday morning, or

that a blue-bird sang over against the house. Some new _prima-donna_

[Footnote: The first female singer in an opera.] exhausts their

admiration. They are yet studying laces, and do not care for the fringe

of swamps, for the first catkins of the willow. They are still coveting

the stores of precious stones at the jewelers, and do not care for my

ruby buds, and red dogwood, and scarlet winter berries, and ground

pine, and partridge-berry leaves.

12. There is one sight of the country, at about this time of the

year--the first of March--that few have seen, or else they have passed

it by as if it were not worthy of record. I mean the drapery of rocks

in gorges, or along precipitous sides of hills or mountains. The seams

of rocks are the outlets of springs. The water, trickling through, is

seized by the frost, and held fast in white enchantment. Every day adds

to the length of the ice drapery; and, as the surface is overlaid by

new issuings, it is furred and fretted with silver-white chasings, the

most exquisite.

13. Thus, one may find a succession, in a single gorge, of extraordinary

ice-curtains, and pendent draperies, of varying lengths, of every

fantastic form, of colors varying by thickness, or by the tinge of earth

or rock shining through them. In my boyhood, I used to wander along

these fairy halls, imagining them to be now altars in long, white

draperies; now, grand cathedral pillars of white marble; then, long

tapestries chased in white, with arabesques [Headnote 1] and crinkled

vines and leaves.

14. Sometimes they seemed like gigantic bridal decorations, or like the

robes of beings vast and high, hung in their wardrobes while they slept.

But, whatever fancy interpreted them, or whether they were looked upon

with two good, sober, literal eyes, they were, and still are, among the

most delightful of winter exhibitions, to those who are wise enough to

search out the hidden beauty of winter in the country.

QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the attractions of winter in the city?

2. What are some of the delights of winter in the country? 3. What is

said of the drapery of rocks? 4. What did the writer imagine them to be,

in boyhood?

* * * * *

LESSON LXXII.

UN SUL' LIED, pure; clear.

PHE NOM' E NON, appearance.

TRANS PAR' EN CY, clearness.

AS TON' ISH ING, amazing.

RAM I FI CA' TION, branch, or branching out.

IN DE SCRIB' A BLY, beyond description.

MA JES' TIC, grand.

OC CA' SION AL, occurring at times.

IM PRESS'IVE, powerful; effective.

IN TER SECT' ING, meeting and crossing.

PEN' E TRA TING, piercing.

E' THER, thin or refined air.

CON GEAL' ED, frozen.

BUR' NISH ING, brightening.

EN GEN' DER ED, produced.

EM' BLEM, symbol.

CON TEM PLA' TION, meditation.

EL E VA' TION, loftiness.

FROSTED TREES.

1.

"Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,

Or winds begun their hazy skies to blow,

At evening, a keen eastern breeze arose,

And the descending rain unsullied froze.

Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,

The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view

The face of Nature in a rich disguise,

And brightened every object to my eyes.

For every shrub, and every blade of grass,

And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass."

2. Since Sunday, [Feb. 1st, 1852,] we have had presented to our view,

the beautiful phenomenon of FROSTED TREES, the most astonishing and

brilliant that I ever remember to have noticed. The previous storm and

mist had thickly covered every exposed object,--the loftiest trees, the

minutest blade, hill and dale, with the icy garment. This transparency

was most perfect, defining every form and ramification into exact models

of the entire body, branch, or limb.

3. Dwellings and barns were incrusted by the chilling vapor. It hung

upon the manes of the cattle, and decorated, wherever seen, the humble

grass, which appeared bending, like threads of crystal. The small bushes

were indescribably beautiful, and seemed as if chiseled out of the

whitest marble. As far as the eye could extend, over brooks, fields, and

woods, the same striking and singular sight was universal.

4. I could not remain contented in the house, and toward sunset,

hastened away, where the view might be free and uninterrupted. Here, the

scene, if possible, was more impressive and interesting. There was

scarcely a breath of air, and the general silence was only interrupted

by the occasional flight of some winter bird, which, alighting on a

limb, would shake down a thousand feathery showers, until he seemed

frightened at the unusual sound. The forest trees made a truly majestic

appearance, with their naked, giant arms and mossy branches intersecting

each other, and fast bound by the frozen barriers.

5. I shall not attempt to describe the brilliancy of the undergrowth and

dwarf trees, upon whose limbs hung a delicate frosting, like unwrought

silver, nor the crimson glow of the holly-berries through their

transparent and icy covering,--all, all was a dazzling and splendid

winter array,

"That buries wide the works of man."

It brought to my mind some of the Eastern fairy tales, and their gardens

ornamented with shrubs and plants of sparkling crystals.

6. The exposed sides of the rocks and fences were completely iced over,

not the smallest particle escaping the penetrating and congealed ether.

It was truly astonishing to examine its thickness. On some twigs, not

larger than a wheat straw, the ice measured half an inch through. One

would scarcely imagine what an immense weight of the frozen mass a tree

will sustain, before it breaks under the unusual load. Many branches

were bent so low that I could reach them with my hands; and, shaking off

their frosted barks, they would instantly spring far above my reach.

Every few minutes, I was startled by the rattling noise of these falling

icicles from some neighboring tree or grove.

7. Just when the sun went down, there was not a single cloud to be seen

in the horizon, and his cold, bright, setting rays brought out, on every

hand, frozen gems, diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, in every possible

prismatic beauty, wherever his departing beams fell. Presently the moon

bathed the whitened earth, and every congealed drop, in her soft light,

burnishing, with dazzling icy brilliancy, trees, dwellings, and streams.

I am an ardent lover of Nature and her scenery, and have often,

delighted, gazed upon the Queen of Night; but _never_ did I behold such

a brilliant moonlight night as this.

8. Who could help bringing to mind the sublimities of Job and of

David,--"The hoary frost of heaven, who hath engendered it? The waters

are hid, as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen."--"By the

breath of the Mighty God, ice is produced, and the waters which were

spread on all sides, are held in chains." The Psalmist says, "He giveth

the snow like wool, He scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes. Wash me,

and I shall be whiter than snow."--Well may poets look to the falling

snow-flake for their images of purity and innocence, ere it receives the

stain of earth. I know of no litter emblem.

9. Such a winter's night! _and the skies! the skies!_ So resplendent in

brightness are the hosts of heaven at this moment, that they should be

contemplated by every lover and student of the works of God. Their

numbers who can count,--their twinkling beauty who can describe, as

onward they roll in the deep blue of midnight? In their contemplation

are inspired "thoughts that wander through eternity," with an elevation

of feeling, as if we were separated from the toils and tumults of earth,

and exalted into a higher state of being than that in which we toiled

through the day! These heavens tell us of a WISDOM and POWER we can not

search or estimate. There we seem to stand more immediately in the

vailed presence of the Infinite Majesty, who "laid the foundations of

the earth, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God

shouted for joy."

QUESTIONS.--1. Describe the appearance of frosted trees. 2. What is

said of the appearance of shrubs, bushes, &c.? 3. What, of the weight

sustained by a single tree? 4. What was the appearance at sunset?

5. What passages of Scripture did the scene bring to mind? 6. Of what

is the snowflake an emblem? 7. What is said of the skies?

* * * * *

LESSON LXXIII.

SPLEN' DOR, brightness; glory.

E TER' NAL LY, everlastingly.

WAY'-WEA RY, tired; fatigued.

GAZE, eager look.

EV' ER GREEN, always green.

LONG' ED, earnestly desired.

RE POSE, rest; quietude.

RAN' SOM ED, redeemed.

PAL' ACE, mansion; abode.

UN CEAS' ING LY, constantly.

THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE.

JAMES G. CLARK.

1. There's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told,

Where they know not the sorrows of time,--

Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold,

And life is a treasure sublime;

'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul,

Where the ages of splendor eternally roll,--

Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal,

On the evergreen Mountains of Life.

2. Our gaze can not soar to that beautiful land,

But our visions have told of its bliss;

And our souls by the gale from its gardens are fanned,

When we faint in the desert of this;

And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose,

When our spirits were torn with temptations and woes,

And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows

From the evergreen Mountains of Life.

3. Oh! the stars never tread the blue heavens at night,

But we think where the ransomed have trod;

And the day never smiles from his palace of light,

But we feel the bright smile of our God.

We are traveling homeward, through changes and gloom,

To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom,

And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb,

From the evergreen Mountains of Life.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of that land far away? 2. How do we know

there is such a land? 3. Of what do the stars remind us?

* * * * *

LESSON LXXIV.

IM AG' IN A RY, not real.

AN TIC' I PATE, take beforehand.

PRE FER' RED, chosen.

OC CUR' RED, happened.

SUS TAIN', support; uphold.

PER MIT', allow.

IN VIS' I BLE, unseen.

EN CHAIN', bind; fasten.

FORE BOD' ING, dread of evil.

IN VEN' TION, contrivance.

CON FER' RED, bestowed.

AP PRE HEN' SION, dread; fear.

IMAGINARY EVILS.

CHARLES SWAIN.

1. Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;

Leave things of the future to fate;

What's the use to anticipate sorrow?

Life's troubles come never too late.

If to hope overmuch be an error,

'Tis one that the wise have preferred;

And how often have hearts been in terror

Of evils that never occurred.

2. Have faith, and thy faith shall sustain thee;

Permit not suspicion and care

With invisible bonds to enchain thee,

But bear what God gives thee to bear.

By His Spirit supported and gladdened,

Be ne'er by forebodings deterred;

But think how oft hearts have been saddened

By fears of what never occurred!

3. Let to-morrow take care of to-morrow;

Short and dark as our life may appear,

We may make it still darker by sorrow,

Still shorter by folly and fear;

Half our troubles are half our invention,

And often from blessings conferred,

Have we shrunk in the wild apprehension

Of evils that never occurred!

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of imaginary evils? 2. How may we be

supported under trials? 3. What tends to shorten life? 4. Whence proceed

half our troubles? 5. What rule for doubling the _r_ and _d_ in such

words as _occurred_, _saddened_, &c.? See SANDERS' NEW SPELLER, page

168, Rule II.

* * * * *

LESSON LXXV.

WASTE, desolate region.

PRO CEED', come forth.

CHASM, gap; opening.

COILS, folds; convolutions.

MAN I FEST, plain; evident.

PRE SERV' ER, protector.

AL LE' GI ANCE, duty; loyalty.

RAY, make bright; adorn.

EX PAND, swell; dilate.

FA' THER LAND, native land.

GUER DON, reward; recompense.

PROF' FER, offer; tender.

PIT' E OUS, mournful; sorrowful.

IM PET' U OUS LY, furiously.

AT TRACT', (AT, _to_; TRACT, _draw_;) draw to; allure.

IN VEST', (IN, _to_; VEST, _clothe_;) clothe in or with;

inclose; surround.

PRO TEST, (PRO, _before_; TEST, _witness_;) witness before;

openly declare.

[Headnote 1: PY THON is the name of a large serpent, fabled to have been

slain by the god Apollo.]

SIR WALTER AND THE LION.

A. WALCHNER.

1. Sir Walter of Thurn, over the Syrian waste,

Rides away with a flowing rein;

But he hears a groan that checks his haste,

As if death were in the strain.

He spurs his steed

Whence the sounds proceed;

And there, from a rocky chasm, arise

Fierce cries of pain, that assail the skies;

And his horse uprears

In excess of fears,

As the glance of a lion attracts his eyes.

2. Fierce struggling there in the monster folds

Of a serpent that round him twines;

Sir Walter a moment the scene beholds,

Then to save the beast inclines.

His good sword stout

From its sheath leaps out,

When down it falls on the Python's [Headnote 1] crest,

And cleaves the coils that the lion invest;

And the noble beast,

From its thrall released,

Shows grateful joy most manifest.

3. He shakes his mane, and bends his form,

And licks his preserver's hand,

As if he yields allegiance warm

To his supreme command.

Like the faithful hound

To be constant found,

And follow his steps for evermore;

And thus he follows, on sea and shore,

In the battle's tide,

He stands by his side,

Or with him rests when the strife is o'er.

4. In Palestine Sir Walter is known,--

Long years attest his fame;

And many brave deeds he there hath done,

That ray with glory his name;

But his heart doth expand

For the fatherland,

And he fain its pleasant scenes would see,

With his friendly lion for company;

But with fearful breast,

The sailors protest,

As they glanced at the beast and his majesty.

5. Rich guerdon he proffers, and golden store;

But though the prize were great,

The sailors hurry away from the shore

As if from the doom of fate.

The poor beast moans

In piteous tones,

Then darts impetuously o'er the sands,--

Then looks to the ship, and mournfully stands;

Then plunges into the gloomy wave,

The perils of the depths to brave.

Already he nears the flying bark,

Already his roar of grief they hark;

But his strength is spent, and the sea is strong,

And he may not the fearful struggle prolong.

His dying glances are fondly cast

Along the track where the loved one passed;

Then sinks to his grave

Beneath the wave,

And the night and the ocean behold him the last.

QUESTIONS.--1. What did Sir Walter discover as he was riding over the

Syrian waste? 2. What did he do? 3. What did the lion do, after being

released? 4. Did the sailors allow the lion to go on board the ship? 5.

What did the lion then do? 6. What became of him?

* * * * *

LESSON LXXVI.

VAL' IANT, strong; courageous,

INC LI NA' TION, desire; tendency.

RE PLEN' ISH ED, filled up.

DIS SEV' ER, part; sunder.

SHIV' ER, dash to pieces.

EC STAT' IC, rapturous.

CON CLU' SION, result.

CON CEP' TION, thought; idea.

DEF' ER ENCE, respect.

PHYS I CAL, material.

AR' RANT, mere; vile.

TIME'-BAN DI ED, time-lost.

DE VEL' OP ED, brought out.

CON STEL LA' TIONS, clusters of stars.

DE SIGN ED, planned.

COM BIN' ED, united.

UNINTERRUPTED, (UN, _not_; INTER, _in between_; RUPTED,

_broken_;) not broken in between; unbroken.

It is sometimes desirable to have each member of the class read a piece

complete in itself. To answer this end, the following collection of

brief, though beautiful productions, have been brought together all

under one head.

CHOICE EXTRACTS.

I.

WHAT REALLY BENEFITS US.

It is not what we earn, but what we save, that makes us rich. It is not

what we eat, but what we digest, that makes us strong. It is not what we

read, but what we remember, that makes us learned. It is not what we

intend, but what we do, that makes us useful. It is not a few faint

wishes, but a life-long struggle, that makes us valiant.

II.

GOD'S LOVE.

There's not a flower that decks the vale,

There's not a beam that lights the mountain,

There's not a shrub that scents the gale,

There's not a wind that stirs the fountain,

There's not a hue that paints the rose,

There's not a leaf around us lying,

But in its use or beauty shows

God's love to us, and love undying!

III.

LIFE-WORK.

To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and characters, to

restrain every irregular inclination, to subdue every rebellious

passion, to purify the motives of our conduct, to form ourselves to that

temperance which no pleasure can seduce, to that meekness which no

provocation can ruffle, to that patience which no affliction can

overwhelm, and that integrity which no interest can shake; _this is the

task which is assigned to us_,--a task which can not be performed

without the utmost diligence and care.

IV.

HUMILITY.

The brightest stars are burning suns;

The deepest water stillest runs;

The laden bee the lowest flies;

The richest mine the deepest lies;

The stalk that's most replenished,

Doth bow the most its modest head.

Thus, deep Humility we find

The mark of every master-mind;

The highest-gifted lowliest bends,

And merit meekest condescends,

And shuns the fame that fools adore,--

That puff that bids a feather soar.

V.

BENEFITS OF ADVERSITY.

A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner. Neither do uninterrupted

prosperity and success qualify man for usefulness or happiness. The

storms of adversity, like the storms of the ocean, rouse the faculties

and excite the invention, prudence, skill, and fortitude of the voyager.

VI.

OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES.