Why turn we to our mountain homes
With more than filial feeling?
'Tis _here_ that Freedom's altars rise,
And Freedom's sons are kneeling!
Why sigh we not for softer climes?
Why cling to that which bore us?
_'Tis here we tread on Freedom's soil,_
_With Freedom's sunshine o'er us!_
VII.
MAKE A BEGINNING.
If you do not begin, you will never come to the end. The first weed
pulled up in the garden, the first seed set in the ground, the first
dollar put in the savings-bank, and the first mile traveled on a
journey, are all important things; they make a _beginning_, and thereby
give a hope, a promise, a pledge, an assurance that you are in earnest
in what you have undertaken. How many a poor, idle, erring, hesitating
outcast is now creeping his way through the world, who might have held
up his head and prospered, if, instead of putting off his resolutions of
amendment and industry, he had only made a beginning!
VIII.
INFLUENCE.
GEORGE W. BUNGAY.
1. Drop follows drop, and swells
With rain the sweeping river;
Word follows word, and tells
A truth that lives forever.
2. Flake follows flake, like sprites
Whose wings the winds dissever;
Thought follows thought, and lights
The realm of mind forever.
3. Beam follows beam to cheer,
The cloud a bolt might shiver;
Throb follows throb, and fear
Gives place to joy forever.
4. The drop, the flake, the beam,
Teach us a lesson ever;
The word, the thought, the dream
Impress the soul forever.
IX.
PLEASURE IN ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE.
CAROLINE F. ORNE.
1. Note the ecstatic joy of the student, who has labored long over a
problem or proposition, but finally comes to a logical conclusion; who
has struggled with the misty darkness of his own mind, for a clear view
of some difficult subject, until the clouds, one after another, have
dispersed, and he beholds, with his mental vision, in bright and
glorious light, the conception for which he labored. Think you he would
exchange his joys for the pleasures of sense'? It is of a higher and
more ennobling character, and not to be bartered for paltry wealth.
2. What dignity and self-respect invest the man of thought! His very
looks bespeak of mind. He is approached with deference, as a being of
higher order in the scale of intelligence,--as one who has a right to
command and be obeyed. For what moves mind, but mind? A strong
intellect, coming in contact with one of less energy, will as naturally
move it, as superior physical strength will overcome the weaker.
X.
WHAT IS FAME?
MOTHERWELL.
What is glory`? What is fame`?
The echo of a long-lost name`;
A breath`, an idle hour's brief talk`;
The shadow of an arrant naught`;
A flower that blossoms for a day`,
Dying next morrow';
A stream that hurries on its way,
Singing of sorrow';
A fortune that to lose were gain`;
A word of praise, perchance of blame`;
The wreck of a time-bandied name`--
_Ay` this is glory`! this is fame`!_
XI.
CULTIVATED INTELLECT.
Ah! well do we all know the worth of intelligence, the power of
knowledge, and the beauty and glory of wisdom. It is _educated manhood_
that wakes up the sleeping soil, covers the earth with good, that
gathers in the golden harvest, that clothes the naked, that feeds the
hungry. It is the _cultivated mind_ that applies the strength of the ox
and the fleetness of the horse; that bridges the river, that turns to
use the flying winds, that makes the lightning its swift messenger, that
makes beautiful palaces of dull clay, that rouses the dead ore to active
life, that covers the sea with ships, and the land with mighty engines
of wealth. It is the _developed intellect_ that flies through the upper
air, that mingles with the stars, that follows the moon in her course,
that overtakes the constellations in their orbits, that weighs the sun,
that measures the distance to the polar star. It is the _enlightened
soul_ that worships God.
XII.
GOD'S WORKS ATTEST HIS GREATNESS.
MRS. OPIE.
1. There's not a leaf within the bower;
There's not a bird upon the tree;
There's not a dew-drop on the flower,
But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee.
2. Thy hand the varied leaf designed,
And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
Thy power the dewdrop's tints combined,
Till like the diamond's blaze they shone.
3. Yes, dewdrops, leaves, and buds, and all
The smallest, like the greatest things,--
The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,
Alike proclaim Thee King of kings.
4. But man alone to bounteous Heaven,
Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise;
To favored man alone 'tis given
To join the angelic choir in praise!
* * * * *
LESSON LXXVII.
MO NOT' O NOUS, dull; uniform.
HAR POON', barbed spear.
AG' I TA TED, disturbed.
RE VER' BER ATES, rebounds; re-echoes.
WRITHES, twists, or turns in agony.
CON TOR' TIONS, twistings; writhings.
VE LOC' I TY, swiftness.
IG NITES', takes fire.
FRIC' TION, rubbing together.
COILS, winds into a ring.
PRO JECT' ED, thrown out or forward.
VO CIF' ER A TED, shouted.
IN FU' RI A TED, enraged.
UN RE LENT' ING, unfeeling.
CON VUL' SIONS, violent spasms.
REN COUN' TER, fight; conflict.
CAPTURE OF THE WHALE.
1. Let the reader suppose himself on the deck of a South-seaman,
cruising in the North Pacific ocean. He may be musing over some past
event, the ship may be sailing gently along over the smooth ocean, every
thing around solemnly still, with the sun pouring its intense rays with
dazzling brightness. Suddenly the monotonous quietude is broken by an
animated voice from the masthead, exclaiming, _"There he spouts!"_
2. The captain starts on deck in an instant, and inquires _"Where
away?"_ but, perhaps, the next moment every one aloft and on deck, can
perceive an enormous whale lying about a quarter of a mile from the
ship, on the surface of the sea, having just come up to breathe,--his
large "hump" projecting three feet out of the water. At the end of every
ten seconds, the spout is seen rushing from the fore part of his
enormous head, followed by the cry of every one on board, who join in
the chorus of _"There again!"_ keeping time with the duration of the
spout.
3. But, while they have been looking, a few seconds have expired. They
rush into the boats, which are directly lowered to receive them; and in
two minutes from the time of first observing the whale, three or four
boats are down, and are darting through the water with their utmost
speed toward their intended victim, perhaps accompanied with a song from
the headsman, who urges the quick and powerful plying of the oar, with
the common whaling chant of
"Away, my boys, away, my boys, 'tis time for us to go."
4. But, while they are rushing along, the whale is breathing; they have
yet, perhaps, some distance to pull before they can get a chance of
striking him with the harpoon. His "spoutings are nearly out," he is
about to descend, or he hears the boats approaching. The few sailors
left on board, and who are anxiously watching the whale and the gradual
approach of the boats, exclaim, _"Ah, he is going down!"_ Yet he spouts
again, but slowly, the water is seen agitated around him; the spectators
on board with breathless anxiety think they perceive him rising in
preparation for his descent. _"He will be lost!"_ they exclaim; for the
boats are not yet near enough to strike him, and the men are still
bending their oars in each boat with all their strength, to claim the
honor of the first blow with the harpoon.
5. The bow-boat has the advantage of being the nearest to the whale; the
others, for fear of disturbing the unconscious monster, are now ordered
to drop astern. One more spout is seen slowly curling forth,--it is his
last; but the boat shoots rapidly alongside of the gigantic creature.
_"Peak your oars!"_ exclaims the mate, and directly they flourish in the
air; the glistening harpoon is seen above the head of the harpooner. In
an instant it is darted with unerring force and aim, and is buried
deeply in the side of the huge animal. It is "socket up;" that is, it is
buried in his flesh up to the socket which admits the handle or pole of
the harpoon.
6. A cheer from those in the boats, and from the seamen on board,
reverberates along the still deep at the same moment. The sea, which a
moment before was unruffled, now becomes lashed into foam by the immense
strength of the wounded whale, which, with its vast tail, strikes in all
directions at his enemies. Now his enormous head rises high into the
air, then his flukes are seen lashing everywhere, his huge body writhes
in violent contortions from the agony the harpoon has inflicted. The
water all around him is a mass of foam, and the sounds of the blows from
his tail on the surface of the sea, can be heard for miles!
7. _"Stern all!"_ cries the headsman; but the whale suddenly disappears;
he has "sounded;" the line is running through the groove at the head of
the boat, with lightning-like velocity; it smokes; it ignites from the
heat produced by the friction; but the headsman, cool and collected,
pours water upon it as it passes. But an oar is now held up in their
boat; it signifies that their line is rapidly running out; two hundred
fathoms are nearly exhausted; up flies one of the other boats, and
"bends on" another line, just in time to save that which was nearly
lost.
8. But still the monster descends; he is seeking to rid himself of his
enemies by descending deeply into the dark and unknown depths of the
vast ocean. Two more lines are exhausted,--he is _six hundred fathoms
deep! "Stand ready to bend on!"_ cries the mate to the fourth boat; (for
sometimes they take the whole four lines away with them,--_eight hundred
fathoms!!_) but, it is not required, he is rising. _"Haul in the
slack!"_ observes the headsman, while the boat-steerer coils it again
carefully into the tubs as it is drawn up.
9. The whale is now seen approaching the surface; the gurgling and
bubbling water which rises, proclaims that he is near; his nose starts
from the sea; the rushing spout is projected high and suddenly, from his
agitation. The slack of the line is now coiled in the tubs, and those in
the fast boat, haul themselves gently toward the whale. The boat-steerer
places the headsman close to the fin of the trembling animal, who
immediately buries his long lance in the vitals of the leviathan, while,
at the same moment, those in one of the other boats, dart another
harpoon into his opposite side. Then, _"Stern all!"_ is again
vociferated, and the boats shoot rapidly away from the danger.
10. Mad with the agony which he endures from these fresh attacks, the
infuriated "sea monster" rolls over and over, and coils an amazing
length of line around him. He rears his enormous head, and, with
wide-expanded jaws, snaps at every thing around him. He rushes at the
boats with his head,--they are propelled before him with vast swiftness,
and sometimes utterly destroyed.
11. He is lanced again,--and his pain appears more than he can bear. He
throws himself, in his agony, completely out of his element; the boats
are violently jerked, by which one of the lines is snapped asunder; at
the same time the other boat is upset, and its crew are swimming for
their lives. The whale is now free! he passes along the surface with
remarkable swiftness, "going head out;" but the two boats that have not
yet "fastened," and are fresh and free, now give chase.
12. The whale becomes exhausted from the blood which flows from his deep
and dangerous wounds, and the two hundred fathoms of line belonging to
the overturned boat, which he is dragging after him through the water,
checks him in his course; his pursuers again overtake him, and another
harpoon is darted and buried deeply in his flesh.
13. The fatal lance is, at length, given; the blood gushes from the
nostrils of the unfortunate animal in a thick, black stream, which
stains the clear blue water of the ocean to a considerable distance
around the scene of the affray. The immense creature may now again
endeavor to "sound," to escape from his unrelenting pursuers; but he is
powerless. He soon rises to the surface, and passes slowly along until
the death-pang seizes him, when his appearance is awful in the extreme.
14. Suffering from suffocation, or from the stoppage of some important
organ, the whole strength of his enormous frame is set in motion, for a
few seconds, when his convulsions throw him into a hundred different
contortions of the most violent description, by which the sea is beaten
into foam, and boats are sometimes crushed to atoms, with their crews.
15. But this violent action being soon over, the now unconscious animal
passes rapidly along, describing in his rapid course the segment of a
circle; this is his "flurry," which ends in his sudden dissolution. The
mighty rencounter is finished. The gigantic animal rolls over on his
side, and floats an inanimate mass on the surface of the crystal
deep,--a victim to the tyranny and selfishness, as well as a wonderful
proof of the _great power of the mind of man_.
QUESTIONS.--1. How are whales generally discovered? 2. Why do they come
to the surface of the water? 3. How far do they sometimes descend in the
ocean? 4. Describe the manner in which they are captured.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXVIII.
A'ER O NAUT, one who sails in the air.
RE DOUB LED, repeated.
MAG NIF I CENT, grand; splendid.
EL' E VA TED, raised; excited.
GON' DO LA, small boat.
BE GIRT', surrounded.
RO TA RY, turning; revolving.
IN TEN' SI TY, extreme degree.
A' ER OS TAT, air-balloon.
IN TER MI NA BLE, boundless.
VA' RI E GA TED, diversified; varied.
VERG' ING, tending; inclining.
OB LIQUE' LY, slantingly.
RES PI RA' TION, act of breathing.
ZE' NITH, point in the heavens directly over head.
MAN' DI BLES, jaws.
EU ROC' LY DON, tempestuous wind.
LEAVES FROM AN AERONAUT.
WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.
1. My hour had now come, and I entered the car. With a singular taste,
the band struck up, at this moment, the melting air of "Sweet Home." It
almost overcame me. A thousand associations of youth, friends, of all
that I must leave, rushed upon my mind. But I had no leisure for
sentiment. A buzz ran through the assemblage; unnumbered hands were
clapping, unnumbered hearts beating high; and _I_ was the cause. Every
eye was upon me. There was pride in the thought.
2. "Let go!" was the word. The cheers redoubled; handkerchiefs waved
from many a fair hand; bright faces beamed from every window, and on
every side. One dash with my knife, and I rose aloft, a habitant of air.
How magnificent was the sight which now burst upon me! How sublime were
my sensations! I waved the flag of my country; the cheers of the
multitude from a thousand housetops, reached me on the breeze; and a
taste of the rarer atmosphere elevated my spirits into ecstasy.
3. The city, with a brilliant sunshine striking the spires and domes,
now unfolded to view a sight incomparably beautiful. My gondola went
easily upward, cleaving the depths of heaven like a vital thing. A
diagram placed before you, on the table, could not permit you to trace
more definitely than I now could, the streets, the highways, basins,
wharves, and squares of the town. The hum of the city arose to my ear,
as from a vast bee-hive; and I seemed the monarch-bee, directing the
swarm.
4. I heard the rattling of carriages, the hearty _yo-heavo-s!_ of
sailors from the docks that, begirt with spars, hemmed the city round. I
was a spectator of all, yet aloof, and alone. Increasing stillness
attended my way; and, at last, the murmurs of earth came to my ear like
the vast vibrations of a bell. My car tilted and trembled, as I rose. A
swift wind sometimes gave the balloon a rotary motion, which made me
deathly sick for a moment; but strong emotion conquered all my physical
ailings.
5. My brain ached with the intensity of my rapture. Human sounds had
fainted from my ear. I was in the abyss of heaven, and _alone_ with my
God. I could tell my direction by the sun on my left; and, as his rays
played on the aerostat, it seemed only a bright bubble, wavering in the
sky, and I, a suspended mote, hung by chance to its train. Looking below
me, the distant Sound and Long Island appeared to the east; the bay lay
to the south, sprinkled with shipping; under me, the city, girded with
bright rivers and sparry forests.
6. The free wind was on my cheek, and in my locks; afar, the ocean
rolled its long, blue waves, checkered with masses of shadow, and gushes
of ruby sunlight; to the north and west, the interminable land,
variegated like a map, dotted with purple, and green, and silver, faded
to the eye. The atmosphere which I now breathed, seemed to dilate my
heart at every breath. I uttered some audible expressions. My voice was
weaker than the faintest sound of a reed. There was no object near to
make it reverb or echo.
7. My barometer now denoted an immense hight; and, as I looked upward
and around, the concave above seemed like a mighty waste of purple air,
verging to blackness. Below, it was lighter; but a long, lurid bar of
cloud stretched along the west, temporarily excluding the sun. The
shadows rushed afar into the void, and a solemn, Sabbath twilight
reigned around. I was now startled by a fluttering in my gondola. It was
my carrier-pigeon. I had forgotten him entirely. I attached a string to
his neck, with a label, announcing my hight, then nearly four miles, and
the state of the barometer.
8. As he sat on the side of the car, and turned his tender eyes upon me
in mute supplication, every feather shivering with apprehension, I felt
that it was a guilty act to push him into the waste beneath. But it was
done; he attempted to rise, but I out-sped him; he then fell obliquely,
fluttering and moaning, till I lost him in the haze. My greatest
altitude had not yet been reached. I was now five miles from _terra
firma_. [Footnote: Solid earth.] I began to breathe with difficulty. The
atmosphere was too rare for safe respiration.
9. I pulled my valve-cord to descend. It refused to obey my hand. For a
moment I was horror-struck. What was to be done? If I ascended much
higher, the balloon would explode. I threw over some tissue paper to
test my progress. It is well known that this will _rise_ very swiftly.
It _fell_, as if blown downward by a wind from the zenith. I was going
upward like an arrow. I attempted to pray, but my parched lips could not
move. I seized the cord again, with desperate energy. Blessed Heaven! it
moved.
10. I threw out more tissue. It rose to me like a wing of joy. I was
descending. Though far from sunset, it was now dark about me, except a
track of blood-red haze in the direction of the sun. I encountered a
strong current of wind; mist was about me; it lay like dew upon my coat.
At last, a thick bar of vapor being past, what a scene was disclosed! A
storm was sweeping through the sky, nearly a mile beneath; and I looked
down upon an ocean of rainbows, rolling in indescribable grandeur, to
the music of the thunder-peal, as it moaned afar and near, on the coming
and dying wind.
11. A frightened eagle had ascended through the tempest, and sailed for
minutes by my side, looking at me with panting weariness, and quivering
mandibles, but with a dilated eye, whose keen iris flashed unsubdued.
Proud emblem of my country! As he fanned me with his heavy wing, and
looked with a human intelligence at the car, my pulse bounded with
exulting rapture. Like the genius of my native land, he had risen above
every storm, unfettered and FREE.
12. But my transports were soon at an end. He attempted to light on the
balloon, and my heart sunk; I feared his huge claws would tear the silk.
I pulled my cord; he rose, as I sank, and the blast swept him from my
view in a moment. A flock of wild-fowl, beat by the storm, were coursing
below, on bewildered pinions; and, as I was nearing them, I knew I was
descending. A breaking rift now admitted the sun. The rainbows tossed
and gleamed; chains of fleecy rack, shining in prismatic rays of gold,
and purple, and emerald, "beautiful exceedingly," spread on every hand.
13. Vast curtains of clouds pavilioned the immensity, brighter than
celestial roses; masses of mist were lifted on high, like strips of
living fire, more radiant than the sun himself, when his glorious
noontide culminates from the equator. A kind of aërial Euroclydon now
smote my car, and three of the cords parted, which tilted my gondola to
the side, filling me with terror. I caught the broken cords in my hand,
but could not tie them.
14. The storm below was now rapidly passing away, and beneath its waving
outline, to the south-east, I saw the ocean. Ships were speeding on
their course, and their bright sails melting into distance; a rainbow
hung afar; and the rolling anthems of the Atlantic came like celestial
hymnings to my ear. Presently all was clear below me. The fresh air
played around. I had taken a noble circuit; and my last view was better
than the first, I was far over the bay, "afloating sweetly to the west."
The city, colored by the last blaze of day, brightened remotely to the
view.
15. Below, ships were hastening to and fro through the Narrows, and the
far country lay smiling like an Eden. Bright rivers ran like ribbons of
gold and silver, till they were lost in the vast inland, stretching
beyond the view; the gilded mountains were flinging their purple shadows
over many a vale; bays were blushing to the farewell day-beams; and now
I was passing over a green island. I sailed to the mainland; saw the
tall, old trees waving to the evening breeze; heard the rural lowing of
herds, and the welcome sound of human voices; and, finally, sweeping
over forest-tops and embowered villages, at last, descended with the
sun, among a kind-hearted, surprised, and hospitable community, in as
pretty a town as one could desire to see, "safe and well."
QUESTIONS.--1. What demonstrations were made by the people as the
aeronaut began to ascend? 2. How did the city and other objects appear
to him? 3. What could he hear? 4. Describe the appearance of the ocean.
5. What did he do with his carrier-pigeon? 6. How high did he ascend?
7. Describe his descent. 8. What is said about the eagle that came near
him? 9. Describe the appearance of the clouds beneath him.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXIX.
BOUN' TY, charity; favor.
FRU' GAL, prudent; economical.
FLOUR' ISH ED, thrived; prospered.
DIS CHARG' ED, performed.
BREED' ING, education.
EM BRAC' ED, accepted.
MAIN TAIN' ED, supported.
TRUDG' ED, traveled.
BE GUIL' ED, amused.
LE' GAL, lawful.
TWAIN, two.
BE WITCH' ING, charming.
YOUNK' ER, lad; youngster.
MED' I TA TIVE, thoughtful.
PRO VOK' ED, (PRO, _forward, forth_; VOKED, _called_;) called
forth; excited.
IN CLUDE', (IN, _in_; CLUDE, _shut_;) shut in; inclose.
IN SERT', (IN, _in_; SERT, _join, set_;) join, or set in; put in.
THE DAPPLE MARE.
JOHN G. SAXE.
1. "Once on a time," as ancient tales declare,
There lived a farmer in a quiet dell
In Massachusetts, but exactly where,
Or when, is really more than I can tell,--
Except that quite above the public bounty,
He lived within his means and Bristol county.
2. By patient labor and unceasing care,
He earned, and so enjoyed, his daily bread;
Contented always with his frugal fare,
Ambition to be rich ne'er vexed his head;
And thus unknown to envy, want, or wealth,
He flourished long in comfort, peace, and health.
3. The gentle partner of his humble lot,
The joy and jewel of his wedded life,
Discharged the duties of his peaceful cot,
Like a true woman and a faithful wife;
Her mind improved by thought and useful reading,
Kind words and gentle manners showed her breeding.
4. Grown old, at last, the farmer called his son,
The youngest, (and the favorite I suppose,) And said,--
"I long have thought, my darling John,
'Tis time to bring my labors to a close;
So now to toil I mean to bid adieu,
And deed, my son, the homestead-farm to you."
5. The boy embraced the boon with vast delight,
And promised, while their precious lives remained,
He'd till and tend the farm from morn till night,
And see his parents handsomely maintained;
God help him, he would never fail to love, nor
Do aught to grieve his gen'rous old gov'nor.
6. The farmer said,--"Well, let us now proceed,
(You know there's always danger in delay,)
And get 'Squire Robinson to write the deed;
Come,--where's my staff?--we'll soon be on the way."
But John replied, with tender, filial care,
"You're old and weak--I'll catch the Dapple Mare."
7. The mare was saddled, and the old man got on,
The boy on foot trudged cheerfully along,
The while, to cheer his sire, the duteous son
Beguiled the weary way with talk and song.
Arrived, at length, they found the 'Squire at home,
And quickly told him wherefore they had come.
8. The deed was writ in proper form of law,
With many a "foresaid," "therefore," and "the same,"
And made throughout without mistake or flaw,
To show that John had now a legal claim
To all his father's land--conveyed, given, sold,
Quit-claimed, et cetera,[Footnote 1]--to have and hold.
9. Their business done, they left the lawyer's door,
Happier, perhaps, than when they entered there;
And started off as they had done before,--
The son on foot, the father on the mare.
But ere the twain a single mile had gone,
A brilliant thought occurred to Master John.
10. Alas for truth!--alas for filial duty!--
Alas that Satan in the shape of pride,
(His most bewitching form save that of beauty,)
Whispered the lad--"My boy, you ought to ride!"
"Get off!" exclaimed the younker--"'t isn't fair
That you should always ride the Dapple Mare!"
11. The son was lusty, and the sire was old,
And so, with many an oath and many a frown,
The hapless father did as he was told;
The man got off the steed, the boy got on,
And rode away as fast as she could trot,
And left his sire to trudge it home on foot!
12. That night, while seated round the kitchen fire
The household sat, cheerful as if no word
Or deed, provoked the injured father's ire,
Or aught to make him sad had e'er occurred,--
Thus spoke he to his son: "We quite forgot,
I think, t'include that little turnip lot!"
13. "I'm very sure, my son, it wouldn't hurt it,"
Calmly observed the meditative sire,
"To take the deed, my lad, and just insert it;"
Here the old man inserts it--_in the fire!_
Then cries aloud with most triumphant air,
"Who now, my son, shall ride the Dapple Mare?"
[Footnote 1: And so forth.]
QUESTIONS.--1. What proposition did the father make to his son? 2. What
did the son promise to do? 3. How did the son treat his father after he
got the deed? 4. What did the old gentleman do?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXX.
HARD' I HOOD, bravery.
MAIN TRUCK, small cap at the top of a flagstaff or masthead.
A GHAST', horrified.
GROUPS, clusters; crowds.
PAL' LID, pale.
LU' RID, dismal; gloomy.
HUE, color.
RIV' ET TED, firmly fixed.
FOLD' ED, embraced; clasped.
A LEAP FOR LIFE.
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
1. Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
(sl.) In the harbor of Mahon [Footnote 1];
A dead calm rested on the bay,--
The waves to sleep had gone,--
When little Jack,[Footnote 2] the captain's son,
With gallant hardihood,
Climbed shroud and spar,--and then upon
The main-truck rose and stood!
2. A shudder ran through every vein,--
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky!
No hold had he above,--below,
Alone he stood in air!
At that far hight none dared to go,--
No aid could reach him there.
3. We gazed,--but not a man could speak;
With horror all aghast,
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast!
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue,
As, riveted unto the spot,
Stood officers and crew.
4. The father came on deck. He gasped,
"O God, Thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son!
"Jump far out, boy, into the wave!
Jump, or I fire!" he said.
"That only chance your life can save:
('') Jump! jump, boy!" He obeyed.
5. He sank,--he rose,--he lived,--he moved,--
He for the ship struck out!
On board we hailed the lad beloved
With many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,
Those wet arms round his neck,
Then folded to his heart the boy,
And fainted on the deck!
[Footnote 1: MA HON', (_Ma hone_,) a sea-port town on the island of
Minorca, in the Mediterranean Sea.]
[Footnote 2: A name commonly applied to a young sailor.]
QUESTIONS.--1. What did the captain's son do, on board the Ironsides? 2.
Describe his situation. 3. What is said of the officers and crew? 4.
What did the father say and do? 5. What did the boy do?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXI.
COM MIN' GLE, mix or unite.
PE DES' TRI AN, traveler on foot.
PROM' I NENT, important.
TRAG' lC, fatal; mournful.
NAR RATE', tell; relate.
YORE, olden time.
WI' LY, craft; cunning.
RE LENT' LESS, hard-hearted; cruel.
WIG' WAM, Indian hut or cabin.
EM BARK' ED, went aboard.
TWANG, quick, sharp sound.
SPA' CIOUS, large; capacious.
WA' RI LY, cautiously.
MYS TE' RI OUS LY, strangely.
OM' IN OUS, foreboding ill.
IM PLA' CA BLE, relentless.
UN TRACE' A BLE, (UN, _not_; TRACE, _mark_; ABLE, _that can be_;)
that can not be marked, or traced; not found out.
THE INDIAN BRIDE'S REVENGE.
L.M. STOWELL.
1. In the State of New York, where the dark, foaming waters of the Black
River, after roaring and surging through many pleasant fields, beautiful
groves, and dense woodlands, commingle with the clear, cold waters of
Lake Ontario, the wandering pedestrian or the lone fisherman may see,
resting upon a gravelly flat, the remains of an _old Indian canoe_,
whose once beautiful proportions, now untraceable in its rottenness,
bore a prominent part in the tragic event I am about to narrate.
2. Through these pleasant valleys, among the broken hills, and in the
majestic forests, of yore, the wily Indian and his dusky mate, held
undisputed possession; and many are the incidents, yet unwritten, of
tragic and thrilling interest, that transpired around the red men's
camp-fire, ere the white man disturbed their forest homes.
3. Si öus' ka, or the "Wild Flower," was the daughter of a powerful
chief of the Onondagas, and the only being ever known to turn the
relentless old chief from a savage purpose. Something of this influence
was owing to her great beauty; but more to the gentleness of which that
beauty was the emblem. Her downcast eye, her trembling lip, her quiet,
submissive motion, all bespoke its language; and many were the young
chieftains that sought to win her affections.
4. Among her admirers were two young chiefs of the Oneidas, with whom
the Onondagas were on the most friendly terms. Si öus' ka's father, in
order to cherish the friendly feeling of the two tribes, and, at the
same time, strengthen his power, besought her to accept the more
powerful chief, "Eagle Eye." He did not plead in vain; for she had long
loved the young Oneida.
5. One bright sunny morning, in early spring, as the old chief was out
hunting, the young Oneida crossed his path, upon which the old man
advanced, and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, pointed to the
dwelling of Si öus' ka. Not a word was spoken. The proud old man and the
strong, young chief proceeded toward her wigwam, and entered together.
6. Si öus' ka was seated in one corner, engaged upon some fancy
basket-work, and did not notice their approach until they had entered.
The old chief looked upon her with an expression of love, which his
stern countenance never wore except in her presence. "Siöus'ka," he said
in a subdued tone, "Go to the wigwam of the Oneida, that your father's
tribe may be strengthened, and many moons may shine upon their peace and
prosperity."
7. There was mingled joy and modesty in the upward glance of the "Wild
Flower" of the Onondagas, and, when the young chief saw the light of her
mild eye suddenly and timidly vailed by its deeply-fringed lid, he knew
that her love had lost none of its power. The marriage song was soon
sung in the royal wigwam, in which the sweet voice of Siöus'ka was
happily heard to mingle.
8. When the rejected chief of the Oneidas heard that the "Wild Flower"
had mated with the "Eagle Eye," his wrath knew no bounds, and he
secretly resolved upon revenge. Two years passed away, and, as yet, no
good opportunity had arrived; for he dared not attack "Eagle Eye" in
open conflict, for fear of his superior powers; and, assassin-like, he
sought to give the blow unperceived.
9. At length, the spring came, and a number of the tribe prepared to
visit Lake Ontario, on a fishing and hunting excursion. Among the number
who went, were the "Eagle Eye," Siöus'ka, and their little boy. They
were obliged to carry their light, birchen canoes from home, and these
were packed with the necessary tackle, skins for beds, &c. The strong
men of the party carried the canoes on their shoulders, and the women
the smaller articles of furniture.
10. They had advanced across the country, until they reached the Black
River, and, by carrying their canoes around falls and rapids, gently
floated down the stream till they reached the great falls, about six
miles from the Lake. Here they halted for the night, and encamped about
half a mile above the falls.
11. The morning came; and, as the first beam of the rising sun pierced
the forest shade, the party again embarked in their canoes for the mouth
of the river, the gaudy canoe of Si öus' ka, which her father had given
her, taking the lead. They had scarcely started from the shore, ere the
sharp twang of a bow-string was heard from the shore, and an unerring
arrow pierced the heart of "Eagle Eye." He fell over the side of the
canoe, and was swept by the current over the great falls.
12. The party immediately started in pursuit of the coward murderer; but
they sought in vain. His hiding-place was too sure,--he had taken refuge
in a cave, the entrance of which was hid from observation by a thick
clump of cedars. Here he remained till he was certain the company had
departed. This cave is still there, and I have often been in its many
chambers,--some of which are very spacious.
13. The fatal shaft was winged from the bow of the revenged Oneida
chief. Having been apprised of the expedition, he had warily dogged the
steps of the party, until a favorable opportunity presented itself, and
then satisfied his secret longing for revenge upon the enemy, whom he
did not dare to attack even-handed. The party sought him far and near;
but, as no trace of any one could be found, they imagined, with
superstitious fear, that the "Great Spirit" had thus summoned "Eagle
Eye" to the "Spirit's Hunting Ground."
14. When they returned to their canoes, no traces of Si öus' ka and her
child were to be found. They, too, had mysteriously disappeared, and the
whole party, with ominous silence, hastened around the falls, and away
from the fearful place. When Si ous' ka saw the fatal shaft pierce her
companion, with, a fearful shriek she fell into the bottom of the canoe,
hid herself in the furs, and immediately her reason forsook her.
15. When she recovered, she found that her canoe, urged on by the
current, had floated into a large cave, and was firmly wedged in between
two rocks; and her little boy, with his bow and arrow in his hand, was
quietly sleeping by her side. Dislodging the canoe, she plied the oars,
and was soon outside the cave.
16. On finding her people had left her, she sought the shore, and,
fastening the canoe, proceeded below the falls, where she found the body
of the ill-fated "Eagle Eye," where it had washed ashore. With
superhuman strength, she bore the mangled body to a thick grove of
cedars, and, with her own hands, dug a rude grave, and covered his
remains with dried leaves and earth. That night she kept her lonely
watch beside the grave of all that she held dear on earth, save her boy,
intending to follow the party on the morrow.
17. The morning came, and the mid-day sun began to descend toward the
western hills, ere she left the grave of the murdered chief. But, at
length, she sorrowfully departed; and, on arriving where she moored the
canoe the day before, what was her surprise to see the murderer of her
husband, quietly sleeping upon the skins where last "Eagle Eye" had
reposed, in the bow of the canoe.
18. From that moment Si öus' ka was changed. Her quiet, submissive air
immediately gave place to fierce sternness, and the eye that had always
beamed with the smile of love, shot forth flashes of bitter hate and
passion, implacable as the most bloodthirsty of her tribe. Noiselessly
throwing the oars from the boat, with a wild shriek, she quickly swung
it around into the rapidly rolling current, and it was hurried toward
the brink of that awful cataract, over which no living being had ever
passed alive.
19. The young chief, awakened by that fearful, exulting cry of revenge,
and seeing the peril of his situation, leaped from the bark that was
hurrying him to sure destruction, and vainly sought to gain the shore.
After struggling with the swift tide for a moment, in which he was
carried nearer and nearer the awful brink, he turned, and, with a wild,
unearthly yell, plunged over, and the boiling waters only responded to
his death-wail, as he sunk to rise no more, and his spirit joined that
of his victim in the "Spirit Land."
20. After the gentle "Wild Flower" had avenged the death of the "Eagle
Eye," she returned to her father's wigwam, and spent the remainder of
her life to the memory of her heart's first devotion. The canoe, all
battered and broken, floated to the mouth of the river, bottom side up,
where it was seen by one of the party while fishing, drawn to the shore,
and left to decay. The party supposed that "Eagle Eye," Siöus'ka, and
her child, had all perished in some mysterious manner.
QUESTIONS.--1. Who was Siöus'ka? 2. Who became her husband? 3. What
effect had her marriage upon the rejected Oneida chief? 4. In what way
did he seek revenge? 5. How did Siöus'ka avenge the death of her
husband?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXII.
EN TER TAIN' ED, had; harbored.
PE CUL IAR' I TY, something special.
CHA GRIN'ED, (_sha grin'ed_,) vexed.
MOR' TI FI ED, hurt in feeling.
OUT STRIP', go beyond; excel.
RI' VAL RY, emulation.
RE VERS' ES, troubles; difficulties.
IN VIG' OR A TED, made strong.
DES O LA' TION, waste; ruin.
REF' UGE, shelter; protection.
SYM' PA THIZ ED, (SYM, _with_; PATH, _feeling_; IZE, _make, have_;
ED, _did_;) did have feeling with. See Note on the suffix IZE,
p. 132 of the ANALYSIS.
[Headnote 1: SIS' ER A, captain of the army of the Canaanitish king,
Jabin. He was utterly defeated by Barak. Fleeing on foot, he took refuge
in the tent of Jael, wife of Heber. There, while asleep, Jael drove a
nail through his temples, and so he died. His mother, finding he did not
return from the battle, "looked out at a window, and cried through the
lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming?" Read 4th and 5th
chapters of Judges.]
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
ALBERT BARNES.
1. Many of us who are advanced beyond the period of childhood, went out
from home to embark on the stormy sea of life. Of the feelings of a
father, and of his interest in our welfare, we have never entertained a
doubt, and our home was dear because he was there; but there was a
peculiarity in the feeling that it was the home of our mother. Where
_she_ lived, there was a place that we felt was _home_. There was _one
place_ where we would always be welcome, _one place_ where we would be
met with a smile, _one place_ where we would be sure of a friend.
2. The world might be indifferent to us. We might be unsuccessful in our
studies or our business. The new friends which we supposed we had made,
might prove to be false. The honor which we thought we deserved, might
be withheld from us. We might be chagrined and mortified by seeing a
rival outstrip us, and bear away the prize which we sought. But there
_was_ a place where no feelings of rivalry were found, and where those
whom the world overlooked, would be sure of a friendly greeting. Whether
pale and wan by study, care, or sickness, or flushed with health and
flattering success, we were _sure_ that we should be welcome there.
3. Though the world was cold toward us, yet there was _one_ who always
rejoiced in our success, and always was affected in our reverses; and
there was a _place_ to which we might go back from the storm which began
to pelt us, where we might rest, and become encouraged and invigorated
for a new conflict. So have I seen a bird, in its first efforts to fly,
leave its nest, and stretch its wings, and go forth to the wide world.
But the wind blew it back, and the rain began to fall, and the darkness
of night began to draw on, and there was no shelter abroad, and it
sought its way back to its nest, to take shelter beneath its mother's
wings, and to be refreshed for the struggles of a new day; but then it
flew away to think of its nest and its mother no more.
4. But not thus did we leave our home when we bade adieu to it to go
forth alone to the manly duties of life. Even amidst the storms that
then beat upon us, and the disappointments that we met with, and the
coldness of the world, we felt still that there _was one_ who
sympathized in our troubles, as well as rejoiced in our success, and
that, whatever might be abroad, when we entered the door of her
dwelling, we should be met with a smile. We expected that a mother, like
the mother of Sisera [Headnote 1], as she "looked out at her window,"
waiting for the coming of her son laden with the spoils of victory,
would look out for _our_ coming, and that _our_ return would renew her
joy and ours in our earlier days.
5. It makes a sad desolation when, from such a place, a mother is taken
away, and when, whatever may be the sorrows or the successes in life,
she is to greet the returning son or daughter no more. The home of our
childhood may be still lovely. The old family mansion--the green
fields--the running stream--the moss-covered well--the trees--the
lawn--the rose--the sweet-brier--may be there. Perchance, too, there may
be an aged father, with venerable locks, sitting in his loneliness, with
every thing to command respect and love; but she is not there. Her
familiar voice is not heard. The mother has been borne forth to sleep by
the side of her children who went before her, and the place is not what
it was.
6. There may be those there whom we much love; but _she_ is not there.
We may have formed new relations in life, tender and strong as they can
be; we may have another home, dear to us as was the home of our
childhood, where there is all in affection, kindness, and religion, to
make us happy; but _that_ home is not what it was, and it will _never_
be what it was again. It is a loosening of one of the cords which bound
us to earth, designed to prepare us for our eternal flight from every
thing dear here below, and to teach us that there is _no_ place here,
that is to be our permanent home.
QUESTIONS.--1. What renders home doubly endearing? 2. Where are we
always welcome? 3. Who always rejoices in our successes, and is affected
in our reverses? 4. Who was Sisera, and what account is given of him?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXIII.
UN SPOT' TED, pure; unstained.
FAL' TER, fail.
TRA' CER Y, traces; impressions.
IM' PRESS, mark: stamp.
DO MIN' ION, authority; predominance.
SHRINK, withdraw.
PUR SU' ING, following.
STERN ER, harsher; more rigid.
DE FY', dare; challenge.
WHO' SO, any person whatever.
TO' KEN, sign; indication.
BROTH' ER HOOD, fraternity.
THE LIFE-BOOK.
HOME JOURNAL.
1. Write, mother, write!
A new, unspotted book of life before thee,
Thine is the hand to trace upon its pages
The first few characters, to live in glory,
Or live in shame, through long, unending ages!
Write, mother, write!
Thy hand, though woman's, must not faint nor falter:
The lot is on thee,--nerve thee then with care,--
A _mother's tracery_ time may never alter;
Be its first impress, then, the breath of prayer!
Write, mother, write!
2. Write, father, write!
Take thee a pen plucked from an eagle's pinion,
And write _immortal actions_ for thy son;
Teach him that man forgets man's high dominion,
Creeping on earth, leaving _great deeds_ undone!
Write, father, write!
Leave on his life-book a fond father's blessing,
To shield him 'mid temptation, toil, and sin.
And he shall go to glory's field, possessing
_Strength to contend, and confidence to win_.
Write, father, write!
3. Write, sister, write!
Nay, shrink not, for a sister's love is holy!
Write words the angels whisper in thine ears,--
No bud of sweet affection, howe'er lowly,
But planted here, will bloom in after years.
Write, sister, write!
Something to cheer him, his rough way pursuing,
For manhood's lot is sterner far than ours;
He may not pause,--he must be up and doing,
Whilst thou sitt'st idly, dreaming among flowers.
Write, sister, write!
4. Write, brother, write!
Strike a bold blow upon those kindred pages,--
Write; shoulder to shoulder, brother, we will go;
Heart linked to heart, though wild the conflict rages,
We will defy the battle and the foe.
Write, brother, write!
We who have trodden boyhood's path together,
Beneath the summer's sun and winter's sky,
What matter if life brings us some foul weather,
We may be stronger than adversity!
Write, brother, write!
5. Fellow immortal, write!
One GOD reigns in the Heavens,--there is no other,--
And _all mankind are brethren_--thus 'tis spoken,--
And whoso aids a sorrowing, struggling brother,
By kindly word, or deed, or friendly token,
Shall win the favor of our heavenly Father,
Who judges evil, and rewards the good,
And who hath linked the race of man together,
In one vast, universal brotherhood!
Fellow immortal, write!
QUESTIONS.--1. What may the mother write in the Life-Book? 2. What, the
father? 3. What, the sister? 4. What, the brother? 5. What may all
write?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXIV.
ODE, short poem.
PA TER' NAL, coming by inheritance.
AT TIRE', clothing; raiment.
UN CON CERN' ED LY, without care.
REC RE A' TION, amusement.
IN' NO CENCE, freedom from guilt.
MED I TA' TION, contemplation.
UN LA MENT' ED, unmourned.
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
POPE.
Written when the author was twelve years of age.
1. Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
2. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
3. Blest who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years glide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.
4. Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixed; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most doth please
With meditation.
5. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
QUESTIONS.--1. Who, did the writer think, were happy? 2. How did he wish
to live and die? 3. Analyse the word _recreation_, (RE _back_; CREATION,
_act of bringing into life_;) act of bringing back to life; a reviving.
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXV.
AD MI RA' TION, esteem.
FRA TER' NAL, brotherly.
IN SIG NIF' I CANCE, worthlessness.
CRIT' IC AL, perilous.
THOR' OUGH LY, completely; fully.
COM PRE HEND', understand.
CON VIC' TION, strong belief.
COM PE TI' TION, strife; rivalry.
EM U LA' TION, competition.
IN TRIN' SIC AL LY, really; truly.
AP PRE' CI ATE, value; esteem.
BRAWN, physical strength.
PIN' NA CLE, summit; highest point.
SIN' U OUS, winding; bending.
LE GIT' I MATE, lawful.
REQ' UI SITE, necessary.
CON SER VA' TION, act of keeping.
DE VEL' OP MENT, training.
GETTING THE RIGHT START.
J.G. HOLLAND.
1. The first great lesson a young man should learn, is, that _he knows
nothing;_ and that the earlier and more thoroughly this lesson is
learned, the better it will be for his peace of mind, and his success in
life. A young man bred at home, and growing up in the light of parental
admiration and fraternal pride, can not readily understand how it is,
that every one else can be his equal in talent and acquisition. If bred
in the country, he seeks the life of the town, he will very early obtain
an idea of his insignificance.
2. This is a critical period in his history. The result of his reasoning
will decide his fate. If, at this time, he thoroughly comprehend, and in
his soul admit and accept the fact, that _he knows nothing_ and _is
nothing;_ if he bow to the conviction that his mind and his person are
but ciphers, and that whatever he is _to be_, and is _to win_, must be
achieved by _hard work_, there is abundant hope of him.
3. If, on the contrary, a huge self-conceit still hold possession of
him, and he straightens stiffly up to the assertion of his old and
valueless self,--or, if he sink discouraged upon the threshold of a life
of fierce competitions, and more manly emulations, he might as well be a
dead man. The world has no use for such a man, and he has only to retire
or be trodden upon.
4. When a young man has thoroughly comprehended the fact that _he knows
nothing_, and that, intrinsically, he is of but _little value_, the next
thing for him to learn is that _the world cares nothing for him_,--that
he is the subject of no man's overwhelming admiration and esteem,--that
he must take care of himself.
5. If he be a stranger, he will find every man busy with his own
affairs, and none to look after him. He will not be noticed until he
becomes _noticeable_, and he will not become noticeable, until he _does
something_ to prove that he has an absolute value in society. No letter
of recommendation will give him this, or ought to give him this. No
family connection will give him this, except among those few who think
more of blood than brains.
6. Society demands that a young man _shall be somebody_, not only, but
that _he shall prove his right to the title_; and it has a right to
demand this. Society will not take this matter upon trust,--at least,
not for a long time; for it has been cheated too frequently. Society is
not very particular what a man does, so that it prove him to be a _man_:
then it will bow to him, and make room for him.
7. There is no surer sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit, than a
vague desire for _help_,--a wish to _depend_, to _lean_ upon somebody,
and enjoy the fruits of the industry of others. There are multitudes of
young men who indulge in dreams of help from some quarter, coming in at
a convenient moment, to enable them to secure the success in life which
they covet. The vision haunts them of some benevolent old gentleman,
with a pocket full of money, a trunk full of mortgages and stocks, and a
mind remarkably appreciative of merit and genius, who will, perhaps,
give or lend them from ten to twenty thousand dollars, with which they
will commence and go on swimmingly.
8. To me, one of the most disgusting sights in the world, is that of a
young man with healthy blood, broad shoulders, and a hundred and fifty
pounds, more or less, of good bone and muscle, standing with his hands
in his pockets, longing for help. I admit that there are positions in
which the most independent spirit may accept of assistance,--may, in
fact, as a choice of evils, desire it; but for a man who is able to help
himself, to desire the help of others in the accomplishment of his plans
of life, is positive proof that he has received a most unfortunate
training, or that there is a leaven of meanness in his composition, that
should make him shudder.
9. When, therefore, a young man has ascertained and fully received the
fact that he does not know any thing, that the world does not care any
thing about him, that what he wins must be won by his own brain and
brawn, and that while he holds in his own hands the means of gaining his
own livelihood and the objects of his life, he can not receive
assistance without compromising his self-respect and selling his
freedom, he is in a fair position for beginning life. When a young man
becomes aware that only by _his own efforts_ can he rise into
companionship and competition with the sharp, strong, and well-drilled
minds around him, he of ready for work, and not before.
10. The next lesson is, that of _patience_, thoroughness in preparation,
and contentment with the regular channels of business effort and
enterprise. This is, perhaps, one of the most difficult to learn, of all
the lessons of life. It is natural for the mind to reach out eagerly for
immediate results.
11. As manhood dawns, and the young man catches in its first light the
pinnacles of realized dreams, the golden domes of high possibilities,
and the purpling hills of great delights, and then looks down upon the
narrow, sinuous, long, and dusty path by which others have reached
them, he is apt to be disgusted with the passage, and to seek for
success through broader channels, by quicker means. Beginning at the
very foot of the hill, and working slowly to the top, seems a very
discouraging process; and precisely at this point, have thousands of
young men made shipwreck of their lives.
12. Let this be understood, then, at starting; that the patient conquest
of difficulties, which rise in the regular and legitimate channels of
business and enterprise, is not only essential in securing the successes
which you seek, but it is essential to that preparation of your mind,
requisite for the enjoyment of your successes, and for retaining them
when gained. It is the general rule of Providence, the world over, and
in all time, that unearned success is a curse. It is the rule of
Providence, that the process of earning success, shall be the
preparation for its conservation and enjoyment.
13. So, day by day, and week by week; so, month after month, and year
after year, _work on_, and in that process gain strength and symmetry,
and nerve and knowledge, that when success, patiently and bravely worked
for, shall come, it may find you prepared to receive it and keep it. The
development which you will get in this brave and patient labor, will
prove itself, in the end, the most valuable of your successes. It will
help to make a _man_ of you. It will give you power and self-reliance.
It will give you not only _self-respect_, but the _respect of your
fellows and the public_.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is the first lesson a young man should learn? 2.
What is the next lesson he should learn? 3. What does society demand of
a young man? 4. What is a sure sign of an unmanly and cowardly spirit?
5. When is a young man in a fair position for beginning life? 6. What
is a general rule of Providence?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXVI.
PRE SUMP' TION, arrogance.
SOPH' ISTS, professed teachers of wisdom.
AC COST' ED, addressed.
GEN' IUS, natural aptitude.
IN DUC' ED, prevailed upon.
PHI LOS' O PHER, lover of wisdom.
BAR' BA ROUS, foreign; uncivilized.
DIS SUADE', turn away from.
EX CESS' IVE. overmuch.
ES TEEM' ED, highly regarded.
RE TRENCH, lessen; curtail.
SU PER' FLU OUS, extravagant; needless.
UN DER TAK' ING, engaging in.
IN CA PAC' I TY, inability.
[Headnote 1: THE MIS' TO CLES, a celebrated Athenian statesman and
military leader, was born about 514 before Christ.]
[Headnote 2: CI' MON, an illustrious Athenian general and statesman,
born about the year 510, before Christ. He belonged to the aristocratic
party of his time, and contributed to the banishment of Themistocles,
the leader of the opposite party. He was also the political opponent of
Pericles.]
[Headnote 3: PER' I CLES, an Athenian statesman, born about 495 before
Christ. He labored to make Athens the capital of all Greece, and the
seat of art and refinement.]
[Headnote 4: PLA' TO, a celebrated Greek philosopher, born in Athens
about the year 429 before Christ. He was a pupil of Socrates.]
THE PRESUMPTION OF YOUTH.
ROLLIN.
1. The young people of Athens, amazed at the glory of
Themistocles,[Headnote 1] of Cimon,[Headnote 2] of Pericles,[Headnote 3]
and full of a foolish ambition, after having received some lessons from
the sophists, who promised to render them very great politicians,
believed themselves capable of every thing, and aspired to fill the
highest places. One of them, named Glaucon, took it so strongly in his
head that he had a _peculiar genius_ for public affairs, although he was
not yet twenty years of age, that no person in his family, nor among his
friends, had the power to divert him from a notion so little befitting
his age and capacity.
2. Socrates, who liked him on account of Plato [Headnote 4] his brother,
was the only one who succeeded in making him change his resolution.
Meeting him one day, he accosted him with so dexterous a discourse, that
he induced him to listen. He had already gained much influence over him.
"You have a desire to govern the republic?" said Socrates. "True,"
replied Glaucon. "You can not have a finer design," said the
philosopher, "since, if you succeed in it, you will be in a state to
serve your friends, to enlarge your house, and to extend the limits of
your native country.
3. "You will become known not only in Athens, but through all Greece;
and it may be that your renown will reach even to the barbarous nations,
like that of Themistocles. At last, you will gain the respect and
admiration of everybody." A beginning so flattering pleased the young
man exceedingly, and he very willingly continued the conversation.
"Since you desire to make yourself esteemed and respected, it is clear
that you think to render yourself useful to the public." "Assuredly."
"Tell me, then, I beseech you, what is the first service that you intend
to render the state?"
4. As Glaucon appeared to be perplexed, and considered what he ought to
answer,--"Probably," replied Socrates, "it will be to enrich the
republic, that is to say, to increase its revenues." "Exactly so." "And,
undoubtedly, you know in what the revenues of the state consist, and the
extent to which they may be increased. You will not have failed to make
it a private study, to the end that if one source should suddenly fail,
you may be able to supply its place immediately with another." "I assure
you," answered Glaucon, "that this is what I have never thought of."
5. "Tell me, at least, then, the necessary expenses of maintaining the
republic. You can not fail to know of what importance it is to retrench
those which are superfluous." "I confess to you that I am not more
instructed with regard to this article than the other." "Then it is
necessary to defer till another time the design that you have of
enriching the republic; for it is impossible for you to benefit the
state while you are ignorant of its revenues and expenses."
6. "But," said Glaucon, "there is still another means that you pass over
in silence,--one can enrich a state by the ruin of its enemies." "You
are right." replied Socrates, "but, in order to do that, you must be the
more powerful; otherwise you run the risk of losing that which you
possess. So, he who speaks of undertaking a war, ought to know the power
of both parties, to the end that if he finds his party the stronger, he
may boldly risk the adventure; but, if he find it the weaker, he should
dissuade the people from undertaking it.
7. "But, do you know what are the forces of our republic, by sea and by
land, and what are those of our enemies'? have you a statement of them
in writing'? You will do me the pleasure to allow me a perusal of it."
"I have none yet," replied Glaucon. "I see, then," said Socrates, "that
we shall not make war so soon, if they intrust _you_ with the
government; for there remain many things for you to know, and many cares
to take."
8. The sage mentioned many other articles, not less important, in which
he found Glaucon equally inexperienced, and he pointed out how
ridiculous they render themselves, who have the rashness to intermeddle
with government, without bringing any other preparation to the task than
_a great degree of self-esteem and excessive ambition_. "Fear, my dear
Glaucon," said Socrates, "fear, lest a too ardent desire for honors
should blind you; and cause you to take a part that would cover you with
shame, in bringing to light your incapacity, and want of talent."
9. The youth was wise enough to profit by the good advice of his
instructor, and took some time to gain private information, before he
ventured to appear in public. This lesson is for all ages.
QUESTIONS.--1. To what did the young people of Athens aspire? 2. What
did Glaucon believe he possessed? 3. Who succeeded in making him change
his resolution? 4. How did Socrates do this? 5. What did Socrates
finally say to him?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXVII.
CREST, topmost height.
TOR' RENTS, rushing streams.
TYPE, symbol; token.
AE' RIE, (_â' ry_,) eagle's nest.
VAULT' ED, arched.
LIQ' UID, (_lik' wid_,) clear; flowing.
BASK, lie exposed to warmth.
CAN' O PY, covering.
REV' EL RY, noisy merriment.
BIDE, stay; continue.
VO LUP' TU OUS, devoted to pleasure.
HAUNTS, places of resort.
EX PIRES', dies; becomes extinct.
SMOL' DER ING, burning and smoking without vent.
HER' IT AGE, inheritance.
QUENCH' ED, extinguished.
PEN' NON, flag; banner.
WRENCH, wrest; twist off.
CRA' VEN, base; cowardly.
SONG OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE.
1. I build my nest on the mountain's crest,
Where the wild winds rock my eaglets to rest,--
Where the lightnings flash, and the thunders crash,
And the roaring torrents foam and dash;
For my spirit free henceforth shall be
A type of the sons of Liberty.
2. Aloft I fly from my aërie high,
Through the vaulted dome of the azure sky;
On a sunbeam bright take my airy flight,
And float in a flood of liquid light;
For I love to play in the noontide ray,
And bask in a blaze from the throne of day.
3. Away I spring with a tireless wing,
On a feathery cloud I poise and swing;
I dart down the steep where the lightnings leap,
And the clear blue canopy swiftly sweep;
For, dear to me is the revelry
Of a free and fearless Liberty.
4. I love the land where the mountains stand,
Like the watch-towers high of a Patriot band;
For I may not bide in my glory and pride,
Though the land be never so fair and wide,
Where Luxury reigns o'er voluptuous plains,
And fetters the free-born soul in chains.
5. Then give to me in my flights to see
The land of the pilgrims _ever free_!
And I never will rove from the haunts I love
But watch, from my sentinel-track above,
Your banner free, o'er land and sea,
And exult in your glorious Liberty.
6. _O, guard ye well the land where I dwell_,
Lest to future times the tale I tell,
When slow expires in smoldering fires
The goodly heritage of your sires,--
How Freedom's light rose clear and bright
O'er fair Columbia's beacon-hight,
Till ye quenched the flame in a starless night.
7. Then will I tear from your pennon fair
The stars ye have set in triumph there;
My olive-branch on the blast I'll launch,
The fluttering stripes from the flagstaff wrench,
And away I'll flee; for I scorn to see
_A craven race_ in the land of the free!
QUESTIONS.--1. Where does the eagle build its nest? 2. Describe its
flights. 3. Where does it love to dwell? 4. Of what is the eagle a type?
5. What warning does it give to the people of this country? 6. What is
there peculiar in the construction of the first, third, and fifth lines
of each verse?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXVIII.
AN' THEM, ode; song.
DAUNT' LESS, bold; fearless.
WAG' ED, carried on.
UN AW' ED, undismayed.
SCROLL, roll of paper; document.
COUNT' LESS, unnumbered.
ROY' AL, regal; noble.
U' NI VERSE, whole creation.
BAF' FLED, frustrated.
TY RAN' NIC, oppressive; despotic.
CURB, check; restrain.
SUC CEED' ING, following.
HURL' ED, thrown.
PEAL' ED, resounded.
[Headnote 1: HEL' LES PONT, now the Dardanelles, a narrow strait between
Asia and Europe.]
[Headnote 2: XER' XES, (_zerks' ees_,) the celebrated king of Persia,
during his famous expedition into Greece, caused a bridge of boats to be
built over the Hellespont; but the work having been destroyed by a
storm, he was greatly enraged against the sea, and ordered it to be
lashed, and fetters to be cast into it to restrain its violence.]
THE ARMY OF REFORM.
SARAH JANE LIPPINCOTT.
1. Yes, _ye are few_,--and _they were few_,
Who, daring storm and sea,
Once raised upon old Plymouth rock
"The anthem of the free."
2. _And they were few_ at Lexington,
To battle, or to die,--
That lightning-flash, that thunder-peal,
Told that the storm was nigh.
3. _And they were few_, who dauntless stood,
Upon old Bunkers hight,
And waged with Britain's strength and pride
The fierce, unequal fight.
4. _And they were few_, who, all unawed
By kingly "rights divine,"
The Declaration, rebel scroll,[Footnote 1]
Untrembling dared to sign.
5. _Yes, ye are few_; for one proud glance
Can take in all your band,
As now against a countless host,
Firm, true, and calm, ye stand.
6. Unmoved by Folly's idiot laugh,
Hate's curse, or Envy's frown,--
Wearing your rights as royal robes,
Your manhood as a crown,--
7. With eyes whose gaze, unvailed by mists,
Still rises, clearer, higher,--
With stainless hands, and lips that Truth
Hath touched with living fire,--
8. With one high hope, that ever shines
Before you as a star,--
One prayer of faith, one fount of strength,
_A glorious few ye are!_
9. Ye _dare_ not fear, ye _can not_ fail,
Your destiny ye bind
To that sublime, eternal law
That rules the march of mind.
10. See yon bold eagle toward the sun
Now rising free and strong,
And see yon mighty river roll
Its sounding tide along!
11. Ah! yet near earth the eagle tires,
Lost in the sea, the river;
_But naught can stay the human mind_,--
_'Tis upward, onward, ever!_
12. It yet shall tread the starlit paths,
By highest angels trod,
And pause but at the farthest world
In the universe of God.
13. 'Tis said that Persia's baffled king,
In mad, tyrannic pride,
Cast fetters on the Hellespont,[Headnote 1]
To curb its swelling tide:
14. But freedom's own true spirit heaves
The bosom of the main;
It tossed those fetters to the skies,
And bounded on again!
15. The scorn of each succeeding age
On Xerxes'[Headnote 2] head was hurled,
And o'er that foolish deed has pealed
The long laugh of a world.
16. Thus, thus, defeat, and scorn, and shame,
Is _his_, who strives to bind
_The restless, leaping waves of thought,_
_The free tide of the mind._
[Footnote 1: The reference is to the Declaration of Independence, made
July 4th, 1776.]
QUESTIONS.--1. Who raised the anthem of the free on Plymouth Rock?
2. What is said of the few on Bunker's Hight? 3. How many signed the
Declaration of Independence? Ans. 56. 4. What is said of the eagle?
5. Of the human mind? 6. Of Freedom? 7. Where is the Hellespont?
* * * * *
LESSON LXXXIX.
FRESH' EN ED, grew brisk or strong.
FIT FUL LY, at intervals.
IN DI CA' TION, sign; token.
EN THU' SI ASM, strong feeling.
AP PRE HEND' ING, fearing.
A BAN' DON, give up; forsake.
HAW' SERS, cables; large ropes.
VOL UN TEER' ED, offered willingly.
IN' TER VAL, intervening time.
DE VOT' ED, doomed; ill-fated.
THWARTS, seats placed across a boat.
GUAR' AN TY, warrant.
IN EV' I TA BLY, certainly; surely.
AC CU' MU LA TED, collected; heaped.
STAN' CHION, (_stan' shun_,) small post.
VI' ED, strove; contended.
DIS' LO CA TED, out of joint; disjointed.
AM' PU TA TED, cut off.
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE MONITOR.
GREENVILLE M. WEEKS.
1. On the afternoon of December 29th, 1862, she put on steam, and, in
tow of the "Rhode Island," passed Fortress Monroe, and out to sea. As we
gradually passed out, the wind freshened somewhat; but the sun went down
in glorious clouds of purple and crimson, and the night was fair and
calm above us, though, in the interior of our little vessel, the air had
already begun to lose its freshness. We suffered more or less from its
closeness through the night, and woke in the morning to find it heavy
with impurity, from the breaths of some sixty persons, composing the
officers and crew.
2. Sunshine found us on deck, enjoying pure air, and watching the east.
During the night we had passed Cape Henry, and now, at dawn, found
ourselves on the ocean,--the land only a blue line in the distance. A
few more hours, and that had vanished. No sails were visible; and the
Passaic, which we had noticed the evening before, was now out of sight.
The morning and afternoon passed quietly; we spent most of our time on
deck, on account of the confined air below, and, being on a level with
the sea, with the spray dashing over us occasionally, amused ourselves
with noting its shifting hues and forms, from the deep green of the
first long roll, to the foam-crest and prismatic tints of the falling
wave.
3. As the afternoon advanced, the freshening wind, the thickening
clouds, and the increasing roll of the sea, gave those most accustomed
to ordinary ship-life, some new experiences. The little vessel plunged
through the rising waves, instead of riding them, and, as they increased
in violence, lay, as it were, under their crests, which washed over her
continually; so that, even when we considered ourselves safe, the
appearance was that of a vessel sinking.
4. "I'd rather go to sea in a diving-bell!" said one, as the waves
dashed over the pilot-house, and the little craft seemed buried in
water. "Give me an oyster-scow!" cried another,--"any thing! only let it
be _wood_, and something that will float _over_, instead of _under_ the
water!" Still she plunged on; and about 6:30 P.M., we made Cape
Hatteras; in half an hour we had rounded the point. A general hurrah
went up,--"Hurrah for the first iron-clad that ever rounded Cape
Hatteras! Hurrah for the little boat that is first in every thing!"
5. At half-past seven, a heavy shower fell, lasting about twenty
minutes. At this time the gale increased; black, heavy clouds covered
the sky, through which the moon glittered fitfully, allowing us to see
in the distance a long line of white, plunging foam rushing toward
us,--sure indication, to a sailor's eye, of a stormy time. A gloom
overhung every thing; the banks of cloud seemed to settle around us; the
moan of the ocean grew louder and more fearful. Still our little boat
pushed doggedly on: victorious through all, we thought that here, too,
she would conquer, though the beating waves sent shudders through her
whole frame.
6. An hour passed; the air below, which had all day been increasing in
closeness, was now almost stifling; but our men lost no courage. Some
sang as they worked; and the cadence of their voices, mingling with the
roar of waters, sounded like a defiance to Ocean. Some stationed
themselves on top of the turret, and a general enthusiasm filled all
breasts, as huge waves, twenty feet high, rose up on all sides, hung
suspended for a moment like jaws open to devour, and then, breaking,
gnashed over in foam from side to side.
7. Those of us new to the sea, and not apprehending our peril, hurrahed
for the largest wave; but the captain and one or two others, old
sailors, knowing its power, grew momentarily more and more--anxious,
feeling, with a dread instinctive to the sailor, that, in case of
extremity, no wreck yet known to ocean, could be so hopeless as this.
Solid iron from keelson to turret-top, clinging to any thing for safety,
if the "Monitor" should go down, would only insure a share in her fate.
No mast., no spar, no floating thing, to meet the outstretched hand in
the last moment.
8. The sea gathered force from each attack. Thick and fast came the
blows on the iron mail of the "Monitor," and still the brave little
vessel held her own, until, at half-past eight, the engineer, faithful
to the end, reported a leak. The pumps were instantly set in motion, and
we watched their progress with an intense interest. She had seemed to
us like an old-time knight, in armor, battling against fearful odds, but
still holding his ground. We who watched, when the blow came which made
the strong man reel and the life-blood spout, felt our hearts faint
within us; then, again, ground was gained, and the fight went on, the
water lowering somewhat under the laboring pumps.
9. From nine to ten it kept pace with them. From ten to eleven the sea
increased in violence, the waves now dashing entirely over the turret,
blinding the eyes, and causing quick catchings of the breath, as they
swept against us. At ten the engineer had reported the leak as gaining
on us; at half-past ten, with several pumps in constant motion, one of
which threw out three thousand gallons a minute, the water was rising
rapidly, and nearing the fires. When these were reached, the vessel's
doom was sealed; for, with their extinction, the pumps must cease, and
all hope of keeping the "Monitor" above water more than an hour or two,
expired.
10. Our knight had received his death-blow, and lay struggling and
helpless under the power of a stronger than he. A consultation was
held, and, not without a conflict of fueling, it was decided that
signals of distress should be made. Ocean claimed our little vessel, and
her trembling frame and failing fire proved she would soon answer his
call; yet a pang went through us, as we thought of the first iron-clad
lying alone at the bottom of this stormy sea, her guns silenced, herself
a useless mass of metal. Each quiver of her strong frame seemed to plead
with us not to abandon her.
11. The work she _had_ done, the work she _was_ to do, rose before us:
might there not be a possibility of saving her yet? Her time could not
have come so soon. But we who descended for a moment to the cabin, knew,
by the rising-water through which we waded, that the end was near. Small
time was there for regrets. Rockets were thrown up, and answered by the
"Rhode Island," whose brave men prepared at once to lower boats, though,
in that wild sea, it was almost madness.
12. The "Monitor" had been attached to the "Rhode Island" by two
hawsers, one of which had parted at about seven P.M. The other remained
firm; but now it was necessary it should be cut. How was that possible,
when every wave washed clean over the deck? What man could reach it
alive? "Who'll cut the hawser?" shouted Captain Bankhead. Acting master
Stodder volunteered, and was followed by another. Holding by one hand to
the ropes at her side, they cut through, by many blows of the hatchet,
the immense rope which united the vessels. Stodder returned in safety,
but his brave companion was washed over, and went down.
13. Meanwhile the boat launched from the "Rhode Island," had started,
manned by a crew of picked men. A mere heroic impulse could not have
accomplished this most noble deed. For hours they had watched the raging
sea. Their captain and _they_ knew the danger; every man who entered
that boat, did it at the peril of his life; and yet all were ready. Are
not such acts as these convincing proofs of the divinity of human
nature'? We watched her with straining eyes; for few thought she could
live to reach us. She neared; we were sure of her, thank Heaven!
14. In this interval, the cut hawser had become entangled in the
paddle-wheel of the "Rhode Island," and she drifted down upon us; we,
not knowing this fact, supposed her coming to our assistance; but a
moment undeceived us. The launch sent to our relief was now between us
and her,--too near for safety. The steamer bore swiftly down, stern
first, upon our starboard quarter. "_Keep off! keep off!_" we cried, and
then first saw she was helpless.
15. Even as we looked, the devoted boat was caught between the steamer
and the iron-clad,--a sharp sound of crushing wood was heard,--thwarts,
oars, and splinters flew in air,--the boat's crew leaped to the
"Monitor's" deck, Death stared us in the face; our iron prow must go
through the Rhode Island's side,--and then an end to all. One awful
moment we held our breath,--then the hawser was cleared,--the steamer
moved off, as it were, step by step, first one, then another, till a
ship's length lay between us, and then we breathed freely.
16. But the boat!--had she gone to the bottom, carrying brave souls with
her? No; there she lay, beating against our iron sides; but still,
though bruised and broken, a lifeboat to us. There was no hasty scramble
for life when it was found she floated,--all held back. The men kept
steady on at their work of bailing,--only those leaving, and in the
order named, whom the captain bade save themselves. They descended from
the turret to the deck with mingled fear and hope, for the waves tore
from side to side, and the coolest head and bravest heart could not
guaranty safety. Some were washed over as they left the turret, and,
with a vain clutch at the iron deck, a wild throwing up of the arms,
went down, their death-cry ringing in the ears of their companions.
17. The boat sometimes held her place by the "Monitor's" side, then was
dashed hopelessly out of reach, rising and falling on the waves. A
sailor would spring from the deck to reach her, to be seen for a moment
in mid-air, and then, as she rose, fall into her. So she gradually
filled up; but some poor souls who sought to reach her, failed, even as
they touched her receding sides, and went down. We had a little
messenger-boy, the special charge of one of our sailors, and the pet of
all; he must inevitably have been lost, but for the care of his adopted
father, who, holding him firmly in his arms, escaped, as by a miracle,
being washed overboard, but finally succeeded in placing him safely in
the boat.
18. The last but one to make the desperate venture, was the surgeon; he
leaped from the deck, at the very instant when the boat was being swept
away by the merciless sea. Making one final effort, he threw his body
forward as he fell, striking across the boat's side so violently, it was
thought some of his ribs must be broken. "_Haul the Doctor in!_" shouted
Lieutenant Greene, perhaps remembering how, a little time back, he
himself, almost gone down in the unknown sea, had been "hauled in" by a
quinine rope flung him by the Doctor. Stout sailor-arms pulled him in;
one more sprang to a place in her, and the boat, now full, pushed
off,--in a sinking condition, it is true, but still bearing hope with
her, for _she was wood_.
19. Over the waves we made little progress, though pulling for life. The
men stuffed their pea-jackets into the leaks, and bailed incessantly. We
neared the "Rhode Island;" but now a new peril appeared. Eight down upon
our center, borne by the might of the rushing water, came the whale-boat
sent to rescue others from the iron-clad. We barely floated; if she
struck us with her bows full on us, we must go to the bottom. One
sprang, and, as she neared, with outstretched arms, met and turned her
course. She passed against us, and his hand, caught between the two
boats, was crushed, and the arm, wrenched from its socket, fell a
helpless weight against his side; but life remained. We were saved, and
an arm was a small price to pay for life.
20. We reached the "Rhode Island;" ropes were flung over her side, and
caught with a death-grip. Some lost their hold, were washed away, and
again dragged in by the boat's crew. What chance had one whose right arm
hung a dead weight, when strong men with their two hands, went down
before him? He caught at a rope, found it impossible to save himself
alone, and then for the first time said,--"I am injured; can any one
help me?" Ensign Taylor, at the risk of his own life, brought the rope
around his shoulder in such a way that it could not slip, and he was
drawn up in safety.
21. In the mean time, the whale-boat, which had nearly caused our
destruction, had reached the side of the "Monitor;" and now the captain
said, "It is madness to remain here longer: let each man save himself."
For a moment, he descended to the cabin for a coat, and his faithful
servant followed to secure a jewel-box, containing the accumulated
treasure of years. A sad, sorry sight it was! In the heavy air the lamps
burned dimly, and the water, waist-deep, splashed sullenly against the
sides of the wardroom. One lingering look, and he left the "Monitor's"
cabin forever!
22. Time was precious; he hastened to the deck, where, in the midst of a
terrible sea, Lieutenant Greene nobly held his post. He seized the rope
from the whale-boat, wound it about an iron stanchion, then around his
wrists, and, by this means, was drawn aboard the boat. Thus, one by one,
watching their time between the waves, the men filled in, and, at last,
after making all effort for others, and none for themselves, Captain
Bankhead and Lieutenant Greene took their places in the boat The gallant
Brown pushed off, and soon laid his boat-load safe upon the "Rhode
Island's" deck.
23. Here the heartiest and most tender reception met us. Our drenched
clothing was replaced by warm and dry garments, and all on board vied
with each other in acts of kindness. The only one who had received any
injury, Surgeon Weeks, [Footnote: The writer of this account.] was
carefully attended to, the dislocated arm set, and the crushed fingers
amputated, by the gentlest and most considerate of surgeons, Dr. Webber,
of the "Rhode Island."
24. For an hour or more we watched, from the deck of the steamer, the
lonely light upon the "Monitor's" turrets; a hundred times we thought it
gone forever,--a hundred times it reappeared, till, at last, about two
o'clock, Wednesday morning, December 31st, it sank, and we saw it no
more. An actor in the scenes of that wild night, when the "Monitor" went
down, relates the story of her last cruise. _Her_ work is now over. She
lies a hundred fathoms deep under the stormy-waters off Cape Hatteras;
but she has made herself a name, which will not soon be forgotten by the
American people.
QUESTIONS.--1. When and where was the Monitor lost? 2. What signal
service had she rendered? 3. Who was the writer of this account?
* * * * *
LESSON XC.
RE SPON SI BIL' I TIES, obligations.
LA' TENT, secret; hidden.
IN IQ' UI TY, wickedness.
EF FECT' IVE, powerful; efficient.
REC' TI TUDE, right.
PEN' E TRA TIVE, entering; piercing.
MAL' ICE, ill-will; hatred.
CHIV' AL RY, heroism; valor.
WAN' TON LY, wastefully.
SHEEN, brightness.
SHIM' MER, glitter; gleam.
RE VER' SION, future possession.
IN SID' I OUS, crafty; deceitful.
A THWART', across.
SUS' TE NANCE, food; support.
IM POS' ED, laid on; assigned.
DUTIES AND RESPONSIBILITIES OF WOMAN.
GAIL HAMILTON.
1. Oh, if this latent power could be aroused! If woman would shake off
this slumber, and put on her strength, her beautiful garments, how would
she go forth conquering and to conquer! How would the mountains break
forth into singing, and the trees of the field clap their hands! How
would our sin-stained earth arise and shine, her light being come, and
the glory of the Lord being risen upon her!
2. One can not do the _world's_ work; but one can do _one's_ work. You
may not be able to turn the world from iniquity; but you can, at least,
keep the dust and rust from gathering on your own soul. If you can not
be directly and actively engaged in fighting the battle, you can, at
least, polish your armor and sharpen your weapons, to strike an
effective blow when the hour comes. You can stanch the blood of him who
has been wounded in the fray,--bear a cup of cold water to the thirsty
and fainting,--give help to the conquered, and smiles to the victor.
3. You can gather from the past and the present stores of wisdom, so
that, when the future demands it, you may bring forth from your
treasures things new and old. Whatever of bliss the "Divinity that
shapes our ends" may see fit to withhold from you, you are but very
little lower than the angels, so long as you have the
"Godlike power to do,--the godlike aim to know."
4. You can be forming habits of self-reliance, sound judgment,
perseverance, and endurance, which may, one day, stand you in good
stead. You can so train yourself to right thinking and right acting,
that uprightness shall be your nature, truth your impulse. His head is
seldom far wrong, whose heart is always right. We bow down to mental
greatness, intellectual strength, and they are divine gifts; but _moral
rectitude_ is stronger than they. It is irresistible,--always in the
end triumphant.
5. There is in _goodness_ a penetrative power that nothing can
withstand. Cunning and malice melt away before its mild, open, steady
glance. Not alone on the fields where chivalry charges for laurels, with
helmet and breastplate and lance in rest, can the true knight exultingly
exclaim,
"My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure;"
but wherever man meets man, wherever there is a prize to be won, a goal
to be reached. Wealth, and rank, and beauty, may form a brilliant
setting to the diamond; but they only expose more nakedly the false
glare of the paste. Only when the king's daughter is all glorious
within, is it fitting and proper that her clothing should be of wrought
gold.
6. From the great and good of all ages rings out the same monotone. The
high-priest of Nature, the calm-eyed poet who laid his heart so close to
hers, that they seemed to throb in one pulsation, yet whose ear was
always open to the "still sad music of humanity," has given us the
promise of his life-long wisdom in these grand words:--
"True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect and still revere himself."
7. Through the din of twenty rolling centuries, pierces the sharp, stern
voice of the brave old Greek: "_Let every man, when he is about to do a
wicked action, above all things in the world, stand in awe of himself,
and dread the witness within him._" All greatness, and all glory, all
that earth has to give, all that Heaven can proffer, lies within the
reach of the lowliest as well as the highest; for He who spake as never
man spake, has said that the very "kingdom of God is within you."
8. Born to such an inheritance, will you wantonly cast it away? With
such a goal in prospect, will you suffer yourself to be turned aside by
the sheen and shimmer of tinsel fruit? With earth in possession, and
Heaven in reversion, will you go sorrowing and downcast, because here
and there a pearl or ruby fails you? Nay, rather forgetting those things
which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before, _press
forward_!
9. Discontent and murmuring are insidious foes; trample them under your
feet. Utter no complaint, whatever betide; for complaining is a sign of
weakness. If your trouble can be helped, _help it_; if not, _bear it_.
You can be whatever you _will_ to be. Therefore, form and accomplish
worthy purposes.
10. If you walk alone, let it be with no faltering tread. Show to an
incredulous world
"How grand may be Life's might,
Without Love's circling crown."
Or, if the golden thread of love shine athwart the dusky warp of duty,
if other hearts depend on yours for sustenance and strength, give to
them from your fullness no stinted measure. Let the dew of your kindness
fall on the evil and the good, on the just and on the unjust.
11. Compass happiness, since happiness alone is victory. On the
fragments of your shattered plans, and hopes, and love,--on the
heaped-up ruins of your past, rear a stately palace, whose top shall
reach unto heaven, whose beauty shall gladden the eyes of all beholders,
whose doors shall stand wide open to receive the way-worn and weary.
Life is a burden, but it is imposed by God. What you _make_ of it, it
will _be_ to you, whether a millstone about your neck, or a diadem upon
your brow. _Take it up bravely, bear it on joyfully, lay it down
triumphantly._
QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the duties of women? 2. What is said of
goodness? 3. What was the adage of the old Greek? 4. What is said of
discontent and murmuring?
* * * * *
LESSON XCI.
ID' I OT, one devoid of reason.
HOR' RI BLE, awful; dreadful.
WOE' FUL, afflicted.
HAR' ROW, disturb; harass.
PRE SERVE', safely keep.
SOOTH, fact; truth.
SPOIL' ED, stripped; plundered.
YEARN' ING, longing.
IN SUF' FER A BLE, intolerable.
CAN' TON, district; region.
PAS TIME, amusement; diversion.
ES PI' ED, saw; discovered.
MOUNT AIN EER', dweller on a mountain.
BRAWN' Y, strong; firm.
FAG OTS, bundles of sticks.
AUG MENT', increase; make larger.
BEA' CON, signal-fire.
BE TIDE', happen; befall.
SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL.
J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
_Emma._ I never knew a weary night before!
I have seen the sun a dozen times go down,
And still no William,--and the storm was on,
Yet have I laid me down in peace to sleep,
The mountain with the lightning all a-blaze,
And shaking with the thunder,--but to-night
Mine eyes refuse to close, (_sl._) The old man rests:
Pain hath outworn itself, and turned to ease.
How deadly calm's the night! (_''_) What's that? I'm grown
An idiot with my fears. I do not know,--
The avalanche! Great Power that hurls it down,
Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps!
What keeps him? 'tis but four hours' journey hence:
He'd rest; then four hours back again. _What keeps him?_
Erni would sure be found by him,--he knows
The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf!
_Melchtal_. Help! (_in his sleep_.)
_Emma_. What's the matter? Only the old man dreaming.
He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.
I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this
That fills my heart with horrible alarm?
And yet it can not see.
_Melch_. (_waking_) Where am I?
_Emma_. Father!
_Melch_. My daughter, is it thou'! Thank Heaven, I'm here!
Is't day yet'?
_Emma_. No'.
_Melch_. Is't far on the night'?
_Emma_. Methinks, about the turn on't.
_Melch_. Is the boy
Come back'?
_Emma_. No', father'.
_Melch_. Nor thy husband'?
_Emma_. No'.
_Melch_. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee!
Would thou hadst never seen me.
_Emma_. Father'!
_Melch_. Child'!
_Emma_. Methinks I hear a step !--I do! (_knocking_.) A knock!
_Melch_. 'Tis William!
_Emma_. No; it is not William's knock. (_Opens the door_.) I
told you so. Your will?
_Enter_ STRANGER.
_Stran_. Seeing a light, I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for
shelter; For I have missed my way.
_Emma_. Whence come you` friend'?
_Stran_. From Altorf.
_Emma_. Altorf'! Any news from thence'?
_Stran_. Ay`! News to harrow parents' hearts, and make The
barren bless themselves that they are childless!
_Emma_. May Heaven preserve my boy!
_Melch_. What say'st thy news?
_Stran_. Art thou not Melchtal--he whose eyes, 'tis said,
The tyrant has torn out'?
_Melch_. Yes`, friend', the same.
_Stran_. Is this thy cottage'?
_Melch_. No`; 'tis William Tell's.
_Stran_. 'Tis William Tell's--and that's his wife--Goodnight.
_Emma_. (_Rushing between him and the door_.) Thou stirr'st
not hence until thy news be told!
_Stran_. My news! In sooth 'tis nothing thou would'st heed.
_Emma_. 'Tis something none should heed so well as I!
_Stran_. I must be gone,
_Emma_. Thou seest a tigress, friend,
Spoiled of her mate and young, and yearning for them.
Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man?
What more hath she to dread, who reads thy looks,
And knows the most has come? Thy news! Is't bondage'?
_Stran_. It is.
_Emma_. Thank Heaven, it is not death! Of one--Or two?
_Stran_. Of two.
_Emma_. A father and a son,
Is't not?
_Stran_. It is.
_Emma_. My husband and my son
Are in the tyrant's power! There's worse than that!
What's that is news to harrow parents' breasts.
The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem,
Drives back the blood to thine?--Thy news, I say!
Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy!
Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim.
Wouldst thou not hare the fatal arrow speed,
Rather than watch it hanging in the string?
Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!
_Melch_. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whatever it is!
_Stran_. To save himself and child from certain death,
Tell is to hit an apple, to be placed
Upon the stripling's head.
_Melch_. My child! my child!
Speak to me! Stranger, hast thou killed her?
_Emma_. No!
No`, father'. I'm the wife of William Tell;
Oh, but to be a man!--to have an arm
To fit a heart swelling with the sense of wrong!
Unnatural--insufferable wrong!
When makes the tyrant trial of his skill?
_Stran_. To-morrow.
_Emma_. Spirit of the lake and hill,
Inspire thy daughter! On the head of him
Who makes his pastime of a mother's pangs,
Launch down thy vengeance by a mother's hand.
Know'st the signal when the hills shall rise'? (_To Melchtal._)
_Melch_. Are they to rise'?
_Emma_. I see thou knowest naught.
_Stran_. Something's on foot! 'Twas only yesterday,
That, traveling from our canton, I espied
Slow toiling up a steep, a mountaineer
Of brawny limb, upon his back a load
Of fagots bound. Curious to see what end
Was worthy of such labor, after him
I took the cliff; and saw its lofty top
Receive his load, which went but to augment
A pile of many another.
_Emma_. 'Tis by fire! Fire is the signal for the hills to
rise! (_Rushes out_.)
_Melch_. Went she not forth!
_Stran_. She did,--she's here again,
And brings with her a lighted brand.
_Melch_. My child,
What dost thou with a lighted brand?
(_Re-enter_ EMMA _with a brand_.)
_Emma_. Prepare
To give the signal for the hills to rise!
_Melch_. Where are the fagots, child, for such a blaze?
_Emma_. I'll find the fagots, father. (_Exit_.)
_Melch_. She's gone Again!
_Stran_. She is,--I think into her chamber.
_Emma_. (_Rushing in_.)--Father, the pile is fired!
_Melch_. What pile, my child!
_Emma_. The joists and rafters of our cottage, father!
_Melch_. Thou hast not fired thy cottage?--but thou hast;
Alas, I hear the crackling of the flames!
_Emma_. Say'st thou, alas! when I do say, thank Heaven.
Father, this blaze will set the land a-blaze
With fire that shall preserve, and not destroy it.
(_f_.) _Blaze on!_ BLAZE ON! Oh, may'st thou be a beacon
To light its sons enslaved to liberty!
How fast it spreads! A spirit's in the fire:
It knows the work it does.--(_Goes to the door, and opens it_.)
The land is free!
Yonder's another blaze! Beyond that, shoots
Another up!--Anon will every hill
Redden with vengeance! Father, come! Whate'er
Betides us, worse we're certain can't befall,
And better may! Oh, be it liberty,
Safe hearts and homes, husbands and children! Come,--
It spreads apace. (_ff_.) Blaze on--_blaze on_--BLAZE ON!
QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for the rising inflection on _father_? See Note
I., page 32. 2. What rule for the falling inflection on _no_? See Rule
I., page 28.
* * * * *
LESSON XCII.
HON' OR A BLE, noble; illustrious.
IN' TEL LECT, mind; understanding.
SCORE, account; motive.
CLEV' ER, skillful; expert.
SO' CIAL, familiar.
CON FU' SION, fuss; tumult.
CON DE SCEN' SION, loveliness; deference.
COM PRE HEN' SION, understanding.
[Headnote 1: CROE SUS, a very wealthy king of ancient Lydia, in Asia
Minor, was born about 591 before Christ.]
THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.
KHEMNITZER.
1. So goes the world`;--if wealthy, you may call
_This_--friend, _that_--brother`;--friends and brothers all
Though you are worthless, witless,--never mind it;
You may have been a stable-boy,--what then?
'Tis _wealth_, my friends, makes _honorable_ men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
2. But, if you are poor', heaven help you`! though your sire
Had royal blood in him`, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels too.
'Tis all in vain`;--the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score`:--why should it take the pains?
'Tis easier to weigh purses`, sure, than brains'.
3. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever.
Witty and wise`; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him', and no one ever
Gave him a welcome`. "Strange`," cried I', "whence is it`?"
He walked on this side', then on that`,
He tried to introduce a social chat`;
Now here', now there`, in vain he tried`;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some said by their silence,--"Better stay at home."
4. A rich man burst the door,
As Croesus [Headnote 1] rich;--I'm sure
He could not pride himself upon his wit`;
And, as for wisdom, he had none of it`;
He had what's better`,--he had wealth.
What a confusion!--all stand up erect,--
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in _honest_ duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
"Allow me, sir, the honor`;"--Then a bow
Down to the earth`.--_Is't_ possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension`!
5. The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,
"This is indeed beyond my comprehension:"
Then looking round, one friendly face he found,
And said,--"Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
"To wisdom?"--"That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other,--"have you never heard.
A man may lend his store
Of gold or silver ore,
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?"
QUESTIONS.--1. How do you account for the different inflections in the
last line of the second verse? See page 31, Note I. 2. What rule for the
falling inflection on _condescension_? See page 29, Note I.
* * * * *
LESSON XCIII.
EX HI BI' TIONS, displays.
CIR CUM SCRIB' ED, encompassed.
NA' VIES, ships of war.
ARM' A MENTS, forces equipped for war.
IM PED' ED, hindered, obstructed.
LE VI' A THAN, huge sea-monster.
MAG NIF' I CENCE, grandeur.
UN A BAT' ED, undiminished.
RE SERV' ED, kept.
EN TRANC' ED, enraptured.
PROM' ON TO RY, headland.
RE VEAL'ED, laid open.
SYM' BOL, token; sign.
AD A MAN TINE, exceedingly hard.
AP PER TAIN' ING, belonging.
TRANS FORM' ING, changing.
[Headnote 1: AC' TI UM is the ancient name of a promontory of Albania,
in Turkey in Europe, near which was fought (B.C. 29) the celebrated
naval battle that made Augustus Caesar master of the Roman world.]
[Headnote 2: SAL' A MIS, an island opposite Attica, in Greece, near
which (B.C. 480) occurred the famous naval engagement which resulted in
the defeat of the Persians.]
[Headnote 3: NAV A RI' NO is a seaport town on the southwestern coast of
Greece. It was the scene of the memorable victory of the combined
English, French, and Russian fleets over those of the Turks and
Egyptians, gained on the 20th of October, 1827.]
[Headnote 4: TRA FAL GAR', a cape on the southwestern coast of Spain.
It is famous for the great naval battle, fought in its vicinity,
Oct. 21st, 1805, between the fleets of the French and Spanish on the
one side, and the English, under Lord Nelson, on the other. The English
were victorious, though Nelson was mortally wounded.]
GRANDEUR OF THE OCEAN.
WALTER COLTON.
1. The most fearful and impressive exhibitions of power known to our
globe, belong to the ocean. The volcano, with its ascending flame and
falling torrents of fire, and the earthquake, whose footstep is on the
ruin of cities, are circumscribed in the desolating range of their
visitations. But the ocean, when it once rouses itself in its chainless
strength, shakes a thousand shores with its storm and thunder. Navies of
oak and iron are tossed in mockery from its crest, and armaments, manned
by the strength and courage of millions, perish among its bubbles.
2. The avalanche, shaken from its glittering steep, if it rolls to the
bosom of the earth, melts away, and is lost in vapor; but if it plunge
into the embrace of the ocean, this mountain mass of ice and hail is
borne about for ages in tumult and terror; it is the drifting monument
of the ocean's dead. The tempest on land is impeded by forests, and
broken by mountains; but on the plain of the deep it rushes unresisted;
and when its strength is at last spent, ten thousand giant waves still
roll its terrors onward.
3. The mountain lake and the meadow stream are inhabited only by the
timid prey of the angler; but the ocean is the home of the
leviathan,--his ways are in the mighty deep. The glittering pebble and
the rainbow-tinted shell, which the returning tide has left on the
shore, and the watery gem which the pearl-diver reaches at the peril of
his life, are all that man can filch from the treasures of the sea. The
groves of coral which wave over its pavements, and the halls of amber
which glow in its depths, are beyond his approaches, save when he goes
down there to seek, amid their silent magnificence, his burial monument.
4. The islands, the continents, the shores of civilized and savage
realms, the capitals of kings, are worn by time, washed away by the
wave, consumed by the flame, or sunk by the earthquake; but the ocean
still remains, and still rolls on in the greatness of its unabated
strength. Over the majesty of its form and the marvel of its might, time
and disaster have no power. Such as creation's dawn beheld, it rolleth
now.
5. The vast clouds of vapor which roll up from its bosom, float away to
encircle the globe: on distant mountains and deserts they pour out their
watery treasures, which gather themselves again in streams and torrents,
to return, with exulting bounds, to their parent ocean. These are the
messengers which proclaim in every land the exhaustless resources of the
sea; but it is reserved for those who go down in ships, and who do
business in the great waters, to see the works of the Lord and His
wonders in the deep.
6. Let one go upon deck in the middle watch of a still night, with
naught above him but the silent and solemn skies, and naught around and
beneath him but an interminable waste of waters, and with the conviction
that there is but a plank between him and eternity, a feeling of
loneliness, solitude, and desertion, mingled with a sentiment of
reverence for the vast, mysterious and unknown, will come upon him with
a power, all unknown before, and he might stand for hours entranced in
reverence and tears.
7. Man, also, has made the ocean the theater of _his_ power. The ship in
which he rides that element, is one of the highest triumphs of his
skill. At first, this floating fabric was only a frail bark, slowly
urged by the laboring oar. The sail, at length, arose and spread its
wings to the wind. Still he had no power to direct his course when the
lofty promontory sunk from sight, or the orbs above him were lost in
clouds. But the secret of the magnet is, at length, revealed to him, and
his needle now settles, with a fixedness which love has stolen as the
symbol of its constancy, to the polar star.
8. Now, however, he can dispense even with sail, and wind, and flowing
wave. He constructs and propels his vast engines of flame and vapor,
and, through the solitude of the sea, as over the solid land, goes
thundering on his track. On the ocean, too, thrones have been lost and
won. On the fate of Actium [Headnote 1] was suspended the empire of the
world. In the gulf of Salamis,[Headnote 2] the pride of Persia found a
grave; and the crescent set forever in the waters of Navarino;[Headnote
3] while, at Trafalgar [Headnote 4] and the Nile, nations held their
breath,
As each gun,
From its adamantine lips,
Spread a death-shade round the ships
Like the hurricane's eclipse
Of the sun.
9. But, of all the wonders appertaining to the ocean, the greatest,
perhaps, is its transforming power on man. It unravels and weaves anew
the web of his moral and social being. It invests him with feelings,
associations, and habits, to which he has been an entire stranger. It
breaks up the sealed fountain of his nature, and lifts his soul into
features prominent as the cliffs which beetle over its surge.
10. Once the adopted child of the ocean, he can never bring back his
entire sympathies to land. He will still move in his dreams over that
vast waste of waters, still bound in exultation and triumph through its
foaming billows. All the other realities of life will be comparatively
tame, and he will sigh for his tossing element, as the caged eagle for
the roar and arrowy light of his mountain cataract.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the volcano and earthquake? 2. Of the
avalanche and tempest? 3. Of the ocean? 4. Of ships? 5. Where have
naval battles been fought? 6. What influence has the ocean on man?
* * * * *
LESSON XCIV.
RE LAX' ED, loosened.
AS SI DU' I TIES, kind, constant attentions.
CON SIGN' ED, committed; given over.
EX TE' RI OR, outer appearance.
UN AF FECT' ED, sincere.
UN PRE TEND' ING, unostentatious.
HA BIL' I MENTS, vestments.
SU PER STI' TIOUS, full of scruples.
REC' ON CILE, make willing.
PEN' E TRATES, sees through.
PER VADE', (PER, _through_; VADE, _go_, or _pass_;) pass
through; appear throughout.
A BURIAL AT SEA.
WALTER COLTON.
1. Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it may,--fearful, when
the vital chords are so gradually relaxed, that life passes away sweetly
as music from the slumbering harp-string,--fearful, when in his own
quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned by those who sweetly follow
him with their prayers, when the assiduities of friendship and affection
can go no farther, and who discourse of heaven and future blessedness,
till the closing ear can no longer catch the tones of the long-familiar
voice, and who, lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and
then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades each feature, a quiet
emblem of the spirit's serene repose.
2. What, then, must this dread event be to one, who meets it
comparatively alone, far away from the hearth of his home, upon a
troubled sea, between the narrow decks of a restless ship, and at that
dread hour of night, when even the sympathies of the world seem
suspended! Such has been the end of many who traverse the ocean; and
such was the hurried end of him, whose remains we have just consigned to
a watery grave.
3. He was a sailor; but, beneath his rude exterior, he carried a heart
touched with refinement, pride, and greatness. There was something about
him, which spoke of better days and a higher destiny. By what errors or
misfortunes he was reduced to his humble condition, was a secret which
he would reveal to none. Silent, reserved, and thoughtful, he stood a
stranger among his free companions, and never was his voice heard in the
laughter or the jest. He has undoubtedly left behind many who will long
look for his return, and bitterly weep when they are told they shall see
his face no more.
4. As the remains of the poor sailor were brought up on deck, wound in
that hammock which, through many a stormy night, had swung to the wind,
one could not but observe the big tear that stole unconsciously down the
rough cheeks of his hardy companions. When the funeral service was read
to that most affecting passage, "we commit this body to the deep," and
the plank was raised which precipitated to the momentary eddy of the
wave the quickly disappearing form, a heavy sigh from those around, told
that the strong heart of the sailor can be touched with grief, and that
a truly unaffected sorrow may accompany virtue, in its most unpretending
form, to its ocean grave. Yet how soon is such a scene forgotten!
"As from the wing the sky no scar retains,
The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of death."
5. There is something peculiarly melancholy and impressive in a burial
at sea: there is here no coffin or hearse, procession or tolling
bell,--nothing that gradually prepares us for the final separation. The
body is wound in the drapery of its couch, much as if the deceased were
only in a quiet and temporary sleep. In these habiliments of seeming
slumber, it is dropped into the wave, the waters close over it, the
vessel passes quickly on, and not a solitary trace is left to tell where
sunk from light and life, one that loved to look at the sky and breathe
this vital air.
6. There is nothing that, for one moment, can point to the deep,
unvisited resting-place of the departed,--it is a grave in the midst of
the ocean,--in the midst of a vast, untrodden solitude. Affection can
not approach it, with its tears; the dews of heaven can not reach it;
and there is around it no violet, or shrub, or murmuring stream.
7. It may be superstitious; but no advantages of wealth, or honor, or
power, through life, would reconcile me at its close to such a burial. I
would rather share the coarse and scanty provisions of the simplest
cabin, and drop away unknown and unhonored by the world, so that my
final resting-place be beneath some green tree, by the side of some
living stream, or in some familiar spot, where the few that loved me in
life, might visit me in death.
8. But, whether our grave be in the fragrant shade, or in the fathomless
ocean, among our kindred, or in the midst of strangers, the day is
coming when we shall all appear at one universal bar, and receive from a
righteous Judge the award of our deeds. He that is wisest, penetrates
the future the deepest.
QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of death? 2. What, of death at sea?
3. What renders a burial at sea peculiarly melancholy and impressive?
* * * * *
LESSON XCV.
MYS TE' RI OUS, secret; mystical.
UN RECK' ED, unheeded.
AR' GO SIES, ships of great burden.
WR ATH' FUL, furious; raging.
PAL' A CES, splendid mansions.
SCORN' FUL, disdainful.
DE CAY', ruin; destruction.
BOOM' ING, roaring.
FES' TAL, joyous; merry.
RE CLAIM', claim again; recover.
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
MRS. HERMANS.
1. What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main!
Pale, glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain!
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!
We ask not such from thee.
2. Yet more, the depths have more! what wealth untold,
Far down, and shining through their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies!
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!
Earth claims not _these_ again.
3. Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay.
4. Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar;
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!
5. Give back the lost and lovely,--those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown;
But all is not thine own.
6. To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown,
Yet must thou hear a voice,--_Restore the dead!_
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!
_Restore the dead, thou Sea!_
QUESTIONS.--1. What are some of the treasures of the deep? 2. What
treasures has the sea won from trading vessels? 3. Over what does the
sea roll? 4. What does the writer call on the sea to restore?
* * * * *
LESSON XCVI.
UN FOR' TU NATE, wretched person.
CER E MENTS, grave-clothes.
SCRU' TI NY, inquiry.
MU' TI NY, resistance to rightful rule.
WON' DER MENT, curiosity.
PROV' I DENCE, care; protection.
A MAZE' MENT, astonishment.
DIS' SO LUTE, abandoned; licentious.
SPUR' RED, pushed on; impelled.
CON' TU ME LY, scorn; insult.
IN HU MAN' I TY, cruel treatment.
IN SAN' I TY, madness.
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
THOMAS HOOD.
1. One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
2. Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care,
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
3. Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
While the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.
4. Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her;
All that remains of her
Now, is pure womanly.
5. Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny,
Rash and undutiful;
Past all dishonor,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
6. Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,--
Her fair auburn tresses;
While wonderment guesses
Where was her home?
7. Who was her father`?
Who was her mother`?
Had she a sister'?
Had she a brother'?
Or, was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other'?
8. Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.
9. Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly,
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
10. Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood with amazement,
Houseless by night.
11. The bleak winds of March
Made her tremble and shiver
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river,
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurled--
Anywhere, anywhere,
Out of the world!
12. In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran--
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute Man!
13. Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care,
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
14. Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest,
Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
15. Owning her weakness,
Her evil behavior,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Savior!
* * * * *
LESSON XCVII.
RE' QUI EM, hymn in honor of the dead.
WED, joined; united.
HENCE' FORTH, hereafter.
DROOP, languish; fail.
AF FEC TION, love.
DIM' MED, dull; obscured.
A REQUIEM.
1. Breathe low, thou gentle wind,
(pl) Breathe soft and low;
The beautiful lies dead!
The joy of life is fled!
And my lone heart is wed
Henceforth to woe!
2. That thou should'st droop and die
At early morn!
While yet thy graceful dew
A joyous fragrance drew
From every flower that grew
Life's path along!
3. The green earth mourns for thee,
Thou dearest one;
A plaintive tone is heard,
And flower and leaflet stirred,
And every fav'rite bird
Sings sad and lone.
4. Pale is thy brow, and dimmed
Thy sparkling eye!
Affection's sweetest token
Is lost fore'er and broken!
The last kind word is spoken,--
Why did'st thou die?
5. Breathe low, thou gentle wind,
Breathe soft and low;
The beautiful lies dead!
The joy of life is fled!
And my lone heart is wed
Henceforth to woe!
QUESTIONS.--1. What rule for changing _y_ into _i_ in the word
_beautiful?_ See ANALYSIS, page 13, Rule XI. 2. Why are _r_ and _m_
doubled in the words _stirred, dimmed?_ See Rule IX. 3. What is the
meaning of the suffix _let_, in the word _leaflet?_ See page 240, Ex.
185.
* * * * *
LESSON XCVIII.