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The Dominion Catholic Series

SADLI ER iS

DOMINION

Fourth Reader

REVISED AND ENLARGED

BY

A CATHOLIC TEACHER

JAMKS A. SADLIKR

MONTREAL and TORONTO t

TO T7<rST^IlITCTOQi.S.

EARNEST and well-directed effort in the use of this concluding volume of the Series must result in success. The Elocutionarj' Treatise should be thcrcughly taught from the f rst. Require students to commit to memory and recite the important principles, definitions, and examples. Employ these Lessons for Readings, and apply the prin- ciples daily, in all recitations and conversations, until their right u£< shall become easy, uniform, and habitual.

The Readings of Part Second, while illustrating most felicitously and in exleiiso all the Elements of Elocution, afTord mental nutriment of the highest order for a literary education which shall develop and unfold both the practical and the ideal man. Now, if ever, the student must acquire a love for a pure, finished, manl}- style — for the genuine prose and verse which refine, strengthen, ennoble, give wholesome conceptions of life, and minister alike to mental and spiritual growth.

Require a Special Preparation before each Reading, which shall enable the student, li'ithout formal questions, to give, first the Title of the Piece ; secondly, the words liable to mispronunciation in the Reading and the Notes ; thirdly, all needful definitions, explanations, Hiid bio- graphical sketches, either immediateh' connected with the Lesson, or found by reference to the Index to Notes ; fourthly, a summarj' of the Reading, in his own language ; and fifthly, the moral, conclusion, or outcome. Direct his attention dally to the character of the composi- tion— its grammatical construction, rhetorical figures, logical arrange- ment, etc.

The Index to the N(^tes is of the utmost importance, and ought to be employed daily. Make special efforts to give pupils great facility in its use.

Entered according to Act of Parliament A. D. 1897

Ey JAMES A. SADLIER

In the Office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at Ottawa

(Pm:efjicjs.

SADLIER'S Dominion Fourth Reader, the highest num- ber of the Series, now thoroughly revised and enlarged, is essentially a nnu book. It is designed to supply the wants of all students from the middle to the advanced classes, and worthily to crown the Dominion Catholic Series of Readers.

The Treatise on Elocution is simple and comprehensive, presenting the subject in its most attractive and practical form. Its important divisions, and their relations to each other, are exhibited to the eye by the use of a Series of Blackboard Diagrams [see page 9]. All of Webster's marked letters are used as required to indicate Pronunciation. The Phonic Alpha- bet is made complete by the addition of seven of Watson's com- bined letters, as follows : Ou, ow, cli, sli, th, \/h, and iijj^. This marked type affords nearly all the advantages of pure phonetics, without incurring any of the objections, and is as easily read as though unmarked. Its use in the Notes can not fail to remove localisms and form the habit of correct pronunciation.

Part Second contains 125 Reading Lessons of surpassing worth, representing every variety of style and subject, and specially adapted to illustrate the principles of rhetorical de- livery. They embrace matters of local interest, biographical, geographical, historical, and scientific, are of suitable length, and of a character that will not permit the interest to flag. To these are added the fittest pieces of classic English literature, from Shakespeare to the present time — narrative and descrip- tive, moral and didactic, spiritual and religious, and largely representing Catholic truth and usage.

iv PREFACE.

Training the Memory, so important an educational factor, that it may retain the memorabiha of literature, as well as of events, and aflford abundant available material for ready use, calls for special provision in a reading-book of this grade. Many masterpieces in prose and verse are here given to be committed to memory, for individual declamation and class recitation, as well as for reading exercises. The Readings are also interspersed, at fit intervals, with numerous literary gems from writers of rare genius, to be memorized by the students.

The Gradation of the Readings is systematic, presenting the simplest first in order. Commencing with pieces quite as elementary as those at the close of the Dominion Third Reader, the student gradually and well-nigh unconsciously progresses until the difticuliies and even intricacies of speech give added zest and value to the Lessons.

The Additional Aids needed for a thorough understanding of the text, and preparatory to the Class Readings, are supplied. The Pictorial Illustrations are of rare excellence. Foot-notes give the pronunciation of words that had to be re-spelled for the purpose ; definitions ; explanations of classical, historical, and other allusions ; and biographical sketches of authors and of persons whose names occur in the Reading Lessons. This assistance is given in every instance on tiie page where the difficulty first arises, and a complete Index to the N'otes is added for general reference.

CONTENTS.

KIvOCUTION.

/. OBTHOEPY.

PAGE

Articulation ^ lo

Oral Elements 12

Cognates 14

Alp'.iabetic Equivalents 14

Oral Elements Combined 16

Errors in Articulation iS V

Analysis of Words 19 \-

Rules in Articulation 20 i

Exercises in Articulation 21 1

Syllabication 22

Exercises in Syllabication 22

Accent 23

Exercises in Accent 24

II. EXPRESSIO.X.

Emphasis 25

Rules in Emphasis 26

Exercises in Emphasis 26

Inflection 27

Rules in Inflection 2S

Exercises in Inflection 29

Slur 30

Exercises in Slur 30

Pauses ... 31

Rules for Pauses 32

Exercises in Pauses 32

Marks of Punctuation 33-/-

Exercises in Punctuation 36 f-

vi COXTENTS.

RKADINOS.

/. PIECES IX PROSE.

PAGH

1. A Winter Carnival — Part First 39

2. A Winter Carnival — Part Second 42

4. The Young Traders 4^

G. Helping Father — Part First 52

7. Helping Father — Part Second 55

0. Useful People 59f

13. Generous People 60^

13. The Bo)' of Haarlem 67

16. Heroines of Charit)- — Part First 7^

17. Heroines of Charity — Part Second 81

21. Sign of the Cross SS^^

22. The Cross of Constantinc go.^

23. Mountain of the Holy Cross 93

28. Saint Christopher — Part First 104

29. Saint Christopher — Part Second 106

36. God's Acre 115

37. St. Philoniena— Part First 116

38. St. Philomena— Part Second 118

42. Hjgienic Clothing Hunt. 129/'

4o. The First of Virtues 135

47. The Sermon on the Mount — Part First ^3^f

48. The Sermon on the Mount — Part Second 140

49. The Idea of a Saint Cardinal jVe-oinan. 143

51. The Priest Gibbons. 145-h

52. What Monks Have Done Iirhbis/iop Spalding. 147 -f

54. Religious Orders in Heaven Jl'eninger. 150

58. Jacques Cartier — Part First 161

59. Jacques Cartier — Part Second 164

61. First Bishop of Ontario 169 V

62. First Canadian Cardinal ^75+

67. Lumbering — Part First 187 u

68. Lumbering — Part Second Piciuresqitc Canada. 190

70. America the Old World -igassiz. igs-f-'

71. The Gulf Stream— Part First 198

72. The Gulf Stream— Part Second Maury. 20l4_

73. Uses of the Ocean — Part First 204 4-

74. Uses of the Ocean — Part Second. /'/w« the " Bibliotheca Sacra." 206

75. Sights at Sea Lcnoell. 209

78. The Dear St. Elizabeth Montalevibert. 216 +"

81. Westminster Abbey Washington Irving. 223 ^

CONTENTS. vii

PAGE

82. Execution of Mary Stuart McLeod. ii"^

84. Joan of Arc — Part First 233

85. Joan of Arc — Part Second De Quiucey. 236

86. H3-nin of St. Francis Mattken' Arno/J. 239.}-

90. Noble Revenge De Quincey. 250

92. Survey of the Universe Chatcatibriand. 253 i-

94. The Providence of God U'illiarii Howitt. 257

96. An Ideal Farm Everett. 261^

98. Arts of Expression Dewey. 265 y

101. The Cross and the Harp. 274 ^

102. Daniel O'Connell — Part First 276 ^

103. Daniel O'Connell — Part Second . I'ery Rev. riiomas X. Burke. 281

104. Rome— Part First 286 ^

105. Rome — Part Second BisJtop Gilmoui: 288

107. Gladiators' Last Fight 291 ^

108. St. Peter's in Rome Eustaee. 294 3^

110. The Everlasting Cliurch Macaulay. 300 4-

111. Our Dut)' to the Hoh' See Cardinal Xewman. 302 -^

112. The Discovery of America McGee. y)"] .v

114. The Return of Columbus Prescott. 313 ^

115. Capture of Quebec Lossing. 316 j-

116. Government — Part First 319 -*

117. Government — Part Second Browtison. 321 *

118. The Starry Heavens Mitchell. 324 ;.

119. Genius of Sliakespeare Cardinal Wiseman. 326 '

124. The Dead Mrs. Sadlier. 347

//. PIECES LY VEESE.

3. What I Live For 46

5. Keeping His Word 50

8. Hand and Heart 58 <-

11. Jerry, the Miller /. G. Saxe. 61 +-

12. The Barefoot Boy Whittier. 63 i-

14. Excelsior Longfelloiv. 71

15. Battle of Blenheini Robert Southey. 74

18. Birds in Summer Howitt. 84

19. The Sermon of St. Francis Longfello-w. 86+

20. Why the Robin's Breast is Red 871

24. Voice of the Grass Sarah Roberts. 95 i

25. Little Streams Maty Howitt. 97

26. The Oak-Tree 99

27. Legend of the Infant Jesus 100 ■'

oO. The Bucket Woodworth. 109

CONTENTS.

31.

33.

33.

34.

35.

39.

40.

41.

43.

44.

46.

50.

53.

55.

56.

57.

60.

63.

64.

65.

66.

69.

76.

77.

79.

80.

83.

87.

88.

89.

91.

93.

95.

97.

99. 100. 106. 109. 113. 130. 131. 133. 133. 135.

Home, Sweet Home Pavne.

Love of Countr)' Scott.

How Sleep the Brave Collins.

Th}- Country and Thy Home Montgoinerv.

The Heavenly Country Bernard of Cliiny.

Sir Rodolph of Hapsburg — Part First

Sir Rodolph of Hapsburg — Part Second

Wreck of the Hesperus Long-felloiu.

The Master's Touch

Maximus 4delaide Procter.

To Our Lady

A Legend Adelaide Procter.

Macarius the Monk O'Reilly.

The Hun's Defeat

St. Martin's Summer W'hittier.

Ring Out, Wild Bells Tennyson.

Jacques Cartier McGee.

The Soldier-Peasant's Vision

The Cataract of Lodore Robert Southev.

The Windy Night Read.

The Bells of Shandon J/ahonv.

Canadian Boat Song Thomas Moore.

Address to the Ocean Bvron.

A Saint's Answer

The Queen's Kiss — Part First

The Queen's Kiss — Part Second Mis. Lippincott.

Joan of Arc at Reims Mrs. Ilemans.

Charge of the Light Brigade Tennyson.

Waterloo Byron.

Burial March of Dundee Professor Aytoun.

The Right Must Win Faber.

God's Glor}' in Creation Moore.

True Happiness Giiffin.

What is Noble ? S-wain.

The Deserted Village Goldsmith.

The Exile of Erin Campbell.

The Dying Gladiator Bvron,

St. Peter's in Rome Bvron.

From the Voyage of Columbus Rogers.

Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius Skahespeare.

Death of Samson Milton.

Death of King Arthur — Part First

Death of King Arthur— Part Second Tennyson.

Elegy in a Church-yard Gray.

II

12

13 14

20 22 24

33? 34- 36

44 ^ 49-p 53 .

57 r

60-i- 67+.

82 i-

85

86

94 \r

211 J^

214 Y^ 218 221 230

242f-

244 4-

246 >- 252^ 256 -f- 259 263 V 268

273 290^ 298^ 310 I 331 f

335.^ 338'^ 342 351/-

ELOCUTION.

ELOCUTION is the mode of utterance or delivery of any thing spoken. It may be good or had. 2. Good Elocution is the art of uttering ideas under- standingly, correctly, and effectively. It embraces the two general divisions. Orthoepy and Expression.

'^1

CaCU''U€^/l

O

ORTHOEPY.

RTHOEPY is the art of correct pronunciation. ^ It em- braces Articulation, Syllabication and Accent.

Orthoepy has to do with scpurate words — the production of their oral elements, the combination of these elements to form syllables, and the accentuation of the right syllables.

' Blackboard Diagrams are here ])loying the perceptive faculties in

introduced for the convenience of connection with oral instruction, young teachers, and as constant re- '■' Pronunciation (pro nun'^hi a'-

minders of the importance of em- ssliun).

10 DOM/XIOX FOURTH READER.

I. ARTICULATION.

I.

DEFINITIONS.

ARTICULATION is the distinct utterance of the oral . elements in sylhibles and words.

2. Oral Elements are the sounds that form syllables and words.

3. Oral Elements are Produced bv different positions of the organs of speech, in connection with the voice and the breath.

4. The Principal Organs of Speech are the lips, the teeth, the tongue, and the palate.

5. Voice is Produced by the action of the breath upon the larynx, or windpipe.

6". Oral Elements are Divided into nyhteen tonics, fifteen sriJTOXics, and ten atoxics.

7. Tonics are pure tones produced by the voice, with but slight use of the organs of speech.

S. Subtonics are tones produced by the voice, modified by the organs of speech.

9. Atonies are mere breathings, modified by the organs of speech.

10. Letters are characters that are used to represent or to modify the oral elements.

11. The Alphabet is Divided into vowels and conso- nants.

12. Vowels are the letters that usually represent the tonics. They are (t, e, i, o, ii. and sometimes y.

13. A Diphthong is the union of two vowels in a syl- lable ; as ou in our, ea in bread.

DEFINITIONS. H

IJf. A Proper Diphthong is the union of two vowels in a sylliible, neither of which is silent ; as wi in out.

15. An Improper Diphthong is the union of two vowels in a syllable, one of which is silent ; as 6(> in l6'/f.

16. A Triphthong is the union of three vowels in a syl- lable ; as eau in Imi/i (bo), iex in a,dieu (adu').

17. Consonants ^ are the letters that usually represent either subtonic or atonic elements. They are of two kinds, single letters and combined, including all the letters of the alphabet, except the vowels, and the combinations dh, ^, w'Ti. itg : til subtonic, and fli atonic.

IS. Labials are letters whose oral elements are chiefly formed by the lips. They are b, p, w, and wTi. M is a nasal labial. F and v are labio-dentals.

19. Dentals are letters whose oral elements are chiefly formed by the teeth. They are /, ,s', z. dh and sli.

20. Linguals are letters wdiose oral elements are chiefly formed by the tongue. They are d, J, i\ and /. .\' is a nasal-lingual ; y, a lingua-palatal, and ///, a lingua-dental.

21. Palatals are letters whose oral elements are chiefly formed by the palate. They are g and k. X-(r is a nasal- palatal.

5.V. Cognates are letters whose oral elements are pro- duced by the same organs, in a similar manner ; thus, /" is a cognate of r ; k of g. etc.

23. Alphabetic Equivalents are letters, or combinations of letters, that represent the same elements, or sounds ; thus, i is an equivalent of e, in pique.

' Consonant.— The term conso- vowel connected with them in the

7iant, meaning^ sminding with, is same syllable, although their and

applied to these letters and com- ^ir'vwr'rt^s may be uttered separately,

binations because they are rarely and without a vowel. They often

us<'d in words without having a form syllables alone ; as /i in ev'cu.

12 DO M IX 10. y FOURTH READER.

II. ORAL ELEMENTS.

IN soiTuding the tonics, the organs of speech should be fully opened, and the stream of sound from the throat should be thrown, as much as j^ossible. directly upward against the roof of the mouth. These elements should open with an abrupt and cxplosice force, and then diminish gradually and equably to the end.

In producing the subtonic and atonic elements, it is impor- tant to jiress the organs upon each other with great firmness and tension ; to throw the breath upon them with force ; and to prolong the sound sufficiently to give it a full impression on the ear.

The instructor will first require the students to pronounce a catch-word once, and then produce the oral element repre- sented by the marked vowel, or Italic consonant, four times — thus ; age — a, a, a, a ; ate — a, a, a, fi ; at — a, a, a, a ; a^ — a, a, a, a, etc. He will exercise the class until each student can utter consecutively all the elementary sounds as arranged in the following

TABLE OF ORAL ELEMENTS.

I.

TONICS.

1. u.i

in

age.

ate.

1 4- (I,

in

all.

ball.

2. a,

a

at.

asili.

o. a. 2

(I

bare.

€are.

S. a,

(i

art,

ilrm.

6. a,3

iC

ask,

glass.

' Long and Short Vowels.— ' A Fifth.— The ^/if/i element, or

The attention of the class should sound, represented by a, is its first

he called to the fact thai the first or Alphabetic sound, modified or

element, or sound, represented by softened by r. In its production,

each of the vowels, is usually in- the lips, placed nearly together,

dicated by a horizontal line placed are held immovable while the

over the letter, and the second student tries to say ii.

sound by a curved line. ^ j^ Sixth. — The sixtti element

ORAL ELEMEXTS.

1

7. e,

ii]

liG,

tiiese.

i^.

0,^

in

on,

frost.

8. e,

a

elk,.

end.

u.

Q,

••

do.

prove.

9. e/

a

her.

verse.

15.

11,^

'•

efibe,

£iire.

10. 1,

a

ige,

diild.

16.

u,

•'-

bud.

hush.

11. i.

'•'

ink.

indli.

17.

u,

(' i

full,

pu^i,

12. 6,

a

old.

home.

IS,

Ml,

. .'

our,

house.

II. SUBTONICS.

1. h.

in

h'a,bQ,

oxl).

9.

'/■,-'

in

rake.

bar.

2. d,

••

did.

f/im.

10.

th.

ii

tiiis,

with.

3. g,

li

gag,

gig-

11.

^',

ii

fine,

?'i9e.

Jf-J,

a

ioin,

/oint.

12.

?f,

a

?cake.

wise.

5. I,

'••

/ake,

/ane.

13.

2/.

ii

2/ard,

ije%.

6. m,

>'

wild,

Wiu;;^.

u.

^.•.

ii

2;est,

gaze.

7. n,

<i

;^ame,

«i/^e.

15.

./.,

ii

azure,

glazier

8. «g,

c

gang.

sang.

III. AT

ONICS.

^•/;

in

/ame,

/i/e.

6.

^

in

t'AYt,

/oas/.

2. h.

iC

/fark,

//arm.

fh,

.-.-

thank.

youfh.

3. k,

ii

^•ind,

^•in^-.

8.

di,

ii

dhase,

mardi.

k. P,

ii

pipe,

jt^um^j.

9.

sTi,

ik

^ade.

miisli.

5. s,

ii

souse,

sense.

10.

w^.

''

w^ale,

wTiite.

13

represented by a, is a sound inter- mediate between a as heard in at, a^, and a as in «rm, art. It is produced by prolonging and slight- ly softening a.

1 E Third.— The third element represented by e, is e as heard in end prolonged, and modified or softened by r.

« O Modified. — The modified oral element of o, in this work, is represented by o, the same mark as its regular second power. This modified or medium element may

be produced by uttering the sound of 0 in not, slightly softened, with twice its usual volume, or pro- longation.

^ U Initial. — U, at the beginning of words, when long, has the sound of yu, as in xise (yus)

■• R Trilled.— In trilling r. the tip of the tongue is made to vibrate rapidly against the roof of the mouth. Frequently require the student, after a full inhalation, to trill )• continuously, as long and rapidly as possible.

1^ DOMINION FOURTH READER.

III.

COGNATES.

FIRST require the student to pronounce distinctly the word containing the atonic element, then the subtonic cognate, uttering the element after each word — thus : Wp, p ; orb. Ik etc. His attention should be called to the fact that cognates are produced by the same organs and similarly, the one being an undertone and the other a whisper.

ATONICS. SUBTONICS.

\\p, p oyI, b.

fife, f. i'ali'e, v.

\fh\iQ, wli wise, w.

^ave, s 2eal, z.

^ade, ^ azure, zh.

<fliarm, dh yoin, j.

/ar/, / d\d, d.

thing, th tliis, tli.

k'mk, k gig, g.

IV. ALPHABETIC EQUIVALENTS.

STUDENTS will read or recite the following tables, using this formula : The Alphabetic Equivalents for A first power are ai, cm, ay, e, ea, ce, ei, ey ; as in gam, gauge, stray, melee', great, \ein, ijhey.

I. TONIC ELEMENTS.

For a, at, an, ay, e, ea, ee, ei, ey ; as in gfun, gMige, stray, melC'f', gr^at, vem, tjhey.

For a, ni, iia ; as in pla/f7, g?/S,ranty.

For a, an, e, ca, ua ; as in haunt, sergeant, heiirt, g?^ard.

i

ALPHABETIC EQUIVALENTS. 15

For a, ail, aw, eo, o, oa, ou ; as in fawlt, ha?rk, George, cork, broad, bought.

For d, ai, e, ca, ei ; as in dlia/r, there, swear, \\eiv.

For e, ea, ee, ei, eo, ey, i, ie ; as in read, deep, 96/!, people, ke^, valise, ftOld.

For e, a, ai, ay, ea, ei, eo, ie, u, ue ; as in any, said, saj/Sy head, hetfer, leopard, frtend, b?<ry, g?<ess.

For g, ea, i, 0, ou, it, ue, y; as in earfli, girl, word, scourge, burn, g?(grdon, mz/rrh.

For 1, ai, ei, eye, ie, oi, ui, vy, y, ye ; as in aisle, sk^ight, eye, die, choir, g^*ide, b?^y, my, rye.

For i, ai, e, ee, ie, 0, oi, u, ui, y ; as in eaptain, pretty, been, sieve, women, tortoise, b?isy, b2ald, h5'mn.

For o, au, eau, eo, etc, oa, oe, 00, ou, ow ; as in haatbo)', heau, yeoman, sew, €oal, foe, door, so?d, \Abw.

For 6, a, ou, oio ; as in What, hoMgh (hok), kn6?/;ledge.

For o, ew, oe, 00, ou, u, ui ; as in ^ew, ^o". spoon, SQ?«p, rude, ixmt.

For u, eau, eu, eiv, ieu, iew, ue, ui ; as in beauty, feud, neiv, adiVu, \ieiv, hiie, jui^e.

For u, 0, oe, 00, ou ; as in love, does, blood, young.

For u, o, 00, ou ; as in wolf, book, could.

For ou, ow ; as in now.

For oi (ai), oy ; as in boy.

11. SUBTONIC AND ATONIC ELEMENTS.

For f, gh, i^li ; as in eough, uymph.

For j, g ; as in gem, gin.

For k, €, eh, gh, q ; as in cole, cone//, louf/7/, eti^/uette.

For s, 9 ; as in 9ell, 9ity.

For t, d, th, phth ; as in dan9e^/, 77/ames, phthisie.

For v, /, ph ; as in of, Stephen.

16

DOMIiXIOX FOURTH READER.

For y, i ; as iu pin/on.

For z, c, §, X ; as iu suffi^je, rose. a:ebec.

For zh, (J, s ; as in rouge, osiew

For iig, n ; as in anger, bank.

For dh, / ; as in fus/ian.

For ^, c, qh, s, ss, t ; as in ocean, 9/faise, ^ijre, assure^

martial.

V.

ORAL ELEMENTS COMBINED.

AFTER giving the class a thorough drill on the preceding . tables as arranged, the following exercises will be found of great value, to improve the organs of speech and the voice, as well as to familiarize the student with different combina- tions of sound.

As the fiftli element represented by a, and the tliird ele- ment of e, are always immediately followed by the oral ele- ment of r in words, the r is introduced in like manner in these exercises. Since the sixflt sound of a, when not a syl- lable by itself, is always immediately followed by the oral element of /, n, or s, in words, these letters are here also^ employed.

I. TONICS AND SUBTONICS.

ba,

ba.

ba,

ba,

bar,

baf ;

be,

be,

bgr;

lb.

ib;

6b,

6b,

Qb;

lib.

lib,

ub ;

oub.

da,

da

da,

da.

dar,

das ;

de,

de,

dgr;

id,

id;

od.

6d.

od ;

lid,

ud.

ud ;

oud.

ga.

gi'i.

gii.

ga.

gar,

gan;

g6,

ge.

ger;

ig.

^g;

og,

6g.

Qg;

"g.

ug,

ug;

oug.

jas.

jar,

Ja-

ja.

ja.

Ja;

jer,

je,

Je;

ig.

ig;

Qg.

og,

^■>g;

ug.

ug,

ug;

oug.

las.

Idr,

la.

la.

•la.

la;

ler,

le,

le;

il,

il;

ul.

61,

61;

ul,

ul,

ul;

ouL

ORAL ELEMENTS COMBINED.

17

mas,

mer,

mo.

ma,

ma,

me ;

mer.

me,

mi ;

im.

Im ;

om.

6 m,

om ;

om.

om.

iini ;

oum.

3.

iin,

an,

an.

am.

nail,

iin;

en,

ern,

en ;

^S>

iiy;

uo.

110,

no ;

nu,

nu,

nu ;

nou.

ang-.

drn,

ii iig.

af.

ai^,

ang ;

eng.

enj,

eng;

"ig,

hig ;

Ollg,

ong,

ong;

ung.

ung.

ung;

own.

ra,

rii,

rar.

i-a,

I'a,

raf ;

re.

rer,

re;

r\,

rl;

ro,

ro,

1-0 ;

I'V,

ru.

rii ;

row.

4.

adi.

otii,

af.

etii,

drtli,

ath ;

etii.

ertii.

Gth;

till,

thi;

tiio.

tiio.

tiio;

thu,

thu,

tiiu;

thou

ve,

vii.

Aar,

Aa,

vaf,

^a;

ver.

ve.

ve;

iv,

iv;

Qv.

0A-.

6v;

uv.

uv.

ov;

ouv.

wa, •

Ava,

A\-ar,

Ava.

Ava,

A\'af ;

Avir,

Ave,

Ave;

wi,

AVI ;

AVO.

AVO,

AVO ;

Avii,

AVU,

AVU ;

AVOW.

5.

yi%

ya,

ya,

ya«

yar,

yaii ;

yt^>

ye.

yt-r ;

yl.

yi;

yo.

yd.

yo;

yfi.

y^^'

T^y ;

yow.

zow ;

zoo.

zu.

zu ;

zoo,

z6,

zo ;

zi.

zl;

ser.

§e,

se ;

saf,

ser.

sa.

sa,

sa.

§a.

ouzh ;

; uzli,

uzh ,

uzh ;

ozh,

ozh,

ozh;

izh.

Izh ;

erzh,

ezh,

ezh :

; af,

drzh,

azh.

iizh.

azh.

azh.

II. TOXIC

AND ATONIC

COMBINATIONS.

1.

fa,

fa.

fa.

fa.

far.

fas;

fe.

fg,

f6r;

If,

if;

of.

of.

of;

ilf,

uf,

uf ;

ouf.

her,

han.

ha.

ha.

ha,

ha;

he.

he,

her;

W,

hi;

ho,

ho.

hii ;

hu.

hu.

hu;

how.

ak,

ak,

ak.

ak.

drk.

af:

ek.

ek,

erk ;

ki,

ki;

ko,

ko,

ko ;

ku,

ku.

ku;

kou.

2.

ep,

ap.

iip.

op.

erp,

paf ;

Pt'.

pi.

per ;

Vh

pi;

(jp.

oop,

ap;

pii,

pu.

poo ;

owp.

af.

6rs,

OS,

as.

as.

es;

sir,

s6,

si;

18

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

is,

IS ;

us,

as,

os;

so,

su,

su;

ous.

tas,

tar,

ta,

at.

at,

at;

ter.

c-t.

et;

ty.

ty;

to.

toT),

to;

lit,

ut,

ut ;

tow.

fhaf,

fliar.

tlia,

tha,

tlifi,

tlia;

ther,

thC',

the;

Tfli,

ifli;

otll,

otll,

6th;

lith.

uth.

utli;

oiith.

owdh ;

udh,

fidli,

iidh;

odh,

odh,

odi;

icfh,

idh;

erdh.

edli.

edh ;

dhaf,

dha.

c(ha,

dhar,

dha,

tOia.

(Hi^ ;

u^,

u^,

ubii;

0^,

0^,

Obli;

1^,

T^li;

^er,

^e,

^le;

^an,

^ar.

^a,

^a,

^a.

.<]ia.

wTiow

; wTiu,

WTin,

Wliu;

who,

w^o.

wlio;

Whi,

Whi;

wli6r,

wlie,

\\'Tie ;

wlias,

Whar

vvliii,

Wha,

Vhfi,

wTia.

E

VI. ERRORS IN ARTICULATION.

RRORS in Articulation arise, firsts from the omission of one or more elements in a word ; as,

sto'm for storm.

wa'm "^ warm,

bois'trous " bois'ter ous.

dhick"n " dhick'en.

his't'ry " his'to r}'.

n6v''l " nov'el.

trav"l " trav'el.

an"

for

an^/.

frien's

frien67§.

blin"ness

bllurrness.

fa€'s

fa€^s.

sof'ly

sof^'ly.

fiel's

fiekZs.

wll's

1.

wik/s.

Secondly, from uttering one or more elements that should not be sounded ; as.

ev'en

for

ev"n.

rav'el

for

rav' '1.

heav'en

a

heav' 'n.

sev'en

a

sev' 'n.

tak'gn

a

tak' 'n.

soften

a

sof'n.

sick'en

a

sick' 'n.

sliak'dn

iC

sibak' 'n

driv'el

i(

driv' '1.

Nov'el

a

^i6v"l.

grov'gl

i(

grov' ^1.

^I'iv'el

a

biiriv' '1.

ANALYSIS OF IVORDS.

19

Thin

lly,

from substituting one element foi

another ; as.

set

for

sit.

€arse

for

course.

sen9e

a

sin9e.

re part'

a

re port'.

gliet

a

^Tiut.

trof'fy

<>

tro'phy.

for git'

■•

for get'.

pa'rent

. i

par'ent.

€are

•••

fdre.

biin'net

'•

bon'net.

dan 96

-

dan9e.

dhil'dr^m

••■

diil'dren.

past

'•'

past.

siil'ler

"

9el'lar.

ask

ask.

mel'ler

k i

mC'l'lo^'.

grass

a

grass.

pil'ler

"'

])il'lo?i'.

srill

'•

shrill.

mo'm?mt

'*

mo'ment.

wirl

"

wTiirl.

harm'h'ss

••

hilrni'less.

a gan'

a

a gain (a

gen').

klnd'n/ss

kind'ness.

a ganst

t a

against (a

L genst').

?ris'per

"vs^is'per.

hgrfh

a

hearth (hartli).

sing'i;i

"■

sing'ing.

VII. ANALYSIS OF WORDS.

IN order to secure a practical knowledge of the preceding definitions and tables, to learn to spell spoken words by their oral elements, and to understand the uses of letters in written words, the instructor will require the student to master the following exhaustive though simple analysis.

Analyze Salve. — 1st. The word salve, in pronunciation, is formed by the union of three oral elements ; siiv — salve. [The student will utter the three oral elements separately, and then pronounce the word.] The firxt is a modified breathing; hence, it is an atonic. The second is a pure tone; hence, it is a tonic. The titird is a modified tone; hence, it is a snbtonic.

2d. The world salve, in UTitinf/. is represented by the letters, salve — salve. .S' represents an atonic ; hence, it is a

W DOMINION FOURTH READER.

consonant. Its oral element is cliieiiy formed by the teeth ; hence, it is a dental. Its oral element is produced by the same organs and in a similar manner as the first oral element of z; hence, it is a cognate of z. A represents a tonic, hence, it is a vowel. L is silent. Frej^resents a subtonic ; hence, it is a consonant. Its oral element is chiefly formed by the lower lip and the upper teeth ; hence, it is a labio- dental. Its oral element is formed by the same organs and in a similar manner as that of/; hence, it is a cognate of /. E is silent.

Analyze Shoe. — Id. The word shoe, in pronunciation, is formed by the union of two oral elements; ^o — ^oe. The first is a modified breathing ; hence, it is an atonic. The second is a pure tone ; hence, it is a tonic.

2d. The word shoe, in writinf), is rej^resented by the let- ters, s^oe — .<hoe. The combination ^ represents an atonic; hence, it is a consonant. Its oral element is chiefly formed by the teeth ; hence, it is a dental. Its oral element is pro- duced by the same organs and in a similar manner as the second oral element represented by z; hence, it is a cog- nate of z. The combination oe is formed by the union of two vowels, one of which is silent; hence, it is an improper diphthong. It represents the oral element usually repre- sented by o; hence, it is an alphabetic equivalent of o.

VIII. RULES IN ARTICULATION.

THE word A, when emphatic, should be pronounced like the letter u ; as, I said ihree boys knew tlie letter a, not a boy knew it. 2. The Word A, when not emphatic, is marked thus, a, its quality of sound in pronunciation being the same as

EXERCISES EV ARTICULATION. 21

the regular sixth sound, heard in the words tisk, grass, mass, basket; as.

Give a baby sister a smile, a kind word, and a kiss.'

3. The, when not emphatic nor immediately followed by a word that commences with a vowel sound, should be pro- nounced tiiii ; as.

The (^tiiii) peach, the (thu) plum, the apple, and the (thu) dherry are your§. Did he ask for a pen, or for Hie pen ?

Jf.. U Preceded by R. — When u long (m in tube), or its alphabetic equivalent ew, is preceded by r, or the sound of ^, in the same syllable, it has always the sound of o in do ; as,

Are you sure that Shre^cd youfli wa§ rude ?

5. R may be Trilled when immediately followed by a vowel sound in the same syllable. When thus situated in emphatic words, it should be trilled ; as,

He is both Irate and true. I said scrat€\xm!g, not scrawlix^.

Pupils will read the sentences, analyze the words, and tell what rules the exercises illustrate.

EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.

1. Thu bold bad baiz brok bolts and biirz.

2. Thii rogz ru^t round thii ruf red ro'ks.

3. Hi on a hil Hu herd harsez harni hofs.

4. Shor al her ptithz iir piitiiz 6v pes.

5. Ba ! that'z n6t siks dolliirz, but a dollar.

6. Charj t^ie old man to cfhoz a diais dhez.

7. Lit sekii'tg lit, hafh lit 6v lit beglld.

8. Thoz yoths with troths yiiz wiked othz.

9. Arm it with ragz, a pigmi stra aviI pers it. 10. Nou set thu teth ^nd stredh thii nostril wid.

* A Initieil. — A in many words, that of a sixth power (a), as in as an initial unaccented syllable, alas, amass, though somewhat less is also marked a, its quality being in volume of sound.

22 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

11. He wodht and wept, he felt and prad far al.

12. Hiz iz iimidst thii mists, mczherd an azher ski.

IS. Tiiu wTialz Wlield and ^vlu'l■ld, and bdrd tiiar brad, broun baks.

IJi-. Jasn Jonz sed, Liina, alas, amas, villa, tiro'ma.

15. Till! strlf sesefh, pes approdhetli, and thu gad man rejaisefli.

16. Our s^rod ants yuzd s^rugz, and s^arp, ^ril slireks, and s'hrungk ^ili from tbu ^ronded ^irln.

n. Amidst tiiu mists and kOldest frosts, v/itli barest rists and stoutest bosts, he fliriists liiz fists agen^t tiiu posts, and stil insists he sez tim gosts.

18. A starm arizeth on thu se. A model vessel iz strug- gling amidst thu v/ar 6v Elements, kwivering and Shivering, ^iringking and battling lik a fliingking being.

II. SYLLABICATION.

A SYLLABLE is a word, or part of a word, uttered by a single impulse of the voice.

2. A Monosyllable is a word of one syllable ; as, it.

3. A Dissyllable is a word of two syllables ; as, Ul-y.

Jf.. A Trisyllable is a word of three syllables ; as, coti^ flne-ment.

5. A Polysyllable is a word of four or more syllables ; as, in-no-cen-cy, un-in-tel-li-rii-hil-i-ty.

Let pupils tell the number of syllables in words that are not monosyllables, in the following

EXERCISES IN SYLLABICATION.

1. When you rise in tiie morning, resolve to make the day a happy one to a fellow-creature. It is easily done.

ACCENT. 23

2. A kind word, an encouraginjr expression — trifles in themselves light as air — may make some heart glad for at least twenty-four hours.

S. A life of idleness is not a life of pleasure. Only activity and usefulness afford happiness. The most miserable are those who have nothing to do.

4- Would you be free from uneasiness of mind, do notliing that you know or think to be wrong. Would you enjoy tlie piirest pleasure, do always and everywhere wliat you see to be unquestionably right.

5. If tile spring put forth no blossom, in summer tiiere will be no beauty, and in autumn no friiit : so, if youtli be trifled away without improvement, manhood will probably be contemptible, and old age miserable.

6. As Charity covers a multitude of sins before God, so does Politeness before men.

III. ACCENT.

ACCENT is the peculiar force given to one or more sylla- xV. bles of a word.

2. In many Trisyllables and Polysyllables, of two syllables accented, one is uttered with greater force than the other. The more forcible accent is called primary, and the less forcible, secondary ; as /mJ-i-TA-tion.

S. The Mark of Acute Accent, licnry. [ ' ] is often used to indicate -primary accent ; //>////, [ ' ] secondary accent ; as, Hostil'ity hroufrlit vi-c'tory, not i^'iiomiii'ious defeat'.

2Jf. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Jf. The Mark of Grave Accent, [ ^ ] is here used to indicate, first, that the vowel over which it is j3laced forms a separate sylhible ; and, secondly, that the vowel is not an alphabetic equivalent, but represents one of its usual oral elements; as.

Ad aged and learned man caught tiiat winged filing, for liis beloved pupils. Her goodness [not gooA.niss\ moved the roughest [not roughi'*-^].

Pupils will give the office of each inarh in these

EXERCISES IN ACCENT.

1. No'ti^e the marks of a€'9ent, and al'ways accent' cor- reet'ly the words in'terestir^g, cir' cum stances, dif'ficuJtii.

2. That blessed and beloved dliild loves every winged thing.

3. He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit than he tiiat taketli a 9it'y.

Jf. A spirit of kindness is beautiful in the aged, lovely in tiie young, in'dispen'sable to the happiness of a family.

5. Thou knowest my down'-sit'ting and mine uprising; thou un'derstand'est my fliought afar off.

6. Thou compassest my piith and my ly'ing dmvn, and art acquainted with all my ways.

7. An'ger and passion (pa^'un) are ir're§ist'ible, perhaps', wTien tliey eome upon' you, but it is on'ly at times tiiat you are provoked', and tiien you are off your guard ; so that the occa'sion is o'ver, and you have failed, before' you were well aware' of its eom'ing.

8. Find out for yourself dai'ly self'-deni'als, and this because' our Lord bids you take up your cross dai'ly, because' it proves your gar'nestness, and because' by do'i ng so you strengfh'^n your gen'eral pow'er of self'-mas'tery, and come to have su(/li a habit'ual command' of yourself as will be a defence' read'y prepared' w^en the sea'son of tempta'tion comes, as come it assuredly (asTh s^or'ed li) will.

EMPHASIS. 25

EXPRESSION.

EXPRESSION of speech is the utterance of thought, feeling, or passion, witli due significance or force. Its most important divisions are Emphasis, Inflection, Sluk, and Pauses.

/ X^ / ,

Expression has to do with words in sentences and dis- course. It enables the hearer to see, feel, and understand.

I. EMPHASIS. I.

DEFINITIONS.

EMPHASIS is the peculiar force given to one or more words of a sentence. 2. To give a Word Emphasis, means to pronounce it in a loud^ or forcible manner. Xo uncommon tone is neces- sary, as words may be made emphatic by 2)rolonging the vowel sounds, by a pause, or even by a whisper.

' Loudness. — The instructor will ence to high pitch, but to volume of explain to the class tlie fact, that voice, nsed on the same key or pitch, loudnessh&s not, of necessity, refer- when readinp: or speaking.

26 DOM IN 10 X FOURTH READER.

S. Emphatic Words are often printed in Italics ; those more emphatic, in small capitals ; and those that receive the greatest force, in large CAPITALS.

II. RULES IN EMPHASIS.

WORDS and Phrases peculiarly significant, or important in meaning, are emphatic ; as, Whence and whut art thou, execrable shape ?

2. Words and Phrases, that contrast, or point ont a difference, are emphatic : as,

I did not say a better soldier, but an elder.

Pupils will tell which of the two preceding rules is illus- trated by each of the following

EXERCISES IN EMPHASIS.

1. He may bite ; but / ^lall not.

2. Speak Utile and well, if yon wif^li to be thought wise.

3. You were tanght to Jove your brotiier, not to hate him, Jf.. Sing the praises of Octotyev, as the loveliest of months.

5. It is not so easy to hide one's faults, as to mend tiiem.

6. Study not so mudh to ^low knowledge, as to possess it.

7. The GOOD man is honored, but tiie evil man is despised.

8. Custom is tlie plague of wise men and the idol of fools.

9. He that trusts you, wliere he sliould find you lions finds you HARES ; \Vhere foxes, geese.

10. My friends, our country must be free I The land is never lost, that has a son to right her, and here are troops of sons, and loyal ones I

11. Little Nell was dead. No sleep so heautiful and calm, so free from mark oi pain, so fair to look upon.

12. "When I die, put 9iear me somefhii:tg that has loved the light, and had tlie skt above it ahrai/s," s^lio said.

INFLECTION. ^7

il. INFLECTION.

I. DEFINITIONS..

INFLECTION is the bend or slide of the voice, used in reading and speaking. Inflection, or the slide, is properly a part of cmjohasis. It is the greater rise or fall of the voice that occurs on the accented or lieavy syllable of an emphatic word.

2. There are Three Inflections or slides of the voice : the RisiN(i Inflection, the Falling Inflection, and the Circumflex.

(3Wfe^

Id'l-^lt

roF-

ii^'c/^-^^'t \ Cy€7A'iM^

^^^I'CU'^^/tk'Z

S. The Rising Inflection is the upward bend or slide of the voice ; as, ^\

Do you love your ^^

Jf.. The FalHng" Inflection is the downward bend or slide

of the voice : as. 4j

\ When are you going .-=

5. The Circumflex is the union of the inflections on the same syllable or word, either commencing with the rising and ending with the falling, or commencing with the fnlUnrj and ending with the risinri, thus producing a slight waving movement of the voice.

£8 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

6. The Acute Accent [ ' ] is used to mark the rising inflection; the grave accent [^] the falUng inflection ; as,

Will you read or spell ? I will read, not spell.

7. The Falling Circumflex, which commences Avith a rising aad ends with a falling slide, is marked thus ""^ ; the rising circumflex, which commences with a falling and ends with a rising slide, is marked thus '^^, which the pupil will see is the same mark inverted ; as,

You must take me for a fool, to think I could do that.

II.

RULES IN INFLECTION.

THE Falling Inflection is employed for all ideas that are leading, complete, or known, or whenever some- thing is affirmed or commanded ^;o.s/;'/fY''/y; as. He will ^ed tears, on his return. Speak, I charge you !

2. The Rising Inflection is employed for all ideas that are conditional, incidental, or incomplete, or for those that are doubtful, uncertain, or negative ; as,

Though he slay me, I ^all love him. On its return, they will ^ed tears, not of agony and distress, but of gratitude and joy.

3. Questions for Information, or those that can be answered by yes or no, require the rising inflection ; but their answers, when jjositive, the falling ; as,

Do you love Miiry ? Yes ; I do.

4' Declarative Questions, or those that can not be an- swered by ges or )io, require the falling inflection ; as. What means this stir in town ? "When are you going to Rome ?

5. When Words or Clauses contrast or compare,

the first part usually has the rising, and the last the falling inflection ; though, when one side of the contrast is affirmed.

EXERCISES IN INFLECTION. 29

and the other denied, the latter has the n'.'<in(/ inflection, in whatever order they occur ; as,

I have seen the effects of love and hatred, joy and grief, hope and despair. I come to biiry Caesar, not to praise liim.

6. The Circumflex is used when the thoughts are not sincere or earnest, but are employed in jest, double-meaning, or mocker}'. The falUnrj circumflex is used in places that would otherwise require the falling inflection ; the rising circumflex, in places that would otherwise require the rising inflection ; as.

The beggar intends to ride, not to walk. Ah, ^le loves you !

Students will be careful to employ the right slides in sen- tences that are unmarked, and tell what rule or rules are illustrated by each of the following

EXERCISES IN INFLECTION.

1. I want zpen. It is not a book I want.

2. The war must go dn. We must fight it througJi.

3. T\\Q rausc ^\\\\ raise up armies: tiie cause vf'iW create navie^.

If. We sTiall make tiiis a glorious, an immortal day. \^1len we are in Mir graves, Mir cliildren will honor it.

5. Do you see tiiat bright star ? Yes : it is splendid.

6. Does that beautiful lady deserve praise, or blame ?

7. Is a candle to be put under a bu^el, or under a bed ?

8. Hunting men, not Masts, ^all be his game.

0. Do men gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles ?

10. There is a tide in tlie affairs of men, \^^ic'li, taken at tiie flood, leads on to fortune.

U. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perisli, I give my hand and heart to tliis vote.

12. If Caudle says so, tiien all must believe it, of course.

so DOMINION FOURTH READER.

13. Is t±iis a time to be gloomy and stid

When our mother Nature laughs around ; W'Tien even the deep blue beavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from tiie blossoming' ground ? IJf. Ah, it was Maud that gave it ! I never thought, nuder any circumstances, it could be you !

III. SLUR.

SLUR is that smooth, gliding, subdued movement of the voice, by which those parts of a sentence of less com- parative importance are rendered less impressive to the ear, and emphatic words and phrases set in stronger relief.

2. Slur must be Employed in cases of 77«re;i/Af6/'6% fo;^- trast, rejjetition, or explanation, where the phrase or sentence is of small comparative importance ; and often when qualifi- cation of time, place, or manner is made.

3. The Slurred Parts in a portion of the exercises are printed in Italic letters. Students will first read the parts of the sentence that appear in Roman, and then the whole sentence, passing lightly and quickly over what was first omitted. They will also read the unmarked examples in like manner.

EXERCISES IN SLUR.

1. I am sure, (/" you provide for your youny brothers and sisters, that God will bless you.

2. The general, witli his head drooping, and his hands leaniitg on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle.

3. Children are wading, ivitl/ cl/eerful cries,

In tiie ^oals of the sparkling hvdhk ; Laughing maidens, with soft youny eyes. Walk or sit in tlie ^ady nook.

FA USES. 31

4. The sick man from his chamber looks at the twisted brooks ; and, ftelinfj the cool hreath of each little pool, breatiies a blessing on tiie summer rain,

5. The ciilm ^ade ^all bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze, tiiat makes tlie green leaves dance, sliall waft a balm to thy sick heart.

6. Young eyes, tliat last year smiled in 04irs,

Now point the rifle's barrel ; And hands, then stained witii fruits and flowers, Bear redder stains of quarrel.

7. If tliere's a Power above us — and that there is, all Nature cries aloud through all her works — He must delight in virtue ; and that v^idh He delights in must be happy.

8. Tiie moon is at her full, and, riding high.

Floods the €alm field§ witii light. The air§ that hover in tlie summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

9. Truth, by whomsoever spoken, really comes from God. It is, in ^ort, a divine essence.

IV. PAUSES.

I.

DEFINITIONS.

PAUSES are suspensions of the voice iu reading and speaking, used to mark expectation and uncertainty, and to give effect to expression.

2. The Pause is marked thus 7 in the following illus- trations aiul exercises.

S2 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

II. RULES FOR PAUSES.

THE SUBJECT of a sentence, or that of which some- thing is declared, when either emphatic or compound., requires a pause after it ; as,

Tte cause *f will raise up armies. Sincerity and truth *f form the basis of every virtue.

2. Two Nouns in the same Case, without a connect- ing word, require a pause between them ; as,

I admire Webster *f the orator.

S. Adjectives that follow the words they qualify or limit, require pauses immediately before them ; as.

He bad a mind •^ deep '^ active *f well-stored with knowledge.

4. But, hence, and other words that mark a suddea change, when they stand at the beginning of a sentence, require a pause after them ; as.

But y tiiese joys are his. Hence *f Solomou calls the fear of the Lord *f the beginning of wisdom.

5. In Cases of Ellipsis, a pause is required where one or more words are omitted ; as.

He thanked Mary many times " Kate but once. Call this man friend *f tiiat "^ brother.

6. A Slurred Passage requires a pause immediately be- fore and immediately after it : as,

T4ie plumage of the mocking-bird *f though none of the homeliest J has nofliing bright or ^owy in it.

Pupils will tell which of the rules are illustrated by the following

EXERCISES IN PAUSES.

1. All promise 7 is poor dilatory man.

2. Procrastination is tiie tliief of time.

3. Weeping 7 may endure for a night r 7 but Joy J cometli in tiie morning.

J/.JAVv'.V OF PUXCTUATIOy. 33

Jf.. Paul J tiie Apostle 7 wrote to Timotliy-

5. Solomon, the son of David, was king of Israel.

6. He was a friend " gentle ^'^ generous 7 good-humored J affectionate.

7. You see a gentleman, polii^lied, easy, quiet, witty, and, socially, your equal.

8. Tlie night wind *■ witii a desolate moan 1 swept by.

9. But "!' I sliall say no more ^ pity and c'harity being dead *f to a heart of stone.

10. Husbands and fiitliers *f think of tiieir wives and dhil- dren.

III.

MARKS OF PUNCTUATION.

SUCH marks are here introduced as are necessar}", in written or ju'inted language, to make plain the meaning of the writer, or to mark a portion of the pauses used in good reading. The teacher will employ this for a Heading Lesson, and not for a task, making all necessary additional explanations.

1. The Comma [ , ] marks the smallest division of a sentence, and represents the shortest pause ; as,

The butterfly, cfhild of tiie summer, flutters in the sun.

2. The Semicolon [ ; ] separates such parts of a sen- tence as are less closely connected than those divided by a comma, and usually represents a longer pause ; as,

The noblest men and women have been (^ildren once ; lisping tiie speech, laughing tlie liiugh, fliinking t^ie fliought, of c<hildhood.

3. The Colon [ : ] separates parts of a sentence less closely connected than those divided by a semicolon, and usually represents a longer pause ; as.

He who receives a good turn should never forget it : lie who d6e§ one ^ould never remember it.

34 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Jf. The Period [ . ] is placed at the close of a seiiteuce which declares somethiug, and usually represents a full stop. It must be used after an abbreviated word ; as.

If you will, YOU can ri§e. Send the clodiing and the money lo Geo. W. Stevenson, Esq.

5. The Interrogation Point [ ? ] shows that a question is asked ; as.

You say you will do better to-iaurrow ; but are you sure of to-mor- row ? Have you one hour in your hand ?

6. The Exclamation Point [ ! ] is placed after Avords that express surprise, astonishment, admiration, and other strong feelings ; as,

Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou Shouldst die I Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair !

7. The Dash [ — ] is used when a sentence breaks off abruptly ; when there is an unexpected turn in sentiment ; and for a long or significant pause ; as,

Wa§ there ever a braver soldier ? ^Vas there ever — but I scorn to boast. IMiere are two kinds of evils — tiiose Whirti can not be cured, and those which can.

8. Marks of Parenthesis ( ) are used to inclose words that interrupt the progress of the sentence in which they appear, and that can be omitted without injury to its sense. They should be shirred in reading; as.

Whether playing ball or riding on horseback {for he rides often), the boy knows bofli how to start and ^vllen to stop.

9. Brackets [ ] are chiefly ussd to inclose words that serve to explain one or more words of a sentence, or to point out a reference ; as,

Washington [the Father of his country] made this rgmark. You will find an account of the cre.ition in the Bible. [See Genesis, chap, i.]

MARKS OF PUNCTUATIOX. 35

10. Marks of Quotation [ " " ] are used to show that the real or supposed words of another are given. A quotation written witliin a quotation requires only single marks ; as.

" If tiiis poor man," said my father, " thus earnestly says, ' I fliank God that He is good to me,' hwv can we express our fiianks for his many mercies ! "

11. The Index, or Hand [ il^^], points out a passage for special attention ; as,

^^° All orders will be promptly and carefully attended to.

12. The Apostrophe ['], looking like a comma placed above the line, denotes the omission of one or more letters. It is also used before .s' in the singular number, and after s in the plural, to mark possession ; as,

Do not ask who'll go with you : go ahead. T'n-ele bought Cora's ^oes, and the boys' hats.

13. Marks of Ellipsis [ — .... **** ] ;u-e formed by means of a long dash, or of a succession of periods or stars of various lengths, and are used to indicate the omission of letters in a word, of words in a sentence, or of one or more sentences ; as.

Friend C s is in trouble. "Thou sQialt love the Lord thy God

with all thy heart, .... and thy neighbor as thyself." "Charity suf- ferefh long and is kind ; * * * * beartfli all fliing§, believefli all filings, endurefh all things."

IJf.. The Hyphen [ - j is })laced after a sylhible ending a line, to show that the remainder of tlie word begins the next line. It usually unites the words of which a compound is formed, when each of them retains its original accent : as.

We fhank the all'-wise' God for the in'cense-breath'ing morn.

15. Marks of Reference. — The Asterisk, or Star | *], the Obelisk, or Dagger [t],the Double Di.gger [J], tlie Section [§], Paralh-l Linc,-^ [ || ]. and the Paragraph [•[],

36 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

are used, in the order named, when refei'ences are made to remarks or notes in the margin, at the bottom of the page, or some other ^wi of the book. Letters and figures are often used for marks of reference.

IQ. The Diaeresis [ • • ] is phiced over the hitter of two vowels to show that they form separate sylhibles ; as.

His ideas of tiie Creator were formed in those aerial lielglits.

Pupils will be required to give the names and uses of all the marks of jiunctuation in the following

EXERCISES IN PUNCTUATION.

1. The true lover of beauty sees it in tiie lowliest flower, meets it in every patli, enjoys it everywTiere.

3. Stones grow ; vegetables grow and live ; animals grow, live, and feel.

5. Do not insult a poor man : his misery entitles him to jnty and assistance.

4- I take — eh ! oh I — as mudh exercise — eh I — as I can. Madam Gout. You know my inactive state.

6. '"Honest boys/' said I, "be so good as to tell me "vvhetlier I am in tlie way to Ridlimond."

6. ''A pure and gentle soul," said he, " bitew feels tiiat this world is full of beauty, full of innocent gladness.''

7. Has God provided for tiie p<X)r a coarser earth, a rougher sea, tliinner 4ir, a paler sky ?

8. Angry (Children are like men standing on their heads : they see all things the wrong way. To rule one's anger is well : to prevent it is better.

9. You speak like a boy — like a boy who thinks tlie old, gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as tlie young sapling.

10. Wliat do you say ? What ? I reiilly do not understand you. Be so good as to explain yourself again.

GENERAL DIAGRAM.

37

11. Abou Ben Adliem (may his tribe increase !) Awoke one night from a deep dream of jieace, And saw, Avitiiin the mconliglit of his room. Making it rich and like a lily in bloom. An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold ; And to the presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ?'' The vision raised its head. And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." *' And is mine one?'' asked Abon. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low. But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then. Write me as one that loves his fellow-men. "' The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light. And showed the names whom love of God had blest; And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

GENERAL DIAGRAM.

ORTHOEPY

ELOCUTION

EXPHESSIOX

/ Articulation Syllabication Accent

Emphasis

Inflection

Slur Pauses

Primary Secondary

Rising

Falling

Circumflex

^HOJSTETIC I^EY.

1. TOJVICS.

1, a, or e ; as, ale, veil : £. v. ; as, f3,t : c?. a ; as, art : ^. a, or 6 ; as, all, eorn : 5. a, or e ; as, fdre, there : 6. a; as, ask : 7. e, or i ; as, we, pique : ^. e ; as, ell :

9. e, 1, or u ; as, h6r, sir, bur : 10. T, as, 196 : 11. \ ; a§, ill: 12. 6; as, old: 13. 6, or a ; as, on, TV^at : 14- Q, do, or u ; as, dg, fool, ruie : 15. u ; as, mule : 16. u, or 6; a§, up, son: 17. u, o, or do; as, bull, wolf, wdbl : 18. Ou, ou, or ow ; as. Out, lout, owl.

//. SUBTOJVICS.

1. b ; a§, bib : ^. d ; as, did : c5. g ; as, gig: J/., j, or g ; as, jig, gem : ^5. 1 ; as, lull : 6. m.; a§, mum : 7. n ; a§, nun : <§. n, or ng ; a§, link, sing : 9. r ', as, rare : i^. Th, or th ; as. That, thith'er : 11. v; as, valve: 12. w ; a§, wig : 13. y ; as, yet : lA. z, or s ; as, zin€, is : 15. z, or zh, as, azure : x for gz ; as, ex aet'.

III. ATOXICS.

1. f ; as, fife : 2. \\\ as, hit : J. k, or € ; as, kink, €at : ^. p ; as, pop : 5. s, or 9 ; as, siss, 9ity '. 6. i\ as, tart : 7. Th, or th ; as. Thin, pith : 8. Gh, or dh ; a§. Chin, ridh : 9. Sh, ^, or 9h ; as, Shot, a^, 9hai§e :

10. Wh, or wTi ; as. White, wTiip. — Italics, silent; a§, of^en (6f'n)

38

RK ADI NGS

1. A WINTER CARNIVAL.

PART FIRST.

MONTREAL was to have a winter carnival. Of course, most of the bo\'S and girls know what a carnival is. It is a jolly good time out-of-doors, in the warm Southern cities, usually of Italy. But as Mont'renl' has not a particu- larly warm Southern climate, and as her winter sports are unequaled, .jolly old Winter was fitly chosen to ])reside at a Canadian carnival.

2. As Ralph Rodney's uncle lived in Montreal, naturally he invited Ralph's father and mother to come on a visit dur- ing the carnival, and to bring Ralph with them. When his parents accepted the invitation, Ralph was about the happiest boy in Boston. Having never been so far North before, he had fears about freezing his ears and his nose.

3. "I wish my seal-skin cap was larger and that my ear- tabs were snugger," he confided to his mother; but she assured him that his aunt and his cousins in Canada would show him just how to protect himself from the cold, and that he need not borrow trouble.

Jf. One crisp ^ January evening, Ral{)h and his father and mother took the traiii, on the Boston and Montreal Railroad, for the winter carnival. A ride of fifteen hours brought

' Crispj bright and sliarj) ; brittle.

JfO DOMINION FOURTH READER.

them in safety to Montreal. They crossed the great Victoria Bridge, over the broad St. Lawrence, white witli its winter covering of ice and snow.

5. Ralph enjoyed hugely the ride from the station in the comfortable hack sleigh, almost smothered in buffalo-robes. On the way to his uncle's door, they passed the ice palace, erected for the carnival in Dominion Square, between the Windsor Hotel and the great Catholic Cathedral.^

6. This ice palace was built of large cakes of ice, two feet thick, having a high central tower, and smaller towers at the four corners. Flags of different nations ^vaved from the top of the towers, and the dull blue structure glittering under the bright morning sun, the result of three weeks' hard work of men and horses, looked like a fairy creation.

7. Ralph's cousins, Herbert and Blan9he, were delighted to welcome him. Breakfast was hardly finished before they were teaching him about Canadian dress and sports. Long knit stockings and deer-skin moccasins, they said, are the only proper things to wear in the dry and light Canadian snow. Then a toque, a kind of pointed knit cap, made of green and scarlet yarn, with a large tassel at the end, being close and warm and a perfect protection to the ears, Avas pro- nounced the only proper cap.

8. Next, Ralph was presented with a new pair of snow- shoes, and showed how to fasten them upon his moccasined feet by a peculiar knot which will not slip. Herbert gave him some indoor lessons and told him that he must not kick himself witli the tails of the snow-shoes in running, or every one would know that he was a "raw recruit;" that he must not make his shoes " growl " by rasping their edges together in walking, and he must be very careful not to

' Ca the'dral, the chief church because in it he has his throne or in a bishop's district, or diocese, chair of ofEcc.

A WINTER CARNIVAL.

41

.s fe

try to step with one snow-shoe while standing on it with the other; for, if he did, lie would take a "header" into the deep snow.

9. After much practice, and very many awkward and very amusing mistakes and misiiaps, Ralph concluded that he had got the peculiar '''shack" movement necessary, and so he was anxious for the time to come, when he could prove to his cousins his apt scholarship. Tjift wlien, under Herbert's direction, he first put his efforts in snow-shoe walking to a practical test, the ludicrous results, as shown in the above picture, were rather disastrous. He soon, however, became really skillful with the snow-shoes.

10. Lastly, Ralph v/as introduced to the tobog'gan, or Indian sled, of v/hich he had often heard. Tt was made of a thin board, gracefully curved at the forward cud. with cross

J^2 DOM IN 10 X FOURTH READER.

and side pieces securely bound to it by deer thongs or sinews so as to make a light and strong flat sled. These varied in length from four to eight feet, and were generally covered with a carpet or cushion.

2. A WINTER CARNIVAL

PART SECOND.

TOBOGGANING slides were quite numerous in Montreal. Several of these slides, on the mountain-sides, were built and kept in order by clubs of young men, who were fond of the sport. The winter is the dull business season there, as the groat river is blocked with ice ; and many, who are very busy in the summer months, have much spare time during the long winter.

2. But the young people are not idle then : they play about as hard as they work in summer, and chief among their sports is toboggan-sliding. The club dress was a very pretty one indeed, made of white blanketing, one club being distinguished from another by the colors of the blanket-bordei"s, and also by their sashes and their toques.

3. When Ralph's i)arty came in sight of the Mount Royal slide, it was crowded with club members, their friends, and spectators, and jiresented a very novel and picturesque ^ ap- pearance. Ralph had brought an extra toboggan with him, intending to steer himself down the slide ; but when he saw toboggan after toboggan, loaded with two or more sliders, dash down the steep shoot of the starting platform, glide at railway speed along the icy incline, jump several inches into the air over the smooth bumper, and take a final plunge

' Picturesque (pikf yor esk'), is most agreeable in a picture, nat- having- the kind of beauty which ural or artificial.

A WINTER CARNIVAL. JfS

down the long slide between the greiit snow-banks, his self- confidence gave way and he pnt off his steering nntil the slide was less steep or less crowded.

Jf. But Herbert, who looked like a young Polar bear, in his. white suit, was not to be put off. Ral})h must slide and he Avould guide him. So the two boys mounted the jilatform. When they reached the top of the slide, Ralph looked down with fresh misgivings. The pitch was so steep and the to- boggan which had just started went so swiftly, that he Avould gladly have backed out. But his pride and Herbert's " 0\\, pshaw, there's nothing to be afraid of ! " alike led him to take his place upon the toboggan, which Herbert was hold- ing upon the shoot.

5. ''Are you ready ? " said Herbert. "Yes," said Ralph, " as ready as I ever shall be.'' — " Well, then, hang on I " cried his cousin as he jumped on behind Ralph, sitting on side- ways with his left foot extended backward to serve as the rudder with which to steer their course.

6. Away they shot down the steep declivity, with the wind rushing and whistling about Ralph's ears. As they ap- proached the bumper hole, he shut his eyes and held on for dear life, for the terrific speed and the bumping motion of the toboggan made him grasji the low side-piece in a fit of des})eration.^

7. The bumping hole safely passed, he began to enjoy liis; rapid slide, and he was just wishing it longer, when the to- boggan in front of them slewed around and spilled its load off. Before Herbert could steer to one side, they too were upon the wreck, and were themselves "spilled." In an in- stant another toboggan came dashing among them, and thus three sled-loads were mixed up upon tlie slide. But no one

DSs'per a'tion, tlio act of dc- jjard to (liinfj;-(>r or safety ; the state spairing, or of doing without re- of bopt'lcssness.

J^Jj. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

was badly liurt, for these sleds are so light and elastic that the chances of injury are very much less than with the heavier steel-shod sleds.

8. In a few moments all were up again, laughing at their mishap and brushing off the dry snow. Ealpli was initiated now, and as eager for another slide as his cousin could have wished him to be. He was sorry enough when they were sum- moned home to* dinner. On the way down the road, he tried steering his own toboggan on the steep places, and soon found that it "answered the helm," as the sailors say, very readily,

9. After dinner, all went down to Dominion Square to see the inauguration of the ice palace, and the torchlight proces- sion of the snoAv-shoe clubs. The electric lights shone through the sides of the palace and made it look like a fairy <3astle of ground glass. Thousands of people in warm furs crowded about it and listened to the bands of music inside. The snow-shoe clubs with their torches surrounded three sides of the Square Avith a line of light, and at given signals showers of rockets ascended from the center and Roman can- dles were let off from the whole line. The ice palace was brightly lighted with colored fires, one tower being red, an- other green, and another blue. It was like fairy-land, the ■effect being almost magical.^

10. Ralph Rodney's first day at the carnival was but the "beginning of many days which were filled with delight, and crowded with sights and scenes never to be forgotten. Soon tobogganing occupied nearly all his time, and nothing pleased him more than cousyi Herbert's account of how he had once gone tobogganing down the ice-cone of the falls of Mont- morenci, near Quebec, He said that the ice-cone rose over

^ Mag'ic al, relating to the hid- of the East ; seemingly requiring den wisdom thought to be pos- more than human power ; start- sessed by the Magi, or holy men ling in performance.

A WINTER CARNIVAL.

45

\i liundred feet high at tlie foot of the Falls, where it is nuide larger each day hy tlie spray wliich freezes upon it, told him of the great cavern in the cone, showed liini the beautiful engraving that is ])rinted in this lesson, and spoke of so nuiny

J{.6 DOMINION FOURTH HEADER.

other wonders that Ralph was anxious to add Quebec, also, to the winter carnival trip.

11. He enjoyed jolly snow-shoe trips over the mountain, went to the fancy-dress skating carnival at the Victoria Rink, watched the curling clubs at their exciting games upon the ice, and considered his visit to Montreal a grand success. His only regret is that Boston can not be moved to Montreal, :so that he may have winters cold enough to afford more of sport than of slush, and more of downright winter fun than is possible amid the dampness and chilly east winds of the usual Boston winter.

3. WHAT I LIVE FOR.

I LIVE for those who love me, Whose hearts are kind and true ; For the Heaven that smiles above me.

And awaits my spirit too ;

For all human ties that bind me.

For the task by God assigned me,

For the hopes not left behind me.

And the good that I can do.

3. I live to learn their story

Who've suffered for my sake ; To emulate^ their glory.

And follow in their wake ; Bards,2 patriots,^ martyrs,* sages,^ The noble of all acres.

' Em'u late, strive to equal or country and earnestly supports

surpass in actions or qualities ; to and defends it.

vie with ; to rival. ■* Mar' tyrs, those who suffer

- Bards, poets. death or loss for religion.

^ Pa'tri ot, one who loves his * Sages, wise men, usually aged.

WHAT I LIVE FOR. ^7

Whose deeds crown history's pages. And time's great vohmie make.

5. I live to liold coniniunion^

With all that is divine ; To feel there is a nnion

'Twixt nature's heart and mine; To profit by affliction. ^ Reap truths from fields of fiction,^ Grow wiser from conviction,*

And fulfill each grand design.

4. I live to hail that date

By gifted minds foretold,

When 7nen shall live by faith, And not alone by gold ;

When man to man united.

And every wrong thing righted.

The whole world shall be lighted As Edtni was of old.

6. I live for those who love me,

For those who know me true : For the Heaven that smiles above me,

And awaits my spirit, too ; For the cause that lacks assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance. For the future in the distance.

And the good that I can do.

'Communion (kom mun' yun), up or iiiia<,riii('(l ; a feigned story, intercourse ; fellowship. ^ Con vie' tion, strong belief

'^ Af flic'tion, sorrow ; pain. arisinu: from i)roof ; the state of

* Pitc'tion, that which is made being convinced of sin.

Jf8 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

4. THE YOUNG TRADERS.

Two country lads came, at an early hour, to a market town, and, arranging^ their little stands, sat down to wait for customers. ^ One of the boys had a stock ^ of fruits and vegetables, nearly the whole of which had been culti- vated by himself. The other lad had a supply of fish, which his father, who lived in a fishing village some distance from the town, had caught.

2. The market hours passed on, and the little merchants saw with pleasure^ their stores steadily decreasing ;5 and so they rattled the money which they had received in exchange, with great satisfaction.

3. The last melon lay on Harry's stand, when a gentleman came up, and placing his hand upon it, said, " What a fine- large melon ! How do you sell this, my lad ? "

Jf. "It is the last one I have^sir; and though it looks very fair, it is unsound,'' said the boy, turning it over. "So it is," said the gentleman. "But,'' he added, "is it wise or very business-like to point out the defects^ of your stock to customers ? "

5. "It is better than being dishonest, sir," said the boy modestly. " You are right, my little man ; always remem- ber that principle, and you will find favor with God, and man also. I shall remember your little stand in future." ■

6. "Are those fish fresh?" he continued, going on a few steps to the other lad's stand. "Yes, sir, they were fresh

1 Ar rang'ing, setting in order. * De creas'ing, falling off or be-

- Cus'tom er, one who frequents coming less by degrees ; lessening

a place of sale to purchase or order in amount or size.

goods ; a buyer. « De feet', a fault ; the want or

^ Stock, a collection of salable absence of something needful to

articles or goods. make a thing complete or perfect ;.

^Pleasure (plezh'ur), failing.

THE YOUNG TRADERS. ^9

this morning ; I caught them myself," was the ready and confident^ reply, and a purchase^ being made, the gentleman directly 3 went away.

7. ''Harry, what a fool you were to show the gentleman that mark on the melon. Now you can take it home, or throw it away. How much wiser is he about those fish father caught yesterday ? I sold them for the same price I did the fresh ones. He would never have looked at the melon until he got home. "

8. " Ben, I would not tell a lie, nor act one either, for twice what I have earned this morning. Besides, I shall be better off in the end, for I have gained a good customer and you have lost one. You have not done unto him as you would wish to be done by, which is a mistake."

9. And so it proved, for the next day the gentleman bought nearly all his fruit and vegetables of Harry, but never spent another penny at the stand of his neighbor. Thus the season passed : the gentleman, finding he could always get a good article from Harry, made regular purchases, and sometimes talked with him a few moments about his future hopes and prospects.

10. To become a merchant was Harry's great ambition,* and when the winter came on, the gentleman, wanting a trustworthy boy in his own warehouse, decided on giving the place to Harry. Steadily and surely he advanced in the con- fidence of his employer until, having passed through various gradations 5 in clerkship, he became at length an honored and respected partner in the firm.

' CSn'fi dent, impudent ; giving * Di rSct' ly, without delay ; im-

occasion for confidence. mediately after.

* Pfir'chase, that which is ob- "• Ambition (am bl^i' un), an

tained by giving therefor money or eager wish for power or an im-

some other thing of value; the proved condition

act of buying. ' Gra da'tions, ranks : steps.

50

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

5. KEEPING HIS WORD.

'^ ]\ /r ATCHES ! Only a penny a box," he said ; jLVX But the gentleman turned away his head, As if he shrank from the squalid ' sight Of the boy who stood in the failing light.

S. " O, sir ! " he stammered," " You can not know " — And he brushed from his matches the flakes of snow.

' Squalid (skwol' id), very dirty * Stam'mered, spoke with hesi- through neglect ; filthy. tation ; stuttered.

KEEPING HIS WORD. 51

That the sudden tear might have chance to fall ; '• Or I think — I think you would take them all.

o. •* Hungry and cold at our garret pane, Ruby will watch till I come again, Bringing the loaf. — The sun has set. And he hasn't a crumb of breakfast yet.

4. " One penny, and I can buy the l)rcad."

The gentleman stopped. ''And you ? " he said. " I ? — I can put up with the hunger and cold, But Ruby is only five years old.

5. "I promised my mother before she went — She knew I would do it, and died content —

I promised her, sir, through best, tlirough worst, I always would think of Ruby first."

6. The gentleman paused at his open door Such tales he had often heard before ;

But he fumbled his purse in the twilight drear— " I have nothing less than a shilling here."

7. " Oh, sir, if you'll only take the pack,

I'll bring you the change in a moment back : Indeed you may trust me." — " Trust you ? Xo ! But here is the shilling ; take it and go."

8. The gentleman lolled in his cozy chair.

And watched his cigar-wreath melt in the air, And smiled on liis cliildi'cii, and rose to see The baby asleep on its mot tier's knee.

9. "And now it is nine l)y the clock." h(> said, "Time that my darlings were all in ImmI ; Kiss me good-night, and each be sui-e.

When you're saying youi' prayers, rcHii'inbci' the poor."

10. Just then came a message; — "a l)oy at the door" — But ere it was uttered, he stood on llic floor,

52 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Half breathless, bewildered, and ragged, and strange :

" I'm Ruby — Mike's brother — I've brought you the change.

11. " Mike's hurt, sir ; 'twas dark ; the snow made him blind, And he didn't take notice the train was behind.

Till he slipped on the track— and then it whizzed by ; And he's home in the garret — I think he will die.

12. " Yet nothing would do him, sir — nothing would do, But out through the snow I must hurry to you ;

Of his hurt he was certain you wouldn't have heard, And so you might think he had broken his word."

13. When the garret they hastily entered, they saw

Two arms, mangled, shapeless, outstretched from tho straw, " You did it ? — dear Ruby — God bless you," he said ; And the boy, gladly smiling, sank back— and was dead.

6. HELPING FATHER.

PART FIRST.

" TV yr ONEY does not last long nowadays, Clarissa," baid J.V J. Mr. Andrews to his wife one evening. " It is only a week since I received ni}^ month's salary, and now I have but little more than half of it left. I bought a cord of piue wood to-day, and to-morrow I must jiay for that suit of clothes which Daniel had : that will be fifteen dollars more."

2. " And Daniel will need a pair of new shoes in a day or two ; those he wears now are all ripped, and hardly fit to wear," said Mrs. Andrews. " How fast he wears out shoes f It seems hardly a fort'night since I bought the last shoes for him," said the father.

3. '' Oh, well ! But then he enjoys running about so very much that I can not check his pleasure as long as it is quite harmless. I am sure you would feel sorry to see the little

HELPING FATHER. . 5$

shoes last longer from not being used so much," ant^wered the alt'ectionate motiier.

Jf.. Daniel, during this conversation, * was sitting on the floor in a corner with his kitten, trying to teach her to stand upon her hind legs. He was apparently 2 occupied^ with his efforts,* but he heard all that his father and mother had said. Pretty soon he arose, and, going to his father, climbed upon his knee and said, '' Papa, do I really cost you a good deal of money ?"

5. Now, Mr. Andrews was book-keeper for a manufacturing company, and his salary was hardly sufficient for him to live comfortably at the high rate at which every thing was selling. He had nothing to spare for superfluities,^ and his chief en- joyment was being at home with his wife and boy, his books and 2^ictures. Daniel's question was a queer one, but his father replied as correctly as he could.

€). *" Whatever money you may cost me, my son, I do not regret it, for I know that it adds to your comfort and enjoy- ment. To be sure, your papa does not have a great deal of money, but he would be poor indeed without his little Daniel." — ''How much Avill my new suit of clothes cost?" asked Daniel. "Fifteen dollars," was the reply. "And how much for my shoes?" — "Two dollars more, perhaps," said his father.

7. "That will make seventeen dollars. I wish I could work and earn some money for you, father," said Daniel. " Oh, well, my son, don't think about that now. \i you are a good boy, and study well at school, that Avill repay me," said Mr. Andrews.

' OSn'ver sa'tion, interesting and ^ Oc'cu pled, fully employed,

useful talk ; familiar discourse ; ■* Ef ' fort, use of strength or

general interchange of views. power ; an earnest attempt.

- Apparently (ap i)Ar'ent li), in ■'' Su'per fiu'i ty, more than is

appearance ; seemingly. needed ; ovennuch.

&J^ DOMINION FOURTH READER.

8. Daniel said no more, uut lie determined to try at once and see if he could not help to ]iay for the clothes his father was so kind as to buy him. That very afternoon the load of- wood which his father bought came, and was thrown off close to the cellar-door. It was Saturday, and there was no school.

9. "Now I can save father some money," thought Daniel ; and he ran into the house to ask his mother if he could put the wood into the cellar. " I am afraid it is too heavy work for you, my son," said his mother.

10. "I think I can do it, mother. The wood lies close to the cellar-door, and all I will have to do is to pitch it right- down," replied Daniel. " Very well, you may try it ; but if you find it too hard, you must let old Tom put it in,'* said his mother.

11. Daniel danced away, and went first to the cellar, where he unhooked the trap-door and opened it, and climbed out into the yard where the sticks of wood lay in a great heap. At first it was good fun to send the sticks clattering one on top of the other down into the cellar, but pretty soon it grew tedious, and Daniel began to think that he had rather do something else.

12. Just then George Flyson came into the yard and asked Daniel if he wasn't going to fish for smelts that day. "I guess not. This wood must go in, and then it will be too late to go so far this afternoon," replied Daniel.

13. " Oh, let the wood alone I We have got some round at our house that ought to go in, but I sha'n't do it. Father may hire a man to do such work. Come, old Tom will be glad of that job," said George. '' No, I am going to do this before any thing else," said Daniel, as he picked up a big stick and sent it flying down the cellar- way.

IJf. "Did your old man make you do it?" asked Flyson. ''"Who?" queried Daniel, so sharply that the boy saw his

HELPING FATHER. 55

error, ancl corrected liis form of question. " Did your father make you do this 30b ? "

15. "No : he does not know I am doing it; and, by the way, George Flyson, don't you call my father 'old man.' If you don't know any better than to treat your father disre- spectfully, you sha'n't treat mine so," answered Daniel.

16. " Ho ! Seems you are getting mighty pious all of a sudden. Guess I'll have to be going. I'm not good enough for you ; " and, with a sneering look, George went off.

T. HELPING FATHER.

PART SECOND.

THE wood-pile in the cellar grew larger, until the wood- pile in the yard Avas all gone ; then Daniel shut down the trap-door, ran into the house and brushed his clothes, and started out to find his playmates and have a game of baseball. He felt very happy, for he had earned something for a kind father who was always earning something for him ; and the thought of this pleased him much. - fi. He felt happier still when his father came home to suj)- per, and said while at the table, " My wood did not come, did it, mother ? I told the man to send it up this afternoon, certainly." Mr. Andrews always called his wife "mother." — "Oh, yes, the wood came. I saw the team back into the yard," replied Mrs. Andrews.

3. " Then old Tom must have put it in. I suppose he will charge fifty or seventy-five cents for doing it,'' said Mr. An- drews. "I think a boy put it in," said his wife. "What boy?" — "Oh, a smart little fellow that plays around here a good deal, lie wanted the job, and so 1 let him do it," said Mrs. Andrews,

HG DOMINION FOURTH READER.

4. '"Some little boy who wanted some pocket-money, 1 suppose. AVhoseboy was it ?" asked Mr. Andrews. "There he is ; he will tell you all about it ; " and Mrs. Andrews pointed to Daniel, who was enjoying the fun quietly. And now he was pleased indeed to hear how gratified his father was at finding his little boy so industrious and thoughtful. It repaid him amply for not going smelt-fishing.

5. It was not long after this that the bleak winds of No- vember began to blow. The leaves of the trees fell lifeless to the earth, and every thing prepared to put on the ermine ^ garb of winter. One evening when Daniel went to bed, he put aside his curtain, and looked out into the street. He was surprised to find it white with snow. Silently and gently, one by one, the tiny^ flakes had fallen, until hillside and valley, street and house-top, were fairly covered with the spotless snow.

6. "I wonder how deep it will be by morning. Perhaps there will be enough for sleighing. Old Tom will be round to clear off the sidewalk and platforms. I must get ahead of him this Avinter, and save father some more money ; " and Daniel got into bed as quickly as he could, so that he should awake early in the morning.

7. AVhen Mr. Andrews awoke the next day, he heard the scraping of a shovel on the sidewalk, and said to his wife, *'Tom has got along early this morning. These snow-storms are profitable to him. Last winter I guess I paid him five or six dollars for shoveling snow."

8. When he got up, however, and looked out of the win- dow, he was not a little astonished to see Daniel shoveling off the sidewalk, his cheeks all aglow with the healthy exercise.

" Eji/mine, an animal related to, has white fur in winter ; hence, or resembling somewhat, the wea- snow is called the ermine garb. sel. It inhabits cold climates, and - Ti'ny^ little ; very small.

HELPING FATHER. 57

"See that boy, mother/"' said he to his wife; "he has cleared the walk ot? nicely. What a good little fellow he is ! When Christmas comes, we must reward him for this.''

9. And so Daniel went on according to this beginning. He cleared the snow oif after every storm. In the spring- time he put the garden and yard all in order, and did a great many things which his father had always paid a man for doing. And he had plenty of time to play besides, and then he enjoyed his play better, for there is always a satisfaction in doing well, which lends a charm to every undertaking,

10. One day, about a year after the day that Daniel had put in the first load of wood, his father said to him, " My son, I have kept an account of the work that you have done for me the past year, and find that, allowing you what I should have paid old Tom, I owe you to-day forty-two dollars."

11. "As much as that, father? Why, I did not know I could earn so much all myself, and I did not work very hard either," said Daniel. " Some of it was pretty hard work for a little boy that likes to play," replied his father ; " but you did it well, and now I am ready to pay you."

12. " Pay me ? What ! the re'al money right in my hands ?" — " Yes, the real money ; "' and Mr. Andrews placed a roll of "bank notes" in his little son's hands.

13. Daniel looked at it for a few minutes, and then said, ^' I'll tell you what to do with this money for me, papa." — " What, my son ?" — " Buy my clothes with it." And he did so.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

The riches of the coinmonwealtJi Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health ; And more to her than odd or grain. The cunning ' hand and cidtnred /';vr///. — Whither.

' Oun'ningj ingenious ; skillful.

58 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

8. HAND AND HEART.

IN storm or shine, two friends of mine Go forth to work or pliiy ; And when they visit poor men's homes. They bless them by the way.

2. 'Tis willing hand I 'tis cheerful heart I

The two best friends I know ; Around the hearth come Joy and mirth, Where'er their faces glow.

3. Come shine, 'tis bright ! come dark, 'tis light !

Come cold, 'tis warm ere long ! So heavily fall the hammer-stroke ! Merrily sound the song !

Jf. Who falls may stand, if good right hand Is first, not second best : Who weeps may sing, if kindly heart Has lodging in his breast.

6. The humblest board has dainties poured. When they sit down to dine ; The crust they eat is honey-sweet, The water good as wine.

6. They fill the purse with honest gokL

They lead no creature wrong ; So heavily fall the hammer-stroke ! Merrily sound the song I

7. Without these twain, the poor complain

Of evils hard to bear ; But with them poverty grows rich. And finds a loaf to spare !

USEFUL PEOPLE. 59

8. Their looks are fire ; their words inspire ;

Their deeds give courage high ; — About their knees the children run, Or climb, they know not why.

9. Who sails, or rides, or walks with them,

Ne'er finds the journey long ; — • So heavily fall the hammer-stroke ! Merrily sound the song !

9. USEFUL PEOPLE.

THERE are many ways of being useful. You are useful — you who, from a love of order, and from a wish to see everybody happy, watch carefully that nothing should be out of place, that nothing should be injured, that every thing should shine with cleanliness.

2. You are useful — you whom sickness keeps in chains, and who are patient and resigned, praying for those who are doing work that you would like to do.

■3. You are useful — you who are prevented by others from working because they doubt your capacity; you who get snubbed and have employments given to you that are quite unfitted to your ability, and who yet keep silence, and are humble and good-natured.

Jf. Which one of you all, dear souls, is tiie hi'ippicst and most useful? The one that is nearest to (Jod.

5. "Do well to-day the little that Providence asks of you just now," writes wise St. Francis de Sales,i " and to-morrow, which will then be our to-day, we shall see what ought to be undertaken."

' St. Francis de Sales, born of a voted to works of charity. He noble family near Geneva in 1567 was canonized in 1665. His relig- and died in 1622, after a life de- ious works are liigbly esteemed.

eO DOMINION FOURTH READER.

6. Let us leave o2 castle-building, and make beautiful the present minute, which our good God gives us to embellish ; ^ after that another, and then another.

7. How swiftly these minutes fly, and how easily they are either lost or made precious in the sight of God I Let us re- member then that it is with minutes well spent we are to obtain an entrance into heaven,

10. GENEROUS PEOPLE.

AN alms of which very few think is the alms of happi- ness. Give a little happiness to those around you : it is a pleasant thing to do. Try to make them happy : it is a charming and easy occupation.

2. Happiness is one of those goods that we can give to others without losing any thing ourselves. Each one has it at the bottom of his heart like a jjrovision ^ in reserve.

3. It can never be exhausted, if we were to give forever ; and by this alms, given with a good intention, we enrich botii ourselves and others.

4.. The small change of happiness — coin which the poorest possess, and with which we can give alms at any time — is this : A kindly way of receiving a request, a visit, or a contradic- tion ; a pleasant expression, which, without effort, draws a smile to the lips of others ; a favor graciously granted, or, sometimes, simply asked ; thanks uttered sincerely and with- out affectation; 3 a Avord of approbation^ given in an affec- tionate tone to one Avho has worked near us, or with us.

5. It is very little, all this : do not refuse it. God will re- pay it to you, even in this life.

' Em bel'lish, make beautiful. ^ ^ffgc ta'tion, an attempt to

* Provision (pro vizli'un), some- assume or display what is not

thing laid up in store; especially natural or real.

a stock of food. ^ Ap'pro ba'tion, praise; liking.

JERRY, THE MILLER. 61

11. JERRY, THE MILLER.

BENEATH the hill you may see the mill Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; The wheel is dripping and clattering still, But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone.

2. Year after year, early and late,

Alike in summer and winter weather,

He pecked the stones and calked the gate,

And mill and miller grew old together.

3. " Little Jerry I '" — 'twas all the same —

They loved him well who called him so ; And whether he'd ever another name, Nobody ever seemed to know.

Jf. 'Twas " Little Jerry, come grind my rye ; " And " Little Jerry, come grind my wheat," And " Little Jerry " was still the cry. From parent kind and children sweet.

5. 'Twas " Little Jerry " on every tongue,

And thus the simple truth w^as told ; For Jerry was little when he was young. And he was little when he was old.

6. But what in size he chanced to lack,

Jerry made up in being strong ; I've seen a sack upon his back.

As round as the miller and quite as long.

7. Always busy and always merry.

Always doing his very best, A notable wag was little Jerry, Who uttered well his standing jest.

8. How Jerry lived is known to fame,

But how h(^ died there's none mav know ;

62

DOMIXION FOURTH READER.

One autumn day the rumor ^ came — "The brook and Jerry are very

(j^"i^r!i(/ ' . .9. ^nd then 'twas whispered mournfully F^'Fi"^"^^')''- ' ' The leech^ had come and he was dead,

And all the neighbors flocked to see — " Poor little Jerry " was all they said.

' Rumor f ro'mor), flying or pop ■ known authority for the truth of it. ular report ; a story passing from ^ Leech, physician ; one who person to person, without any practices the art of healing.

THE BAREFOOT BOY. 63

10. Tliey laid liiin in his earthly bed —

His miller's coat his only shroud — " Dust to dust,''' the words were f^aid, And all the people wept aloud ;

11. For he had shunned the deadly ' sin,

And not a grain of over toll Had ever dropped into his l)in, To weigh upon his parting soul.

12. Beneafh the hill there stands the mill

Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ;

The wheel is dripping and clattering still,

But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone.

Saxe.^

12. THE BAREFOOT BOY.

BLESSINGS oil thee, little man. Barefoot boy, with cheeks of tan ! AVitli thy tiirned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes r With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill : With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty^ grace: From my heart I give thee joy ; — I was once a barefoot boy !

2. Prince thou art — the grown-up man Only is republican *

' Dead'ly, cajmble of causing ^ Jaunty (jan'ti), airy ; showy,

death ; not to be forgiven. ^ Re pvib'li can, one who favors

* John G. Ssixe, an Ainorican or prefers a government of tlie

humorous poet, l)orn at Highgate, people exercised for the people by

Vermont, 1816. elected representatives.

GJ^ DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Let the million-dollared ride — Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy. In the reach of ear and eye : Outward sunshine, inward joy — Blessings on thee, barefoot boy !

3. Oh for boyhood's painless play ; Sleep that wakes in laughing day ; Health that mocks the doctor's rules ; Knowledge (never learned of schools) Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wild flower time and place, Flight of fowl, and habitude ^ Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell. How the woodchuck digs his cell. And the ground-mole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young. How the oriole's ^ nest is hung ;

J}.. Where the Avhitest lilies blow. Where the freshest berries grow. Where the ground-nut trails its vine. Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; Of the black wasp's cunning way. Mason of his walls of clay. And the architectural^ plans Of gray hornet artisans I*

1 Hab' i tude, usual manner of called golden-robin or hang-hird. living, feeling, or acting. ' Ar'chi tect'ur al, of, or relat

* O'ri ole, a bird of several va- ing to, the art of building, rieties of tbe thrush family — some * Artisan (ar'ti zan). one trained

of a golden yellow and black, oth- to hand skill in some mechanical-

ers orange and black ; sometimes art or trade ; a builder.

THE BAREFOOT BOY. 65

For, eschewing^ books and tasks. Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks. Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy. Blessings on the barefoot boy !

5. Oh for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw. Me, their master, waited for ; —

I was rich in flowers and trees. Humming-birds and honey-bees ; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied 2 the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry-cone Purpled over hedge and stone ; Laughed the brook for my delight. Through the day, and through the night. Whispering at the garden wall. Talked with me from fall to fall I

6. Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond. Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine on bending orchard trees Apples of Hesperides !^

Still as my horizon * grew, Larger grew my riches, too ; All the world I saw or knew

' Eschewing (es cliQ'ing), keep- pies ; hence, golden apples.

ing clear of ; shunning. ■• Ho ri'zon, the circle or line that

■•' Plied, worked steadily. bounds the part of the earth's sur-

3 Hes per'i dea, four sisters fa- face where the earth and sky ap-

bled as guardians of golden aj) pear to meet.

66 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Seemed a complex^ Chiiie§e' toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy I

7. Oh for festaP dainties spread. Like my bowl of milk and bread — Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone gray and rude I O'er me like a regal ^ tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. Purple-curtained, fringed with gold. Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While for music came the play

Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; * And. to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire ; I was monarch: pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy !

8. Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh as boyhood can. Though the flinty slopes be hard. Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ;

Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat.

.9. All too soon these feet must hide In the prison- cells of pride. Lose the freedom of the sod. Like a colt's for work be shod,

1 Cbm'plex, not simple. kingly ; royal ; as, regal state.

* Fes'tal, belonging to a holi- ■• Orchestra (or'kes tra), a band

day, or feast ; joyous : gay. of musicians performing in a con-

3 Re'gal, pertaining to a king ; cert-hall, or trt.her public place.

THE BOY OF HAARLEM. 67

Made to tread the mills of toil Up and down iu ceaseless moil ! ^ Happy if their track be found Never or forbidden ground — Happy if they sink not in Quick and treaciierous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy Ere it passes, Barefoot Boy I

WniTTIER.''

13. THE BOY OF HAARLEM.

AT an early jjeriod in the history of Holland, a boy, who is xV the hero^ of the following narrative, was born in Hiiarlem, a*town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily still more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace.

2. His father Avas a shiicer — that is, one whose employ- ment it was to open and shut the sluices, or large oak gates, which, placed at certain regular distances, close the entrances of the canals, and secure Holland from the danger to which it seems exposed — of finding itself under water, rather than above it.

3. When water is wanted, the sluicer raises the sluices more or less, as required, and closes them again carefully at night ; otherwise the water would flow into the canals, over- flow them, and jnundate^ tiie whole country. Even the little children in Holland are fully aware of the iin})ortance of a punctual discliarge of the sluicer's duties.

' Moil, tlie defilement or soil ican poets, was born near Haver-

tliat comes from bard labor ; asy)()t. bill, Massacbusetts, in 180t<.

'^ John Greenleaf Whittier, a ' He'ro, a great warrior ; llie

popular writer and one (»f tbe cbief person iu a story, truest and most wortbv of Ainer- ^ In un'df.tc, cover witb water.

68 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Jf.. Tlie boy was about eigbt years old when, one day, he asked permission to take some cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the other side of the dike.^ His father gave him leave, but charged him not to stay too late.

5. The child promised, and set off on his little journey. The blind man thankfully partook of his young friend's cakes, and the boy, mindful of his father's orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the old man's stories, but as soon as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leave of him to return home.

6. As he went along by the canals, then quite full, for it was in October, and the autumn rains had swelled the waters, the boy first stopped to pull the little blue flowers which his mother loved so well, then, in childish gayety, hummed some merry song. The road gradually became more solitary,^ and soon neither the joyous shouts of the villager, returning to his cottage home, nor the rough voice of the carter, grum- bling at his lazy horses, was any longer to be h6ard.

7. The little fellow now pei'ceived that the blue of the flowers in his hand was scarcely distinguishable from the green of the surrounding herbage,^ and he looked up in some dismay.^ The night was falling ; not, however, a dark win- ter-night, but one of those beautiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which every object is perceptible,^ though not as distinctly as by day.

8. The child thought of his father, of his injunction,^ and was preparing to quit the ravine'^ in which he was almost

* Dike, a mound of earth thrown hope ; fear.

up to prevent low lands from be- ' Per cep' ti ble, that can be

ing overflowed ; a ditch. seen, felt, or known by the senses.

* S51'i ta ry, lonely ; retired. *' Injunction (in jiingk'^un), or- ^ Herbage (erb'aj), herbs collect- der or command.

ively ; pasture ; grass. ' Ra vine', a deep, narrow hol-

* Dis may', loss of courage and low, usually worn by water.

THE BOY OF HAARLEM. 69

buried, and to regain the beach, when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, attracted his attention. He was near one of the large sluices, and he now carefully examined it, and he soon discovered a hole in the rotten wood, through which the water was flowing.

9. With the instant^ perception which every child in Hol- land would have had, the boy saw that the water must soon enlarge the hole, through which it was now only dropping, and that utter and general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of the country that must follow.

10. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climb from stone to stone till he reached the hole, and put his finger into it, was the work of a moment, and, to his delight, he found that he had succeeded in stopping the flow of the water. This was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only of the success of his device. ^ But the night was closing in, and with the night came the cold. The little boy looked around in vain. No one came. He shouted — he called loudly — no one answered.

11. He resolved to stay there all night, but, alas, the cold was becoming every moment more biting, and the poor finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed, and the numbness soon extended to the hand, and thence throughout the whole arm. The pain became still greater, still harder to bear, but still the boy moved not.

12. Tears rolled down lii.s cheeks, as he thought of his father, of his mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping so soundly, but still the little fellow stirred not ; for he knew that did he remove the small slender finger which he had opposed to the escape of the water, not only

' In' slant, immediate ; quick ; * De vice', a contrivance ; a "vithoot hesitation or delay of any shift ; a motto or sliort sayinfj ; an lovi. ornament or mail<.

70

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

would he himself be drowned, but his father, his brothers, his neighbors — nay, the whole village.

IS. We know not what faltering ^ of purpose, what mo- mentary failure of courage there might have been during that long and terrible night ; but certain it is that at day- break he was found in the same painful position by a priest, returning from an attendance on a death-bed, who, as he ad-

^ Faltering (fal'ter ing), falling short ; trembling ; hesitation.

EXCELS/OR. 71

vanced, thought lie lieard groans, and bending over the dike, discovered a child kneeling on a stone, writhing from pain, and with pale face and tearful eyes.

IJf.. "Why, dear child," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there?" — "I am hindering the water from running out," was the answer, in perfect simplicity, of the child, who, during that whole night, had been evincing ^ such heroic fortitude ^ and undaunted^ courage.

15. The Muse^ of history, too often blind to true glory, has handed down to posterity the name of many a warrior, the destroyer of thousands of his fellow-men — she has left us in ignorance of this real little hero of Haarlem.

14. EXCELSIOR.

THE shades of night were falling fast. As through an Alpine village passed, A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device. Excelsior ! ^

2. His brow was sad : his eye beneath

Flashed like a falchion ^ from its sheath ; And like a silver clarion^ rung The accents of that unknown tongue, ExCELSIOlt !

' E vine' ing, showing clearly. desses of history, poetry, etc.

- Por'ti tude, that strength of ^ Ex eel' si or, more elevated;

mind which enables one to meet aiming higher; the motto of the

danger with coolness and firmness, State of New York,

or to bear pain or disappointment ''Falchion (fal'dhun), a short,

without murmuring crooked sword.

■' Un daunt'ed, brave ; fearless. ■" ClSr'i on, a wind instrument

■* Muse, one of the nine god suited to war.

72 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

3. In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; Above, the spectral ^ glaciers ^ shone ; And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior !

Jf. " Try not the Pass !'' the old man said ; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior !

6. " Oh, stay,"' the maiden said, ""and rest Thy weary head upon this breast I "' A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; But still he answered with a sigh. Excelsior !

6. " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche I '' ^

This was the peasant's last Good-night ! A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior !

7. At break of day, as heavenward, The pious monks of St, Bernard*

' Spec'tral, relating to an appa- a remarkable mountain pass in tlie

rition, or the appearance of a chain of the Alps, between Pied'-

spirit ; ghostly. mont and the Valais (va la'). A

2 Gla'Qier, a moving field of ice strong stone building is situated

and snow, formed in the valleys on the summit of this pass. It is

and slopes of lofty mountains. occupied during the whole year by

^Avalanche (av'a lan^'), a pious monks, who, with their val-

snow-slip ; a vast body of ice, uable dogs, hold themselves in

or earth, sliding down a mountain, readiness to aid travelers arrested

* Saint Bernard (sent ber niird'), by the snow and cold.

EXCELSIOR.

73

Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried, througli the startled air, EXCELSIOK I

74 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

8. A traveler, by the faithful hound. Half-buried in the snow was found. Still grasping, in his hand of ice, That banner with the strange device,

Excelsior !

9. There, in the twilight, cold and gray. Lifeless, but beautiful he lay ;

And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell like a falling star. Excelsior !

Longfellow.'

15. BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

IT was a summer evening, Old Rasper's work was done : And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun ; And by him sported on the green, His little grandchild AVilhelmine.

2. She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet.

In playing there had found. He came to ask what he had found. That was so large, and smooth, and round.

' Henry WadsTVorth Longfel- moral purity and earnest human- low, an American poet, was born ity portrayed in liis verse, excite in Portland, Maine, February 27, the syrupathy, and reach the heart 1807, and died March 24, 1883. of the public. His works have The high finish, gracefulness, and passed through many editions both vivid beauty of his style, an J the in America and in Europe.

BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

,o

^<ife

3. Old Kasper took it from the boy. Who stood expectant ^ by ; And tlien the old man shook his head.

And Avith a natural sigh, "'Tis some poor fellow's skull." said he, "- Who fell in the great victory.

Exp^ctaiTt (S.S pekt'ant). appearing to wait or look for so,notlu..s.

76 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Jf.. "Y find them in the garden, for

There's many here about. And often when I go to plow,

The plowshare turns them out ; For many thousand men," said he, '' Were slain in the great victory."

5. " Now tell us what "twas all about,"

Young Peterkin he cries, And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes ; " Now tell us all about the war. And what they killed each otlier for."

6. "It was the English," Kasper cried,

" That put the foe to rout ; ^ But what they killed each other for,

I could not well make out ; But everybody said," quoth ^ he, "That 'twas a famous^ victory.

7. '' My father lived at Blenheim'^ then,

Yon little stream liard by ; They burnt his dwelling to the ground.

And he was forced to fly ; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he Avhere to rest his head.

8. " With fire and sword tlie country round

Was wasted far and wide.

^ Rout (rout), the defeat or break- ^ Blenheim (bleu' im), a village

ing of an army or band of troops, of Bavaria, Germany, twenty-tliree

or the disorder and confusion of miles from Augsburg, noted for a

troops defeated and put to flight. great battle fought there, in which

2 Quoth (kwoth), spoke, said. the English gained the victory,

2 Fa'mous, noted ; well known. August 2, 1704.

BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 77

And many a hajiless ^ mother then.

And new-born infant, died ; — But things like that, you know, must he At every famous victory.

9. "^They say it was a allocking ^ sight,

After the field was won, For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun ; — But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory.

10. " Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won.

And our good Prince Eugene.'' — " Why, 'twas a very wicked thing I "'

Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay — nay — my little girl,'' quoth he, " It was a famous victory.

11. "And everybody praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win. " " But what good came of it at last ? "

Quoth little Peterkin. "Why that I can not tell," said he, " But 'twas a famous victory."

Robert Southev.^

' HSp' less, without hap or luck ; Some of his best ballads and brief

unhappy ; unfortunate. poems are " Lord William," " Ma-

* ShSck'ing, striking with hor- ry the Maid of the Inn," "Queen

ror or disgust; very dreadful or Ovica," "Youth and Age," and

offensivf^ " The Holly Tree." His " Life of

•'' Robert Southey, an English Nelson " is probably his best and

author, was born at Bristol, Au- most interesting book. He died

gust 12, 1774. He wrote much at his residence in Keswick, on the

and well both in ])rose and verse. 21st of March, 1843.

J 8 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

IG. HEROINES OF CHARITY.

PART FIRST.

DURING tlie late civil war, while one of the generals of tlie I'nion army was in command of the department at New Orleans, the Sisters of Charity made frequent appli- cations to him for assistance. They were especially desirous to obtain provisions at what they termed "commissary prices " — that is, at a reduction of one-third the amount which the same provisions would cost at market rates.

2. The principal demands were for ice, flour, beef, and c6ifee, l)ut mainly ice, a luxury ' which only the Union forces could enjoy at any thing like a reasonable price. The hospitals were full of the sick and wounded, of both the Fed- eral and the Confederate armies, and the charitable institu- tions of the city were taxed to the utmost in their efforts to aid the sick and the suffering.

3. Foremost among the volunteers for this duty stood the Sisters of Charity, Sisters of Mercy, and Sisters of the Holy Cross, wlio were busy day and night, never seeming to know fatigue, and overcoming every obstacle ^ in the way of doing good — obstacles which would have completely disheartened less resolute Avomen, or those not trained in the school of patience, faith, and charity, and where the first grand lesson learned is self-denial.

4- Of money there was little, and food, fuel, and medicine were scarce and dear ; yet they never faltered, going on in the face of all difficulties, through poverty, war, and un- friendlv aspersions,^ never turning aside, never complaining,

' Luxury (luk'^ori), that which ^ Aspersion(asper'^nn\sprc:id-

is rare iiiid costly : a dainty. ing of injurious reports which, like

* Ob'sta cle, any thing that op- the bespattering of a body, tends

poses or stands in the way. to soil one's good name.

HEROINES OF CHARITY. 79

never despairing. No one will ever know the sublime courage of those lowly Sisters during the dark days of the Civil War. Only in that hour when the Judge of all mankind shall sum- mon before Ilim the living and the dead, will they receive their true reward, the crown everlasting, and the benediction, ''Well done, good and faithful servant."

5. It was Just a week before the Red River campaign opened, when all was hurry and activity throughout the De- partment^ of the Gulf, that the general, a stern, irascible ^ old officer of the regular army, sat at his desk in his oflfice on Julia Street, curtly^ giving orders to subordinates, dispatch- ing messengers hither and thither to every part of the city where troops were stationed, and stiffly receiving such of his command as had important business to transact.

6. In the midst of this unusual hurry and preparation, the door noiselessly opened, and a humble Sister of Charity en- tered the room. A young lieutenant of the staff instantly arose, and deferentially^ handed her a chair, for those som- bre ^ gray garments were respected even by those who had no reverence for the faith which they represented.

7 The general looked up from his writing, and a frown of annoyance and displeasure gathered darkly on his brow. " Orderly I " The soldier on duty without the door, and who had admitted the Sister, faced about, saluted, and stood mute, awaiting the further command of his chief. *' Did I not give orders that no one was to be admitted?" — '* Yes, sir, but " — "When I say no one, I mean no one,'' thun- dered the general.

8. The orderly bowed and returned to his post. He was too wise a soldier to enter into explanations with so irritable

' De part'ment, a military sub- ^ Curt'ly, briefly ; in few words,

division of a country * Defer en'tial ly, with respect.

* I rSs'ci ble, easily made an<iry. ^ S6in'bre, dark ; jjloomy.

80 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

a superior. All this time the patient Sister sat calm and still, Avaiting for the moment when she might speak and state the object of her mission. The general gave her the opportunity in the briefest manner possible.

9. ••Well, madame'?" She raised her eyes to his face, and the gaze was so pure, so saintly, so full of silent plead- ing, that the rough old soldier was touched in spite of him- self. "We have a household of sick and wounded whom we must care for in some way, and I came to ask you the privilege, which I humbly beg you will not deny us, of ob- taining ice and beef at commissary prices."

10. The gentle, earnest pleading fell on deaf ears. "Al- ways something," snarled the general. "Last week it was flour and ice ; to-day it is ice and beef ; to-morrow it will be coffee and ice, I suppose, and all for a lot of rascally rebels, who ought to be shot out of hand, instead of being nursed back to life and treason."

11. "General I" — the Sister was majestic now — "Federal or Confederate, I do not know. Protestant or Catholic, I do not ask. They are not soldiers when they come to us — they are simply suffering fellow-creatures. Rich or poor, of gentle or of lowly birth, it is not ours to inquire. Ununiformed, unarmed, sick and helpless, we ask not on which side they fought. Our work begins after yours is done. Yours the carnage, 1 ours the binding up of wounds. Yours the battle, ours the duty of caring for the mangled left behind on the field. Ice I want for the sick, the wounded, the dying. I plead for all, I beg for all, I pray for all God's poor, suffering creatures, wherever I may find them."

12. "Yes, you can beg, I'll admit. What do you do with all your beggings? It is always more, more, never enough !" AVith this, the general resumed his writing, thereby giving the

' Car'nage, bloodshed ; slaughter.

HEROINES OF CHARJ7 K 81

Sister to understand tliat she was dismissed. J^"'or a moment lier eyes fell, her lips trembled — it was a cruel taunt.' Then the tremulous hands slowly lifted and folded tightly across her breast, as if to still some heartache the unkind words had called up. Very low, and sweet, and earnest was her reply.

17. HEROINES OF CHARITY.

PART SECOND.

"^ T T THAI' do we do with our beggings ? That is a hard V V question to ask of one wdiose way of life leads ever among the poor, the sorrowing, the unfortunate, the most wretched of mankind. Not on me is it wasted. I stand here in my eartlily all. What do we do with it ? Ah ! some day you may know.'' She turned away and left him, sad of face, heavy of heart, and her eyes misty with unshed tears.

2. ''Stay!" The general's request was like a command. He could be stern, nay, almost rude, but he knew truth and worth when he saw it, and he could be just. The Sister paused on the threshold, and for a minute nothing was heard but the rapid scratching of the general's pen. " There, madame, is your order on the commissary for ice and beef at army terms, good for three months. I do it for tlie sake of the Union soldiers who are, or may be, in your care. Don't come bothering me again. Good morning."

3. In less than three weeks from that day the slaughter of the Red River campaign had been perfected, and there neared the city of New Orleans a steamer, flying that ominous ^ yellow flag which both armies alike respected and allowed to pass unmolested. Another and still another followed in her wake, and all the decks were covered with the wounded and the dvinff.

T&unt, words of abuse. - Om'i nous, foreboding evil.

82 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Jf. Among the desperately wounded was the general in command of the department. He was borne from the steamer to the waiting ambulance/ writhing in anguish from the pain of his bleeding limb, which had been torn by a shell ; and when they asked where he wished to be taken, he feebly moaned: "Anywhere, it matters not. Where I can die in peace."'

5. So they took him to the Hotel Dieu, a noble and beauti- ful hospital in charge of the Sisters of Charity. The limb was amputated, and there he was nursed for weeks through the agony of the surgical operation, the fever, the wild de- lirium, and for many days no one could tell whether life or death would be the victor. But who was the faithful nurse, ever at his bedside, ever watchful of his smallest needs ? Why, only "one of the Sisters."

6. At last life triumphed, reason returned, and with it much of the old, abrupt manner. The general awoke to find a face not altogether unknown bending over him, and to feel a pair of skillful hands arranging a bandage, wet in ice-cold water, around his throbbing temples, where the mad pain and aching had so long held SAvay. He was better now, though still very weak ; but his mind was clear, and he could think calmly and connectedly of all that had taken place since the fatal battle which had so nearly taken his life, and had left him at best but a mutilated remnant of his former self.

7. Yet he was thankful it was no worse — that he had not been killed outright. In like degree he was grateful to' those who had nursed him so tenderly and faithfully, es- pecially the gray-robed woman, who had become almost angelic in his eyes ; and at last he expressed his gratitude in

' Am' bu lance, a two or four sick or wounded or disabled from ■wheeled carriage for taking the the field of battle.

HEROINES OF CHARITY. 83

his own peculiar way. Looking intently at the Sister, he said : ''Did you get the ice and beef?''

8. The Sister started. The question was so direct and un- •expected. Surely her patient must be on the high road to recovered health. " Yes/' she replied simply, but with a Icind glance of her soft eyes that spoke eloquently her thanks. *' And your name is " *' Sister Frances."

9. " Well, then, Sister Frances, I am glad you got the things — glad I gave you the order. I think I know now what you do with your beggings — I comprehend something of your work, your charity, your religion, and I hope to be better for the knowledge. I owe you a debt I can never re- pay, but you will try to believe that I am deeply grateful for all your great goodness and ceaseless care."

10. " Nay, you owe me nothing ; but to Him whose cross I bear, and in whose lowly footsteps I try to follow, you owe a debt of gratitude unbounded. To His infinite mercy I com- mend you. It matters not for the body ; it is that sacred mystery, the immortal soul, that I would save. My work here is done. I leave you to the care of others. Farewell." T\\q door softly opened and closed, and Sister Frances was gone.

11. Two months afterward she I'eceived a letter, sent to the care of the Mother Superior, enclosing a check for one thousand dollars. At the same time the general took occasion to I'emark that he wished he were able to double the amount, knowing by experience "what they did with the beggings."

TO BE MEMORIZED. For one thing only. Lord, dear Lord, I plead, lead me aright. Though strength should falter, and thojtgh heart should bleed,

through peace to light. Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine like quiet night : Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine, through peace to light.

Adelaide A. Procter.

8Ji. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

18. BIRDS IN SUMMER.

How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Flitting about in each leafy tree : In the leafy trees so broad and tall, Like a green and beautiful palace hall, With its airy chambers, light and boon, That open to sun and stars and moon, That open unto the bright blue sky, And the frolicsome winds as they wander by !

2. They have left their nests in the forest bough, Those homes of delight they need not now ; And the young and the old they wander out, And traverse their green world round about ; And hark ! at the top of this leafy hall. How one to the other they lovingly call :

" Come up, come up ! " they seem to say,

'■'■ Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway ! "

3. " Come up, come up ! for the ivorld is fair, Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air.''^ And the birds below give back the cry,

'■'■We come, we come to the branches highf'' How pleasant the life of a bird must be. Flitting about in a leafy tree ; And away through the air what joy to go. And to look on the green bright earth below !

4 How pleasant the life of a bird must be. Skimming about on the breezy sea, Cresting the billows like silvery foam. And then wheeling away to its clilf -built home 1 "Wliat joy it must be, to sail, upborne By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn. To meet the young sun face to face. And pierce like a shaft the boundless space !

BIRDS IN SUMMER.

85

How pleasant the life of a bird must bo, Wherever it listeth, there to flee ; To go when a joyful fancy calls, Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls, Then wheeling about with its mates at play, Above and IjcIovv, and among \\w spray, HitluT and tliithcr, with screams as wild x\s tlic laugiiiM;:; luirtli of a ro:-y child !

86 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

6. What a joy it must be, like a living breeze, To flutter about 'moiig the flowering trees ; Lightly to soar, and to see beneath The wastes of the blossoming purple heath, And the yellow furze, like fields of gold. That gladden some fairy region old ! On mountain tops, on the billowy sea, On the leafy stems of the forest tree. How pleasant the life of a bird must be !

IIOWITT.*

19. THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS.

Up soared the lark into the air, A shaft of song, a winged prayer, As if a soul, released from pain. Were flying back to heaven again.

S. St. Francis heard ; it was to him An emblem of the Seraphim ; ■ The upward motion of the fire, The light, the heat, the heart's desire.

3. Around Assisi's convent gate

The l)irds, God's poor who can not wait. From moor ' and mere '' and darksome wood Come flocking for their dole ^ of food.

4. " O brother birds," St. Francis said, " Ye come to me and ask for bread. But not with bread alone to-day Shall ye be fed and sent away.

1 Mary Howitt, an EngLsh au- ^ Ser'a phim, angels of the high-

thoress, was born in 1804. She is ^st order.

an admirable prose writer, and ^ Moor, waste land, covered with

she ranks deservedly high among iieath or with rocks,

the fair poets of her country, hav- ' ^^^re, a i)ool or lake,

ing but few equals. ' ^°1®) ^ '^^'^^"'^ • ^ Portion.

lV//y THE ROBIN'S BREAST IS RED. 87

5. " Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds With manna of celestial ' words.

Not mine, though mine they seem to be, Not mine, though they be spoke by me.

6. " Oh doubly are ye bound to praise The great Creator in your lays :

He giveth you your plumes of down. Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown.

7. " He giveth you your wings to fly And breathe a purer air on high. And careth for you everywhere. Who for yourselves so little care ! "

8. With flutter of swift wings and songs, Together rose the feathered throngs, And singing, scattered far apart : Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.

9. He knew not if the brotherhood His homily "^ had understood ; He only knew that to one ear

The meaning of his words was clear.

H. W. Longfellow.

20. WHY THE ROBIN'S BREAST IS RED.

THE Saviour, bowed beneath the Cross, Ascended Calvary's hill. While from the cruel, thorny wreath

Flowed many a crimson rill. The brawny' soldiers thrust Him on

With unrelenting hand. Till, staggering slowly 'mid the crowd. He fell upon the sand.

^ Oe Igs'tial, heavenly. ^ Brawrn'y, having Inrge, strong

" HSm'i ly, an address; a sermon, muscles.

88 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

2. A little bird that warbled near,

That ever blessed day, Flitted around, and strove to wrench

One single thorn away. The cruel spear impaled ' his breast.

And thus, 'tis sweetly said, The robin has his silver vest

Incarnadined '^ with red.

3. O Jesus ! Jesus ! God made man !

My dolors ' and my sighs, Sore need the lesson taught by this

Wing'd wanderer of the skies. I, in the palace of delight,

Or caverns of despair. Have plucked no thorns from Thy dear brow,

But planted thousands there.

21. SIGN OF THE CROSS.

IT is the token, the memorial of the pains and humilia- tions which our dear Lord bore for us ; and each time we make it we ought to mean thereby that we take up His Cross, accept it willingly, clasp it to our heart, and unite all we do to His saving Passion. With this intention, let the Sign of the Cross be your first waking act ; dedicating your day to Him as a soldier of the Cross ; let your last conscious act before sleep be that precious sign, which will banish evil spirits from your bedside and rest upon you as a safeguard till the day returns.

2. Begin your prayers, your work, with the Sign of the Cross, in token that they are dedicated to Him. Let it sanc-

• Im paled', pierced ; fixed on a 'In car'na dined, dyed red. sharp instrument. ^ Do' lor, pain ; distress.

SIGN OF THE CROSS. 89

tify, or make holy, your going out and your coming in. Let it hallow your conversation and intercourse with others, whether social or in the order of business.

3. Who could be grasping, over-reaching, false ; who could give way to unkind words, judgments, uncharitable gossip, unholy talk, who had but just stamped the Cross of Christ upon their lips in token that they are pledged to use the gift of speech, like all else, in the service of their God ?

^. Let it consecrate your food, so that eating and drinking, instead of the mere indulgence of earthly cravings, may be "to the glory of God."" Let the Sign of the Cross soothe and stay you in sorrow, when, above all, you are brought near Him who lays it on you, but who also bore it for you. Let it sober and steady your hour of joy or pleasure. Let it calm your impulse of impatience, of petulance, of intolerance of others, of eager self-assertion or self-defense. Let it check the angry expression ready to break forth, the unkind word, the unloving sarcasm, or cutting jest.

5. Let it purify the light, or careless, or irreverent utter- ance, the conventional falsehood, the boastful word of self- seeking. And be sure that if the Sign of the Cross is thus your companion and safeguard through tlie day, if in all places and seasons you accustom yourself to "softly make the sign to angels known," it will be as a tower of strength to you, and tiio power of evil over you will become feebler and feebler.

TO BE MEMORIZED,

T/it' sii/'/i/ f/iiif mifjrs //raiu-n's />r/i;///i's/ crown

In deepest ixiioraiion bends : The lue/o/it of tj^ lory />07us Jiiin down

Then niosf. ivlien most his soul ascends : Nearest the throne itself initst be

The footstool of Jimntlity. — Montgomery.

00 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

22. THE CROSS OF CONSTANTINE.

IN the year oil of the Christian era, the Emperor of the West, Con'stantine, yet a pagan, was on his march to Eome to attack the tyrant Maxen'tius, who, with tlie em- perors Max'imin and Licin'ius, had formed a very powerful league ' against him.

2. The forces of Constantine were far inferior to those of his adversaries,^ whose armies were composed of veteran troops long inured* to war and flushed^ with victory. In this painful crisis," Constantine remembered that the em- perors who, in his time, liad most zeal for idolatry, had per- ished miserably ; while his father, Constantius Chlorus (klo' rus), wlio, though himself a pagan, had favored the Christians, had received sensible'' marks of the Divine pro- tection. Therefore he resolved to address his prayers for help to Him whom the Christians worshiped, the one only God of heaven and earth.

3. While marching in the midst of his troops, and revolv- ing'' these things in his mind with all earnestness, a cross of light, brighter than the blazing noon-day sun, appeared in the cloudless heavens, shining in glory resplendent, and above it, in Greek characters, the words, "' By thU conquer.'"

Jf. The whole army beheld, and were filled with amaze- ment.^ Constantine, troubled and anxious, passed a sleepless

' League, a combination of any affair must end, or take a new

princes or states for mutual assist- course ; the turning-point,

ance or protection. '' Sen'si ble, capable of being-

- Ad'ver sa ry, an opponent. perceived by the senses.

3 Inured (in yord'), accustomed ; ' Re volv' ing, reflecting on ;

hardened.. thinking over.

■* Flushed, animated : excited. ^ ^ niaze'ment, great surprise

^ Ori'sis, the point of time when at what is not understood.

THE CROSS OF CONSTANTINE. 91

night. As he lay on his coucli, pondering^ on this prodig}-,'^ the Lord Jesus Himself appeared to him, and bade him take tiie miraculous sign he had seen in the heavens as his. standard, for under that sign he should triumph over all his enemies.

5. This standard is the famous Lab'arum. It is described by the historian Euse'bius, who saw it himself, and who also- had from the lips of Constantine, confirmed ^ by oath, aa exact account of the miraculous events which led him to adopt the Cross as his standard.

6'. It consisted of a spear of extraordinary length, overlaid with gold, athwart which was laid a piece in fashion of a Cross. Upon its top was fixed a crown comiDosed of gold and. precious stones, and inserted * in the crown Avas the mono- gram ^ or symbol of the Saving Name, viz.: two Greek letters expressive of the figure of the Cross, and being also the initial^ letters of the name of Christ.

7. From the cross-piece hung a banner of purple tissue, ia length exactly equal to its breadth. On its upper portion Avere embroidered in gold and in colors the portrait of the emperor, and those also of his children. The banner was thickly studded with precious stones and interwoven with much gold, presenting a spectacle' of inexpressible beauty.

8. This standard was intrusted to the keeping of fifty of the bravest and noblest of the imperial^ guards, whose duty it

' PSn'dering, applying the mind ' Mon'o gram, two or more let- to a subject with long and careful ters l)h'nded into one. attention. '' Initial (in i^h'al), relating to

•PrSd'igy, a miracle: a won- or marking the commencement;

der ; a thing fitted to astonish. the first letter of a word.

•''Con firmed', strengthened; ' Spec'ta cle, a remarkable sight

rendered certain. or noteworthy fact.

'• In serf ed, set within some "Impe'rial, belonging to an

thing. eiupiro or an emperor.

92 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

was to surround iiud defend it on the field of battle ; and this post was regarded as the highest possible in honor and dig- nity. Constantine also caused the sacred monogram to be emblazoned' on his own helmet, and on the bucklers, hel- mets, and arms of his legions.

9. On the morning of the great battle, when the first rays of the October sun gleamed from the mysterious emblem, the soldiers of the Labarum felt themselves animated with an irresistible ardor. Wherever the sacred sign appeared, the enemy gave way before the numerically ^ inferior soldiers of the Cross.

10. Therefore Constantine ordered the saving trophy ^ to be carried wherever he saw his troops exposed to the greatest danger, and thus victory was secured. The result was most decisive ; for those of the enemy who escaped on the field of battle were drowned in the Tiber.

11. Maxentius had thrown across that river a bridge of boats, so contrived as to be pulled to pieces by means of ma- chinery, managed by engineers stationed for the purpose on the opposite shore. The tyrant thought thus to take his rival in a snare. But he fell into the trap he had laid for another ; for, as he was retreating with his guards over the bridge so cunningly devised, the boats separated from each other, and himself and all who were with him perished in the turbid'' waters.

12. Constantine, in his manifesto ^ to the people of the East, alludes to the miracle of the Cross as a well-known fact. Addressing himself to our Lord, he says : '• By Thy

' Em bla'zon, to adorn ; to set evidence of victory, off with ornament. ^ Tiir'bid, disturbed : muddy.

"^ Nu mer'i cal ly, witli respect ^ Man i fes'to, a public dcclara-

to numljers. tion, usually of a prince or ruler,

3 Tro' phy, something that is showing his intentions.

MOUNTAIN OF THE HOLY CROSS. 93

guidance and assistance, I have undertaken and accomplished sahitary things. Everywhere carrying before me Thy sign, I have led my army to victory,"

13. The wonderful events here related are beyond doubt. They led to the conversion of Constantine. who was baptized soon afterward, and is known as the first Christian emperor.

23. MOUNTAIN OF THE HOLY CROSS.

ON a spur' of the Rocky Mountains which divides the Colorado district into nearly equal parts, and about one hundred miles west of Denver city, rises a peak to the height of thirteen thousand three hundred feet above the level of the sea. In the midst of the immense grandeurs of this mountain range stands this one peak, high above all that surround it, in the majesty of the everlasting hills.

2. The glory of the morning and of the evening, the splen- dors of sunrise and sunset, the awful gloom of coming tem- pests, the horror of the forked lightning, the crash of the rolling thunder, and the sun-burst of the clearing shower, with its rainbow of peace, give such varied aspects to this, lofty summit, that it charms the eye of the traveler from whatever point it is seen.

3. But if his way lead along the torrent at the foot of the mountain, a new wonder claims his attention and holds his gaze, until he breaks forth into exclamations of delight, con- trolled only by a deep feeling of awe. At a distance of from fifty to one hundred miles, this marvel becomes visible ; though so indistinctly that the traveler might imagine him- self deceived by the subtile ^ air of these high regions. But no ! hour after hour as he rides, the vision, for such it at

' Spiir, a mountain that slioots ' Sub'tile, not dense or gross;

from the side of another mountain, rare ; thiu.

<?^ DOMINION FOURTH READER.

iirst seems, becomes clearer tiiid clearer, aud changes at last into an impressive reality.

Jf.. Thousands of feet above the road over which his mule is slowly toiling, impressed on the almost vertical ^ face of the mountain, stretches a cross ! A cross of such gigantic pro- portions that the hand of the Creator alone could have traced its outline, and so deeply cut into the rugged rock that one of those convulsions of nature by which He claims the uni- Terse as His own, must have torn open the mighty fissures ^ that portray^ it to the Avorld.

5. This cross is defined in glittering wliiteness on the dark and rugged summit, by a vertical fissure fifteen hundred feet in length, crossed by another of no less than nine hundred feet. The heavy snows of the Colorado region, though slid-- ing off the steep plain ^ of the surrounding rock, have accu- mulated^ in these mighty chasms, and are so protected by their immense depth, and the rare atmosphere of those lofty heights, that the heats of summer have no power to melt them.

6. With a feeling as profound as that with which Constan- tino beheld in the heavens the sign of the Son of Man, must the Christian traveler contemplate^ this mark of God set on the forehead of this country ; a country which is thus, as it were, signed and sealed like the mystical'^ elect named by St. John in the Apocalypse.^

7. Mav it not indicate^ that America is to stand forth as

' Ver'ti cal, directly over head ; * OSn'tem plate, to look at in

plumb ; upright. all bearings, or on all sides ; to

^ Fissures (fi^'yorz), open and meditate on or study.

Tvide cracks. ' Mys'tic al, far from man's un-

^ Por tray', paint or draw the derstanding.

likeness of ; draw forth. * A pSc'a lypse, revelation ; the

^ Plain, a flat, even surface. name given to the last book in the

'■> Ac cii'mu lat ed, heaped up in New Testament.

a, mass. ' In'di catSj point out ; show.

VOICE OF THE GRASS. 95

the cliampion ' elected by Christ for the defense of His cause ? Oh I if this were the glorious destiny of this land, the honors of dominion and wealth that now till the secular heart, would pale and fade as before a vision of heaven. ^

8. Throughout the whole extent of our continent, islands, bays, rivers show forth by their names the faith of their Cath- olic discoverers and Catholic settlers. But here the sign and source of that Holy Faith, whence alone flows all the joy of heaven oi' earth, is exalted ^ by the hand of Nature itself, and gives its name of consolation to this grand watch-tower of the New World, The Mountain of tJte Hohj Cross.

24. VOICE OF THE GRASS.

HERE I come creeping, creeping every-where ; By the dusty roadside. On the sunny hill-side, Close by the noisy brook. In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping every- wb ere.

£. Here I come creeping, smiling every-where ; All round the open door. Where sit the aged poor ; Here where the children play, In the bright and merry May, I come creeping, creeping every-where.

S. Here I come creeping, crecj)ing every-where ; In the noisy city street My pleasant face you'll meet,

' CMm'pi on, one who contends ^ Exalted (Pgz alt'ed), raised on

in l>ehalf of a principle or person. high ; elevated.

96 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Cheering the sick at heart Toiling his busy part — Silently creeping, creeping every-where.

Jf.. Here I come creeping, creeping every-where ; You can not see me coming. Nor hear my low sweet humming ; For in the starry night. And the glad morning light, I come quietly creeping every-where.

5. Here I come creeping, creeping every-where ;

More welcome than the flowers In Summer's pleasant hours ; The gentle cow is glad. And the merry bird not sad, To see me creeping, creeping every-where.

6. Here I come creeping, creeping every-where ;

When you're numbered with the dead, In your still and narrow bed. In the happy Spring I'll come And deck your silent home — Creeping, silently creeping every-where.

7. Here I come creeping, creeping every-where i

My humble song of praise Most joyfully I raise To Him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping every-where.

Sarah Roberts.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

We often praise tJie ti>cnitig clouds, and tints so gay aitd bold. But seldom thitik upon our God ivho tinged the clouds with gold. Scott.

LITTLE STREAMS.

97

25. LITTLE STREAMS.

LITTLE streams are light and shadow, ^ Flowing through the j)asture meadow, Flowing by the green way-side, Through the f6rest dim and wide, Through the hamlet still and small — By the cottage, by the hidl. By the ruin'd abbey still — Turning here and there a mill,

98 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Bearing tribute to the river — Little streams. I love you ever.

'2. Summer music is there flowing —

Flowering plants in them are growing; Happy life is in them all, Creatures innocent and small ; Little birds come down to drink, Fearless of their leafy brink ; ^ Noble trees beside them grow. Glooming ^ them with branches low ; And between, the sunshine, glancing. In their little waves, is dancing.

3. Little streams have flowers a many. Beautiful and fair as any ; Typha strong, and green bur-reed ; Willow-herb, with cotton-seed ; Arrow-head, with eye of jet ; And the water-violet. There the flowering-rush you meet, And the plumy ^ meadow-sweet ; And. in places deep and stilly. Marble-like, the water-lily.

If.. Little streams, their voices cheery, Sound forth welcomes to the weary ; Flowing on from day to day. Without stint and without stay : '' Here, ujion their flowery bank. In the old time pilgrims drank —

' Brink, the margin, border, or dark ; darkening ; as, " A black

edge of a deep place ; tlie bank of yew gloomed the stagnant air."

a stream or pit. ^ Plum'y, adorned or covered

^ Gloom' ing, making obscure or with plumes ; feathery.

THE OAK-TREE. 99

Here have seen, as now, pass by, King-fisher, and dragon-fly, Those bright things that have their dwelling Where the little streams are welling.

5. Down in valleys green and lowly. Murmuring not and gliding slowly ; Up in mountain-hollows wild. Fretting like a peevish child ; Through the hamlet, ^ where all day In their waves the children play ; Running west, or running east. Doing good to man and beast — Always giving, weary never, Little streams, I love you ever.

Mary Howitt.

26. THE OAK-TREE.

SING for the oak-tree, the monarch - of the wood ! Sing for the oak-tree, that groweth green and good I That groweth broad and branching within the forest shade ; That groweth now, and still shall grow when we are lowly laid I

2. The oak-tree was an acorn once, and fell upon the earth ; And sun and shower nourished it, and gave the oak-tree birth : The little sprouting oak-tree I two leaves it had at first.

Till sun and shower nourished it, then out the branches burst.

3. Th(; winds came and tlie rain fell ; the gusty tempest blew ; All, all were friends to the oak-tree, and stronger yet it grew. The boy that saw the acorn fall, he feeble grew and gray ;

But the oak was still a thriving tree, and strengthened every day.

' HSm'let, a small village ; a lit- superior to all others of the same tie cluster of houses iu the country, kind ; as. a lion is called the mon- ' MSn'arch, a sole ruler; one a;r/t of wild beasts.

100 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

4. Four centuries grows the oak-tree, nor does its verdure fail ; Its heart is like the iron-wood, its bark like plaited mail. Now cut us down the oak-tree, the monarch of the wood ; And of its timber stout and strong we'll build a vessel good.

5. The oak-tree of the forest both east and west shall fly ;

And the blessings of a thousand lands upon our ship shall lie. She shall not be a man-of-war, nor a pirate shall she be ; But a ship to bear the name of Christ to lands beyond the sea.

27. LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS.

IN a small chapel rich with carving quaint,' Of mystic symbols and devices bold, Where glowed the face of many a pictured saint.

From windows high in gorgeous drapery's fold ; And one large mellowed painting o'er the shrine Showed in the arms of Mary — Mother mild — Down looking, with a tenderness divine In His clear, shining eyes, the Holy Child.

S. Two little brothers, orphans young and fair.

Who came in sacred lessons to be taught. Waited, as every day they waited there,

Till Father Bernard came, his pupils sought. And fed his Master's lambs. Most innocent

Of evil or of any worldly lure. Those children were ; from e'en the slightest taint

Had Jesus' blood their guileless souls kept pure !

3. A pious man that good Dominican,

Whose life with gentle charities was crowned ; His duties in the church as sacristan, " For hours in daily routine kept him bound.

' Quaint, ingenious ; very nice ; churcli who has the care of the curious and old. sacred utensils or the movables :

* Sac'rist an, an officer of the a sexton.

LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS. 101

While that young pair awaited his release, Seated upon the altar-steps, or spread

Thereon their mornin2: meal, and ate in peace And simple thankfulness their fruit and bread.

Jj,. And often did their lifted glances meet

The Infant Jesus' eyes ; and oft He smiled — So thought the children ; sympathy so sweet

Brought blessing to them from the Blessed Child- Until one day, when Father Bernard came.

The little ones ran forth ; with clasping hold Each seized his hand, and each with wild acclaim,'

In eager words the tale of wonder told :

' Ac claim, a shout of applause or welcome.

102 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

5. " O father, father ! " both the children cried,

' ' The dear Child Jesus ! He has heard our prayer ! We prayed Him to come down and sit beside

Us as we ate, and of our feast take share ; And He came down and tasted of our bread,

And sat and smiled ujion us, father dear I " — Pallid ' with strange amaze, Bernardo said,

" Grace, beyond marvel ! Hath the Lord been here ?

6. ' ' The heaven of heavens His dwelling — doth he deign ^

To visit little children ? Favored ye Beyond all those on earthly thrones who reign, In having seen this strangest mystery ! ^

0 lambs of His dear flock ! to-morrow, pray Jesus to come again to grace your board

And sup with you ; and if He come, then say, ' Bid us to Thine own table, blessed Lord !

7. " ' Our master, too I ' do not forget to plead

For me, dear children ! In humility

1 will entreat Him your meek prayer to heed. That so His mercy may extend to me ! "

Then, a hand laying on each lovely head, Devoutly the old man the children blessed.

" Come early on the morrow morn," he said,

"To meet— if such His will, your heavenly guest ! "

8. To meet their father by the next noon ran

The youthful pair, their eyes with rapture " bright. *' He came ! " their happy, lisping tongues began ;

" He says we all shall sup with Him to-night ! Thou, too, dear father ; for we could not come

Alone, without our faithful friend — we said.

' Pal' lid, very pale. human understanding until ex

* Deign (dSn), condescend. plained : a deep secret.

' Mys'ter j^, something beyond ' Rapt'ure, the greatest delight.

LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS. 10 S

Oh ! be thou sure our pleadings were not dumb, Till Jesus smiled consent, and bowed His head.'"

9. Knaeling in thankful joy, Bernardo fell,

And through the hours he lay entranced ' in prayer ; Until the solemn sound of vesper bell

Aroused him, breaking on the silent air. Then rose he, ciilm, and when the psalms were o'er,

And in the aisle the chant - had died away, With soul still bowed his Master to adore.

Alone he watched the fast departing day.

10. Two silvery voices, calling through the gloom

With seraph sweetness, reached his listening ear ; And swiftly passing 'neath the lofty dome,

Soon, side by side, he and his children deaf Entered the ancient chapel, consecrate^

By grace mysterious. Kneeling at the shrine,^ Befoi'e which, robed in sacerdotal * state.

That morning he had blessed the bread and wine,

11. Bernardo prayed. And then the chosen three

Received the sacred Hosts the priest had blessed. Viaticum ^ for those so soon to be

Borne to the country of eternal rest ; Bidden that night to sup with Christ ! in faith

Waiting for Him, their Lord beloved, to come And lead them upward from this land of death.

To live forever in His Father's home !

1 Entranced (en transt'), so ab- ■• Shrine, a case or box in which

sorbed in thouglit as to be almost sacred reHcs are kept ; hence, an

or quite unconscious. altar; a ])lace of worshi]).

* Chant, a melody ; song worths ^ Sac'er do'talj belonging to the

sung witliout musical measure. priesthood.

3 CSn'se crate, here used in th(^ « Vi at'i cum, provisions for a

sense of consecrated; hallowed ; journey; tlie communion given to

dedicated ; sacred. persons in their last moments.

104, DOMINION FOURTH READER.

12. In that same chapel, kneeling in their place,

All were found dead, their hands still clasi^ed in prayer ; Their eyes uplifted to the Saviour's face.

The hallowed peace of heaven abiding there ! While thousands came that wondrous scene to view,

And hear the story of the chosen three ; Thence gathering the lesson deep and true —

It is the crown of life with Christ to be.

28. SAINT CHRISTOPHER.

PART FIRST.

THE story of St. Christopher, the man so strong and so simple-hearted, has never lost its charm. He was a giant of Canaan, and was called Offero, or Bearer ; that is, one who carries great burdens. So jirond was he of his won- derful strength that he determined to set forth from the land of Canaan in search of the most powerful monarch in the world, whom alone he would condescend to serve.

2. Oflfero traveled far and wide and served various masters, but left each as soon as he found there was one more power- ful. He served a mighty king, but the king was afraid of the devil. Then he served the devil, but found he was afraid of Jesus Christ. "I can never rest," said he, "nor can I taste bread in peaoe, until I have entered the service of Jesus Christ, who is more powerful than any king on earth, or than Satan himself."

3. No sooner did he say these words than he saw at the opening of a cave a hermit ^ weaving his baskets, with his prayer-beads of small stones and his cross at his side. " Canst thou tell me how I can serve that Jesus Christ who is more

' Her'mit, a solitary, whose life is devoted to prayer and labor.

SAINT CHRISTOPHER. 105

powerful than any king, and oven than Satan, tlie Prince of Evil?"

4. The hermit rej^lied gently,, " This King, whose service thou art seeking to enter, will require thee to obey His will instead of thy own, to fast often and to pray much."—" Fast I will not, for then I should lose my strength ; and to pray I have never learned — yet I wish with my whole heart and strength to serve thy Christ."

5. The hermit was touched by these earnest words, and pointing to the turbulent^ river, whose hoarse murmurs filled the air, he said : *' Though thou canst neither fast nor i)ray, our Lord Jesus Christ will not refuse thy service. Take thy stand on the bank of that deep and rapid stream, and carry over the travelers who call on thee for help ; for there be many that seek my solitude,^ and many that pass through this desert to the regions beyond."

6. Offero heard the words of the hermit with joy, and with a glad countenance took up his abode ^ on the banks of the stormy river. Many a one did he carry on his broad shoulders across its seetiiing^ waters, ever rejoicing in this his service of Jesus Christ. Meanwhile the hermit taught him many things concerning his great Master.

7. One night the giant heard a childish voice calling aloud to him : " Good Offero, come and carry me over the swift river.*' Prompt to his trust he came at the call, and on the river-bank stood a small, beautiful child, who held out his hands to the faithful servitor."' Offero took up the tiny figure as if he were a feather. But no sooner liad lie stepped into the stream than the child on his shoulder

' Tdr'bu lent, disturbed; un- dwells or lives ; a dwelling,

quiet; restless. ^ Seeth'ing, l)oiliiig ; bubbling.

* S61'i tude, a lonely place. ^ Ser'vi tor, one who i)rofesse»

' A b5de', the place where one duty or obedience.

106 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

grew heavier than any burden his mighty strength had ever before endured.

■' 8. For a moment his limbs seemed to fail him, but he be- thought liimself to say, " My Jesus, all for Thee ! " and in- stantly his feet touched the further^ shore. Setting the child down on the green bank while he wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow, he said, "■Child, I think the whole world would not have set so weightily on my shoulders as thou."

9. But the child answered: "Wonder not, good Offero ; for know that this night thou hast carried, not the world, but Him who made the world. Henceforth thou shalt no longer be called Offero, but Christofero. Plant now thy dry stall in the ground, and to-morrow thou shalt find it covered with leaves and flowers in token ^ that I am He." And when Christofero saw in the morning that it was indeed so, he bowed himself to the dust and said, " Truly He whom I serve is the Greatest and the Best of Masters."

29. SAINT CHRISTOPHER.

PART SECOND.

SOON after this the word of our Lord came unto Chris- topher, that he should arise and go into another country, for there also service was required of him.

2. After many days and nights Christopher reached a large city, and entering in, he found the streets filled with people, and every-where were idols and their temples. Then he knew that here he was to tarry -.^ but he understood not the language of the people, therefore, kneeling down, he prayed

1 Fiir'ther, here means the more ' In to'ken, as a sign, remote or distant. * Tar'ry, to remain ; to wait.

SAINT CHRISTOPHER. 107

to Jesus Christ that this strange tongue ' might become as familiar to him as his native hmguage.

3. Eising from his knees, Christo^Dher found that his Master had heard his prayer. Immediately he was able to compre- hend ' whither the crowds about him were going, and for what purpose. The Christians of Samos, hnnted like wolves by their pagan rulers, according to the edict of the Emperor Decius,^ were on that day to be given to the Avild beasts in the circus.

Jf. Christopher moved on with the throng, and sought a place as near as possible to these confessors of the faith. As they entered the arena ^ he called aloud, "Be of good cheer, my brothers, and persevere unto the end for Christ Jesus ! " This fearless exhortation ■'' creating a tumult among the spec- tators, the president of the games ordered the offender to be immediately expelled."

5. As the officers approached and saw his gigantic figure they hesitated, and Christopher said, "Such puny' creatures as ye are I could crush with my fingers, but fear not ! Ye serve your master, and I serve One far mightier, as I will show." Going out, he planted his huge staff firmly in the ground, praying to God that it might again put forth leaves and fruit in order to convert these people.

6. And again (xod hearkened to the prayer of His servant, for immediately the dry staff stood before all the city a piUni- tree in full leaf, and bearing most delicious dates. At this sight many were instantly converted to Christ. But the king,

' Tongue (tung), speech ; Ian- ■* A re'na, the central space of

guage ; discovirse. a cirrus or amphitheatre.

■' C6m pre hend', to understand. ■'' Exhortation (eks'hor t.'i'i^un^,

^ De'ci us, a lionian general who the act of moving to good deeds ;

became emperor in 249. He origi- words intended to encourage.

nated the seventh general perse- " Ex polled', driven out.

cution. 1 Pu'ny, siiiall and feeble.

108 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Dagnus, hearing of these wonders and filled with hatred, ordered that Christopher should be brought before him.

7. He, meanwhile, remained without the cit}' receiving and instructing those who resorted to him. The soldiers found him alone and absorbed in prayer, his face and figure so sub- lime in attitude and expression that they paused in fear before him. When Christoi^her had finished his devotions, he said to them, " Whom do you seek ? ''

8. They answered, "The king has sent us for thee.'^ Christojiher rej^lied, " Unless I go willingly, ye can do naught because of my great strength. But because I desire above all things to behold my Master, lead me to the king." — " What dost thou command us to do? "they exclaimed. "Seeing thy great fidelity, we too will serve thy Christ I " And they entreated ^ him that he should save himself.

9. But Christopher insisted^ on being brought before the king, who interrogated him as to his name and profession. " Before I was bajotized, they called me Otfero, but now I am called Christofero." — "• Thou hast given thyself a silly name in taking that of Christ who was crucified, and who can do nothing for Himself or for thee."

10. " With good reason," retorted Christopher, "hast thou been called Dagnus ; thou who art the death of the world and the companion of the devil." Then the king, filled with rage, pronounced his sentence: "Bind this Christopher to a pillar, and let four hundred of the most skillful archers pierce him with their arrows."

11. The archers indeed were skillful, but not a weapon reached its mark. One arrow turned in its flight, as if driven by an invisible hand, and entered the king's eye. Roaring with pain and rage, he cried out to the axemen, " Behead that evil one ! "

1 En treat' ed, begged ; persuaded. * In sist', to be determined.

THE BUCKET. 109

12. Then Christopher called out in a loud voice, "Behold, O Dagnus I my end is at hand, but take the earth that is wet with my blood, and lay it on thy wounded eye, and thou shalt recover thy sight. At the same moment the head of Chi-isto- pher rolled on the earth.

IS. The king commanded them to lay the earth, soaked in the martyr's blood, on his eye, and lo ! the pain ceased, the sight was restored, and Dagnus, like another Paul, with the recovery of his bodily sight, received the gift of perfect faith.

30. THE BUCKET.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, "When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood,

And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it.

The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of ray father, the dairy-house nigh it,

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket.

The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

^. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure.

For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure.

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing :

And quick to tlie white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem ' of truth overflowing.

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucivet,

The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

' Em'blem, a thing thought to represent it. Water is called the resemble some other thing in its e/raWe»i (>/<r«^/t because of its clear- leading qualities, and so used to nes.s and purity.

110

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips !

Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar ' that Jupiter sips.

And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively * swell,

' Nec'tar, the drink of the hea- very delicious drink, then gods, of whom Jupiter was '^ Intrusively (in tro'sivli), with- the chief ; honey ; any sweet or out wish or invitation.

LOVE OF COUNTRY. Ill

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well :

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket.

The moss-covered bucket whicli hangs in the well.

Wood WORTH.'

31. HOME, SWEET HOME.

'iy /r ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, IV A Still, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home : A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there, Which, go through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.

Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home — there's no place like home !

. An exile from home, pleasure dazzles in vain, Ah ! give me my lowly thatched cottage again ; The birds singing sweetly, that came to my call — Give me them, and that peace of mind dearer than all.

Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home — there's no place like home !

Pavke.'^

32. LOVE OF COUNTRY.

BREATHES there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said. This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned As home his footstei^s he hath turned From wanderins: on a foreign strand ?

' Samuel Woodwrorth, an Amer- lean poet, dramatist and actor, was

ican jourualLst and poet, died De- boru in New York, June 9, 1792.

cember, 1842, in the fifty-seventh Ills song of " Home, Swt'ct Home,"

year of his age. Some of his writ- is one of the most popular ever

ings have mucli UKirit, of wliich writtcni. He became a Catliollc at

" The Buekct " s most jHijiular. Tunis, where be was Consul for the

'^ John Howard Payne, an Amer- United States, and died in 1852.

112 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

If such there breathe, go mark liim well ;

For him no minstrel raptures swell !

High though his title, proud his name.

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim :

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentered all in self.

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. Scott.

33. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE.

How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

C)

By fairy hands their knell is rung ;

By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray.

To bless the turf that wraps their clay ;

And Freedom shall a while repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there. Collins.*

1 Sir Walter Scott, a Scottish English poets, was born on Christ- poet and novelist, was a remarka- mas-day, 1720, and died in 1756. ble and laborious writer, though His style is clear, correct and fas- unjust to Catholics. He was born cinating. His "Odes" are unsur- in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771, and passed in the English language, died at Abbotsford, Sept. 21, 1832. and that to the "Passions" is a

- William Collins, one of the masterpiece of varied emotions and

most interesting and exquisite of poetic description.

THY COUNTRY AND THY HOME. US

34. THY COUNTRY AND THY HOME.

THERE is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the vporld beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise ' the night : A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth. Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth : The wandering mariner whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so Ijountiful and fair. Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime, the magnet of liis soul, Touched by i-emembrance, treml^les to that pole ; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, The heritage of Nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest — A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. "Wliere man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and scepter, jjageantry - and pride. While in his softened looks benignly ' blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife. Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; In the clear heaven of her delightful eye. An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet, xViid fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. " Where shall that land, tliat spot of earth ))e found ?" Art tliou a man? — a patriot ? — look around ; O, tliou shalt find, liowe'cr lliy footsteps roam. That land thij Country, and that spot thy Home.

MoXTliOMERV.'*

' Em par'a dise, to make per- •• James Montgomery, a British

fectly happy. poet, was born in 1771, and died

"^ Pag'eant ry, a grand display, in 1854. A complete edition of his

^ Be nign'Iy, favorably ; kindly. jioetical works apix-arcd in 1855.

114 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

35. THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY.

FOR thee, 0 dear, dear countr}', Mine eyes their vigils keep ; For very joy, beholding

Thy happy name, they weep. The mention of thy glory

Is unction ^ to the breast. And medicine in sickness, And love, and life, and rest.

2. 0 one, 0 only mansion,

0 paradise of joy. Where tears are ever banished.

And smiles have no alloy ; Beside thy living waters

All plants are, great and small. The cedar of the forest.

The hyssop ^ of the wall.

S. With jaspers glow thy bulwarks ; Thy streets with emeralds blaze ; The sardius and the topaz Unite in thee their rays. Thine ageless walls are bonded

With amethyst unpriced ; Thy saints build up the fabric. And the corner-stone is Christ.

Bernard of Cluny.

1 Unction (ungk' ^un), that * Hyssop (his'sup), a plant hav-

used for anointing or soothing ; ing a sweet smell, and a warm,

that which awakens strong relig- pricking taste ; the hyssop of

ious feeling and tenderness. Scripture, a species of caper.

GOD'S ACRE. Hi

36. GOD'S ACRE.

'' T~^C) you know, Arthur, why a burying-ground was -!_>' called by the Anglo-Saxons ' God's Acre ?' ^' — "We should say, George, if we wanted to express the same idea, God's Field, or the place where God sows His seed for the harvest.'' — ''Still, Arthur, the meaning is not quite plain."

2. "In the first place, George, those old Saxons, when they became Christians, were very much in earnest. Some truth of faith, or thought of God, was united to every name they bestowed on the objects around them. They believed Avith their whole heart and soul in the resurrection of the body ; and therefore, when their friends died, and they laid them away in the ground, instead of mourning without hope, as they did in j^agan times, they said : ' In these fields our good God sows the seed of our mortal bodies which are to spring up, in the day of the resurrection, fresh and beauti- ful like new grain.'

3. "Do you see, now, how beautiful and appropriate is the title of ' God's Acre ' when thus applied ? As the grain of wheat which we plant bears no likeness to the green and slender stalk which it brings forth, so our mortal bodies, planted in God's Acre, and guarded by the blessing of God's Church, will rise again in glory, unlike our old selves, and yet, in reality the very same."

Jf. " I think I understand you, Arthur. You mean that God will sow our lifeless bodies in His fields, which are the consecrated burying-grounds and cemeteries ; and these life- less bodies of good men and women and children, will spring up new and vigorous at tlie last day, like the strong fresh wheat stalks we see in summer."

5. "Yes, George, you have the idea. And this belief of

116 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Christians in the resurrection of the body, gives the body, even after death, a sacred worth in their eyes."

6. "How cheering, Arthur! Oar bodies are not laid away, like worn-out garments, to moulder into dust, and burn up with the world. They are planted carefully and gently in the earth, like the precious seed of wheat and other grains, waiting for the day when Jesus Christ will raise them to life like His own glorious body."

7. " Yes, George, and we should walk carefully, and with respect, among these graves, from which will rise such noble and beautiful bodies. In these Acres or Fields of God, He has planted precious seed — so precious that He never loses sight of them, though they may have been in the earth for thousands of years."

37. ST. PHILOMENA.

PART FIRST.

*•' T TER name must be Lumena," said the happy mother, A X ''for did not our child come to us with the light of faith ? " — '' This is true," said the prince, her father. " Pub- lius has been more than a courtier ; he has been to us a friend and brother.

2. " Through him we have learned the doctrines of the true faith, and received strength to practice them. Now, as he promised, our little daughter comes as a reward of this faith, which gives us so much happiness every day." And with such gentle words was Lumena, the first and only child of her royal parents, welcomed into life.

S. When the time came for her to be baptized, they said : '* Is not our daughter the cliild of light? Therefore we must call her, not only Lumena, but Filumena," and by this name she was baptized. Tlie little Filumena lived in perfect

ST. PHILOMENA. 117

peace with her good Christian parents and the learned Pub- lius for her teacher, in her beautiful home beneatii the blue sky of Greece, until she was thirteen years of age.

^. At this time, public affairs, as also the command of the Emperor Diocletian, called the prince, her father, to Eome. Very seldom indeed had he been absent from his small king- dom, and now he could not think of leaving his wife and his young daughter behind him.

5. *'You also shall go to Rome," he said, '"'and see the great city, the mistress of the world. Together we will visit the tombs of the apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and seek the blessing of the successor of St- Peter, Marcellinus, the holy Bishop of Eome."

6. When he was allowed an interview with the emperor, the princess, his wife, and Filumena were with him. As the prince went on with his story, he noticed that the emperor paid very little attention to what he was saying, but looked continually at his daughter.

7. The prince did not much wonder at this, for Filumena was very beautiful. At length the emperor interrupted him, saying, " Give yourself no further anxiety about this matter : all the force of my empire shall be at your disposal, and in return I will ask of you but one thing — the hand of your daughter."

8. The prince could scarcely believe his own ears. What ! the daughter of a petty prince in one corner of Greece, chosen to be the Empress of Rome I All this did not make him forget that it would cost liim much to give up his daughter, nor that Diocletian was a i)agan and a persecutor of Christians.

9. But what could he do? AVho ever lieard of refusing an Emperor of Rome any rccpiest whidi lie inigiit make ? Therefore, without a})peariiig to hesitate fur a moment, he

118 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

agreed to give his daughter to Diocletian. Xo sooner was Filumena alone with her parents than she said, " 0 my father ! how could you promise me to the Roman Emperor, when I have vowed to consecrate myself to the service of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ? "

10. ''You were too youug, my child, to make that vow/"* — " But having made it, how can I break it ? *' For the first time in her life Filumena's father looked at her in anger, saying, "Do not dare to disobey me!" — for he knew the fearful consequences of thwarting the emperor's will.

38. ST. PHILOMENA.

PART SECOND.

WHEN the order arrived for Filumena to be brought into the presence of the emperor, she again reminded her parents that she was unable to fulfill the promise given by her father. It was in vain that they told her of the death that surely awaited her if she refused — of the destruction of her whole family.

2. Their words fell upon deaf ears ; and even when both these beloved parents in terror knelt before her, saying, with tears in their eyes, "Take pity, Filumena, on your father, your mother, your country, your subjects," she ex- claimed, "Have you not yourselves taught me these words of our Divine Lord ? ' He that loveth father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me ? ' "

3. She was carried to the palace and brought before the emperor, but it was only to refuse all the honors which he offered to her. Eepelled thus, his anger knew no bounds, and calling his guards, " Shut up this child," he exclaimed, " in a gloomy prison, load her with chains, and give her nothing but bread and water."

ST. PHILOMENA. 119

Jf. This horrible captivity had lasted thirty-seven days, when, in the midst of a heavenly light, Filumena saw the Virgin Mother of God before her, holding her Divine Son in her arms. '*My daughter,'' said the Blessed Virgin, "three days more of prison, and then, after a great combat and ter- rible torture, thou shalt quit this state of pain. " Then the celestial vision disappeared, leaving the heart of Filumena filled with divine courage, and the foul prison perfumed with a heavenly odor.

5. Diocletian at last despaired of bending the resolution of his captive, and determined to punish her. "Since she is not ashamed to prefer to an emperor like Diocletian,'' he said, " one who was condemned by His own nation to be crucified, she deserves to be scourged as He was."

6. His cruel order was carried out, until her body was one bloody wound and she appeared to be dying. She was then dragged to her prison to die alone. But our Lord, to whom she was so faithful, sent tAvo angels all in shining white, to dress her wounds with healing balm.

7. The emperor was quickly informed of this prodigy. Brought before him, he beheld her with astonishment. "It is plain," said he, "Jupiter wishes you to be Empress of Rome." "Do not speak of Jupiter to me, who am a Chris- tian maiden," answered Filumena. " Tie an anchor round her neck, and throw her into the Tiber I " shouted Diocletian in a terrible rage and fury.

8. No sooner was this order executed, than the two shining angels again appeared, parted the rope that bound the anchor to her neck, and while it sank to the bottom of the Tiber, Filumena, in the presence of an immense multitude, was borne gently to the shore. This miracle converted hundreds to the faith ; but the emperor ordered her to be shot with arrows and again thrown into prison.

120 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

9. Xext morning she was brought before him perfectly healed, and the command of the preceding day was repeated. The arrows aimed at her remained suspended in the air. They were then collected and made red-hot, but left the bows only to turn in their flight and pierce the archers, six of whom were instantly killed. Terrified, but still cruel, Dio- cletian commanded her to be beheaded, which was done on the 10th of August, in the year 303, after Christ.

39. SIR RODOLPH OF HAPSBURG.

PART FIRST.

THE sunlight falls on the Alpine heights, And jewels of every hue Flash out from the snow-wreafh§ sparkling bright,

'Neath a heaven of cloudless blue. And the deer through the rocks on the mountain side

Spring forward with eager bound, While a thousand echoes ring far and wide To the hunter's bugle sound.

2. Oh, well may the wild deer bound away

Through those mountain-forests grand, For Sir Rodolph of Hapsburg rides to-day

At the head of a hunter band. The highest places in field and hall

Doth brave Sir Rodolph claim, Stainless and bright is the sword he wears,

And high is his knightly fame.

S. Glad as a boy in the mountain chase, And gay as a child is he. Yet he yieldetli to none of his noble race In Christian chivalrv.'

' Chivalry (fe^iv'al ri), a body or usages, manners, qualifications, or order of cavaliers or knights serv- cliaracter of knights, as courage, ing on horseback ; cavalry ; the skill in arms, politeness.

5/y? RODOLPH OF HAPSBURG.

Ul

And his sword that never gave heedless wound.

Or struck at a fallen foe, To fight for the weak from its sheath would bound,

Or to lay the tyrant low.

J^. His laugh rings out at the sportive jest,

There is mirth in his dark blue eye, His steed and his arui arc; fl(!etest and best

When the deer and the hounds sweep by ! But his voice in council is deei) and grave

As th(^ oldest and stc^-nest there ; And the hunter gay, and the soldier brave.

Is meek as a child at prayer.

<T. And now Sir Rodolph, in boyish glee, Rides swiit as the mountain wind

122 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Till all his band, save a youthful page,

Are left in the hills behind. But he raises his bugle with joyous shout,

And he winds a merry blast, Ha ! ha ! good Hubert ! they little thought

We should ride so far and fast.

6. They answer below ; — but a softer sound

Comes borne on the breeze's swell, Now, why doth the count in such haste dismount

At the sound of that tinkling bell ? And why is his cap doffed reverently ?

And why doth he bend the knee ? There are none, save the page, or the peasant nigh,

And the mountain's lord is he !

7. The lord of the mountain doffed cap and plume,

A nobler than he to greet. And the chieftain of Haj^sburg bendeth low

His Monarch and Lord to meet. An aged priest to the plains below

Toils over the rocky road. His hands are clasped, and his head is bowed.

For he beareth the hidden God.

40. SIR RODOLPH OF HAPSBURG.

PART SECOND.

THE priest hath paused beside the count, Sir Rodolph whispers low, " For His dear sake who died for me

A boon thou shalt bestow I I crave a boon for my dear Lord's sake !

And thou shalt not me deny, My gallant steed in His service take. We will follow, my page and I."

SIR RODOLPH OF HAPSBURG. 123

" Nay, nay, sir knight, it must not be,

A hunter chieftain thou — Thine eager train e'en now I see,

Far in the plain below. "^ ' ' My train to-day must ride alone —

Most foul disgrace 't would be. If thou on foot shouldst bear the Lord

Who bore the Cross for me.

"And God forefend ' that Christian, e'er,

Begirt with knighthood's sword, Should leave a mountain serf to be

Sole follower of his Lord." The good priest mounts the noble steed,

Sir Rodolph holds the rein, With careful step and reverend mien,

Thus wend they to the plain.

The dying man his God receives —

They mount the hill once more. And in the pass the grateful priest

Would fain the steed restore. "Nay, father, nay," Sir Rodolph said,

And loosed the hunter's rein, " The charger that hath borne my Lord,

I may not mount again.

"A faithful servant he hath been.

And well beloved by me, God grant my noble steed may prove

As true a friend to thee. Farewell ! thy homeward path is short

Down yonder wooded knoll. Forget not in the Holy Mass

To pray for my poor soul."

' Fore fSnd', forbid ; prevent.

12 Jf. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

C. A moment on his upturned face

The priest in silence gazed, Then solemnly his aged hands

O'er Ilodolph's head he raised. " Sir hunter, when nine circling years

Have passed upon their way, Thy loving Master will reward

Thy service of to-day.'"

7. They passed — fair Hapsburg's youthful chief

A stalwart ' knight had grown, And now they need a king to fill

His native land's proud throne ! Nor hath his manhood's fame belied

The hope of early years. For he is first in rank and name

Among his gallant peers.

S. Now serfs and nobles bend the knee.

To own with one accord. As monarch of their German land.

Fair Hapsburg's noble lord, And well the count remembered then.

The hoary " father's word ; "Thy loyal service of to-day,

Thy Lord will well reward."

41. WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

IT was the schooner Hesperus That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

' Stalwart (stol' wart), Drave ; ^ Hoar'y, white or gray with strong ; violent. age ; as, hoary hairs.

WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

125

'2. Blue were her eyes as tlie fairy flax. Her cheeks like tlic dawn of day, And her forehead white as the hawthorn ' buds. That ope in the month of May.

» Haw'tho-n a sl.rul) havin^r rose-like flowers, and fruit called haxc.

126 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

3. The skipper ^ he stood beside the helm ; 2

His pipe was in his mouth ; And he watched how the veering flaw^ did blow The smoke, now west, now south.

4. Then up and spake an old sailor.

Who'd sailed the Spanish main : *'I pray thee, put into yonder port. For I fear a hurricane.^

5. " Last night the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see ! '* The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe. And a scornful laugh laughed he.

6. Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the northeast ; The snow fell hissing in the brine. And the billows frothed like yeast.

7. Down came the storm, and smote amain ^

The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed. Then leaped her cable's length.

8. '' Come hither ! come hither I my little daughter.

And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow."

.9. He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ;

' Skip'per, the master of a small ■* Hur' ri cane, a fierce storm,

trading or merchant vessel. marked by the great fury of the

- Helm, the instrument by which wind and its sudden changes.

a ship is steered. * A main', with sudden force ;

3 Flaw, a sudden burst of wind, suddenly, or at once.

WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 127

He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast.

10. '' 0 father ! I hear the church-bells ring ;

0 say, what may it be ? " "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast I " And he steered for the open sea.

11. " 0 father I I hear the sound of guns ;

0 say, what may it be ? " " Some ship in distress, that can not live In such an angry sea ! "'

12. "0 father ! I see a gleaming light ;

0 say, what may it be ? " But the father answered never a word — A frozen corpse was he.

13. Lashed to the helm all stiff and stark, ^

With his face turned to the skies. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Uf.. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee.

15. And fast through the midnight dark and drear

Through the whistling sleet and snow. Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Toward the reef ^ of Norman's Woe.

16. And ever, the fitful ^ gusts between,

A sound came from the land ;

' Stark, strong ; rugged. ' Fit'ful, often and suddenly

' Reef, a chain of rocks lying at changeable ; irregularly variable or near the surface of the water. impulsive and unstable.

128 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

It was the sound of the trampling surf ^ On tlie rocks and the hard sea-sand.

17. The breakers Avere right beneath her bows ;

She drifted a dreary wreck ; And a whooping ^ billow swept the crew, Like icicles, from her deck.

18. She struck where the white and fleecy waves

Looked soft as carded wool ; But the cruel rocks they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.

19. Her rattling shrouds,^ all sheathed in ice,

With the mast went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank — Ho I ho ! the breakers roared I

20. At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,'^ . To see the form of a maiden fair Lashed close to a drifting mast.

21. The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise.

22. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow ; Christ save us all from a death like this.

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! Longfellow.

' Surf (serf), the swell of the sea ^ Shrouds, a set of ropes, reach-

which breaks upon the shore, or ing from the mast-heads to the

upon sand-banks or rocks. sides of a vessel, to stay the masts.

-Whooping (hop' ing), crying ■'Aghast (a gast'), struck with

out with eagerness or enjoyment. sudden horror or fear.

HYGIENIC CLOTHING. 129

42. HYGIENIC CLOTHING.

CLOTHING is important in cold climates, not because it can originate or create warmth, but because it so utilizes the heat produced as to keep the air that is circulating about our bodies warm enough to make us comfortable. In sjieaking of the skin, we associate with it the clothing. For many its only meaning seems to be that which has to do with decency, beauty, and taste. Important as these are, the most impor- tant view to be taken of it is that which relates to the health.

2. Clothing is the additional skin which, because of changes of temperature and of conditions, often necessarily artificial, we are called upon to provide. Its design is to obstruct or regulate the abstraction of heat which goes on from every warm or moist body placed in a cooler atmosphere. The heat that is radiated from us is kept longer about us by our clothing ; and even the thinnest clothing, such as a veil over the face, will lessen radiation,^ and so help to keep us warm. As about fifty per cent, of air-heat is lost by radiation, we need to know how far clothing can interrupt this, and what kinds do it most effectually.

3. When we are surrounded by other bodies, or things equally as warm as ourselves, as in artificially heated rooms, or in a crowd with persons as warm as ourselves, our radia- tion is exactly counterbalanced by that which is received from our surroundings, and our loss is chiefly by conduction ^ and convection. 3 This is mainly accomplished by the cur-

* Radiation (ra'di a'^iin), the touch, or from particle to particle

shooting forth of anything from of the same body.

a point or surface, as rays of light ^ Convection (kon vPk'^un),

or heat. the act or way of transfer or pas-

'' Conduction (kon duk' ^un), sage, as heat, by means of cur-

the passing through of heat from rents — as when heat is applied to

one body to another, when they liquids from below.

130 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

rents of air moving about us. Fortunately there is this constant movement of air, which is seldom less than one and one-half feet per second, and not perceptible as a draught until it amounts to about three feet per second.

Jf. Under usual conditions, the losses by radiation and con- duction are the chief losses of bodily heat. When, however, these are insufficient, we fortunately have such a supply ot sweat-glands and tubing in the skin, and such relations of the capillary circulation thereto, that the skin increases its insensible perspiration to sensible, and thus evaporation re- duces the temperature and keeps it from becoming excessive. When the skin pours forth water, as in profuse perspiration, the evaporation equalizes differences resulting from varying production of heat or from embarrassment of the other two methods.

5. Between these three methods there is opportunity for delicate adjustment of heat. But even this, in changing climates and circumstances, depends much, in variation and efficiency, upon the proper adaption of clothing. Conse- quently, clothing has been very carefully studied. A com- mon idea is that clothing is designed to shut out the air from our bodies ; but as conduction and evaporation, and to some degree radiation, depend upon air, the complete shutting out of air would not conduce to healthy regulation of temperature.

6. The design of clothing is rather to catch between its fibers the circulating air, and so to regulate the temperature of the air between the outside and the skin as shall secure comfortable warmth. Heat radiates from, and is conducted from or evaporated through, different forms and kinds of clothing at quite different rates. Color has an influence in relation to radiant heat received. In this regard, in direct sunlight, the order of preference is, white, gray, yellow, pink, green, blue, and black. In the shade the differences nearly

HYGIENIC CLOTHING. 131-

disappear. The power of absorbing odors is greatest in the following order : black, blue, red, green, yellow, white.

7. Clothing merely means to pnt materials between our skin and the outside air, which shall retard the outgoing of heat, and, meeting air, shall warm it before it reaches the skin. One of the first facts which expei-iment has shown and experience confirmed is that it is not the substance and the weight, but the texture and the volume that cause the chief difference. A loose substance, as in a new bed-quilt, greatly loses its power to help us retain warmth when it be- comes compressed or packed. Hence, an article like feathers, which can not be thus packed by use into a hard flat surface, is very valuable as a covering. The same is true of furs, and especially of the light hair near the skin. So three or four layers of the same article will keep us warmer than the same amount in weight closely compacted. This is illustrated by the coldness of a very tight boot or glove in cold weather, as compared with one looser and of the same weight and material, 8. x\ny garment for warmth must, therefore, admit of air next to the skin, and in its crevices or meshes. 8o garments made of very fine fiber are warmer in jaroportion to weight and thickness than those of coarser fiber. Persons who have tried the use of buckskin, or leather, or india-rubber, as a clothing, have found themselves suffering greatly when ex- posed to severe cold. These have their uses, but only as shutting out water, or cold winds, so far as is consistent with the free passage of air through garments beneath thein.

9. Another important consideration in the choice of cloth- ing for health is that relating to its property of condensing water from the atmos})here, generally known as the liygro- scopic property of different materials. This also, in })art, determines the ability of various kinds of material to dispose of the perspiration of tlic body. Interesting and reliable

132 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

experiments give results as follows : wool has a greater hy- groscopic power than linen, that of flannel, being from 175 to 75, and that of linen from 111 to 41. Linen is quickly wetted and soaked, wool more slowly and takes up the greater quantity. Evaporation is much quicker with linen. Drying proceeds much more evenly in wool. Linen, cotton, and silk become very quickly air-tight by wetting, but wool only after a long soaking.

10. The elasticity of fiber, on which the porosity of all fabrics chiefly depends, is very different in different materials. Here, again, wool stands ajjart ; its fibers do not lose much elasticity when wet, while wet linen and silk lose it rapidly. The greater facility of catching cold in wet linen or silk than in wet wool is in exact proportion to the greater facility with which water expels the air contained in their fibers. The more the air in any material is displaced by water the less it keeps us warm ; hence, the frequent injury resulting from wet clothes, and the discomfort produced by a damp, cold air.

11. Cotton has many advantages over linen, but is not so universally applicable as wool. It conducts heat more rap- idly than wool, and less rapidly than linen. It is very non- absorba.nt of water, and so can not compare Avith wool in hygroscopic properties. A^'ool, for instance, has double the power of cotton or linen to absorb sweat. The fiber of cotton becomes hard or packed in wearing, and so diminishes in porosity. It has an advantage over wool in that it does not shrink in washing. Smallness of thread, smoothness of text- ure, and equality of spinning have much to do, not only with the quality, but with its hygienic value as clothing.

12. When cotton of well-woven, smooth texture is mixed with Avool in the proportion of about 50 per cent, woven in the same thread, it makes a valuable garment, and, without unduly diminishing the thermal and hygroscopic value of

THE MASTER'S TOUCH. 133

wool, prevents the shrinkage by which the wool fiber it- self, in time, would become harder and less absorbent. All these articles for clothing may differ somewhat in their regulative power as to heat and moisture by difference in quality as well as in material or fineness of thread or texture. Thus, if the garments are made of old or worked-up wool or cloth, known as shoddy, the fiber will have been compressed, and be quite different from that of fresh wool or cotton. Smoothness, softness, and closeness of texture, with weight large in proportion to bulk, are the general requirements for hygienic clothing. Hunt.'

43. THE MASTER'S TOUCH.

IN the still air, the music lies unheard ; In the rough marble, beauty hides unseen : To make the music and the beauty, needs The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.

2. Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand ;

Let not the music that is in us die ! Great Sculptor, hew and polish us ; nor let, Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie !

3. Spare not the stroke ! do with us as thou wilt !

Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred ; Complete thy purpose, that we may become Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord I

' Ezra M. Hvint, M. D., LL.D., and enthusiasm. He was delegate

an American educator, sanitarian, to the International Med. Cong, in

and author, was born at Metuclien, 1876, 1881, 1884, and 1887. He has

N. J., in 1830. As medical prac- been President of the Am. Pub.

titioner, college professor, liosi)ital Health Association, and of the

director, and practical philanthro- N. J. State Med. Soc. The preced-

pist. he has achieved success, ow- ing selection is from liis " Princi-

ing not less to his ability than to pies of Hygiene," a text-book of

extraordinary industry, readiness, rare excellence, published in 1886.

134 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

4.4:. MAXIMUS.

MANY, if God sbiyald make them kings, Might not disgrace the throne He gave ; How few who could as well fulfill The holier office of a slave !

2. I hold him great who, for Love's sake.

Can give, with generous, earnest will — Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake, I think I hold more generous still.

3. I prize the instinct ' that can turn

From vain j^retense * with proud disdain ; ' Yet more I prize a simple heart Paying credulity * with pain.

4. I bow before the noble mind

That freely some great wrong forgives ; Yet nobler is the one forgiven,

Who bears that burden well, and lives.

5. It may be hard to gain, and still

To keep a lowly steadfast heart ; Yet he who loses has to fill A hai'der and a truer part.

6. Glorious it is to wear the crown

Of a deserved and pure success :

He who knows how to fail has won

A crown whose luster is not less.

7. Great may he be who can command

And rule with just and tender sway ;

' In'stinct, inward impulse ; un- * Pre tense', false show, reasoning prompting to action ; ^ Dis dain', the regarding of

specially, the natural impulse any thing as beneath one ; pride, which moves an animal to perform * Cre dii'li ty, easiness of belief ;

an action. a disposition to believe too readily.

THE FIRST OF VIRTUES. 135

Yet is diviner wisdom taught Better by him who can obej'.

8 Blessed are those who die for God,

And earn the Martyr's crown of light ; Yet he who lives for God may be A greater Conqueror in His sight.

Procter.'

45. THE FIRST OF VIRTUES.

MOTHER Marie-Aimee de Blonay, an intimate friend of 8t. Jane Frances de Chantal,^ and one of the first sisters in the Order of the Visitation, experienced from her infancy the happy effects of devotion to the Blessed Virgin.

2. She was yet in her cradle, when her mother, dying, placed her under the protection of the Mother of God and of St. Anne. Having attained to years of discretion, she en- deavored to show herself a true child of Mary by often retir- ing into a little oratory ^ to invoke her.

S. Mary, on her part, deigned to become the Mother and Mistress of this devout child, and herself instructed her in the practice of the virtues she afterward displayed so eminently.

If.. On one occasion, being then fifteen, Marie-Aimee went to church for Vespers, and felt rather annoyed at having to

' Adelaide Anne Procter, the France, on the 23d of January, 1573,

daughter of the poet, B. W. Proc- and died at Moulins, Dec. 13, 1641.

ter, was the author of two volumes Together with St. Francis de Sales,

of deservedly poimlar poems. Her she founded the Order of the Visita-

poetry, without imitation, has tion. She was canonized in 1769,

much of the paternal grace, finish, and her feast is celebrated on the

and manner. She became a Cath- 21st of August.

olic in 1851, and died in 1864 » Or'a t5 ry, a place of prayer ,

* St. Jane Frances Fremiot, a small room or chapel set apart

Baroness de Chautal.born at Dijon, for private devotions.

136 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

give place to a lady owning au estate whicli had once be- longed to her own ancestors. Not choosing to walk behind this lady on issuing from the church, she remained on her knees, and chanced to fall asleep.

5. In a dream she then perceived our Blessed Lady, escorted by a noble company of virgins, going up to the Temple. Immediately she rose to join the heavenly company ; but it seemed to her that the Blessed A^irgin rebuked her, and said, in a tone of severity : "You are not little enough to serve me, who chose to be as one rejected in the House of God.""

6. Having said this, Mary turned and ascended the steps leading to the Temple, leaving on each of her footsteps, in large letters of gold, the name of a virtue, the first of which was Humility, and the last, Charity.

7. Having gained the highest step, she disappeared, leaving Marie- Aimee heartily ashamed of her vanity, and fully deter- mined to apply herself to the attainment of humility, which she now understood to be the foundation of all perfection.

46. TO OUR LADY.

O VIRGIN MOTHER, Lady of Good Counsel, Sweetest picture artist ever drew. In all doubts I fly to thee for guidance, Mother ! tell me, what am I to do ?

By the light within thy dear eyes dwelling.

Sheltered safely in thy mantle blue, By His little arms around thee twining.

Mother, tell me, Avhat am I to do ?

By the light within thy dear eyes dwelling. By the tears that dim their luster too ;

TO OUR LADY. 137

By the story that these tears are telling, Mother, tell me, what am I to do ?

Jf.. Life, alas, is often dark and dreary.

Cheating shadows hide the truth from view, When my soul is most perplexed and Aveary, ^Mother, tell me, what am I to do ?

5. See my hopes in frjigile vessel tossing.

Be the jnlot of that trembling crew. Guide me safely o'er the dangerous crossing, ^[other, tell me, what am I to do ?

6. Should I ever Avillfully forgetting,

Fail to pay my God his homage due, Should I sin and live without regretting. Mother, tell me, Avhat am I to do ?

7. Stir my heart, while gazing on thy features.

With the old, old story, ever new — How our God has loved his sinful creatures. Then, dear Mother, show me what to do.

8. Plead my cause, for what can He refuse thee ?

Get me back his saving grace anew. Ah ! I know, thou dost not wish to lose me. Mother, tell me, Avhat am I to do ?

9. Thus alike when needful sorrows chasten,

As amid joy's visits fair and few, To thy shrine with loving trust I hasten, Mother, tell me, Avhat am I to do ?

10. Be of all my friends the best and dearest, 0 my counselor, sincere and true ! Let thy voice sound always first and clearest, Mother, tell me, what am I to do ?

138 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

11. In thy guidance tranquilly reposing,

Now I face my toils and cares anew ; All through life and at its awful closing. Mother, tell me, what am I to do ?

47. THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.

PART FIRST.

AND Jesus seeing the multitudes, went up into a mount- k. ain, and when he was set down, his disciples came unto him, and opening his mouth he taught them, saying :

2. Blessed are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are the meek : for they shall possess the land. Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be com- forted. Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice : for they shall have their fill. Blessed are the merciful : for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart : for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers : for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice sake : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when they shall revile you, and persecute you, and speak all that is evil against you, untruly, for my sake : be glad and rejoice, for your reward is very great in heaven ; for so they persecuted the prophets that were before you.

3. You are the salt of the earth ; but if the salt lose its savor, wherewith shall it be salted ? It is good for nothing any more but to be cast out. and to be trodden on by men. You are the light of the world. A city seated on a mountain can not be hid ; neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but upon a candlestick, that it may shine ta all that are in the house. So let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father,, who is in heaven.

THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT. 139

Jf. Do not think that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets : I am not come to destroy but to fulfill. For amen I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one jot, or one tittle shall not pass of the law, till all be fulfilled. He there- fore that shall break one of these least commandments, and shall so teach men, shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven : but he that sliall do and teach, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, that unless your justice abound more than that of the scribes and pharisees, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven,

5. You have heard that it was said to them of old : Thon shalt not kill : and whosoever shall kill, shall be in danger of the judgment. ' But I say to you : that whosoever is angry

with his brother, shall be in danger of the judgment, If

therefore thou offer thy gift at tlie altar, and there thou re- member that thy brother hath anything against thee : leave there thy offering before the altar, and go first to be recon- ciled to thy brother ; and then coming thou shalt offer thy gift.

6. Again you have heard that it was said to them of old : Thou shalt not forswear thyself : but thou shalt perform thy oath§ to the Lord. But I say to you not to swear at all,^ neither by heaven, for it is the throne of God : nor by the earth, for it is his foot-stool : nor by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great king : neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. But

' In danger of the judgment, ' jjq^ ^q swear at all. It is not

that is, shall be liable to be brought forbid to swear in truth, justice

before the lower court, amongst and judgment ; to the honor of

the Jews, Avhich tried such crimes, God, or our own or neighbor's

whereas the council or snuhedHm just defenst?, but only not to swear

was a higher court, and had greater rashly or profanely, in common

authority. discourse and without necessity.

1^0 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

let your speech be yea, yea : no, no : and that which is over and above these, is of evil.

7. You have heard that it hath been said : An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you not to resist evil : but if one strike thee on thy right cheek, turn to him also the other : and if a man will contend with thee in judg- ment, and take away thy coat, let go thy cloak also unto him ; and whosoever will force thee one mile, go with him other two. Give to him that asketh of thee : and from him that would borrow of thee turn not away.

8. You have heard that it hath been said : Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thy enemy. But I say to you : Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you : and pray for them that persecute and calumniate^ yon : that you may be the children of your Father who is in heaven : who maketh his sun to rise upon the good and bad : and raineth upon the just and the unjust. For if you love them, that love you, what reward shall you have ? do not even the publicans this ? And if you salute your brethren only, what do you more ? Do not also the heathens this ? Be you therefore perfect as also your heavenly Father is perfect.

48. THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.

PART SECOND.

TAKE heed that you do not your justice before meu, to be seen by them : otherwise you shall not have a reward of your Father who is in heaven. Therefore when thou dost an alms-deed, sound not a trumpet before thee, as the hypo- crites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may

1 Ca liim'iu ate, to spread abroad other ; to make knowingly false evil reports to the injury of an- charges of crime or offense.

THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT. Uj.!

be honoured by men : Amen I say to you, they have received their reward. But when thou dost alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right liand doth : that thy alms may be in secret, and thy Father, who seeth in secret, will re- pay thee.

2. And when ye pray, you shall not be as the hyjiocrites, that love to stand and jiray in the synagogues and corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men : Amen I say to you, they have received their reward. But thou when thou shalt pray, enter into thy chamber, and having shut the door, pray to thy Father in secret : and thy Father who seeth in secret will repay thee. And when you are praying, speak not much, as the heathens ; for they think that in their much-speaking they may be heard. Be not you therefore like to them ; for your Father knoweth what is needful for you, before you ask him.

3. Thus therefore shall you pray : Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our super-substantial bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation. But deliver us from evil. Amen. For if you will forgive men their offences : your heavenly Father will forgive you also your offences. But if you will not forgive men : neither will your Father forgive you your offer.- ces.

Jf. And when you fast, be not as the hypocrites, sad ; for they disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto men to fast. Amen I say to you. they have received their reward. But thou, wlien thou fastest anoint thy head, and wash thy face, that thou appear not to men to fast, but to thy Father who is in secret : and thy Father who seeth in secret, will re- pay thee.

5. Lay not uj) to yourselves treasures on earth : where the

142 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

rust and moth cousuine, and where tliieves break through and steal. But lay up to yourselves treasures in heaven : where neither the rust nor moth doth consume, and where thieves do not break through, nor steal. For where thy treasure is, there is thy heart also. The light of thy body is thy eye. If thy eye be single : thy whole body shall be light- some. But if thy eye be evil : thy whole body shall be dark- some. If tlien the light that is in thee, be darkness : the •darkness it self how great shall it be ? No man can serve two masters : for either he will hate the one, and love the other : or he will sustain the one, and despise the other. You can not serve God and mammon.

6. Ask, and it shall be given you : seek, and you shall find : knock, and it shall be opened to you. For every one that asketh, receiveth : and he that seeketh, findeth : and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened. Or what man is there among you, of whom if his son shall ask bread, will he reach him a stone ? Or if he shall ask him a fish, will he reach him a serpent ? If you then being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children : how much more will your Father who is in heaven, give good things to them that ask him ?

7. Not every one, that saith to me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven : but he that doth the will of my Father who is in heaven, he shall enter into the kingdom of heaven. Many will say to me in that day : Lord, Lord, have not we prophesied in thy name, and cast out devils in thy name, and done many miracles in thy name ? And then will I profess unto them : I never knew you : depart from me, you that work iniquity.

8. Every one therefore that heareth these my words, and doth them, shall be likened to a wise man, that built his house upon a rock, and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and they beat upon that house, and it

THE IDEA OF A SAINT. ljj,3

fell not, for it was founded on a rock. And every one that heareth these my words, and doth them not, shall be like a foolish man, that built his house upon the sand, and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall thereof.

49. THE IDEA OF A SAINT.

WORLDLY-MINDED men, however rich, if they are Catholics, can not, till they utterly lose their faith, be the same as those who are external to the Church ; they have an instinctive veneration for those who have the traces of heaven upon them, and they praise what they do not imitate.

2. Such men have an idea before them which a Protestant nation has not ; they have the idea of a Saint ; they believe they realize the existence of those rare servants of (xod, who rise up from time to time in the Catholic Church like Angels in disguise, and shed around them a light as they walk on their way heavenward. They may not in practice do Avhat is right and good, but they know what is true ; they know what to think and how to judge. They have a standard for their principles of conduct, and it is the image, the pattern of Saints which forms it for them.

3. Very various are the Saints, their very variety is a token of God's workmanship ; but however various, and whatever was their special line of duty, they have been heroes in it ; they have attained such noble self-command, they have so crucified the flesh, they have so renounced the world ; they are so meek, so gentle, so tender-hearted, so merciful, so sweet, so cheerful, so full of prayer, so diligent, so forgetful of injuries ; they have sustained such great and continued pains, they have persevered in such vast labors, they have

IJfJi. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

made such valiant confessions, they have wrought such abundant miracles, they have been blessed with such strange successes, that they have set up a standard before us of truth, of magnanimity, 1 of holiness, of love.

Jf.. They are not always our examples : we are not always bound to follow them ; not more than we are bound to obey literally some of our Lord's precepts, such as turning the cheek or giving away the coat ; not more than we can follow the course of the sun, moon, or stars in the heavens ; but, though not always our examples, they are always our standard of right and good ; they are raised up to be monuments and lessons, they remind us of God, they introduce us into the unseen world, they teach us what Christ loves, they track out for us the way which leads heavenward. They are to us who see them, what wealth, notoriety, rank, and name are to the multitude of men who live in darkness — objects of our veneration and of our homage. Newman.'^

50. A LEGEND.^

THE Monk was preaching : strong his earnest word, From the abundance of his heart he spoke, And tlie flame spread — in every soul that heard

Sorrow and love and good resolve awoke : The poor lay Brother, ignorant and old, Thanked God that he had heard such words of gold.

' Mag'na nim'i ty, greatness of University of Ireland, which office

mind and soul which makes one he held for several years. His

despise and avoid meanness and poetry is excellent, and his English

injustice. prose is unsurpassed.

- John Henry Newman, Car- ^ Le'gend, a story, appointed to

dinal, was born in England in 1801 be read, respecting Saints, espe-

and died in 1890. He was edu- cially one of a marvelous kind;

cated at Oxford ; became a convert hence, any remarkable story

to the Catholic faith in 1847 : was handed down from early times ;

the first rector of the Catholic or, less exactly, any story.

THE PRIEST. IJ^5

" Still let the glory, Lord, be thine alone " — ■ So prayed the Monk, his heart absorbed in praise :

"Thine be the glory : if my hands have sown The harvest ripened in Thy mercy's rays,

It was Thy blessing, Lord, that made my word

Bring light and love to every soul that heard.

" O Lord, I thank Thee that my feeble strength Has been so blessed ; that sinful hearts and cold

Were melted at my pleading — knew at length How sweet thy service and how safe thy fold :

While souls that loved Thee saw before them rise

Still holier heights of loving sacrifice."

So prayed the Monk : when suddenly he heard An angel speaking thus : " Know, O my son,

Thy words had all been vain, but hearts were stirred And saints were edified, and sinners won.

By his, the poor lay Brother's humble aid.

Who sat upon the pulpit stair and prayed. "

Adelaide A. Procter.

51. THE PRIEST.

THE moral power exercised by a good priest in his parish is incalculable. The priest is always a mysterious being in the eyes of the world. Like his Divine Master, he ''is set for the fall and the resurrection of many in Israel, and for a sign which shall be contradicted."

2. Various opinions are formed of him. Some say of him as was said of our Saviour: "Tie is a good man." And others say : '' No, but he seduceth the people." He is loved most by those who know him best. Hated or despised he may be by many that are strangers to him and to his sacred character ; but he has been too prominent a factor in the

JJfG DOMINION FOURTH READER.

civilization of mankind and the advancement of morality ever to be ignored.

3. The life of a missionary priest is never written, nor can it be. He has no Boswell. ^ His biographer may record the priest's public and official acts. He may recount the churches he erected, the schools he founded, the works of religion and charity he inaugurated and fostered, the sermons he preached, the children he catechised, the converts he received into the fold, and this is already a great deal.

Jf. But it only touches upon the surface of that devoted life. There is no memoir 2 of his private daily life of useful- ness, and of his sacred and confidential relations with his flock. All this is hidden with Christ in God, and 'is regis- tered only by His recording angel.

5. " The civilizing and moralizing influence of the clergy- man in his parish," sa3's Mr. Lecky,^ " the simple unostenta- tious, unselfish zeal with which he educates the ignorant, guides the erring, comforts the sorrowing, braves the horrors of pestilence, and sheds a hallowing influence over the dying hour, the countless ways in which, in his little sphere, he allays evil passions and softens manners, and elevates and purifies those around him ; all these things, though very evi- dent to the detailed observer, do not stand out in the same vivid prominence in historical records, and are continually forgotten by historians."

6. The priest is Christ's unarmed officer of the law. He is more potent in repressing vice than a band of constables. His only weapon is his voice ; his only badge of authority his

' James Boswell, the friend and bore ti part ; an account written

biographer of Dr. Johnson, born from memory.

1740, and died 1795. » William Edward Hartpole

* Memoir (mem'wor), an account Lecky (lek' i), a British author

of things done in which the writer born in 1838.

WHAT MONKS HAVE DONE. 1^7

sacred office. Like the fabled Neptune putting Eolus to flight and calming the troubled waves, the priest quiets many a domestic storm, subduing the winds of passion, reconciling the jarring elements of strife, healing dissensions, preventing divorce, and arresting bloodshed.

7. He is the daily depository of his parishioners' cares and trials, anxieties and fears, afflictions and temptations, and even of their sins. They come to him for counsel in doubt, for spiritual and even temporal aid ; and if he can not sup- press, he has at least the consolation of mitigating the moral

evil around him.

Gibbons.'

52. WHAT MONKS HAVE DONE.

IT was a monk — Roger Bacon — who first discovered and explained those principles which, a little later, led another monk — Schwartz of Cologne' — to invent gunpowder ; and which, more fully developed some centuries afterward by the great Catholic philosoi^her, Galile'o, enabled him to invent the mi' croscope and the telescope.

2. It was a monk — Salvino of Pisa — who. in the tM'elfth century, invented spectacles for the old and the short-sighted. To the monks — Pacifico of Verona, the great Gerbert, and William, abbot of Hirschau — we owe the invention of clocks, between the tenth and the twelfth centuries.

3. It was the monks who, in the middle ages, taught the people agriculture, and who, by their skillful in'dustry, re- claimed whole tracts of waste land. It was the monks who

* James Cardinal Gibbons, was lege of Cardinals by Pope Leo XIII.

bom in Baltimore in 1834. After He is the author of " The Faith of

occupying se\eral imi)ortant and our Fathers," "(Christian Heritage,"

commanding positions in the and a contributor to the " Ameri-

Church, he was raised to the Col- can Catholic Quarterly Review."

148 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

first cultivated botany, and made known the hidden me- dicinal properties of plants.

Jf. It is to the monks that we are in all probability indebted for the paper on which we write. It was the monk Gerbert who first introduced into Europe the arithmetical numbers of the Arabs (a.d. 991), and who thus laid the foundation of arithmetical and mathematical studies.

5. It was an Italian priest — Galvani — who first discovered the laws of the subtile fluid called after him. It was a Spanish Benedictine monk — Pedro da Ponce — who (a.d. 1570) first taught Europe the art of instructing the deaf and dumb. It was a French Catholic priest — the Abbe Ilaiiy — who, in a work published toward the close of the last century, first un- folded the principles of the modern science of mineralogy.

6. It was a Catholic priest — Nicholas Copernicus — who, in the beginning of the sixteenth century, promulgated the theory of a system of the world, called after him — the Copernican — which is now generally received, and which led to the brilliant discoveries of Kepler and Galileo, and formed the basis of the splendid mathematical demonstrations of Newton and La Place. Finally, it is to the missionary zeal of Catholic priests that we are indebted for most of our earliest mar'itime and geographical knowledge.

7. The Catholic priest always accompanied voyages of dis- covery and expeditions of conquest ; often stimulating the former by his zeal for the salvation of souls, and softening down the rigors of the latter by the exercise of his heroic charity. Catholic priests were at all times the pioneers of civilization. Archbishop Spaldixg.'

1 Martin John Spalding, Arcli- his best known work being a " Re- bishop of Baltimore, born in Marion view of D'Aubigne's History of the County, Ky. , May 23, 1810; died Keformation." Several volumes of in Baltimore, Feb. 7, 1872. He was his essays and reviews have been a voluminous and elegant writer, published since his death.

J

MACARIUS THE MONK. 1^9

53. MACARIUS THE MONK.

IN days of old, wliile yet the Church was young, And men believed that praise of God was sung, In curbing self as well as singing psalms, There lived a monk, Maca'rius by name, A holy man, to whom the faithful came "With hungry hearts to hear the wondrous "Word. In sight of gushing springs and sheltering palms, He lived upon the desert : from the marsh He drank the brackish water, and his food Was dates and roots — and all his rule was harsh, For pampered flesh in those days warred with good.

S. From those who came in scores, a few there were "Who feared the devil more than fast and i:)rayer. And these remained and took the hermit's vow. A dozen saints there grew to be ; and now Macarius, happy, lived in larger care. He taught his brethren all the lore he knew, And as they learned, his pious rigors grew. His whole intent was on the spirit's goal : He taught them silence — words disturb the soul ; He warned of joys, and bade them pray for sorrow, And be prepared to-day for death to-morrow.

3. To know that human life alone was given. To test the souls of those who merit heaven, He bade the twelve in all things be as brothers. And die to self, to live and work for others.

" For so," he said, " we save our love and labors, And each one gives his own and takes his noiglibor's. ' Thus long he taught, and while they silent lu-ard, Ur ])niy('d for fruitful soil to liold the v.ord.

4. One day, beside the marsh tliey Ignored long — For worldly work makes sweeter sacred song —

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And when the cruel sun made hot the sand, And Afric's gnats the sweltering face and hand Tormenting stung, a passing traveler stood And watched the workers by the reeking flood.

5. Macarius, nigh, with heat and toil was faint ; The traveler saw, and to the suffering saint A bunch of luscious grapes in pity threw.

Most sweet and fresh and fair they were to view, A generous cluster, bursting-rich with wine. Macarius longed to taste. " The fruit is mine," He said, and sighed ; " but I, who daily teach. Feel now the bond to practice as I preach." He gave the cluster to the nearest one. And with his heavy toil went patient on.

6. And he who took, unknown to any other. The sweet refreshment handed to a brothei*. And so, from each to each, till round was made The circuit wholly ; when the grapes at last, Untouched and tempting, to Macarius passed.

" Now God be thanked I " he cried, and ceased to toil : "The seed was good, but better was the soil. My brothers, join with me to bless the day." But, ere they knelt, he threw the grapes away.

J. B. O'Reilly.'

54. RELIGIOUS ORDERS IN HEAVEN.

WE may reasonably suppose that God has prepared for the different religioits orders of the holy Church, and for those who had the happiness of belonging to them on earth, a peculiar reward, and a distinguishing glory in Heaven. The connection between the Church Militant and

- John Boyle O'Reilly, an Irish- popular writer, was bom in 1844 American journalist and poet, a and died in 1890.

RELIGIOUS ORDERS IN HEAVEN. lo 1

the Church Triumphant is so intimate, that this peculiar species of vocation can not fail to have a corresponding dis- tinction in the realms of bliss.

2. St. Teresa seems to have reference to this, when she mentioned a peculiar glory in Heaven for the members of the Society of Jesus. We may justly infer from this, that all the other religious orders of the holy Church are similarly distinguished in the glory of Heaven. Each one of these Orders has its own mission to fulfill in the Kingdom of God on earth, and contributes, in its own Avay, to the greater ad- vancement and glory of all. Does not this seem to foreshadow, that each of those noble brotherhoods and sisterhoods shall be also distinguished, one from the other, in Heaven ; each glorified in a way peculiar to itself ?

3. What a consoling and edifying sight it is, to see a great number of religious, robed in the habits of their several orders, assembled together for the celebration of Divine serv- ice ! How much grander would their display appear, could we see them headed by their respective founders, St. Bene- dict, St. Bernard, St. Francis, St. Dominic, St. Ignatius, or St. Alphonsus ! How our hearts would swell with joyful emotion, could we see, at one view, all those that ever be- longed to each one of these orders ; all the illustrious men and women, whose holy lives, salutary teachings, and Chris- tian heroism edified the Church, during their mortal career, and who are still her noblest ornaments.

Jf.. These religious orders are the legions of honor in the holy Church, and not a few of them have merited and ob- tained for their meml)ers the lofty title of the tliundering legions against the powers of darkness. When we behold a body of troops, arrayed in the same uniform, returning as victors from the battle-field, is it not a cheerful and a charm- ing sight ? So we may contemplate in Heaven, the glorilled

152 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

members of these several orders, as so many conquering troops of the Church, once militant, now triumphant.

5. What a glorious sight it is to behold them eternally united in their mutual and unchangeable beatitude, sheltered for ever from the storms of life, in the secure haven of ever- enduring rest and safety. We might also compare these orders, in their heavenly glory, to the Himalayas, or other chains of lofty mountains, which rise from the surface of our globe. Among them may be seen one point or peak, overtopping all the rest, surrounded by others of almost equal height, and these again by others, which gradually increase in elevation, till they sink to the level of some valley of cool and verdant freshness, or a smiling plain of gay and exquisite beauty.

6. In Heaven, we see St. Benedict surrounded by his hun- dreds of thousands, nay, millions of brothers and sisters, who have been saved during the fourteen hundred years of his order's existence. Ascending near to the summit of his vir- tue and glories, rise the blessed spirits of St. Maurus, St. Gregory, St. Boniface, St. Gertrude, St. Mechtilda, with a countless number of holy Popes, Bishops, Abbots, Doctors, and many Martyrs, all belonging to this first-born order of the Western Church.

7. There we see St. Francis of Assisium, in the very height of his elevation. Next to him, in glory, we behold a St. Bonaventure, a St. Anthony of Padua, a St. Capistran, a St. Clare, a St. Elizabeth, and all the multitude of the other Saints and Blessed of his order, crowned according to the different degrees of their merits. St. Dominic is there, towering amongst the blessed brethren and sisters of his Order ; and, at an almost equal height of glory, are seen St. Thomas Aquinas. St. Vincent Ferrer. St. Catherine of Sienna, St. Rose of Lima, and all the other lights of that illus- trious order.

THE HUN'S DEFEAT. 153

8. There we see, in the loftiest regions of heavenly bliss, St. Ignatius, surrounded by his glorious brethren of the So- ciety of Jesus ; chief amongst wliom are St. Francis Xavier, St. Francis Borgia, St. Francis Regis, St. Francis Hieronymo, St. Aloysius Gonzaga, St. Stanislaus Kostka, and all the thousands of Martyrs, and other great servants of God, who sanctified their souls, and who won the palm of victory under the banner of that noble champion of the Church of Christ. And so are brightly shining all the other founders and mem- bers of the different orders and congregations. Weninger.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Ye golden lamps of heaven, fareivell, with all your feeble light I Farewell, thou ever-changing niooti, pale empress of the night ! And thou, refulgent orb of day., in brighter flames arrayed ; My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid. Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode ; The pavement of those heaiienly courts where I shall see my God. TJiere all the millions of his saints shall in one song iinite ; And each the bliss of all shall view, with infinite delight.

55. THE HUN'S DEFEAT.^

I

T was the glad midsummer time, The sun shone bright and clear. The birds were singing in the boughs, The air was full of cheer,

' Rev. P. H. Weninger, S. J., au swered, "I am the Scourge of

eminent missionary and author of God." Whereon the holy bishop

our day, born in Gennany, but he replied : " Tlie Scourge of God is

Las labored many years in America, welcome ; " and opened the gates

^ Attila, King of the Huns, ap- of the city to him. But, as his

proachingthecity of Troyes, Saint soldiers entered, God, in reward

Lupus, who was then bishop of of the humble submission, blinded

the place, went forth to meet him, them, so that they passed through

.saying: " Who are you, who waste without doing the least injury to

and ruin the earth T' Attila an- the place or the citizens.

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And overhead the blue sky spread,

Without a fleck or flaw, When messengers of evil brought

The fearful news to Troyes.

2. " With fire and sword, a savage horde '

Is wasting all the land ; No force may stera^ their wild onslaught,'

No pity stay their hand ; And hither now their course is bent :

Before the set of sun, Will close him round your walls of strength,

The fierce and fiery Hun ! "

3. Ah, me I the woful sights and sounds

That filled the city then. The terror wild of wife and child.

The still despair of men ; In the council and the arsenal *

Were tumult and affright — One palsy of white terror bound

The burgher and the knight.

J^. " Yet," said their princely bishop,

' ' Is not God as strong to save, As when He led His chosen race

Across the parted wave? Oh ! seek Him still, against whose will

No danger can befall, Although the leaguered " hosts of hell

Were thundering at your wall."

5. Then a calm fell on the people, And a chant of piteous prayer,

' Horde, a wandering clan, tribe, * Ar'se nal, a magazine of arms

troop, or gang. and military stores.

* Stem, to oppose. ^ Leaguered (leg'erd), confeder-

' On'slaught, attack ; assault. ated or united.

THE HUN'S DEFEAT.

155

Kose in solemn diapason ' on The hushed and trembling air ;

And, amid their doleful litanies, The bishop passed in state

To where the foe, with heavy blow, Struck at the outer gate.

6. From the arched and olden doorway. Asked he of their captain strong : " Now, who are you would menace thus Our peaceful homes with wrong?"

' Di'a pa'son, harmony.

156 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

But Attila^ answered scornfully,

He spake in bitter mirth : " 'Tis the Scourge of God, to whom 'tis given

To slay and waste the earth ! "

7. The pastor bowed obedience low.

Laid cope and staff aside. Then once again addressed him to

That man of blood and pride ; But now such accents clothed his words,

Such tender tones and moving, That all who heard were inly stirred

At a faith so leal '^ and loving :

8. " And God forbid our gates should close

Against the Master dear ; In whatsoever guise He comes.

He's surely welcome here. We gladly bid Him to our halls —

We pray Him there abide " — And with his own old hands he flung

The clanging portals wide.

9. Have you seen the stream that swept, like chaff,

Its curbing banks away. Silver-footed tread the meadows.

Nor displace a branch or spray ? So, through the gates of Troyes unbarred.

Slow welled the fiery Hun ; But he reft no burgher's treasures,

And his hand was raised 'gainst none.

10. Oh ! the wonders of God's mercy I He was blind to all things nigh — Only saw he clouds of angels, Threat'ning from the upper sky ;

' Attila (St'il a), the Scourge of ' Leal, loyal ; faithful ; true Ood : king of the Huns, died in 453. Land of the Leal, heaven.

ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. 157

And a terror wilder than it brouglit

Urged on the affrighted horde — Her prelate's faith saved Troyes from scath,'

And the fierce barbarian sword.

56. ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER.

THOUGH flowers have perished at the touch. Of Frost, the early comer, I hail the season loved so much, The good St. Martin's " Summer.

2. O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn.

And thin moon curving o'er it ! The old year's darling, latest born, More loved than all before it !

3. How flamed the sunrise through the pines !

How stretched the birchen shadows. Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines The westward sloping meadows !

^. The sweet day, opening as a flower Unfolds its petals tender. Renews for us at noontide's hour The summer's tempered splendor.

5. The birds are hushed ; alone the wind.

That through the woodland senrches. The red-oak's lingering leaves can find. And yellow plumes of larches.

6. But still the balsam-breathing i)ine

Invites no thought of sorrow, No hint of loss from air like wine The earth's content can borrow.

' 8c5th, destruction ; damage ; from Martinmas, the feast of St, injury ; harm. Martin, held on the eleventh of

* St. Martin's Summer, so called November.

158 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

7. The summer and the winter here

Midway a truce are holding, A soft consenting atmosphere Their tents of peace enfolding.

8. The silent woods, the lonely hills.

Rise solemn in their gladness ; The quiet that the valley fills Is scarcely joy or sadness.

9. How strange ! The autumn yesterday

In winter's grasp seemed dying ; On whirling winds from skies of gray Tlie early snow was thing.

10. And now, while over Nature's mood

There steals a soft relenting, I will not mar the present g5od. Forecasting or lamenting.

11. My autumn tune and Nature's hold

A dreamy tryst ' together. And, both grown old, about us fold The golden-tissued weather.

12. I lean my heart against the day

To feel its bland caressing ; I will not let it pass away Before it leaves its blessing.

13. God's Angels come not as of old

The Syrian shepherds knew them ; In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, And warm noon lights I view them.

IJf.. Nor need there is, in times like this

When heaven to earth draws nearer, Of wing or song as witnesses To make their presence clearer.

' Trystj an appointment to meet ; au appointed place of meeting.

ST. AfAR TIN'S SUMMER.

159

[^

15. () stream of life, whose swifter tlovv

Is of the end forewarning, Methinks thy sundown afterglow Seems less of night than inornin,;? !

16. Old cares grow light ; aside I lay

The doubts and f(!ars that troubled ; The (juiet of the happy day Within ray soul is doubled.

160 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

17. That clouds must veil this fair sunshine

Not less a joy I find it ; Nor less your warm hori'zon line That winter lurks behind it.

18. The mystery of the untried days

I close my eyes from reading ; His will be done whose darkest ways To light and life are leading !

19. Less drear the winter night shall be,

If memory cheer and hearten Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee,

Sweet summer of St. Martin ! Whittier.

57. RING OUT, WILD BELLS.

RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night : King out, wild bells, and let him die.

2. Ring out the old, ring in the new.

Ring, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going — let him go ; Ring out the false, ring in the true.

3. Ring out the grief that saps the mind.

For those that here we see no more ; Ring out the feud of rich and poor. Ring in redress to all mankind.

J^. Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife, Ring in the nobler modes of life. With sweeter manners, purer laws.

5. Ring out the want, the care, the sin.

The faithless coldness of the times ; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,. But ring the fuller minstrel in.

JACQUES CAR TIER. 161

6. Eing out false pride in place and blood,

The civic ' slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good.

7. Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Tennyson.'

58. JACQUES CARTIER.

PART FIRST.

AMONGST those who distinguished themselves in the dis- 1\. covery of the New World, there is none, after Colum- bus, who has more right to our admiration than Jacques Cartier.3 The account of his voyages shows him not only possessed of a profound knowledge of the art of navigation, but of an observing mind, and a courageous, persevering character. It displays, moreover, a hero whose mind is im- bued * with Christian sentiments, and who is ready to make great sacrifices in order to secure- the benefits of faith and Christian civilization to the peoples of the New World. He, therefore, deserves a conspicuous ^ place in our early history.

2. Jacques Cartier was a native of Saint Malo, one of the ports of Bretagne'. His maritime knowledge and fine quali- ties won for him the confidence of the French king, Francis I.,

1 Oxv'ic, relating to, or derived many editions both in England

from, a city or citizen. and America.

''Alfred Tennyson, poet-laure- ^^ JacquesCartier(zli;ik kiirtyii'),

ate of England, was born in Lin- a French navigator and explorer,

colnshire in 1(S10. His first vol- an important Canadian discoverer,

ume was i)ablished in 1830. His born 1494, died 1555.

style is correct, refined, and exqiii- ^ Im bued', deeply tinged or

site. He easily ranks as first among colored ; impressed or penetrated,

the ablest English poets of today. ^ Conspic'u oils easy to be seen ;

His poems have passed through noted ; distinguis-Iied.

11&2 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Avho Avas desirous of founding colonies in America. He, therefore, received a commission to go in searcli of new coun- tries, still unclaimed by Europe'an powers.

3. On the 20th of April, 1534, Cartier left the port of Saint Malo. and set sail for America, with three small vessels and a crew of sixty-one men. A favorable wind soon brought him to Cape Bonavista, in New'foundland. He ascended nomiward, following the shores of that island, and entered the Bay dei^ Cliateaux, or Strait of Bellisle, which he crossed. He then made his way into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and, describing in his daring course through that still unexplored -giilf^iih immense semicircle, which permitted him to study -thel'^stern coasts of Newfoundland, he discovered several <M^¥id^ and arrived, on the third of July, at the entrance '^f-'a ^a^ge bay. which he called the Bay des ClKdeurs. .!"-'4. It was somewhere in that vicinity that he planted a StfdBs^'t'hirty feet high, and bearing the inscription : Vive le -Bbi^ie^'France ! [Long live the King of France IJ Thus, the •^fibst^mdnument raised in the name of France on the soil of ^Affti^kiea, was a religious symbol, the sign of our redemption. ■:j''-'6. iWaving the Bay des Clialeurs, Cartier entered the River •St'likwfence, which he ascended for some sixty leagues. As 9^fee l©aS^i was advanced, he dared not venture further ; but he -rtft^a/ced'ihis course, and set sail for France. He had touched riipidft^Cklftada, and it only remained to penetrate further into fili-e ooiiuitry. This took place in the following year.

6. The happy result of Cartier's first voyage, gave rise to 'theiairest hopes. Francis L wished to have the discoveries ^ajr^^y: rjiiade, completed as soon as possible. He gave the

Breton captain a more considerable fleet and more extensive ''^owfei'i.' Several gentlemen solicited the honor of taking part . -[Bjjiji^ ^^jacond expedition ; and two Benedictine religious were

charged with the spiritual care of the mariners.

JAajUES C ARTIER. 16 S

7. On the 19th of ^hiy, 1535, the little fleet commuiided by Cartier left the port of Saint Malo, and steered for America. Violent tempests dispersed the vessels, which only succeeded in coming together again at the end of July, at Blanc Sablou, on the Strait of Bellisle. It was from there that he set out to continue the discoveries of the previous year. By the 1st of September, he was at the mouth of the Saguenay, one of the most considerable tributaries of the River St. Lawrence.

8. Fifteen days later, he reached the heart of wild Canada, in front of a lofty cape, projecting boldly and abruptly into the river, crowned with tall trees, and displaying on its left side an Indian village named Stadacona. This superb prom- ontory, afterwards called Cape Diamond, was to become, under the name of Quebec, a center of civilization, and the bulwark of tlie French power in the Xew World.

9. Cartier had, therefore, acquired for France immense countries, watered by the finest tributary of the Atlantic, and the first river of the world for navigation. He hud already followed the course of that great river for 750 miles. It was the longest voyage yet attempted by any vessel on the rivers of America. And yet, he was to go still further. But lie would first stoji at Stadacona, a village governed by a chief of the name of Donacona, who, from his -dignity, was called Agohanna, or, lord. This i>etty barbarian king, nowise alarmed by the arrival of the Europeans, gave them his con- fidence, and, in token of his joy, a solemn reception.

10. Donacona stood at the head of his people, on the shore of the little river St. Croix, now St. Charles, at the place where Cartier's vessels were anchored. According to l)ai-ba- rian etiquette, songs and dances were the prelude to the graver ceremonies about to take place.

11. The Agohanna afterwards ranged his people in good order ; then-, tracing a eii'cte 'tni • the &nmll he inclosed' ftlarti^r

X64 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

und his companions witliin it. He then delivered an oration, after which he came to offer three young children to the French captain. These gifts were accompanied by approving ■ cries, or howls, from all his people. Cartier caused two swords and two large plates of brass to be brought, and made a jjresent of them to the Agohanna. The savages concluded this Homeric scene by songs and dances.

59. JACQUES CARTIER.

PART SECOND.

SEPTEMBER 19th, leaving a portion of his people at Stadacona, Cartier set sail, with a single vessel, to con- tinue the ascent of the river. He had with him the gentle- men and his choicest mariners. Every-where, the spectacle of Nature in her most enchanting aspect, met his wondering eyes, and he saw before him, as he took pleasure in repeating, the finest country that could be seen.

2. The course of the river, although confined, was still broad and deep ; its sunken shores formed but a protuberant border, rich with verdure, and so loaded with vineyards that one might have thought the trees were planted by the hand of man. Behind. this screen of wild vineyards, stretched away far as the eye could reach, gracefully undulating plains, where grew in abundance the oak, the elm, and the walnut- tree. Forth from the deep forests that served to shelter them, . came the natives to meet the Frenchmen, greeting them with as much confidence and good-will as though they had been wont to live together.

3. At Hochelaga, more than a thousand persons crowded to meet them, bringing them presento which consisted of fish and bread made of coarse millet. Divided into three groups, according to the difference of age and sex, men, women, and

JACCIUES C ARTIER. 165

children executed dauces to express the satisfaction caused by the presence of their new guests. "Never did father/'' says Cartier, " give a better welcome to his children."' The French retired to their vessels at niglit-fall. The savages remained on the shore, continuing their joyful demonstrations. AVheii night had closed in, the}^ kindled great fires, and danced all night long by the light of those blazing piles, making the air resound with their songs and shouts of joy.

Jf. The following day, Cartier went ashore with all the gentlemen to visit the village. It was situated nearly at the center of a superb island, in the midst of rich fields, where maize, or Indian corn, was gathered in abundance. A circu- lar jiJilisade, formed of a triple row of stakes, formed the in- closure of tliis Indian town, and sufficed for its defense, pro- tecting it against any surprise from the enemy. Cartier entered with a crowd of the inhabitants who had gone out to meet him. He was conducted to the center of the village, where there was a public place of considerable size. There the solemn reception was to take place. Mats were brought, and the Frenchmen seated upon them ; and around them thronged the inhabitants of the town.

5. The Agohanna of the country, carried on a deerskin, very soon arrived, and was placed u^jon a mat. He had, for clothing, some tattered skins of wild beasts. The oiily insig- nia that distinguished him from his subjects was a red strip around his head. He was quite helpless and unable to Avalk. After testifying by signs the joy which Cartier's arrival gave him, the Agohanna showed liim his limbs paralyzed by })aiii, and begged him to touch tlicm. All the sick, the ])liii(l. the lame, of the village were tiien brougiit to the feet of the Breton captain, that he might cure them by his toucli. It seemed as though the Divinity had come down from heaven to ik'liver them from tlieir miseries.

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6. Cartier, who, for want of an interpreter, could not speak to them, could only pray fervently for them to Him, from whom all good doth flow. He read aloud the beginning of the Gospel of St. John and the Passion of our Lord. Silent and recollected, the savages listened attentively to the holy word which they did not understand. They raised their eyes to heaven, and imitated all the external signs of piety which the Frenchmen made. This touching scene ended with pres- ents distributed amongst them, of knives, hatchets, etc.

7. Cartier, afterward, had himself conducted to the mount- ain adjoining the village. He wished to examine and measure Avith his eye the extent of his new discoveries. The view of that favored region, of which he speaks so often, presented itself then to his eyes in all its ravishing beauty. He gave to the mountain the name of Mont Royal. This name, modi- fied into that of Montreal, extended to the whole island ; and it is also the name of the rich and populous city which has replaced the ancient village of Hochelaga.

8. The Breton captain did not seek to go further up the river. He returned to the river St. Croix to rejoin the com- panions he had left there. There it was resolved to pass the winter. How admirable was the courage of this handful of Frenchmen, who feared not to brave the rigor of a long win- ter, twelve hundred leagues from their own country, in re- gions unknown, amongst a savage people, restless, suspicious, and having, like all barbarians, the most ferocious instincts I

9. It was autumn. Soon, the river was covered with ice, and the ground with thick snow. The cold became excess- ive. To the anxieties of a situation so new for the French, was added the terror of an epidemic, which was afterwards known by the name of '^ malarial fever." Twenty-five per- sons died of it, and nearly all the rest of the crew were at- tacked by it. Cartier, who saw no liunjan means of getting

JACQUES C ARTIER. $$^

rid of such a scourge, ordered an image of the Blessed Virgin to be fastened to a tree, near the little fort which he had erected ; and, on the following Sunday, all repaired to th4 image, singing psalms and the Litany of Loretto. Then, Mass was sung in the open air for the first time, amid the snaws of Canada, and there was a procession in honor of Mary. nA

10. Cartier learned from the Indians the only remedy th#l could cure his sick companions, and the disease speedily dm^ appeared. Then, the spring returned, and with it the ho;^"d' of again seeing their native land. May 16th, 1530, they leK Stadacona, and sailed for Europe, where they happily arrived.

11. In 1541, a French gentleman, de Eoberval, having be- come viceroy of Xew France, deputed Cartier to conduct a small colony to the banks of the St. Lawrence. The Bretoa captain settled the colonists on the north shore of the river^ some miles above Stadacona, or Quebec ; and there he con- structed a small fort, which he named Charlesbourg RoyaL Several causes contributed to render this undertaking abortive^ The French monarchy, embarrassed by wars and internal troubles, could give no thought to the colonizing of America. So Cartier had to die in Brittany without the consolation of foreseeing the splendid results of his great discoveries.

60. JACQUES CARTIER.

IN the seaport of St. Male, 'twas a smiling morn in May, When the Commodore Jacciues Cartier to the westward sailed away ; In the crowded old cathedral all the town wore on tlieir knees For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas ; And every autumn blast that swc^pt o'er pinnacle and pier. Filled manly heart.: with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear.

'■2. A year pa.ssed o'er St. Malo — again came round the day When the Commodore Jac(pies Cartier to the; westwai'd sailed away :

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But no tidings from the absent had come the way they went, And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent ; And manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear, When no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the year.

3. But the Earth is as the Future, it hath its hidden side ; And the captain of St. Malo was rejoicing, in his pride,

In the forests of the North, while his townsmen mourned his loss, He was rearing on Mount Royal the fleur-de-lis and cross ; And when two months were over, and added to the year, St. Malo hailed him home again, cheer answering to cheer.

4. He told them of a region, hard, iron-bound, and cold, Nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold ; AVhere the wind from Thule freezes the word upon the lip. And the ice in spring comes sailing athwart the early ship ; He told them of the frozen scene until they thrilled with fear, And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make him better cheer.

5. But when he changed the strain, he told how soon are cast In early spring the fetters that hold the waters fast ;

How the winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea. And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free ; How the magic wand of summer clad the landscape to his eyes. Like the dry bones of the just, when they wake in Paradise.

6. He told them of the Algonquin braves — the hunters of the wild, Of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child ;

Of how, poor souls ! they fancy, in every living thing

A spirit good or evil, that claims their worshiping ;

Of how they brought their sick and maimed for him to breathe upon.

And of the wonders wro't for them through the Gospel of St. John.

7. He told them of the river whose mighty current gave Its freshness for a hundred leagues to Ocean's briny wave ; He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight. What time he reared the cross and crown on Hochelaga's height, And of the fortress cliff that keeps of Canada the key,

And they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from his perils o'er the sea.

Thomas D'Arcy McGee.

FIRST BISHOP OF ONTARIO. 169

61. FIRST BISHOP OF ONTARIO.

FEW lives are more interesting, whether taken in tlieir private details or in relation to the country at large, than that of the Rt. Rev. Alexander Macdonneil, first Bishop of Kingston. Some one has remarked, that as the life of Washington was the history of his country, so the life of Bishop Macdonnell was the history of the early Church in Upper Canada. His life was an eventful one even before his coming to Canada, in so far, at least, that he was the witness of stirring events.

2. Born on the borders of Loch Ness, Glen-Urquhart, In- verness-shire, Scotland, he was early sent to the Scottish Col- lege in Paris, to begin his studies for the priesthood. He was removed soon after to the Scottish College at Valladolid, in Spain, where his stay was peaceful — perhaps the most peace- ful portion of a chequered life. Having been ordained, he left the Spanish Seminary to be a missionary priest in the Braes of Lochaber.

S. Father Macdonnell became at once the benefactor of his people, no less in a material than in a spiritual sense. As great distress prevailed in the Highlands, he made ar- rangements with large manufactories at Glasgow to receive a certain number of Highlanders into their employ. He accompanied them himself as chaplain, notwithstanding the warnings received that as a Catholic priest he was still amen- able to the penal laws. While in Glasgow, contrary to the custom of his predecessors, he said mass with open doors, and was never molested. But misfortune followed his poor people to the metropolis, many of the factories closed on account of the. hiird times, :ind the Highlanders, for want of other employment, enlisted in various regiments. Out of

170 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

this grew a serious evil, which Father Macdonnell, with characteristic promptitude, pro]DOsed to remedy.

^. Catholics in the British service were obliged to attend Protestant worship. Father Macdonnell formed his men into a Catholic regiment, the first since the Reformation, having obtained permission from the king. It was called the Fii-st Glengarry Fencibles, and was under command of young Macdonnell of Glengarry. Contrary to existing law. Father Macdonnell was named chaplain, and under his careful super- vision, his men soon became distinguished for good conduct, bravery, and fidelity to duty. They were assigned to various difficult posts throughout the British Dominions, and always gave full satisfaction to their superiors.

5. At a time when many soldiers were a terror to the country by reason of their depredations, the Highland regi- ment was honorably distinguished by its freedom from all such excesses. While the regiment was on duty in Ireland, Father Macdonnell excited the lively gratitude of the poor persecuted people of the remoter districts, by preventing their cliapels from being burned or turned into stables, and celebrating Divine service there. In 1802, the regiment was disbanded, and Father Macdonnell began to think of emi- grating to America with the disbanded soldiers and Catho- lics from the Highlands. Many Highlanders, notably of the Macdonald clan, had gone thither, some to the United States, others to Prince Edward Island.

G. During the American Revolutionary War, the Scotch- men in the United States had chiefly made their way to Canada, where they were rewarded by grants of lands U>y fidelity to the British Government. Father Macdonnell now asked the English Government for further grants in Upper Canada, and after considerable delay and various objections, his request was granted. He still had to encounter fierce

FIRST BISHOP OF ONTARIO. 171

opposition from the Highland ])roprietors, who brought into force against the projected enterprise all the restrictions of the Emigration Act. Father Macdonnell had literally to smuggle away his people in fishing boats.

7. For the next twenty-five years, this golden-hearted Scottish priest labored at the new settlement of (llengarry, labored rather in the whole Province of Ontario. His min- istry extended over a district of 700 miles. When he arrived in Upper Canada, there were but three Catholic Churches for the Province, two or three priests, and in the whole of British North America, but one Catholic Bishop, that of Quebec. There was a mighty task stretching out before one mind : churches to be built, schools provided, a clergy gathered to- gether. In fact, every thing was to be done, and Father Macdonnell set about doing it with characteristic energy.

S. He never paused, he never allowed himself to become discouraged ; difficulties seemed but to increase his ardor. Through a country without roads or l^ridges, he made his way up to the region of the Great Lakes, often carrying his vestments on his back and going on foot. Or, again, on horseback, or in a bark canoe, sleeping by night as best he could, enduring cold and hunger and privation of every kind. Wherever there were settlers, Irish or Scotch, and there were many of both, he found them out, and i)reaclied the gospel of jieace to willing ears. It would be impossible to estimate the nature, extent, and variety of the work which he accom- plished. "A ripe scholar, a polished gentleman, a learned divine,'' wrote a Protestant contemporary journal, soon after his death, "he moved among all classes and creeds, with a mind unbiased by religious prejudices, taking an interest in all that tended to develop the resources or aided the general prosperity. He endeared himself to his ])eo{)l('. through his uiib()Uii(lf'(l benevolence and <jreatness of soul."

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9. Mgr. Plessis, one of the greatest of the French bishops of early Canada, asked from tlie Holy See, two coadjutors, one of them being Father Macdounell of Glengarry. However, there were certain difficulties, arising out of opposition on the part of the English Government, and it was not until January, 1819, that he was nominated Bishop of Resina, and Vicar Apostolic of Upper Canada. Through the new Bishop's own influence with the British Government, the op- position to the api^ointment of titular bishops was withdrawn, and he was consecrated Bishop of Regiopolis of Kingston, in Januar}^ 1826.

10. At the time of the second American War, Father Mac- dounell induced his people to form a regiment, named as of old, the Glengarry Fencibles, for purposes of national de- fense. Again, during the rebellion of 1837-38, his influence was all-powerful in restraining his flock from taking part in the agitation. He held that such risings could only produce unnecessary bloodshed, and that all grievances could be reme- died by constitutional means. One of the bishop's last services to Upper Canada, was a projected Catholic college, mainly for the higher education of the clergy. For this jiurpose he collected funds in England, and the corner-stone of the new edifice was laid June 11th, 1838.

11. On the 16th of January, 1837, this patriarchal old man celebrated the golden jubilee of his ordination to the priesthood, which had taken place, in the dimness of another century, in the ancient Spanish town of Valladolid. The anniversary of that memorable day was held, by the bishop's special desire, in his former Parish church at Glengarry — held in what had lately been the wilds of a new country, remote from all the splendors that had marked the Ordina- tion day. The canticle of praise sung, was the story of the trials, hardships and privations, tlie superhuman labors and

FTRST BISHOP OF ONTARIO. 173

the Aveary straggles, the indomitable energy and the single- ness of i^urpose of that one man, who stood old and gray be- fore them now, but none the less, the " Victor in a noble strife." The scene was most touching, when the venerable prelate spoke to his flock in their native Gaelic, the language of the heart, to him as to them. He spoke to recall those Scottish shores from which they had sailed together, look- ing l>ack with straining eyes and yearning hearts toward all that they were leaving forever, those common sacrifices and ditRculties overcome, prayers whispered at the same altar, and the hymn of the exile sung with united hearts and voices.

12. He reminded them that it was probably the last time he should address them, and solemnly, as one who stood upon the shore of that mightiest sea, rolling between 4ife and death, he asked their pardon for whatever might have scan- dalized them in his words or in his deeds, for any bad exam- ple which he might have given, or any dereliction in his duty toward them. The voice of the aged pastor was choked by emotion, and answering tears sprang from the people, who with one accord hailed him as their veritable father in Israel. How close indeed must have been the bond between that pas- tor and his flock ; how the aged must have recalled him, strong with the vigor of early manhood, fighting their bat- tles against king and government. How the young must have reverenced him, old, as they beheld him, but with his face still boldly turned toward the foe.

IS. The end had come, and the final farewells. Shortly afterward the venerable bishop went away on board the steamer "Dolphin" for England. His own parishifmers and the people at large united in paying to him tlieir last tribute of respect and afl'eotiou. The bell tolled out from St. Joseph's Church, the old bell, that had a quaint history

17 Jf DOMINION FOURTH READER.

of its own, and had been amongst the peojile from the be- ginning. "Wait till I come back,"' cried the bishop to one who bemoaned his departure ; but he never came back, and the years went swiftly upon their way without him. The old bell tolled in sorrow or in joy, the people thronged the churches on the quiet Sabbath morning, as of old, but before another summer, the pioneer bishop of Upper Canada was laid in a distant grave.

IJf. During his stay in Great Britain, Bishop Macdonnell visited Ireland, where he was hosj^itably entertained by his brethren of the Episcopate, by the President of Carlow Col- lege, and by the Jesuits at Clongowes. AVhile there he was attacked with inflammation of the lungs, and though he seemed to rally, he never entirely recovered. He paid a brief visit to the Earl of Gosford, formerly Governor of Canada, at his residence in Armagh, and proceeded tlience to Scot- land, on his way to England. He was going thither on business Avith the Government concerning his Canadian flock. He stopped at Dumfries, in Scotland, to visit an old college companion. Father Eeid, who was then pastor there. He arrived on the 11th of January, 1840, apparently in good health, and said mass the next morning. On the evening of the 13th, he conversed with his host until bed time, and seemed well and in good spirits.

15. During the night, he called up his old servant, and asked him to make a fire and procure him more covering. The servant inquired if he were unwell, and receiving no reply, ran down for Father Eeid. The latter had scarcely time to administer his dying friend, when the soul of the great-hearted bishop took its flight. He was buried at Dum- fries ; later his remains were removed to St. ]\[argaret's Con- vent, Edinburgh, and bri)uglit to Canada about 18G1. The sad news of his death was communicated to his people, and

FIRST CANADIAN CARDINAL. 175

his coadjutor, Bishop Gauliu, took formal possession of the See, on Passion Sunday of that year. But the name of Bishop Macdonnell has remained ever since in honor among the peo- ple. Without respect to class or creed, they recall his virtues, his prudence, his judgment, his zeal, his influence with the Ooverument, the mighty work he accomplished, his large- hearted charity, and his indefatigable labors for Canada and for Canadians — labors which were directed no little toward its material i^rosperity, while they advanced proportionally the needs and the growth of religion.

62. FIRST CANADIAN CARDINAL

ELZEAR ALEXANDRE TASCHEREAU was born Feb- ruary ITtli, 1820, at the old manor house of Sainte Marie de la Beauce, one of the seigniorial possessions of his family. Many generations of the family had lived and died there, since that gentleman of Touraine. Thomas Jacques Tas- chereau, had left the sunny shores of France for the more inhospitable one of Canada, where, however, he received a seigniory, and married a descendant of Joliet, joint discoverer Avith Father Marquette, of the Mississippi River. The father of Cardinal Taschereau was Judge Jean Thomas, who died of the cholera in 1832. His mother, Marie Panet, was daughter of the Hon. J. A. Panet, first President of the Canadian Legis- lative Assembly. It would be tedious to enumerate the various claims of the Taschereau family to the highest dis- tinction in the Province of Quebec, and in Canada. Let it suffice that it gave to the Sacred College an illustrious mem- ber, whose career will be found of special interest.

2. The first recorded event in his life is necessarily that of his baptism, which ceremony was performed by a venerable priest of Touraine, who had fled from revolutionary storms

176 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

in France to a peaceful liaven, near a quiet Canadian river, and whose lot it thus became to baptize the first Canadian Cardinal. At eiglit years of age, young Taschereau entered college, finished his course when scarcely sixteen, and gave abundant promise of those very qualities which, in after life, were so conspicuous. His prudence, zeal for religion and all holy things, devotion to the Holy See, with those virtues which are the foundation of a Christian character, exemplary truthfulness, love of justice, and at the same time a certain gayety, a gentleness and self-restraint, gained him the love, no less than the esteem of his college companions.

3. On leaving school, he went to Eome in company with the celebrated Abbe Holmes, that most eminent scholar and man of letters, then Professor of the Seminary of Quebec. In Rome, M. Taschereau received the tonsure at the hands of Mgr. Piatti, in the historic Church of St. John Lateran. He returned to Quebec in the autumn of the same year, 1837, and continued his theological studies. He was ordained at Ste. Marie de la Beauce, in September, 1842, and was at once offered the Chair of Philosophy in the Seminary of Quebec. For twelve years he filled that important post, liis wisdom and learning exciting universal admiration. He was succes- sively Prefect of studies, a member of the Council of Direct- ors, and Director of the Petit Seminaire,

4, It was during those years, tliat the Ship-Fever, popu- larly so called, made such havoc in the cities of Lower Can- ada. Emigrants from the infected shijjs were landed at Grosse Isle, and there the Abbe Taschereau, with other priests of Quebec, devoted himself to the care of these hap- less ones who had left Ireland, prostrate from the ravages of famine, and come to Canada to find misery, and often death. Abbe Taschereau was himself stricken down hy the dread disease, and hovered for some time between life and death.

FIRST CANADIAN CARDINAL. 177

It was typhus fever of the most malignant kind, and it was only after a long and tedious illness, that the devoted Pro- fessor was once more enabled to resume his many and onerous occupations at the Seminary.

5. In 1854, he made the first of his several journeys to Home, in the interests of Laval University. He remained upon that occasion two years, during which he studied Canon Law under some of the foremost canonists of that day. He passed a brilliant examination ; the degree of Doc- tor of Canon Law was conferred uj^on him, and he returned to Quebec, being made some time after. Director of the Grand Seminary. M. Casault, Sui)erior of the Seminary, having reached the prescribed term of office, there was ques- tion of appointing his successor, and the choice fell upon Abbe Taschereau. The latter had gone to Rome a second time on affairs connected with Laval University, and while there was recalled to Quebec by the sudden death of M. Cas- ault. He at once entered upon the duties of his new office, being also ex-officio Rector of Laval. In 1863, he was named Yicar-General of the Diocese of Quebec. All this time he taught theology at the Seminary of Quebec, becoming, after his office as Superior had expired, again its Director.

6. In July, 18G9, he was re-elected Superior of the Semi- nary, and accompanied Mgr. Baillargeon, then Archbishoi^ of Quebec, to the Vatican Council as his theologian. Shortly after their return, Mgr. Baillargeon died, and the Abbe Tas- chereau for some time administered the affairs of the diocese conjointly with M. Cazeau. Early in 1871, the Bulls arrived from Rome appointing the Abbe Taschereau to the Archi- episco})al See of Quebec. On the 19th of March, the Feast of St. Joseph, special Patron of Canada, Mgr. Tascliereau was consecrated at the ancient Basilica of Quebec, the witness of so mucii that is glorious in the Catholic history of Canada.

178 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

But the new dignity brought with it responsibilities the gravest, and duties the most onerous. Pastoral visitations, Mgr. Taschereau has made twenty and the round of his diocese five times ; new parishes to be erected, he has canon- ically erected no less than forty, taking a keen interest in colonization and the new settlements everywhere being made.

7. Pastorals to be written : Mgr. Taschereau has issued 194 on important matters; while 600 letters on various sub- jects are registered in the archives of Quebec. Confirmation to be administered : he has confirmed in the course of his pastoral visitations 160,000 souls. Besides there were institu- tions to be visited, parochial concerns, and the general affairs of the diocese to be regulated, and the innumerable demands upon his time and patience, which it is the lot of the Arch- bishop of a great diocese to meet, as best he can.

8. Mgr. Taschereau has given careful and conscientious at- tention to all, never sparing himself, but laboring always with a vigor and activity unwavering, even now that the years are closing in around him, and the voices from another life are growing louder in his ears than the clamor of this earthly one. He has been instrumental in bringing to Quebec the Eedemptorists, Brothers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Clerks of St. Viateur, and the Brothers of St. Vincent de Paul. He has been the steadfast benefactor of many a struggling institution, and has brought many of them from the very dawn of trial and poverty to the meridian of flourishing prosperity. His zeal for the University of Laval has become historic. He might justly be called its foster-father.

9. It may be said of his episcopal administration that not one detail of business has been neglected, not one abuse per- mitted to raise its head unrebuked, not one scandal among ■ his flock left unreproved. With the zeal of a St. Ambrose and the wisdom of an Angnstine, he has driven away the

FIRST CANADIAN CARDINAL. 179

wolves that seek to find entrance to the fold. He has been in a very special sense the guardian of his people. During his college life he was the author of some treatises on Astron- omy and Architecture, as also of a yet unpublished history of the Seminary of Quebec.

10. In the June of 188G, the crowning honor was bestowed upon the venerable Archbishop. Rome, to which past, present, and future are, in her mighty universality, as an open book, beheld how in the past. Catholic Canada had written its name gloriously upon the annals of the Church ; how in the present, her people in the Province of Quebec were found to be truly Catholic. Looking forward to the future, there appeared a glory to which Canada was destiiied to attain, her sons playing well their part in the drama of the centuries, and her mighty resources, agricultural and commercial, de- veloped to the utmost, and constituting the foundations of a new and vigorous empire. So the fullness of time had come, and the occupant of the primatial See of Quebec was called to a place at the Council Board of the Sovereign Pontiff, to represent his country among the Princes of the Church.

11. It would be impossible to describe the rejoicings con- sequent upon this event, how the bishops of Xorth America, one and all, wrote congratulations, and the religious orders throughout Canada, vied with secular and civic associa- tions in resolutions of joy and respect. How the city with one accord, from the highest statesmen in the land to the humblest of school-children, gave each his mite toward this festival of good will. The Protestant or non-secturiuu jour- nals were at one, in their appreciation of the honor wliich Leo XIII., the glorious, had conferred upon their common country. They were unstinted in their meed of praise to its recipient, and enthusiastic in their expressions of gratitude and kindly feeling toward the See of Home.

180 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

12. The Anglican Bishops of Montreal, Quebec, and Niag- ara, with delicate and generous good feeling, fully appreciated by Catholics in the Dominion and commended by those of their own faith, offered their sincere felicitations to His Emi- nence. Thei'e were echoes in the air, though it was June, and not December, of that old Christmas anthem, which came straight from heaven : '' Peace on earth to men of good will." The illumination of cities, the displaying of flags, the sound- ing of drums, and the cheers of an assembled multitude, all of which greeted the arrival of Monsignor O'Bryan and Count Gazzoli, with the Papal Letters, were merely the externals.

13. But the commqn sentiment of satisfaction, of gratified national pride at this; public attestation of the prosperity of their country, and/tliB from so high a quarter, ran through all men, and was seefr in those reflections of the public mind, the daily and weekly press. The story has been told of how Mgr. Taschereau became a Cardinal and the lights of the illuminated cities have died out over the tranquil waters of the St. Lawrence, and the mightier stream of human existence has returned to its wonted channels. But though this notable era in the history of the country has come and gone, it is destined never to be forgotten. Just as the many virtues of the ecclesiastic, who wears, with dignity so becoming, the Eoman purple, will leave their ineffaceable traces in the archdiocese he governs, so that momentous hour shall remain engraven upon the minds of the people, when Rome first gave Canada her just place among the nations.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

T/io' hearts brood o'er the pas f, our eyes with smiling features glisten ! For lo ! our day bursts up the skies : leafi out your souls and listen ! The world rolls Freedom's radiant way and ripens with her sorrow ; Keep heart ! who bear the cross to-day shall wear the crown to-morrow.

THE SOLDIER-PEASANT'S VISION. 181

63. THE SOLDIER-PEASANT'S VISION.^

ALL by the broad St. Lawrence, a hundred years ago, . The Angelas '■' was ringing from the bells of Ile-au-Reaux ; The reaper leaned upon his scythe, the wild-bee ceased its hum, The consecrated river hushed its waters and was diimb ; The oxen, as at Bethlehem, knelt of their own accord. While the incense of the midday prayer was wafted to their Lord !

S. "O good Saint Ann, I swear to thee, thou guardian of my race," Cries the bare-headed reaper, while tears bedew his face, "For sovereign, for seignior, for those in high command, France, with her vines and olives, is in sooth a pleasant land ; But fairer than lily on her shield is this New World colony. Where the weary serf may stand erect, unawed by tyranny !

3. " Do thou ask the Blessed Virgin to bless our sire, the King, To overthrow his enemies, bless him in everything ;

To speed his royal banners, crown them with victory.

As when we fought the Painim^on the plains of Hungary !

4. " But, O mother of all Bretons, by thy love for Mary's Son, By His agony and dolors, by His wounds on Calvary won, Guard thou New France from tyrants, oh spare her virgin soil From the heel of the oppressor, from tumult and turmoil ! "

5. Saint Ann had heai'd the veteran's jiraycr, and stood ujion

the tide, An aureole * about her brow, and angels by her side.

' This legend relates the appear- ■' An' ge liis, a short form of

ance of St. Ann to one of the Ca- prayer, recited by Catholics at suu-

rignan soldiers, many of whom, rise, noon, and sunset,

after fighting the Turks in Hun- » pai'nim, a pagan ; an infidel,

gary, took up land in the Isle of ■• Aureole (a're ol), the circle of

Orleans and other islands, below rays, or halo of light, with which

Quebec. The original, here closely painters surround the head of

translated, was written before the our Lord, the Blessed Virgin, and

English conquest. the Saints.

182 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

" Fear not, my son," she sweetly said ; ''be New France true to me, And she shall ever be the home of rugged liberty ! " The vision passed, and the reaper bent to the cutting of the grain : The covenant is kept — he did not pray in vain I

TO BE MEMORIZED.

" IV/iat zs the real good ?" I asked, in uiiis/iig mood.

" Order," sa/d the laiu court ; " Knowledge," said tlie sc/iool ;

" Truth," said the wise ma7i ; " Pleasure.,^'' said the fool ;

" Love," said the maiden ; " Beauty," said the page ;

" Ereedom." said the dreamer ; " Home," said the sage ;

" Eame," said the soldier ; " Equity," the seer :

Spake my heart full sadly, " The atiswer is not here."

Theft Tvithin my bosom softly this I heard,

"Each heart holds the secret, Kindness is the word." — J. B. O'Reilly

64. THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

" TT OW does the water come down at Lodore ?" '

ITJ. My little boy asked me, thus, once on a tinu; ; And, moreover, he tasked me to tell him in rhyme.

Anon at the word. There first came one daughter, and then came another, To second and third the request of their brother.

And to hear how the water Comes down at Lodore, with its rush and its roar. As many a time they had seen it before. So I told them in rhyme, for of rhymes I had store ;

And 'twas my vocation For their recreation that so I should sing ; Because I was Laureate "^ to them and the king.

' Lo dore', a cataract on the Der household, whose business is to

went river, in Cumberland, Eng. compose an ode annually for the

'■' Lau're ate, one decked or in- king's birthday, and other suita-

vested with laurel ; here, itoet ble occasions. Alfred Tennyson is

laureate, an officer of the king's the present English poet laureate.

THE CATARACT OF LODORE. 183

2. From its sources, which well in the tarn on the fell ;

From its fountains in the mountains, its rills and its gills ;

Through moss and through brake. It runs and it creeps for a while, till it sleeps

In its own little lake. And thence, at departing, awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds, and away it proceeds. Through meadow and glade, in sun and in shade. And through the wood-shelter, among crags in its flurry, Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry.

S. Here it comes sparkling, and there it lies darkling ; Now smoking and fx-othing in tumult and wrath in. Till, in this rapid race on which it is bent, It reaches the place of its steep descent.

4. The cataract strong then plunges along. Striking and raging, as if a war waging

Its caverns and rocks among ; Rising and leaping, sinking and ci'eeping. Swelling and sweeping, showering and springing. Flying and flinging, writhing and ringing, Eddying and whisking, spouting and fi'isking,

Turning and twisting. Around and around with endless rebound ; Smiting and fighting, a sight to delight in ;

Confounding, astounding. Dizzying, and deafening the ear with its sound.

5. (Collecting, projecting, receding and speeding.

And shocking and rocking, and darting and parting. And threading and spreading, and wliizzing and hissing. And (Irijiping and skipping, and hitting and splitting. And sliiniug and twining, and rattling and battling. And shaking and quaking, and pouring and roaring, And waving and ravitig, and tossing and crossing,

6. And (lowing and goiiiLT. and i-uniiing and stunning. And foaming and roaming, and dinning and spinning.

18 Jf. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

And dropping and hopping, and working and jerking, And guggling and struggling, and heaving and cleaving. And moaning and groaning, and glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering, and whitening and brightening. And quivering and shivering, and liurrying and skurrying, And tlmndernig and floundering ;

7. Dividing and gliding and sliding,

And falling and brawling and sprawling. And driving and riving and striving. And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, And sounding and bounding and rounding. And bubbling and troubling and doubling. And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, And chattering and battering and shattering ;

8. Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying. Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling.

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,

9. And curling and whirling and purling and twirling. And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing ; And so never ending, but always descending.

Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending. All at once, and all o'er, with a mighty uproar : And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

Robert Southey.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Not a truth has to art or to science been given.

But brows have ached for it, and souls toiled and striven ;

And many have striveti, and many have failed.

And many died, slain by the truth they assailed. — Owen Meredith

THE WINDY X/GHT. 185

65. THE WINDY NIGHT.

ALOW ' and aloof/ over the roof, ±\^ How the midnight tempests howl ! With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune Of wolves that bay ' at the desert moon ; Or whistle and shriek through limbs that creak. " Tu-who ! Tu-whit ! " they cry and flit,

" Tu-whit ! Tu-who ! " like the solemn owl !

Alow and aloof, over the roof, Sweep the moaning winds amain,

And wildly dash the elm and ash

Clattering on the window sash With a clatter and patter, like hail and rain. That well might shatter the dusky pane !

Alow and aloof, over the roof.

How the tempests swell and roar ! Though no foot is astir, though the cat and the cur

Lie dozing along the kitchen floor, There are feet of air on every stair —

Through every hall ! through each gusty door There's a jostle and bustle, with a silken rustle

Like the meeting of guests at a festival !

Alow and aloof, over the roof,

How the stormy tempests swell ! And make the vane on the spire complain ; They heave at the steeple with might and main.

And burst and sweep into the belfry, on the bell !

They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well. That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep.

And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell ! Ukad.''

' A low', in a low place, or a ^ Thomas Buchanan Read, an

lower part. American painter and poet, was

^ A loof, at a small distance. born in 1822, and died in 1872.

3 Bay, bark, as a dog at game. His verse is rare and niusioal.

186 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

60. THE BELLS OF SHANDON.

WITH deep affection and recollection I often think of those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood. Fling round my cradle their magic spells.

2. On this I ponder where'er I wander.

And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee ; With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

3. Tve heard bells chiming full many a clime in.

Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine ; While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate ; — But all their music spoke naught like thine.

Jf. For memory dwelling on each proud swelling Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

5. I've heard bells tolling old Adrian's Mole in.

Their thunder rolling from the Vatican ; And cymbals glorious swinging uproarious In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame.

6. But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of Peter

Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly ; O. the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

7. There's a bell in Moscow ; while on tower and kiosk O

In Saint Sophia the Turkman gets, And loud in air calls men to prayer

From the tapering summits of tall minarets.

LUMBER! XG. 18T

8. Such empty phantom I freely grant them ; But there's an anthem more dear to me : 'Tis the bells of Shandon that sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

Mahonv.'

67. LUMBERING.

PART FIRST.

THE lumber trade has au organic place in the develop- ' nient of Canada's resources, in the growth of towns and cities, in the general increase of wealth, and in the evolution^ of literature and art which always occurs at periods of com- mercial prosperity. Every-where northward and westward from the frontier, the lumber mill, the lumber depot, and hamlets connected with them, pierce the unbroken forest, and lead the steady advance of civilization. Villages arise, and become towns and cities, while the continual recession * of the trade northward develops in its wake the growing re- sources of the country.

2. During the fall months the lumbermen are sent into the woods with horses, sleighs, lumber-boats, and everything necessary for the season's operations. All is bustle on the lines of railway and on the roads leading to the lumber district. Swart ^ and sunburnt gangs of young Frenchmen, not a few of them with a slight tinge of Indian blood, derived from

' Francis Mahony, an Irish course of growth or development ;

clergyman, l)etter known as i^'fl^A^^r a series of things unrolled, un-

Prout, was born in 1805, and died folded, or gradually developed. in 1860. The musical flow of this * Recession (re sPsOi'iin), the act

verse and its happy adaptation of moving back or withdrawing r

of sound to sense add greatly to the act of restoring or ceding back, the interest and pleasure of the ■• Swart, tawny ; being of a dark

reading. hue or color moderately black ; as,

* E volii'tion, the act of unfold- '"A nation strange, with visage

ing or unrolling ; hence, in the swart."

188 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

days when a grandfather or great-grandfather married an Algonquin or Huron bride, congregate at every Avell-known rendezvous.^

3. These line fellows have the strength and graceful bear- ing of the Indian, and the garrulous good-humor of the Frenchman ; their rough dress is appropriate and quaint, and is generally lit up coquettishly with some bit of bright color in necktie, vest, or scarf. In the Ottawa district, the lumbermen that are not French are largely Scottish Highlanders. Long ago in the Old World, the two nationali- ties were allies. They fought then against men ; they fight now against the giants of the forest.

Jf. Each gang is under the direction of a foreman, who follows the plan laid out by the explorers. The first duty is to build a shanty for the men, and stables for the horses. Logs are cut, notched at the ends and dovetailed together, so as to form a quadrangular 2 enclosure- On the top of this, from end to end, two large timbers are laid, each several feet from the center. On these and on the walls the roof rests. It has a slight pitch, and is formed of halves of trees hollowed out, and reaching from the roof-top downwards on each side, so as to project a little beyond the walls.

5. These "scoops," as they are called, are placed concave^ and convex ^ alternately,^ so as to overlap each other. Fitted logs are then placed between the gable walls and the apex ^ of

' Rendezvous (ren' de vo), a * Oon'vex, rising or swelling place of meeting, or at whicli per- into a rounded form — said of a sons regularly meet ; the place ap- curved surface or line when viewed pointed for troops, or ships of a from without, and opposed to con- fleet, or gangs of men, to assemble, cave.

^ Quad ran'gu lar, having four -^ Al ter' nate ly, following and

angles, and hence four sides. being followed by turns.

* CSn'cave, hollow and curved * A'pex, the tip or highest point

or rounded. of any thing.

LUMBERING. 189

the roof ; all cliiuks and openings are filled up with moss or ha}', and the rude building is made quite warm and weather- tight. In the end wall is a large doorway with a door of roughly-hewn lumber ; the floor consists of logs hewn flat, and the huge girders of the roof ai'e each supported midway by two large posts, some four or five yards apart. The space between these four posts, in the genuine old-fashioned shanty, is occupied by the "caboose," or fire-place, substantially built up with stones and earth. Within the shanty there is no chimney, but an opening in the roof with a wooden frame- work does duty for chimney ; so wide is the ojiening that the inmates, as they lie in their bunks at night, can look up at the sky and stars.

6. On three sides of the shanty are rows of bunks, or plat- forms, one above the other, along the entire length. On these the lumbermen sleep, side by side, in their clothing and blankets, their heads to the wall and their feet to the central fire, which is kept well supplied with fuel all night. A bet- ter class of shanties is now built, of oblong shape, with bunks along one length only, and a table at the opposite side ; with such luxuries as windows, and even lamps at night ; with box-stoves instead of the central caboose ; and at the rear end a foreman's room.

7. When shanty and stables have been built, the next work is to construct the "landing," or roll-way, on the shore of river or lake. The roll-way is usually on the slope of a hill, and must be carefully cleared of all obstructions, so that the gathered piles of logs may roll down easily in the spring. From the roll-way, the "head-swamper," or road-maker, ex- tends the road into the forest as the lumbermen advance.

8. This road is often far from level ; when the descent is dangerously steep, what is called a "gallery road," is con- structed by driving piles into the hill-side and excavating

190 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

■earth, which is thrown on the artificial terrace thus carried around the face of the hill. Down this the merry sleigh- driver descends safely with incredible speed ; above him, the steep — beneath, the precipice from which the wall of piles, logs, and earth, secures him. The logs unloaded at the landing are marked on the end with the trade-mark of the ■owner ; also with another mark indicating their value,

68. LUMBERING.

PART SECOND.

THE great expense of transporting for long distances large quantities of provisions has led some operators to establish farms on arable ^ lands close to their "•limits." Thus they have a supply of farm produce ready at hand in the fall, when, as the snow-roads are not yet formed, trans- port is most expensive. The farm-hands and horses are em- ployed during the winter in the woods, so that men may pass years in these regions without visiting a city. Blacksmith and carpenter shops for repairing sleighs, and other trades- men's shanties, gather round these centers, and a village grows np.

2, As other farms are cultivated near it, or a saw-mill is established to manufacture lumber for local uses, the village often becomes the nucleus ^ of a town or city. It often hap- pens, too, that the good prices and ready market of a lumber depot induce the hardy settler to build his log-house and clear his patch of ground in the woods near it, and here he lives his rough life — jobber, farmer, and pioneer. Thus

' Ar'a ble, fit for tillage or plow ^ Nu'cle us, a kernel ; hence, a

ing ; hind which has been plowed central point about which matter or tilled. is gathered or increase made.

L UMBERING. 191

our Canadian civilization has advanced in the wake of the lumber trade.

3. Wlien the sunshine at the end of March melts the snow, or just before the roads break up, the teamsters return in long trains, with empty sleighs, to their far-otf homes. Soon after, about the middle of Aj^ril, when the warm rains have ruined the snow-roads, when the ice has gone down from the swollen streams and the lakes are clear with blue spring water, a new phase of the lumberman's life begins — the ex- citing, but dangerous work of getting tlie logs down the roll-ways into the river, and guiding them by stream or lake to mills or market. To facilitate this, the landings or roll- ways, when not on the river ice, have been constructed on a steep declivity. Consequently, when the lower logs are loosened and thrown into the river, those above them follow from their own weight.

4. Should any obstacle have been allowed to remain on the roll-way, hundreds of logs may be arrested and so huddled together as to make their extrication most dangerous. In one instance, a hardy river-driver, who went beneath such a hanging mass of timber, or "jam," and cut away the stump which held it suspended, saved his life from the avalanche of logs only by jumping into the river and diving deep towards mid-stream. Such an exploit is merely one of many instances of cool coiirage displayed constantly by the *' river-drivers,"' the name given to those lumbermen who follow the " drive" down the river.

5. The river-drivers are usually accompanied as far as pos- sible by a scow with a covered structure, which serves all the purposes of a shanty. The greatest danger is when logs are caught mid-stream, especially above a rapid. Tlicii it is nec- essary to disengage the "key-piece" — the log which, caught by rock or other obstacle, causes the jam. The precision

192 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

with which experienced river-drivers will ascertain the "key- piece " of a jam, is no less remarkable than the daring and skill with which they escape the rush of the suddenly liberated logs down the rapids. They leap from log to log, and main- tain their balance with the dexterity of rope-dancers. Still, scarcely a season passes without loss of life from this cause during a drive. The men, therefore, do all in their power to prevent tlie occurrence of a jam. Pike-poles in hand, they shove onwards the logs that seem likely to cause obstruction.

6. On rivers down which square timber is brought, and where, as in parts of the Upper Ottawa, cataracts occur of such magnitude as to injure the pieces by dashing them with great violence against rocks, resort is had to contrivances called '* slides." These consist of artificial channels, the side-walls and bottoms lined with smooth, strong timber- work. At the upper end of this channel are gates, through which the pent-up water can be admitted or shut off. Through these slides pass the "cribs." These are con- structed of a regulation width, so as to fit the passage-way of the slide. The crib is about twenty-four feet wide ; its length varies with that of the square timber. It is often furnished with a frame house for the raftsmen, with long oars as "sweeps," and with a mast and sail.

7. Frequently the Ottawa river-drivers take tourists or others as passengers, to give them the sensation of ' ' sliooting a slide.'' Let us embark on board a crib above the slide-gates at the falls of the Calumet. The raftsmen bid us take firm hold of the strong poles which are driven between the lower timbers of the crib. Above the slide, the waters of the Ottawa are still and deep ; at the left side, through the inter- vening woods, we can hear the roar of the cataract. The slide-gates are thrown ojien ; the water surges over the smooth, inclined channel ; our crib, carefully steered through

L UMBERING. 193

the gate-way, slowly moves its forward end over the entrance ; it advances, sways for a moment, then, with a sudden plunge, rushes faster and faster between the narrow walls.

8. The reflow of the torrent streams over the crib from the front ; jets of water spurt up every-where between the timbers under our feet ; then dipping heavily as it leaves the slide, our crib is in the calm water beneath, the glorious scenery of the cataract full in view. Without knowing it, we have got wet through — a trifle not to be thought of, amid the rapture of that rapid motion which Dr. Johnson considered one of the greatest of life's enjoyments. He spoke of "a fast drive in a post-chaise." What would he have said to a plunge down the slides of the Ottawa I

9. The immediate destination of the square timber con- veyed by water or railway is the "banding-ground," where it is formed into immense rafts. Like the separate cribs, each raft is propelled ordinarily by sweeps, or, weather per- mitting, by sails. The crew consists of from forty to fifty well-built and skillful men, who live — sometimes Avith their wives and children — in little wooden houses on the raft.

10. On the rivers, the greatest danger to rafts and rafts- men is from the rapids ; on the lakes, from storms ; yet owing to the skill of the pilots and the efficiency of the crews, accidents are rare ; and these timber islands, after a journey from the remotest parts of Canada, float down the broad St. Lawrence, sound as when first banded together, to their des- tination in the coves of Quebec. At these coves the rafts are finally broken up, and from these acres of timber the large ocean-going ships are loaded. Pktluksque Canada.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

One impulse from a 7'criial 7C'ooif ///ay teach yoii ///ore of ///a/i. Of ///oral ev/l a/id of j^ood, ///a/i all the sai^es ea/t. — WoRnswoRTH.

194 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

60. CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and t-he daylight's past !

2. Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ! But, when the wind blows off the shore. Oh ! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, Tlie rapids are near and the daylight's past !

3. Ottawa's tide ! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy sui'ges soon. Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers, Oh ! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs. Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast. The rapids are near and the daylight's past !

Thomas Moore.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Lcnic, Hope, and Patience charm us on our 7uay ; Love, Hope, and Patience form our spirits' stay ; Lorie, Hope, and Patience ivatch us day by day. And bid the desert bloom with beauty vernal. Until the earthly fades in the eter?tal. — Temple Bar.

2 Thomas Moore, a distin- land to which his poetry owes so

guished Irish poet and prose writer, many of its most powerful touches,

was born at Dublin in 1780, and Of his serious poems, " Irish Melo-

died in 1852. He showed from dies" and " Lai la Kookh" best

boyhood an imaginative and mu- support his fame. His political

sical turn ; and various circum- satires show his genius in the most

stances combined in impressing brilliant light. The most note-

him early with that deep sense of worthy of his prose writings is the

the wrongs and sufferings of Ire- romance of "The Epicurean."

AMERICA THE OLD WORLD. 195

70. AMERICA THE OLD WORLD.

FIRST-BORN among the continents, though so much hiter in cuiture and civilization than some of more re- cent birth, America, so far as her physical history is con- cerned, has been falsely denominated the New World. Hers was the first dry land lifted out of the waters, hers the first shores washed by the ocean that enveloped all the earth be- side ; and while Europe was represented only by islands rising here and there above the sea, America already stretched an unbroken line of land from Nova Scotia to tiie Far West.

2. There was a time when our earth was in a state of igne- ous^ fusion, when no ocean bathed it, and no atmosphere surrounded it, when no wind blew over it, and no rain fell upon it, but an intense heat held all its materials in solution. In those days, the rocks, which are now the very bones and sinews of our mother Earth, — her granites, her porphyries, her basalts, her sienites, — were melted into a liquid mass.

S. From artesian ^ wells, from mines, from geysers, from hot-springs, a mass of facts has been collected proving incon- testably the heated condition of all substances at a certain depth below the earth's surface ; and if we need more positive evidence, we have it in the fiery eruptions that even now bear fearful testimony to the molten ocean seething within the globe and forcing its way out from time to time.

Jf. The modern pr6gress of geology^ has led us, by success- ive and perfectly connected steps, back to a time when what is now only an occasional and rare phenomenon was the nor-

' Ig'ne ous, pertaining to, result- the instrument reaches water,

ing from, or consisting of, fire. <* Ge 61'o gy, the science whicli

'' Artesian lar tr-'zhan), artcdan treats of the structure and niineial

tcells arc wells made by boring into constitution of the earth, and the

the earth, usually very deej), till causes of its i)hysical features.

196 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

mal condition of onr earth ; when those internal fires were inclosed in an envelope so thin that it opposed but little re- sistance to their frequent outbreak, and they constantly forced themselves through this crust, pouring out melted materials that subsequently cooled and consolidated on its surface. So constant were these eruptions, and so slight was the resistance they encountered, that some portions of the earlier rock deposits are perforated with numerous chimneys, narrow tunnels as it were, bored by the liquid masses that poured out through them and greatly modified their first condition.

5. There was another element without the globe, equally powerful in building it uj). Fire and water wrought to- gether in this work, if not always harmoniously, at least with equal force and persistency. Water is a very active agent of destruction, but it works over again the materials it pulls down or wears away, and builds them up anew in other forms.

6. There is, perhaps, no part of the world, certainly none familiar to science, where the early geological periods can be studied with so much ease and precision as in the United States. Along their northern borders, between Canada and the United States, there runs the low line of liills known as the Laurentian Hills. Insignificant in height, nowhere rising more than fifteen hundred or two thousand feet above the level of the sea, these are nevertheless the first mountains that broke the uniform level of the earth's surface and lifted themselves above the waters.

7. Tlieir low stature, as compared with that of other more lofty mountain-ranges, is in accordance with an invariable rule, by which the relative ages of mountains may be esti- mated. The oldest mountains are the lowest, while the younger and more recent ones tower above their elders, and are usually more torn and dislocated also. This is easily un-

AMERICA THE OLD WORLD. 197

derstood, when we remember tliat all mountains and mount- ain-chains are the result of upheavals, and that the violence of the outbreak must have been in proportion to the strength of the resistance.

8. When the crust of the earth was so thin that the heated masses within easily broke through it, they were not thrown to so great a height, and formed comparatively low elevations, such as the Canadian hills or the mountains of Bretagne and Wales. But in later times, when young, vigorous giants, such as the Alps, the Himalayas, or, later still, the Rocky Mountains, forced their way out from their fiery prison-house, the crust of the earth was much thicker, and fearful indeed must have been the convulsions which attended their exit,

9. Such, then, was the earliest American land — a long, narrow island, almost continental in its proportions, since it stretched from the eastern borders of Canada nearly to the point where now the base of the Rocky Mountains meet the plain of the Mississippi Valley. We may still walk along its ridge and know that we tread upon tlie ancient granite that first divided the waters into a northern and southern ocean ; and if our imaginations will carry us so far, we may look down toward its base and fancy how the sea washed against this earliest shore of a lifeless world.

10. This is 710 romance, but the bold, simple trijth ; for the fact tliat this granite band was lifted out of the waters so early in the history of the world has, of course, prevented any subsequent deposits from forming above it. And this is true of all the northern parts of the United States. It has been lifted gradually, the beds deposited in one period being subsequently raised, and forming a shore along which those of the succeeding one collected, so that we have their wliole sequence before us. For this reason the American continent offers facilities to the geologist denied to him in the so-called

198 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Old World, where the eurlier deposits are comparatively hidden, and the broken character of the land, intersected by mountains in every direction, renders his investigation still more difficult. Agassiz.i

71. THE GULF STREAM.

PART FIR3T.

THERE is a river in the ocean. In the severest droughts^ it never fails, and in the mightiest floods it never over- flows. Its banks and its bottom are of cold water, while its current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, and its mouth is in the Ar€tic Seas. It is the Gulf Stream. There is in the world no other such majestic flow of waters. Its current is more rapid than the Mississippi or the Amazon, and its volume more than a thousand times greater.

2. The currents of the ocean are among the most impor- tant of its movements. They carry on a constant inter- change between the waters of the poles and those of the equator, and thus diminish the extremes of heat and cold in every zone.

3. The sea has its climates as well as the land. They both phange with the latitude ; but one varies with the elevation above, the other with the depression below, the sea-level. The climates in each are regulated by circulation ; but the regu- lators are, on the one hand, wind ; on the other, currents.

Jf.. The inhabitants of the ocean are as much the creatures of climate as are those of the dry land ; for the same Al- mighty Hand which decked the lily, and cares for the spar-

* liOuis John Rudolph Agassiz - Drought (drout). want of rain

(ag'a se), a Swiss naturalist, and or of water ; sucli dryness as affects

teacher in America, was born in the earth, preventing the growth

1807, and died in 1873. of plants.

THE GULF STREAM. 199

row, fashioned also the pearl, and feeds the great whale, and adapted each to the physical conditions by which His provi- dence has surrounded it. Whether of the land or the sea, the inhabitants are all His creatures, subjects of His laws, and agents in His economy.

5. The sea, tlierefore, we may safely infer, has its offices and duties to perform ; so, we may infer, have its currents ; and so, too, its inhabitants : consequently, he who undertakes to study its phenomena ' must cease to regard it as a waste of waters. He must look upon it as a part of that exquisite^ machinery by which the harmonies of nature are preserved, and then he will begin to perceive the developments of order, and the evidences of design.

0. From the Arctic Seas a cold current flows along the coasts of America, to replace the warm water sent through the Gulf Stream to moderate the cold of western and north- ern Europe. Perhaps the best indication as to these cold cur- rents may be derived from the fishes of the sea. The whales first pointed out the existence of the Gulf Stream by avoiding its warm waters. Along the coasts of the United States all those delicate animals and marine productions which delight in warmer waters are wanting ; thus indicating, by their ab- sence, the cold current from the north now known to exist there. In the genial warmth of the sea about the Bermudas on the one hand, and Africa on the other, we find in great abundance those delicate shell-fish and c6ral formations which are altogether wanting in the same latitudes along the shores of South Carolina.

7. No part of the world affords a more difficult or danger-

■ Phe n6m'e na, tinners apparont ' Exquisite (eks'kwi z"t), care- er seen ; things of unusual or fully selected or snu<jlit out ; strange appearance, not readily hence, exceedingly nice ; giving understood. rare satisfaction.

200 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

ous navigation than the approaches of the northern coasts of the United States in winter. Before the warmth of the Gulf Stream was known, a voyage at this season from Europe to New England, New York, and even to the Capes of the Del- aware or Chesapeake, was many times more trying, difficult, and dangerous than it now is. In making this part of the coast, vessels are frequently met by snow-storms and gales, which mock the seaman's strength, and set at naught his skill. In a little while his bark becomes a mass of ice ; with her crew frosted and helpless, she remains obedient only to her helm, and is kept away for the Gulf Stream.

8. After a few hours' run she reaches its edge, and almost at the next bound passes from the midst of winter into a sea at summer heat. Now the ice disappears from her apparel, and the sailor bathes his stiffened limbs in tepid waters. Feeling himself invigorated and refreshed by the genial warmth about him, he realizes out there at sea the fable of Antaeus and his mother Earth.

9. He rises up, and attempts to make his port again, and is again, perhaps, as rudely met and beat back from the north- west ; but each time that he is driven off from the contest, he comes forth from this stream, like the ancient son of Nep- tune, stronger and stronger, until, after many days, his fresh- ened strength prevails, and he at last triumphs, and enters his haven in safety, though in this severe contest he some- times falls to rise no more.

10. The ocean currents are partly the result of the immense evaporation which takes place in the tropical regions, where the sea greatly exceeds the land in extent. The enormous quantity of water there carried off by evaporation disturbs' the equilibrium of the seas ; but this is restored by a perpet- ual flow of Avater from the poles. When these streams of cold water leave the poles they flow directly towards the equa-

THE GULF STREAM. 201

tor ; but, before proceeding far. their motion is deflected by the diurnal motion of the earth.

11. At the poles they have no rotatory motion ; and al- though they gain it more and more in their progress to the equator, which revolves at the rate of a thousand miles an hour, they arrive at the tropics before they have gained the same velocity of rotation with the intertropical ocean. On that account they are left behind, and, consequently, flow in a direction contrary to the diurnal rotation of the earth. Hence the whole surface of the ocean for thirty degrees on each side of the equator flows in a stream or current three thousand miles broad from east to west. The trade winds, which constantly blow in one direction, combine to give this great Equatorial Current a mean velocity of ten or eleven miles in twenty-four hours.

12. Were it not for the land, such would be the uniform and constant flow of the waters of the ocean. The presence of the land interrupts the regularity of this great westerly movement of the waters, sending them to the north or south, according to its conformation.

72. THE GULF STREAM.

PART SECOND.

THE principal branch of the Equatorial Current of the Atlantic takes a north-westerly direction from olf Cape 8t. Roque, in South America. It rushes along the coast of Bra- zil ; and after passing through the (-aribbean Sea and swec})- ing round the Gulf of Mexico, it flows between Florida and Cuba, and enters the Nortli Atlantic under the name of the Oulf Stream, the most beautiful of all the oceanic currents.

2. In the Straits of Florida the Gulf Stream is thirty-two miles wide, two thousand two hundred feet doe]), and flows

W2 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

at the rate of four miles an hour. Its waters are of the pur- est ultramarine blue as far as the coasts of Carolina ; and so completely are they separated from the sea through which they flow, that a ship may be seen at times half in the one and half in the other.

3. As a rule, the hottest water of the Gulf Stream is at or near the surface ; and as the deep-sea thermometer is sent down, it shows that these waters, though still much warmer than tlie water on either side at corresponding depths, gradu- ally become less and less warm until the bottom of the cur- rent is reached. There is reason to believe that the warm waters of the Gulf Stream are nowhere permitted, in the oceanic economy, to touch the bottom of the sea. There is every-where a cushion of cold water between them and the solid parts of the earth's crust. This arrangement is sug- gestive, and strikingly beautiful.

Jf.. One of the benign offices of the Gulf Stream is to con- vey heat from the Gulf of Mexico, — where otherwise it would become excessive — and to dispense it in regions beyond the Atlantic, for the amelioration of the climates of the British Islands and of all Western Europe. Now, cold water is one of the best non-conductors of heat ; but if the warm water of the Gulf Stream were sent across the Atlantic in contact with the solid crust of the earth, comparatively a good con- ductor of heat, instead of being sent across, as it is, in con- tact with a non-conducting cushion of cold water to fend it from the bottom, all its heat would be lost in the first part of the way, and the soft climates of both France and England would be as that of Labrador, severe in the extreme, and ice-bound.

5. It has been estimated that the quantity of heat dis- charged over the Atlantic from the waters of the Gulf Stream in a winter's day would be sufficient to raise the Avhole column

THE GULF STREAM. 20S

of atmosphere that rests upon France and the British Islands, from the freezing point to summer heat.

6. Every west wind that blows crosses tlie stream on its. way to Europe, and carries with it a portion of this heat to temper there the northern winds of Europe. It is the influ- ence of this stream that makes Erin the "Emerald Isle of the Sea," and that clothes the shores of Albion in evergreen robes ; while, in the same latitude, the coasts of Labrador are fast bound in fetters of ice.

7. As the Gulf Stream proceeds on its course, it gradually increases in width. It flows along the coast of North America to New'foiindland, where it turns to the east, one branch set- ting towards the British Islands, and away to the coasts of Norway and the Arctic Ocean.

8. Another branch reaches the Azores, from which it bends round to the south, and, after running along the African coast, it rejoins the great equatorial now, leaving a vast space of nearly motionless water between the Azores, the Canaries, and Cape de Verd Islands. This great area is the Grassy or Sargasso Sea, covering a space many times larger than the British Islands. It is so thickly matted over with gulf weeds that it greatly retards the speed of passing vessels.

9. When the companions of Columbus saw it, they thought it marked the limits of navigation, and became alarmed. To the eye. at a little distance, it seemed substantial enough to walk upon. Patches of the weed are always to be seen float- ing along the outer edge of the Gulf Stream.

10. Now, if bits of cork or cliaft", or any floating substance, be put into a basin, and a circular motion be given to the water, all the light substances will be found crowding to- gether near the center of the i)ool, where there is the least motion. Just such a basin is the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf Stream ; and the Sargasso Sea is the center of the whirl.

204 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

11. Columbus first found this weedy sea iu his voyage of discovery ; there it has remained to this day, moving up and down, and cluuiging its position according to the seasons, the storms, and the winds. Exact observations as to its limits and their range, extending back for fifty years, assure us that its mean position has not been altered since that time.

Maurv.'

73. USES OF THE OCEAN.

PART FIRST.

THE traveler who would speak of his experience iu for- eign lands must begin with the sea. God has spread this vast pavement of His temple between the hemispheres, so that he who sails to foreign shores must pay a double trib- ute to the Most High ; for through this temple he has to carry his anticipations as he goes, and his memories when he returns.

2. The sea speaks for God ; and however eager the tourist may be to reach the strand that lies before him, and enter upon the career of business or pleasure that awaits him, he must check his impatience during this long interval of ap- proach, and listen to the voice with Avhich Jehovah speaks to him as, horizon after horizon, he moves to his purpose along the aisles of God's mighty tabernacle of the deep.

3. It is a common thing, in speaking of the sea, to call it ^'a waste of waters." But this is a mistake. Instead of heing an encumbrance or a superfluity, the sea is as essential to the life of the world, as the blood is to the life of the human body. Instead of being a waste and desert, it keeps the earth itself from becoming a waste and a desert. It is

^ Matthew Fontaine Maury, tinguisbcd instnictor and scientist, an American hydrographer, a dis- was born in 1806, and died in 1873.

USES OF THE OCEAN. 205

the world's fountain of life aud health and beauty, aud if it were taken away, the grass would perish from the mountains, the forests would crumble on the hills, tlie harvests would become powder on the plains, the continent would be one vast Sahara of frosts and tire, and the solid globe itself, scarred and blasted on every side, would swing in the heavens, silent and dead as on the first morning of creation.

Jf.. Water is as indispensable to all life, vegetable or animal, as the air itself. From the cedar on the mountains to the lichen ^ that clings to the wall ; from the elephant that past- ures on the forests, to the animalcule that floats in the sun- beam ; from the leviathan that heaves the sea into billows, to the microscopic'^ creatures that swarm, a million in a single foam-drop, — all alike depend for their existence on this single element and must perish if it be withdrawn.

5. This element of water is supplied entirely by the sea. The sea is the great inexhaustible fountain which is continu- ally pouring up into the sky precisely as many streams, aud as large, as all the rivers of the world are pouring into it.

6. The sea is the real birthplace of the clouds aud the rivers, and out of it come all the rains and dews of heaven. Instead of being a waste and an encumbrance, therefore, it is a vast fountain of frijitfulness, and the nurse and mother of all the living. Out of its mighty breast come the re- sources that feed and support the population of the world. Omnipresent^ and every-where alike is this need and bless- ing of the sea. It is felt as truly in the center of the continent — where, it may be, the rude inhabitant never

' Lichen (ll'ken) one of an or- ^ Mi'cro scSp'ic, very small ; to

der of plants, the leaf and stem he seen only hy the aid of a mi-

appearinpr alike, usually of scaly, croscope.

expanded, frond-like fonns. They ^ Om'ni pre.s'ent, press'nt in all

derive their nourishment from places at tlie same time ; as the

the air. omnipreaent Jehovah.

£0G DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Jieard of the ocean — as it is ou tlie circumference of the wave- beaten sliore.

7. We are surrounded, every moment, by the presence and bounty of the sea. It looks out upon us from every violet in our garden-bed ; from every spire of grass tliat drops upon our passing feet the beaded daw of the morning ; from the bending grain that fills the arm of the reaper ; from bursting presses, and from barns filled with plenty ; from the broad foreheads of our cattle and the rosy faces of our children ; from the cool dropping well at our door ; from the brook that murmurs from its side ; and from the elm or spreading maple that weaves its protecting branches beneath the sun, and swings is breezy shadow over our habitation.

8. It is the sea that feeds us. It is the sea that clothes us. It cools us with the summer cloud, and warms us with the blazing fires of winter. We make wealth for ourselves and for our children out of its rolling waters, though we may live a thousand leagues away from its shore, and never have looked on its crested beauty, or listened to its eternal anthem.

74. USES OF THE OCEAN.

PART SECOND.

THE sea, though it bears no harvest on its bosom, yet sustains all the harvests of the world. Though a desert itself, it makes all the other wildernesses of the earth to bud and blossom as the rose. Though its own waters are as salt and wormwood, it makes the clouds of heaven to drop with sweetness, opens springs in the valleys, and rivers among the hills, and fountains in all dry places, and gives drink to all the inhabitants of the earth.

2. The sea is a perpetual source of health to the world. Witliout it there could be no drainao-e for the lands. It is

USES OF THE OCEAN. 207

the scavenger of the world. Its agency is omnipresent. Its vigihxnce is omniscient.^ Where no sanitary committee could ever come, where no police could ever penetrate, its myriad eyes are searching, and its million hands are busy exploring all the lurking-places of decay, bearing swiftly off the danger- ous sediments of life, and laying them a thousand miles away in the slimy bottom of the deep.

8. The sea is also set to purify the atmosphere. The winds, whose wings are heavy and whose breath is sick with the malaria of the lands over which they have blown, are sent out to range over these mighty pastures of the deep, to plunge and play with its rolling billows, and dip their pinions over and over in its healing waters. There they rest when they are weary, cradled into sleep on that vast swinging couch of the ocean. There they rouse themselves when they are refreshed,, and lifting its waves upon their shoulders, they dash it into s^^ray, and hurl it backwards and forwards through a thousand leagues of sky.

4. Thus their whole substance is drenched, and bathed, and washed, and winnowed, and sifted through and through, by this glorious baptism. Thus they fill their mighty lungs once more with the sweet breath of ocean, and, striking their wings for the shore, they go breathing health and vigor along all the fainting hosts that wait for them in mountain and forest and valley and plain, till the whole drooping continent lifts up its rejoicing face, and mingles its laughter with the sea that has waked it from its fevered sleep, and poured its tides of returning life through all its shriveled arteries.

5. The ocean is not the idle creature that it seems, with its vast and lazy length stretched between the continents, with

■ Omniscient (oni nlhli'ent), liav- edge of all things ; infinitely know- ing universal knowledge, or kuowl- ing ; as, the omniscient God.

208 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

its huge bulk sleeping along the shore, or tumbling in aim- less fury from pole to pole. It is a mighty giant, who, leav- ing his oozy bed, comes up upon the land to spend his strength in the service of man. He there allows his captors to chain him in prisons of stone and iron, to bind his shoul- ders to the wheel, and set him to grind the food of the na- tions, and weave the garments of the world.

6. The mighty shaft, which that wheel turns, runs out into all the lands ; and geared and belted to that center of power, ten thousand times ten thousand clanking engines roll their cylinders, and ply their hammers, and drive their million shuttles. Thus the sea keeps all our mills and fac- tories in motion. Thus the sea spins our thread and weaves our cloth.

7. It is the sea that cuts our iron bars like wax, rolls them out into proi:»er thinness, or piles them up in the solid shaft strong enough to be the pivot of a revolving planet. It is the sea that tunnels the mountains, and bores the mine, and lifts the coal from its sunless depths, and the ore from its rocky bed. It is the sea that lays the iron track, that builds the iron horse, that fills his nostrils with fiery breath, and sends his tireless hoofs thundering across the longitudes.

8. It is the power of the sea that is doing for man all those mightiest works that would be else impossible. It is by this power that he is to level the mountains, to tame the wilder- nesses, to subdue the continents, to throw his pathways around the globe, and make his nearest approaches to omni- presence and omnipotence. From the '* Bibliotheca Sacra."

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Heave?! and earth are a imisical z'nsf rumen/ ; zf you touch a string belo^iv, the motion goes to the top ; any good done to Christ's poor members upon earth, ajfeets H/m in hea7'en.

SIGHTS AT SEA. 209

75. SIGHTS AT SEA.

THE most beautiful thing I have seen at sea — all the more so that I had never heard of it — is the trail of a shoal of fish through the phosphorescent water. It is like a flight of silver rockets, or the streaming of northern lights through that silent nether ^ heaven. I thought nothing could go beyond that rustling star-foam which was churned up by our ship's bows, or those eddies and disks of dreamy flame that rose and wandered out of sight behind us.

2. But there was something even more delicately rare in the apparition of the fish, as they turned up in gleaming fur- rows the latent moonshine which the ocean seemed to have hoarded against these vacant interlunar^ nights. In the Mediterranean one day, as we were lying becalmed, I observed the water freckled with dingy specks, which at last gathered to a pinkish scum on the surface. The sea had been so phos- phorescent for some nights, that when the captain gave me my bath, by dowsing me with buckets from the house on deck, the spray flew off my head and shoulders in sparks.

3. It occurred to me that this dirty-looking scum might be the luminous matter, and I had a pailful dipped up to keep till after dark. When I went to look at it after night-fall, it seemed at first perfectly dead ; bat when I shook it, the whole broke out into wliat I can only liken to milky flames, whose lambent 3 silence was strangely beautiful, and startled me almost as actual projection might an alchemist. To avoid the death of so much beauty, I poured it all overboard.

Jf. Another sight worth taking a voyage for is that of the

'Nether (neth'er), bituatcd down its conjuiiftion with the sun, is

or below ; under. invisible.

-' In'ter lu'nar, belong'ing to the ' Lam'bent^ jjlayin^j on the sur-

time when the E:oon, at or near face ; twiulvling.

210 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

sails by moonlight. Our course was "south and by east, half south," so that we seemed bound for the full moon as she rolled up over our wavering hori'zon. Then I used to go forward to the bowsprit and look back. Our ship was a clipper, with every rag set, stunsails, sky-scrajDers, and all ; nor was it easy to believe that such a wonder could be built of canvas as that white, many-storied pile of cloud that stooped over me, or drew back as we rose and fell with the waves.

5. Were you ever alone with the sun ? You think it a very simple question ; but I never was, in the full sense of the word, till I was held up to him one cloudless day on the broad buckler of the ocean. I suppose one might have the same feeling in the desert. I remember getting something like it years ago, when I climbed alone to the top of a mount- ain, and lay face up on the hot gray moss, striving to get a notion of how an Arab might feel. But at sea you may be alone with him day after day, and almost all day long.

6. I never understood before that nothing short of full daylight can give the supremest sense of solitude. Darkness will not do so, for the imagination peoples it with more shapes than ever were j^oured from the frozen loins of the populous North. The sun, I sometimes think, is a little groutij at sea, especially at high noon, feeling that he wastes his beams on those fruitless furrows. It is otherwise with the moon. She "comforts the night,"' as Chapman finely says, and I always found her a companionable creature.

7. In the ocean horizon I took untiring delight. It is the true magic-circle of expectation and conjecture — almost as good as a wishing-ring. What will rise over that edge we sail toward daily and never overtake ? A sail ? an island ? the new shore of the Old World ? Something rose every day, which I need not have gone so far to see, but at whose levee I was a much more faithful courtier than on shore.

ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 211

8. A cloudless sunrise in mid-ocean is beyond comparison for simple grandeur. It is like Dante's ^ style, bare and per- fect. Naked sun meets naked sea, the true classic of Nature. There may be more sentiment in morning on shore — the shivering fairy-jewelry of dew, the silver point-lace of spark- ling hoar-frost — there is also more complexity. Lowell.''

76. ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.

THERE is a pleasure hi the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes. By the deep Sea, and music in its roar. I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our inter.views, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been Ijefore, To mingle with the Universe, and feel "What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal.

3. Eoll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

"When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths witli Ijubbling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

3. His steps are not upon thy paths — thy fields Are not a spoil for him — thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, Spui'uing liini from thy bosom to the skies,

' Dante ((in n'tc), tlie Italian poet, Ainoiican poet, born in 1810. He l)orii ill 120o, and died in 1:331. ranks among the very first of

"^ James Russell Lowell, the American aiitliorH.

212 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray

And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay.

^. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans,' whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ;

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar X Alike the Armada's" pride or spoils of Trafalgar.^

5. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee —

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? Thy waters wasted them while they were free.

And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey

The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou.

Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

6. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime —

' Leviathan (le vi'a than), a great on the S. W. coast of Cadiz. In the

sea animal, described in the Bible ; memorable naval battle off Cape

a great whale ; here means a bat- Trafalgar, Oct. 21, 1805, the En-

tle ship. glish gained a complete victory

'^ Ar ma'da, a fleet of armed over the combined French and

ships ; a squadron : specifically, the Spanish fleets. Lord Nelson, the

Spanish fleet intended to act against English commander, was mortally

England, A. D. 1588. wounded. He was victor of the

3 Traf al gar', a cape of Spain, Nile, Co[>enhagen. and Trafalgar.

ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 213

The image of Eternity — the throne

Of the Invisible ; even from ont thy slime The monsters of the deep are made : each zone Oljeys thee : thou goest fortli, dread, fatliomless, alone.

7. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy

Of youthfnl sports was on thy breast to be

Borne, liice tliy bubbles, onward : from a boy

I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me

Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea

Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear,

For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.

By RON.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

As dinvti VI the simless retreats of tJic occaii

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see. So. deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion

Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded.

The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea. So dark when I roam, in this -wintry world shrouded.,

The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, My God, trembling to Thee, Pure, warm, trembling to Thee .' — Moore.

' George Gordon Noel Byron, Reviewers." He became Lord By-

a man of wonderful genius, one of ron in 1798. His " Address to the

the greatest of English poets, was Ocean " is from "Childc Harold's

born in London, January 23, 1788. Pilgrimage," one of the most re-

His first volume. " Hours of Idle- markable productions of human

ness," appeared in 1807, so severe- genius. Owing to their imniorali-

ly criticised by the "Edinburgh ties, his works should be read in

Review "as to draw from him in e\-i)urgated editions. He identi-

reply a stinging satire, the first fi<'d himself with the struggle for

spirited outl)reak of his talent, <M) the independence of Greece, and

titled " Eu'rlish Bards and Scottish died at Missolonghi in 1824.

214 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

77. A SAINT'S ANSWER.

ST. ALOYSIUS, when he made his home The College of St. Andrea at Rome, At recreation, on a certain day, When all his brother-novices were gay "With innocent enjoyment, and the wit Of many a wise and gentle Jesuit ' Relaxed ^ the studious circle ; in his turn Played draughts ^ with an old brother from Lucerne :

2. Wlien through the merry band like lightning ran The question of a youthful Corsican,

Whose mind on serious issues ever bent, At playtime asks, ' ' If, by Divine assent, Here in our midst an angel from on high Should bring us the decree that we must die A moment hence, tell me, my friends, what you In that most dread emergency,* would do ?"

3. From lip to lip the eager question passed ;

' ' Now were I sure this moment were my last," Quoth ^ one, " Fd to the chapel speed, nor cease To tell my beads." — " While I upon my knees," Cries out another, ' ' would renew my vows And make the Acts." — " And I " (with blushing brows, A sweet-faced Genoese) ' ' for my souFs sake, Confession of my sins would gladly make."

' Jesuit (jez'u it), a member of a game played with wooden pieces

the Company of Jesus, a religious ou a checkered board,

order founded by St. Ignatius Ley- ■* E mer'gen cy, a sudden or uu-

ola in the 16th century, and noted expected occurrence,

for scholarship and holiness of life. ' Quoth, said ; spoke ; used only

'■* Re laxed', relieved from atten- in the first and third persons in

tion or effort. the past tense, and with the nomi-

^ Draughts (drafts) or checkers, native always following it.

A SAINT'S ANSWER. 215

Jf. And so the question parried ' to and fro, Drew varied answers ; voices loud and low Ringing the changes on a theme ^ so near Those pure, unworldly hearts, till, in the ear Of Aloysius, bending o'er his game, A whisper from the Switzer ' novice came : " Fratello mio .'* thou alone art mute ; " Which others, in the height of the dispute Hearing, were 'shamed ; and he of Corsica Cried out, " "What dost i/iou say, good Gonzagil?"

5. Then in the sudden hush the holy youth — " Dear brother, if this hour, in very truth, Death's angel with the awful summons* came, Methinks" — he, smiling, pointed to his game — ' ' I would continue this ; " — the while, surprise Held all the others dumb — with drooping eyes He added, ' ' Doth not he commence

The noblest work, who, in obedience To holy rule, and for the greater gain Of God's dear glory, doth his will constrain ?^

6. "He who performs each duty in its time,

With sinless heart and ever-watchful eye. His very pastime maketh prayer sublime. And any moment is prepared to die."

TO BE MEMORIZED.

T/ie Christian faith is a grand cathedral, with divinely pictured windows. Standing without, you see no i^lory, nor can possibly imagine any ; standing ruithin, every ray of light rei'cals a harmony of unspeakable splendor.

' Par'ried, passed from one to itant of Switzerland ; a Swiss,

another, as used here. ■'Fratel'lo mi'o, my dear

' Theme, a subject of thought brother.

or conversation. •'' Sum'mons, an imperative call.

' Switz'er, a native or inhab- '' Con strain', to bend ; to compel.

^16 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

78. THE DEAR ST. ELIZABETH.

THE tender piety with which Elizabeth of Hungary had been animated from her childhood, after her marriage took every day new developments, which in a short time merited for her the sweet and glorious title under which all Christendom ' now venerates her — that of Patroness of the Poor.

2. From her cradle, she could not bear the sight of a poor person without feeling her heart pierced with grief, and now that her husband had granted her full liberty in all that con- cerned the honor of God and the good of her neighbor, she unreservedly abandoned herself to her natural inclination to solace 2 the suffering members of Christ.

3. This was her ruling thought each hour and moment ; to the use of the poor she dedicated all that she retrenched from the superfluities ^ usually required by her sex and rank. Yet, notwithstanding the resources that the charity of lier husband placed at her disposal, she gave away so quickly all that she possessed, that it often happened that she would de- spoil ^ herself of her clothes in order to have the means of as- sisting the unfortunate.

Jf. But it was not alone by presents or with money that the young princess testified her love for the poor of Christ ; it was still more by personal devotion, by those tender and pa- tient cares which are usually, in the sight both of God and the sufferers, the most holy and most precious alms. She applied herself to these duties Avith simplicity and unfailing gayety of manner. When the sick sought her aid, after re-

' Christendom (kris'n dum), that under calamity or in grief, portion of the world where the ^ Su'per flu'i ty, something be-

Christian religion prevails. yond what is necessary.

2 Sol'ace, to comfort ; to cheer •* De spoil', to strip, as of dress.

THE DEAR ST. ELIZABETH. 217

lieving their wants, she would inquire whei'e they lived, in order that she might visit them, and no distance, no rough- ness of road, could keep her from them.

5. She knew that nothing strengthened feelings of charity more than to penetrate into all that is positive and material in human misery. She sought out the huts most distant from her castle, which were often repulsive through filth and bad air ; yet she entered these haunts of poverty in a manner at once full of devotion and familiarity. She carried herself what she thought would be necessary for their miserable in- habitants. She consoled them, far less by her generous gifts than by her sweet and affectionate words.

6. Elizabeth loved to carry secretly to the poor not only money, but provisions and other matters which she destined ' for them. She went, thus laden, by the winding and rugged paths that led from the castle to the city, and to cabins of the neighboring valleys. One day, when accompanied by one of her favorite maidens, as she descended from the castle, and carrying under her mantle bread, meat, eggs, and other food to distribute to the poor, she suddenly encountered her hus- band, who was returning from hunting.

7. Astonished to see her thus toiling on, under the weight of her burden, he said to her, " Let us see what you carry," and at the same time drew open the mantle which she held closely clasped to her bosom ; but beneath it were only red and white roses, the most beautiful he liad ever seen ; and tliis astonished him, as it was no longer the season of flowers. Seeing that Elizabeth was troubled, he sought to console her by his caresses, but he ceased suddenly, on seeing over her head a luminous appearance in the form of a crucifix*.

* S. He then desired her to continue her route without being

disturbed by him. and he returned to Wartburg, meditating

' DSs'tined, designed ; intended.

218 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

with recollection on what God did for her, and carrying with him one of these wonderful roses, which he possessed all his life. At the spot where this meeting took place, he erected a pillar, surmounted by a cross, to consecrate forever the remembrance of tluit which he had seen hovering over the head of his wife. Montalembert.'

79. THE QUEEN'S KISS.

PART FIRST.

IN all the blessed calendar, ^ The sweetest saint I hold to be Thuringia's gracious Landgravine,^ Elizabeth of Hungary.

2. A heart of love, a soul of fire,

A hand to succor and to bless, A life one passionate desire For pure and perfect holiness.

3. They brighten the historic page,

Those legends, beautiful and quaint. Of miracles that so illume

The tragic history of our saint.

Jf. The story of her fasts, relieved By angels serving food divine. Of water from her goblet turned. Upon her fainting lips, to wine.

' Count Charles Forbes Rene ble works, the best known of which

de Montalembert, a French states- are "The Monks of the West"

man, born in London May 29, 1810 ; and the " Life of St. Elizabeth of

died in Paris March 13, 1870. He Hungary."

was distinguished for his efforts in - Cal'en dar, a list of names,

behalf of free Catholic I'ducation, * Land'gra vine, the wife of a

and is the author of several valua- landu^rave or German nobleman.

THE QUEEN'S KISS. 219

5.' The story of the leprous child

She laid upon her own soft bed ; And how the court stormed at tlie deed, And all her maids in terror fled.

6. How, chiding, came her angered lord.

To find his chamber filled with light. And on his couch a Christ-child fair.

That smiled and vanished from his sight !

7. The story of the beggar, cro^jched

Upon her court-yard's pavement cold, O'er whom she flung in Christ's dear name Her ermined mantle, wrought with gold.

8. And how it was the Lord Himself

Who, in that abject human form, So moved her heart — to whom she gave Such royal covering from the storm.

.9. And that dear legend that they keep In roses round her castle still, Her memory blooming bright and sweet, By Wartburg's steep and rocky hill ;

10. How, one midwinter day, she went

Adown the icy path, to bear A store of meat and eggs and bread.

To cheer the poor who claimed her care ;

11. How, hiding all beneath her robes,

Against the tempest toiling down, She met the landgrave face to face.

And, trembling, stood before his frown.

12. And how, *' What dost thou here, my wife?

What bear^st thou ? " ho sternly said,

/\m\T

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

imm

And oped her mantle's folds, to find Within but roses, white and red !

IS. How then he thought to kiss her cheek, But dared not, and could only lay One rose, a rose of Paradise,

Against his heart, and go his way.

THE QUEEN'S KISS. 221

80. THE QUEEN'S KISS.

PART SECOND.

WITHIN the French king's banquet-hall. Upon the royal dais raised. Sat Blan9he, the queen from fair Castile, The princess by our Shakespeare ' praised.

2. She who, through blessed motherhood, A more than royal glory won — From Louis, kingliest of saints, And saintliest of kings, her son.

S. It chanced that, as the lovely queen

Gazed round the bannered hall that day, She marked a pensive stranger stand Beyond a group of pages gay.

Jf.. A fair, slight youth, with deep blue eyes, And tender mouth that seldom smiled, And long, bright hair that backward flowed, From off a forehead pure and mild.

5. " Know'st thou, my dear lord cardinal.

Yon fair-haired page that stands apart ? " Asked Blanche, the queen ; " his sad face brings A strange, deep yearning to my heart."

' That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanche, Is near to England. Look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid : If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanche? If love ambitious sought a match of birth. Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanche? —

SlIAKESPEARF..

222

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

•• Your highness, from a blessed life.

Now hid in God, that youth drew breath

'Tis Herman, of Thuringia, The son of St. Elizabeth."

Then rose Queen Blanche, and went and stood

In all her state, before the lad. And fixed upon his comely face

A gaze half tender and half sad.

" Thou'rt welcome to our court, fair prince ! " At last she said, and softly smiled.

" Thou hadst a blessed mother once : Wilt tell me where she kissed her child ? "

He like his mother's roses stood.

All white and red with shy surprise ;

WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 22S

"'Twas here, your majesty," he said, And touched his brow between his eyes,

10. Fair Blanche of Castile bowed, and pressed

A reverent kiss upon the place ; Then crossed her hands upon her breast, Exclaiming with uplifted face :

11. '• Pray for us ! dear and blessed one !

Young victor over sin and death ! Thou tender mother ! spotless wife ! Thou sweetest St. Elizabeth ! "

Mrs. Lippincott.'

81. WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

ON one of those sober and rather melancholy days in the latter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and evening almost mingle together and throw a gloom over the decline ^ of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westminster Abbey. ^ There was something congenial^ to the season in the mournful magnificence of the old pile ; and, as I passed its threshold, ^ it seemed like stepping back into the regions of antiquity, and losing myself among the shades of former ages.

2. The cloisters 6 still retain something of the quiet and seclusion of former days. The gray walls are discolored by

' Mrs. Lippincott (Sara Jane iu 610 as a Benedictine monastery ;

Clarke), an American authoress, used now as a burial-place for

was born in 1823. This gifted England's great men.

writer, so greatly beloved in Amer- ^ Con ge'ni al, partaking of the

ican home.s, is more generally same nature,

known as Grace, Oreemcood. '■' Thresh'old, the door-sill.

^ De cline', a sinking or lessen- * Clois' ters, enclosed passages

ing ; the latter part. or hulls of some length, lighted by

' West min'ster Ab'bey, built windows.

22 Jj, DOMINION FOURTH READER.

damps and crumbling with age ; a coat of hoary moss has gathered over the inscriptions ' of the mural ^ monuments, and obscured the death's heads and other funereal emblems. The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich tracery ^ of the arches ; the roses which adorned the key- stones* have lost their leafy beauty ; every thing bears marks of the gradual dilapidations ^ of time, and yet has something touching and pleasing in its very decay.

3. The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the square of the cloisters ; beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in the center, and lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage with a kind of dusky splendor. From between the arcades,® the eye glanced up to a bit of blue sky, or a passing cloud, and beheld the sun-gilt pinnacles'' of the Abbey tower- ing into the azure heaven.

Jf.. I pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the in- terior of the Abbey. On entering here, the magnitude of the building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the vaults of the cloisters. The eye gazes with wonder at clus- tered columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches springing from them to such an amazing height that man, wandering about their bases, shrinks into insignificance in comjiarison with his own handiwork. The spaciousness and gloom of this vast edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe.

5. I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which occupies an end of one of the transepts or cross-aisles of tjie Abbey. The

' In scrip' tion, that which is top than the bottom, placed in the

written on stone, wood, or other center of an arch to strengthen it

substances. ^ jjj lap'i da'tion, decay ; state

- Mii'ral, belonging or attached of being partly ruined,

to a wall. 6 Ar cade', a series of arches

^ Tra'cer y, fine drawn lines ; supported by columns,

complicated, graceful patterns. ' Pin'na cle, a high, slender tur-

^ Key'st5ne, a stone wider at the ret or point.

WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 225

monuments ure generally simple ; for the lives of literary men afford no striking themes for the sculptor. Shakes2)eare and Addison have statues erected to their memories ; but the greater part have busts, medallions,' and sometimes mere inscriptions. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these me- morials, I have always observed that the visitors to the Abbey remained longest about them. A kinder and fonder feeling takes the place-<>f that cold curiosity or vague admira- tion with which they gaze on the splendid monuments of the great and the heroic.

6. From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll toward that part of the Abbey which contains the sepulchers of the kings. I wandered among what once were chapels, but which are now occupied by the tombs and monuments of the great. At every turn I met with some illustrious name, or the cogni- zance ^ of some powerful house renowned in history.

7. As the eye darts into these dusky chambers of death, it catches glimpses of quaint effigies,-'' some kneeling in niches* as if in devotion ; others stretched upon the tombs with hands piously pressed together ; warriors in armor, as if re- posing after battle ; prelates with crosiers ^ and miters ; and nobles in robes and coronets*' lying, as it were, in state.

8. There is something extremely solemn and awful in those effigies on Gothic tombs, extended as if in the sleep of death, or in the supplication of the dying hour. They have an effect infinitely more impressive on my feelings than 'he fan-

' Me d^'ion, (-yun), any circu- or recess, generally withi i the

lar tablet on which are presented thickness of a wall for a statue,

embossed or raised figures ; a large bust, or other ornament,

antique memorial coin. '■" Crosier (kro'zher), a bishop's

'^ Cognizance (kon'i zins). badge, crook or pastoral staff; a sraibol

^ Ef'fi feies, likenesses in sculpt- of Lis authority,

ure or painting. '• Cor'o net, an inferior crown

* Niche (nidi), a cavity, liollow worn by a nobleman.

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

ciful attitudes, the over-wrought conceits ^ and allegorical ^ groups which abound on modern monuments. I have been struck, also, with the superiority of the old sepulchral* inscriptions.

9. There was a noble way in former times of saying things simply and yet saying them proudly ; and I do not know an epitaph ^ that breathes a loftier consciousness of family worth and honorable lineage, than one which affirms of a noble house, that '' all the brothers were brave and all the sisters virtuous." I continued in tliis way to move from tomb to tomb, and from chapel to chapel.

10. The day was gradually wearing away. I stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's ^ chapel. Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulcher of the haughty^ Elizabeth ; in the other is that of her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary.

11. Not an hour in the day but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the fate of the latter, mingled with indignation at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's sepulcher con- tinually echo with the sigh of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival.

12. A peculia- melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through win-

1 Con ceit, an ill-founded, odd, memory of the dead.

or extravagant notion. * Henry Vn., founder of the

2 Al'le gor'i cal, a method of Tudor dynasty of English kings, describing a thing by its resem- father of Henry VIII., born at blance to another thing. Pembroke Castle, in South Wales,

3 Se pul'chral, relating to a tomb July 26, 1456; died at Richmond or burial place. April 21, 1509.

*Ep'itaph, an inscription in « Haugh'ty, arrogant ; disdainful.

EXECUTION OF MARY STUART. 227

dows darkened by dust. The greater part of the place is iu deep shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded,^ bear- ing her national emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wan- dering, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the checkered ^ and disastrous story of poor Mary. Washington Irving.*

82 EXECUTION OF MARY STUART.

DURING the long night previous to her execution, with the sound of the hammer on her scaffold ringing from the next room, Mary Stuart knelt before the agonized figure of her crucified Redeemer. She read the divine history of His sacred Passion ; she read a sermon on the subject of the penitent thief ; she drew from the bleeding lips of the five wounds of Jesus the blood of remission and the waters of consolation ; and her saintly soul grew strong within her, and leaping up from the sorrowful earth with the renewed sense of Grod's pardon, found rest and refreshment already on the bosom of that dear Lord who died for her.

2. At four in the morning she laid down upon her bed, but not to sleep. Her attendants looking on her steadfastly, saw through the midst of their tears, that her lips were moving in incessant prayer.

' Cor rod'ed, eaten away by time grace and polish of Franklin. His

or rust. carefully selected words, bis vari-

' Ch^ck'ered, of mingled dark ously constructed periods, liis

and bright. remarkable elegance, sustained

' Washington Irving, born in sweetness, and distinct and deli- Mew York city April 3, 1783 ; died cate word-painting place him in Nov. 28, 1859. His style has the the front rank of the masters of ease and i)urity, and more than the our language.

228 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

3. Oh, through those moments of repose, did the smile of her mother reappear ? Did lier glad sweet youth in sunny France come back ? Did she see the bright skies and the purple bloom of the vineyards ? Was the pomp of her young royalty visible ? Was the shadow of her yearning love be- tween her heart and heaven ? ,

4. I fancy not. I think that she heard nothing but the choirs on high, saw only the crown eternal, the unfading palm- branch, the blue rushing of the stream of life, that floweth from the throne of God and of the Lamb. At day-break she arose, called her small household round her, and once more bade them farewell ; read to them her last will ; gave them her money and apparel ; kissed the wildly sobbing women, and gave her hand to the strong men, who wept over it.

5. Then she went to her oratory, and they knelt, crying, behind her. There Kent, and Shrewsbury, and Sheriff Andrews found her. Thence she arose, and taking the crucifix from the altar in her right hand, and her prayer- book in her left, she followed them. Her servants knelt for her benediction. She gave it and passed on.

6. Then the door closed, and the wild wail of their loving agony shook the hall. Besides what the commissioners re- ported, she said to Melville, ' ' Pray for your mistress and your queen. ^' She begged that her women might attend her to disrobe her, and the Earl of Kent refused to grant this natural request.

7. ''My lord," she said, "your mistress being a maiden queen, will vouchsafe, in regard to womanhood, that I have some of my own women about me at my death." Kent gave no answer, and she said : '* You might, I think, grant me a far greater courtesy ^ were I a woman of lesser calling than the Queen of the Scots."

1 Ooiirt'e sy, an act of kindness performed with politeness.

EXECUTION OF J/AJ^]' STUART. 229

8. No answer still. And then — "My lords, I am a cousin of your queen, a descendant of the blood-royal^ of Henry Seventh, a znarried Queen of France, and the anointed Queen of Scotland." Then they allowed Jane Kennedy and Mistress Curie to wait on her. She wore her richest royal robes as she walked to the scalfold,'- and approached it with the graceful majesty ^ that ever distinguished her.

9. Then Dr. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, began to preach, exhorting^ her to forsake the Catholic Faith. Mary begged him not to trouble himself or her. On his persisting, ^ she turned away from him. He walked round the scaffold, confronted ^ her, and began again. Then the Earl of Shrews- bury commanded him to stop preaching and begin to pray ; a command which was instantly obeyed.

10. But, meantime, Mary was repeating in Latin the Psalms for the dying. Then she knelt down and prayed for her son and for Elizabeth, for Scotland, for her enemies, and for her- self, and holding up the image of her suffering Saviour, she cried out: "As Thy arms, 0 my God ! were stretched out upon the Cross, so receive me into the embrace of their mercy, and forgive me all my sins."

11. "Madame," cried courteous Kent, "you had better leave such Popish trumperies, and bear Him in your heart." And Mary answered, "Were He not already in my heart. His image would not be in my hands." Then they bound a gold-edged handkerchief over her eyes, and she, saying, " 0 Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit," knelt down.

12. At the first blow, the executioner split the lower part of her skull ; at the second, he cut deeply into her neck ; at

' Roy'al, relating to a sovereign, ing. or cautioning.

' ScSf'fold, a raised platform for ^ Per sist' ing, continuing deter-

the execution of a criminal. min^dly.

' MSj'es ty, dignity ; loftiness. " Confronted(k()nfriint'e(l),stood

* Exhort' ing, advising, warn- facing, in front of, or opposed to.

230 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

tlie third, he severed i her head from her body, and, holding it up by the long gray hair, said, '' God save Queen Eliza- beth ! "' The people sobbed and wept. '' So perish all her enemies I " said the Dean of Peterborough. And the people sobbed and wept ; but no one said, *' Amen I " McLeod;^

83. JOAN OF ARC AT REIMS.

THAT was a joyous day in Reims ^ of old, When peal on peal of mighty music rolled Forth from her thronged cathedral ; while around, A multitude, whose billows made no sound, Chained to a hush of wonder, though elate * With victory, listened at their temple's gate. And what was done within ? — within, the light

Through the rich gloom of pictured windows flowing. Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight,

The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing In martial vassalage !^— while 'midst that ring. And shadowed by the ancestral tombs, a king Received his birthright's crown.

' Sev'ered, separated ; parted. ^ Reims (remz), a walled city of 2 Donald McLeod (-loud), born France, department of Marne. Its in New York in 1821, was the Gothic Cathedral of the 13th cent- youngest son of Alexander McLeod, ury, and its church of St. Remy, a Scotch Presbyterian preacher fa- the oldest in the city, are among mous in Xew York fifty years ago. the finest church structures in all He became a Catholic when about Europe. Philip Augustus was thirty years old. He was a pleasing consecrated here in 1179, and near- and elegant writer. A "Life of ly all his successors, till the revo- Mary Queen of Scots," and " De- lution of 1830. votion to the Blessed Virgin in ^ E late', having the spirits North America," were among his raised by success, or hope of sue- best volumes. Later in life he be- cess ; proud ; swelling, came a priest, and was killed on a ^ Vas'sal age, state of being a railroad near Cincinnati while go vassai, or one who holds land of a ing on a call of sacerdotal duty. superior and vows fidelity to him.

JOAN OF ARC AT REIMS. 231

2. For this, the hymn Swelled out like rushing waters, and the day

With the sweet censer's misty breath grew dim,

As through long aisles it floated o'er the array Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone And unapproached, beside the altar-stone, With the white banner, forth like sunshine streaming, And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance gleaming- Silent and radiant stood \ — the helm was raised And the fair face revealed that upward gazed •

Intensely worshiping : — a still, clear face Youthful, but brightly solemn ! — Woman's cheek And brow were there, in deep devotion meek.

Yet glorified with inspiration's trace On its pure paleness ; while, enthroned above, The pictured Virgin, with iier smile of love, Seemed bending o'er her votaress — That slight form ! Was that the leader through the battle's storm ?

3. Had the soft light in that adoring eye.

Guided the w^arrior where the swords flashed high ? 'Twas so, even so — and thou, the shepherd's child Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild ! Never before and never since that hour, Hath woman, mantled with victorious power. Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand . Holy amidst the knighthood of the land And beautiful with joy and with renown. Lift thy white banner o'er the olden crown. Ransomed for France by thee !

-$. The rites arc done.

Now let the dome with Trumpet-notes ))e shaken, And ))id the echoes of tiie toml)s awaken.

And come thou forth, that Heaven's rejoicing sun May give thee wcilcome from thine own blue skies.

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Daughter of victory I — a triumphant strain, A proud rich stream of warlike melodies,

Gushed through the portals of the antique fane, And forth she came. — Tiien rose a nation's sound ! Oh I what a power to bid the quick heart bound, 'J'he wind bears onward with the stormy cheer Man gives to glory on her high career !

5. Is there indeed such ])0wer ?— far deeper dwells In one kind household voice, to reach the cells Whence happiness flowed forth ! — the shouts that filled The hollow heaven tempestuously, were stilled

One moment ; and in that brief pause, the tone.

As of a breeze tliat o'er her liome had blown,

Sank on the bright maid's heart.— " Joanne ! " — Who spoke

Like those whose childhood with her childhood grew

Under one roof \ —

6. "Joanne" — that murmur broke With sounds of weeping forth I — She turned — she knew Beside her, marked from all tlie thousands there,

In the calm beauty of his silver hair, The stately shepherd ; and the youth, whose joy From his dark eye flashed proudly ; and the boy — The youngest -born, that ever loved her best ; '' Father ! and ye, my l)rothers ! " —

7. On the breast Of that gray sire she sank — and swiftly back Even in an instant, to their native track

Her free thoughts flowed. — She saw the pomp no more —

The plumes, the banners : — to her cabin door.

And to the fairy's fountain in the glade.

Where her young sister, by her side had played,

And to her hamlet's chapel, where it rose

Hallowing the forest unto deep repose,

Her spirit turned.

JOAN OF ARC. ^33

8. The very wood-note, sung

In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt Where o'er her father's roof the beech leaves hung,

Was in her heart ; a music heard and felt, Winning her back to nature. — Slie unbound

The helm of many battles from her head, And, with her bright locks bowed to sweep the ground,

Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said — " Bless me, my father, bless me I and with thee. To the still cabin and the beechen tree, let me return ! " —

0. Oh 1 never did thine eye

Through the green haunts of happy infancy Wander again, Joanne 1 too much of fame Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name ; And bought alone by gifts beyond all price. The trusting heart's repose, the paradise Of home with all its loves, doth fate allow The crown of glory unto woman's brow. Mrs. IIemaxs.'

84. JOAN OF ARC.

PART FIRST.

WHAT is to be thought of her ? What is to be thought of the poor shepherd girl from the hills and forests of Lorraine,'^ that, like the Hebrew she])herd boy from the hills and forests of Judea,^ rose suddenly out of the quiet, out of the safety, out of the religious inspiration, rooted in deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the van of armies, and to the more perilous station at the right hand of kings ? 2. The Hebrew boy inaugurated* his patriotic missioii by

' Felicia Dorothea Hemans, a large province of France, now in- noted English poetess, born in eluded in a department. Liverpool, September 25, 1794 ; •' David, King of Israel. died near Dublin, May 16, 188/5. ^ In au' gu ra ted, miidi- a pub-

' Lorraine (lor riln'), a former lie or formal beginning of.

23Ji. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

an act, by a victorious act, such as no man could deny. But so did the girl of Lorraine, if we read her story as it was read by those who saw her nearest. Adverse armies bore witness to the boy as no pretender ; but so they did to the gentle girl. Judged by the voices of all who saw them from a station of (jood-will, both were found true and loyal to any promises in- volved in their first act.

3. Enemies it was that made the difference between their subsequent fortunes. The boy rose to a splendor and a noon- day prosperity, both personal and public, that rang through the records of his people, and became a by-word amongst his posterity for a thousand years, until the scepter was depart- ing from Juda.

Jf. The poor, forsaken girl, on the contrary, drank not her- self from that cup of rest which she had secured for France. She never sang the songs that rose in her native Domremy, as echoes to the departing steps of invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances of Vaucouleurs, which celebrated in rapture the redemption of France. No I for her voice was then silent. Xo I for her feet were dust.

5. Pure, innocent, noble-hearted girl ! whom from earliest youth ever I believed in, as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst the strongest pledges for thy side, that never once — no, not for a moment of weakness — didst thou revel in the vision of coronets and honor from man. Coro- nets for thee ? Oh, no I Honors, if they come when all is over, are for those that share thy blood.

6. Daughter of Domremy, when the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, king of France, but she will not hear thee ! Cite her by thy apjaaritors ^ to come and receive a robe of honor, but she will be found in contempt. When the thunders of ^ Ap pai/ i tor, a messenger or officer who serves the process of a court,.

JOAN OF ARC. 235

universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her country, thy ear, young shepherd girl, will have been deaf for five centuries.

7. To suffer and to do ! that was thy portion in this life : to do — never for thyself, always for others ; to suffer — never in the persons of generous champions, always in thy own — that was thy destiny, and not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. " Life," thou saidst, ''is short, and the sleep which is in the grave is long. Let me use that life, so tran- sitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreams destined to comfort the sleep which is so long."

8. Pure from every suspicion of even a visionary self-inter- est, even as she was pure in senses more obvious, never once did this holy child, as regarded herself, relax from her belief in the darkness that was traveling to meet her. She miglit not prefigure the very manner of her death ; she saw not in vision, perhaps, the aerial altitude of the fiery scaffold, the spectators without end, on every road, pouring into Rouen as to a coronation, the surging smoke, the volleying flames, the hostile faces all around, the pitying eye that lurked but here and there, until nature and imperishable truth broke loose from artificial restraints — these might not be apparent through the mists of the liurrying future ; but the voice that called her to death — that she heard forever.

.9. Great was the throne of France, even in those days, and great was he that sat upon it ; but well Joan knew tliat not the throne, nor he that sat upon it, was for Iwr ; but. on the contrary, that she was for them : not she by them, but they by lier, should rise from the dust. Gorgeous were the lilies of France, and for centuries had they been spreading their beauty over land and sea. until, in another century, the wrath of God and man coiuljined to wither them ; but well

236 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Joan kuew — early at Domremy she had read that bitter truth — that the lilies of France would decorate no garland for her. Flower nor bud, bell nor blossom, would ever bloom for her.

85. JOAN OF ARC.

PART SECOND.

HAVING placed the king on his throne, it was her fort- une thenceforward to be thwarted. More than one military plan was entered upon which she did not apiDrove. Too well she felt the end to be nigh at hand. Still she con- tinued to jeopard her person in battle as before ; severe wounds had not taught her caution ; and at length she was made prisoner by the Burgundians, and finally given up to the English.

2. The object now was to vitiate the coronation of Charles the Seventh as the work of a witch, and for this end Joan was tried for sorcery. Slie resolutely defended herself from this absurd accusation. Never from the foundations of the earth was there such a trial as this, if it were laid open in all its beauty of defense and all its malignity of attack.

3. 0 child of France ! shepherdess, peasant girl ! trodden under foot by all around thee, I honor thy flashing intellect, quick as the lightning and as true to its mark, that ran be- fore France and laggard Europe by many a century, con- founding the malice of the ensnarer, and making dumb the oracles of falsehood I " Would you examine me as a witness against myself? " was the question by which many times she defied their arts. The result of this trial was the condemna- tion of Joan to be burnt alive. Never was a fairer victim doomed to death by baser means.

Jf.. Woman, sister I there are some things which you do not

JOAN OF ARC. 237

execute as well as your brother, man — no, nor ever will. Yet, sister, woman, cheerfully and with the love that burns in depths of admiration, I acknowledge that you can do one thing as well as the best of men — you can die grandly !

5. On the 20th of May, 1431, being then about nineteen years of age, Joan of Arc undei'went her martyrdom. She was taken, before midday, guarded by eight hundred spear- men, to a platform of j^rodigious height, constructed of wooden billets, supported by occasional walls of lath and plaster, and traversed by hollow spaces in every direction for the creation of air currents. Witli an undaunted soul, but a meek and saintly demeanor, the maiden encountered her terrible fate. Upon her head was placed a miter bearing the inscription, ^'Relapsed heretic, apostate, idolatress.''

6. Her piety displayed itself in the most touching manner to the last, and her angelic forgetfulness of self was mani- fested in a remarkable degree. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch from below. He did so. The fiery smoke rose upward in billowing volumes. A monk was then standing at Joan's side. "Wrapt up in his sublime ottice, he saw not the danger, but still persisted in his prayers. Even then, when the last enemy was racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of girls think only for him — the one friend that would not forsake her — and not for herself, bidding iiim with her last breath to care for his own preservation, but to leave her to God.

7. "Go down," she said, "lift up tlie cross before me, that I may see it in dying, and speak to me ])ious words to the end." 'I'hen, protesting iier innocence and recommend- ing her soul to heaven, she continued to pray as the flames leaped and walled her in. Her last audible word was the name of Jesus. Sustained by faith in Him in her last fight

2S8 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

upon the scaffold, she had triumphed gloriously ; victoriously she had tasted death. A soldier who had sworn to throw a fagot on the pile, turned away, a penitent for life, on hear- ing her last prayer to her Saviour. He had seen, he said, a white dove soar to heaven from the ashes where the brave girl had stood.

8. Illustrious to-day, through the efforts of" her country- man, Monseigneur Dupanloup, Joan's memory is to be held up to still greater fame. Through the sunlit windows of a great Cathedral, the gift of the noble of Joan's sex, her legend as told in the tinted glass will cause men to give glory to Him who was her strength.

9. The name that fire could not tarnish will, through the cheery reflections of summer sun and autumn glow, through the gladdening gleams of spring's fair mornings, be reflected in the house of her Creator. The chills of the winter of historical falsehood have passed : Joan lives in the windows of holy Church, the glory of her sisters' land.

De Quixcey.*

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord. Is the inwiediate jewel of their sonls ;

Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; ' Tiuas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he, that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him. And makes me poor indeed. — Shakespeare.

' Thomas De Quincey, one of always abundant and good, and the most remarkable of Englisli his style of the rarest brilliancy authors, was born in 1785, and and richness. His numerous con- died in 1859. He wrote upon a tributious to periodicals brought a wider and more diversified range large price. He wrote the admirable of subjects than any other author memoirs of Shakespeare and Pope of his time. His matter was in the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

HYMN OF ST. FRANCIS. 239

86. HYMN OF ST. FRANCIS.

IN the beginning of the thirteenth ceutnn* there appeared in Italy, to the north of Rome, in the beautiful Unibrian country at the foot of the Apennines, a figure of the most magical power and charm — St. Francis. His century is, I think, the most interesting in the history of Christianity after its primitive age ; and one of the chief figures, perhaps the very chief, to which this interest attaches itself, is St. Francis. He founded the most popular body of ministers of religion that has ever existed in the Church.

2. He transformed monachism ^ by uprooting the stationary monk, delivering him from the bondage of property, and sending him, as a mendicant friar, to be a stranger and so- journer, not in the wilderness, but in the most crowded haunts of men, to console them and to do them good. This popular instinct of his, is at the bottom of his famous mar- riage with poverty. Poverty and suffering are the condition of the people, the multitude, the immense majority of man- kind ; and it Avas toward this people that his soul yearned. "He listens," it was said of him, "to those to whom God Himself seems not to listen."

3. So, in return, as no other man he was listened to. ' When an Umbrian town or village heard of his approach,

the whole population went out in joyful procession to meet liim, with green boughs, flags, music, and songs of gladness. Tlie nuister who began with two disciples, could, in his own lifetime (and he died at forty-four), collect to keep Whitsun- tide with him, in presence of an immense multitude, five thousand of his Minorites. He found fulfillment to his pro- phetic cry : "I hear in my ears the sound of the tongues of

' Monachism (inon'a kizra), the cludod from temporal concerns aud .system and influences of a life se- devoted to religion.

240 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

all the nations who shall come unto us — Frenchmen, Span- iards, Germans, Englishmen. The Lord will make of us a ^reat people, even unto the ends of the earth."

Jf. Prose could not satisfy this ardent soul, and he made poetry. Latin was too learned for this simple, popular nature, and he composed in his mother-tongue, in Italian. The be- ginnings of the mundane^ poetry of the Italians are in Sicily, at the court of kings ; the beginnings of their religious poetry are in Umbria, with St. Francis.

5. His are the humble upper waters of a mighty stream ; at the beginning of the thirteenth century it is St. Francis ; at the end, Dante. St. Francis's Canticle of the Sun, Canti- cle of the Creatures (the poem goes by both names), is de- signed for popular use ; artless in language, irregular in rhythm, it matches with the child-like genius that produced it and the simple natures that loved and repeated it •

O Lord God 1 most high, omnipotent,'- and gracious ! To Thee belong praise, glory, honor, and all benediction ! All things do refer to Thee. No man is worthy to name Thee.

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for all Tliy creatures ; especially for our brother, the sun, who brings us the day and who brings us the light ; fair is he, and sliining with a very great splendor : O Lord, he signifies to us, Thee !

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our sisters, the moon and the stars, the which Thou hast set clear and lovely in heaven.

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our brothers, the winds, and for air and clouds, calms and all weather by the Avhieh Thou upholdest life in all creatures.

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our sister, the water, who is very serviceable unto us, and lowly, and precious, and pure.

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our brother, the fire, through whom Thou givest us light in the darkness : and he is bright, and pleasant, and very mighty, and strong.

' Mun'danC; worldly. - Om nip'o tent; all powerful.

HYMN OF ST. FRANCIS. 2Ji,l

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our mother, the earth, the ■which doth sustain and nourish us, and bringeth forth divers fruits, and flowers of many colors, and grass.

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for all those who pardon one another for Thy love's sake, and who endure weakness and tribula- tion ; blessed are they who peaceably shall endure ; for Thou, O Most Highest, shalt give them a crown.

Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our sister, the death of the body, from whom no man escapeth. Alas ! for suth as die in mor- tal sin. Blessed are they who. in the hour of death, are found living in conformity to Thy most holy will, for the second death shall have no power to do them harm.

All creatures, praise ye and bless ye the Lord, and give thanks unto Him, and serve Him with all humility.

6. It is natural that man should take pleasure in his senses. It is natural, also, that he should take refuge in his heart and imagination from his misery. When one thinks what human life is for the vast majority of mankind, its needful toils and conflicts, how little of a feast for their senses it can possibly be, one understands the charm for them of a refuge offered in the heart and imagination.

7. The poetry of St. Francis's hymn, is poetry treating the world according to the heart and imagination. It takes the world by its inward, symbolical side. It admits the whole world, rough and smootn, painful and pleasure-giving, all alike, \mi all transfigured by the power of a spiritual emotion, all brought under a law of super-sensual love, having its seat in the soul. It can thus even say, " Praised be my Lord for our aister, the death of the l)0dy." Matthew Arnold.^

' Matthew Arnold, an English ness with which he satirizes cer-

poet, essayist, and critic, horn at tain defects of his countrymen.

Laleham, Dec. 24, 1822. His writ- As rhetorical models they will re-

ings are most remarkable for the pay careful study. He died in

purity of their style, and the keen- 1888.

2J^2 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

87. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

HALF a league, half a leiiguo. Half a league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade !

Charge for the guns ! '' he said ; Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred.

2. '' Forward, the Light Brigade I " Was there a man dismayed ? Not though the soldiers knew

Some one had blundered : Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die — Into the valley of death

Rode the six hundred.

3. Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them. Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well. Into the jaws of death. Into the mouth of hell

Rode the six hundred.

4. Flashed all their sabers bare, Flashed as they turned in air, Sabering the gunners there.

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 243

Charging an army, while

All the world wondered : Plunged in the battery smoke, Eight through the line they broke ; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sal)er-stroke.

Shattered and sundered — Then they rode back — but not,

Not the six hundred.

5. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell. While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

6. When can their glory fade ? Oh, the wild charge they made !

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they nuule !

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred !

Tennyson.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

For gold t/ie i/ierc/iaiit plows the main, t lie farmer phnus the imxiior. But glory is the soldier's prize ; the soldier's 7uealth is honor ; The bra7>e poor soldier ne'er despise, nor count him as a stranger. Remember he's his country's stay in day and hour of danger. — Burns.

^4-4 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

88. WATERLOO.

STOP ! — for tliy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchered below ! Is the spot marked with no colossal bust ? Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? None : but the moral's truth tells simpler so. As the ground was before, thus let it be : —

How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world hath gained by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ?

2. There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell.

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. And all went merry as a marriage bell ; ' But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

S. Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined !

No sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more,

As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar \

4- Within a windowed niche of that high hall

Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain : he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival,

' On the night previous to the given at Brussels, which was large- action, it is said that a ball was ly attended by the military oflScers.

WATERLOO. 245

And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear ;

And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well

Whieh stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

5. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro,

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ;

And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs

Which ne'er might be repeated : who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise !

6. And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed.

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. Went pouring forward with impetuous speed.

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ;

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum

Roused up the soldier ere tlhe morning star ; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. Or whispering, with white lips, " The foe ! They come ! They come ! "

7. And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose!

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : —

How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,

Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers

With the fierce native daring which instills The stirring memory of a thousand years ; And Evan's,' Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's ears I

* Sir Evan Cameron, and bis the most " gentle Lochiel" of the descendant Donald, of renown, " forty -five."

^46 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

8. And Ardennes ' waves above them her green leaves,

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves.

Over the unreturning brave, — alas !

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

9. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,

The morn, the marshalling in arms, — the day,

Battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent,

The earth is covered thick with other clay. Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse — friend, foe — in one red burial blent

Byron.

89. BURIAL-MARCH OF DUNDEE.^

SOUND the fife, and cry the slogan, let the pibroch shake the air With its wild triumphal music, worthy of the freight we bear. Let the ancient hills of Scotland hear once more the battle-song Swell within the glens and valleys, as the clansmen march along ! Never from the field of combat, never from the deadly fray. Was a nobler trophy carried than we bring with us to-day. Never, since the valiant Douglas, on his dauntless bosom bore Good King Robert's heart, the priceless, to our dear Redeemer's shore \

'Ardennes, the wood of Soignies, distinguished himself as the last

supposed to be a remnant of the and most devoted champion of the

"forest of Ardennes," famous in Stuart family in Scotland, was

Shakespeare's " As You Like it." slain at the decisive battle of Killie-

■-' liord Viscount Dundee, who crankie in 1689.

BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE. 24?

2. Lo ! we bring with us the hero ! Lo ! we bring the conquering

Grgeme, Crowned as best beseems a victor from the altar of his fame ; Fresh and bleeding from the battle whence his spirit took its flight, 'Midst the crashing charge of squadrons, and the thunder of the flght I Strike, I say, the notes of triumph, as we march o'er moor and lea ! Is there any here will venture to bewail our dead Dundee? Let the widows of the traitors weep until their eyes are dim ! Wail ye may full well for Scotland, let none dare to mourn for him !

3. See, above his glorious body lies the royal banner's fold, See, his valiant blood is mingled with its crimson and its gold, See how calm he looks and stately, like a warrior on his shield, Waiting till the flash of morning breaks along the battle-field ! See : Oh 1 never more, my comrades, shall we see that falcon eye Redden with its inward lightning, as the hour of fight drew nigh : Never shall we hear the voice that, clearer than the trumpet's call, Bade us strike for King and Country, bade us win the field, or fall !

4. On the heights of Killiecrankie yester-morn our army lay. Slowly rose the mist in columns from the river's broken way ; Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, and the Pass was wrapt in

gloom. When the clansmen rose together from their lair amidst the broom. Then we belted oa our tartans, and our bonnets down we drew. And we felt our broadswords' edges, and we proved them to be true ; And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, and we cried the gathering cry, And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, and we swore to do or die.

.'>. Then our l(;ader rode l)efore us on his war-horse, black as night — Well the Cameronian rebels knew that charger in the fight ! And a cry of exultation from the bearded warriors rose ; For we loved the house of Claver'se, and we thought of good

Montrose. But he raised his hand for silence : " Solditn-s ! I have sworn a vow ! Ere the evening star shall glisten on Sclicliallion's lofty brow. Either we shall rest in ti-jimiiili, or aiiotlicr of tin' (i-raemes Sliall have died in battlc-liarniiss for liis (lountry and King James I

248 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

6. Think uiwn the Royal Martyr, think of what his race endure, Think of him whom butchers murdered on the field of Magus Muir : By his sacred blood I charge ye, by the ruined hearth and shrine. By the blighted hopes of Scotland, by your injuries and mine, Strike this day as if the anvil lay beneatli your blows the while,

Be they Covenanting traitors, or the brood of false Argyle !

7. Strike ! and drive the trembling rebels backwards o'er the

stormy Forth ; Let them tell their pale Convention how they fared within the North. Let them tell that Highland honor is not to be bought nor sold, That we scorn their prince's anger as we loathe his foreign gold. Strike ! and when the fight is over, if ye look in vain for me. Where the dead are lying thickest search for him that was Dundee 1 "

8. Loudly then the hills re-echoed with our answer to his call. But a deeper echo sounded in the bosoms of us all.

For the lands of wide Breadalbane, not a man who heard him speak Would that day have left the battle : burning eye and flushing cheek Told the clansmen's fierce emotion, and they harder drew their breath ; For their souls were strong within them, stronger than the grasp

of death : Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet sounding in the Pass below, And the distant tramp of horses, and the voices of the foe.

9. Down we crouched amid the bracken, till the Lowland ranks

drew near. Panting like the hounds in summer, when they scent the stately deer. From the dark defile emerging, next we saw the squadrons come, Leslie's foot and Leven's troopers marching to the tuck of drum. Through the scattered wood of birches, o'er the broken ground

and heath. Wound the long battalion slowly, till they gained the field beneath ; Then we bounded from our covert : judge how looked the Saxons then. When they saw the rugged mountain start to life with armed men !

10. Like a tempest down the ridges swept the hurricane of steel, Rose the slogan of Maedonald — flashed the broadsword of Lochiel !

BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE. 249

Vainly sped the withering volley 'mongst the foremost of our band : On we poured until we met them, foot to foot, and hand to hand. Horse and man went down like drift-wood when the floods are

black at Yule, And their carcasses are whirling in the Garry's deepest pool. Horse and man went down before us — living foe there tarried none On the field of Killiecrankie, when that stubborn fight was done !

11. And the evening star was shining on Schehallion's distant

head,

"When we wiped our bloody broadswords, and returned to count the dead.

There we found him gashed and gory, stretched upon the cum- bered plain,

As he told us where to seek him, in the thickest of the slain.

And a sm-ile was on his visage, for within his dying ear

Pealed the joyful note of triumph, and the clansmen's clamor- ous cheer :

So, amidst the battle's thunder, shot, and steel, and scorching flame,

In the glory of his manhood, passed the spirit of the Graeme I

12. Open wide the vaults of Atholl, where the bones of heroes rest ! Open wide the hallowed portals to receive another guest !

Last of Scots, and last of freemen, last of all that dauntless race. Who would rather die unsullied than outlive the land's disgrace ! O thou lion-liearted warrior ! reck not of the after-time : Honor may be deemed dishonor, loyalty be called a crime. Sleep in peace with kindred ashes of the noble and the true. Hands that never failed their country, hearts that never base- ness knew. Sleep ! — and till the latest trumpet wakes the dead from earth and sea, Scotland shall not boast a braver chieftain, than our own Dundee !

Professor Avtoun.'

'William Edmondstoune Ay- Edinburgh, autlior of "Lays of

toun, Scotti.sli educator and poet, the Scottish Cavaliers," and nu-

Professor of Rhetoric and English nieroiis liuniorous ixjenis, was born

Literature in the University of in 1813, and died in 1865.

250 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

90. NOBLE REVENGE.

A YOUNG officer (in what army no matter), had so far forgotten himself, in a moment of irritation, as to strike a private soldier, full of personal dignity (as sometimes hap- pens in all ranks), and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable ^ laws of military discipline forbade to the injured soldier any practical redress — he could look for no retaliation by acts.

2. Words only were at his command, and, in a tumult of indignation, as he turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would " make him repent it." This, wearing the shape of a menace,^ naturally rekindled the officer's auger, and intercepted any disposition which might be rising within him toward a sentiment of remorse ;^ and thus the irritation between the two young men grew hotter than before.

3. Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator, and looking down into a valley occupied by the two armies. They are facing each other, you see, in martial array. But it is no more than a skirmish which is going on ; in the course of which, however, an occasion suddenly arises for a desperate service. A redoubt, which has fallen into the enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price, and under circumstances of all but hopeless difficulty.

If. A strong party has volunteered for the service ; there is a cry for somebody to head them ; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership ; the party moves rapidly forward ; in a few minutes it is swallowed

' In ex'o ra ble, not to be per- pose or desire to inflict an evil ; a

suaded or moved by entreaty or threat,

prayer ; unchangeable. ^ Re morse', the keen pain caused

' Men'ace, the show of a pur- by a sense of guilt; gnawing regret.

NOBLE REVENGE. 251

up from 30ur eyes in clouds of smoke ; for one half hour, from behind these clouds you receive hieroglyphic ^ reports of ])Ioody strife — fierce re])eating signals, flashes from the guns, rolling musketry, and exulting hurrahs ^ advancing or receding, slackening or redoubling.

5. At length all is over ; the redoubt has been recovered ; that which was lost is found again ; the jewel which had been made captive is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned with glo- rious gore, the wreck of the conquering party is relieved, and at liberty to return. From the river you see it ascending.

6. The plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened fragments of what once was a flag, whilst with his right hand he seizes that of the leader, though no more than a private from the ranks. That perplexes you not ; mystery you see none in tJiat. For distinctions of order perish, ranks are confounded ; ''high and low" are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every notion or feeling that divides the noble from the noble, or the brave man from the brave.

7. But wherefore is it that now, when suddenly they wheel into mutual recognition,^ suddenly they j^ause ? This soldier, this officer — who are they ? 0 reader ! once before they had stood face to face — the soldier that was struck, the officer that struck him. Once again they are meeting ; and tlie gaze of armies is upon them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, in m moment the doubt has i)erished. One glance exchanged between them publislies the forgiveness that is sealed forever.

8. As one who recovers a brother whom he has accounted dead, the officer sprung forward, threw his arms around the

' Ki'e ro glyph' ic, expressive of shouts of joy or exultation,

meaning by characters, pictures, ^ Recognition (rek'og nidli'un),

or figures. acknowledgment ; knowledge con-

* Hurrahs (hor r.iz'), huzzas; fessed ; act of knowing again.

252 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

neck of the soldier, and kissed him, as if he were some mar- tyr glorified by that shadow of death from which he was re- turning ; whilst, on his part, the soldier, stepping back, and carrying his open hand through the beautiful motions of the military salute to a superior, makes this immortal answer — that answer which shut up forever the memory of the indig- nity offered to him, even while for the last time alluding to it: ''Sir," he said, "I told you before, that I would make you repent it." De Quincey.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

No war, nor battle'' s sound, luas heard the world around ;

The idle spear and shield were high uphiing ; The hooked chariot stood icnstained with hostile blood ;

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye. As if they surely kne7v their sovereig7i Lord was by. — Milton.

91. THE RIGHT MUST WIN.

OIT is hard to work for God, to rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, and not sometimes lose heart ! He hides himself so wondrously, as though there were no God ; He is least seen when all the powers of ill are most abroad.

2. Ill masters good, good seems to change to ill with greatest ease ; And, worst of all, the good with good is at cross-purposes. —

Ah ! God is other than we think ; his ways are far above,

Far beyond reason's height, and reached only by child-like love.

3. Workman of God ! O, lose not heart, but learn what God

is like ; And in the darkest battle-field thou shalt know where to strike. Thrice blest is he to whom is given the instinct that can tell That God is on the field when he is most invisible.'

1 In vis' i b!e, not able or fitted seen by the eye; as, " To us invisible, to be seen ; not capable of being or dimly seen in these thy works."

SURVEY OF THE UNIVERSE. 253

4. Blest, too, is he who can divine where real right doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems wrong to man's blindfold eye. For right is right, since God is God ; and right the day must win ; To doubt would be disloyalty, to falter would be sin ! Faber.^

92. SURVEY OF THE UNIVERSE.

THERE is a God. The plants of the valley and the cedars of the mountains bless His name ; the insect hums His praise ; the elephant salutes Him with the rising day ; the bird glorifies Him among the foliage ; the lightning bespeaks His power, and the ocean declares His immensity.

2. Man alone has said, '^ There is no God/' Has he then in adversity never raised his eyes toward heaven ? Has he in prosperity never cast them on the earth ? Is Nature so far from him that he has not been able to contemplate its won- ders ; or does he consider them as the mere results of for- tuitous 2 causes ? But how could chance have compelled crude and stubborn materials to arrange themselves in such exquisite order?

3. It might be asserted that man is the idea of God dis- played, and the universe His imagination made manifest. They who have admitted the beauty of nature as a proof of a Supreme intelligence, ought to have pointed out a truth which greatly enlarges the sphere of wonders. It is this : motion and rest, darkness and light, the seasons, the revolu- tions of the heavenly bodies which give variety to the decora- tions of the world, are successive only in appearance, and permanent in reality.

4. The scene that fades upon our view is painted in brilliant

'Frederick William Faber, a ^ For tu'i tous, happening by

distinguished P^nglish author and chance ; occurring or coming un-

('athoiic divine, was born in York- oxpectedly, or taking jilace witb-

shire in 1814, and died in 186.3. out any known cause.

25 Ji- DOMINION FOURTH READER.

colors for another people ; it is not tlie spectacle that is changed, but tlie spectator. Tlius God has combined in His work absolute duration and progressive duration. The first is placed in time, the second in space ; by means of the former, the beauties of the universe are one, infinite, and invariable ; by means of the latter, tliey are multiplied, finite, and perpetually renewed. Without the one, there would be no grandeur in the creation ; without the other, it would •exhibit nothing but dull uniformity.

5. Here time appears to us fn a new point of view ; the smallest of its fraction becomes a complete whole, which com- prehends all things, and in which all things transpire, from the death of an insect to the birth of a world ; each minute is in itself a little eternity. Combine, then, at the same mo- ment, in imagination, the most beautiful incidents of nature ; represent to yourself at once all the hours of the day and all the seasons of the year, a spring morning and an autumnal morning, a night spangled with stars and a night overcast with clouds, meadows enameled with flowers, forests stripped by the frosts, and fields glowing with their golden harvests ; you will then have a just idea of the prospect of the universe.

6. While you are gazing with admiration upon the sun sinking beneath the western arch, another beholds it emerging from the regions of Aurora.* By what inconceivable magic does it come, that this ag^d luminary which retires to rest, as if weary and heated, in the dusky arms of night, is at the very same moment that youthful orb which awakes bathed in dew, and sparkling through the gray curtains of the dawn ? Every moment of the day the sun is rising, glowing at his zenith, 2 and setting on the world : or rather our senses de- ceive us, and there is no real sunrise, noon, or sunset.

' Au ro'ra, the dawn of day ; the ^ Ze'nith, the point of the heav- rising light of morning. ens directly overhead.

SURVEY OF THE UNIVERSE. 255

7. The whole is reduced to a fixed point, from wliich the orb of day emits, at one and the same time, three lights from one single substance. This triple splendor is perhaps the most beautiful incident in nature ; for, while it affords an idea of the perpetual magnificence and omnipotence of God, it exhibits a most striking image of His glorious Trinity. We can not conceive what a scene of confusion nature would present if it were abandoned to the sole movements of mat- ter. The clouds, obedient to the laws of gravity, would fall perpendicularly upon the earth, or ascend in pyramids into the air ; a moment afterward the atmosphere would be too dense or too rarefied, for the organs of respiration.

<^. The moon, either too near or too distant, would at one time be invisible, at another would appear bloody and cov- ered with enormous spots, or would alone fill the whole celes- tial concave with its disproportional orb. Seized, as it were, with a strange kind of madness, she would pass from one eclipse to another, or rolling from side to side, would exhibit that portion of her surface which earth has never yet beheld. The stars Avould appear to be under the influence of the same capricious^ power; and nothing would be seen but a succes- sion of tremendous conjunctions. ^

9. One of the summer signs would be speedily overtaken by one of the signs of winter ; the Cow-herd would lead the Pleiades, and the Lion would roar in Aquarius ; here tlic stars would dart along with the rapidity of lightning, tliere they would be suspended motionless ; sometimes crowding together in groups, they would form a galaxy;^ at others.

'Capricious (kapri^'us), apt conjunctio7irw'\iQX\ they are seen in

to change suddenly ; freakish. the same part of the sky.

^ Con junc'tion, the act of con- » GSl'ax y, the Milky Way : a

joininpr or beinp united. The collection of splendid persons or

heavenly hodics are said to be in things.

256 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

disappearing all at once, and, to use the expression of Ter- tullian,^ rending the curtain of the universe, they would ex- pose to view the abysses of eternity. No such appearances, however, will strike terror into the breast of man, until the day when the Almighty will droj) the reins of the world, em- ploying for its destruction no other means than to leave it to itself. Chateaubriand,*

93. GOD'S GLORY IN CREATION.

THOU art, 0 God, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night.

Are but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine. And all things fair and bright are thine.

2. When day, with farewell beam, delays

Among the opening clouds of even. And we can almost think we gaze

Through opening vistas into heaven. Those hues that make the sun's decline So soft, so radiant. Lord, are thine.

3. When night, with wings of starry gloom,

O'ershadows all the earth and skies. Like some dark, beauteous bird whose plume

Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes, That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.

' Ter tul' li an, one of the early gland. He returned to France in

Fathers of the Church. 1799, and in 1802 became one of

'^ Francois Auguste Chateau- the most celebrated authors in

briand, was born in Brittany, of Europe, by publishing his " Ge-

an ancient family, in 1769. For nius of Christianity." He died at

several years he resided in En- Paris in 1848.

THE PROVIDENCE OF GOD. 257

Jf.. When youthful Spring around us breathes.

Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh.

And every flower that Summer wreathes

Is born beneath thy kindling eye : Where'er we turn, thy glories shine. And all things fair and bright are thine. Moore.

94. THE PROVIDENCE OF GOD.

THE very steadfastness of the Almighty's liberality, flow- ing like a mighty ocean through the infinite ^ vast of the universe, makes his creatures forget to wonder at its wonder- fulness, to feel true thanksgiving for its immeasurable good- ness. The sun rises and sets so surely, the seasons run on amid all their changes with such inimitable ^ truth, that we take as a matter of course that which is amazing beyond all stretch of the imagination, and good beyond the widest ex- pansion of the noblest human heart.

~. The poor man, with his half-dozen children, toils and often dies, under the vain labor of winning bread for them. God feeds his family of countless myriads swarming over the surface of all his countless worlds, and none know need but through the follies or the cruelty of their fellows.

3. God pours his light from innumerable ^ suns on innu- merable rejoicing planets ; he waters them every-where in the fitting moment ; he ripens the food of globes and of nations, and gives them fair weather to garner it : and from age to age, amid his creatures of endless forms and powers, in the beauty and the sunshine, and the magnificence of Nature, he seems to sing throughout creation the glorious song of his

' In' fi nite, without limit or in^Iy excellent, or superior,

bounds ; perfect ; very great. ' In nu'mer a ble, tbat can not

* In im'i ta ble, not capable of be counted, enumerated, or num-

being imitated or copied ; surpass- bered, for multitude ; countless.

258 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

own divine joy in the immortality ^ of liis youth, in the om- nipotence - of his nature, in the eternity ^ of his patience, and the abounding boundlessness of his love.

^. What a family hangs on his sustaining arm ! The life and souls of infinite ages and uncounted worlds ! Let a mo- ment's failure of his power, of his watchfulness, or of his will to do good, occur, and what a sweep of death and annihila- tion ^ through the universe I ^ How stars would reel, planets expire, and nations perish !

5. But from age to age no such catastrophe ^ occurs, even in the midst of national crimes, and of atheism ' that denies the hand that made and feeds it : life springs with a power ever new ; food springs up as plentifully to sustain it, and sunshine and joy are poured over all from the invisible throne of God, as the poetry of the existence he has given.

6. If there come seasons of dearth or of failure, they come but as warnings to proud and tyrannic^ man. The potato is smitten, that a nation may not be oppressed forever ; and the harvest is diminished, that the laws of man's unnatural avarice^ may be rent asunder. And then again the sun shines, the rain falls, and the earth rejoices in a renewed beauty, and in a redoubled plenty.

' Im'mor tal'i ty, the quality of * Catastrophe (ka tas'tro fe), an

being free from death and destruc- event causing a change of the sys-

tion ; deathlessness. tern or order of things ; a final

'^ Om nip'o fence, the state of event usually of a disastrous or

being all powerful. most unhappy nature.

3 Eternity (e ter'ni ti), the state ' A'the ism, the disbelief or de- or condition which begins at death ; nial of the existence of a God. or everlastingness. supreme intelligent Being.

4 An ni'hi la'tion, the act of re- ^ Ty ran'nic, unjustly severe in ducing to nothing ; the act of de- government ; oppressive ; cruel, stroying the form of a thing. ^ Av'a rice, an excessive or un-

* U'ni verse, all things created due love of money ; greediness of as a whole ; the world. wealth or gain.

TRUE HAPPINESS. 259

7. Never did the fiuger of God demonstrate Uiis beueficent^ will more perspicuously ^ than at this moment. The nations have been warned and rebuked, and again the bounty of heaven overflows the earth in golden billows of the ocean of abundance. God wills that all the arts of man to check his bounty, to create scarcity, to establish dearness to enfeeble the hand of the laborer, and curse the table of the poor, shall be put to shame ; that his creatures shall eat and be glad, whether corn-dealers and speculators live or die.

William Howitt.*

95. TRUE HAPPINESS.

MY spirit is gay as the breaking of dawn, As the breeze that sports o'er the sun-lighted lawn, As the song of yon lark from his kingdom of light. Or the harp-string that rings in the chambers of night. For the world and its vapors, though darkly they fold, I have light that can turn them to purple and gold, Till they brighten the landscape they came to deface. And deformity changes to beauty and grace.

2. Yet say not to selfish delights I must turn,

From the grief -laden bosoms around me that mourn ; For 'tis pleasure to share in each sorrow I see, And sweet sympathy's tear is enjoyment to me. Oh ! blest is the heart, when misfortunes assail, That is armed in content as a garment of mail, For the grief of another that treasures its zeal, And remembers no woe but the woe it can heal.

' Dem'on strate, to prove to a author, horn in 1795, died in 1879.

•certainty, or with great clearness. He married Miss Mary Bothani in

• Be nSf i (jent, abounding in 1823. They prepared many books, acts of goodness ; charitable. jointly and separately, which were

' Per spic'ii oils ly, in a way very popvilar, especially juvenile

clear to the undfTstiinding; plainly, ones. Mr. Ilowitt's writings in be-

* William Howitt, an English half of Irish relief were effective.

260 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

3. When the storm gathers dark o'er the summer's young bloom, And each ray of the noontide is sheathed in gloom, I would be the rainbow high arcliing in air, Like a gleaming of hope on the brow of despair. When the burst of its fury is spent on the bower. And the buds are yet bowed with the weight of the shower, I would be the beam that comes warming and bright, And that bids them burst open to fragrance and light.

If. I would be the smile that comes breaking serene, O'er the features where lately affliction has been, Or the heart-speaking scroll after years of alloy, That brings home to the desolate tidings of joy ; Or the life-giving rose odor borne by the breeze To the sense rising keen from the couch of disease, Or the whisper of charity tender and kind, Or the dawning of hope on the penitent's mind.

6. Then breathe, ye sweet roses, your fragrance around. And waken, ye wild birds, the grove with your sound ; Wlien the soul is unstained and the heart is at ease, There's a rapture in pleasures so simple as these. I rejoice in each sunbeam that gladdens the vale, I rejoice in each odor that sweetens the gale, In the bloom of the Spring, in the Summer's gay voice. With a spirit so gay, I rejoice ! I rejoice ! Griffin.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

All that is good, all that is true, all that is beautiful, all that is bencficc7tt, be it great or small, be it perfect or fragmentary, natural as well as supernatural^ moral as well as material, comes from God. —

John Henry Newman.

' Gerald Griffin, an eminent numerous powerful dramatic in- Irish author, who ended his days cidents and striking delineations amongst the sons of De La Salle — of character. He has also writ- tlie Christian Brothers — is famous ten many very sweet and graceful as a novelist, whose works contain verses.

AN IDEAL FARM. 261

96. AN IDEAL FARM.

As a work of art, I know few things more pleasing to the - eye, or more capable of affording scope and gratifica- tion to a taste for the beautiful, than a well-situated, well- cultivated farm. The man of refinement will hang with never- wearied gaze on a landscape by Claude^ or Salvator r^ the price of a section of the most fertile land in the West would not purchase a few square feet of the canvas on which these great artists have depicted a rural scene. But nature has forms and proportions beyond the painter's skill ; her divine pencil touches the landscape with living lights and shadows, never mingled on his pallet.

2. What is there on earth which can more entirely charm the eye or gratify the taste than a noble farm ? It stands upon a southern slope, gradually rising with variegated ascent from the plain, sheltered from the north-western winds by woody heights, broken here and there with moss-covered bowlders, which impart variety and strength to the outline.

S. The native forest has been cleared from the greater part of the farm ; but a suitable portion, carefully tended, remains in wood for economical purposes, and to give a picturesque effect to the landscape. The eye ranges round three-fourths of the horizon over a fertile expanse — bright with the cheer- ful waters of a rippling stream, a generous river, or a gleaming lake — tlotted with hamlets, each with its modest spire ; and, if the farm lies in the vicinity of the coast, a distant glimpse

' Claude, a landscape painter, forty years nfterward he resided called Lorraine, from the province in Italy, and painted until very old. of that name, where he was born * Salvator Rosa, an Italian paint- in 1600. His works in Home were er, poet, musician, and actor, was so numerous and beautiful that he born in Arenella, near Nai)les, was recognized as a great master June 20, IGl/i, and died in Rome, at 30 years of ago. For more than March 15, 1673.

262 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

from the high grounds, of the mysterious, everlasting sea, completes the prospect,

Jf.. It is situated off the high road, but near enough to the village to be easily accessible to the church, the school-house, the post-ofRce, the railroad, a sociable neighbor, or a travel- ing friend. It consists in due proportion of pasture and till- age, meadow and woodland, field and garden. A substantial dwelling, with everything for convenience and nothing for am- bition— with the fitting appendages of stable and barn and corn-barn and other farm buildings, not forgetting a spring- house with a living fountain of water — occujjies, upon a grav- elly knoll, a position well chosen to command the whole estate.

5. A few acres on the front and on the sides of the dwelling, set apart to gratify the eye with the choicest forms of rural beauty, are adorned with a stately avenue, with noble, soli- tary trees, with graceful clumps, shady walks, a velvet lawn, a brook murmuring over a pebbly bed, here and there a grand rock whose cool shadow at sunset streams across the field ; all displaying, in the real loveliness of nature, the original of those landscapes of which art in its perfection strives to give us the counterfeit presentment.

6. Animals of select breed, such as Paul Potter,^ and Mor- land,2 and Landseer," and Kosa Bonheur,^ never painted, roam the pastures, or fill the hurdles and the stalls ; the

' Paul Potter, a Dutch painter, of animals, was born in London

the superior of all contemporary in 1802, and died in 1873. No

artists in cattle pieces, was born in English painter of the century has

Enkhuysen in 1625, and died in been more universally popular. Amsterdam, Jan. 15, 1654. * Rosa Bonheur, a French paint-

' George Morland, an English er of animals whose works are

painter, born in London, June 26, widely known and have been com-

1763, died there in 1806. At the pared to Landseer's, daughter of

present day his wellautheuticated Raymond Bonheur, also a notable

pictures bring large prices. painter, was born at Bordeaux,

3 Sir Edwin Landseer, a painter May 22, 1822.

WHAT IS NOBLE? £63

plow walks in rustic majesty across the plain, and opens the genial bosom of the earth to the sun and air ; nature's holy sacrament of seed-time is solemnized beneath the vaulted cathedral sky ; silent dews and gentle showers, and kindly sunshine, shed their sweet influence on the teeming soil ; springing verdure clothes the plain ; golden wavelets, driven by the west wind, run over the joyous wheat-field ; and the tall maize flaunts in her crispy leaves and nodding tassels.

7. While we labor and while we rest, while we wake and while we sleep, God's chemistry, which we can not see, goes on beneath the clods ; myriads and myriads of vital cells fer- ment with elemental life ; germ and stalk, and leaf and flower, and silk and tassel, and grain and fruit, grow up from the common earth. The mowing-machine and the reaper — mute rivals of human in'dustry — perform their gladsome task. The well-filled wagon brings home the ri2)ened treas- ures of the year. The bow of promise fulfilled spans the foreground of the picture, and the gracious covenant is re- deemed, that while the earth i-emaineth, summer and winter, heat and cold, and day and night, and seed-time and harvest, shall not fail. Everett.'

97. WHAT IS NOBLE?

WHAT is noble ? — to inherit wealth, estate, and proud de- gree ?— There must be some other merit higher yet than these for me ! — Something greater far must enter into life's majestic span, Fitted to create and center true nobility in man.

' Edward Everett, an American Massachusetts, Embassador to En- statesniaii, orator, and man of let- gland, President of Harvard Col- ters, was horn in Dorchester, near lege, and Secretary of State. As a Boston, Mass., in 1794, died in sdiolar, rhetorician, and orator, he 1865. He was a member of both has had but few ('(|uiils. His jirose houses of Congress, Governor of style is of extraordinary excellence.

264 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

2. What is noble ? — 'tis the finer portion of our mind and heart, V Linked to something still diviner than mere language can impart. Ever prompting — ever seeing some improvement yet to plan ;

To uplift our fellow being, and, like man, to feel for man !

3. What is noble ? — is the saber nobler than the humble spade ? There's a dignity in labor truer than e'er pomp arrayed !

He who seeks the mind's improvement aids the world, in aiding mind ! Every great commanding movement serves not one, but all mankind.

4. O'er the forge's heat and ashes — o'er the engine's iron head — Where the rapid shuttle flashes, and the spindle whirls its thread : There is labor, lowly tending each requirement of the hour — There is genius, still extending science, and its world of power.

5. 'Mid the dust, and speed, and clamor, of the loom-shed and

the mill, 'Midst the clink of wheel and hammer, great results are growing still ! Though too oft, by fashion's creatures, work and workers may be

blamed. Commerce need not hide its features — Industry is not ashamed !

6. What is noble ? — that which places truth in its enfranchised

will, Leaving steps, like angel traces, that mankind may follow still ! E'en though scorn's malignant glances prove him poorest of his clan. He's the Noble — who advances Freedom and the Cause of Man !

Swain.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

He praycth best who loveth best all things, both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us. He made afid lo7Jeth all. — Coleridge.

' Charles Svrain, the " Manches- in periodicals. He published " Mat- ter Poet," was bora in Manchester, rical Essays," in 1828 : " Beauties of England, in 1803, and died in 1874. the Mind," in 1831; and an admi- He was at first a dyer, but at thirty rable elegy on Sir Walter Scott, in years of age changed his occupa- 1832. His numerous subsequent tion for that of an engraver. His publications are deservedly j)opu- first literal}' productions appeared lar in England.

ARTS OF EXPRESSIOy. 265

98. ARTS OF EXPRESSION.

NATURE teaches and enforces many things for human development and instruction ; the ordinary occupa- tions of life assist the same design ; but this is not all. Men are possessed of great and divine ideas and sentiments ; and to paint them, sculpture them, build them in architecture, sing them in music, utter them in eloquent speech, write them in books, in essays, sermons, poems, dramas, fictions, philoso- phies, histories — this is an irresistible propensity of human nature.

2. Art, inspiration, power, in these forms, naturally places itself at the head of the human influences by which the world is cultivated and carried forward. The greatest thing in the world doubtless is a sacred life ; the greatest power, a pure example ; but this is the end of all, and we do not here con- template 1 it as a means. As means, art is greatest. A beau- tiful thought, a great idea, made to quicken the intellect, to touch the heart, to penetrate the life — this is the grandest office that can be committed to human hands. Every faith- ful artist of every grade, belongs to this magnificent Insti- tute for the instruction of the world.

3. There is one grand mistake often made in the apprecia- tion of art, arising from the honor and fame that attend it. I suspect that it is quite a common notion tliat men study, write, speak, paint, build, for fame. Totally and infinitely otherwise is the fact with all true men. They live for an idea — live to develop, embody, express it ; and all exti-aneous considerations only hinder and hurt their work.

4. But this is often misunderstood. Believe me, the efflu- ence ^ of genius can no more be bought or sold than the light

' CSn'tem plate, to look at on "^ Ef'flu enqe, that wliicli flows

all sides ; to study. from any thing ; a flowing out.

266 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

that streams from the fountain of day. It is the light* of the world ; and it is not man's purchase, but God's gift ; it is God's light shining through the soul. It shines into the artist's studio and philosopher's laboratory ; it falls ujaon the still places of deep meditation ; the pen that writes immortal song, immortal thought in any form, is a rod that conveys the lightning from heaven to earth ; and the breath of elo- quent speech is an afflatus^ that comes from far above windy currents of human applause.

5. It concerns my purpose here, to insist on this mission of all true intellectual labor, and to remind every worker in this field, however high or however humble, of his real vocation. ''I am not distinguished," one may say; "the world, Euro^je, England, does not know me — will never know me." What then ? Do what thou canst. Somebody will know it. No true word or work is ever lost. Stand thou in thy lot ; do thy work ; for the great Being that framed the world assuredly meant that somebody should do it — that men and women of various gifts should do it, as they are able.

6. Why can we not look at the goodly band of human occu- pations and arts as it is ; and depreciate ^ no trade that is necessary, no art that is useful, no ministration that springs from the bosom of nature, and is thus clearly ordained of Heaven ? If there be abuses of such ministration, let them be remedied ; but rejection and scorn of any one thing that God has made to be or to be done, is not lawful, nor reverent to Heaven.

7. Let this whole system of nature and life appear as it is ;

as it stands in the great order and design of Providence. Let

nature, let the solid world, be more than a material world —

even the area on wliich a grand moral structure is to be built

' Af fla'tus, a breath ; a divine ^ Depreciate (de pre'^i at), to message. lower in price or worth ; underrate.

ARTS OF EXPRESSION. 2G7

up ; itself helping the ultimate design in many ways. Let the works of man take their proper place — the place assigned them in the plan of Heaven. Let agriculture lay the basis of the world-building. Let mechanism and manufacture rear and adorn the vast abode of life. Let trade and commerce replenish it with their treasures. Let the liberal and learned professions stand as stately pillars in the edifice of society.

8. But when all this is done, still there are wants to be supplied. There is a thought in the bosom of humanity that longs to be uttered. The heart of the world would break, if there were no voice to give it relief — to give it utterance. There is, too, a slumber upon the world which needs that voice. There are dim corners and dark caverns, that want light. There is weariness to be cheered, and pain to be soothed, and the dull routine of toil to be relieved, and the dry, dead matter of fact to be invested with hues of imagina- tion, and the mystery of life to be cleared up, and a great, dread blank destitution that needs resource and refreshment — needs inspiring beauty and melody to breathe life into it.

9. Then let the artist men come and do their work. Let statues stand in many a niche and recess, and pictures hang upon the wall, that shall fill the surrounding air with their sublimity and loveliness. Let essays and histories, let writ- ten speech and printed books, be ranged in unending alcoves, to pour instruction upon the world. Let poetry and fiction lift up the heavy curtains of sense and materialism, and un- fold visions of beauty, like the flushes of morning, or of part- ing day behind the dark mountains. Let music wave its wings of light and air through the world, and sweep the chords that are strung in the human heart with its entrancing melodies. Let lofty and commanding eloquence thunder in the ears of men the words of truth and justice, or in strains as sweet as angels use, whisper peace. Let majestic })hiloso-

268 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

phy touch the dark secret of life, and turn its bright side as a living light upon the paths of men.

10. I believe in a better day that is coming. Improved agriculture, inanufacture and mechanism, less labor and more result, more leisure, better culture, high philosophy, beauti- ful art, inspiring music, resources that will not need the base appliances of sense, will come ; and with them truth, purity, and virtue ; reverent piety building its altar in all human abodes ; and the worship that is gentleness and disin'terested- u^ss, and holy love, hallowing all the scene ; and human life will go forth, amidst the beautiful earth and beneath the blessed heavens, in harmony with their spirit, in fulfillment of their high teaching and intent, and in communion with the all-surrounding light and loveliness. Dewey.'

99. THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

SWEET Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, And parting Sumtni^r's lingering blooms delayed ; Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! How often have I paused on every charm — The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm. The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent churcli that topped the neighboring hill. The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. For talking age and whispering lovers made !

1 Orville Dewey, D.D., a (lis- a rich imagination and great depth

tinguished American author and of thought. His style is artistic,

divine, was born in Massachusetts scholarly, adapted to the thought,

in 1794, and died in 1882. He had and of rare excellence.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 269

2. How often have I blessed the coming day, When toil I'emitting ' lent its aid to play, And all the village train, from labor free.

Led up their «ports beneath the spreading tree !

While many a pastime circled in the shade,

The young contending as the old surveyed ;

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.

3. And, still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sjiorts the mirthful band inspired : The dancing pair, that simply sought renown By holding out to tire each other down ;

The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place ; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would these looks reprove : These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these. With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please ; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed. These were thy charms ; but all these charms are tied.

J^. Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn :

Amid thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen.

And desolation saddens all thy green ;

One only master grasps the whole domain,

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day.

But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ;

Along thy glades, a solitary guest,

Tlie hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ;

Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies,

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all.

And the long grass o'ertops the moldering wall ;

• Re mit'ting, made lax or less ; given up.

£70 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land.

5. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ;

A breath can make them, as a breath lias made , But a bold peasantry, their country's pride. When once destroyed can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man ; For him light labor spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more ; His best companions, innocence and health ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

6. But times are altered : trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; ' Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, Unwieldly wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; And every want to luxury allied.

And every pang that folly pays to pride.

Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom.

Those calm desires that asked but little room.

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene.

Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ; —

These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,

And rural mirth and manners are no more.

7. Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour. Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds.

Amid thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

' Swain, a rustic ; a youth who lives in the country.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 271

8. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share — I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amid these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband oat life's taper at the close. And keep the flame from wasting by repose : I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — Amid the swains to show my book-learned skill ; Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return — and die at home at last.

S. O blessed retirement ! friend to life's decline. Retreat from care, that never must be mine, How blessed is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labor with an age of ease ; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep. Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But on he moves to meet his latter end. Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay. While resignation gently slopes the way ; And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.

10. Sweet was the sound, wlien oft, at evening's close. Up yonder hill the village murmur rose : There, as I passed with careless steps and slow The mingling notes came softened from below ; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young ;

272 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,

The playful children just let loose from school ;

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind.

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind :

These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,

And filled each pause the nightingale had made,

11. But now the sounds of population fail.

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,

No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,

But all the bloomy flush of life is fled :

All but yon widowed, solitary thing.

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring :

She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread.

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread.

To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn.

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn —

She only left of all the harmless train,

The sad historian of the pensive plain. Goldsmith.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

TJn-oiigJunit tJiis beautiful and wonderful creation there is never- ceasirn^ motion, without rest by night or day, ever weaving to and fro. Swifter than a weaver's shuttle, it flies from birth to death., from death to birth ; from the begin nijig seeks the end attd finds it not ; for the seeming end is only a ditn beginning of a neiv out-going and endeavor after the e7id. As the ice upon the mountain, when the warnt breath of the summer s sun breathes upon it, melts, and divides into drops, each of which reflects an image of the sun, so life, in the smile of God's love, divides itself into separate forms, each bearing in it, and reflecting an image of God's love. — Longfellow.

' Oliver Goldsmith, one of the verse are unsurpassed in charac-

most pleasing of English classic teristic excellence. He was a great,

writers, was born at Pallas, Ire- perhaps an unequaled master of

land, in 1728, and died in 1774. the arts of selection, classification.

His original works of prose and and condensation.

THE EXILE OF ERIN. 273

100. THE EXILE OF ERIN.

THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chil For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairin;

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eyes' sad devotion ; For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, "Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.

' ' Sad is my fate, " said the heart-broken stranger : " The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee ;

But I have no refuge from famine and danger, A home and a country remain not to me.

Never again, in the green sunny bowers

"Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours

Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers. And strike to the numbers of Erin-go-bragh.

"Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken.

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more ! Oh, cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace where no perils can chase me ? Never again shall my brothers embrace me !

They died to defend me, or live to deplore !

" Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood?

Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall ? Where is the mother that looked on my childhood ?

And where is the bosom-friend dearer than all ? Ah ! my sad heart, long abandoned by pleasure ! Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure ? Tears like the rain-drops may fall without measure ;

But rapture! and beauty tliey can not recall.

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5. " Yet all its sad recollections suppressing,

One dying wish my lone bosom can draw ; Erin ! an Exile bequeaths thee his blessing !

Land of my forefathers, Erin-go-bragh ! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion. Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean ! And thy harp striking bards sing aloud with devotion,

Erin, mavourneen, Erin-go-bragh ! " Campbell.'

101. THE CROSS AND THE HARP.

RELIGION and nationality have ever been intimately . associated in the minds and hearts of the Irish people. The events of the past three hundred years show that the efforts of the Irish were chiefly directed to obtain liberty of conscience, the noblest of all liberties. The struggles of the Anglo-Norman period call up thoughts, not only of political tyranny, but also of the high-handed attempts of English kings to impose a system of ecclesiastical discipline at vari- ance with the ruling of the Sovereign Pontiff and the spirit of the Catholic Church.

3. The three centuries of warfare with the Danes remind us that the chieftains strove both to expel despotic rulers and to punish the insulters of their holy religion. The blessed era of St. Patrick and the happy times that followed it, are also illustrative of this association of ideas. Under the ban- ner of the Cross the Irish people won their noblest victories. Druidism was completely crushed, and Ireland, in the bright- ness of her faith and learning became, for a time, the day star of Europe'an civilization.

' Thomas Campbell, the poet, is probably the finest didactic poem

was born in Glasgow in 1777, and of the English language. His

died in 1844. His first extended lyrical pieces are also of extraor-

poem, "The Pleasures of Hope," dinaiy merit.

THE CROSS AND THE HARP. 275

3. The glories of Ireland are her heroic struggles for the Faith. These are her pride and her boast, and if they were erased from her history, but little worthy of mention would be left. The days of "Conn of the Hundred Battles" and ' ' Nial of the Nine Hostages " are days of bloody wars carried on merely for their own sake ; and if freed from the myth that surrounds them, they would only prove what has since been often shown in a far better cause — that the Irish are a brave and hardy nation.

Jf. But afterward, when, animated with religious zeal, they filled the land with churches and schools, became the evan- gelizers of pagans, and the teachers of barbarians, the Irish people covered themselves with true glory. In that tumult- uous period, when other nations boasted of rap'ine and de- struction, and kings gloried in the multitudes they had reduced to misery, Ireland alone pursued the noble calling of improving the moral and intellectual condition of her neighbors, of bravely building up what others had savagely pulled down.

5. It was the prevalence of religious motives that made sacred the wars of the Ulster chieftains, and flung the odium of Christendom on their opponents, when the latter refused reliffious toleration. The heroism of Sarsfield would lose its highest significance, were it not that freedom of conscience was the paramount idea in his mind.

6. Few can admire the rebellion of "Silken Thomas,"' unless we allow the admiration that is given to reckless un- productive bravery. But every right-thinking person must pay a tribute of respect to the gallant Owen Roe O'Neill, who, before his battles invoked the aid of the Lord of Hosts ; who, after his victoi-ies, never failed to offer Him thanksgiving ; aiul who, wlicii the (hiy of adversity appeared, bowed his head, exclaiiuiiig, "Thy will be done."

276 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

7. The passage of the Emancipation Bill won for O'Connell his greatest fame. While tlie struggle for that important measure lasted, all the world sympathized with him ; when it became law and a whole nation was made religiously free, the world admired and applauded him. So, whether we consider the career of the nation or of the individual, the Irish race is famous for its unswerving attachment to religion as well as to country, its love for the cross as well as the harp. Other nations have fought for liberty, too, but frequently it was such liberty as the socialist seeks — the liberty to trample on all laws, civil and divine.

8. Irishmen's struggles for freedom have been associated with the dearest and grandest of principles, to obtain just and equitable ^ laws, and a due share of the sacred rights of humanity. This combination of spiritual and physical good is the brilliant and abiding feature in Irish history. It has made Ireland a nation of heroes and saints, and it has caused priest and layman to work hand in hand for the same glorious purpose. Let us hope that the day will never come when this noble union will be dissolved — when the triumphs of the cross will cease to be themes for the harp.

102. DANIEL O'CONNELL

PART FIRST.

THE destinies of nations are in the hands of God, and when the hour of His mercy comes, and a nation is to regain the first of its rights, the free exercise of its faith and religion, He, who is never wanting to His own designs, ever provides for that hour a leader for His people — wise, high- minded, seeking the kingdom of God, honorable in his labors.

* £Squitable (ek'wi ta bl), equal-handed or just.

DANIEL O' CON NELL. 277

strong in conflict with his enemies, triumphant in the issue, and crowned with glory. Nor was Ireland forgotten in the designs of God. Centuries of patient endurance brought at last the dawn of a better day. God's hour came, and it brought with it, Ireland's greatest son, Daniel O'Connell.^ His generation is j^assing away, and the light of history already dawns upon his grave, and she speaks his name with cold, unimpassioned voice.

2. In this age of hours, a few years are as a century of times gone by. Great changes and startling events follow each other in such quick succession that the greatest names are forgotten almost as soon as those who bore them disappear : and the world itself is surprised to find how short-lived is the fame which promises to be immortal. He who is in- scribed even in the golden book of the world's annals finds that he has but written his name upon water.

3. The Church alone is the true shrine of immortality, the temple of fame which perisheth not ; and that man only whose name and memory are preserved in her sanctuaries receives on this earth a reflection of the glory which is eternal in heaven. But before the Church will crown any one of her children, she carefully examines his claims to the immor- tality of her gratitude and praise — she asks : What has he done for God and man? This great question am I come here to answer to-day for him whose tongue, once so eloquent, is now stilled in the silence of the grave. And I claim for Daniel O'Connell the meed of our gratitude and love, in that he was a man of faith, whom wisdom guided in " the right ways," who loved and sought "the kingdom of God," who was "most honorable in his labors," and who accomplished his "great works"; the libi^rator of his race, tlie father of

' Daniel O'Connell, the distin- political agitator, was born in 1775 guislied Irish orator and persistent and died in 1847.

278 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

his people, the conqueror in the " nudefiled conflict " of prin- ciple, truth, and justice.

Jf.. Toward the close of the last century, the Catholics of Ireland were barely allowed to live, and were expected to be grateful even for the boon of existence : the profession of the Catholic faith was a complete bar and an insurmountable^ obstacle to all advancement in the path of worldly advantage, honor, dignity, and even wealth. The fetters of conscience hung heavily also upon genius, and every prize to which lawful ambition might aspire was beyond the reach of those who refused to deny the religion of their fathers and forget their country.

5. Among the victims of this religious and intellectual slavery was one, who was marked amongst the youth of his time. Of birth which in any other land would be called noble, gifted with a powerful and comprehensive intelligence, a prodigious ^ memory, a most fertile imagination, ^ pouring forth its images in a vein of richest oratory, a generous spirit, a most tender heart, enriched with stores of varied learning and genius of the highest order, graced with every form of manly beauty, strength, and vigor, of powerful frame — nothing seemed wanting to him, and yet all seemed to be lost in him ; for he was born a Catholic and an Irishman.

6. Before him now stretched, full and broad, the two ways of life, and he must choose between them : the way which led to all the world prized — wealth, power, distinction, glory, and fame ; the way of genius, the noble rivalry of intellect, the association with all that was most refined and refining — the way which led up to the council chambers of the nation,

' In'siir mount'a ble, not to be ^ Im ag'i na'tion, the image- overcome or passed over. making power of the mind ; the

^ Prodigious (prodid'jiis), aston- power to put in new forms things

ishing ; strangely unusual ; vast. before noticed or seen.

DANIEL O'CONNELL. 279

to all places of jurisdiction ^ and of honor, to the temples wherein were enshrined historic 2iames and glorious mem- ories, to a share in all blessings of privilege and freedom. The stirrings of genius, the promptings of youthful ambition, the consciousness of vast, intellectual power, which placed within his easy grasp the highest prizes to which the " last infirmity of noble minds " could aspire — all this imjDelled him to enter upon the bright and golden path.

7. But before him opened another way. No gleam of sun- shine illumined this way ; it was wet with tears, it was over- shadowed by misfortune — it was pointed out to the young traveler of life by the sign of the Cross, and he who entered it was bidden to leave all hope behind him, for it led througli the valley of humiliation into the heart of a fallen race and an enslaved and afflicted j^eople. I claim for O'Conuell the glory of having chosen this latter 23ath. Into this way was he led by his love for his religion and for his country. He had that faith which is common to all Catholics, and which is not merely a strong opinion, or even a conviction, but an absolute and most certain knowledge that the Catholic Church is the one and only true messenger and witness of God upon earth ; that to belong to her Communion and possess her faith is the greatest and best of all endowments and privi- leges, before which everything else sinks into absolute nothing.

8. The strength of his faith left him no alternative but to proclaim loudly his religion and to cast in his lot with his people. Tliat religion was the people's only inheritance. Our national history begins with our faitli, and is so inter- woven with our holy religion, that if you separate these, our country's name disap})ears from the world's annals. Wliilst on the other liand, Ireland Cliristian and Catholic, which

' Ju ris dic'tion, the legal place ply the law. It is limited to jjiiice, or power to make, declare, or ap- persons, or subjects.

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means Ireland holy, Ireland everything, Ireland teaching the nations of Europe, Ireland upholding in every land the Cross and the Crown, Ireland suffering for the faith as people never suffered, has her name written in letters of gold upon the proudest page of history.

9. Ireland and her religion were so singularly bound to- gether that, in days of prosperity and peace, they shone together ; in days of sorrow and shame they sustained one another. When the ancient religion was driven from her sanctuaries, she still found a temple in every cabin in the land, an altar and a home in the heart of every Irishman, The faith, and the faith alone, became to the Irish people the principle of their vitality and national existence, the only element of freedom and of hope. All this 0 'Council felt and knew. He was Irish of the Irish, and Catholic of the Cath- olic. His love for religion and country was as the breath of his nostrils, the blood of his veins ; and when he brought to the service of both the strength of his faith and the power of his genius, with the instinct of a true Irishman, his first thought was to lift up the nation by striking the chains off the national Church.

10. Here, again, two ways opened before him. One was a way in which many had trodden in former times, many pure and high-minded, noble and patriotic men ; it was a way of danger and of blood, and the history of his country told him that it ever ended in defeat and in greater evil. The sad events which took place round about him warned him off that way : for he saw that the effort to walk in it had swept away the last vestige of Ireland's national legislature and independence. Another way was open before him, which wisdom pointed out as the "right way." Another battle- field lay before him on which he could " fight the good fight." The armory was furnislied by the inspired apostle when he"

DANIEL O' CON NELL. 281

said : '' Take unto you the armor of God. Havinsf your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of justice, and your feet shod with the preparation of the Gos- pel of Peace, in all things taking the shield of faith. And take unto you the sword of the spirit which is the Word."

11. O'Connell knew well that such weapons in such a hand as his were irresistible — that, girt round with the truth and justice of his cause, he was clad in the armor of the Eternal God ; that, with words of peace and order on his lips, with the strong shield of faith before him and the sword of elo- quent speech in his hand, with the war-cry of obedience, principle, and law, no power on earth could resist him, for it is the battle of God, and nothing pan resist the Most High. Accordingly, he raised the standard of the new way, and unfurled the banner on which was written, freedom to be achieved by the power of truth, the cry of justice, the asser- tion of right, and the omnipotence of the law. Religious liberty and perfect legal equality was his first demand.

103. DANIEL O'CONNELL

PART SECOND.

THE new apostle of freedom went through the length and breadth of Ireland. His eloquent words revived the hopes and stirred up the energies of the nation ; the people and their priesthood rallied around him as one man ; they became more formidable to their enemies by the might of justice and reason, and they showed themselves worthy of liberty by their respect for the law. Never was Ireland more excited, yet never was Ireland more peaceful. The people were determined on gaining their religious freedom.

2. Irishmen, from 1S22 to 1820, were as fiercely deter- mined, on their new battle-field, as they had been in the

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breaches of Limerick or on the slopes of Fonteuoy. They were marshalled by a leader as brave as Sarsfield and as daring as Eed Ilngli. He led them against the strongest citadel in the world, and even as the walls of the city of old crumbled to dust at the sound of Israel's trumpet, so, at the sound of his mighty voice, who spoke in the name of a united people, **'the lintels of the doors were moved," and the gates were opened which 300 years of pride and prejudice had barred against our people.

3. The first decree of our liberation went forth : on the loth of April, 1829, Catholic Emancipation was proclaimed and seven millions of Catholic Irishmen entered the nation's legislature in the person of O'Connell. It was the first and greatest victory of peaceful principle which our age has wit- nessed, the grandest triumph of justice and of truth, the most glorious victory of the genius of one man, and the first great act of homage, which Ireland's rulers paid to the religion of the people, and which Ireland's people paid to the great principle of j^eacef al agitation.

4. O'Connell's first and greatest triumph was the result of his strong faith and ardent zeal for his religion and his Church. The Church was to him, as it is to us, "the King- dom of God," and in his labors for it, "he was made honor- able " and received from a grateful people the grandest title ever given to man. Ireland called him "The Liberator." He was honorable in his labors, when we consider the end which he proposed to himself. He devoted himself, his tal- ents, his energies, his power, to the glory of God, to the libera- tion of God's Church, to the emancipation of his people. This was the glorious end : nor were the means less honorable.

5. Fair, open, manly self-assertion : high, solemn appeal to eternal principles : noble and unceasing proclam.ation of rights founded in justice and in the constitution ; peaceful

DANIEL O' CO NX ELL. 283

"but most powerful pressure of a people, united by liis genius, inflamed by his eloquence, and guided by his vast knowledge and wisdom — these were the honorable means by which he ac- complished his great work, and this great work was the achieve- ment which gained for him not only the title of Liberator of Ireland, but even the oecumenical title of the Liberator of Christ's Church. Were it only to Ireland that Emancipation has been profitable, where is the man in the Church who has freed at once seven millions of souls ? Challenge your recol- lection, search history from that first and famous edict which granted to the Christians liberty of conscience, and see if there are to be found many such acts, comparable by the extent of their effects with that of Catholic Emancipation. Seven mill- ions of souls are now free to serve and love God even to the end of time ; and each time that this people, advancing in their existence and their liberty, shall recall to memory the aspect of the man who studied the secret of their ways, they will ever find the name of O'Connell, both on the latest pages of their servitude and on the first of their regeneration.

6. His glorious victory did honor even to those whom he vanquished. He honored them by appealing to their sense of Justice and of right ; and in the act of Catholic Emanci- pation, England acknowledged the power of a people, not asking for mercy, but clamoring for the liberty of the soul, the blessing which was born with Christ, and which is the inheritance of the nations that embrace the Cross. Catholic Emancipation was but the herald and the beginning of vic- tories. He, who was the Church's liberator and most true son, was also the first of Ireland's statesmen and patriots. Our people remember well, as their future historian will faithfully record, the many trials borne for them, the many victories gained in their cause, the great life devoted to them by O'Connell.

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7. It is with tears of sorrow that we recall that aged man, revered, beloved, whom all the glory of the world's admira- tion and the nation's love had never lifted up in soul out of the holy atmosphere of Christian humility and simplicity. Obedience to the Church's laws, quick zeal for the honor and dignity of her worship ; a spirit of penance, refining whilst it expiated, chastening whilst it ennobled all that was natu- ral in the man ; constant and frequent use of the Church's holy sacraments, which shed the halo of grace round his venerated head — these were the last grand lessons which he left to his people, and thus did the sun of his life set in the glory of Christian holiness.

8. For Ireland he lived, for Ireland did he die. The people whom he had so faithfully served, whom he loved with a love second only to his love for God, were decimated by a visitation the most terrible the world ever witnessed ; the nations of the earth trembled, and men grew pale at the sight of Ireland's desolation. Her tale of famine, of misery, of death, was told in every land. Her people fled affrighted from the soil which had forgotten its ancient bounty, or died, their white lips uttering the last faint cry for bread.

9. All this the aged father of his country beheld. Neither his genius, nor his eloquence, nor his love, could now save his people, and the spirit was crushed which had borne him triumphantly through all dangers and toil ; the heart broke within him, that brave and generous heart which had never known fear, and whose ruling passion was love for Ireland. The martyred spirit, the broken heart of the great Irishman led him to the holiest spot of earth, and with tottering steps he turned to Rome. The man whose .terrible voice in life shook the highest tribunals of earth in imperious demand for justice to Ireland, now sought the Apostles' tomb, that, from that threshold of heaven, he might put up a cry for mercy

DANIEL O' CON NELL. 285

to his country and people, and offer up his life for his native land. Like the prophet king, he would fain stand between the people and the angel who smote them and offer himself a victim and a holocaust ^ for the land he loved.

10. But on the shores of the Mediterranean the weary traveler lay down to die. He had led a mighty nation to the opening of the "right way," and directed her first and doubtful steps in the path of conciliation and justice to Ire- land. The seed which his hand had sown it was not given to him to reap in its fullness. Catholic Emancipation was but the first installment of liberty. The edifice of religious freedom was to be crowned when the wise architect who had laid its foundations and built up its walls was in his grave.

11. Time, which touches all things with mellowing hand, has softened the recollections of past contests, and they who once looked upon him as a foe now only remember the glory of the fight, and the mighty genius of him who stood forth the representative man of his race, and the champion of his people. His praise is in the Church, and this is the surest pledge of the immortality of his glory. A people's voice may be the proof and echo of all human fame, but the voice of the undying Church is the echo of everlasting glory.

Very Rev. Thomas N. Burke.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Greatness and (goodness are not means, but ends / Hath he not always treasures, always friends. The good great man ? — three treasures, love and light. And calm thoughts, regular as infant''s breath ; And three Jirm friends, more sure than day and night— Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.— Coleridge.

' H61'o caust, a burnt sacrifice sumed by fire. A kind of sacrifice or offering, all of which was con- in use among Jews, and pagans.

286 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

104. ROME.

PART FIRST.

THE city of Eome is a permauent storehouse of study. Every hill and hollow in it has a story with which the world is concerned. Here it is a column, there an arch ; a. little farther on, the ruins of a temple, a bath, or a circus ; or perhaps a palace or the tomb of an emperor.

2. As you casually pass, you see the tower where Nero^ fiddled while Eome burned, or a part of the Servian wall, built 500 years before Clirist. On the Palatine Hill, you see the pavements laid down while Kome was a republic, and. in the stones of the Via Sacra, you see the ruts made by the wagon wheels.

3. But a step from the Forum, you pass the ruins of the golden house of Nero, and the palaces of the Caesars, with their endless columns and arches, amidst which are seen mo- saics and mural jjaintings almost as fresh and bright as when they came from the hands of the artist. All along this hill are wajls so massive and ruins so gigantic that one is lost in wonder to know for what they could have been used.

Jf.. Every-where in Rome, you see the wondrous changes time has wrought. The tomb of Augustus is now a low theater, while the great Mausoleum of Hadrian is a military fort. The gardens of the Pope were once the gardens of Nero, in whose walls is pointed out a tower from which, tra- dition says, this Roman monster was wont^ to gloat upon the agonies of the Christian martyrs burning by his orders as torches to light up his gardens.

5. On the place where great C«sar fell, stands the shop of a

green-grocer ; and but a step further on, is the old Flaminian

' Ne'ro, Claudius Caesar, the the cruellest, was born in A. D. 37. sixtli of the Roman emperors, and - Wont (wunt), accustomed.

ROME. 287

Way, now the Corso or Broadway of Rome. The arch of a temple has become the workshop of a cobbler, while the theater of Marcellus is ablaze with the fires of a dozen blacksmiths.

6. Come with me to the Forum, once the heart of the Ro- man Empire. On the way, you pass the Panthe'on and the Column of Trajan ; palaces rich in their treasures of art, fountains, and obelisks.^ Passing on through narrow streets, you suddenly emerge, to see before you a large opening cov- ered with massive ruins. It is the Forum. Here Romulus and the Sabiues met, fought, and became one people. Amid these broken arches and fluted columns, Cicero thundered, and Cato calmed the angry mob. For long years, it lay buried deep in its own ruins. It is now well cleared out.

7. Let us go up this long flight of steps, at whose top stands the Capitol. Turn and face the Forum. On your left, is the Ara Coeli, where formerly stood the tem2)le of Jupiter Tonans ; on the right, the Tarpean Rock, whence malefactors were hurled. At your feet, are the ruins of the temples of Concord, Saturn, Faustina, Castor and Pollux. Between them stand the Basilica Juliana, the arch of Sev- erus, the Mamertine prison in which Saints Peter and Paul were confined ; the Forum proper ; the Rostrum where the laws were published ; and the Umbilicus from whence all the great roads of Rome started.

8. A stone's throw to the right is the Palatine Hill, at whose base once stood the temple of the Vestal Virgins. In front, is the Via Sacra and the temple of Ca?sar, built on the spot where Marc Antony burned the body of C«sar in sight of all Rome. Just beyond, are the arches of Titus and Con- stantine ; the temple of Venus ; the Colise'um ; and the Via Triumpha, lying between the Celian and Palatine hills.

1 Ob'e lisk, a tall four-sided i)il- any pillar, especially one set up in lar, f^radually tapering as it rises ; au open court or square.

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9. Conceive, if you can, the grandeur of such a place. Imagine yourself amid its splendor ; hear a Cicero and a Cato speaking, and a Marc Antony maddening Kome over the bleeding body of a Caesar. See Kome's heroes as they pass along the Via Triumpha, down the Via Sacra, kings chained to their chariot wheels, and the people shouting "lo Triumphe." From this Forum, went forth Eome's armies, and thither came the wild hordes of the North to make Komo a ruin. Here Pagan Rome began ; here ended. None can stand amidst its ruins without a tear at its fall.

105. ROME.

PART SECOND.

OUT of the ruins of the Forum, rose a Rome mightier than her past. For three hundred years. Pagan Rome warred against Christ. She drove the Christians to tlie Catacombs,^ and filled her prisons with martyrs. Yet Chris- tianity lived while Rome waned and fell.

2. Constantine removed the seat of empire to the East, and built Constantinople to immortalize his name. The barba- rians came, sacked and laid waste the seven-hilled Queen, making, like Babylon, her palaces dens for the wild beasts. Christianity came forth from her hiding-places, wept, and began Rome's regeneration.

3. Christian Rome bore the Cross to the ends of the world. Pagan Rome conquered by brute force ; Christian Rome by moral force. The first fell because she was human ; the second lives, and will live, because she represents God. Jeru- salem alone excels Rome, because in Jerusalem the Word Incarnate lived and died. Christian Rome inherits the Di- Tine of Jerusalem, hence she is ''Eternal.''

' Catacombs (kat'a kombz), large underground burying-places.

ROME. £89

4. Eome is essentially a holy city ; and in her nature is unlike any other ; hence she can only be judged by her own standard. She is the beginning and the end of herself ; and has, and can have no duplicate of herself. It is this fact that renders all comparison with her, or criticism of her, so entirely at fault. ]S'o man can have visited Rome or made her monuments or history a study without realizing this. Turn where you will, this fact stares you in the face.

5. Christian Church or Pagan ruin alike speak cf dogma and martyr, or hallowed scene. Enter the Catacombs, and Christianity is written on the walls and sealed with the blood of the heroes buried there. Take a carriage, drive down any lane, along any street or by-way, and every turn and stej) is marked by some fact of Christian history. Here is where a martyr fell ; there, where Peter or Paul lived ; a little fur- ther on, where John was thrown into a caldron of boiling oil. The places where St. Paul was beheaded and St. Peter crucified are distinctly marked, while their bodies repose be- neath the great basilicas erected to their names.

G. It is impossible to stand wliere a Lawrence was roasted, an Agnes and Caecilia beheaded, or a Praxedas gathered up the blood of the martyrs, or kneel at the tombs of a Sebastian and Hellena, and not be moved. Nor can any man of honest historic mind stand by the tombs of a Benedict, Francis, Dominic, Ignatius, and not acknowledge the mighty work done by those whom they commemorate.

7. Christianity is crystallized in the Coliseum aiul St. Peter's. In the former, by the triumphs of the martyi's ; in the latter, by the dedication* of art to the worship of Cod. Come with me along the Via Sacra, past the Forum and the Arch of Titus. But a step, and we are at the Coliseum pressed in between the Celian and Palatine IJilis, the Arch of Constantine and the Temple of Venus,

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8. As we enter, the moou has risen, giving a weird appear- ance to the scene, as we see its shadows flit, dissolve, and lose themselves amid the arches of this mighty ruin. Amid broken arch and column, and vaulted corridor, terrace rises upon terrace, till the blood curdles and the hair stands on end. Memory is busy, and hurries us back to when Christian martyr and gentle maid stood within this vast arena to die for Christ.

9. The emperor is there ; the nobility of Rome is there ; tier upon tier is densely packed ; the wild beasts j)aw their cages, impatient for the feast; 100,000 voices shout, "The Christians to the lions ! " A spring, a growl, a quiver, and another hero has gone to God. Every brick, and stone, and grain of sand in this mighty ruin has been sanctified by the blood shed there. Here a Felicitas and Perpetua, a Cyriacus and Pancras died ; here Rome brutalized herself, and within these walls strove to crush out truth. Here Pagan Rome fell, and Christian Rome rose. The blood of the martyrs was the seed of the Church. Bishop Gilmouk.

106. THE DYING GLADIATOR.

I SEE before me the gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,

Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena ' swims around him : he is gone. Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

' A re'na, the middle or central from arena, sand, a sandy place part of an amptiitheater. temple, where gladiators fought, and other or other inclosed place- -sc ca.iled shows were held.

GLADIATORS' LAST FIGHT. 291

2. He lieard it, but he heeded not ; his ej'es

Were with his heart, and that was far away : He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play. There was their Dacian ' mother — he, their sire.

Butchered to make a Roman holiday. All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire. And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths," and glut your ire !

Lord Byron.

lOT. GLADIATORS' LAST FIGHT.

CHRISTIANITY worked its way upward, and at last was professed by the emperor on his throne. Persecu- tion came to an end, and no more martyrs fed the beasts in the Coliseum. The Christian emperors endeavored to pre- vent any more shows where cruelty and death formed the chief interest, and no truly religious person could endure the spectacle ; but custom and love of excitement prevailed even against the emperor. They went on for fully a hundred years after Rome had, in name, become a Christian city, and the same customs prevailed whei-ever there was an amphi- theater ^ or pleasure-loving people.

2. Meantime the enemies of Rome were coming nearer and nearer. Al'aric, the great chief of the Goths, led his forces into Italy, and threatened the city itself. Hono'i'ius, the emperor, was a cowardly, almost idiotic boy ; but his brave general, Stil'icho, assembled his forces, met the Goths at Pollen'tia (about twenty-five miles from where Turin now

' Dacian (da'shan), from Dacia, by choice and profession,

a country of ancient Germany from ^ Am'phi the' a ter, a circular

whence came many gladiators. building- having rows of seats, one

'•' Gbths, a celebrated nation of above another, around an arena,

ancient Germans, noted warriors used for public shows and sports.

292 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

stands), and gave them a complete defeat, on Easter-day of the year 403. He pursued tliem to the mountains, and for that time saved Rome.

3. In the joy of victory, the Roman Senate invited the con- queror and his ward Honorius to enter the city in triumph, at the opening of the new year, with tlie white steeds, purple robes, and vermilion cheeks with which, of old, victorious generals were welcomed at Rome. The churches were visited instead of the Temple of Jupiter, and there was no murder of the captives ; but Roman bloodthirstiness was not yet allayed, and, after the procession had been completed, the Coliseum shows commenced, innocently at first, with races on foot, on horseback, and in chariots ; then followed a grand hunt of beasts turned loose in the arena ; and next a sword- dance. But after the sword-dance came the arraying cf swordsmen, with no blunted weapons, but with sharp spears and swords — a gladiator combat in full earnest. The peojole, enchanted, applauded with shouts of ecstasy this gratifica- tion of their savage tastes.

.4. Suddenly, however, there was an interruption. A grand, roughly-robed man, bareheaded and barefooted, had sprung into the arena, and, waving back the gladiators, began to call aloud upon the people to cease from the shedding of innocent blood, and not to requite God's mercy, in turning away the sword of the enemy, by encouraging murder. Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his words ; this was no place for preachings — the old customs of Rome should be observed — " B:;ck, old man ! "—" On, gladiators ! "

5. The gladiators thrust aside the meddler, and rushed to the attack. Ho still stood between, holding them apart, striving in vain to be heard. " Sedition I sedition!" — "Down Avith him \" — was the cry; ar.;l the prefect in author- ity liiiuself added his voice. The ghi.liiitcr.s, enraged at in-

. GLADIATORS' LAST FIGHT. 293

terference with their vocation, cut him down. Stones, or whatever came to hand, rained upon him from the furious people, and he perished in the midst of the arena ! He lay dead ; and then the people began to reflect upon what had been so cruelly done.

6. His dress showed that he was one of the hermits who had vowed themselves to a life of prayer and self-denial, and who were greatly reverenced, even by the most thoughtless. The few who had previously seen him, told that he had come from the wilds of Asia on pilgrimage, to visit the shrines and keep his Christmas at Rome. They knew that he was a holy man — no more. His spirit had been stirred by the sight of thousands flocking to see men slaughter one another, and in his simple-hearted zeal he had resolved to stop the cruelty, or die.

7. Honorius, the emperor, having been informed of what had taken j^lace, learned, after a full investigation, that the holy hermit, Telemachus^ by name, had come from the East to Rome for the express purpose of influencing the Romans to abandon these murderous amusements. He was honored as a holy martyr. His death was not in vain ; for since that day there has never been another fight of gladiators. Not merely at Rome, but in every province of the empire, the custom was utterly abolished ; and one habitual crime at least was wiped from the earth.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

/ 7vorship thee, sweet Will of God ! and all thy ways adore,. And every day I live I seem to love thee more and more. When obstacles a7id trials seem like prison-walls to be, I do the little I can do, a?td leave the rest to thee. I have no cares, O blessed Will ! for all my cares are thine ; I live in triumph. Lord ! for thou hast made thy triumphs mine.

F. W. Faber.

1 Telemachus ( le ISm'a kus).

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108. ST. PETER'S IN ROME.

FROM tlie bridge and castle of St. Angelo, a wide street conducts in a regular line to a square, and that square presents at once, the court or portico, and part of the Basilica. ^ When the spectator approaches the entrance of this court, he views four rows of lofty pillars sweeping on to the right and left in a bold semicircle. In the center of the area formed by this immense colonnade,^ an Egyptian obeli^, of one solid piece of granite, ascends to the height of 130 feet. Two perpetual fountains, one on each side, play in the air and fall in sjiray round the basins of porphyry that receive them. Before him, raised on three successive flights of marble steps, he beholds the majestic front of the Basilica itself, extending 400 feet in length, and towering to the elevation of 180. This front is supported by a single row of Corinthian pillars and pilasters, and adorned with an attic, a balustrade,^ and thirteen colossal * statues.

2. Far behind and above it, rises the matchless dome, the justly celebrated wonder of Rome and of the world. The colonnade of coupled pillars that surround and strengthen its vast base, the graceful attic that surmounts this colonnade, the bold and expansive swell of the dome itself, and the pyramid seated on a cluster of columns, and bearing the ball and cross to the skies, all perfect in their kind, form the most magnificent and singular exhibition that the human eye perhaps ever contemplated. On each side a lesser cupola, rising proudly, reflects the grandeur, and adds not a little to the majesty of the principal dome.

' Basilica (ba zil' 1 ka), a cathe- umns placed at regular distances, dral, church, or chapel ; a palace ^ Bal'us trade, a row of smaU

or hall of justice. columns, joined by a rail.

^ Col'on nade'; a series of col- ^ Co los'sfd, of great size.

ST. PETER'S IN ROME. 295

S. The interior corresponds perfectly with the grandeur of the exterior, and fully answers the expectations, however great,' which so magnificent an entrance must have raised. Five lofty portals open into the vestibulum or portico, a gallery, in dimensions and decorations, equal to the most spacious cathedrals. It is 400 feet in length, 70 feet in height, and 50 in breadth ; paved with variegated marble ; covered with a gilt vault ; adorned with pillars, pilasters, mosaic, and basso-relievos ; and terminated at both ends by equestrian ^ statues, one of Constantine,^ the other of Char- lemagne.^ A fountain at each extremity supplies a stream sufficient to keep a reservoir^ always full, in order to carry off every unseemly object, and perpetually refresh and purify the air and the pavement. Opposite the five portals of the vestibule are the five doors of the church ; three are adorned with pillars of the finest marble ; that in the middle has valves of bronze.

Jf. As you enter, you behold the most extensive hall ever constructed by human art, expanded in magnificent perspec- tive before you ; advancing up the nave, you are delighted with the beauty of the variegated marble under your feet, and with the splendor of the golden vault over your head. The lofty Corinthian pilasters with their bold entablature, the intermediate niches with their statues, the arcades with the graceful figures that recline on the curves of their arches, charm your eye in succession as you pass along.

5. But how great your astonishment when you reach the foot of the altar, and, standing in the center of the church,

* E quSs' tri an, relating to Charles the Great, born in 742, horses ; representing a person on and died in 814.

horseback. ■'Reservoir (rez'er vwor'), a

* CSn'stan tine, surnamed the place where any thing is kept in Great, born A. D. 274, died in 337. store ; especially a place where

^ Charlemagne (bliiir'le iniin'), or water is stored.

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contemplate the four superb vistas that open around you ; and then raise your eyes to the dome^, at the prodigious elevation of 400 feet, extending like a firmament over your head, and presenting in glowing mosaic, the companies of the just, the choirs of celestial spirits, and the whole hierarchy of heaven arrayed in the presence of the Eternal, whose '"'throne, high raised above all heiglit,"' crowns the awful scene.

6. When you have feasted your eye with the grandeur of this unparalleled exhibition in the whole, you will turn to the parts, the ornaments and the furniture, which you will find perfectly corresponding with the magnificent form of the temple itself. Around the dome rise four other cupolas, small indeed when compared with its stupendous magnitude, but of great boldness when considered separately ; six more, three on either side, cover the different divisions of the aisles ; and six more of greater dimensions canopy as many chapels, or, to speak more properly, as many churches. All these inferior cupolas are like the grand dome itself, lined with mosaics ; many, indeed, of the master-pieces of painting which formerly graced this edifice, have been removed and replaced by mosaics, which retain all the tints and beauties of the originals impressed on a more solid and durable substance.

7. The aisles and altars are adorned with numberless an- tique pillars, that border the church all round, and form a secondary and subservient order. The variegated walls are, in many places, ornamented with festoons, wreaths, angels, tiaras, crosses, and medallions representing the eflfi- gies of different pontiffs. These decorations are of the most beautiful and rarest species of marble, and often of excellent workmanship. Various monuments rise in different parts of the church : but, in their size and accompaniments, so much attention has been paid to general as well as local effect, that they appear rather as parts of the original plan than

ST. PETER'S IN ROME. 297

])Osterior* additions. Some of these are much admired for tiieir groups and exquisite sculpture, and form very conspicu- ous features in the ornamental part of this uoble temple.

8. The high altar stands under the dome, and thus, as it is the most important, so it becomes the most striking object. In order to bring it out in strong relief, according to the ancient custom still retained in the patriarchal churches at Eome and in most Italian cathedrals, a lofty canopy rises above it, and forms an interziiediate break or repose for the 63^6 between it and the immensity of the dome above.

9. The form, materials, and magnitude of thi3 decoration are equally astonishing. Below the steps of the altar, and of course some distance from it, at the corners, on four massive pedestals, rise four twisted pillars fifty feet in height, and support an entablature which bears the canopy itself topped with a cross. The whole soars to the elevation of 132 feet from the pavement, and, excepting the pedestals, is of Co- rinthian brass ; the most lofty massive work of that or of any other metal now known.

10. But this brazen edifice, for so it may be called, not- withstanding its magnitude, is so disposed as not to obstruct the view by concealing the chancel and veiling the Cathedral or Chair of St. Peter. This ornament is also of bronze, and consists of a group of four gigantic figures, representing the four ]irincipal doctors of the Greek and Latin churches, sup- porting the patriarchal chair of St. Peter. The chair is a lofty throne elevated to the height of 70 feet from the pave- ment ; a circular window tinged with yellow throws from above a mild splendor around it, so that the whole, not un- fitly, represents the pre-eminence of the Apostolic See, and is acknowledged to form a most becoming and majestic ter- mination to the first of Christian temples. Eustace.

' Pos te'ri or, later in time or movement ; coming after.

298 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

109. ST. PETER'S IN ROME.

BUT lo ! the dome ! — the vast and wondrous dome, To which Diana's ' marvel was a cell — Christ's mighty shrine above His martyr's tomb 1 I have beheld the Ephesian miracle — Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hyena and the jackal in their shade ;

I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have surveyed Its sanctuary, the while the usurping Moslem prayed.

S. But thou, of temples old or altars new,

Standest alone with nothing like to thee ; Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Sion's desolation, when that He Forsook His former city, what could be Of earthly structures in His honor piled,

Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty, Power, glory, strength, and beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.

3. Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ;

And why ? It is not lessened ; but thy mind, Kxpanded by the genius of the spot.

Has grown colossal, and can only find

A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou

Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined. See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His holy of holies, nor be blasted by His brow.

4. Thou movest — but increasing with the advance.

Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise. Deceived by its gigantic elegance ;

1 Di a'na, an ancient Italian divinity.

ST. PETER'S IN ROME.

299

Vastness which grows — but grows to harmonize —

All musical in its immensities ; Rich marbles— rich paintings — shrines where flame

The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies In air with Earth's chief structure, though their frame Sits on the firm-set ground — and this the clouds must claim.

6. Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break, To separate contemplation, the great whole ; And as the ocean many bays will make,

That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul To more immediate objects, and control Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart

Its eloquent proportions, and unroll In mighty graduations, part by part. The glory which at once upon thee did not dart.

6. Not by its fault — but thine : our outward sense Is but of gradual grasp — and as it is That what we have of feeling most intense Outstrips our faint expression ; even so this Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great

Defies at first our Nature's littleness, Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of what they contemplate. Byron.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Mot/ier thou art, and yet still more to ?ne

T/ian earthly mother — /;/ thy peaceful home I leartied my Saviour'' s shadcnvy Form to see.

And heard His accents mild in thine, 0 Rome / In thy majestic tones His thunders roll.

And the calm "whispers of his still small Voice, That, like soft music o'er the 7veary soul.

Soothe the dark heart and bid the sad t ejoiee.

Farewell, dear Rome f fareiuell! — Viscountess Ff.ii.ding.

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110. THE EVERLASTING CHURCH.

THERE is not, and there never was, on this earth, an institution so well deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church. The history of that Church joins together the two great ages of civilization. No other institu- tion is left standing which carries the mind back to the times when the smoke of sacrifice rose from the Pantheon,^ and when camel'opards and tigers bounded in the Flavian ^ am- phitheatre.

2. The proudest royal houses are but of yesterday, when compared witli the line of the Supreme Pontiffs. That line we trace back in an unbroken series, from the Pope who crowned Napoleon in the nineteenth century, to the Pope who crowned Pepin ^ in the eighth ; and far beyond the time of Pepin the august dynasty extends. The republic of Venice came next in antiquity. But the republic of Venice was modern, when compared with the Papacy, and the republic of Venice is gone, and the Papacy remains.

S. The Papacy remains, not in decay, not a mere antique, but full of life and useful vigor. The Catholic Church is still sending forth to the farthest ends of the world mission- aries as zealous as those who landed in Kent* with Augus- tine,^ and still confronting hostile kings with the same spirit with which she confronted Attila.* The number of her chil- dren is greater than in any former age.

^ Pan the'on, a magnificent tern- ■* Kent, a county in the south of

pie in ancient Rome, dedicated to England,

all the gods. * Au'gus tine a monk who, with

^ Fla'vi an, so called from Titus 40 companions, was sent to England

Flavins, the Roman emperor by by Pope Gregory the Great, in 596,

whom it was built. to convert the Saxons.

' Pepin, the Short, first king of « At'til a, "The Terror of the

the Franks, born about 715, and World," and "TheScourgeof God,"

died in 768. kincr of the Huns, died in 453.

THE EVERLASTING CHURCH. 301

Jf. Her acquisitions in the New World have more than compensated for what she has lost in the Old. Her spiritual ascendency extends over the vast countries which lie between the plains of Missouri and Cape Horn, countries which, a century hence, may not improbably contain a population as large as that which now inhabits Europe. The members of her communion are certainly not fewer than one hundred and fifty millions, and it will be difficult to sliow that all other Christian sects united amount to a hundred and twenty millions.

5. Nor do we see any sign which indicates that the term of her long dominion is approaching. She saw the com- mencement of all the governments and of all the ecclesiastical establishments that now exist in the world ; and we feel no assurance that she is not destined to see the end of them all.

6. She was great and respected before the Saxon had set foot on Britain, before the French liad passed the Rhine, when Grecian eloquence still flourished at Antioch, when idols were still worshiped in the temple of Mecca. And she may still exist in undiminished vigor, when some traveler from Xew Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge, to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's.

7. We often hear it said, that the world is constantly be- coming more and more enlightened ; and tliat this enlighten- ing must be favorable to Protestantism, and unfavorable to Catholicism. We wish that we could think so. But we see great reason to doubt whether this be a well-founded ex- pectation.

8. We see that, during the last 250 years, the human mind has been in the highest degree active — that it has made great advances in every branch of natural philosophy — that it luis produced innumerable inventions tending to promote the

302 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

convenience of life — tliut medicine, surgery, chemistry, en- gineering, have been very greatly imjiroved — that govern- ment, police, and law have been improved, though not quite to the same extent. Yet we see that, during these 250 years. Protestantism has made no conquests worth speaking of. Xay, we believe that, as far as there has been a change, that change has been in favor of the Church of Rome.

Macaulay.i

111. OUR DUTY TO THE HOLY SEE.

OUR duty to the Holy See, to the Chair of St. Peter, is to be measured by what the Church teaches us con- cerning that Holy See and concerning him who sits in it. Now St. Peter, who first occupied it, was the Vicar ^ of Christ. You know well, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who suf- fered on the Cross for us, thereby bought for us the kingdom of heaven. " When Thou hadst overcome the sting of death, '^ says the hymn, " Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to those who believe." He opens, and He shuts ; He gives grace. He withdraws it ; He judges. He pardons, He condemns.

2. Accordingly He speaks of Himself in the Apocalypse as "Him who is the Holy and the True, Him that hath the key of David (the key, that is of the chosen king of the chosen people). Him that openeth and no man shutteth, that shuttetli and no man openeth." And what our Lord, the Supreme Judge, is in heaven, that was St. Peter on earth ;

' Tho. Babbington Macaulay, and wortli of his prose. Baron of Kothley, English histo- ^ Vicar (vik'ar), one authorized

rian, essayist, poet, and statesman, or appointed to act for another ;

was born in 1800, and died in an Apostolic mcar is an officer of

1859. His poems are excellent, but high rank who has power from

they are insignificant in compari- the Holy See to decide certain case?

son with the unrivaled brilliancy without instructions.

OUR DUTY TO THE HOLY SEE. 303

lie had those keys of the kingdom, according to the text, " Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build My Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt hind upon earth shall be bound also in heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth, shall be loosed also in heaven."

3. Next, let it be considered, the kingdom which our Lord set up, with St. Peter at its head, was decreed in the coun- sels of God to last to the end of all things, according to the words I have just quoted, ''The gates of hell shall not pre- vail against it." And again, "Behold, I am with you ull days, even to the consummation i of the world." And in the words of the prophet Isaias, speaking of that divinely estab- lished Church, then in the future, "This is My covenant with them. My Spirit that is in thee, and My words which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever." And the prophet Daniel says, "The God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed . . and it shall break in pieces and shall consume all those kingdoms (of the earth, which went before it), and itself shall stand for ever."

4. That kingdom our Lord set up when He came on earth, and especially after His resurrection ; for we are told by St. Luke that this was His gracious employment, when He visited the Apostles from time to time, during the forty days which intervened between Easter Day and the day of His Ascension. " He showed Himself alive to the Apostles," says the Evan- gelist, "after His passion by many proofs, for forty days ap- pearing to them and speaking of the kingdom of God." And accordingly, when at length He had ascended on high, and

' CSn'sum ma'tion, completion ; end.

304 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

had sent down " the promise of His Father," the Holy Ghost, upon His Apostles, they forthwith entered upon their high duties, and brought that kingdom or Church into shape, and supplied it with members, and enlarged it, and carried it into all lands.

5. As to St. Peter, he acted as the head of the Church, according to the previous words of Christ ; and, still accord- ing to his Lord's supreme will, he at length placed himself in the see of Rome, where lie was martyred. And what Avas then done, in its substance can not be undone. " God is not as a man tbat He should lie, nor as the son of man, that He should change. Hath He said then, and shall He not do? hath He spoken, and will He not fulfill ?" And, as St. Paul says, "the gifts and the calling of God are Avithout repent- ance." His Church, then, in all necessary matters, is as un- changeable as He. Its framework, its polity, its ranks, its offices, its creed, its privileges, the promises made to it, its fortunes in the world, are ever what they have been.

6. Therefore, as it was in the world, but not q/*the world in the Apostles' times, so it is now : as it was '' in honor and dishonor, in evil report and good report, as chastised but not killed, as having nothing and possessing all things," in the Apostles' times, so it is now : as then it taught the truth, so it does now ; as then it had the sacraments ^ of grace, so has it now ; as then it had a hierarchy or holy government of Bishops, priests, and deacons, so has it now ; and as it had a Head then, so must it have a Head now ? Who is that visible Head now ? who is now the Vicar of Christ ? who has now the keys of the kingdom of heaven, as St. Peter had then ? Who is it who binds and looses on earth, that our Lord may

' Sac'ra ment, one of the solemn Baptism, Penance, Holy Eucharist, religious ordinances ; the seven Confirmation, Holy Orders, Matri- solemn religious sacraments are mony, and Extreme Unction.

OUR DUTY TO THE HOLY SEE. 305

bind and loose in heaven ? Who, I say, if Ji successor to St. Peter there must be, who is that successor in his sovereign authority over the Church ?

7. It is he who sits in St. Peter's Chair ; it is the Bisliop of Rome. We all know tlii-'i ; it is part of our faith ; I am not proving it to you, my brethren. The visible headship of the Church, which was with St. Peter while he lived, has been lodged ever since in his Chair ; the successors in his headship are the successors in his Chair, that continuous line of Bishops of Rome, or Popes, as they are called, one after an- other, as years have rolled on, one dying and another coming, down to this day, when we see Pius the Xinth sustaining the weight of the glorious Apostolate, and that for twenty years past — a tremendous weight, a ministry involving momentous ^ duties, innumerable anxieties, and iminense responsibilities, as it ever has done.

8. And now, though I might say much more about the prerogatives 2 of the Holy Father, the visible Head of the Church, I have said more than enough for the purpose which has led to my speaking about him at all. I have said that, like St. Peter, he is the Vicar of his Lord. He can Judge, and he can acquit ; he can pardon, and he can condemn ; he can command, and he can permit ; he can forbid, and he can punish. He has a supreme jurisdiction over the people of Cod. He can stop the ordinary course of sacramental mer- cies ; he can excommunicate from the ordinary grace of re- demption ; and he can remove again the ban which he has inflicted. It is the rule of Christ's providence, that what His Vicar does in severity or in mercy u])on earth. He Himself confirms in heaven.

' Mo mSnt'ous, of consequonce ilop^o {jiven to none otluT ; a pe- or moment ; important ; weifjlity. culiar right coming iu tlie order ^ Pre rSg'a tive, a personal priv- of time.

306 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

9. And in saying all this, I have said enough for my pur- pose, because that purpose is to define our obligations to him. That is the point on which our attention is fixed ; " our ob- ligations to the Holy See ; "' and what need I say more to measure our own duty to it and to him who sits in it, than to say that, in his administration of Christ's kingdom, in his religious acts, we must never oppose his will, or dispute his word, or criticise his policy, or shrink from his side ? There are kings of the earth who have despotic authority, which their subjects obey in deed but disown in their hearts ; but we must never murmur at that absolute rule which the Sov- ereign Pontiff has over us, because it is given to him by Christ, and in obeying him we are obeying his Lord. We must never suffer ourselves to doubt that, in his government of the Church, he is guided by an intelligence more than human. His yoke is the yoke of Christ ; he has the respon- sibility of his own acts, not we ; and to his Lord must he render account, not to us.

10. Even in secular matters it is ever safe to be on his side, dangerous to be on the side of his enemies. Our duty is — not indeed to mix up Christ's Vicar with this or that party of men, because he in his high station is above all parties — but to look at his former deeds, and to follow him whither he goeth, and Jiever to desert him, however we may be tried, but to defend him at all hazards, and against all comers, as a son would a father, and as a wife a husband, knowing that his cause is the cause of God. And so as regards his succes- sors, it is our duty to give them m like manner our dutiful allegiance and to follow them also whithersoever they go, having that same confidence that each in his turn and in his own day will do God's work and will, which we felt in their predecessors, now taken away to their eternal reward.

Cardinal J. 11. Newman.

THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 307

112. THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA.

IN tlie foreground of American history there stand these three figures — a lady, a sailor, and a monk. Might they not be thought to typify Faith, Hope, and Charity? The lady is especially deserving of honor. Years after his first success, the Admiral [Columbus] wrote : " In the midst of general incredulity. ^ the Almighty infused into the Queen, my lady, the spirit of intelligence and energy. While every one else, in his ignorance, was expatiating ^ on the cost and inconvenience, her Highness approved of it on the contrary, and gave it all the support in her power.''

2. And what were the distinguishing qualities of this foster-mother of American discovery ? Fervent piety, un- feigned humility, profound reverence for the Holy See, a spotless life as a daughter, mother, wife, and queen. ''She is," says a Protestant author, '- one of the purest and most beautiful characters in the pages of history.'' Her holy life had won for her the title of "the Catholic." Other queens have been celebrated for beauty, for magnificence, for learn- ing, or for good fortune : but the foster-mother of America alone, of all the women of history, is called " the Cailiolic."

3. As to the conduct of the undertaking, we have first to

remark, that on the port of Palos the original outfit depended,

and Palos itself depended on the neighboring convent. In

the refectory of La Rabida the agreement was made between

Columbus and the Pinzons. From the porch of the Church

of St. George, the royal orders were read to the astonished

townsfolk. The aids and assurances of religion were brought

into requisition to encourage sailors, always a superstitious

generation, to embark on this mysterious voyage. On the

' In'cre du'li ty, tlio fpiality of * Expatiating (oks pji'tOii jit iiiff),

being unbelieving; unwillinijness descantinfi: ; enlarging in discourse to believe. or writing.

308 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

moruiug of their departure, a temporary chapel was erected with spars and sails on the strand ; and there, in sight of their vessels riding at shortened anchors, the three crews, nnmbering in all 120 souls, received the Blessed Sacrament. Rising from their knees, they departed with the benediction of the Church, like the breath of heaven filling their sails.

If.. On the night before the discovery of the first land, after the Salve Regina had been chanted, according to his biogra- phers, the Admiral made an impressive address to his crew. His speech must have been one of the most Catholic orations ever delivered in the New World. It has not been recorded : it can never be invented. We can, indeed, conceive what a lofty homily on confidence in God and His ever Blessed Mother such a man so situated would be able to deliver. We can imagine we see him as he stands on the darkened deck of the Santa Maria, his thin locks lifted by the breeze already o'dorous of land, and his right hand pointing onward to the west. We almost hear him exclaim :

5. ''Yonder lies the land ! Where you can see only night and vacancy, I behold India and Cathay ! The darkness of the hour will pass away, and with it the night of nations. Cities more beautiful than Seville, countries more fertile than Andalusia, are off yonder. There lies the terrestrial para- dise, watered with its four rivers of life ; there lies the golden Ophir, from which Solomon, the son of David, drew the ore that adorned the temple of the living God ; there we shall find whole nations unknown to Christ, to whom you, ye favored companions of my voyage, shall be the first to bring the glad tidings of great joy proclaimed ' of old by angels' lips to the shepherds of Chaldea.' " But, alas ! who shall attempt to supply the words spoken by such a man at such a moment, on that last night of expectation and uncertainty — the eve of the birthday of a hew world ?

THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 309

6. Columbus and his companions landed on the morning of the l:ith of October, 149;^, on the little island which they called San Salvador. Three boats conveyed them to the shore ; over each boat floated a broad banner, blazoned with ** a green cross."' On reaching the land the Admiral threw himself on his knees, kissed the earth, and shed tears of joy. Then, raising his voice, he uttered aloud that short but fer- vent prayer, which, after him, all Catholic discoverers were wont to repeat: "0 Lord God, Eternal and Omnipotent, who by thy Divine AVord hast created the heavens, the earth, and the sea, blessed and glorified be thy name, and praised thy majesty, who hast deigned by me, thy humble servant, to have that sacred name made known and preached in this other part of the world ! "

7. The nomenclature ^ used by the great discoverer, like all his acts, is essentially Catholic. Xeither his own nor his patron's name is precipitated on cape, river, or island. San Salvador, Santa Trinidada, San Domingo, San Nicolas, San Jago, Santa Maria, Santa Marta — these are the mementos ^ of his first success. All egotism," all selfish policy, was ut- terly lost in the overpowering sense of being but an instru- ment in the hands of Providence.

S. After cruising a, couple of months among the Bahamas, and discovering many new islands, he returns to Spain. In this homeward voyage two tempests threaten to ingulf his solitary sliip. In tlie darkest hour he supplicates our Blessed Lady, liis dear patroness. He vows a pilgrimage barefoot to her nearest shrine, whatever land he makes ; a vow punc- tually fulfillcil. Safely he reaches the Azores, the Tagus, and the i)ort of Palos. His first act is a solemn jirocession to the church of St. George, from whieh the royal orders had

' No'men clat'ure, list of names. ^ E'go tism, a speakiiifj or writ-

^ Me mSn'tSs, reminders. ing uracil of one's self ; self-praise.

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been first made known. lie next writes in this strain to the Treasurer Sanchez : '• Let j^rocessions be made, let festivities be held, let churches be filled with branches and flowers, for Christ rejoices on earth as in heaven, seeing the future re- demption of souls." McGee.'

113. FROM THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.

A LL melt in tears ! but what can tears avail ? ±\. These climb the mast, and shift the swelling sail, These snatch the helm ; and round me now I hear Smiting of hands, outcries of grief and fear, (That in the aisles at midnight haunt me still. Turning my lonely thoughts from good to ill.) " Were there no graves — none in our land," they cry, "That thou has brought us on the deep to die ?"

2. Silent with sorrow, long within his cloak His face he muffled — then the Hero spoke : '• Generous and brave ! when God himself is here, Why shake at shadows in your mad career ? He can suspend the laws himself designed, He walks the waters, and the wing(*d wind ; Himself your guide I and yours the high behest. To lift your voice, and bid a woi'ld be blest ! And can you shrink ? — ^to you, to you consigned The glorious privilege to serve mankind ! Oh had I perished, when my failing frame Clung to the shattered oar 'mid wrecks of flame !

1 Thomas D'Arcy McGee was President of the Executive Coun- born in Ireland, in 1825, and died in cil, in 1862 ; a Commissioner from the Dominion of Canada in 1868. Canada to the Paris Exposition, in He emigrated to the United States 1867 : and subsequently Minister in 1842 ; and, removing to Canada of Agriculture and Emigration, in 1857, he soon entered into Cana- He was a poet of high rank; and dian politics, and was elected a as orator, journalist, and states- member of parliament. He was man, he had few equals.

FROM THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS. 311

— Was it for this I lingered life away,

The scorn of Folly, and of Fraud the prey ;

Bowed down my mind, the gift His bounty gave,

At courts a suitor, and to slaves a slave?

— Yet in His name whom only we should fear,

('Tis all, all I shall ask, or you shall hear,)

Grant but three days." — He spoke not uninspired ;

And each in silence to his watch retired.

Although among us came an unknown Voice !

" Go, if ye will ; and, if ye can, rejoice ;

Go, with unbidden guests the banquet share ;

In his own shape shall Death receive you there."

Twice in the zenith blazed the orb of light ;

No shade, all sun, insufferably bright !

Then the long line found rest — in coral groves,

Silent and dark, where the sea-lion roves : —

And all on deck, kindling to life again.

Sent forth their anxious spirits o'er the main.

" Oh whence, as wafted from Elysium,' whence These perfumes, strangers to the raptured sense ? These boughs of gold, and fruits of heavenly hue, Tingeing with vermeil light the billows blue ? And (thrice, thrice blessed is the eye that spied. The hand that snatched it sparkling in the tide) Whose cunning carved this vegetable bowl, Symbol of social rites, and intercourse of soul ? " —

The sails were furled : with many a melting close,

Solemn and slow the evening anthem ^ rose —

Rose to the Virgin. Twas the hour of day,

When setting suns o'er summer seas display

A j)ath of glory, opening in the west

To golden climes and islands of the blest;

' Elysium (e ITzh'T urn), a dwell- ^ An'them, a hymn sung in alter-

ing-place assigned to lia])])y souls natc parts ; rliurch music, udajttcd after death ; any delightful place. to passages from the IVihle.

312 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

And human voices, on the silent air,

Went o'er the waves in songs of gladness there !

6. Chosen of men ! 'twas thine, at noon of night, First from the prow to hail the glimmering light ; (Emblem of Truth divine, whose secret ray Enters the soul, and makes the darkness day !) "Pedro! Rodrigo ! there, methought, it shone ! There — in the west ! and now, alas ! 'tis gone !— 'Twas all a dream ! we gaze and gaze in vain !

— But mark, and speak not, there it comes again ! It moves ! — what form unseen, what being there With torch-like luster fires the murky air ? His instincts, passions, say how like our own ? Oh ! when will day reveal a world unknown ?" —

7. Long on the wave the morning mists reposed, Then broke — and, melting into light, disclosed Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods ; And, say, when all, to holy transport given, Embraced and wept, as at the gates of Heaven, When one and all of us, repentant, ran,

And, on our faces, blessed the wondrous man ;

Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies

Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies ?

' ' Glory to God ! " unnumbered voices sung,

" Glory to God ! " the vales and mountains rung.

Voices that hailed creation's primal morn.

And to the Shepherds sung a Saviour born. Rogers. ^

'Samuel Rogers, the English " The Vision of Columbus," from

poet and banker, was born in 1763, which this Lesson was selected,

and died in 1855. His "Pleasures appeared in 1813. In all his nu-

of Memory," which first established merous works there is everywhere

his poetic fame, and chiefly as the seen a classic and graceful beauty,

author of which he will be known and rare passages which recall or

to posterity, was published in 1793. awaken tender and heroic feelings.

THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS. 313

114. THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS.

GREAT was the agitation in the little community at Palos, as they beheld the well-known vessel of the admiral re-entering their harbor. Their desponding imagina- tions had long since consigned him to a watery grave ; for, in addition to the preternatural horrors which hung over the voyage, they had experienced the most stormy and disastrous winter within the recollection of the oldest mariners. Most of them had relatives or friends on board. They thronged immediately to the shore, to assure themselves with their own eyes of the truth of their return.

2. When they beheld their faces once more, and saw them accompanied by the numerous evidences which they brought back of the success of the expedition, they burst forth in acclamations of joy and gratulation. They awaited the land- ing of Columbus, when the whole population accompanied him and his crew to the principal church, where solemn thanksgivings Avere offered uj) for their return ; while all the bells sent forth a joyous peal in honor of the glorious event.

S. The admiral was too desirous of presenting himself be- fore the sovereigns, to protract his stay long at Palos. He took witli him on his journey specimens of the multifarious products of the newly-discovered regions. He was accompa- nied by several of the native islanders, arrayed in their sim- ple barbaric costume, and decorated, as he passed through the principal cities, with collars, bracelets, and other orna- ments of gold, rudely fashioned : he exhibited, also, consid- erable quantities of the same metal in dust, or in crude masses, numerous vegetable exotics,' possessed of aromatic ^ or medicinal virtue, and several kinds of quadru])eds un-

' Exotic (pgzot'ik), a foreigu ^ ^j-'ojnSt'ic, odoriferous; spicy;

plant or production. fragrant ; strong-scented.

314- DOMINION FOURTH READER.

known in Europe, and birds whose varieties of gaudy plum- age.gave a brilliant effect to the pageant.

^. The admiral's progress through the country was every- wiiere impeded by the multitudes thronging forth to gaze at tlie extraordinary spectacle, and the more extraordinary man who, in the emphatic language of that time, which has now lost its force from its familiarity, first revealed the existence of a "Kew World." As he passed througli the busy, popu- lous city of Seville, every window, balcony, and housetop which could afford a glimjise of him is described to have been crowded with spectators.

5. It was the middle of April before Columbus reached Barcelona. The nobility and cavaliers in attendance on the court, together with the authorities of the city, came to the gates to receive him, and escorted him to the royal presence. Ferdinand and Isabella were seated, Avith their .-^.on. Prince John, under a superb canopy of state, awaiting his arrival. On his approach, they rose from their seats, and extending their hands to him to salute, caused him to be seated before them.

6. These were unprecedented marks of condescension to a person of Columbus's rank, in the haughty and ceremonious court of Castile. It was. indeed, the proudest moment in the life of Columbus. He had fully established the truth of his long-contested theory, in the face of argument, sophistry, sneer, skepticism, and contempt. lie had achieved this, not by chance, but by calculation, supported through the most adverse circumstances by consummate conduct. The honors paid him, hitherto reserved only for rank, or fortune, or military success, purchased by the blood and tears of thou- sands, were a homage to intellectual power, successfully ex- erted in behalf of the noblest interests of humanity.

7. After a brief interval, the sovereigns requested from Columbus a recital of his adventures. His manner was se-

THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS. 315

date and dignified, but warmed by the glow of natural enthu- siasm. He enumerated the several islands which he had visited, expatiated on the temperate character of the climate,, and the capacity of the soil for every variety of agricultural production, appealing to the samples imported by him, as evidence of their natural fruitfulness. He dwelt more at large on the precious metals to be found in these islands, which he inferred less from the specimens actually obtained than from the uniform testimony of the natives to their abundance in the unexplored regions of the interior. Lastly, he pointed out the wide scope afforded to Christian zeal in the illumination of a race of men whose minds were pre- pared, by their extreme simplicity, for the reception of pure and uncorrupted doctrine.

8. The last consideration touched Isabella's heart most sensibly ; and the whole audience, kindled with various emo- tions by the speaker's eloquence, filled up the i^erspective with the gorgeous coloring of their own fancies, as ambition, or avarice, or devotional feeling predominated in their bosoms. When Columbus ceased, the king and queen, together with all present, prostrated themselves on their knees in grateful thanksgivings, while the solemn strains of the Te Deum^ were poured forth by the choir of the royal cha})el, as in commemoration of some glorious victory. Prescott.*

' Te Deum (te de'um), a hymn cott's descriptions, the just propor- of thanksgiving, so called from tion aiiddramaticiuterestot'hisnar- the first words, " Te Deum hiuda- rative, his skill as a character writ- mns," Thee, God, we praise. er, theexpansivenessaud couiplete-

* William H. Prescott, the emi- ness of his views, and that careful

nent American Historian, was Ijorn and intelligent research which on-

in Salem, Mass., in 179G, and died in abled hiai to make his works as

1859. The choicest words of praise valuable for their accuracy as they

can alonf give adequate expression are attractive by tlie linlsh and all

to the exquisite beauty of Mr. Pres- the graces oi his style.

S16 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

115. CAPTURE OF QUEBEC.

WOLFE,' thoiigli weak and suffering, resolved to lead the expedition, and he was with the troops that as- cended the river. It was the 12th of September, and the brief Canadian summer was over. After midnight, while clouds were gathering in the firmament, the army left the vessels ; and in flat-boats, without oars or sails, they glided down noiselessly with the tide, followed by the ships soon afterward. Wolfe was in good spirits, 3'et there was evidently a presentiment 2 of speedy death in his mind.

2. At his evening mess on the ship, he composed and sang impromptu ^ that little song of the camp, commencing —

"Why, soldiers, why, should we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why — whose business 'tis to die ! "

And as he sat among his officers, and floated softly down the river at the past-midnight hour, a shadow seemed to come upon his heart, and he repeated, in low, musing tones, tliac touching stanza of Gray's "Elegy in a Country Church- yard " —

" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power.

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. Await alike the mevitable hour :

The paths of glory lead but to the grave ! "

At the close he whispered : ''Now, gentlemen, I would pre- fer being the author of that poem to the glory of taking Quebec to-morrow.*'

' James Wolfe, an English gen- evil or unpleasant about to happen, eral, born in 1727, and killed in 3 im promp'tu, something made

the battle here described in 1759. or done offhand : something com-

2 Pre sen'ti ment, a feeling or posed or said at the moment ; with-

seeing beforehand of something out previous study.

CAPTURE OF QUEBEC. 317

S. The flotilla reached a cove which Wolfe had marked for a landing-place (and which still bears his name), before day- break, and there debarked. At the head of the main division, Wolfe pushed eagerly w]) a narrow and rough ravine ; while the light infantry and Highlanders, under Colonel Howe, climbed the steep acclivity by the aid of the maple, spruce^ and ash saplings and shrubs, which covered its rugged face. The sergeant's guard on its brow was soon dispersed, and at dawn, on the 13th, almost 5,000 British troops were drawn up in battle array on the Plains of Abraham, 300 feet above the St. Lawrence.

Jf. Montcalm ^ could hardly believe the messenger who brought him intelligence of this marshalling of the English upon the weak side of the city. "It can be but a small party come to burn a few houses, and return," he said ; but he was soon undeceived. Then he saw the imminent danger to which the town and garrison were exposed, and he imme- diately abandoned his intrenchments, and led a large portion of his army across the St. Charles, to attack the invaders. At ten o'clock Montcalm was upon the Plains of Abraham, and his army in battle line. The French had three field- pieces ; the English had one, which some sailors had dragged u}) the ravine.

5. Wolfe placed himself on the riglit, at the head of the Louisburg grenadiers, who were burning with a desire to wipe out the stain of their defeat at the Montmorenci. Mont- calm was on the left, at the head of the regiments of Lan- guedoc {Icm'ghe dok), Bearne, and Guienne {(jhi'-m'). So the two commanders stood face to face. Wolfe ordered his men to load with two bullets each, and to reserve their fire until the French should be within forty yards. These orders

' Louis Joseph, Marq. Mont- eral born in 1713, and killed in calm (m5nt kiim'), a French gen- this battle in 1759.

S18 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

were strictly obeyed, and their double-shotted guns did ter- rible execution. After delivering several rounds in rapid succession, which threw the French into confusion, the En- glish charged upon them furiously with their bayonets,

6. While urging on his battalions in this charge, Wolfe was singled out by some Canadians on the left, and was slightly wounded in the wrist. He stanched the blood with a handkerchief, and, while cheering on his men, received a second wound in the groin. A few minutes afterward, another bullet struck him in the breast, and brought him to the ground, mortalh' wounded. At that moment, regardless ■of self, he thought only of victory for his troops. *' Support me,'' he said to an officer near him ; "let not my brave sol- diers see me drop. The day is ours — keep it I "

7. He was taken to the rear, while his troops continued to charge. The officer on whose shoulder he was leaning, ex- claimed,'" Tliey run I they run I " The waning light returned to the dim eyes of the hero, and he asked, "Who run?" — "The enemy, sir; they give way everywhere." — "' AVhat," feebly exclaimed Wolfe, " do they run ? Go to Colonel Pres- ton, and tell him to march Webb's regiment immediately to the bridge over the St. Charles, and cut off the fugitives' retreat. Xow, God be praised, I die happy ! " These were his last words, and, in the midst of sorrowing companions, just at the moment of victory, he expired.

8. Montcalm, who was fighting gallantly at the head of the French, also received a mortal wound. "Death is cer- tain," said his surgeon. "lam glad of it," replied Mont- calm ; " how long shall I survive ?" " Ten or twelve hours, perhaps less." "So much the better ; I shall not live to see the surrender of Quebec I " He wrote a letter to General Townsend, recommending the j^risoners to the humanity of the British, and expired at five o'clock the next morning.

GO VERNMEN T. 319

Pive days later the city capitulated, ^ thus ending the cam- paign ^ of 1759. Almost seventy years afterwards, Lord Dal- housie, governor of Lower Canada, caused a noble granite obelisk to be erected in the city of Quebec to the memory of Wolfe and Montcalm. ^ Lossing.*

s

116. GOVERNMENT.

PART FIRST.

OCIETY never d^es and never can exist without govern- ment of some sort. As society is a necessity of man's nature, so is government a necessity of society. The sim- plest form of society is the family — Adam and Eve. But though Adam and Eve are in many respects equal, and have equally important thougli different parts assigned them, one or the other must be head and governor, or they can not form the society called family. They would be simply two indi- viduals of different sexes, and the family would fail for the want of unity. Children can not be reared, trained, or educated without some degree of family government — with- out some authority to direct, control, restrain, or prescribe. Hence the authority of the husband and father is recognized bv the common consent of mankind.

' Ca pit'u lat ed, surrendered on the British, at the close, being com-

terms agreed upon. pelied to fall back to their defenses,

* Campaign (kam pSn'), the part where they were succored bv the

of a year an army keeps the field. timely arrival of a British fleet.

^ The reduction of Canada, the In September following, the French

object of the campaign, was surrendered Montreal ; and by the

not, however, accomplished. The Treaty of Paris, made in 1763,

French, early in the next year, Canada became a British Province,

prepared to attempt the recovery * Benson J. Lossing, an Amer-

of their stronghold; and on the ican writer and engraver, author of

28th of Ai)ril was fought one of the numerous works in American his-

most desi)eratc battles of the war ; tory, born in 1813, and died 18'Jl.

320 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

2. Still more apparent is the necessity of government the moment the family develops and grows into the tribe, and the tribe into the nation. Hence no nation exists without gov- ernment ; and we never find a savage tribe, however low or degraded, that does not assert somewhere, in the father, in the elders, or in the tribe itself, the rude outlines or the faint reminiscences of some sort of government, with authority to demand obedience and to punish the refractory. Hence, as man is nowhere found out of society, so nowhere is society found without government.

3. Government is necessary : but let it be remarked by the way, that its necessity does not grow exclusively or chiefly out of the fact that the human race by sin has fallen from its primitive ^ integrity, or original righteousness. The fall as- serted by Christian theology, though often misinterpreted, and its effects underrated or exaggerated, is a fact too sadly confirmed by individual experience and universal history ; but it is not the cause why government is necessary, though it may be an additional reason for demanding it.

Jf.. Government would have been necessary if man had not sinned, and it is needed for the good as well as for the bad. The law was promulgated in the Garden, while man retained his innocence and remained in the integrity of his nature. It exists in heaven as well as on earth, and in heaven in its perfection. Its office is not purely repressive, to restrain violence, to redress wrongs, and to punish the transgressor. It has something more to do than to restrict our natural liberty, curb our passions, and maintain justice between man and man.

5. Its office is positive as well as negative. It is needed to render effective the solidaritv^ of the individuals of a

' Prim'i tive, early ; first. or consolidation of interests and

2 Sbr i dar' i ty, an entire union responsibility ; f ellowsliip.

GO VERNMEN T. S2 1

nation, and to render the nation an organism,^ not a mere organization — to combine men in one living body, and to strengthen all with the strength of each, and each with the strength of all — to develoj), strengthen, and snstain indi- vidual liberty, and to utilize and direct it to the promotion of the common weal - — to be a social providence, imitating in its order and degree the action of the divine providence itself, and, while it provides for the common good of all, to protect each, the lowest and meanest, with the whole force and majesty of society.

6. It is the minister of wrath to wrong-doers, indeed, but its nature is beneficent, and its action defines and protects the right of property, creates and maintains a medium in which religion can exert her supernatural energy, promotes learning, fosters science and art, advances civilization, and contributes as a powerful means to the fulfilment by man of the Divine purpose in his existence. Next after religion, it is man's greatest good; and even religion without it can do only a small portion of her work. They wrong it wlio call it a necessary evil ; it is a great good, and, instead of being dis- trusted, hated, or resisted, except in its abuses, it should be loved, respected, obeyed, and, if need be, defended at the cost of all earthlv goods, and even of life itself.

T

117. GOVERNMENT.

PART SECOND.

HE nature or essence of government is to govern. A government that does not govern, is simply no govern- ment at all. If it has not the ability to govern and governs not, it may be an agency, an instrument in the hands of indi-

' Organism (or'gan izm), an or- with functions separate but mu- ^anized being ; a living body com- tually dependent, posed of different organs or parts - Weal, welfare ; happiness.

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

vidiials for advancing their private interests, but it is not government. To be government, it must govern both indi- viduals and the community. If it is a mere machine for making prevail the will of one man, of a certain number of men, or even of the community, it may be very effective sometimes for good, sometimes for evil, oftenest for evil, but government in the proper sense of the word it is not.

2. To govern is to direct, control, restrain, as the pilot controls and directs his ship. It necessarily implies two terms, governor and governed, and a real distinction be- tween them. The denial of this real distinction is an error in politics analogous to that in philosophy or theology of denying all real distinction between creator and creature, God and the universe, which all the world knows is either pantheism^ or pure atheism ^ — the supreme sophism.^

3. Government is not only that which governs, but that which has the right or authority to govern. Power without right is not government. Governments have the right to use force at need, but might does not make right, and not every power wielding the physical force of a nation is to be regarded as its rightful government. Whatever resort to physical force it may be obliged to make, either in defense of its authority or of the rights of the nation, the govern- ment itself lies in the moral order, and politics is simply a branch of ethics * — that branch which treats of the rights and duties of men in their public relations, as distinguislied from their rights and duties in their private relations. Govern-

' Pantheism (pan' fhe izin), the God, or supreme intelligent Being, doctrine that the universe itself is ^ Sophism (sdf izm), a false doc- God ; the doctrine that there is no trine ormode of reasoning intended God but the combined forces and to deceive, laws of the universe. ^Eth'ics, the science of man's

' Atheism (a'flie izm), the dis- duty ; rules of practice in respect

belief or denial of the existence of a to human actions.

GO VERNMENT. 323

ment being not only that which governs, but that which has the right to govern, obedience to it becomes a moral duty, not a mere physical necessity. The right to govern and the dnty to obey are correlatives, and the one can not exist or be conceived without the other.

Jf.. The assertion of government as lying in the moral order, defines civil liberty, and reconciles it with authoj'ity. Civil liberty is freedom to do whatever one pleases that authority permits or does not forbid. Freedom to follow in all things one's own will or inclination, without any civil restraint, is license, not liberty. Tyranny or oppression is not in being subjected to authority, but in being subjected to usurped authority — to a power that has no right to command, or that commands what exceeds its right or its authority.

5. To say that it is contrary to liberty to be forced to forego our own will or inclination in any case whatever, is simply denying the right of all government, and falling into no-governmeutism. Liberty is violated only when we are re- quired to forego our own will or inclination by a power that has no right to make the requisition ; for we are bound to obedience as far as authority has right to govern, and wc can never have the right to disobey a rightful command. The requisition, if made by rightful authority, then, violates no right that we have or can have, and where there is no viola- tion of our rights there is no violation of our liberty. The moral right of authority, which involves the moral duty of obedience, presents, then, the ground on which liberty md authority may meet in peace and operate to the same end.

6. This has no resemblance to the slavish doctrine of passive obedience, and that the resistance to power can never be lawful. The tyrant may be lawfully resisted, for the t3Tant, by force of the word itself, is a usurper, and without authority. Abuses of power may be resisted even by force

324. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

wlieu they become too great to be endured, wlien there is no legal or regular way of redressing them, aud when there is a reasonable prospect that resistance will prove effectual and substitute something better in their place. Brownson.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

To sleep ! to sleep ! The lo)ig brig Jit day is done. And darkness rises from tlie falling sun. What e'er thy joys, they vanish with the day ; IVhate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away. Sleep, vwiirnful heart, and let the past be past / Sleep, happy soul ' All life will sleep at last. — Tennyson.

118. THE STARRY HEAVENS.

IF we look out upon the starry heavens by whicli we are surrounded, we find them diversified in every possible way. Our own niiglity Stellar ^ System takes upon itself the form of a fiat disc, which may be compared to a mighty ring breaking into two distinct branches, severed from each other, the interior with stars less densely populous than upon the exterior. But take the telescope and go beyond this ; and here you find, coming out from the depths of space, universes of every possible shape and fashion ; some of them assuming a globular form, and, when we ajoply the highest j)ossible penetrating power of the telescope, breaking into ten thou- sand brilliant stars, all crushed and condensed into one lumi- nous, bright, and magnificent center.

1 Ore.stes Augustus Brownson, Catholic reviewer he ranks high in an American writer, was born in the world of letters ; and as a Chris- 1803 aud died in 1876. Though tiau philosopher, logician, and met- brought up in the ways of his Pu- aphysician, he is esteemed by the ritan ancestors, he finally embraced learned of all nations. His writings the Catholic faith and devoted his are numerous and voluminous, powerful intellect and great talents ** Stellar (stel' ler), of or pertain- to the service of Catholicity. As a ing to stars ; starry.

THE STARRY HEAVENS. S25

2. But look jet further. Away yonder, in the distance, you beliokl a faint, hazy, nebulous ^ ring of light, the interior almost entirely dark, but the exterior ring-shaped, and ex- hibiting to the eye, under the most powerful telescope, the fact that it may be resolved entirely into stars, producing a universe somewhat analogous to the one we inhabit. Go yet deeper into space, and there you will behold another universe — voluminous scrolls of light, glittering with beauty, flashing with splendor, and sweeping a curve of mosi extraor- dinary form and of most tremendous outlines.

3. Thus we may pass from j^lanet to planet, from sun to sun, from system to system. We may reach beyond the limits of this mighty stellar cluster with which we are allied. We may find other island universes sweeping through space. The great unfinished problem still remains — Whence came this universe ?

Jf. Have all these stars which glitter in the heavens been shining from all eternity? Has our globe been rolling around the sun for ceaseless ages? Whence, whence this magnifi- cent Architecture, whose architraves thus rise in splendor before us in every direction? Is it all the work of chance? I answer. No. It is not the work of chance.

5. Who shall reveal to us the true cosmogony ^ of the uni- verse by which we are surrounded ? Is it the work of an Omnipotent Architect ? If so, who is this August Being ? Go with me to-night, in imagination, and stand with St. Paul, the great Apostle, upon Mars' Hill, and there look around you as he did. Here rises that magnificent building, the Parthenon, sacred to Minerva, the Goddess of Wisdom. There towers her colossal statue, rising in its majesty above the city of which she was the guardian — the first object to

' Neb'u loiis, cloudlike. the world or universe ; a theory or

" Cos in6g'o ny, the creation of account of such creation.

S'26 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

catch the rays of the rising, and tlie last to be kissed by the rays of the setting sun. Tliere are the temples of all the gods ; and there are the shrines of every divinity.

6. And yet I tell you these gods and these divinities, though created under the inspiring fire of poetic fancy and Greek imagination, never reared this stuj)endous structure by which we are surrounded. The Olympic Jove never built these heavens. The wisdom of Minerva never organized these magnificent systems. I say with St. Paul, " Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things you are too super- stitious ; for passing by, I found an altar on which was writ- ten, -To the iinhnoion God.' What therefoi'e you worship, without knowing it, that I preach to you. God who made the world and all things therein. He being Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth in temples not made with hand."

7. Xo, here is the temple of our Divinity. Around us and above us rise Sun and System, Cluster and Universe. And I doubt not that in every region of this vast Empire of God, hymns of praise and anthems of glory are rising and rever- berating from Sun to Sun and from System to System — heard by Omnipotence alone across immensity and through eternity ! Mitchell.'

119. GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE.

SHAKESPEARE is the unquestioned legislator of modern literary art. To what does he owe this supremacy, or whence flow all the extraordinary qualities which we attribute to him ? You are all j^repared with the answer in one single word— his genins. This is our familiar thought and ready expression when we study him, and when we characterize

1 O. M. Mitchell, a distinguished general, born in 1809, and died of American astronomer, author, and yellow fever in 1862.

GENIUS OF SHAKESPEARE. 327

him. Nevertheless, simple and intelligible as is the word, it is extremely difficult to analyze or to define it. Yet every- thing that is great and beautiful in his writing seems to re- quire an explanation of the cause to which it owes its origin.

2. One great characteristic of genius easily and universally admitted is, that it is a gift, and not an acquisition. It be- longs inherently to the person possessing it : it can not be transmitted by heritage ; it can not be infused by parental affection ; it can not be bestowed by earliest care ; neither can it be communicated by the most finished culture or the most studied education. It must be congenital, ^ or rather inborn to its possessor. It is as much a living, a natural power, as is reason to every man.

3. As surely as the very first germ of the phmt contains in itself the faculty ^ of one day evolving^ from itself leaves, flowers, and fruit, so does genius hold, however hidden, how- ever unseen, the power to open, to bring forth, and to ma- ture what other men can not do, but what to it is instinctive and almost spontaneous.* It may begin to manifest itself with the very dawn of reason ; it may remain asleep for years, till a spark, perhaps accidentally, kindles up into a sudden and irrepressible ^ splendor that unseen intellectual fuel which has been almost unknown to its unambitious owner.

Jf.. We connect in our minds with genius the ideas of flash- ing splendor and eccentric movement. It is an intellectual meteor, the laws of which can not be defined or reduced to' any given theory. We regard it with a certain awe, and leave it to soar or to droop, to shine or disappear, to dash

'Congenital (kon jen'I tl), per- •• Sp6n ta'ne ous, proceeding

taining to one from birtli. from natural feeling, without la-

- Fac'ul ty, ability to perform bor or preparation,

or to act. 5 Ir re press' i ble, not ca])able

•'' E vSlv'ing, unfolding : un- of being repressed, restrained, or

rolling ; opening and enlarging. controlled.

328 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

irregularly first in one direction and then in another : no one dare curb it or direct it ; but all feel sure that its course, however inexplicable,^ is subject to higher and controlling rule. We usually, however, speak of it with some qualifying epithet, as a military genius, or a mechanical genius, or a poetical genius, or a musical genius, or an artistic genius.

5. The person to whom they are attributed possesses no ex- traordinary power beyond the limits of his particular sphere. We understand that in that one sphere, or stage of excellence, he holds a complete elevation over the bulk of those who follow the same pursuit, a superiority so evident and so clearly indi- vidual, that no one else considers it inferiority, still less feels shame at not being able to rise to the same level. He has his acknowledged disciples and admirers who glory in his teaching and guidance.

6. But Shakespeare's genius was marvelously complete and apparently without limitation. His sympathies are universal, perfect in their own immediate nse, infinitely varied, and strikingly beautiful when they reach remote objects. And hence, though at first sight he might be classified among those M'ho have disjjlayed a literary genius, he stretches his mind and his feelings so far beyond them on every side, that to him almost, perhaps, beyond any other man, the simple dis- tinctive title without any qualification, belongs. No one need fear to call Shakespeare simply a grand, a sublime germis.

7. The center-point of his sympathies is clearly his dra- matic art. Prom this they expand, for many degrees, with scarce perceptible diminution.^ till they lose themselves in far distant, and to him unexplored space. This nucleus of his genius has certainly never been equaled before or since.

' In ex'pli ca ble, not capable of the act of making or becoming less ; being explained or accounted for. tlie state of being decreased or 2 Diminution (dim'i nu' sQitin), made less.

GENT US OF SHAKESPEARE. 329

Its essence consists in what is the very soul of the dramatic idea, the power to throw himself into the situation, the cir- cumstances, the nature, the acquired habits, the feelings, true or fictitious, of every character which he introduces. This forms, in fact, the most perfect of sympathies. We do not, of course, use the word in that more usual sense of liarmony of affection, or consent of feeling.

8. Shakespeare has sympathy as complete for ShyJoch,^ or lag 0, ^ iis he has for Arthur or King Lear.^ For a time he lives in the astute* villain as in the innocent child ; he works his entire power of thought into intricacies of the traitor's brain ; he makes his heart beat in concord with the usurer's sanguinary 5 spite, and then, like some beautiful creature in the animal world, draws himself out of the hateful evil and is himself again ; and able, even, often to hold his own noble and gentle qualities as a mirror, or exhibit the loftiest, the most generous and amiable examples of our nature. And this is all done without study, and apparently without effort. His infinitely varied characters come naturally into their places, never for a moment lose their proprieties, their per- sonality, and the exact flexibility" which results from the necessary combination in every man of many qualities. From the beginning to the end each one is the same, yet reflecting in himself the lights and shadows which flit around him.

9. Who, a stranger might ask, is the man, and where was

' Shy' 16ck, a revengeful Jew in Britain, and the hero of Shakes- Shakespeare's " Merchant of Ven- peare's tragedy " King Lear." ice " whose avarice overreaches •• As tute', crafty ; ciinning ; itself. eagle-eyed ; keen.

'^ lago (e a'go), a subtle and ma- ^ Sanguinary (siing'gwi na ri),

lignant villain, in Shakespeare's bloody ; murderous,

tragedy of "Othello," who falsely « Flex' i bil' i ty, the state or

persuades Othello of the unfaith- quality of being easily bent with-

fulness of his wife Desdemona. out breaking, or of readily yield-

^ King Lear, a fabulous king of ing to persons or conditions.

330 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

he born, and where did he live, that not only his acts and scenes are placed in any age, or in any land, but that he can fill his stage with the very living men of the time and place represented, make them move as easily as if he held them ill strings, and make them speak not only with general conformity to their common position, but with individual and distinctive propriety, so that eacii is different from the rest ? This ubiquity, ^ if we may so call it, of Shakespeare's sympathies, constitutes the unlimited extent and might of his dramatic genius. It would be difficult to imagine where a boundary line could at length have been drawn, beyond which nothing original, nothing new, and nothing beautiful, could be supposed to have come forth from his mind. We are com- pelled to say that his genius was inexhaustible.'^

10. We may safely conclude that, in whatever constitutes the dramatic art, in its strictest sense, Shakespeare possessed matchless sympathies with all its attributes. The next and most essential quality required for pure genius is the power to give outward life to the inward conception. Without this the poet is dumb. He may be a "mute inglorious Milton ;" he can not be a speaking, noble Shakespeare. I need not descant upon Shakespeare's position among the bards and writers of England, and of the modern world. Upon this point there can scarcely be a dissenting opinion. His lan- guage is the purest and best, his verse the most flowing and rich ; and as for his sentiments, it would be difficult without the command of his own language to characterize them. No other writer has ever given such periods of sententious^ wis- dom . I have spoken of genius as a gift to an individual man.

'Ubiquity (u bik'wi ti), living emptied, used up, wasted, or spent ;

e.yerywliere, or in all places, at the unfailing, same time. ^ Sententious ^sen ten' ^us),

- Inexhaustible (in'egz ast'i bl), terse and energetic in speech ; full

not capable of being exhausted, of meaning.

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 331

I will conclude by the reflection that that man becomes him- self a gift ; a gift to his nation ; a gift to his age ; a gift to the world of all times. Cardinal Wiseman.'

120. QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.

CASSIUS. That you have wronged me doth appear in this. You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; Wherein my letters (praying on his side Because I knew the man) were slighted of.

Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in such a case.

Cos. In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offense should bear its comment.

Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; To sell and mart your offices for gold, to undeservers.

Cos. I an itching palm !

You know that you are Brutus that speak this. Or by the gods, this speech were else your last !

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, And chastisement^ doth therefore hide its head.

Cas. Chastisement !

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March, ^ remember Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for Justice ? What shall one of us,

1 Nicholas Patrick Stephen tions are of extraordinary ability. Wiseman, an English Cardinal and ^ Chastisement (dhas'tiz ment), author, was born in 1802, and died the act of inflicting pain for pun- in 1865. After pursuing his course ishment and correction ; punish- of study eight years in England, ment, as with stripes. he completed his education in ^ Ides of March, the ^/ifcew^A of Rome, where he published his first March, here referring to the assas- book, a work on the Oriental Ian- sination of Caesar on the Ides of guages His numerous publica- March, b. c. 44.

332 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

That struck the foremost man of all this world,

But for supporting I'obbers ; shall we now

Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,

And sell the mighty space of our large honors,

For so much trash as may be grasped thus ?

I had rather be a dog and bay the moon, than such a Roman.

Cos. Brutus, bay not me ! I'll not endure it ; you forget yourself To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself to make conditions.

Bra. Go to ; you are not Cassius.

Cos. I am.

Bru. I say, you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more. I shall forget myself — Have mind upon your health — tempt me no fni'thcr !

Bru. Away, slight man !

Cas. Is it possible ?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ?

Cas. O gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ?

Bni. All this ? ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break. Go, show your slaves how choleric you are. And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor ? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen. Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, ril use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this ?

Bru. You say you are a better soldier ; Let it appear so : make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad 'to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way— you wrong me, Brutus ;

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AXD CASSIUS. 333

I said an elder soldier, not a better ; Did I say better ?

Bra. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.

Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him.

Cas. I durst not ?

Bru. No.

Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Oassius, in your threats ; For I am armed so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle vrind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; For I can raise no money by vile means. By Jupiter, F d rather coin my heart. And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his frrends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces !

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not ; — he was but a fool

That brought my answer back.— Brutus hath rived my heart ; A friend should boar his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me.

SSJj. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Cos. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come ! Revenge yourself alone on Cassius, For Cassius is a-weary of the world : Hated by one he loves — braved by his brother — Checked like a bondman — all his faults observed, Set in a note-book — learned and conned l)y rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, And here my naked breast ; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ! If that thou be'st a Eoman, take it forth ! I that denied thee gold, will give my heart : Strike as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know. When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou loved.st Cassius.

Bru. Sheathe your dagger ;

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. <) Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb. That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; Which much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius lived

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ?

Bra. When I spoke that I was ill-tempered, too.

Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand.

Bru. And my heart, too.

Cas. O Brutus !

Bru. What's the matter ? . Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,

DEATH OF SAMSON. 335

When tliiit rash humor whicli my motlier gave me, Makes me forgetful ?

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. Shat:espf.are.'

121. DEATH OF SAMSON.

\Scene — In Gaza.]

OCCASION drew me early to this city ; And, as the gates I entered with sunrise,' The morning trumpets festival proclaimed Through each high street : little I had dispatclied. When all abroad was rumored that this day Samson sliould be brought forth, to show the people Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games ; I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded Not to be absent at that spectacle.

^. The building was a spacious theater.

Half-round, on two main pillars vaulted high. With seats, where all the lords, and each degree Of sort, might sit in order to behold ; The other side was open, where the throng On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; I among these, aloof, obscureK' stood.

' William Shakespeare, one of trines, and usages are dealt witli the greatest of all poets, was born most reverently and in Catholic at Stratford on- Avon, Warwick language. No jest nor sarcr.sm is County, England, in April, 1564, leveled at monk or nun, though where he died in April, 1616. He then received with favor at court, is supposed to have received his His friars are devout and worthy early education at the grammar of respect, his nuns things "en- school in his native town. Here- shrined and sainted." Carlylesays, moved to London in 1586. His "This glorious Elizabethan age, religion is not absolutely known, with Shakespeare as the outcome but his writings clearly mark his and flowerage of all that had pre- sympathy with Catholicisui. Cath- ceded it, is itself attributable to the olio dignitaries, traditions, doc Catholicism of the middle ages."

336 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

3. The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice

Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine.

When to their sports they turned. Immediately

Was Samson as a public servant brouglit.

In their state livery clad ; before him pipes

And timbrels, on each side went armed guards,

Both horse and foot ; before him and behind

Archers and slingers, cataphracts ' and spears.

At sight of him the people with a shout

Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise,

AVho had made their dreadful enemy their thrall.

Jf. He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him. Came to the place ; and what was set before him, Which without help of eye might be essayed, To heave, pull, draw, or break, he stilled performed, All with incredible, stupendous force. None daring to appear antagonist.

5. At length, for intermission sake, they led him Between the pillars : he his guide requested, As over-tired, to let him lean awhile

With both his arms on those two massive pillars, That to the arched roof gave main support.

6. He, unsuspicious, led him ; which, when Samson Felt in his arms, with head awhile inclined. And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed. Or some great matter in his mind revolved ;

At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud :

" Hitherto, lords, what your commands imposed

I have performed, as reason was, obeying,

Not without wonder or delight beheld :

Now, of my own accord, such other trial

I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater.

As with amaze shall strike all who behold."

' Cataphracts (kaf a frakts), defensive armor for both men and horsemen covered with a kind of horses.

DEATH OF SAM SOX. 3S7

This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed ;

As with the force of winds and waters pent,

When mountains tremble, those two massive pillars

With horrible convulsion to and fro

He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew

The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder,

Upon the heads of all who sat beneath —

Lords, ladies, captains, counselors, or priests.

Their choice nobility and flower, not only

Of this but each Philistian city round.

Met from all parts to solemnize this feast.

Samson, with these immixed, inevitably

Pulled down the same destruction on himself :

The vulgar only 'scaped who stood without. Milton.'

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Nol Love, iwr IVar, nor the iiitiniltuons swell Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change. Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strange —

Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell ;

But where untroubled peace and concord dwell. There also is the Muse not loath to range, Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange,

Skyivard ascending from a woody dell. Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavor.

And sage content, and placid melancholy ; She loves to gaze upon a crystal river —

Diaphanous because it travels slowly ;

Soft is the music that tuould charm forever ;

The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly. — Wordsworth.

' John Milton, one of the great- finest lyric in the English language,

est of English poets and scholars, In 1665 he completed "Paradise

was born in London in 1608, and Lost," a work which alone secures

died in 1674. He wrote several himapreeminenceof literary fame,

poems at an early age. His " Hymn He never speaks of the Holy Trin-

on the Nativity," published in his ity, however, and scarcely dis-

twenty-first year, is probably the guises his Arianism.

338 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

122. DEATH OF KING ARTHUR.

PART FIRST.

SO all day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea ; Until King Arthur's ' table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord, King Arthur : then, because his wound was deep, The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross. That stood on a dark strait of barren land. On one side lay the ocean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

2. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : " The sequel of to-day unsolders '^ all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we Shall never more, at any future time, Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Gamelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made — Though Merlin ' sware that I should come again To rule once more — but let what will be, be, I am so deeply smitten through the helm That without help I can not last till morn.

1 King Arthur. The life and long believed that he would some

death of this ancient British hero day come back and vindicate for

are involved in fiction. Modred, them the undivided sovereignty of

his nephew, revolted from him, Britannia.

which brought on the fatal battle ^ Un sol'der, to separate, as what

of Comlan, in Cornwall, in 542. has been soldered : to sunder.

Modred was slain and Arthur mor- ^ Mer'lin, two British sorcerers

tally wounded. The British Celts of the 5th and 6th centuries.

DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. 33d

3. "Thou, therefore, take my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride ; for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. Clothed in white samite,' mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword — and how I rowed across And took it, and have worn it, like a king : And, wheresoever I am sung or told,

In after time, this also shall be known :

But now delay not : take Excalibur,

And fling him far into the middle mere : ^

Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word."

4. To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere :

" It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus.

Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm.

A little thing may harm a wounded man.

Yet I thy hest '■' will all perform at full,

Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word."

So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept,

And in the moon athwart * the place of tombs.

Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men.

Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang

Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down

By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,

Came on the shining levels of the lake.

5. There drew he forth the brand Excalibur, And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon. Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, :*an forth And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt ; For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks. Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work

' Sa'mite, a silk stuff, or taffeta, ^ Hest, precept ; command, often adorned with gold. ■» Athwart (a fhwart'), across

* Mere, a pool or lake. from side to side of.

340 DOMIAIOX FOURTH READER.

Of subtlest ' jewelry. He gazed so long That both his eyes were dazzled, as he stood This way and that dividing the swift mind, In act to throw ; but at the last it seemed Better to leave Excalibur concealed There in the many-knotted waterflags, That whistled stiff and dry about the marge. So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

6. Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere :

" Hast thou performed my mission which I gave?

What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? "

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :

' ' I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,

And the wild water lapping on the crag. "

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale,

"Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name.

Not rendering true answer, as beseemed

Thy fealty,- nor like a noble knight ;

For surer sign had followed, either hand

Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.

This is a shameful thing for men to lie.

Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again

As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing

I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word."

7. Then went Sir Bedivere the second time Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought ; But when he saw the wonder of the hilt. How curiously and strangely chased, he smote His palms together, and he cried aloud :

' ' And if indeed I cast the brand away. Surely a })recious thing, one worthy note, Should thus be lost forever from the earth.

1 Subtlest (suf lest), most cun- - Fe'al ty, fidelity ; faithfulness uingly wrought. to an oatli.

DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. 3J^1

Which might have pleased the eyes of many men. What good should follow this, if this were done ? What harm, undone ? deep harm to disobey. Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. Were it well to obey then, if a king demand An act unprofitable, against himself ?

8. -' The king is sick, and knows not what he does. What record, or what relic of my lord

Should be to after time, but empty breath

And rumors of a doubt ? but were this kept,

Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,

Some one might show it at a joust ' of arms,

Saying, ' King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,

Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.

Nine years she wrought it, sitting in tlie deeps

Upon the hidden bases of the hills.'

So might .some old man speak in the after time

To all the people, winning reverence.

But now much honor and much fame were lost."

9. So spake he, clouded with his own conceit. And hid Excalibur the second time.

And so strode back slow to the wounded King.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily :

" What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ?

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :

" I heard the water lapping on the crag.

And the long ripple washing in the reeds."

10. To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : "Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! Authority forgets a dying king, Laid widowed of the jjowcr in his eye That bowed tli(> will. I see thee what thou art ;

^ Joust (just), a tilting match ; a mock combat on horseback.

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

For thou, the latest left of all my kuights,

111 whom should meet the offices of all,

Thou wouldst betray me for the j^recious hilt ;

Either from lust of gold, or like a girl

Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.

Yet, for a mau may fail in duty twice.

And the third time may prosper, get thee hence ;

But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,

I will arise and slay thee with my hands."

123. DEATH OF KING ARTHUR.

PART SECOND.

THEN quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword. And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon. And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch. Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea. So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur ; But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere — And lightly went the other to the King.

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath, " Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen ! " And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : " Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems Should blind my purpose, for I never saw. Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die.

DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. 3^3

Not though I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ; But when I looked again, behold an arm. Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, That caught him by the hilt, and brandislied him Three times, and drew him under in the mere."

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard : " My end draws nigh ; 'tis time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, And bear me to the margin : yet I fear My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." So saying, from the pavement he half rose. Slowly, witli pain, reclining on his arm. And looking wistfully with wild blue eyes As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded through his tears. And would have spoken, but he found not words, Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. And rising bore him through the place of tombs.

But as he walked. King Arthur panted hard

Like one that feels a nightmai*e on his bed

When all the house is mute. So sighed the King,

Muttering and murmuring at his ear, " Quick, quick !

I fear it is too late, and I shall die."

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge.

Clothed with his breatli, and looking as he walked

Larger than human on tlie frozen hills.

He heard the deep l)ehind him, and a cry

Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.

Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves

And barren chasms, and all to left and right

The l)are black cliff clanged round him, as he based

His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang

SJi-Jf. DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Sharp smitten with the dint of armed heels — And on a sndden, lo ! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon.

5. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them ; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream — Ijy these Three Queens with crowns of gold — and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars,

And, as it were one voice, an agony

Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills

All night in a waste land, w^here no one comes,

Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Then murmured Arthur, " Place me in the barge,"

And to the barge they came. There those three Queens

Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.

6. But she that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap.

And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands,

And called him by his name, complaining loud,

And dropping bitter tears against his brow

Striped with dark blood ; for all his face was white

And colorless, and like the withered moon

Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ;

And all his greaves ' and cuisses ^ dashed with drops

Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls —

That made his forehead like a rising sun

High from the dais-throne — w'ere parched w-ith dust ;

Or, clotted into points, and hanging loose.

Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.

So like a shattered column lay the King ;

Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,

' Greaves, armor for the legs ; a ^ Ouisse (kwis), defensive armor sort of boots. for the thighs.

DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. 3^5

From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

7. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere — "Ah ! my Lord Arthui*, whither shall I go ? Where shall I hide my forehead and tny eyes ? For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.

But now the whole Round Table is dissolved, Which was an image of the mighty world ; And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds."

8. And slowly answered x\rthur from the barge : "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfills himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ?

I have lived my life, and that which I have done

May He within himself make pure ! but thou.

If thou shouldst never see my face again,

Pray for my soul. Mori' t /linos are wrought by prayer

Than this tvorld dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats

That nourish a blind life within the brain.

If, knmuing God, they lift not hands of prayer

Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

For so the whole round earth is every ?i '<)■_)'

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

' Require the class to iiieinoriicc this purgatorial passage in Italics.

34-6 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

9. "But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest — if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the island-valley of Avalon ; ' Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer s(ia, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

10. So said he, and the barge with oar and sail

Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan,

That, fluting a wild carol, ere her death,

Kuffle.j her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere

Revolving many memories, till the hull

Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn,

And on the meer the wailing died away. Tennyson.

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling glootn, lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home, lead Thou me on I Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see The distant scene — one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see tny path ; but now lead Thou me on ! I Iffiied the garish day, attd spite of fears, Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on.

O'er moor audfen, o'er crag and torrent, till the night is gone • And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I Jtave hwcd long since, and lost awhile. — Newman.

' Av'a Ion, in Middle- Age ro- " not far on this side of the terres- mance, the name of an ocean island, trial paradise." It is represented as and of a castle of loadstone upon it, the abode of Arthur, and Oberon.

THE DEAD. 3J^7

124. THE DEAD.

REVERENCE for the dead is now. as it has been in all the Christian past, one of the distinguishing marks of civilized nations. Even amongst the pagan peoples of the elder world, the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Komaus, the dead were invested with a sacred character, and their mortal remains were treated with all imaginable respect. The affec- tion of friends and relatives survived the stroke of death, and all manner of ingenious devices were resorted to in order to preserve from destruction even the frail tenement of clay that had once been animated by a living soul.

2. This fond remembrance of the dead was the natural instinct of human affection ; but how much more high and pure aiid holy is the memory of the dead amongst the Chris- tians ? It is not alone as fellow-beings who once lived and moved upon the earth, played their several parts in Life's great drama ^ and who are gone forever from mortal sight, that we remember our departed ones. No, it is rather as our brethren in Clirist — as sharing with us in the priceless boon of redemption — purified and ennobled by the same sacra- ments, and destined to dwell with us for ever in the home of blessed spirits beyond the starry sky.

S. What can be more impressive, more soothing to the sor- row-worn heart, than a visit to a Catholic cemetery, when the early sunshine gilds the graves, or when the gray mists of evening are beginning to enshroud the touching memorials of the dead, gleaming white and ghost-like through the gath- ering gloom, lending a softer, tenderer grace to all around ? There we behold, indeed, a city — a city of silence and of peace unbroken, where the multitude of quiet sleepers are

' Dra'ma (or dra'ma), a story of connected events ending in an which is acted, not told ; a number interesting or striking result.

348 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

forever at rest, each oue reposing in the narrow house of death, under the shadow of that cross beneath which they fought the good fight — that cross which they loved and hon- ored in the days of their earthly pilgrimage !

Jf. How liopeful, how helpful is all that meets the eye ! The saving sign of man's redemption, raised aloft like the brazen serpent in the desert; tlie touching prayer for "the parted soul '' whose mortal body molders beneath ; the sweet face of Mary, the Immaculate Mother ; the venerable form of the foster-father of Jesus ; the Angel pointing heaven- ward ; the emblematic figure of Faith, or Hope, or Charity, sculptured on the sepulchral monuments around : all speak of the sweet hope of a blessed resurrection, of an eternal re-union with the dead and gone children of the Christian family.

5. In tlie Catholic cemetery there is nothing sad, nothing dreary. There the darkness of desolation has no place or part. Winter may spread her snowy pall over the landscape, and shroud the trees that overhang the graves and shade the silent alleys — yet spring, smiling spring — the spring of ever-blooming Hope reigns through all the changing seasons, in that calm abode of the buried dead. ''May they rest in peace "pray all the stately monuments and all the humble head-stones that keep watch over the dead, and the grand "Amen ! " goes up from year to year as the living come and go amongst the tombs, and kneel beside the graves.

6. The Dead ! our Dead ! what a world of solemn beauty, of mournful sweetness lies hidden in the words ! What ten- der memories, what touching associations hover like angel- forms around them, while memory conjures^ up from the buried years the faces once so dear and so familiar, on earth seen no more, and recalls the tones of well-loved voices, silent

^ Conjures up, to raise or bring unnatural means ; as to conjure up into being without reason, or by a phn:ito:n or a story.

THE DEAD. 3^9

now forever ! Oh, how consoling is the blessed remembrance that the dear eyes closed in the ^^eace of God, that the latest accents of those well-remembered voices were of prayer and love and hope !

7. *• Why are the once-loved dead forgotten soon? Their path no more is intertwined with ours " in the daily walks of earthly life, yet their memory is ever with iis in all our hopes and fears, our joys and our sorrows. Our dead are never for- gotten. Our fondest affections are buried with them. Our prayers go up unceasingly for them to the throne of the Most High. They have a share in all the good works which by God's grace we are enabled to perform. The very trials and sufferings of our life are made available for them by being offered up for their comfort and refreshment in the after life.

8. No, our dead are not forgotten. They are ever with ns in spirit, and the thought of them — gone before us into the everlasting mansions — resting forever in the bosom of their God, or '"in Purgatory's cleansing fires," calmly, if painfully, awaiting their deliverance — that thought serves to cheer us on amid the toils and pains of life, brightening many a lonely hour that, otherwise, were dark and dreary. Our dead are more with us than our living, and we may truly say, with sweet Adelaide Procter,

" One by one life robs us of our treasures ; Nothing is our own except our Dead. "

9. The thought that we can still help them by our prayers and suffrages is a never-failing source of comfort to hearts oppressed with sorrow for their loss. All the day long and often, too, in the still watches of the night, when darkness, like a funeral pall, enshrouds the sleeping earth, the prayer of loving hearts goes up like incense to the highest Heaven, and thence descends in refreshing dew on the souls of the

350 DOMIXION FOURTH READER.

departed, if they are still numbered amongst the "spirits in j^rison/' of whom St. Peter speaks in one of his Epistles.

10. While the stars look down on the quiet graves out in the lonely church-yard, angel eyes are watching where the prayer of faith ascends from sorrowing hearts through the calm evening hours, and the deep stillness of the solemn mid- night, gathering all the petitions of the praying multitude for the faithful departed, and offering them up in the golden censer, which St. John saw of old in his wondrous vision, to Him who sits forever on the Throne, the Lamb for sinners slain, the Judge of the living and the dead. Mrs. Sadlier.^

TO BE MEMORIZED.

Seated one day at the Organ, I was weary and ill at ease. And my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. I do not know what I was playing, or what I was dreaming then ; But I struck one chord of mitsic, like the sound of a great Amen. It flooded the crimson twilight, like the close of an AngeVs Psalm, And it lay on my fevered spirit with a touch of infinite calm. It quieted pain and sorro^a, like loz'e overcoming strife ; It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life. It linked alTperplexed meanings into one petfect peace. And trembled away into silence as if it luere loth to cease. I have sought, but I seek it vainly, that one lost chord divine. Which came from the soul of the Organ, and entered into mine. It mav be that Death's bright angel will speak in that chord again. It may be that only in Heaven I shall hear that grand Amen.

Adelaide Procter.

1 Mrs. James Sadlier (Mary Ann of D. & J. Sadlier & Co., Catholic

Madden), was born at Cootliill, publishers, Montreal and New

Cavan, Ireland, in 1820. She con- York. Few writers in America

tributed to a London magazine at have done so much as Mrs. Sadlier

an early age. In 1844, she emi- for the diffusion of excellent and

grated to Montreal, where she mar- useful literature, fitted to the well-

xied Mr. James Sadlier, of the firm being of her fellow Catholics.

ELEGY IN A CHURCH-YARD.

351

125. ELEGY IN A CHURCH-YARD.

THE curfew ' tolls the knell of parting day, Tlie lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, Tlie plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

' CAr'few, the evening bell, so doors. The practice, common in called from the evening bell having the middle ages, was introduced been the signal to put out fire in England by William the Con- on the hearth and remain within queror, as a measure of police.

352 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save wliere the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ;

S. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower

The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign.

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade.

Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion or the echoing horn. No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return. Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield.

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe ' has broke : How jocund ^ did they drive their team afield !

llow bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke I

8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil.

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; ^ Nor Grandeur hear, with a- disdainful smile. The short and simple annals of the Poor.

' Crlebe, turf ; ground ; sod. ^ Ob scure', darkened ; covered

2 Joe' und, sportive ; merry ; over ; not well lighted ; humble ;. very lively. retired ; unknown.

ELEGY IX A CHURCH-YARD. goS

9. The boast of heraldry,' the pomp of power.

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable "■ hour—

The paths of glory lead but to the gi'ave.

10. Xor you. ye proud, impute to these the fault.

If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

11. Can storied urn. or animated^ bust.

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. Or Flattery soothe the dtill cold ear of Death ?

1^. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed. Or waked to ecstasy * the living l\Te.°

13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page.

Rich ^"ith the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury ^ repressed their noble rage. And froze the genial current of the soul.

24- Full many a gem of purest ray serene,'

The dark, imfathomed caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

' Her aid ry, the art or oflBce of spirit : showing great spirit or one who forms orders, and con- liveliness ; vigorous, ducts public processions, ceremo- * Ecstasy (ek'sta si), very great nies at royal marriages, etc. ; the and overmastering joy ; the great- art or practice of recording the est delight.

regular descent of a person or fam- ' I';^e, a stringed instrument of

ily from an ancestor : also, of the music ; a kind of harp used by the

arms of the nobility and gentry. ancients to accompany poetry.

• In ev'it a ble, admitting of no '' Pen'u ry, poverty : want, evasion or escajie ; certain. " Se rene', clear and calm ; not

* An' i mat ed, full of life or ruffled or clouded ; fair ; bright.

354 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

15. Some village Hampden,' that, with dauntless^ breast,

The little tyrant ^ of his tields withstood ; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest,

Some Cromwell,^ guiltless of his country's blood.

16. The applause of listening senates to command.

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. And read their history in a nation's eyes,

17. Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed ^ alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ;

18. The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,

To quench the blushes of ingenuous ^ Shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride "With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

19. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble '' strife.

Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; Along the cool sequestered ' vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor" of their way*.

SO. Yet even these bones from insult to protect. Some frail memorial '" still erected nio:h,

^ John Hampden, an English and died September 3, 1659.

statesman and patriot, born at Lon- ^ Cir'cum scribed, shut within a

don in 1594 : mortally wounded in narrow limit; bounded ; confined,

an affair with Prince Rupert, June * In gen'ii oiis, noble ; free-born ;

18, 1643. out-spoken and truthful.

^ Daunt' less, not to be checked ■' Ig no'ble, of low birth or fam-

by fear of danger ; fearless ; bold. ily ; not noble : mean.

3 Ty'rant, one who rules whol- '' Seques'tered, taken from or set

ly ; one who rules harshly, or con- aside from ; withdrawn or retired,

trary to law ; a cruel master. ^ Ten'or, character ; drift.

^ Oliver Crom'well, Lord Pro- '" Me mo'ri al, any thing which

tector and virtually king of Great serves to keep something else in

Britain, was born April 25, 1599, mind . memento : monument.

ELEGY IX A CHURCH-YARD. 355

With uncouth ' rhjmes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute - of a sigh.

21. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse,

The place of fame and elegy ^ supply ;

And many a holy text around she strews.

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

22. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned. Left the warm precincts ^ of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?

23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies.

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

2Jf. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate. If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate —

25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

26. " There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch. And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

27. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ;

' Un couth', not usual ; strange ; ' El'e gy, a sad poem ; a song re- odd ; clumsy. lating to a funeral or some cause

^ Trib'ute, something given to of sorrow,

show services received, or as what •• Pre'cincts, limits or bounds ;

is due or deserved. confines.

356 DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn. Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

28. " One morn I missed him on the 'customed hill,

xilong the heath, and near his favorite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he :

29. " The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."'

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown : Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth.

And Melancholy marked him for her 07011 .

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere. Heaven did a recompense as largely send :

He gave to Misery — all lie had — a tear.

He gained from Heaven i^iwas all he -uished) a friend.

N^o further seek his merits to disclose.

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode^

( There they alike in trembling hope repose,)

The bosom of his Father and his God. Gray.'

' Thomas Gray, the poet, was splendid ornaments of English lit-

born in London in 1716, and died erature. His Elegy, first published

1771. His poems, inspired by the in 1749, became at once, and always

most delicate poetic feeling, and will continue to be, one of the most

elaborated into exquisite terseness popular of all poems, since rivaled

of diction, are among the most onlybyTennyson's"InMemoriam."

jjv^Dejc to jvotjss.

The Figures refer to Pages where the Notes appear.

ABODE. 105.

Acclaim, loi. . Accumulated, 94

Adversary, 90.

Affectation, 60.

Afflatus. 266.

Affliction, 47.

A Fifth, 12.

Agassiz, Louis John Rudolph, 198.

Aghast. 128.

A Initial, unaccented, 21.

Allegorical, 226.

Aloof, 1S5.

Alow, 185.

Alternately, 188.

Amain, 126.

Amazement, 90.

Ambition. 49.

Ambulance, 82. v~ Amphitheater, 291. ^..^Angelus, 181.

Animated, 353.

Annihilation, 258. i- Anthem, 311.

Apex, :88. -^ Apocalypse, 94.

Apparently, 53. -^. Apparitor, 234.

Approbation, 60. -^Arable, 190.

Arcade. 224.

Architectural, 64 - ^Ardennes, 246.

Arena, 107, 290.

Armada, 212.

Arnold, Matthew, J 241- — j-Aromatic, 313.

Arranging, 48.

Arsenal, 154.

Artesian. 195.

Arthur, King, 338.

Artisan, 64.

A Sixth, 12. -^ Aspersion, 78.

Astute, 329. , , Atheism, 258, 322.

Athwart, 339.

■r

'^-Beneficent, 259. "-i-Chant, 103.

--uBenignly, 113. ^r-Chantel, De, 135.

Blackboard dii^f-('harlemagne, 295. grams, 9. Chastisement, 331.

Blanche, Lady, 221. - .iChateaubriand, 256. Blenheim, 76. Checkered, 2 7.

Bonheur, Rosa, 262. Chivalry, 120. BoswelL James, i46-.j,Christendom, 216. Brawny, 87. Circumscribed, 334.

Brink, 98. Civic, 161.

Brownson. 324. Clarion, 71.

, Byron, George Gor-^ciaude, 261. don Noel, 213. -j_Cloisters, 223.

Cognizance. 225. . CALENDAR, 218. Collins, William, 112. .Calumniate, 140. Colonnade. 294.

Cameron, Sir Evan,^QiQgs^i

245- . r^

"-i-Communion, 47. Attila, ,53, 156, 300. Campaign, 319. .^Complex, 66.

Augustine, 300. >Cam^pbell, Thomas, '^Comprehend, 107. -f- Canada. Reduction f Concave, 18S. of, 519. Conrcit, 226.

Capitulated, 319. Conduction. 129.

'^ Capricious, 255. Confident, 49.

Carnage, 80. •■|*~- Confirmed, 91.

Aureole, 181. -'.; Aurora, 254.

Avalanche, 72 •^ .\valon, 346. -^,' Avarice, 258.

^.Aytoun, WillianT' .Cartier, Jacques, 161. Confronted, 229.

Edmondstoune,249.<^^-atat.o,nbs, 288. BA L US TRA DE, * ' Cataphracts, 336. 294. Catastrophe. 258.

Bards, 46. * Cathedral, 40.

"+- Basilica, 294. Celestial, 87.

Bay, 185. Champion, 95.

357

Congenial. 223.

"t~Congenital, 327. Conjunction. 25f Conjures up, 3<r

"♦>. Consecrate, 103.

"♦-Consonant, n.

358

DOMINION FOURTH READER.

Conspicuous, i6i. Dike, 68.

f^onstanline, 295. Dilapidation, 224

Constrain, 215. T-Diminution, 32].

Consummation, 303. Directly, 49.

Contemplate, 94, 265. Disdain, 134.

/Convection, 129. Dismay, 68.

Conversation, 53. -fCole, 86.

IJ^ABER, P'rederick /Hesperidcs, Cs WiHiam, 2:3. I lest, 339.

yConvex, 188.

Conviction, 47.

Coronet 225.

Corroded, 227. j'Cosmogony, 325

Courtesy, 228.

Credulity, 134.

Crisis. 90.

Crisp, 39.

Dolor, 88. Drama, 347. Draughts, 214. Drought, 19S. "Dundee, Viscount, 246.

ECSTASY, zs^^. Effigies, 225.

^Cromwell, OH ver,-|^ Effluence, 265. 3S+- Crosier, 22!;.

Cuisse, 344. Cunning, 57. Curfew, 351. Curtly, 79. Customer, 48.

•^DACIAN, 291.

Effort, S3. >Egotism, 309 Elate, 230. Elegy, 355. Elysium, 311. Embellish, 6j. Emblazon, 92. Emblem, log. Emergency, 214.

Faculty, 327. 1~Falchion, 7:.

Faltering, 70.

Famous, 76. 'rFealty, 340.

Festal, 66.

Fiction, 47. ■^"Fissures, 94.

Fitful, 127.

Flavian, 303.

Flaw, 126.

Flexibility, 329

Flushed, 90. ■]f-Forefend, 123.

Fortitude, 71. 1 "Fortuitous, 253. ■*-FrateUo mio, 215.

Fremiot, Jane Fran- ces, 135.

Further, io6. 4lmmortality, 258

Impaled, 83. Imperial, 91.

"HHieroglyphic, 251. Hoary, 124. I Holocaust, 285. *>Hlomily. 87. [ Horde, 154. Horizon, 65. Howitt, Mary, 86. Howit'., William, 259, T'^lunt, Ezra M., 133. ' Hurrahs, 251. Hurricane, 126. ¥— Hyssop, 114.

hA GO, 329.

■y-ldes of March, 331.

"ligneous, 195.

If^noble, 354. , Imagination, 278.

Imbued, 161.

^■tJeology, 195. ^^^ ^

"^jibbons, James, Car- ""^ " P 1 3' • Inaugurated, 233.

"IDanger of the Judg-'T'-Emparadise, 113. ment. In, 139. ] Emulate, 46.

Dante, 211. | Entranced, 103.

Dauntless, 354. Entreated, 108.

David, 233. I Epitaph, 226.

Deadly, 63. Equestrian, 295.

•yCecius, 107. -^Equitable, 276.

Decline, 223, Ermine, 56.

Decreasing. 48. ''-Eschewing, 65.

Defect, 48. Eternity, 258.

_7"Deferentially, 79. 'Ethics, 322.

Deign, 102. E third, 13.

Demonstrate, 259. 1

Department, 79. j

Depreciate, 266. ■pDe Quincev, 23S.

Desperation, 43.

Despoil, 216.

Destined, 217.

Device. 6g.

dinal, 147.

Glacier, 72.

'"Glebe, 352.

Glooming, g "'^Goldsmith, 272. Goths, 291. Gradations, 49. Gray, Thomas, 356. Greaves, 344. *fj*Griffin, Gerald, 260.

■'^Incarnadined, 88. Incredulity, 307. Indicate, 94.

Oliver,"^^"^^"'^''^^' 353-

HABITUDE, (ii,.

Everett, Edward, 263'!r~Hamlet, 99

Evincing, 71.

Evolution, 187. ^Evolving, 327.

Exalted, 95.

Excelsior, 71. 'Exhortation, 107.

Exhorting, 229.

Dewey, Orville, 268.-^ -Exotic, 313

Diagrams, Black- board, 9. ■f-Diana, 298. -^-Diapason, 155.

Expatiating. 307. Expectant, 75. Expelled, 107. Exquisite, 199.

Inexhaustible, 330. Inexorable, 250. -J-Inexplicable, 328. Infinite, 257. Ingenuous, 354. Inimitable, 257. Initial, 91. ^Initial, A, unac- cented, 21. Hampden. John, 354. Injunction, 68. Hapless, 77. Innumerable, 257.

"J^iaughty, 226. *f-Inscription, 224.

Hawthorn, 125. Inserted, gi.

Helm, 126. Insist, 108.

"tHemans, Felicia Instant, 69. Dorothea, 233. Instinct, 134.

Henry VII., 226. 'V- Insurmountable, 278. -Winterlunar, 209. ■«/! In token, 106. Intrusively, no. 1 Inundate, 67.

Il^lleraldry, 353. H-lerbage, 68, ■permit, 104. . Hero, 67.

INDEX TO NOTES.

359

Inured, 90. X Magnanimity, 144. Occupied, 53. Prodigy, 91.

Invisible, 252. —i, Mahony, Francis, i87HH^"(onnell, Daniel,-(-Pronunciation, 9.

->- Irascible, 79. Majesty, 229.

Irrepressible, 327. Manifesto, 92.

-^ Irving, Washington, Martyrs. 46.

227.

JAUNTY, ty

Jesuit, 214. "*~ Jocund, 352. •^ Joust, 341. ^Judgment, In danger

of the, 139. "^Jurisdiction, 279.

KEXT. 30D. Keystone, 224.

~)-Maury, Matthew Fontaine, 204

Medallion, 225. -1 Mementos, 309.

Memoir, 146.

Memorial, 354.

Menace, 250.

Mere, 86, 339.

Merlin, 338.

Microscopic, 205. ^.Milton, John, 337.

Mitchell, O. M. , 326. -W-Moil, 67.

Momentous, 305.

Monachism, 239.

Monarch. 99.

Monogram, 91. •^M ontalembert , Count de, 218

277

Ominous, 81.

Omnipotence, 258.

Omnipotent, 240. -^-Omnipresent, 205. -J- Omniscient, 207.

O modified, 13.

Onslaught, 154.

Oratory, 135.

Orchestra, 66. -7«-0' Re illy, John

Boyle, 150. "~J- Organism. 321.

Oriole, 64.

Provision, 60. Puny, 1C7. Purchase, 49.

QUADRANGU- LAR, 188. Quaint, 100. Quoth, 76, 214.

RADIATION, 129. Rapture, 102. Ravine, 68. Read, Thomas Bu- chanan, 185. ■4- Recession, 187. j Recoonition, 251. PAGEANTRY, ^^y ] Reef,' .27.

LA.MBENT^og. Momentous, 305. ~<r fainim, 181.

Landgravine, .218. Monachism, 239. ^a.\\\d, 102.

T- Landscer, Sir Edwin Monarch, 90. -f -Pantheism, 322.

Henry. 262. Monogram, 91. Pantheon. 300.

^ Laureate, 182. ^M o n t a 1 em b er t , Parried, 215.

League. 90. Count de, 218. \ Patriot. 46.

Leaguered, 154. ^Montcalm. Louis,3i7.Y-Payne,JohnHoward, Republican, 63

^ Leal, 156. Montgomerv, James, „ ' Require, 345.

r par (vino- -.on no " f-Penurv, 353. 1,

i,ear, ts.mg. 329. 113. < - > ^-^^ Reservoir, 295.

Lecky, William Ed- Moor, 86. Pepm, 300.

ward Hartpole,i46r*-Moore, Thomas. 194. Perceptible, 68 Leech, 62. Mori and, George, Persisting, 229. ) Rosa, Salvator, 261.

t-Perspicuously, 259. T„

Regal, 66.

Reims, 230.

Relaxed, 214. I Remitting, 269. ! Remorse, 250. TT Rendezvous,

Revolving, 90. •yi Rogers, Samuel, 312.

Legend, 144. 262.

^ Leviathan, 212. ■A-Mundane, 240. >f~ Lichen, 205. -^ Mural, 224.

Lippincott, Mrs., 223. Muse, 71.

Lodore, 182. Mystery, 102.

Longfellow, Henry^Mystical, 94. "4^ Wadsworth, 74. J

Lorraine, 233. ^NEBULOUS, 325

Lossing, Benson J., Nectar, no. 319. Nero, Claudius Cse-

Loudness, 25. sar, 286.

■•^ Lowell, James Rus- Nether, 209

Phenomena, 199.

Picturesque, 42. ^-Pinnacle, 224.

Plain, 94.

Pleasure, 48.

Plied, 65. ■f~Plumy, 98.

Pondering, 91.

Portray. 94.

Posterior, :97.

Potter, Paul, 262.

Rout, 76. Royal, 229. ^R Trilled, 13. Rumor, 62.

sell, 211. -T'Newman, John Hen- Precincts, 355.

Luxury, 78. ry. Cardinal, 144. Prerogative, 305

Lyre. 353. 1 Niche, 225.

. -jf-Nomenclature. 309

'^MACAULAY.'T\.o. x^^leus, ,90.

Babbington, 302. 4 Numerically, 92. •f-McLeod, DonaId,23o. "^ McGee. T h o m a '^OBELISK, 287. D'Arcy, 310. Obscure, 352.

Magical, 44. Obstacle, 78.

:^SA CERDO TA L . 103. ^Sacrament, 304. -p Sacristan, ico.

Sadlier, Mrs. J., 350. Sages, 46. •y&X. Bernard. 72. ^ St. Francis de Sales, ^ 59. -^St. Martin's Summer,

"^-Prescott, William '57-

3,5. -.i-Salvator Rosa, 261.

Presentiment, 316. Samite, 339.

Pretense, 134. Sanguinary, 329.

^ Primitive, 320. Saxe, John G., 63.

Procter, Adelaide Scaffold, 229. f" Ann, 135. -Scath, 157.

Prodigious, 278. 4^Scott, Sir Walter, 112.

360

DOM I XI ON FOURTH READER.

Seething, 105.

Sensible, gj. ■r^ententious. 330. **f>^epulchral, 226. ^ijSequestered, 354

Seraphim, 36.

Serene, 353. r^ervitor, 105.

Severed, 230. r^haksspeare, 335

Shocking, 77. '^ Shrine, 103.

Shrouds, 128.

Shylock, 329.

Skipper, 126. ^^olace, 216.

Solidarity, 320,

Solitary. 68.

Solitude, 105.

Sombre, 79.

Sophism, 322. r'Southey, Robert. 77. ^^Spalding, John Mar- ^ tin, 148.

Spectacle, 91.

Spectral, 72. Spontaneous. 327. Spur, 93. Squalid, 50. Stalwart, 124. *<^Stamme:ed, 55.

61. Tenor, 354 '"■^JertuUian, 256 St. Ann. Legend, 181. Theme, 215.

rTe Deum, 313. Universe, 258.

T»-Telemachus, 293. "■^-Unsolder, 338. •^f^-^rennyson. Alfred,

''Ji^tark, 127

Stellar, 324.

Stem, 154.

Stock, 48.

Subtile, 93.

Subtlest, 340.

Summons, 215.

Superfluity. 53. 2i6.'>i>Tryst, 158.

Surf, 128. Turbid, 92

Swain, 270. *^S\vain, Charles, 264. ■S^Swart, 187.

I Swear at all, Not to.

Threshold, 223. Tiny. 56. Tongue, 107. Tracery, 224. '■•'fj'ratalgar, 212. Tribute, 355. Trophy, 92.

Turbulent, 105. Tyrannic, 258. Tyrant. 354.

139- Switzer,

TARRY, ic6. Taunt, Si.

UBIQUITY, ^-io. U initial, 13. Uncouth. 355. V»*Unction, 114. Undaunted, 71.

^ VA SSALA GE, 230.

Vertical, 94. *">»• Viaticum, 103. V4.J Vicar, 302. ^~^ Vowels, long and short, 12.

^~f~4Y£AL, 321.

Weninger, F. H., >- S.J.. 153. ■..L Westminster Abbey,

223. '^Whittier.John G., 67.

AVhooping, 128. -V- Wiseman, Nicholas,

Cardinal, 331. ■~t- Wolfe, James, 316.

Wont, 286. "^•M'ood worth, Sam- ~. uel. III.

ZENITH, 254.

^..-,..